His Brother's Secret

by Debra Salonen

  “Exactly. Any ideas?”

  She pulled a notebook from her pack. “Well, I was thinking about this after I left you last night. My strong point is probably going to be the Sentinel Pass characters, but the day I picked up Libby and Coop after their hike, Coop muttered something about firing his trainer.”

  Shane flashed the thumbs-up sign. “Good one. We’ll call him Guy Gillespie—trainer to the stars. Or, in this case, star. Singular.”

  She looked pleased with his response. “I don’t know why, but I sort of pictured him as a young Jack LaLanne wannabe. You know who I mean, right? Jack LaLanne was a hero of my father’s because he combined celebrity and healthy living. Dad said the guy once towed a string of boats from Alcatraz while handcuffed…or something. Our guy might try to replicate that kind of thing—like towing a party barge across the Great Salt Lake—but fails.”

  Shane could see it. Clearly. “So, he talks big while training Cooper. Always planning his next feat. Damn. That’s brilliant. Quirky. Very Hollywood. I know an actor who could pull this off without trying. Excellent idea. Anything else?”

  She consulted her notebook. “Um…maybe a lawyer who talks really fast so nobody understands anything he says.”

  “Like it. He might have been Coop’s mother’s lover many years ago. Maybe he thinks he’s Cooper’s biological father, but the mom would never let Cooper be tested because the not knowing kept other doors open.”

  She looked at him, frowning. “That’s not really true, is it? I mean where Coop is concerned.”

  He finished typing before answering. “No. Lena Lindstrom was too ambitious for that. Coop’s father was probably a studio mogul, but most of those players are dead now, so he’ll never know for sure. Which is not necessarily a bad thing,” he added without intending to.

  “What do you mean? How can not knowing who your father is be good?” Her tone sounded slightly offended.

  “I was speaking for myself. My father and I had zero in common. When I was a teenager, he told my mother that he was sure I was gay. This was a good thing because it let him off the hook—parentingwise.”

  “Why?”

  “You know. The nature/nurture debate. He was on the side of nature. In this case. In everything else, he was in big business’s pocket.”

  “You didn’t like him much.”

  “Did you like your father?”

  “Yes. He was brilliant and opinionated, but so darn smart you had to listen even if you disagreed with what he was saying.”

  “And if you did disagree, would he listen to your argument?”

  She nodded but took a few moments before saying, “If I provided corroborating evidence. He was too much of a scientist to ignore another opinion out of hand, but he wouldn’t hesitate to blow your argument out of the water if you were in the wrong.”

  Interesting, Shane thought, recalling that she’d implied earlier that her father didn’t champion the arts in any way. “What would he have thought of what we’re doing?”

  Her shoulders sank slightly. “Well, he probably would have supported me because of the potential increased tourism, but I doubt if he would have actually watched an episode of the show—whether I helped write it or not.”

  Shane nodded. “Ah, yes, you said he hated television.”

  “Because it dumbed-down the children watching it, in his opinion. That’s why he poured so much of his time and resources into the Mystery Spot. He used to say, ‘If just one child who comes here becomes intrigued by what he sees and goes on to study science, I’ve done what I was set on this planet to accomplish.’”

  He typed a few key words: mad scientist, passion for the masses, quirky, beautiful daughter carrying on father’s dream.

  When he looked up, she was staring at him. Her lips were pursed in a serious but sexy way. His throat went dry and he could no longer feel the keypad under his fingers.

  “Even though Dad published a dozen treatises and highly respected position papers within his field, he felt fiction—storytelling—was a waste of time. He didn’t speak to my mother for a month after she had my poetry published. He called it a waste of paper.”

  Shane almost deleted what he’d typed. Maybe he didn’t want to immortalize this guy. “Did he read it?”

  She shook his head. “I don’t think so. If he did, he didn’t tell me. Or Mom. But I understood.” She looked at him as if reading his doubt. “Really. He was a man of science who tried to share his passion with the world. That’s why I’ll never sell the Mystery Spot, even if Mom is ready to call it quits. I owe him that.”

