by Ryanne Corey
“I’m no one special,” she said in a choked voice. “No one at all.”
Connor hesitated, then walked outside, shutting the door quietly behind him.
Connor called Morris as soon as he returned to his motel room.
“I found her,” he said without preamble.
His assistant’s voice was groggy with sleep. “Do you have any idea what time…what did you say?”
“I found her.”
“I hope this isn’t a dream,” Morris said fervently. “Texas doesn’t agree with me. They grow mosquitoes here the size of cocker spaniels. I want to go back to Los Angeles. I miss the smog.”
“Don’t get too excited. She was less than enthusiastic about the interview.”
“Less than enthusiastic? What does that mean?”
“It means she told me I was sneaky, opportunistic and underhanded. Oh, yeah…and oily.”
“Oily? That’s really low. What about the money you offered?”
“She turned it down. I was surprised, because she obviously needs some quick cash. She was talking about mortgaging her house to get through the winter.”
“Damn. There’s got to be something else we can do.”
“I’ll give it another shot tomorrow, but I’m not hopeful.”
“What’s she like?” Morris ventured. “Was it a letdown meeting her? There’s no way she could be as gorgeous in person as she is in a photograph.”
“She’s actually quite amazing,” Connor said quietly. “And no photograph could possibly do her justice.”
Morris whimpered. “You dog. You have all the luck. I mean…you actually met her! Glitter Baby. What I wouldn’t give to spend just one night with—”
“It’s late and I’m beat,” Connor said abruptly. For whatever reason, he didn’t care to hear Morris fantasize about Maxie Calhoon. “I’ll try my luck tomorrow and let you know what happens.”
“Try your luck? You mean you’re actually going to make a move on her?”
“Hell, Morris, get a grip. I meant I would talk to her about the interview. No wonder the woman disappeared. She was probably trying to get away from men like you. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Connor hung up, then for reasons he couldn’t fully explain to himself, pulled out his portfolio of Glitter Baby’s photographs. He spread the pictures on his bed like an erotic quilt, studying them with intense new eyes. No man with a pulse could claim immunity to Glitter Baby’s magnetic appeal. But suddenly Connor was seeing someone else, a living, breathing soul with fears and human frailties, who was even more appealing. He knew what her husky velvet voice sounded like, and how it cracked when she got emotional. He knew how her hips moved when she walked and how her violet eyes darkened to blue fire when she lost her temper. Now she was something more than a heartbreakingly beautiful face and elegant body. She was a lady who could dress like a cowboy and look like an angel. She didn’t seek admiration, attention or approval. She loved SpaghettiOs and animals and her independence. She drove a truck, for Pete’s sake. As far as Connor knew, there wasn’t another woman of his acquaintance who drove a truck. Jags, Corvettes, Mercedes…but not a single truck. The more he knew about Maxie, the more intriguing she became. What had made her turn her back on a hugely successful career? Even more fascinating was the quiet new life she had created for herself. Obviously finances were a concern, but she seemed unwilling to lean on her former fame to ease the burden.
Connor wondered if he would have had the courage to set off alone, leaving everything and everyone he had ever known. Even when he had been forced to quit football, his godfather had been right there for him, handing him a cushy job with a sweet paycheck. Truth be told, Connor had been spoiled rotten from day one, an only child who had always had whatever he wanted almost before he asked for it. He couldn’t think of a time in his life when he’d waited for anything, much less worked for it. Football had been physically taxing, but he’d never considered it work. It had always been a game, and a game he was damn good at playing.
Connor shook his head, disturbed by the troubling stroll down memory lane. Where had all this damned introspection come from? Just because his life was easy didn’t mean it lacked meaning. He’d done meaningful shows before. He’d interviewed a Nobel Prize winner once, a fellow who had managed to clone a goat. Surely that was worthwhile? Then there was the exposé on a certain television evangelist who had sticky fingers and a roving eye. That was public service by anyone’s definition.
