And who would notice him anyway? He knew, from years in the investigation business, that people tended to look right through him, even if he were to smile and try to catch their eye, which he seldom, if ever, did. It was a curse and a blessing, and now, as Orren Wesson followed one—he quickly checked his crumpled listing on the seat beside him—Camilla Pendleton Merrill—he decided he didn’t much care as long as the pay was right.
And the pay was right. His client had no trouble in that direction. Still, it seemed a silly roundabout way to find the information he wanted, especially since Orren had already provided it, but then, people were silly, in Orren’s experience. Phenomenally silly.
Now, the break-in he’d been asked to negotiate was more serious stuff, and made a lot more sense. Orren had handled the whole affair in his normal, careful, unremarkable way, gathering the necessary data tout suite before leaving like the wind, in a soft puff and sigh. When the unfortunate, burgled homeowner returned, it was to a carefully orchestrated mess of papers that might fool him as to what was being sought—at least for a while. Even the dullest dullard might actually figure it out in the long run. That, too, had been Orren’s experience.
But this client had paid plenty for that little bit of break-ing and entering, too. Oh, yes. Then the knuckle-brained fool had asked that Orren begin following—he checked the name once again, committing it hard to memory—Camilla!—before he put Orren’s hard-won information to use.
Shaking his head ironically, Orren watched his current quarry set down her cellular phone and begin driving with more determination. Checking the traffic on either side—L.A. could be such a quagmire of stupid drivers—he touched a toe to the accelerator and settled in after her.
She was heading south today, so it didn’t look as if she were on her way to any acting job. He’d hung around her parking lot enough to get an idea of what her habits were, and though she’d actually looked at him one night, he’d been smugly certain she had no idea that he was watching her. Why should she? He, in fact, couldn’t figure out what the big deal was with tailing her.
Still, this was his job, and he was exceptionally good at it. Just the plain truth, folks. No need to brag. With careful expertise, he let a couple of cars slot themselves between his sedan and his quarry’s BMW. He smiled without much humor. No, he wouldn’t lose Camilla unless the damn San Andreas fault broke open and swallowed him and most of the city into its volcanic depths before they were all swept out to the beautiful blue Pacific.
He was just that good.
Nanette Stovall’s career as a Hollywood screenwriter had been truncated when she’d married Samuel Stovall, but Cammie seemed to recall a few minor successes after the fact. Still, somewhere during that period she’d chucked the whole kit and caboodle for a life of solitude and serenity. Now she lived on a dusty ranch in Orange County, tucked beneath the foothills of the Sierra Nevadas, and like her son, she’d renounced practically everything from the glittery life she’d once led. Luckily, Nanette’s address wasn’t a secret; her exit hadn’t been shrouded in mystery as Ty’s was. She’d just grown tired of the whole scene and so had found a way to make herself happy without fame sitting outside her doorstep like an unwelcome guest.
As Cammie drove along the dirt track that wound its way to Nanette’s front porch, she swallowed back a clamor of renewed trepidation. She’d liked Ty’s mother, and Nanette had seemed to enjoy her company, too. She would probably be glad to reacquaint herself with the girl she’d treated as a surrogate daughter.
But that didn’t mean she’d appreciate Cammie digging into her son’s life.
Dust billowed skyward from Cammie’s tires, turning her blue BMW a kind of dirty gray. Sagebrush and brown field grass flanked the track like sentinels, meeting all guests first, and as Cammie stepped from the car, she stretched her back and wondered if she were on a fool’s errand.
From somewhere behind the sprawling home a dog set to baying, followed quickly by two more canine voices. The symphony filled the air. Cammie’s arrival was heralded with a passion.
Great, she thought. She hoped Nanette was in the mood for company.
Cammie had one dust-covered pump on the porch’s top step when the front door flew open and a rail-thin woman with a braid of silvery hair lying across her shoulder frowned down at her as if she were some noxious insect. Sharp eyes very much like her son’s searched Cammie’s face.
