by Claire Marti
“Let’s cruise over to the track. Roman needs speed today.”
“Roman or you, Dad?” She bit her tongue, swallowed down the urge to question him, and mounted her horse.
“Both. I think you do too, right?” He levered up into the saddle. “Let’s go.”
“Definitely. This weather is driving me insane and the guy really got under my skin.” Maybe if her only concern was with the joke he’d made in her breeding shed she could forget him, but her gut twisted seeing her father unhappy.
Her dad and Roman trotted out and she followed him toward the three-quarter-mile racetrack on the opposite side of the property. As usual, the minute she began to ride, her blood pressure settled and all began to feel right with the world. She loosened her hold on the reins and allowed Buttercup to stretch her long, elegant legs. As they cantered along the track, her cheeks cooled and a laugh bubbled in her throat as she matched her father and Roman stride for stride.
The knots in her belly softened and she allowed the joy of riding to take precedence over the anxiety clouding her mind.
For now.
Sam stuffed an enormous bite of chicken into her mouth and groaned as the delicate flavors exploded on her tongue. She was famished after such a busy, stressful day and the crispy, tender meat served as its own reward. She couldn’t resist sampling the yummy meal right from the serving platter.
“Sam, take your plate to the table. I know eating is one of your favorite pastimes, but save some for the rest of us.” Dylan nudged her away from the enormous pale granite island toward the giant oak dining table around which all family business was conducted.
“I don’t know where you put all that food.” Amanda commented as she loaded approximately one-quarter the amount of food onto her own plate. “It’s not fair, you’re half my size and eat twice as much.”
“Oh please, you’re a twig. You’re just picky.” Her older sister had lucked out with their father’s height and like all of them, had the slender McNeill build.
“I’m not picky, I just don’t eat like a truck driver, that’s all,” Amanda sniffed as she plucked up a napkin and carried her mostly empty plate over to join her at the table.
“It’s Angela’s fault––she’s spoiled us with her cooking.” Sam plopped down her admittedly overflowing plate onto the homey red placemat and sank into her upholstered dining chair. Her cheerful sunflower yellow ceramic dish was piled high with two crispy chicken breasts, a mountain of red-skinned mashed potatoes, three tiny brussels sprouts, and a hunk of corn bread roughly the size of her head. Truck driver was right.
“Girls, girls, no bickering.” Angela laughed, addressing them like the teenagers they’d been when she’d come to manage the McNeill household, before she’d married their dad. Angela was an incredible woman. Although she didn’t replace their mom, they’d all grown to love her as much as their dad did.
“Did you invite the boys for the meeting or is it just us?” Sam asked between bites. Angela’s three sons had become Amanda, Dylan, and Sam’s stepbrothers.
“I know Ryan, Grant, and Austin would love to pipe in with their two cents, but because none of them live here currently, it’s just us.” Chris joined them at the table. “We’ll eat first.”
Sam managed to focus on her food and remain patient until everyone finished eating. Her heart was racing and every muscle in her body was tense. Dylan, in her sweet quiet manner, cleared the dishes before rejoining everyone at the table.
“We’ve got a scenario. Let me share everything first and then you can ask all the questions you want and I’ll do my best to answer. Deal?” He arched a thick brow at Sam and she nodded. Sam’s overstuffed stomach began to churn. Maybe the last dollop of mashed potatoes hadn’t been her wisest choice.
“You girls probably don’t remember my old colleague Harry Shaw from L.A. He’s in a bind.” He paused and gazed around the table. “He’s making an Old Hollywood-style Western, and at the last minute he lost the original ranch where he’d planned to film.”
“But Chris…” Angela trailed off and a frown marred her lovely features. She threaded her hands together and bit her lip.
Her dad held up a hand. “He wants to film the outdoor scenes here. It wouldn’t be until breeding season is finished, so the ranch will be quiet. They’d only be out on about fifty acres on the far end of the property.”
“But the horses––” Sam sputtered.