  He started to ask why but changed his mind. Who was he to question one’s sense of obligation to a parent? His promise to his mother was the reason he was here.

  “How would you feel about bringing his character to life and creating a quirky tourist trap for the show? We’d have to rename it. The Mystery Zone…or maybe the Oh-Zone. Oh. Get it?” He typed and angled the screen for her to see.

  “Cute.”

  Her smile sent a rush of tingles all the way to his toes. Heat stroke? Heart attack? Gout? He forced his brain back on task. “This guy could serve several purposes. He might teach science during the year then devote his time to the business every summer. A quirky bachelor. Maybe a love interest for your mother’s character—Aggie the dog lady. I guarantee the attention would be good for business.”

  “Won’t people consider that a little self-serving or a conflict of interest?”

  His laugh was the one Coop called “sninical”—a combination of snide and cynical. “Probably, but since I’m the producer, I can do what I want—within reason and good taste—as long as the dozen or so studio honchos and their sponsors agree.” She looked daunted. “But if I explain that we can spin this character as a way to spoon-feed a little science to the masses, I’m sure they’ll approve.”

  The way she was worrying her bottom lip told him she wasn’t sold on the concept, so he reached out to reassure her. That was all. Just a little pat on the arm. Her bare arm. Where the sun had warmed the soft, smooth skin to a velvet texture.

  “I’ll play with him. Not too over the top, but if he blows things up from time to time, we might get some good visuals.” His thumb stroked a slow, deliberate circle above the inside of her wrist. He couldn’t miss the surge in tempo of her pulse.

  She pulled away and began stuffing things into her backpack. “We should go. I don’t want to miss helping Libby pick out her dress.”

  He checked his watch. She had plenty of time. This was her way of telling him he’d crossed the line. He understood, but her reaction hurt. More than it should have. He was her boss. He had no business flirting with her. Or touching her. He knew that. But deep down there were still traces of that troubled young man who’d been too unsure of himself to do more than admire her from afar. That kid invented sninical. I told you, man. She’s out of your league. Now, you know what would have happened if you’d asked her out in college. She’d have shot you down.

  “WELL, YOU JUST TELL Mr. Slobbering Pooch to stay the hell away from me,” Char said on a growl. “My story is not up for grabs.”

  Jenna had arrived at the bridal boutique on Main fifteen minutes early, but she’d found her friends already there, gathered in the rear of the building surrounded by walls of white gowns. Voluminous designs of satin, lace, organza and beads.

  After the disturbingly intimate work session with Shane—what had she been thinking taking him to her most private retreat in the world?—Jenna had to fight to keep her attention on the business of picking out a dress. She’d probably made a mistake by mentioning that Shane planned to give his Libby character friends, like them.

  “Nobody would be interested in my story,” Kat said, looking up from the circular rack of discounted designs she’d been poking through. “And I’d be darn surprised if he drooled, Char. Even in his sleep. Like my first ex-husband did. I put a saucer beside Pete’s pillow once to prove it. He was furious the next morning. No wonder we divorc
ed.”

  Jenna, who had her notebook clamped under one arm and a pen between her teeth, held up a gown that felt as if it weighed thirty pounds. “’Is one?”

  Both women made faces that basically said, “Good Lord, no.”

  She shoved it back on the rack and took the pen from her mouth. “Shane wouldn’t use your life story per se, Char, just bits and pieces of it. We talked about turning Rufus into a backwoods artist who blushes when a woman talks to him but carves slightly lewd masterpieces using a chain saw.”

  Her two friends looked at each other…and laughed.

  “What’s so funny?” another voice asked. “Not my dress, I hope. I like this one.”

  Jenna turned as Libby walked toward a large mirror suspended between racks. “It’s gorgeous,” she exclaimed swallowing a large lump in her throat. “You look like a princess.”

  “We call this day length,” Gretchen, the fiftysomething clerk who was helping them, said, offering Libby a hand up the two-step platform so everyone could see the hemline from all angles.

  “I love it,” Kat exclaimed, rushing closer.

