“Yes sir,” Sienna managed as she made a vain attempt at not withering under his glare.
“Now shall we all put our heads together and see if we can’t figure out how to undo the damage Miss Montalvo has done? Who here knows how we can get a box office draw who will work for peanuts during Christmas?”
A shaky hand went up at the far end of the table. “How much money are we talking, Art?”
“Take what we were going to pay Campbell and subtract what we’ve already spent on promoting the fact we had last year’s big action hero playing next year’s war hero.” He shrugged. “Anything left goes to the next guy.”
Sienna shrunk farther into her chair.
Mr. Kelton glanced at his Rolex and frowned then, to Sienna’s relief, went on to the next item on his agenda. While the others debated the finer points of budgets and schedules, Sienna could only wonder why she’d ever thought herself worthy of taking a seat among them.
She kept a brave face throughout the rest of the meeting, only dissolving into tears when she returned to the tiny cubicle she called her first real Hollywood office. As she fell into her chair and swiveled to face the wall, it was all Sienna could do not to crumple up today’s meeting agenda and throw it at her newly framed diploma.
“USC School of Cinematic Arts with honors,” she grumbled under her breath as she reached into her desk. “What does it matter when I’ll never live this down?”
“It got you in the door.” Sienna whirled around to see Regina Barlow leaning against the door frame, arms crossed. “Now that you’re in, it’s up to you not to get thrown out of the building.”
A toss and the agenda landed in the trash. “I think it’s too late for that,” she said. “Between the short notice, the reduced salary, and the fact whoever takes this part will be on location during the holidays, I’d say it’s an impossible task.”
Regina pointed to the frame just below Sienna’s diploma. It was a gift from her sister, who had hand-writtten in calligraphy, embellished with curlicues and glitz, the Montalvo family motto: Nothing is impossible with God.
With a half smile, Sienna shrugged. “Busted. It’s just that I can’t imagine how anyone would—” No need to say the rest. “I know,” she added, “leave it to prayer.”
“Exactly.” The casting director grinned. “Though you’re from San Antonio. If you happened to know some handsome Texas cowboy who could play a decent Davy Crockett and doesn’t mind spending Christmas with a bunch of movie types, that would be great, too.”
“Davy Crockett was from Tennessee.”
Regina rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean, Sienna.”
“Yes,” Sienna said, “and I know the perfect man for the part, but he’s the last person I’d recommend.”
“And yet he was on the original short list for the film.” Regina shrugged. “I assume you’re thinking of Joe Ramirez.”
Fresh hurt swept over her as she recalled the headlines the press had created in those dark days after their highly publicized breakup. THE RAMIREZ REJECT. NO MO JOE.
There were more, but she was blessedly unable to recall them now.
Sienna shook off the image of her face staring back from a half dozen gossip rags at the grocery checkout. Some days it felt like yesterday. “Don’t you read the gossip columns, Regina?” she said. “He and I are old news.”
“Last I heard he was still on the market and looking good as ever. You sure there’s not something still simmering between you?”
She wasn’t. “Yeah,” Sienna said. “Sure as I’ll ever be.”
Regina shrugged. “Then you won’t mind that I already recommended him for the part.”
Chapter 2
Near Brackettville, Texas
Joe Ramirez reined in his horse and sat back in the saddle. Far as the eye could see lay God’s handiwork, from the low scrub along the canyon walls to the lush green valley and the West Nueces River below. And above, though the sun beat down relentlessly now, tonight there would be a thousand stars and a moon bright enough to light the Texas night.
If The General were here, the two of them might have ridden off into the canyon like a pair of nineteenth-century cowboys and slept in bedrolls beside a campfire and told jokes until the first one gave up and started snoring. But it was October, and Dad was in his swim trunks trying to master the art of diving off Cayman Brac while Mom read a novel under an umbrella on the beach in front of their condo. Or at least that’s what the plans were when Joe talked to The General over Skype last night.
He thought of his soldier father, a man so intimidating even his wife called him The General. And yet also a man who loved the Lord and had passed that on to his only child. As relentless in retirement as he had been during his globetrotting military career, Hector Ramirez was now commanding an army of one—his wife—and on occasion, Joe.
Reaching into the saddlebag, Joe snatched up his mp3 player. Loaded with a month’s worth of Spanish lessons, he had figured to catch up on the research his agent assured him was necessary to play next year’s part of a lifetime. The great irony in being cast as the explorer Hernando Cortez was that, although his family tree had roots in both Spain and Mexico, thanks to his own rootless existence as an army brat, he spoke not a word of Spanish beyond what was required to order a decent meal at the local taqueria.
The idea of learning while he rode had some appeal, until Joe gave it a try and failed miserably at the endeavor. Instead, he turned his mare toward the latest place he called home, a rock and timber structure perched on the side of a canyon. According to local legend—and his agent, Gabe Chandler, who’d arranged the rental—the home was built to house some of the movie folk who gathered to film The Alamo back in the 50s.
Alice, the woman who came to clean and bring groceries every Monday, could tick off a list longer than her arm of all the stars whose dirty socks and soiled coffee cups she’d washed while visiting this place. Though Joe wasn’t sure he believed the tales, he did choose the north-facing bedroom at the far end of the house because Alice swore that was his hero John Wayne’s favorite.
Leaving his boots on the back porch, Joe poured a glass of sweet tea—another of Alice’s specialties—and found a shady spot on the deck to return to his studies. When his phone rang, Joe spied the name of his agent on the caller ID and answered it with a hearty, “Bueno.”