“I’m not interested in buying anything,” she declared, by way of introduction, “and if it’s religion you’re peddling, I’ve got my own, thank you very much.”
“Hello, Nanette,” Cammie greeted her, smiling. A thrill of remembered pleasure ran through her. Ty’s mother had always been a character. She’d never let Sam Stovall’s loud barking kow her. She could hold her own with the best of them.
Seeing her again was a delight Cammie hadn’t expected to feel. She’d been colorful before; now she was an institution.
“Do I know you?” Nanette demanded, her frown deepening.
“It’s Cammie. I-I used to be Ty’s stepsister when my mom was married to Samuel. It’s been a few years.”
“Cammie, of course!” she chortled in delight, throwing her arms wide. “I won’t say, ‘My, how you’ve grown up.’ That’s obvious! My girl, I’m so glad to see you again. I always liked you.”
Nanette’s openness touched a chord within Cammie. Hugging Nanette back, Cammie cleared her throat, feeling emotion nearly choke her. It was difficult to answer.
“So, what are you doing here?” Nanette asked as she ushered Cammie into her living room.
“I’m just—reconnecting,” she struggled to say, then covered up with a gasp of delight at the rustic interior of the house.
“You like it?” Nanette asked with pride, folding her arms over her chest.
“I love it,” Cammie admitted honestly.
“It’s ranch-tacky. I couldn’t help myself.”
Nanette had pulled out all the stops, from a wool blanket woven with images of cowboy hats and lariats hung along one wall, to a wagon-wheel coffee table, to a massive gray stone fireplace big enough to practically stand inside.
Nanette herself wore denim jeans, cowboy boots, and a gray corduroy overshirt with three buttons at the throat, all of which were open. She exuded a kind of raw sensuality mixed with hominess that hit Cammie’s soul hard.
I love you, she thought. You’re all the family I have…
A moment later she chased that fantasy away. She and Nanette were practically strangers.
“So, what’s happening?” Nanette asked, shooing Cammie to a corner of the couch. The cushions, too, were a brown print in Native American designs splashed with red and ochre and tan. “Have you seen Tyler?”
Cammie’s mouth dropped in shock. Was the woman a mind reader? “Ty! Well, no. He’s been gone so long.”
“Oh, yeah. I know.” She waved a hand at Cammie. “But I thought you’d probably seen him.”
“Why would you think that?”
“Because he cared so much about you. I figured by now you would have seen each other at least once.”
“Cared about me?” Cammie repeated, feeling like the conversation was galloping out of control. “I—we—it was never that close. I haven’t seen him since before he left.”
She cocked her head, and Cammie realized she reminded her of a bird. Full of energy and quickness, Nanette seemed timeless and bursting with life. It was impossible to picture her either with Samuel Stovall or living the life of a screenwriter. She fit here on this ranch.
Maybe Ty fit better wherever he was, too, she thought with a new slant of insight.
“You do know where Tyler is, though, don’t you?” Nanette asked, eyeing her.
“No.” Cammie was honest. “In fact, that’s why I’m here. I’d like to—contact him again. It sounds like you might know where he is, though.”
“Of course.”
Cammie’s brows lifted at Nanette’s candidness. “Could you—tell me?”
She considered thoughtfully and carefully. After a moment, she said, “Well, now, I’m not certain I should. If you don’t already know, maybe it’s for a reason. I’m sorry, but I have a pledge to keep to Tyler, you know.”
“I understand,” Cammie murmured, disappointed.
“Although I believe he wouldn’t care if you knew. But I’d have to ask him first. And no matter what, we can’t let Samuel know, for certain.”
She acted as if Cammie were privy to some inside information. Stepping gingerly through the conversation, Cammie asked, “Ty doesn’t want his father to know where he is?”
“Heavens, no!” She clucked her tongue and shook her head. “You really don’t know anything, do you? I’m surprised, really. I mean, he loved you so much.”
“Who? Ty?” She almost laughed out loud at the ridiculousness of it.
“Well, of course, dear. Surely you knew that.”
