Nobody Else But You

by Claire Marti

  “I like him.” She blurted it out.

  “Like him? Like like him?” Amanda’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline.

  She nodded. “Yeah, like like.” She hugged her arms around her waist and the imprint of his long tanned fingers circling her ribcage flashed through her. What those hands could do.

  “Wow, you two were fighting like dogs up until recently. What changed? It’s almost like little kids at the playground––you are mean to the one you like best.” Amanda’s tone turned serious.

  “I’m not sure. One minute he was annoying me beyond belief and the next he was making me laugh. He is actually really funny. He has this dry sense of humor and cracks me up. I thought he was the typical cocky L.A. type and he’s actually humble and hard working. And he’s so smart. And he takes care of his mom. Who knew he would be anything but a pretty face? And he plays the guitar like a professional. He could be a musician if he wasn’t a stuntman. He’s so talented and his hands…”

  Amanda gaped at her––her jaw slack and her eyes wide. “You are gushing. You’re in love with him.”

  Sam’s mouth fell open. “In love? You’re crazy. I just like him and our chemistry is beyond smoking hot.” Love? No way.

  “Smitten kitten. Infatuated lady. Head over heels in love. Whatever you want to call it. Samantha Michele McNeill, you have never, and I mean never, talked about a guy this way before.” Amanda’s green eyes were full of wonder.

  “Of course I have.” She paused and scratched her head. What was the guy’s name in college she’d dated for a few months? Matt? Michael? Marty? Her stomach clenched.

  “Oh crap, I haven’t, have I? No, I’m not in love.” She shook her head vigorously. “Don’t be ridiculous. I just like him, that’s all. It’s way too fast anyway.” She nodded her head to emphasize her point.

  “Uh-huh, sure. Keep telling yourself that and bobbling your head. But from your description, he sounds like someone I know.” Amanda crossed her arms across her chest and smirked.

  “What? Like me?” She sputtered. “No. Look, we’re having a good time. I’ve just never met anyone like him. But I’m not dumb enough to fall in love with a man who is on the road two hundred days of the year and lives in Los Angeles the rest of the time.” Of course she wasn’t in love. Maybe attracted. Intrigued. Hot for.

  But definitely not in love.

  “Not that I have a clue, but I remember mom saying you don’t choose who you fall in love with. It just happens. And if you two are falling in love––” Amanda patted her chest with both hands.

  “Stop saying love. We are not falling in love, okay?” Sam hissed the words and her fingers curled into fists. Although their dad and Angela were in the east wing of the house, she couldn’t risk anybody eavesdropping on this whopper of a conversation. “Look, I can handle this. I can handle him. I’m not Dylan.” Her tummy flip-flopped again. She could handle him, couldn’t she?

  “Dylan wears her heart on her sleeve, but yours is just as sweet and vulnerable, even if you do a great job of hiding it.” Amanda held up a hand. “Let me finish. I just want you to be careful. He’s a stuntman and is doing dangerous and life-threatening things every day at work. He’s based in Hollywood––everything you’ve tried to avoid since we moved here. I’d just hate for you to fall for him and something happen to him and…” Her sister frowned.

  “I know. I know. Don’t you think I realize all of that? Although now the movie crew is here, I see how much Dad misses it and if I’m honest, I always loved it too.” The morning on the hill overlooking the set, she’d been forced to admit it to herself.

  “You did love it. You and Dylan were always with mom.” Amanda’s smile was wistful, her eyes misty.

  “Didn’t you? I know you weren’t there as often because you worked so hard in school to get perfect grades.” Her older sister had been a serious student.

  “I did, but you two had the artistic genes, not me. It was easier for me to let the show business world go.” Amanda shrugged.

  “I’ve just tried not to think about it at all. But I did love it.” Even if she wanted to continue to suppress it, the floodgates were now open.

  “I was so surprised.”

  “Yeah, me too. I’m not sure why I agreed, but maybe this whole movie thing will be a way for us all to move on from the past. A positive experience to erase all the bad memories. I think it’s important for Dad.” Her dad loved what they’d created at the ranch, but nothing sparked his excitement as much as the adrenaline rush of being on a movie set behind the camera.

