But their relationship had always been strictly hands-off, though she wasn’t sure why. He was an attractive, intelligent man who, in many ways, should have been perfect for her.
But he was far too crucial to her as a friend. If that door to more had ever been open, it was long ago, and she had the sense that neither of them wanted to risk messing up what they had.
“I just…” He rested his head against the high back of the willow chair under the pergola. “I thought it would be like the old days, where we could hang out, have some laughs. Be young again.”
“You’re thirty-nine, Martin, hardly rest home material.”
He smiled, but even that was weary. “I know. It’s just—” His cell rang again, and he swore vividly before answering. “Lowe.” Whatever he heard had his brows snapping together. “Damn it, can’t it wait? What does he want?” He sat up straight as he listened, a muscle flexing in his jaw. “Where is Sage?” If anything, his jaw went tighter. “Get hold of her and tell her to come in—no, I don’t care if she doesn’t usually get up this early.” A deep sigh. “It’s not your fault.” His voice softened. “If he calls again, tell him to keep his shirt on. One of us will get back with him.” He finished the call and stared off into the distance.
“I can walk around while you make your call,” she offered.
“Huh?” His head whipped around as he struggled back from wherever he was mentally. “Oh. No, but thank you. It’ll take more than just a phone call.” He slapped his palms on his legs, then rose. “I’m sorry, damned sorry this keeps happening. I’ll make it up to you, I swear.” He gave her the quick one-two L.A. air kiss and stepped back, clearly preoccupied. “I just can’t tell you when.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m doing fine, I swear.” She traced an X over her heart. “Thanks for dropping by.”
But he was already heading away from her, shoulders rounded. She’d never seen him like this before. Oh, Martin wasn’t playful like Sean—he’d always tended more toward the serious, but then, he’d had to be. His father had abandoned Martin and his mother when Martin was only twelve, and he’d had to grow up fast. If his mother hadn’t died when he was in high school, Annabelle doubted he would have ever pursued his acting dream because he’d have stayed back in Colorado to be the man of the family.
Now she was his only family, and though she had plenty of her own, he’d taken her on to protect, just as she’d tried to care for him by getting him roles.
She didn’t know this world he was involved in now, hadn’t met or spoken to anyone but him because he’d always made certain she had his personal cell number and always called her back promptly. So she had no idea how to help him or give him relief from his burdens except stay out of his way and accept whatever time he could give her.
But that didn’t stop her from worrying over him or wishing she had the power to smooth those frown lines away.
After a moment of staring off in the direction he’d departed, Annabelle shook herself and looked around the grounds, trying to figure out how to occupy herself until she might have the opportunity to hear back from Sean. She decided to walk over to the main building and see if she could tempt Vanessa into putting her to work so she wouldn’t feel so restless.
Instead, about ten paces into her journey, as if she’d conjured him up, her phone rang, and it was Sean. With a smile, she answered.
“Hello?”
“Mornin’, Sunshine.”
“That’s what my daddy calls me,” she said.
“I have to confess you don’t make me feel particularly paternal.” His baritone voice got a little husky. He cleared his throat. “Hope that doesn’t bother you.”
Her heart gave a foolish little flutter. “I think it would bother me a lot more if I did have that effect.”
She heard him exhale. “You make it difficult for a man to think clearly.”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t sound so proud of yourself.”
She chuckled. “So how was class today?”
A slight hesitation. “I don’t teach every day. I sometimes get called in on other stuff.”
“Like what?” She chewed her lip. “Dangerous work?”
“Naw. Mostly just lending another set of experienced eyes to put the pieces together. I was on the streets, then I worked Vice for a while.”
“Sort of a cop consultant, is that it? You could make big money in L.A., consulting on scripts.”
He snorted. “From what I see on film and TV, I don’t think the script writers are listening to their experts. Either that, or their experts really aren’t.”
“Oh, really? Not real enough for you, Mr. Policeman?”
“Do I hear insult in your voice, Hollywood?”
“Not really, just…I always do a lot of research for my parts.”
“You ever played a cop?”
“Only in a romantic comedy.”
“There you go.”
“Excuse me, but comedy is difficult to pull off, much harder than drama, I’ll have you know. If you ever tried it, you’d see what I mean.”
“Whoa now. I also wasn’t insulting what you do. You happen to be very good at it.”
“But it’s all anyone wants to see me do. I’m tired of being typecast.”
“That last film sure broke the mold. You got nominated all over the place for it, didn’t you?”
“But I didn’t win the Oscar.”
“Well, that’s because the voters were blind. And jealous.”
Stated so simply as though there was no question, his response warmed her. “I was really disappointed,” she confided. She’d said that to no one else, not even Martin.
“But you know you gave an excellent performance, right?”
She nodded, though he couldn’t see her. “I did. I gave it my all.”
“That’s the real reward, isn’t it? Knowing that you did your very best? You don’t control the rest, but with what you could control, you hit the ball out of the park.”