Cammie shook her head. She was about to argue, but then her scattered wits returned. “Well, we were sister and brother once, sort of. I see what you mean.” She was reading more into Nanette’s words than she ever should. And it’s all because you want it to be true! she chided herself.
Nanette smiled with secret knowledge. “It was a little more than that, wasn’t it? I visited a lot back then, you know. Samuel wished I would just go away and never return, but Ty was—and is—my son. I love him,” she added simply. “And I remember things.”
Cammie didn’t know how to tell her that she’d gotten this particular memory wrong, so she said instead, “I haven’t even spoken to Ty since before he left. Why doesn’t he want his father to know where he is?”
“Oh, because Samuel would just blab to the world, if it suited him. He doesn’t care a whit about Ty, or anyone else for that matter, except himself. Does that sound bitter?” She shrugged, uncaring. “It’s just God’s honest truth. Ty learned that a bit late, unfortunately. He had a falling out with Samuel just before he left town.”
“Do you know what about?” Cammie couldn’t help asking.
“He never really said. But he was adamant that Samuel not know where he’d gone.”
“I see…” Cammie murmured, though she really didn’t. She’d always thought some great unhappiness had sent Tyler away. Her one night with him was a strong memory, and she recalled that he’d been full of some secret sorrow. At least it had seemed to her, though she’d certainly been swamped by a lot of sensations that night and probably couldn’t be trusted to know exactly what had been going on. For her, that whole night and their loving union had been pure joy, a culmination of all her desires and needs. She’d made love to him for all she was worth. She hadn’t known how much she loved him until that moment. But in all honesty, it hadn’t been the same for Tyler. He’d barely known whom he was with, had probably forgotten it by the next morning, and, anyway, his lovemaking had possessed a desperate edge to it, as if he were a man drowning in misery, clinging to her—any willing woman—as a last lifeline.
He’d hardly been in love with her, as Nanette wanted to suggest. She was nothing to him. She knew it in her heart, though it was painful to admit.
“I can’t betray his confidence,” Nanette went on. “I may be in trouble just admitting I know where he is. Those jackass newspaper people wouldn’t leave me alone for the longest time after Tyler disappeared. I mean, they just kept coming and coming. Finally, I met them on the porch with my shotgun and hounds.”
“You’re kidding.” She nearly laughed aloud at the mental picture of Nanette Stovall holding the press at bay like a scene out of the wild, wild west.
She sniffed in disgust. “They ran for their lives, the miserable rats. And then I got a call from the sheriff himself. It seems they complained about my actions. Well, I told him that if I kept getting harassed by them, I’d take matters into my own hands and damn the consequences.”
“What did the sheriff say?”
Nanette’s eyes twinkled in remembered merriment. “He suggested I call him the next time those ferrets showed up. He was the law, and I didn’t want to get in trouble with the law, did I? I said, ‘Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn,’ which went over like a lead balloon. I did end up calling him next time they showed up, though, and the sheriff came out and shooed them away. It was all very official, but it worked. I’ve been left alone pretty much ever since.” She paused. “What made you decide to find Ty now?”
“No special reason,” Cammie fibbed. “I just want to see him again. I’m glad to know that he’s alive and well, at least.”
“Don’t tell his father I’m in contact with him, will you?”
“I don’t talk to Sam Stovall.”
“That’s my girl,” Nanette said with a grin. “I didn’t think you’d spill a secret. Would you like some lemonade? I squeeze it myself.”
“I’d love some.”
“Sit tight, I’ll be right back.”
She disappeared toward the rear of the house and what Cammie guessed was the kitchen. Cammie exhaled on a long sigh, unaware until that moment that she’d been holding her breath. Nanette had certainly given her a lot to think about, and though she knew Tyler’s mother wasn’t about to just hand over his address, she believed that she could garner the woman’s trust and eventually pry the information out of her.
You’re terrible, she told herself. You care about Nanette and Tyler. What do you think you’re doing?
