by Claire Marti
He was too freakin’ sexy and now he was actually apologizing for his behavior? His proximity and his hot and cold routine were dangerous. She blew out an unsteady breath. She didn’t dare look over her shoulder––he was too close. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got to go.”
When he didn’t budge, she tugged on the doorknob again and this time he stepped back. She retreated up to the house, muttering to herself. She would maintain a professional distance from Holt. She would make sure not to be alone with him. She would take a cool shower and absolutely not allow images of his rock-hard, lean body to pop into her mind.
This evening confirmed keeping her distance from Mr. Too Hot Hollywood was her only option if she was going to survive the next month.
10
Pink and gold rays threaded through the gap in the plantation shutters, alerting Holt dawn was breaking. He flipped onto his back and stared at the high wood-beamed ceiling. He’d tossed and turned all night, Sam’s words echoing in his brain. Last night when she’d asked about his dad, he had reverted to defensive mode. And acted like a total ass.
But he refused to discuss why he’d left Colorado. It wasn’t her business. It wasn’t anyone’s business.
The day he’d been forced to become a man, he and Jenny were with their mom in the “infusion lounge.” The hospital had nerve referring to the place where the brutal poisonous sessions stole the patients’ energy as any type of lounge. Infusion lounge sounded more like a beach bar in Cancun, where you’d ask for tequila with an infusion of lime. Bullshit.
When he’d driven his mom home after she’d endured the fifth of six aggressive chemotherapy treatments, his sister had helped set their mom up in the small master bedroom for a nap. Holt had gone to the dim galley kitchen to grab a cool drink of water and something in his peripheral vision alerted him.
He’d scanned the cramped living room––his dad’s ratty red plaid recliner dominated the room, a stack of auto racing magazines overflowed from a small side table, and…wait. No remote control. His dad dictated the remote control always be in one of two places: his hand or on his beloved magazine pile.
His father’s most prized possession, the television, wasn’t in its place of honor on the old faded console table. A chill flashed down his spine. Maybe his dad took it in for repairs? He certainly hadn’t been available to take his mom to the hospital for treatment. Again.
He’d glanced up at the clock over the ancient four-burner gas stove: 5:30 p.m. His father lived by his 8 to 5 schedule at the garage where he was the lead mechanic, and by 5:15 sharp he was always settled in his recliner, icy can of domestic beer in hand. No deviations to his routine tolerated. Not even for his wife of eighteen years and her battle against cancer.
“Holt?” His sister’s strained voice called from the narrow hallway.
“What’s wrong? Is it mom?” He pivoted away from the empty living room and rushed toward the bedroom.
Jenny grabbed his arm, halting his progress. “No, she’s resting. I think dad’s gone.” Her dilated pupils almost obscured her cornflower blue eyes.
“Gone, what do you mean gone?” His gut clenched and he swallowed down the bile threatening to spill from his throat.
“I…” Her eyes welled with moisture and she furiously blinked back tears. Her narrow shoulders were trembling and her cheeks had gone chalk white.
“Let’s sit down.” He led her to the hideous olive green lumpy couch.
“I got mom into bed and she fell right to sleep.” She paused and swallowed. “When I hung her sweater up in the closet, it was half-empty. Dad’s clothes are gone.”
“What the hell?” He surged to his feet, hands curling into fists. “Where would he go?”
“I don’t know, but the TV is gone too.” Tears streamed down her pale cheeks. “Why would he do this? Mom’s sick. Where would he go?”
“Damn him. Mom is in the middle of treatment. Shit, they’ve been married forever. What a bastard.” He slammed a fist into the living room wall, wishing it were his dad’s face. He welcomed the sharp surge of pain where the skin split on his knuckles.
Where was his dad? He’d simply disappeared.
Sleep eluded Holt as he wrestled with how he would break the news to his sick mom in the morning. Confirmation arrived in a phone call at 8:13 a.m. from Mike of Mike’s Automotive. He’d asked if his dad was on the way because there was already a backup of cars to be serviced and Mike couldn’t finish all the lube jobs himself. Holt had played dumb with some bullshit answer that he’d spent the night at his buddy’s house and thought his dad was at work.
