by Claire Marti
“So you’re Harry.” Sam’s tone was flat, breaking the spell her beauty had been weaving.
Holt squared his shoulders. What the hell was wrong with him? Delicate? Maybe he’d gotten too much sun today. He shook his head. He’d resolved to be more polite to her after witnessing her crying, but every time she opened her mouth, his hackles rose.
Just because she looked sweet like her feminine sister Dylan didn’t mean she acted like it. Not even close.
“Samantha. Amanda. It’s so good to see you both again.” Harry’s tone was smooth and charming.
“Again?” Amanda asked and raised a slender brow.
“Harry––” Sam’s dad cautioned.
“I knew you girls when you were running around in diapers. So I remember you even if you don’t remember me.” Harry wasn’t a large man, but his intense obsidian eyes, sharp Roman nose, and wolfish expression lent him a huge presence. Add in his instinct for discovering talent, his charismatic voice, and smooth charm and you had a man most people never forgot. He was one of the top power brokers in show business and Holt would never forget how he’d given him his first big opportunity when he’d arrived in L.A. broke and eager to work.
“Were you ever over at our house? I think we would have remembered meeting you.” Amanda’s brow furrowed.
“Harry used to come to our cocktail parties when you girls were little, so you were usually heading up to bed,” Chris said.
“Huh.” Sam picked up her water glass and sipped, studying Harry from across the table.
For a moment the room was silent.
Angela stood with a smile, breaking the ice. “I doubt you’ve ever faded into the background, Harry. I’ll grab the appetizers. Chris, will you pour the wine, please?” She swept back to the kitchen.
“Yeah, you’re not really a background kind of guy.” Holt elbowed his boss and friend.
“Why did you send Holt down here to ask about the movie instead of coming yourself?” Amanda asked, her polite tone saving her questions from bordering on rude.
Harry smiled. “I was managing some other aspects of the movie. Holt’s got an interest in this film and had the time.”
“What do you mean ‘an interest in the film’?” Sam set down her wineglass and leaned forward in her seat, her auburn mane falling over one creamy shoulder.
“Just a little investment, that’s all.” Holt shrugged. She didn’t need the details of his personal business.
“No wonder you were so gung-ho to push this on us. Money talks.” Sam glared at him. What a surprise––she assumed the worst.
“Nothing wrong with investing in movies, Samantha.” Chris admonished her as he poured chardonnay into their glasses. “Have you two known each other long, Harry?”
“Yes, I helped Holt get his first gig when he arrived in L.A. fresh off the bus from Colorado. He’s a good kid.” Harry beamed at him.
Holt shifted in the upholstered chair and rubbed the back of his neck. Time to change the subject––the last thing he wanted was to be the center of attention, although he appreciated McNeill distracting his daughter.
“Really? How long ago was that?” Chris eased back into his chair and sipped his wine.
“About twelve years ago. And I’m not a kid.” So why did he feel like one right now? Harry had been the closest thing he’d had to a male role model, a kind of father figure.
“Aren’t you girls curious how long Harry and I have known each other?” Chris steered the conversation away, thank god.
“Well, since we were in diapers obviously. Your name sounds familiar. You weren’t at our mom’s funeral,” Sam said.
“Yes, we worked together for years and I’m actually the person who introduced your dad to your mom. We go way back and it’s simply the case of an old friend helping an old friend out of a bind. Nothing more.” Harry remained unperturbed, but didn’t address the funeral.
“You introduced our parents? Dad, I thought you guys met at the beach?” Sam gawked at her father and Amanda’s mouth dropped open.
He looked down at his hands and cleared his throat. “We did meet at the beach, but it was a bonfire party Harry threw and he actually…”
“I was actually interested in your mother first, hell, everyone was. But the moment she set eyes on Chris, I faded into the background. It was love at first sight.” Harry’s tone remained even. They could be discussing the weather.