  Char pulled out her camera and snapped a couple of shots. “It’s smart, not overly fussy. It’s you, Lib.”

  Libby shoved her hair back from her eyes. She looked at them seriously. “Do you really think so? This is the first one I tried on. Are you supposed to choose the first one you look at?”

  “If you’re getting married in three days, yes,” the ever-practical Kat said. “Besides, it’s perfect.”

  Libby twirled around again, her hands settling on her hips. “It’s pretty, isn’t it? And the best part is it fits. In fact, the lace is sort of stretchy. I don’t know how they do that, but it’s very comfortable.”

  “Will you be wearing your hair up or down?” Gretchen asked, walking up with two different styles of veils in her hands.

  Libby looked at Jenna. “Um…up?”

  Jenna checked with Kat and Char. One nodded and one shook her head. A split vote.

  “Up,” Libby declared. “And no veil. It’s just not me.”

  The woman dropped the gauzy material over the back of a chair. “What about a small, classy tiara?”

  “Oooh,” Char said with childlike enthusiasm. “A tiara. Every woman should have one. You could borrow mine, but it’s not small or classy. In fact, it’s silly and gaudy, but I love it.”

  Jenna and Libby looked at each other in the mirror. Who knew, they mouthed.

  Jenna reached for the notebook she’d set beside a thick album featuring men’s tuxedo choices. Shane would love this dialogue, she thought—even if he wouldn’t have used pen and paper to record it.

  She clicked the tip of her pen and quickly jotted down the image and a few words of dialogue. Last night, when she’d reviewed Shane’s and Cooper’s notes on the table, she’d assumed that was how he worked. But this morning, when he’d pulled out his laptop, she’d felt pure panic. She was a pen-and-paper kind of girl. Her mind needed the longhand connection to flip that creative switch in her brain. Didn’t it?

  Half listening to her friends’ chatter, she wondered if she was kidding herself. Of course real writers composed on computers. They couldn’t afford to waste time transferring notes from one medium to another.

  She flicked the top of the pen and tossed it in her purse. Tangible proof that her writing skills were just a hobby. Poor Shane would figure out soon enough that she wasn’t up to the high production demands of Hollywood.

  “Cooper would like this one,” Libby said firmly. “Don’t you think so, Jenna?”

  Jenna looked up. “Delicate and ladylike. Very nice,” she said.

  Libby adjusted the sparkly crown a little and sighed. “He thinks I’m both of those. Isn’t he funny?”

  Jenna felt a brief second of envy. Would anyone ever think of her that way?

  “No. He’s intuitive and smart.” She walked to Libby and gave her a quick hug. “So, our work here is done, right? On Saturday you are going to be the most beautiful bride on the planet and the rest of us can wear anything we want.”

  “Absolutely. Think of this as a garden party. Pick something colorful and fun.”

  Jenna had just the dress. One her mother had bought a year ago when a friend, who ran a vintage clothing boutique, sold out to move to Arizona. She looked down at her durable, thick rubber-soled hiking sandals. I could use a new pair of shoes, though.

  “Shoes,” she exclaimed. “Lib, what you going to wear on your feet?”

  Libby’s eyes twinkled with a hint of tears. “I’m going barefoot. Gran suggested it, and Cooper thought it was a great idea given our history.”

  “What history is that?”

  Libby’s cheeks turned rosy. “Never mind. I…I’m going to take this off. Don’t you have to be at the Mystery Spot about now, Jenna Mae?”

  Jenna checked her watch. “Oh, crap, I have to run. Sorry to miss lunch, you guys. Eat something fattening for me. Lib, I love the dress. Perfect choice. I’ll talk to you later.”

  As she hurried to her car, which was parked midway between the bridal shop and the ten-story Alex Johnson Hotel, she noticed a stretch limo double-parked at the corner of Sixth and St. Joe, near the statue of George Washington. She tensed. Some Hollywood executive already? Shane hadn’t mentioned anything.