Listening to him was like having a thorn removed from tender skin. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For bringing me back to common sense. You’re absolutely right—I was focusing on the wrong thing. Usually, I’m fine knowing I did the best job I could, though of course I have to be careful about which roles I choose because the films have to make money, and that’s all most of Hollywood worries about, not critical acclaim. I mean, acclaim is nice, but the money guys only care about that if it increases box office. As an artist, though, you don’t perform for the money. You do it because it satisfies something in you that needs to create. Performing on stage is actually much more rewarding because you get immediate feedback from your audience. In film, you shoot it out of order and in pieces, and the only feedback you get is from the cast and crew, but all of them have their agendas. At least until you see it with a test audience, and then—” She halted. “Sorry. Talking too much about things you can’t possibly interested in.”
“You don’t know me well enough to know what I’m interested in.”
A dose of reality. “That’s true.”
“So you shouldn’t be worrying about whether I’m bored or not. Tell you what—I’ll be sure to snore real loud if you put me to sleep, that a deal?”
He made her smile. “Deal. But anyway, I’m done nattering on.”
“Not nattering, but we can save it until I see you. Did I give you time to visit with your friend?”
“You did.”
“So your dance card is freed up?”
“It is. How about yours?”
“I decided to take some vacation time. I’ve got too much stacked up.”
“Oh, Sean, I don’t want to—”
“They were so happy to see me go, they practically carried me out the door. The rest of today and tomorrow, I’m all yours—that is, if you don’t get sick of me.”
That span of time loomed bright on the horizon. “Well, I’ll snore really loud if I get bored,” she
echoed.
He laughed. “A clever woman is worth her weight in gold, my dad always says. ’Course that’s because my mom is scary intelligent and would bean him with a skillet if he said otherwise.”
Annabelle grinned widely. “I would love to meet your family. Maybe to commiserate.”
“Well, ouch.”
“Do they live nearby?”
“Nope. They’re way out in Lubbock, where I grew up.”
“Your brothers there, too?”
“One is. He farms cotton with my dad. The oldest one. The good son.”
“And what are you?”
“The baby boy.”
“You have my condolences. I’m the baby girl.”
“I knew I liked you. So do your brothers think you don’t have the brains God gave a flea, and your mom still calls you her baby? And everybody thinks they need to tell you how to do every last thing?”
“It’s a little scary how well you know my family.”
“Amen. When I have kids, I’m letting the little one boss everybody around and making the big kids take orders.”
She giggled. “You want kids?”
“Oh, yeah. I mean, I wasn’t in any hurry and I’m still not, well, not exactly, but…things I see in my line of work remind me often that you don’t know how much time you have. I guess I’m finally about tired of fooling around. Might even have to grow up, sad as that is to have to say.”
“So is Mrs. Fitzgerald all picked out?”
“Uh…no. Not even on the horizon. I did say about tired of fooling around. How about you?” He hissed. “Sorry. Forgot. Honest, Annabelle, I said that without thinking.”
“It’s okay.”
“It’s really not.”
“You don’t have to tiptoe around me. Yes, that’s a painful subject, but mostly because I’m the only divorced person in my family in anyone’s memory, and here I am, a two-time loser.”
“There’s not one ounce of loser in you.”
“Maybe there’s something in me, some ingrained failing.”
“I don’t know the whole story, but from my perspective, neither man deserved you.”
She sighed. “Even if that’s true, how come I have such poor judgment?”
“’Cause you’re a romantic, just like your movies.”
She did a mental double-take. “Wow. I never looked at it that way.”
“There’s no shame in that, Annabelle. The world needs more romantics. Where would we be if no one believed in love?”
Her heart squeezed. “I do want children, but I can’t seem to figure out how to find their father first.”
“You could be a modern woman and have them without a man.”
“No. No, I couldn’t. Or at least, I won’t. I know it’s terribly old-fashioned, but I believe in the traditional family. I don’t pass judgment on others, but I really hope I can manage to follow in my parents’ footsteps. I know a lot of single mothers who do an excellent job raising their children, but it’s a hard life for them, and it’s lonely. There’s enough romantic in me to keep hoping I’ll find that one man who loves me for myself and who wants to build a life and a family together.” She sighed. “But in my business, that’s not easy. Liam is one of the few who’s managed it.”
“He’s a good dad. All the men in that family are.”
“They remind me of my father and brothers that way.”
“Mine, too.”
They fell silent for a moment.
“Well!” he said brightly. “Now that I’ve got you all bummed out, I’m sure you’d like nothing better than to spend the rest of the day with me.”
“I’m not bummed out. It’s kinda nice to be able to talk to someone who understands the world I came from.”
“Disgustingly normal?”
“Normal squared.”
They shared a chuckle.
“Okay, so since I’m on a roll, let me ask you just how much you like the outdoors.”
“I told you yesterday that I love it.”
“Up for a little hike?”
“Absolutely. Where are we going?”
“Well, I was trying to think of where we could go that you’d stand a chance of encountering the fewest people, and there’s a place about a half-hour’s drive called Hamilton Pool. It’s a nature preserve with a waterfall where Hamilton Creek spills into a pool with a grotto.”