Holt snagged the bottle of chardonnay and re-filled Amanda and Sam’s glasses before taking a generous pour himself. Maybe the crisp, citrusy liquid would cool down the undercurrents of tension now permeating the air. Both women continued to stare at their dad.
They hadn’t even had the first course and who knew what other bombshells would be dropped before dinner? Harry had been in love with Sam’s mom? Did that little tidbit of information have something to do with why Chris agreed to allow them to film here? Had he stolen Harry’s girl?
Amanda stared at Harry and Sam vibrated in her seat and a flush of color rose up her slender ivory neck. Did her rosy glow extend down her chest too? Every muscle in his body stiffened and he shifted in the chair again. Damn it, how could he be aroused seeing a woman blush?
Stop looking at her, that’d be a smart first step. Sam was off limits. He struggled to pay attention to the unfolding soap opera.
During the awkward silence, Harry’s lips thinned almost imperceptibly. One of his tells when he was irritated. He was accustomed to everyone falling in line with his requests and demands, no questions asked.
“Here comes my lovely wife.” Chris rose from his chair to help Angela with the two delicious smelling platters of food.
“Thanks, darling.” Angela looked around and pinned Sam with her gaze. No way could she miss the rosy skin and pinched expression. “Sam, are you feeling okay?”
“I’m fine.” Sam grabbed her glass and guzzled the wine like it was lemonade on a hot day.
“How is everything going on set so far?” Mrs. McNeill smiled and joined them at the table. Obviously, she was the family peacemaker.
“Set up is on schedule so far and the talent arrives tomorrow. Being able to film here is saving my movie. Thank you all for agreeing to it and please know I will do everything in my control to make sure it goes smoothly. You won’t even know we’re here.” Harry smiled, his usual charming expression firmly back in place.
“Not likely.” Sam muttered under her breath as she poured the remainder of the second bottle of chardonnay into her glass.
Holt dared another glance across the table. She was drinking her second glass of wine like it was the first drink she’d had after crossing Death Valley. Why had he had to witness her breakdown this morning? Against his better judgment, she was no longer just a spoiled, bad-tempered little dictator––a heart lurked beneath her tough surface.
Stop watching her. Stop thinking about her. Stop. He sipped more wine. Wished for an ice cold beer instead.
“Have you tried the bruschetta yet, Holt?” Angela asked.
He nodded and bit into a piece of bruschetta and almost groaned out loud. Plump tomatoes, crisp fragrant basil, and crusty baguette combined to create perfection. He gestured with thumbs up.
“Enjoy. I’ll grab the rest of the plates. Finish up everyone.” She headed to the kitchen.
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell us he introduced you to mom.” Sam hissed at her father. “And why have you never mentioned him?” She flicked her dark gaze at Harry.
“Not now, Samantha.” Her dad whispered back. “Later.”
Angela returned with two mouthwatering platters with a large roast on one and vegetables, carrots, potatoes, celery, and green beans on the other. He hadn’t enjoyed home cooked meals like this since before his mom got sick and his father bailed on them.
Focus on the food. Ignore the ornery redhead.
The ornery redhead heaped her plate to overflowing and began scarfing down her meal without another word. Where could she possibly put all the f
ood? She probably burned it off along with all the steam she loved to pump out of her ears.
“I’ve got some news I’d like to share with everyone now we’re here together.” Chris set down his fork and knife and gazed around the table.
Sam didn’t lift her head and continued eating. Holt breathed a sigh of relief he was safely out of the line of fire in his spot diagonal from her across the table. Oh shit, would there be an epic explosion when she heard her dad’s news. At least he wouldn’t lose a shin if she kicked out, but she could still toss her knife across the table. He scooted a little farther away from Harry.
Just in case.
Amanda’s eyes widened and Chris’s wife’s dark brows knit together. Sam kept chewing and staring at her plate as though she hadn’t heard a word. Harry also kept eating without a care in the world.
Chris cleared his throat. “Well, Harry and I were talking about the production and I’ve decided to accept his offer of directing a scene or two.” He looked around.