  She paused to watch as the driver opened the rear door. A man got out. Tall. Black sunglasses. Expensive-looking dark suit cleverly disguising the fact that he was carrying a bit too much weight around his middle. His close-trimmed beard and mustache, which sported a hint of silver, masked thick jowls, but he moved adroitly, disappearing into the hotel without sparing a glance at the statue.

  She let out the breath she’d been holding. She hadn’t been able to get a good look at him, but she’d bet money that he wasn’t from California. He looked too intense, but there was something familiar…

  Before she could puzzle any more on the subject, someone called her name. Kat came rushing toward her with Libby’s cell phone in her hand. “Oh, good, I caught you. Shane is on the phone and he wants to…here. You talk to him.”

  Jenna held the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

  “Jenna? Great. Libby didn’t think they’d be able to catch you. Hey, listen…if it’s not a problem, I’d like to meet you at the Mystery Spot this afternoon. I’ve been playing with the idea we talked about…the Oh-Zone. I’d like to run what I’ve got by you while it’s fresh.”

  She was dying to ask for details, but she didn’t want to keep Kat waiting. “Sure. You know the way. The glass guy is supposed to be there. Maybe you can make sure he does the job right.”

  “My pleasure. See you in an hour or so.”

  My pleasure. She knew the casual rejoinder didn’t mean anything, but she couldn’t stop the sudden flush she felt creeping into her face. She’d been experiencing odd little hot flashes—too localized to be the kind her mother complained about—ever since he’d touched her arm that morning.

  “Everything okay?” Kat asked, studying her too closely for comfort.

  “Yeah,” Jenna said, handing her the phone. “He has an idea he wants to run by me. I guess he was inspired by something I said.”

  “I’m not surprised. You’re the most creative person I know. He’s really lucky to be working with you.”

  Jenna went still. “Do you mean that?”

  Kat nodded. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.”

  Jenna wasn’t sure that was true. Kat was the sweetest, most caring person Jenna had ever met. She had a big heart and she seldom rocked the proverbial boat—even when her ex-husbands deserved a good dunking. But the praise felt good. Especially since she felt so far out of her league.

  “Well, um, thanks. I appreciate the vote of confidence. I’d better go.”

  “If we see any dresses we think would look good on you, do you want us to put them on hold?”

  “No, thanks. I’m going to wear the one my Mom bought from Fillerie’s. Remember it?” She’d neve
r worn the pretty, totally impractical dress, but she’d shown it to her book-club friends as proof of Bess’s inability to stick to a budget.

  Kat’s eyes went wide. “I do. It’ll be perfect.”

  “I don’t know if it fits,” Jenna admitted, sheepishly, remembering how angry she’d been with her mother for buying it. Later she’d told her friends that she was afraid she was turning into a less-well-educated version of her father.

  “I wish I had a pretty dress hidden away in my closet,” Kat said with a sigh. “Maybe if I wish real hard, the dress fairy will stop by my house tonight.”

  “If I was twenty pounds lighter…”

  Kat hugged her quickly. “You mean if I was six inches taller. Don’t worry. I have something I think will work. See you later.”

  “Bye.”

  Jenna watched her friend walk away. Kat’s financial struggles were even more complicated than Jenna’s because she also had two children to feed. All Jenna had to worry about was a business that barely broke even. But now, thanks to the income Shane had promised, she didn’t have to worry about that.

  As she headed out of town, she thought about the documents Shane’s secretary had e-mailed to Jenna that morning. The money to be made in the entertainment industry defied logic and perspective. Even if Jenna asked to be paid the going rate at the bottom rung of the screenwriters’ pay scale, she’d make enough in a few weeks to pave the parking lot and buy an alarm system.

  Did that mean she was ready to sell out and move to Hollywood? Not hardly. She’d gladly take the money Shane was offering, but she wasn’t ready to give up on her father’s dream—or trade it for her own.

  Keeping the Mystery Spot open was the only way she knew to prove to her father that she wasn’t a failure. Which, she had to admit, was probably too pathetic for words, since her father was dead.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “ARE YOU SERIOUS about using my mother?”

  Shane was washing windows. On a ladder outside the very window he’d nearly killed himself looking in the day before. The irony wasn’t lost on him.