He’d hung up and stared sightlessly out the tiny kitchen window, a pit heavy in his belly. When his mom emerged from her room, looking exhausted and frail, heaviness flooded his limbs and his heart. What now?
Jenny made peppermint tea and dry wheat toast and they sat together around the table covered with the plastic daffodil-patterned tablecloth their mother insisted brightened up the drab room. Once his mom had managed to nibble half a piece of toast and sip some tea, Holt shared his suspicions.
“I think Dad left.” He kept his hands clenched in his lap.
His mom closed her eyes and took a deep cleansing breath. “I was afraid this would happen. Your father isn’t really one to stick around when the going gets tough.” She shook her head, but her eyes were dry and her demeanor tranquil.
“How can you be so calm? I’ll find him and make him come home.” His hands curled into fists again, his voice shaking with fury.
She laid one fragile hand on his arm, “No, you absolutely will do nothing of the kind, Holt. Promise me you will not seek him out.”
“Mom, are you kidding? How can you act so calm?” Tears poured down his sister’s cheeks.
“Honey, we won’t chase after someone who doesn’t want to be here. I don’t have control over much right now and I have to do what all these doctors dictate. I don’t have any damn hair, and my legs feel as wobbly as a newborn deer’s. But I will maintain my pride. I can control that. I forbid either of you to ask him to come back. It might be selfish of me because both of you deserve to have two parents, or at least one healthy parent, but we’re better off.” His mom’s voice was steady and sounded like she was discussing whether they would have rice pilaf or scalloped potatoes for dinner.
Holt shook his head. Had he been blind? He didn’t have any illusions his parents were madly in love or anything, but they’d seemed normal. No huge fights like his best friend Billy’s parents, who’d actually had the cops at their house a few times. No, his parents just seemed like, well, parents. Now, his mom sounded like she didn’t care his dad was gone, potentially forever.
“He didn’t even say goodbye. What are we going to do?” Jenny’s lower lip wobbled. She’d been daddy’s little girl.
“I’m sorry he wasn’t man enough to tell you kids. Now, we’ll be fine. Your father wasn’t much of a saver, but I am and we’ll be okay. Plus, I’ve squirreled away enough for community college funds for you both. We’ll get by until I’m back at work full-time. Our house is paid off; thank goodness I inherited it from my parents. We’ll be okay.” She clasped her hands together and the contrast of her delicate translucent skin against the fluorescent yellow flowered print emphasized her ailing health.
He would drop out and support his mom and sister. Since his dad was too much of a loser to do it. “I’ll ask Mike if I can have dad’s job. I’ll take care of us.” No way could he go to school today and pretend everything was normal. School wasn’t his favorite place anyway and he’d never grasped why he needed to learn Algebra. What if his mom couldn’t go back to work? Insurance didn’t cover all her medical bills either.
His mom pushed herself to her feet, her hands gripping the edges of the battered table for support. “You will do no such thing, Holt Ericsson. You will finish your education with straight A’s, just like you started it.”
“Mom, I can do it. The garage is open early and I can finish school with the n
ight degree program. I’ve helped out there for years. I’m the man around here now and I’ll make sure we’re all fine.” He clenched his jaw.
“But Holt—” Her pale blue eyes, a mirror of his own, revealed the pain she was so bravely fighting.
“Mom, you can’t talk me out of it. I won’t waste time on stupid classes when it’s more important you and Jenny are taken care of.” He’d never told her, but college didn’t interest him. No, he wanted to experience life and be around action and adventure, not trapped in some musty classroom.
“I could babysit more.” Jenny piped in, her voice as watery as her eyes.
Now his mom’s eyes filled. “Oh, sweetie.”
Jenny popped up and enveloped their tiny mother in her slender arms. Holt hugged them both and rested his chin on his mom’s rose-colored knit beanie. He squeezed his eyes shut. He could do this. His mom and his sister wouldn’t have to worry about money.
