aherospromise_211-3e3.htm

by A Hero's Promise (lit)

  "We got some great donations."

  "Obviously," Dane murmured.

  Jessica remained quiet throughout the tour.

  ~ * ~

  Sporting a Minnesota Vikings cap and sunglasses, Dane accompanied Jessica to her gate at Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport. Her flight to Salt Lake City would leave twenty minutes before his to Los Angeles.

  "God I hate airports," he told her, looking around at the crowded terminal. "I hate flying, for that matter."

  "You hate not being in control."

  "True enough." He started to comment further about her perception when the gate attendant announced Jessica’s flight. First class would board after the pre-boarding passengers.

  He picked up her carry-on bag. "You take care."

  "Of course. You, too."

  "A little different than the airport in Amande, huh?"

  Jessica turned at his reference to the day he’d sent her home from the Caribbean after the completion of their epic film, Lost Season. After his confession of love, and a night of lovemaking on the sand.

  She swallowed hard. "Oh yes. Different."

  Dane knew her smile was forced; he wished her hopelessly sweet brown eyes were not so red.

  "Then there was Singapore," she added with an obviously faux cough.

  Dane shook his head. "That doesn’t count. I was on a stretcher." A melancholy chuckle emanated from his chest and he grasped Jessica’s forearms as they called First Class passengers. "You think about what I said. About coming up to the ranch."

  "I will. I have a lot to do, you know, before I can even begin to--"

  "I know. Just… just remember I’m around."

  He kissed her on the forehead and took a couple of steps backward, then turned and walked briskly in the direction of the gate collecting Los Angeles-bound passengers.

  Dane’s thoughts continued to be jumbled, had been that way since he’d returned from his three-day ride to an answering machine tape filled with horrifying news.

  He had many questions, but avoided probably the most important one; how he felt about Mac’s death was still off-limits. A spot too sore to touch, a knotted chain too tangled to unravel. His feigned comfort with Jessica was easy enough; he was, after all, an actor.

  ~ * ~

  Irma Carvey could well have won a role as the mouse that roared. Barely four feet six inches tall and wearing a suit Barbie might have found tight, she perched herself on the edge of Jessica’s living room couch, clipboard on her lap.

  "Social services is a difficult job, Mrs. MacKendall. While some action may seem perfectly normal to you, it may be quite complicated on my side."

  "I just don’t understand why this can’t be simpler. I am family, after all."

  "Not blood-related, however."

  "You don’t need to be blood-related to love a child."

  "Of course not. But the fact remains, we have not ascertained if this child actually has other blood relatives still living. So our decision is to keep him in foster care for an additional sixty days while we publicize our search for his natural father."

  "And if he doesn’t come forward?"

  "Well, the courts must decide. If his mother is still alive… you may or may not bother to initiate adoption proceedings. It’s out of my hands."

  "And I can’t be his foster parent in the meantime?"

  "We feel it’s best to keep him in Minnesota at this time."

  Jessica stood. "Miss Carvey, I don’t mean to be… antagonistic. But I just feel this is a waste of time. Charlene… my sister-in-law’s accident was well publicized, especially in the Minneapolis area. Chet’s story has been carried by every major news agency in the country. It’s already been a month, if the father was going to come forth, he would have by now. I don’t see the point in dragging this out further. I can provide a good home for him."

  "As I said before, that’s not for me to decide."

  The social worker now stood also, clutching the clipboard tightly to her chest. She walked to the fireplace, lifting her hand and slowly dragging her fingers down the gold Emmy statuette on the mantel. Then she turned abruptly, rocking her head back until her nose was unnaturally higher than ear level.

  "I’m sorry, Mrs. MacKendall. If you want the child badly enough, you’ll have to be willing to wait the necessary time."

  What a waste. And to think that I paid her way out here just so she could insult me.

  Setting her jaw, Jessica walked the woman to the front door, closing it behind her with a little more force than necessary. In the hall, she clicked the thermostat down a notch and then collapsed on the couch.