“Sounds gorgeous.”
“It is, and the best part is that school isn’t out for the summer yet plus it’s a weekday, so it shouldn’t be crowded. But it’s a dusty trail, and there are rocks to climb over to get into the heart of the grotto. You have clothes for that?”
“I’ll figure out something.”
“We could swim, too, if you wanted to.”
“Maybe.”
“You don’t like to swim?”
“Love to, just…” She only had a bikini with her, and suddenly that seemed so intimate.
“Well, bring it if you want to, and if you feel like it when you’re there, fine. If not, fine, too. The water will probably feel good on a day like today. But whatever you decide, I’ll throw some towels in the truck, and I’ll pack us some snacks.”
“Oh, Sean, don’t go to all that trouble. Couldn’t we stop at Whole Foods and pick something up? Isn’t it close to here?”
“Yeah, if you like healthy stuff. Girly food.”
She laughed. “Girly food. Whereas you’d pack, what, some white bread and bologna?”
“Hey, what’s wrong with good old bologna?”
She shook her head. “You are too much. Okay, here’s the deal. I happen to have access to an amazing kitchen just across the grounds. Let me see if I can wangle something for us from Vanessa, since you’re arranging all the rest. Or if she doesn’t have anything, since she’s only having to feed me right now, with my—gasp—girly tastes, then we’ll stop somewhere and grab something on the way.”
“At Whole Foods?” He sounded slightly sick at the prospect.
“You didn’t get that physique from only eating barbecue.”
“You noticed my physique? Score!”
“Oh, get out of here. Bring your bologna if you just have to have it, you plowboy, but I’ll arrange my own. We’ll see who winds up eating whose food. Now I’m going to get ready.”
“That’s harsh, Hollywood. I think you hurt my feelings.”
“I’ll be ready in thirty minutes, plowboy.”
“Me and my white bread will be waiting.”
She hung up, laughing.
As he drove back to the club, Martin Lowe’s phone rang.
“What’s going on? Why did you have Leslie wake me up?” Sage demanded.
“Are you alone?”
“Yeah, but I didn’t get to sleep until nearly five.” She yawned. He could easily imagine her there, tawny hair tousled by sex, long, supple she-cat body naked in the satin sheets she preferred.
They’d had a go at each other, several torrid months, until his head had cleared enough to realize that they could be lovers or partners but not both.
Sage Holland was greedy and venal and ambitious. Also smart as hell. And damn good at making money.
But lately her vices were causing him concerns.
“Not my fault you insist on picking up hotties at the club.”
“Not my fault you’re living like a monk lately. It’s making you surly.”
Enough dithering around. “What’s making me surly is cleaning up your messes.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Bately called the club this morning. Thank God he didn’t say anything specific to Leslie, but he insisted he needed to speak with me when she said you weren’t available.”
“What did he want?”
“I haven’t talked to him yet. I’ve been tied up.”
“Another of your mysterious morning errands? Where do you keep disappearing to, Martin?”
“You get to have a life outside the club but I don’t?”
A ch
arged moment of silence. “You’re the one who thinks we should stick to strictly business with each other.” Her voice turned to a purr. “I miss you in my bed, Martin. Nobody does it for me like you.”
If he let himself, he could fall right back into the quicksand. Sex with Sage was explosive and dangerous and…unforgettable. But you could never be sure if you’d escape without parts missing.
One of those parts that got lost in her sexual sorcery was, too often, his brain. “Sage…”
“Screw you.” Then she laughed, but it was brittle. “You’re no fun anymore, anyway.”
That was another concern, Sage’s mercurial moods. Sometimes they were drug-induced, but there was an instability to her, a counterbalance to her brilliance, that was there even when she was stone sober.
Dealing with Sage was like juggling lit sticks of dynamite.
But he was in too deep to do anything but keep juggling. Their fates were inextricably intertwined.
“Bately probably wants to beg for more time,” she sneered. “Or lower payments. He’s a pain in the ass, a constant whiner.”
“Should of thought of that before you decided we needed to get into the blackmail game.”
“Don’t give me that. We couldn’t run enough money through here to stay in Lima’s good graces. He was going to cut us out, you know that as well as I do. We needed options.”
“Well, you sure found them, didn’t you?” Martin gripped the steering wheel in white knuckles. “I can’t talk about this right now. I’m at the club.” Spending time with Annabelle then reentering his world was like breaking open a scab and watching the blood well. Being with her reminded him too much of the young dreamer he’d been.
And how far he’d drifted from the man she’d known.
“I’ll call Bately,” Sage said.
“Let me know if there’s a real problem.”
“I can handle him.” Her voice was icy as she disconnected without saying goodbye.
You’d damn well better, Martin thought. We can’t have anyone getting out of line, not right now.
Chapter Eight
“So we’re west of Austin now, right?” Annabelle rode in the passenger seat of his pickup, scanning the scenery.
“We are, indeed, out in what’s called the Hill Country. This used to be old ranch country.”
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