Cammie couldn’t really answer. Digging inside herself, she came up with an answer she hated to believe. The truth was, she wanted to see Ty again because she wanted to examine her feelings. Forget the screenplay, though it was made for him. Forget the fact that Summer Solstice Productions et al. wanted him. Forget that Samuel Stovall himself wished to reconnect with his son.
She wanted him for her. For herself.
You’re a fool, Cammie Merrill.
“Here you go,” Nanette said, placing a tray on the wagon-wheel coffee table which held two frosted glasses of lemonade.
Cammie examined her motives uncomfortably. She wanted to see Ty again, but was she really planning on using the excuse of Rock Bottom as an intro? He wouldn’t thank her for it, even though the part was perfect for him. More than likely he’d throw her out on her ear if, and when, she appeared on his doorstep. But wasn’t that better than betraying the truth? That she loved him still, and that she needed to see him again?
Good grief. It was all so complicated. And yet she could admit now that she was intrigued beyond all reason. There was no going back. She wanted to see Tyler again. She wanted to feast her eyes on him and talk to him and be with him again—if only as a good friend.
Feeling a little like a Judas, Cammie sipped Nanette’s lemonade and wondered how in the world she could pry Ty’s whereabouts from her. Cammie would never give over the information to Ty’s father; Nanette could be assured of that. Cammie only wanted it for herself.
“You seem pretty far removed from a screenwriter now,” Cammie observed. “When did you quit?”
“Oh, years ago. It all started to kind of pale, if you know what I mean. I always hoped Ty would follow in my footsteps, he was so good with words. But he took after Sam, I guess, although I think he was a much better actor than his father ever thought of being.” She smiled. “Maybe I’m biased.
“I wouldn’t trade my life now for what it was then,” she went on. “Living on the ranch is perfect. I sometimes wonder what took me so long to figure it all out.” She frowned. “Didn’t I hear you were working in television?”
“I’ve been on a nighttime drama, Cherry Blossom Lane, for three seasons. Do you know it?”
Nanette shook her head.
“It’s basically a glorified soap opera, but it’s been really terrific.”
“You say that as if it’s over,” was Nanette’s sage observation.
“It is. My ex-husband decreed it so, although maybe my character’s days were done anyway.” Cammie went on to explain her trials and tribulations with Pau
l. “Maybe things happen for the best,” she finished, thinking how ironic it was that she should be echoing Paul’s words.
“So, what are your current plans?”
Cammie hesitated. “I’m guess I’m kind of trying to figure that out.”
Nanette’s gaze turned reflective as she looked past Cammie and out the window to the dry April day beyond. “That’s what happened to Tyler. He was at a crossroads and had to make a choice.”
“A crossroads?” Cammie asked tentatively.
“He was facing some ugly truths in his life. A woman he trusted hit him with a paternity suit. It was all a lie. Tyler was trying to prove that when she committed suicide.”
“Suicide!”
“There was more to the story. Tyler didn’t want to talk about it, and I’ve never really understood all the ramifications, but somehow Samuel got involved and…” She spread her hands in lieu of finishing her thought. “Anyway, it was a mess.”
For the first time Cammie understood Ty’s long-ago sorrow. No wonder. “Did he love her? The woman?” she couldn’t help but ask, though it hurt inside to even voice the worry.
Nanette’s gaze softened. “Didn’t I just tell you that he loved you?”
“Yes, but that’s not true.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Did he ever say that to you? Did he say, ‘I love Cammie’?”
“Well, not in so many words, but I always knew.”
Cammie didn’t respond. She suspected that, for all her outward show of toughness, Nanette was a romantic at heart.
“And you love him, too,” Nanette compounded the problem.
She was thrumming taut nerves even Cammie couldn’t touch. “My mother loved Samuel Stovall even though he treated her like she was an object. I think you’ve got us confused.”
“I’m sorry about your mom. She was a lovely person.”
“She was,” Cammie agreed, her throat tight once again.
“I can’t give you Tyler’s address until I’ve talked to him,” Nanette said.
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