  She had not been able to forget about the sweet, practically orphaned baby left behind in Minnesota. The realization, after Mac’s death, that she would never again be pregnant had enhanced her mourning. It was a cruel turn of events. But seeing the blue-eyed infant born to a nearly dead mother had sparked a glimmer of hope in her heart. While Chester was not Mac’s son, he was genetically similar in some way.

  And if Charlene did not recover, Jessica would raise that boy as her own.

  Back in the kitchen, she poured a glass of lemonade and picked up the phone, retrieving a business card from the counter.

  Her attorney was in.

  "Funny you should call. I’m just reviewing the papers Dane dropped off."

  "What papers?"

  "Dissolving StarCrossed Productions. The new corporation."

  "Oh…" The production company Mac had set up just two months ago. "Is he just dumping it altogether?"

  "Yes. But what did you call about?"

  Jessica relayed the latest information concerning Chester MacKendall. "Can they do that?"

  Brady Stern grunted. "Unfortunately, yes. I’m afraid you’re going to have to sit tight, Jess. I’ve started a file on this deal, but until they give a little, we’re kind of stuck."

  "I just want him so bad."

  "I know. But I think you should take some time to examine your own needs right now."

  Fatherly advice was Brady’s specialty, and Jessica sighed. "You’re right, of course." She rubbed her forehead, peering out the back glass doors to check on Devon, who was playing in the yard. Something else was needling her mind. "Brady, do me a favor? Hold off a few days on dismantling the company. I want to talk to Dane."

  "Sure. There’s no real rush. One of you give me a call when you’re decided."

  Thoughtful, Jessica hung up the phone. Maybe it was time to get in touch with Dane.

  ~ * ~

  What was I thinking?

  Dane ran all of his fingers through his ashen hair, pulling the near-straight locks away from his face as he peered into his bedroom mirror. Accusing green eyes peered back at him, reminding him of the complete idiot he turned into when it came to Jessica Taylor. MacKendall, he chastised himself. MacKendall! Mac’s wife.

  But it was too late to worry about his motives now. He had invited her to come, and coming she was.

  He’s only two months in the grave.

  He turned on the bathroom faucet, splashing cold water on his face.

  She called me. She wants to talk about StarCrossed.

  The beach house still belonged to Tom and Roxanne Jarrick, but Dane had leased it for the brief periods he would be in L.A. Now, looking around, he saw the mess he’d made of it during his most recent, short stay. Quickly he began gathering up dirty glasses, paper plates and pizza boxes and hustling them into the small kitchen.

  Stuffing the debris into the trashcan, he began running hot water into the sink, squirting in a healthy dose of dishwashing liquid. Water splashed onto the kitchen window and the floor as Dane shook off his hands and reached for a paper towel, unrolling several in the process.

  "Damn," he muttered, bounding on to the bedroom where he swept up an armload of dirty laundry and threw it onto the closet floor.

  What am I doing? She won’t be coming in here.

  Glancing around the bedroom, he closed the door and return
ed to the living room. It looked better. But why should he care? Trying to impress Jessica would only make her suspicious. He’d never been neat.

  So he sat down on the couch. He didn’t wait long.

  "I wasn’t sure if it was a left or a right back there," she said, breezing into the room like a walking bouquet of spring flowers.

  "Where’s Dev?"

  "I left him with Lydia. My new nanny. I wanted us to have time to talk, you know?"

  "Something to drink?"

  "I can get it," she said, brushing past him. "I trust they didn’t move the kitchen."

  Dane grimaced behind her back in spite of his prior self-admonition.

  "Want to sit outside?" she called over her shoulder.

  "Sure."

  She didn’t seem to notice the two or three empty beer cans he’d missed on the patio deck as she made herself comfortable facing the sea.

  "How’s the deal coming with, uh, Chester?" he asked.

  "It’s taking time. I won’t know anything for a while."

  Dane nodded and pried the cap off a bottle of Corona. "How’re you doing otherwise?"

  Jessica seemed to focus on the crashing waves for a moment, as if deciding just how she was doing. "I miss him. I miss him every minute of every day. Some days are worse than others… but I keep reminding myself that he hated people to whine around."

