by Claire Marti
“Do you really think we’ve put our lives on hold? I feel like we’ve created an amazing successful ranch.” She’d dedicated her adult life to the horses and her family.
“No Sammy, our lives haven’t been on hold, but I worry maybe we’ve all held onto the idea that anything outside of Pacific Vista Ranch could harm us. There’s a difference between privacy and isolation.”
Her shoulders softened, but her belly remained in knots. On one hand, her dad was absolutely correct, but the quarter horse breeding industry was cutthroat. Scandals could impact their business. Hercules was on the brink of being the top stallion in the country and the reputation and security of Pacific Vista Ranch secured. But, what if it were all ruined by some capricious, stupid story?
The McNeills valued their life on the ranch and the lack of drama. What if they lost their privacy and tranquil lives?
What if was right. Damn them. She’d never been a chicken and despite what Angela had implied, she didn’t think she’d been putting her life on hold or operating from a place of fear. No she hadn’t. And she wouldn’t start now. She squeezed her father tight.
From the moment Holt Ericsson blew into her barn, everything changed.
Nothing would ever be the same again.
She stepped back from her dad and squared her shoulders. She would apologize to Holt; it was about the only thing she could control.
Whether he would stick around to accept her apology was a whole other issue.
26
Yes, Mom.” Holt cradled the phone between his ear and shoulder as he picked up his guitar and carried it back to the couch.
“No, Mom.” He sank into the leather cushions, gently placing the Martin beside him. Unfamiliar emotions were pulsing through him and music was the only hope he had of expressing them.
His gut was tangled in knots. His eyes were gritty from lack of sleep, and he alternated between being pissed off and feeling guilty. He’d failed. He should have been faster and caught that photographer. Stopped this disaster.
Playing his beloved guitar was his only opportunity to process the thoughts and daydreams about his current obsession.
Damn Samantha. He was still angry after her tirade yesterday. She was just so quick to pounce on him.
And not in a sexy, playful way.
But he hadn’t really shared the nightmare of quitting high school to work after his dad bailed, or any details of his mom’s cancer and fragile health. How would she know? He’d perfected his fast and loose persona and she’d bought it.
He had been a nomad.
Currently was still a nomad, after all, wasn’t he staying in her family’s guesthouse? No roots? But drifter sounded like loser and he didn’t appreciate the implication. He had plans. Big plans.
“Holt? Holt? Are you still there?” His mom’s wavering voice drew him out of his ruminations.
“Sorry, Mom. What did you say?” Now he was being a bad son.
“I just asked if you’d be able to come see us when your movie wraps. It’s been too long.”
His mom never asked for anything or made him feel guilty for his unpredictable lifestyle. But he did feel remorseful. She’d been devastated when he’d chosen to seek his fortune in Hollywood instead of earning a college degree.
But earning money to make sure she never wanted for anything, at least financially, motivated him more than some piece of paper.
“Of course. When the movie is finished, I’ve got a few things to do for my new business first. But then I’ll be there. I really want to move you and Jenny out to California. This weather will be so good for you. No more of freezing snow one day and sweltering heat the next.” Although it was balls hot with the unrelenting Santa Ana winds right now.
“Oh honey, you know the weather is great here in Littleton. If you don’t like the weather in Denver––”
“Wait fifteen minutes. I know, I know.” He hated the annoying refrain everyone in Denver made about the mercurial climate. “That’s the thing. Consistency will be better for you. You can be outside every day here, without bundling up like an arctic explorer.”
“We’ll see. So next month for a visit?”
“Yes, we should be done by then and I’ll catch a flight out.” His mom’s persistence was one of her primary strengths.
“Anything special on this set? Rancho Santa Fe is part of San Diego, right? I hear it’s gorgeous.”
“Yeah, it’s gorgeous. This ranch is unlike anything you’ve seen. You’d love it.” He rubbed the back of his stiff neck, willing the muscles to relax.
What would his mom think of Sam?