So why did he suddenly feel inadequate? What was it about Maxie Calhoon that prompted him to question his own values?
Again he let his gaze feast on the photographs on his bed. She was by far the most physically appealing woman on God’s green earth. And yet…it had been the unexpected things that had touched him, the small surprises. The faint dusting of freckles on her sunburnt nose. The crooked little rows of vegetables in her rabbit-occupied garden. He’d set out to find the phenomenon known as Glitter Baby and instead met Maxie Calhoon, bless her feisty little soul.
Morris had been right. Connor was incredibly lucky.
The following morning, Maxie padded around her house in her pajamas, crouching like a commando and peering through each and every window. As far as she could see, she was alone. Still, she was nursing a bad case of the jitters. If one person could find her, other people could as well. Not to mention the fact that Connor Garrett could come back any time he pleased.
Sometime during the sleepless night, paranoia had moved in. Strangely enough, Maxie had never felt paranoid when she was modeling. Crowds, reporters, autograph seekers…they were all part of the charade. It was all make-believe.
Her life now was anything but a game. Every second was precious, every second mattered. She had responsibilities to take care of now, the most pressing of which were several cows who badly needed to be milked. Boo needed to be fed and the dishes from last night were still in the sink. At noon she was expected at the bank to sign the final papers on her mortgage. She told herself she couldn’t afford to be distracted by what was probably a minor inconvenience, no matter how attractive that minor inconvenience had been.
Bolstered by her personal pep talk, she changed into her overalls and milked the cows, shared a hearty breakfast of scrambled eggs and cinnamon toast with Boo, then attacked the dirty dishes. She was feeling much more optimistic when the time for her appointment at the bank neared, and the sky still had not fallen in. Obviously she’d been overreacting. Life was good, and was going to get much better once she had expenses for the long Wyoming winter covered.
She exchanged her overalls for khaki pants and a black knit top, tugged a comb through her hair and left for the bank. It was a lovely day, the gold sunlight of autumn gilding the aspen and pine forests. Maxie slipped a Garth Brooks recording into the cassette deck and sang along at the top of her voice. Oh, if only her A-list former “friends” could see her now.
Oakley’s bank was like every other establishment in town, small and personal. Maxie knew all three tellers, and smiled a friendly hello before poking her head into the bank manager’s office.
“I’m here to sign my life away, Mr. Beasley,” she said cheerfully. “Just hand me a pen and stand back.”
Mr. Beasley wasn’t smiling. He motioned for Maxie to sit in the chair opposite his desk. “There’s been a problem,” he said bluntly. “As I told you when you first filled out your papers, we run a last-minute credit check on anyone signing a mortgage loan. A lien has been placed on your property, Maxie. It’s for quite a sizeable sum, almost ten thousand dollars.”
Maxie blinked at him, stupefied. “What are you talking about? I have no debts whatsoever. I don’t even possess a credit card.”
Mr. Beasley consulted the notes on his desk. “The lien was placed by A & E Management. That’s all the information I have.”
Maxie felt a cold fist of dread closing around her stomach. When she’d first begun modeling, she’d been represented by A & E Management until she realized the agen
cy was taking twice the sum agreed upon. Maxie had agreed not to sue them if they let her out of her contract. She hadn’t heard a word from them since…until today. When Connor Garrett had found her, she’d expected others would follow. She’d been right, though she’d thought she’d have more time.
“I’m going to be sick,” she moaned.
Mr. Beasley looked alarmed. “The restroom is just down the hallway.”
“Mr. Beasley, everything I’ve worked for the past two years is riding on this loan.”
“My hands are tied. I went so far as to call A & E to research the problem, but I was told any communication would have to be through their attorney. Perhaps if you hired an attorney, some sort of compromise—”
“I don’t have the money for an attorney! If I did, I wouldn’t need this loan.”
“I’m sorry. I sympathize with you, but until you take care of the lien, there’s nothing we can do. Perhaps you have a friend or relative who could help?”