  "You, uh, wanted to talk about the company?"

  "Yes." Blinking a few times, she created a smile and turned back to Dane. "I want to assume Mac’s position in the corporation, whatever that was."

  Dane cleared his throat and put down his bottle. "You what?"

  "Let’s keep StarCrossed intact. I think we should go ahead with Mr. Romance. He would have wanted it that way."

  Dane broke his gaze and took a long draught of the beer, wiping his lips on the back of his hand. He stood, walked to the railing on the deck, and then turned to face her. "I don’t think so."

  "And why not?"

  "Because I can’t do it without him. It was a joint effort."

  "We can do it together. He already had a crew in place. Come on, it will be a tribute."

  "No."

  Jessica rose and stood face to face with Dane, her eyes now defiant. "Is that it, then? You’re certain?"

  Dane tossed the beer bottle into the trash, planting his hands on his hips. "Yup."

  "Then I’ll find someone else to do it. Thanks for the Coke."

  She was nearly to the front door before he was able to comprehend that she was actually leaving. "Jess, wait."

  "I’ll call Brady and let him know you want out. You were my first choice, of course, but I think I can get Kyle. He did Bedroom Wars, last year, remember? Now that was a funny movie… anyway, I’ll call you."

  "Jess--"

  "Sorry, darling, I’m on a tight schedule today. Thanks for seeing me," she trotted a couple of steps back to give him the requisite peck on the cheek, and then was behind the wheel.

  Dane stood on the porch shaking his head.

  Damn that woman. She doesn’t have a clue.

  Five

  Wanted: Mr. Romance

  "Jessica! Great to hear from you! How are you doing?"

  "I’m well, Kyle. I can’t believe I have you on the phone. I’ve been trying for days."

  "Well, sweetheart, the sun is just too good here, and I’ve threatened death to anyone who comes within twenty feet of me with a cell phone. Had I known it was you, I would have hit the ground running. In your direction, of course…"

  Jessica drummed her fingers lightly on the desktop, looking at her office ceiling with a slight grin. "You needn’t flatter me. This is a business call, I’m afraid. It’s about a film I’m trying to put together. You may have heard about it already, Mac was shopping the deal when… you know, last spring."

  "Oh… gee, I wanted to tell you how sorry I was to hear about Mac. I just couldn’t get to the funeral, Jess."

  "It’s okay, really. I’m… fine." Jessica took a deep breath and looked into the mahogany framed mirror on the opposite wall. Fine had to be the most inadequate word in the book.

  "Anyway, it’s right up your alley. I was wondering if you’d like to take a look at it."

  "Take a look?" There was a pause while Kyle apparently negotiated a drink from a waitress. "Tell you what. Come on out and pitch it to me. I have all weekend off."

  "To Maui? Are you kidding?" Jessica could not help a giggle. He expected her to drop everything and fly to Hawaii to pitch a story.

  "And why not? I’m telling you, sugar, the wine is fine, the sun is fun, the spot is hot. I got a condo that don’t quit, private beach, tons of island hospitality. Just what you need, I guarantee."

  "Sounds tempting."

  "And it is. And you should. Call me from Kahului Airport and I’ll send a driver. What have you got to lose? Your pallor?"

  Again Jessica glanced at her reflection. She was pale. Drawn. Pinched! She looked like a ghost.

  "I’ll let you know. Thanks for the offer."

  ~ * ~

  "You’ll be staying with Aunt Linda for a few days, darling. Megan is so excited that you’re coming."

  "Why can’t I stay with Lyddy?"

  "Lydia has to go to Argentina to visit her Mommy."

  "But I won’t go to school?"

  "No, but Aunt Linda will take you with her to pick up Megan at her school every day, and she’s going to take you both to the pizza place, and maybe the zoo on Saturday."

  Devon considered the plan carefully, his brown eyes seriously panning his mother’s hopefully convincing face.

  "Okay. Will you bring me something from Hawaii?"

  "You bet. Something cool."

  "They have volcanoes there, Daddy said."

  "Yes, but they are all sleeping right now."