  “You have a point. He does seem happy about it. It’s tough not to worry, but it all seems like it will go smoothly and fast. And like Harry said, once they are gone, it will be like they were never here.”

  Sam’s breath caught in her throat. Amanda’s words pierced her. Like they were never there? Would Holt walk away when the job was done and never return? Why did the vision of him disappearing into the sunset leave a bitter taste in her mouth?

  “Like I said, we’re just having fun. No expectations. No strings. When the shooting is finished, I’ll probably never see him again.” She forced her voice to be casual, but the hollow words stuck in her throat. Never see him again?

  But, she’d be fine. She always was.

  Amanda stepped out of the doorway and wrapped her into a warm hug. “Just be careful, okay? I don’t want to see you get hurt. He seems like a good guy, but this whole situation is complicated.”

  Sam squeezed her sister’s deceptively fragile frame and closed her eyes. “It’s impossible. I know. I’ll be careful.”

  “Okay, run back to your room before dad catches you looking like something the cat dragged in.” Amanda gave her a gentle push toward her bedroom.

  “Hey––I thought I was the cat? Now I’m the bird?” Did she look so disheveled?

  “The cat with the bird’s nest hair. Just scoot. I’ll see you later.” Amanda smiled at her and retreated back into her room and shut the door in her face.

  Sam crept down the hallway past Dylan’s empty bedroom and reached her own. She closed the door behind her and sagged against the solid wood.

  In love? Was she falling for Holt? Each hour she spent in his company confirmed to her how much she’d misjudged him. Sure, he was cocky, but she needed a man with a strong ego who wouldn’t be threatened by her own powerful personality.

  She hurried into her bathroom, shucking her shorts and shirt on the way. She flipped on the light and muffled a scream at the red-haired Medusa reflected back to her in the enormous mirror. Her hair looked like she’d been stranded on a desert island for months or maybe stuck her finger in an electric socket. She’d never get the tangles out.

  Holt hadn’t batted an eyelash when he’d walked her to the door. Was he blind? Or guilty because he was the one creating the rat’s nest on her head?

  Damn it, all of this was new. She’d never acted the way she did around him. Excited. Nervous. Giggly.

  And when she wasn’t with him, she was daydreaming like a tween over the latest rock star du jour.

  She was infatuated with him. She was twenty-seven years old and had never been in love. A little romance and infatuation was fine. She could handle it.

  What could possibly go wrong in a mere few weeks?

  22

  Cut.” Chris yelled through a bullhorn from across the pasture. “Come on in, Holt.”

  Damn it. Not again. If he had to do another frickin’ take of this scene, he’d melt off the horse. Holt wiped the old-school red bandana across his forehead, mopping the sweat that seemed determined to pour into his eyes and blind him. Not ideal when he was supposed to be galloping across the pasture like a rocket shooting into the stratosphere.

  The unseasonable Santa Ana winds were back again and it was hot as hell outside. This breeze didn’t cool you down––no, it was more like when the smoke from the barbeque blew in your face and made you feel like you were the hamburger on the grill instead of the chef. His stomac
h growled.

  “What’s the problem?” He was a professional and would re-shoot a scene a thousand times if it was required. Not that it ever was. He prided himself on performing in one or two takes unless something else was going on. As this was the fifth cut of the afternoon, he sure hoped it was something external.

  “The light is off. We’ve tried adjusting the cameras ten times and just can’t get the scene right with the glare. And it’s boiling hot out here. Damn Santa Ana winds in July.” Chris’s face was red and he looked as steamed as Holt felt right now.

  Holt leapt off the horse and sauntered over to Chris and Harry. “Okay. Do you want to try at sunset or first thing in the morning?” The light was usually the most favorable at dawn or dusk. The middle of the day, like what they were attempting now, created too many shadows and glares unless you could shoot from certain angles. Although it shouldn’t have been a big deal in this scene because he wasn’t filming any close-ups, just riding toward the cabin to save a damsel in distress.