Amanda frowned and her fork dropped from her fingers, the metallic clatter the only sound in the room. Sam kept eating. Did she have earplugs in or something?
“Chris, you haven’t directed since…” Angela began.
“Since before Pamela died.” He clasped his wife’s hand and gazed into her eyes. “There, I’ve said it. She’s been gone for more than a decade and we’ve all paid the price.”
Harry remained as motionless as a hawk honed in on its prey. The color drained from Amanda’s face and she continued to stare at her father without blinking. Nobody said a word.
Astoundingly, Sam continued to chew her food and didn’t look up from her plate. What the hell? Where was the fiery temper now? The erupting volcano? Had she and Dylan swapped places like they had as children and this unruffled woman in front of him was Sam’s twin? That would explain the unbound hair and feminine attire.
“Amanda?” Chris squeezed his wife’s hand.
“I’m just surprised, Dad. All of this is out of the blue and unexpected. Are you sure?” Her calm expression didn’t give anything away, but the pulse fluttering in her throat revealed her distress.
“I know. I thought it was all in the past, but now I recognize I do miss it. I miss directing, and the energy of the set. Look, I agreed to direct a few scenes and if it feels off to me, that’s it. As long as you all agree. I promise I’ll be careful. With all of it.” He offered a half-smile across the table and squeezed Angela’s hand again.
“Sam, did you know about this? Is that why you aren’t pitching a fit?” Her sister asked.
Sam set down her fork and dabbed her rosy lips with her napkin. “For the record, I don’t pitch fits. And yes, Dad told me about it earlier this afternoon. Probably because if anybody would cause a scene at dinner, it would be me.” She shrugged.
She pinned Holt with glittering dark eyes, then glared at Harry. “I don’t like it any more than I like having a movie filmed here. But I can’t stand in Dad’s way, especially if this is something he feels he needs to do. But know if anything happens to my horses or the media invades our privacy, I will do everything in my power to stop it.”
“I appreciate it, Sam. I know you run the ranch. You should come down to set and observe. All of you.” Harry smiled and glanced around the table as if the tension wasn’t as thick as the morning fog over the Pacific.
Amanda placed her napkin down carefully next to her untouched plate. “I’m sorry, but I’m a little too busy with work to hang out on a movie set like I did as a child. If you’ll excuse me.” She gracefully rose and marched out of the room.
Her dad started to rise from the table to follow her.
“No, let me go talk to her, Dad. She’ll come around. You need to tell Dylan too.” Sam dropped her napkin onto her shiny clean plate. She’d managed to consume the mountain of meat and vegetables during the entire scene. She walked over to her father and dropped a kiss on his forehead before following her sister out.
Silence settled in the room again and Holt longed to return to the guesthouse and escape any more uncomfortable scenes.
“I would have appreciated some warning, but I am glad you spoke to Sam first.” Angela’s eyes showed concern.
Chris turned to Angela and kissed her tenderly. “Thank you, my love.”
“Yeah, I get the feeling I would be wearing that roast as a hat if you’d surprised your youngest.” Harry’s tone was dry. “Thanks for warning her.”
“Well, time will tell. I am serious, Harry. One slip-up impacts my family; I’ll have your trailers out of here faster than a lightning bolt. Permanently. You got it?” Chris’s jaw was set.
“Got it. It’ll all be fine. Right, Holt?” Harry grinned over at Holt.
“Um, sure. Of course.” What now? Could he escape?
“Oh, you poor boy. Caught up in the middle of all the McNeill drama. Can I get you some dessert?” Angela smiled at him from across the table.
“Thanks so much, but I’m stuffed. Dinner was incredible. I’ll just head back to the guesthouse if you don’t mind.” He rose to his feet, nodded at Chris and Harry and beat a hasty retreat.
Damn, he missed his own mom and home cooked meals, but the price at the McNeill’s table was too steep.
Solitude and his guitar were safer and simpler companions.