  Jessica tucked the blankets around her small son and retreated to her own bedroom, climbing tiredly into the big bed and exhaling loudly.

  "Oh Mac, this bed is so big without you. I might as well trade it for a twin." She reached over as she often did and pulled the extra pillow, his pillow, against her chest and curled herself against it.

  "We always meant to go to Hawaii together. We had so much time to do that, someday."

  It didn’t bother her to speak her thoughts aloud. Like embracing the pillow, talking to Mac had become a nightly habit.

  "I hope you don’t mind me leaving Dev with Linda. Even if she is your ex-wife, she’s been really wonderful to me, you know? And anyway, he adores Meggie.

  "Kyle’s a nice guy, really. Still sounds a little immature, but maybe it was just that day. Maybe it was just me." She thought about the days in tropical Amande, during the filming of Lost Season, when she first met Kyle Wagner. He was a cock-sure understudy, a stand-in for the hero. Hired as a double for Dane, Kyle equaled the leading man’s height and coloring; but he was no match for the seasoned actor’s savoir-faire. Jessica blushed at the memory of an incident in the local cantina, when Dane had all but taken Kyle apart for teaching her to "dance dirty." Afterward, they had barely made eye contact.

  The four years since had seen Kyle Wagner snag a leading part in a "B" horror flick, and then a pivotal supporting spot in an Oscar contender. He was suddenly one of Hollywood’s "golden boys", seeing offers from a couple of major studios and finally landing a plumb role in a Neil Simon-esque black comedy.

  He would make a great Mr. Romance, Jessica told herself. At least as good as Dane.

  Maybe.

  Tossing, Jessica took the pillow with her and pulled her comforter up to her chin.

  It was almost Labor Day. Too late to be starting a film she had hoped to release next summer. Still, with the right cast, the right director, it could happen.

  The next-best director, she reminded herself. The next-best hero.

  Mac would have lost his patience by now. "I don’t know what happened. You had him all talked into it," she murmured. "He can be so unreasonable sometimes."

  Dane was bein
g stubborn, and for no good reason. But she would show him. She could, and would, do this picture without his help.

  She would start by heading for Maui in the morning.

  ~ * ~

  The humidity hit her like a warm, wet blanket as she stepped from the terminal. The driver spoke little, ushering her into a brand new sports car, a model she did not recognize.

  "Guess I’ve been out of touch," she murmured, gliding her fingertips over the tiny chrome logo imbedded in the abbreviated dashboard.

  They took a wild ride to the west side of the island, slowing as they entered the beehive of Ka’anapali Beach condominiums. The man carried her bags ahead of her, entering a beachfront unit and motioning for her to follow.

  "He’s out front," he said, gesturing toward a wide expanse of sand accessed through sliding glass doors. "Drinks in the kitchen. It’s pretty warm out there."

  "Thanks," Jessica said softly, but the man had disappeared.

  She took a moment to look around the downstairs area, noting the modern design and décor. A broad, sweeping bar separating the kitchen from the living and dining area, and a wide, curving staircase with white iron railing led to the second floor. The carpeting was cream-colored Berber, and a massive, volcanic rock fireplace filled one entire living room wall.

  The sub-zero refrigerator was well stocked, for a bachelor, she decided. Row upon row of beer bottles lined the shelves, an assortment of cheeses and summer sausages filled one drawer, pineapple and mangoes packed another. On the counter were bags of "Maui" potato chips, boxes of gourmet crackers and cans of party mixed nuts.

  Re-opening the fridge, she selected a soft drink and popped it open. It was time to meet the young lord.

  ~ * ~

  "So I ended up cutting the whole scene. Sometimes you just can’t make it work, you know?" Kyle leaned forward slightly, pushing his dinner plate away and folding his arms against the table’s edge. The candle danced exotic ribbons of light across his features, and Jessica smiled, fully enjoying his exuberant spirit.

  "I do know," she said. "So what was it like working with John Lauder? I’ve heard he can be… difficult."

  "Difficult? Johnnie? It was a walk in the park after working with Pierce." Kyle took a sip of wine. "At least I still had some dignity left."