“There’s only my mother. She simply isn’t in a position to lend me that amount of money.” Maxie stood up, blinking away hot tears. “I’m not sure what I’m going to do, but I’ll be in touch.”
Outside, Maxie stood blinking on the steps of the bank and wondered where her beautiful day had gone. The sun was still shining brightly, but now it irritated her eyes and made her knit top heavy and itchy. The sweater was cashmere from a Calvin Klein collection and he would have vociferously denied the remotest possibility of skin irritation. Regardless, the damn thing suddenly itched. Inwardly Maxie consigned Calvin Klein, Connor Garrett and A & E Management to the devil. Oh yes, and Mr. Beasley, too.
She walked past her truck and wandered down Main Street, hands pushed in her pockets and head bent low. She walked right past her mother’s antique store without stopping. She couldn’t ask her mother for help. Natalie Calhoon barely made ends meet as it was. Without the refinancing, she was sunk. Her little dairy farm wouldn’t come close to turning a profit for at least another year. The very idea of giving up her dream and selling off her cattle was anathema to her. She’d worked so terribly hard just to get where she was.
She paused by Corner Drug, known for a charming, old-fashioned soda fountain and homemade ice cream. Maxie was a devout believer in the healing power of empty calories, and suddenly craved a good strong sugar rush. She went inside, ordered the Pig’s Dinner Banana Split and dug in with gusto. If she was going to be depressed, she would at least do it on a full stomach.
“So who’s baby-sitting the moo cows?” a male voice drawled behind her. “Your canine garbage disposal?”
Maxie said a choice four-letter word beneath her breath, then swiveled on her stool to face Connor Garrett. “I don’t want you to be a part of this day,” she said. “It’s already bad enough without you.”
“We don’t always get what we want, as I learned yesterday.” He shrugged cheerfully, looking casually appealing in a white golf shirt that was a lavish contrast against his bronzed skin. His smile was a charming and elegant stretch, curling the edges of his honey-brown eyes. He wore black jeans this time, again perfectly creased. Today his sneakers were also black, and in mint condition. Naturally.
“Don’t you ever get dirty?” Maxie asked him, finding his polish and poise extremely irritating. “Other than when you played football?”
Connor considered the question for a full ten seconds. “Once, when I was very young. I didn’t like it.”
“You’re strange.” Maxie did an about-face on the stool, giving the man her back. Instead of taking the not-so-subtle hint, he plopped down on the stool beside her and ordered a diet cola.
“Watching my figure,” he told Maxie confidingly. He propped his elbows on the bar and rested his chin on his hands. “You remember how that is, don’t you?”
She glared at him, her backbone stiffening. “Are you implying that I’m fat?”
“Certainly not.”
Maxie poked him in the chest with a finger. “Because if you’re implying that I’m fat, I really couldn’t care—”
“I didn’t call you fat.” Connor regarded her with curious amusement. “How could someone be so astonishingly beautiful and so absolutely clueless at the same time? I didn’t say you were fat. You have a good healthy appetite. What do you care, anyway? What I think doesn’t matter, right?”
“Right. I don’t care what anyone thinks.” And to prove her point, Maxie ordered a root-beer float as a chaser. “Besides, sugar is recommended for depression.”
“Who said that?”
“I did.”
Connor nodded, as if she were making perfect sense. “And why are you depressed, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“I do mind. Why would I confide in you? You’re a perfect stranger.”
“I wouldn’t go so far as to say I’m perfect,” he replied modestly, “but you’re entitled to your opinion.” He gave her a dazzling smile. “Oh, I know why you’re out of sorts today. You’re sad because I’m going back to L.A. tomorrow.”
“And now he’s a comedian.” Maxie sighed, not really in the mood for the verbal sparring. “Look, I’m not very good company right now. If you don’t mind…?”
“Funny thing about that. You weren’t the most cordial company last night either, and I can’t think when I’ve been so entertained.”
Maxie’s expression was patently disbelieving. “Do you expect me to believe your life is boring?”