14
Try to get some sleep. I love you.” Sam closed Amanda’s bedroom door and exhaled a long shaky breath. When cracks showed in her stoic older sister’s generally placid composure, the world had definitely tilted on its axis.
Because riding Princess Buttercup this late in the evening wasn’t an option, a lengthy swim was in order to blow off steam and hopefully organize the myriad of thoughts tumbling around her mind. When she reached her bedroom, she stepped out of her sundress and grabbed her ancient navy one-piece. Racing sprints were one of her fondest memories from high school swim team. As long as the baggy, now shapeless, suit still hadn’t disintegrated, who needed a new one just to swim laps?
Not bothering to toss the discarded dress into the clothes hamper, she padded down the quiet hallway to the back door. On the way to the Olympic-sized swimming pool, she wrestled her hair into a practical French braid. Otherwise, it would engulf her like the enormous beds of seaweed and kelp did when she paddled out too far into the Pacific Ocean. No need to slow herself down while she took out her frustration on the innocent saltwater pool.
When she reached the sparkling swimming pool, the smooth paver stones were blessedly cool beneath her feet. The evening breeze carried the soothing scent of roses and jasmine and even a hint of sea air. Usually the anticipation of a swim lowered her blood pressure, but tonight her pulse continued to thrum.
Her fingers curled into her palms. What the hell was going on behind the scenes with her dad and Harry? Did her dad feel guilty for winning Pamela and that was why he had agreed to provide the temporary movie set? Was there something else? More importantly, had her father been missing his film career for all these years? Why hadn’t he told his family? Or had they all been so engrossed in starting new lives, they never noticed?
She stepped to the edge of the pool and dove cleanly in. The crisp water might not provide answers, but at least she could work off some of the questions burning up her brain.
Holt froze.
Would he ever find any privacy? What he wouldn’t give to be alone in either his generic apartment or a soulless hotel room in Anywhereville.
He’d been reclining on the chaise lounge closest to the pool cabana, ready to strum his fingers against the familiar guitar strings. Minding his own damn business. The splash jolted him out of his almost relaxed state.
Please don’t let it be her.
After the awkward scene at dinner, he’d retreated to the guesthouse and the nearby deserted pool beckoned to him. Playing some music in the mild Southern California evening appealed to him, especially after he’d been stuck inside 24/7 during his most recent job in a remote corner of Canada.
The lights from the main house illuminated her slim, lithe form slicing through the water. Slender toned arms silently stroked and uniform kicks propelled her from one end of the pool and back. Of course she swam as well as she rode, barely leaving ripples in the glasslike water’s surface.
Adrenaline started pumping through his veins. But damn––all he wanted was a little peace and quiet. His music calmed him and served as part of his pre-film preparation for all of the upcoming intricate stunt work. Definitely not the time for a confrontation with a gorgeous half-naked woman who was also dealing with a lot of upheaval. He didn’t have the energy to fight.
He didn’t want to fight with her, but it just seemed to happen.
Should he just bail and find another secluded spot on the property? The ranch was certainly big enough.
Maybe he could slink off without alerting her to his presence. It certainly would be a hell of a lot easier.
He nodded his head decisively, grabbed his guitar, and sprang to his feet. There had to be another spot on the other two hundred plus acres of ranch where Samantha McNeill was not nearby in a bathing suit. If luck were with him, she never needed to know he’d been at the pool. He remained in the shadows, crept toward the stone path, and prayed she kept swimming. Not that he was skulking away or anything.
Yeah, right.
“Hey, who’s there?” A sharp voice barked from the swimming pool.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Running his tongue along his teeth, he pivoted to face her. Damn, he’d almost made a clean getaway.
“It’s just me. Uh, Holt. Just leaving. Sorry to bug you.” He backed away from her, the guitar gripped in one hand.
Her voice rose an octave. “Hold on a second. What are you doing down here?”
He stopped and sucked in a deep breath, exhaled it slowly, and prayed for patience. Because he was far from sainthood, his prayers were ignored. His grip tightened on the guitar’s neck.