“Hollywood?” Dylan asked, her chocolate brown eyes wide. “Dad, you swore we’d leave this behind. Why now?”
Amanda’s usually sparkling green eyes went flat. “It sounds like you’ve already made up your mind. Do we even get a say in this?”
Sam’s stomach dropped. Amanda was the calm, mature one, but on the rare occasion when she lost her temper, it was a sight to behold. Her dad wasn’t thinking straight. How could he be oblivious to how this could destroy the safe haven they’d created over the last twelve years?
“Nobody associated with the movie will set foot on our ranch unless they have signed a non-disclosure agreement about the location. No exceptions. Harry will also provide additional security to keep the press away.” He paused and took a sip of his longneck beer.
“Do you think the confidentiality will really hold up, Chris? Just how large is this production anyway?” Angela always played the peacemaker, but the furrow between her brows belied her calm tone. Sam deduced her father had sprung this on Angela too. None of it made any sense.
Over Sam’s dead body would they film a movie here. She remained silent, unable to trust herself to enter the discussion. She gripped the wooden edges of her chair, digging her fingers in until her knuckles turned white. She’d known the man would be trouble, but she never could have imagined the Pandora’s box he’d unleash on her family.
“I know I did and for the last decade, we haven’t had anything to do with L.A. or the industry. It’s not ideal, I know. But, we’ve got the space and it’s helping out an old friend.”
“But Dad, the mares will be foaling. It’ll be noisy and disruptive. What if some of the animals are harmed?” Sam said. Weren’t the horses as important to him as they were to her?
He was the one who declared Hollywood the enemy and uprooted the family after everything went down with their mom. Her perfectly ordered world could crumble down if the paparazzi resurrected the past. The mountain of mashed potatoes in her gut churned like an ancient volcano ready to erupt.
Dylan shoved away from the table and ran out of the room. “I can’t believe you’d do this. I won’t stay here.”
Amanda caught Sam’s eye across the table. They needed to go after their sister. Sam pushed away from the table, leapt to her feet, unable to contain the energy coursing through her veins a second longer.
Tears welled in Amanda’s eyes and her voice caught on a sob. “If you don’t care about the animals, what about us, Dad? How can you turn our home, our refuge, into a movie set? I don’t understand.”
“Of course I care about our horses––” Chris began.
“No, Dad. You need to find a way to fix this. Help this guy find somewhere else to film. This will tear apart our family. Don’t your remember?” Amanda’s clear, calm delivery emphasized her powerful words. She pivoted and marched out of the room.
“Of course I remember. I haven’t directed a movie since that day.” Chris sank back in the chair and Angela laid a hand on his forearm in comfort.
Blinking back tears, Sam stormed out to find her sisters to figure out how to stop this juggernaut from ruining their world. Adrenaline pumped through her body as she ran on shaky legs to catch up with her sisters.
Sam found them in the bougainvillea-shrouded patio on the east side of the house, kind of a secret garden. Her twin was curled up on one of the carved wooden benches at the far end, her slender arms wrapped around her legs, and her forehead resting on her knees. Amanda and Sam flanked her.
Thank goodness Amanda was generally even-keeled, often the voice of reaso
n who maintained the balance. Now, however, Amanda’s visible distress stoked Sam’s rage. Her fingers curled into her palms, the sharpness of her short fingernails a welcome relief from the tears threatening to spill.
Dylan’s palpable sorrow pierced her own heart and battled with the anger housed there. Although they were mirror images on the outside, inside they were polar opposites. Her sensitive twin’s default was melancholy, while her go-to was irritability and fury. Although the trembling in her limbs and ache in her chest didn’t feel like the pure cleansing anger she needed right now. This felt more like fear.
“How can he do this? What in the hell is going on? He promised us—” Sam’s blood began to simmer all over again.
“Shh, Sam. You know Dad would never harm us on purpose. There’s got to be more to the story. Let’s talk about this.” Amanda’s practical voice slid into the fragrant evening warmth. At least one McNeill could be cool, calm, and collected regardless of the situation.