“Predictable, which is probably the same thing.”
“Then do something unpredictable now and then,” she said. “Problem solved.”
She was distracted by the arrival of her root-beer float. Connor watched as she dug into the creation with a plastic spoon, mesmerized by the way she smacked her lips. After a few moments, however, her love affair with her treat began to annoy him. He realized he had been dismissed in favor of her ice cream.
Irritated, he picked up a straw from the counter, tore off one end of the paper wrapper and lifted it to his lips. He blew, sending the empty wrapper sailing straight into Maxie’s ear.
She yelped in surprise, turning her startled gaze in his direction.
Connor grinned from ear to ear, pleased with his little trick. “You said to do something unpredictable.”
“Not to me,” Maxie ground out. “Go do something unpredictable to someone else. I’m in the middle of a crisis here.”
“You’re in the middle of an ice-cream binge,” Connor corrected. He reached out a finger, running it slowly along the edge of her lip. If possible, the brilliant color of her violet eyes intensified.
“You had a mustache,” he said softly, holding her gaze while he licked the sweet foam off his finger. He became conscious of a new feeling stealing into his chest, a gentle emotion he was completely unfamiliar with. It took him a moment to put a name to it.
Tenderness. Its unexpected sweetness rippled through him, warming him inside and out. Connor’s smile dropped by degrees from his lips. His eyes were lost in Maxie’s, his heart beating a tattered, shallow rhythm.
Maxie lifted a hand that shook slightly and pointed to a root-beer stain on his shirt. “I’ve left my mark,” she said, striving and failing to sound casual.
“I know.” Connor’s eyes looked slightly glazed. “I’ve known that for a while, but there doesn’t seem to be anything I can do about it.”
Maxie’s lashes swept downward, shielding her expression. Connor had exhibited something unexpected today, something she very much feared was vulnerability. It made him very human and touchingly appealing.
It was a darn good thing he was going away tomorrow. His brash bravado she could have ignored forever, but this frank confusion went straight to her heart. She found a stiff smile and plastered it on her face. “Why did you come in here, anyway?”
“Why did I come in here?” It took him a moment to remember. “Oh…razors. I need some disposable razors. Seeing you was an unexpected bonus. So, why don’t you tell me about your terrible day?”
/> “It’s personal.”
“Personal or not, I’m a good listener.”
Maxie shrugged. “I was supposed to sign papers for a mortgage loan today, but there’s a fly in the ointment. I’ll figure something out.”
“I’m sorry things didn’t go well.” Connor forced himself not to press for an explanation. At least, not immediately. “Maybe it would help take your mind off your troubles if I took you out to dinner tonight. I can’t offer SpaghettiOs, but the motel clerk told me the Trail’s End Café is pretty good.”
“Forgive me, but somehow I doubt having dinner with you will improve my situation. That’s sort of like going from the frying pan to the incinerator.” Her voice held the faintest hint of wistfulness. She hadn’t had a date for two years, but it was best to be practical. Of course Connor had ulterior motives for asking her out, and it would be foolish of her to forget that.
“Even if I promised not to ask a single question?” he persisted, placing a sincere hand over his heart. Behind his back, he crossed his fingers. “Not a one?”
“You’d break that promise. Dissecting people is what you do for a living. Then you pin them up on your display board with all the parts identified, like a butterfly collection.”
Indignant, Connor opened his mouth to argue, then shut it again with a snap. Damn it all, she was right. He did dissect people for a living. Put that way, it sounded less than admirable.
“I don’t expect to host Public Eye forever,” he blurted, wanting somehow to earn her approval. “I was thinking one of these days I might…try my hand at writing.” He flushed, thinking how ridiculous he sounded. “I guess that’s what everybody says. We all want to write the Great American Novel, right?”
“When did you decide this?” Maxie asked, intrigued despite herself.
“It’s something I’ve been thinking about for a while. In the past few years I’ve discovered I like doing research. I thought I’d try a biography. Maybe. Someday.”