  Hell, Jack probably didn’t even need him to stand in for this scene, but Chris insisted upon it. When Holt had suggested Jack could handle it, Chris had bitten his head off. No way would the director risk Jack getting thrown from a horse on his watch. Holt would use his horsemanship in all scenes requiring any pace faster than a trot. Once Holt was almost to the cabin, he would slow the horse’s pace and hand the reins over to Jack. Straightforward, or so he’d thought when they started filming today.

  “Should we just start the next scene in the cabin and you guys can handle this in the morning?” Jack, clad in identical buckskin breeches and white long-sleeved linen shirt, sat on a director’s chair with an open script in his lap.

  “Sounds good to me. Chris? Harry?” Holt prayed one of them would say yes so he could ride back to the guesthouse and plunge into an ice cold shower. Or maybe dive into the pool and stay underwater for as long as he could hold his breath. Not to be a wimp or anything, but even the bottoms of his feet were sweating in the oppressive heat.

  “Yeah, it makes sense. Damn it. Waste of time.” Harry yanked his dark sunglasses off and pinched the bridge of his nose––one of his characteristic tells when he was pissed.

  “It’s okay, Harry. We’ve got time.” Chris shrugged, seeming unperturbed by the delay in the filming.

  “Now you don’t care about timing?” Harry glared at him. “We’ve got a lot of other scenes we can film, so we shouldn’t get behind unless this damn heat doesn’t break. Holt, we’ll shoot it right after the sun comes up. The light will be better.”

  “Anything else for me today?” His eyelids were drooping and his back was tight. Either he really was getting old and retirement was definitely the right path, or last night with Sam had sucked it out of him.

  Every muscle in his body stiffened as a vision of falling asleep tangled in her fiery mane jolted through his system. Definitely time for a freezing cold shower. And not just for the damn wasted afternoon sweating his ass off on the back of his horse.

  “Nah. You’re good,” Harry said. “Now, Jack, get ready to earn your Hollywood paycheck.” He slapped the actor on the back and together they headed toward the cabin, the camera crew trailing behind.

  “Everything okay, son? You look a little wiped out.” Chris asked over his shoulder as he followed the others toward the makeshift cabin.

  “I’m fine. Just going to head on up.” The last thing he needed was Samantha’s father wondering why he looked like he was rode hard and put away wet, besides the weather.

  “Okay. See you later.” Chris waved and kept going.

  Had Chris been scrutinizing him more than usual? Or was he paranoid? He hadn’t said a word and from what Holt had learned about the patriarch, the man was forthright and didn’t hold much back. Just like his youngest daughter.

  If he’d suspected his baby girl had spent the night with him last night, Holt would probably be carried back to the house in a body bag, not canter off into the rolling hills. If Harry found out there would be hell to pay.

  Why was his simple life plan suddenly so problematic?

  A few weeks ago everything had all seemed crystal clear. Biting the bullet and dumping his savings into the movie had been a safe bet. Harry would create a blockbuster and they’d laugh all the way to the bank. Film the movie, which would be a blast because who didn’t love the Wild, Wild West and he also enjoyed working with Jack. Bonus.

  Earn his highest paycheck to date and use it, along with his investment payout, for the final funding he needed to launch his own stuntperson agency. Transition into a position where he would finally be able to earn his living without risking life and limb. Ensure he’d be able to take care of his mom forever and even his sister if she needed his help.

  No distractions.

  Nothing holding him back.

  Then came Samantha. At first he’d seen her as simply an obstacle to overcome. If anybody could have convinced Chris McNeill to reject Harry’s request to film on his property, Sam was the one. Thank god McNeill had listened to Harry and overruled the protests of his family.

  He urged his horse into a canter toward the guesthouse, and prayed the heat would break. A burst of light caught his eye and he reined in to a stop. He shielded his eyes with one hand and scanned the horizon. The powerful hot winds rustled through the trees and the air smelled dry, if it were possible. Ideal fire weather. He sure as hell hoped the McNeills had a foolproof plan in case a blaze broke out.