Although the odds of his mother meeting Samantha were slim. Hell, he wasn’t sure if he and Sam would ever talk again, much less play ‘meet the parents.’
The odds of Samantha apologizing––well, he wouldn’t bet on it.
The chance they could find any common ground––doubtful.
Even if they made up, they had no future.
She belonged on Pacific Vista Ranch and he belonged… hell, he didn’t really belong anywhere.
“Okay, sweetie. Try to have some fun too. You sound distracted. Call me when you have some dates. You know I’ll be here. I love you.”
“I love you too, Mom.” His mom was his anchor, even if she was hundreds of miles away.
He hated how delicate she sounded these days. Getting her out of the Colorado weather would be great for her immune system. She’d never fully recovered from the brutal chemotherapy and radiation treatments all those years ago. They’d weakened her bones, left her feet numb from neuropathy, and eradicated her ability to fight off infection. Moving her to California would be the best for all of them.
He grabbed the guitar and placed it across his lap. His eyelids drifted shut and he began to strum. The dark, intense notes flowing from his fingertips conjured a vision of Sam’s cameo perfect face. His eyes flew open.
Sam’s beauty as she cantered on Princess Buttercup.
Sam’s fiery energy when she wore her boss hat and expertly ran her breeding operation.
Sam’s love and loyalty to her family.
Love. His chest tightened and his fingers froze on the strings.
Love?
He was in love with Samantha McNeill. The most challenging, difficult, exasperating, amazing woman he’d ever met. His heart knocked against his ribs and sweat popped up on the back of his neck. The trilling of his phone interrupted his impending panic attack.
Sam smiled when she answered the Skype call from Dylan. “Hi Dylan. I miss you.” They hadn’t spoken all week.
“Sam.” Dylan croaked her name.
“Oh my god, what’s happened? Are you okay?” Dylan’s face was deathly pale and tears flowed down her cheeks.
“Am I okay? What about you?” Her twin’s damp eyes widened.
The hair on the back of Sam’s neck prickled. “I’m fine. What’s going on?”
“You mean you don’t know? How can you not know? Where’s Dad? Amanda?” Her sister’s voice rose and bubbled on the verge of hysteria.
“Everyone’s working. You’re freaking me out. Tell me what has you so upset.” The blood thrummed through her veins as her sister’s emotions penetrated through the phone screen.
“You haven’t seen the news? Social media?” Dylan’s mouth dropped open.
Sam shook her head. Her heartbeat thundered in her chest. Oh no. It couldn’t be. Dylan was in Paris. Please let it be something else. Anything else.
“Our ranch. The movie. Newsflashes of an ‘old Hollywood tragedy.’ Everything we feared. How did it happen?” Her twin’s voice rose two octaves.
Heat flushed through her body and every muscle along her spine tensed. “Are you kidding me? I thought Harry had been able––”
Dylan sprang. “You knew this might happen and you didn’t warn me?”
“Slow down. Slow down. Where did you see this?” She drew in a deliberate, steady breath, fighting against the fury bubbling up from her gut. Her fi
ngers curled into her palms. Stay calm.
“Everywhere. It’s trending on Twitter, for god’s sake. Hashtag McNeill Tragedy.”
Bile rose in her throat. No. No. No. “What?”
“Hashtag McNeill Tragedy. Old photos of mom. Photos of Jack Hanson and Ella Roche. Pacific Vista Ranch. Dad’s disappearance from the movie business.” Dylan sobbed the words.
Sam squeezed her eyes shut and held her breath. Counted to one. Two…
“Damn it. I knew it.” The adrenaline pumped through her veins, and she shot to her feet. Harry Shaw was toast.
“So you did know?” Her twin whispered, shock and betrayal written across her face.
“Look, I don’t have time to explain. I need to find Dad now.” He was toast too.
“Don’t you dare hang up until you tell me something, Samantha.” Dylan demanded.