Raking his fingers through his hair, Holt pulled himself back to the present and climbed out of bed to brew coffee and start the day. After this movie shoot ended, he’d have the money to start his business and ensure his mom and sister’s security.
Nothing would prevent this film’s success, as long as he had any control over it.
11
Samantha blew out a sigh of relief when she entered the empty stables. No sign of the unwanted guest––Mr. Fire and Ice. And they called women moody. She snorted as she saddled Princess Buttercup.
Determined to enjoy her usual morning ride despite the impending arrival of the movie crew, she trotted out into the crisp summer morning. No sign of the movie horses that would be housed in the family stables. The animals were welcome guests. The only welcome guests as far as she was concerned. Damn it, she missed Dylan. Not having her twin nearby for moral support was rough.
She and Princess Buttercup sailed together over her beloved rolling verdant hills, savoring the kiss of dew in the early morning breeze, and the power of her horse’s graceful stride. She grinned up at the golden Southern California sunshine bestowing its warmth on her and her home. Although she thrived during breeding season’s hectic pace, she appreciated the down time during off-season.
Sam frowned. This dumb movie would ruin her peaceful summer. Even though her dad was acting like filming a Western on the ranch wouldn’t disturb their lives, she didn’t buy it. She ran this damn ranch and refused to accept his seemingly casual acceptance of Harry’s proposal. She’d judge for herself.
When she crested the hill, she jolted to a stop. The usually serene quiet end of the ranch where they’d decided to shoot the movie was bustling with activity, and it wasn’t even 6:30 in the morning. Half a dozen huge 18-wheeler trucks were parked in a semi-circle along the perimeter of the tall tree-lined fence. Pairs of men were hefting expensive camera and sound equipment from one of the vehicles, and the sparkle from the metallic apparatus reflected off the shiny white of the truck’s cab. She shaded her eyes with one hand and scanned the transformed space. The usually empty pastures were filling up with not just modern paraphernalia, but also a wood-frame shell of what appeared to be a log cabin or house.
More trailers rolled up and one was emblazoned with the Wardrobe sign. Flashbacks to playing with Dylan and Amanda in the wardrobe trailer on the set of her mom’s favorite period piece assaulted her. She sucked in her breath and a sharp pain pierced her heart. Tears brimmed in her eyes and she blinked to prevent them from overflowing.
The costume designer had loved children and always welcomed them with warm embraces, bowls of colorful candy, and the chance to play dress-up with the fancy costumes. A bubble of laughter escaped at the memory of Dylan attempting to keep her balance with an enormous powdered wig, complete with a full-sized birdcage containing a scarlet and emerald stuffed bird inside, threatening to topple her. Marie Antoinette she was not. Buried somewhere in the dusty boxes of old photographs, was one of Sam’s favorite photos of their mom and all three sisters in their borrowed aristocratic finery.
A visceral sob tore through her and she stuffed a fisted hand in her mouth to stop the scream threatening to escape. Tears streamed down her overheated cheeks, but she remained silent, careful to avoid alerting anyone down in the hive of activity of her presence.
The photo was tucked away somewhere, along with all of the movie-related pictures of their mother. Would her mom have wanted them to abandon all the joyous times they’d shared watching her live her dream as an actress? Pretend it hadn’t existed? They’d hidden not just the photos, but also the happy memories. Maybe it was time to dig them out?
She hadn’t been on a movie set since the freak accident killed her mom. She’d vowed never to set foot in the environment again. When they’d realized the paparazzi would never allow them to live in peace, her father promised them they’d never have to be exposed to the whole movie-making business. He’d promised they would be safe in Rancho Santa Fe, protected on their ranch, safe in their bubble.
He’d broken his promise.
Princess Buttercup tossed her golden head and her stoic strength broke the remainder of Sam’s self-control. She buried her face in her beloved horse’s silky mane and the floodgate of tears unleashed. After a few minutes, she hugged Buttercup’s neck, wiped her face like a five-year-old after a tantrum, and sat ramrod straight in her saddle. She cautiously scanned the scene below her to make sure nobody had witnessed her bout of weakness.