Sam chewed on her bottom lip. A gust of evening breeze cooled her skin, and she closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the relief. She flashed back to that awful afternoon when she’d been on the movie set, doing her dreaded Algebra homework. She’d had on her headphones, listening to Stevie Nicks’ crooning about the edge of seventeen, when her world shattered. A loud crash, piercing screams, and sounds of someone sobbing. Later, she’d realized it had been her weeping because she’d seen her mom tumble from the set and realized she’d never get up again. Her eyes popped open and she swallowed the lump rising in her throat.
If losing their mom in a freak accident on the set of a movie their dad was directing wasn’t earth-shattering enough, the days and weeks that followed devastated her family. The paparazzi had destroyed any semblance of a normal life they could have hoped to regain.
“My biggest concern is the paparazzi. If A-list celebrities come here, the media will follow. The obsession with fame has only gotten worse in the last ten years with all the reality TV junk.” Sam despised reality television.
Amanda nodded at Sam and wrapped her arms around Dylan. “Good point. If we can keep the location a secret, I think it will be okay. A decade ago it was the most dramatic story around, but times have changed and the story probably wouldn’t be interesting these days.”
“But what if it is? Old scandals come up all the time. It was so ugly. The rumors about Mom having an affair with one of the producers. The insinuations against Dad. Those monsters chased us at school, camped on our lawn, and almost ran us off the road. We were basically prisoners in our house and we can’t go through that again.” Dylan looked up, her brown eyes drenched with tears and her voice wavering.
Amanda grimaced. “And my boyfriend dumped me because his parents didn’t want him to be involved with our notoriety. That period of time was hell.”
“We’ve worked too hard to live a normal life. If one grip or gaffer can’t resist extra money to provide a photo op or a story?” Sam shook her head. Not on her watch. “I refuse to allow our lives to be ruined again. We’ve created a perfect refuge from that nightmare. Don’t worry.”
“What kind of favor could Dad owe Harry? It has to be something big, because I can’t believe he did this lightly,” Amanda asked.
“Who knows? It has to be personal. Didn’t they work together back in the day?” Sam racked her brain, but she’d purposely relegated her father’s former big shot director career and everyone associated with it to the past.
“I don’t remember,” Dylan said.
“Me neither. We’ll ask him in the morning. And Angela will help keep Dad steady, heck, probably help all of us stay steady like she’s done since we were kids.” Amanda reached across and caught Sam’s hand.
“I hope you’re right. It’s a lot of pressure on her too. She never mentions it, but she’s lived in mom’s shadow, even though she and Dad are totally happy and right for each other.” Sam squeezed Amanda’s hand in return.
“Well, I’m dead serious. One disruption to our horses or our life and they are out of here. I don’t care what Dad owes this Harry Shaw guy.” Sam jutted her chin and rolled her shoulders back.
“What about the hot guy?” Dylan gave a watery smile.
Sam wrinkled her nose. “What about him? If he comes into my barn again, I’ll kick his smart ass all the way back to Hell-A. Hopefully, he’ll perform his little dog and pony show and we won’t see him at all.”
Mind made up, she nodded her head. Running the breeding operation and the ranch would keep her plenty busy. No need to run into Mr. Too Hot Hollywood and if he had a brain in his muscular body, he wouldn’t disrupt her busy schedule.
Not that she’d noticed his body or face or hair.
Not at all.
4
Seriously? You want me to waste my afternoon giving the guy the full tour of the ranch? Why can’t Dylan do it?” Sam rolled her eyes, but managed not to stamp her foot.
“Because Dylan is an artist. She doesn’t run the ranch. You do. You know every blade of grass, every animal, every length of fence. Don’t you want to make sure no detail goes unexplained?” Sam’s dad appealed to her from across his massive desk with raised brows and a crooked grin.
So he was buttering her up so she’d do what he asked, and receiving praise from her father never grew old. But she really didn’t want to waste her afternoon babysitting the man.