“Somehow a photographer found out about the movie and Holt tried to catch him, but couldn’t get up the tree in time. Harry swore he’d do damage control and threaten the world if anything leaked. Obviously, his reach isn’t as powerful as he claims. I’m glad you’re in Paris and not here. I need to find Dad.” She powered off the phone before Dylan could respond.
Her sister was safe thousands of miles away. She could deal with her later. Now she would fix this disaster before it raged any further out of control. Time to deal with the fallout.
Sam stuffed her phone into her back pocket, grabbed her cowboy hat, and sprinted out the front door to the stables. The heat slammed into her like a concrete wall. The Santa Ana winds whipped against her, impeding her progress. Leaves were ripped off branches and floated around in the simmering air like ravens of doom. The hot air had to be screaming around fifty miles per hour.
Day from hell indeed.
She released Princess Buttercup from her stall, saddled her, and leapt up onto her back. She clucked and urged her to a gallop. Together they flew across the rolling green hills to the far side of the ranch. Sweat dripped into her eyes and she shook it away.
Her Dad and Harry better be in one spot.
Harry Shaw would get his ass in gear and fix this. Pronto.
She hadn’t even bothered to pull up the story on her phone. What was the point? If Dylan was seeing it in Paris, it had blown wide. Filming on Pacific Vista Ranch was done.
When she crested the hill, she saw the cameras, lights, and action. The hero cradled the heroine in his arms, apparently shooting a tender love scene. Her father and Harry stood to the side, intent on the actors.
Too bad.
As she slowed Buttercup’s pace, her dad turned and lifted one finger to his lips, urging her to be quiet.
Too damn bad. Quiet time was over. The scene was over.
“Harry.” She yelled as she reined in Buttercup and slid to the ground. “Get over here.”
The actors froze, their mouths hanging open in comically identical expressions of amazement and horror. Nobody interrupted a scene when Harry Shaw was filming.
“Sam, what are you doing?” Her dad frowned and took a step toward her.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Harry snapped out the words.
“Oh, you were going to fix it.” She made air quotes. “Well, I just got a call from Dylan in Paris and stories about the McNeill tragedy and Pacific Vista Ranch and the movie are trending all over the Internet. Great job, Wizard of Oz. You’re full of hot air. Damn you.” Her hands curled into fists.
Her dad’s jaw dropped. “Please tell me you’re kidding.” His tone indicated he knew her too well to know she wasn’t. He pivoted toward Harry. “Harry?”
Harry cursed. “The story is international? Damn it all to hell.”
“That’s all you’ve got?” She narrowed her eyes. “What happened? I thought you had it handled? Now what?” She swiveled toward her dad. “Dad? Now what? Dylan is devastated.”
“Did you read the story?” Her father’s broad shoulders sagged.
“No, I rode down here as soon as I heard. I thought Mr. High and Powerful had fixed it. Got it under control. We should have known better than to trust you.” She glared at the director.
Nobody moved. The actors and crew looked like statues on their marks. The heavy winds stirred the heat up, but otherwise everything was silent.
“Well?” Mr. Movie Mogul had no retort?
Harry and her father exchanged glances.
“Harry. We need to deal with this now.” He angled toward the set. “Take a break, everyone. Don’t leave the ranch. We’ll text you when we know what’s next.”
Her father’s long stride ate up the ground toward where his horse was tied. “Sam, with me. Harry, meet me at the house. Now.” He leapt up onto his horse and rode off without another word.
Sam hopped on Buttercup’s back and raced to catch up with him. Her t-shirt clung to her skin and her pulse pounded in her temples. The air was oppressive now, the heat punched up so it felt like Death Valley at noon in the height of summer. She wished she were diving into the swimming pool, instead of what promised to be an ugly scene with Harry in her father’s office. Were the winds kicking up even more now? Mother Nature was angry too.
She caught up with him at the stables and tossed her reins to Marco. She hurried to catch her dad and wished for the millionth time she was taller and had longer legs.
Without breaking stride, her dad knocked on the guesthouse door and yelled, “Holt, meet us in the office. Now.”