She didn’t do tears.
Oh who was she kidding? With the noise and bustling about, nobody could see or hear her from where they were creating the movie set. As long as he didn’t see her in a vulnerable position, she’d be fine. Like a burr under her saddle, he rubbed her the wrong way.
Damn it. Would anything be the same again? This movie had broken open a seal and Sam hated it. Unwanted and unwilling attraction to a man she didn’t even like. Memories of her mom long hidden away rising to the surface. She didn’t want these unwelcome feelings interfering with her perfectly organized life.
She didn’t want to wonder why her dad chose to allow the filming. Didn’t want to care. Didn’t want to be involved beyond ensuring the ranch’s safety. Safety was paramount.
She slammed the vault shut, wheeled her horse around, and galloped to the house.
She wasn’t running away.
No, she simply savored the speed.
Holt relished the last sip of his coffee, or sugar rocket fuel, his mom’s nickname for his morning beverage of choice. A mountain of sugar in the blackest black beverage he could brew. So he had a tiny sweet tooth, who cared? Certainly not his boss.
His phone buzzed and Harry’s name flashed on the screen. Speak of the devil.
“Morning. I was just headed to the stables. Are you here?” Holt asked and hit the phone’s speaker button.
“Yeah, we’ve got the semis with the grips, sound, wardrobe, cameras, and props starting to unload. The stars’ trailers should be here in a few hours. The talent won’t be here until tomorrow. How soon can you get down here?”
“It depends on if the horses have arrived yet. If so, I’ll make sure they are stabled and ride down. If not, I’ll be there sooner.” He pulled on jeans, a long-sleeved thermal, and shoved a Rams baseball cap onto his uncombed hair. Showtime.
Time to survey the set, and make sure the small portion of the ranch where they would shoot the movie was transformed into the Wild West. Holt shut the heavy wooden door and started to lock it and then snickered.
“What’s so funny?” Harry asked.
“Nothing. Was just leaving this guesthouse and started to lock the door. Like anybody would break in.” He chuckled again. Not like he had anything worth stealing, except for his Martin guitar.
“That would never happen. Is everything going okay with the McNeills so far? You didn’t tick off Sam again, did you?”
“What?” Holt froze. “Why would you ask?” His boss couldn’t know about last night, could he?
“I know you two weren’t getting
along and just need you to make sure you don’t make this situation tougher than it already is.” Harry warned.
He was not having this discussion with Harry, no matter how close they were. “It’s fine. I’ll be down as soon as I leave the stables.”
“Okay, okay. Damn, my old friend Chris really did this ranch thing right. I couldn’t have asked for a better place to shoot this movie.” Harry changed the subject and sounded pleased with himself.
“Yeah, it’s pretty perfect. See you in a few.” He swallowed away the niggling guilt at how unfair he’d been to Samantha last night again. She brought out the worst in him.
He arrived at the stables, but the Hollywood horses hadn’t arrived. He saddled Rocco and rode across the ranch that was quickly spinning a spell around him. Of all the places he’d visited around the world, nothing compared. Simply put, Pacific Vista Ranch rocked.
When he had almost reached the movie set, he paused to admire the view again. Suddenly, the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. Although the air was blessedly silent this far from the trucks and trailers, something alerted his instincts and he whipped his head to the left.
The early morning light threw her pristine profile into sharp relief and he was struck again by how much she resembled one of his mom’s prize cameos. She sat in her saddle as if she and her horse were one. Just as her natural ballerina grace had sparkled through when she danced, her natural affinity for her horse was powerful. Why did it make her sexy?
A loud sob burst from her lips and tears poured down her pale cheeks. She wrapped her arms around her horse’s neck and buried her face in Princess Buttercup’s mane. Her petite body vibrated as she wept.
Holt remained rooted to the spot in the shade of the enormous cedar tree, but couldn’t tear his eyes away, even after she’d wiped her eyes and ridden back toward the house. He rubbed the stiffness from the back of his neck and blew out a quiet breath. Damn it. Talk about being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Not his fault.