Two could play the flattery game. “I don’t know, maybe you should do it, Dad––you’re the real expert, right?”
“Nice try, pipsqueak. Look at it this way, if you do it, you’ll have all the control and isn’t that what you want at the end of the day? To make sure everything goes off without a hitch and they get out as soon as possible?” Her dad shrugged.
“Okay, okay. But I don’t get why it has to be him. He’s just the stupid stuntman, not even an Assistant Director or actor.” And he’s rude and cocky.
“Look, he knows horses. It’s part of why Harry hired him—besides the fact he’s the best in the business. It makes me feel better to know a true horseman will be on set 24/7.”
Her dad did make a valid point. “I guess you’re right.” Sam sighed, and then stiffened. “24/7? What do you mean 24/7?”
Her dad fiddled with some papers on his massive desk. “Oh, didn’t I mention it? Holt will be staying in the first guesthouse since Grant’s traveling. It will be easier for him to be there in case anything happens. Harry insisted upon it.”
“The guesthouse? For the whole time? Who appointed Harry god? None of this makes any sense, Dad.” She shot to her feet and paced over to the oversized window and stared out at the bright blue cloudless sky. Having the guy on her ranch during shooting was infuriating enough, but living here?
It was annoying enough to have the filming happen every day and be invaded by strangers for weeks on end. But, to have someone stay in the guesthouse? Him? Mere yards from where she rested her head on her pillow each night? Ridiculous.
Her dad joined her at the window and laid a large hand on her shoulder. “It’s not such a big deal, Samantha. Remember we’ll be stabling the actors’ horses and it’ll be good for Holt to be close. Your life really won’t be altered too much. Okay?”
“Don’t push it, Dad. Like you said, I know every inch of this ranch. I’ll know every second they’re here. But fine. So, when do you need me to do this? My schedule’s pretty tight right now with end of the season.” She angled her gaze up at him. Come to think of it, she always had to slant her gaze up, except with her equally vertically challenged twin.
Her dad’s smile was sheepish. “This afternoon? Around two?”
She narrowed her eyes and glared at his beloved face for a full thirty seconds. “Fine. I’m not happy about it, but for you, I’ll do it.”
And when she was finished with Mr. Too Hot Hollywood, he would know who was the boss around here
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll listen to her, although I don’t understand why McNeill can’t show me around.” His fingers tigh
tened on the steering wheel. Spoiled little rich girls drove him nuts, just like his ex-girlfriend and every other actress/model in Los Angeles who expected special treatment.
“She runs the damn ranch, Holt, so you’ll treat her with respect. I’m certain Chris raised his daughters to have the same type of work ethic and attitudes he has.” Harry’s disembodied voice warned from the car’s phone speaker.
“Sure.” He snorted. “She’s a kid. How much could she know?”
“You should know better than to make snap judgments on external appearances. She had to grow up fast. From what I understand, she’s one of the top breeding managers in the country and their stallion Hercules is one of the most sought-after studs.”
“Yeah, whatever.” He’d believe it when he saw it. Daddy’s little girl––playing with ponies. He’d been on the receiving end of one of her temper tantrums, hadn’t he?
“Be professional. I’d hate to take you off the movie. I won’t have Chris upset, especially by offending his family. We’re straddling a precarious line and I won’t lose this location and you can’t afford to either. Use a little of your pretty boy charisma. Got it?”
He snorted and forced his hands to soften the death grip on his steering wheel before he crushed it. Not only did this movie need to be his last stuntman gig, it had to have a huge payout. He couldn’t afford to allow one annoying person to jeopardize his future. “Pretty boy charisma, right. Don’t worry. I’ll be professional.”
He would be mature, but it didn’t mean he had to be friendly or charming.
He’d ride the ranch with her and focus on the logistics.
After today, he’d simply avoid her.
How tough could it be?
From her hostile attitude, he doubted she’d hang out nearby. The ranch was over two hundred acres and the movie would only be filmed on less than a quarter of it.