  A few flickers of light from the direction of the ranch’s perimeter alerted him something wasn’t right. His pulse accelerated and he gripped the reins. Were they flames popping? He sucked in a deep breath, but the acrid odor of smoke didn’t materialize. What the hell was it? Another lightning quick series of flashes popped again. What the hell?

  He dug his heels and sped toward the high privacy fence shrouded in tall, dense trees. His gut clenched as adrenaline flooded his veins. Something was wrong. The crackling wind and pitiless sun scorched his skin, but he kicked up his pace.

  Something was happening in the trees or on the fence. He ground his teeth when the suspicion hit him.

  He yanked the reins and halted at the base of an enormous elm tree. He shoved his cowboy hat back and peered up into the dense, thick branches. Maybe he had heatstroke because nothing was there. He rubbed his jaw and looked around. Nothing.

  Another series of lights flashed.

  Son of a bitch.

  He leapt off the horse and scaled up the tree trunk. A skinny pale arm attached to a scrawny body held an enormous camera. The little slime was perched on one of the branches that ran parallel to the ten-foot high solid wood fence.

  “Hey, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” He shouted and the parasite perched precariously on the tree branch jolted and almost dropped his camera.

  The skinny weasel slithered back along the branch, heading toward the fence. The weasel might be slippery, but Holt did this kind of shit for a living. He scrabbled along the branch and made a swipe for the camera and actually felt it brush his fingertips.

  Before he could find purchase, the rodent managed to reach the fence and slide off toward the street. Holt reached the edge, just in time to see the photographer snatch back a collapsible aluminum ladder and foil his pursuit.

  Holt had lost the guy. By mere seconds. He slammed his fist against the sturdy branch and cursed. How could he have been too slow to catch the guy?

  “If you publish any photos, you will be sued for everything you and any rag you try to sell them to have. Do you hear me?” He yelled at the retreating figure. The little shit hoisted the ladder into the back of a silver SUV and gunned off without a word.

  Holt punched the thick tree branch again. It was the first frickin’ day of filming and already the vultures were swarming. How the hell had the press been tipped off they were filming the movie at the ranch? Who had betrayed their trust?

  Most people in the industry knew if you were dumb enough to cross Harry S
haw, you were committing Hollywood suicide.. The penalties in the crew’s contracts were stiff and Holt had personally checked out everyone single person involved, at Harry’s request. His gut told him it wasn’t someone from the inside. But who?

  He crawled back towards the base of the tree and jumped back to earth. He mounted his horse, wheeled him around and stared out over the rolling green pastures. What now? He rubbed his jaw and took a few deep breaths. Damn, he so did not want to tell Harry and Chris the media were on to them.

  Chris McNeill would be furious and Harry’s head would probably detonate. Damn it, the entire movie could be jeopardized by a leak to the press because McNeill could tell Harry to go to hell and choose his family over a favor to an old friend.

  What if Harry had to cancel the rest of the ranch shoot? But his boss had too much riding on this film’s success. Changing locations would necessitate hemorrhaging money they couldn’t afford to lose if this movie could have any shot at being a big box office success. But if Chris kicked them out, they were screwed.

  They couldn’t stop filming. The movie couldn’t be postponed indefinitely. This shit couldn’t be happening on the first damn day. Without this movie, he would lose all his savings and who knew when he’d be able to stop beating his body up and start running a stable business.

  He gripped the reins so hard the leather bit into his palms. This movie was supposed to be his last. This paycheck was vital. He couldn’t start his new venture without it. He couldn’t convince his mom and sister to move to California without it. He couldn’t find true security without it.

  His horse whinnied and he leaned down and whispered in his ear. “Shhh boy. Give me a second.”

  Screw it. He rode toward the guesthouse. Logically, he should wait and see and maybe nothing would come of it. The photographer had been so far away. Ella was safely tucked away in her trailer and Jack had been sitting under the makeshift awning with a cowboy hat shielding his face. How far could those damn lenses film anyway? What could he possibly have seen?