The door flew open and Holt appeared in the doorway, his full lips compressed into a tight line and his eyes flinty.
She stopped. “You knew, didn’t you?” Why else would he look so grim?
“I just got a call from a buddy in L.A who told me. Wait a second. Let me grab a shirt and I’ll be right up.”
Her eyes descended from his face to his chiseled golden chest and flat, sculpted abdominals. Of course he was half naked. Something other than anger curled in her belly.
“Do you want me to wait for you?” The words escaped. Damn her mouth for always opening before her mind engaged. She’d been so nasty, he probably didn’t want to be within a mile of her.
His artic blue eyes warmed. “Please. I’ll be right back.” He turned and strode into the house.
Angela’s admonition returned to her and she pressed one palm to her lips. When would she learn not to snap out the words without thinking? She owed him an apology, even if he didn’t ever care to speak to her again. Whatever his family situation, she shouldn’t have basically called him a worthless drifter.
First, business.
Apology later. She wouldn’t let him leave the ranch without at least apologizing. He deserved it and her conscience dictated it.
“Let’s go.” Holt appeared and was tucking a navy t-shirt into his faded jeans.
She turned and they marched up to the house together. For once, words eluded her.
“How did you find out? Online?” His husky voice was gentle.
“No, Dylan called me from Paris. She knew about it first, if you can believe it.” She forced her tone to match his.
He whistled under his breath. “The damn Internet.”
“Right. I was shocked. She said the story about our family is trending on Twitter.” She sighed and shook her head.
“And she went all that way to stay out of the situation and she gets it dumped on her anyway. I’m sorry.” Holt frowned.
“Yeah, she was devastated and surprised I didn’t know about it. I just hadn’t gone online today––I’m not a big fan of social media anyway.” More like hate all media, social media included.
Holt paused next to one of the enormous date palm trees lining the path. He grasped her arm and turned her toward him, his eyes filled with concern. “Are you okay?”
Goosebumps popped up along her arms, despite the broiling heat. A shiver of awareness danced along her skin where his strong hand remained. For a moment, she forgot about everything except for him. He was so damn gorgeous and now he was being sweet, even af
ter her nasty attack yesterday. He dropped his hand by his side.
She shook her head. “I’m furious. But I just want to do damage control now. I won’t let these jerks ruin our lives again.” Harry. Paparazzi. Disaster.
“I’m angry too. I’m sorry I underestimated how much the press would be interested in your family. If only I’d caught the little weasel.” He shrugged one broad shoulder.
“We’ll deal with it. We always do. Don’t apologize. You tried.” She cleared her throat. “I’m the one who needs to apologize to you.” Miracle––she didn’t choke on the words.
Holt’s brows arched. “I’m sorry, what did you say? Because it sounded like you said you owed me an apology, but that can’t be right.”
“Very funny. I was a total bitch yesterday and you didn’t deserve it. Sometimes I just can’t seem to shut up.” She cleared her parched throat again. “Words roll out and I regret it right after. It’s one of my biggest flaws. I shouldn’t have said things about your family. And its not your fault the media found us.” Huh, hell hadn’t frozen over.
He averted his gaze, not meeting her eyes. “Do you really see me as a drifter?”
“No. I know you aren’t a drifter. I don’t really understand how you can live on the road all the time and not really have a home, but I shouldn’t have said that. I am really sorry.” Why had she said such a thoughtless comment?
When he didn’t reply, she reached up one hand and touched his chest. “Holt? Can you forgive me? I’m so sorry.”
“We both said some things we didn’t mean. I’m sorry too. I wanted to protect you and I couldn’t.”
Her heart knocked against her ribs. He had tried to keep her and her family safe. She smiled, every muscle in her body softening.
His eyes blazed into hers and he grabbed her and crushed her against him.
Her arms were trapped between them and she slid them up and wound them around his lean waist. Everything else faded away and her lips parted as she stared up at him.
He slid his hands up and clasped her face. His eyes burned into hers and her pulse raced.