“Very funny, kid,” Gabe Chandler said. “Guess that means you’re taking these Spanish lessons seriously.”
“I am.” Joe lifted the glass of tea and took a long drink then set the glass back on the table. “So what’s new, Gabe?”
A long pause. “Understand I’m passing this on only as a favor to a friend.” Another pause. “Kelton’s looking for an actor on short notice. Money’s lousy, and Kelton’s demanding his actors work Christmas. And you know he’s always got some crazy initiation stunt he pulls on them before the talent starts work. Last time it was a ropes course. Can you feature it, Joe? A bunch of Hollywood millionaires swinging through the Costa Rican jungle like Tarzan.”
“Wait,” Joe said. “Kelton? The Kelton? Tell me the terms again.”
“Lousy money, work Christmas, crazy director.”
Joe sat up a little straighter. He had plenty of money, and with parents who were less likely each year to land in a place where he could join them, the idea of Christmas on a movie set beat any other plans he might have.
And as for crazy, he lived in Hollywood. Out there crazy was relative. And a ropes course through the jungle sounded like a grand time.
“Tell me more. What’s it about? Can you get me a copy of the script?”
“You know I’m sworn to secrecy, Joe. I can’t give you any details until you sign the agreement. I’m not even supposed to know them myself. Thank goodness Art’s craziness extends to my wife’s lasagna. We had him over to dinner last night, and he spilled his guts. Not literally, of course, but he did let me in on a problem he’s got—other than indigestion, which is a nasty thing at his ag
e.”
“Focus, Gabe.”
“Yes, well, you weren’t there. The man was positively belching up his—”
“Gabe, really.”
“All right. He said his casting director put you at the top of the short list. I told him I might have an opening for you to do this. Emphasis on might.”
“He wants me to sign on for the movie but won’t show me the script?”
“Yep. That’s standard procedure for an Art Kelton film these days.” Gabe paused. “Everyone is sworn to secrecy until the movie’s in the can.”
Joe chuckled in disbelief. “With all due respect, Gabe, how can anyone, even the great Art Kelton, expect an actor to go into a movie blind? Just a few pages are all I need.”
“Can’t do that.” Another long pause. “But I don’t guess it would hurt if you figured it out.”
Joe rose to peel off his shirt and use it to wipe the perspiration on his brow. “Let me get this straight. He told you? Because he likes your wife’s lasagna?”
“Hey now, the wife makes a fabulous vegetable lasagna. Makes her pasta from scratch. Art, he’s got a bit of a cholesterol problem and—”
“Gabe! Stick with me here. What’s the movie about?”
“All right,” his agent said. “Tell me where you’re staying nowadays.”
The attempt at sidetracking the conversation irritated Joe. Still, he figured not to rock the boat until he had the answers he needed. “You know where I’m staying. That place in Brackettville your buddy who worked on the original screen version of—” A thought dawned, and he put it together with a few stray rumors he’d heard pass between locals at the diner where he ate most of his breakfasts. “The Alamo. Kelton’s remaking it.”
“I can neither confirm nor deny this,” was his agent’s coy response.
“Which part?” Not that any of them would be bad.
“Joe, you know I can’t—”
“All right,” Joe interrupted, “but can I get a hint?”
His agent chuckled. “You still sleeping in that same bedroom you told me about?”
John Wayne.
Joe set the phone down and lifted his eyes heavenward. Forget next year’s movie. This was the part of a lifetime, and only the Lord could have made this possible. He let out a whoop that sent the barn cat scurrying back under the deck.
“I take it that’s a yes,” Gabe said when Joe picked up the phone once more.
“Yes, that’s a yes,” Joe said. “When do I start, and how do I get a copy of the script?”
“Before you go saying yes for sure, there’s one more thing you might need to know.” He made Joe wait before continuing. “Kelton’s got himself a new PA. Mentioned her by name at dinner, and let me tell you Kelton’s not one to do that. This gal graduated first in her class at USC film school, and the talk is she’s going to make one fine director or producer someday. He’s thinking of offering her a mentorship, though right now she’s got him madder than a hornet. The name sounded familiar, so I did a little research.”
Joe only half listened. His mind was already tumbling forward to the day he’d get his hands on that script. “Is that so?” he offered when silence fell between them.
“You didn’t hear a word I said, did you, Joey?”
Joey. The name still sent his mind tumbling back to the woman who’d insisted on calling him that since high school despite his protests to the contrary. An ornery gal, that one. Just one reason he’d been unable to forget her.
Another was the way it ended. Seven months and five days ago. Not that he was counting.
“Joe?”
He cleared his throat and shoved the thoughts back where they belonged. “You were telling me about the woman Kelton’s thinking of mentoring. I’m guessing she’s going to be on location. Are you warning me to keep away?” He paused. “Because you know I’ve mended my ways.”
Ways that had cost him the only woman he ever loved, though to be fair their breakup was as much her fault as his. If Sienna hadn’t given him an ultimatum, he might have gotten his stubborn up and chosen not to listen to his publicist.
As he thought about it, Joe cringed. The blame lay completely at his feet, which was why the publicist was gone and so was Joe’s attitude—mostly.
His agent chuckled. “Considering past history, it’s probably better you don’t know ahead of time anyway.”
“Yeah, Gabe, whatever. Just get me the script and make it official.”
“Done,” he said. “I’ll overnight the script. Plan on being in San Antonio the first week of November to seal the deal.”
“San Antonio? What happened to Costa Rica and the ropes course?”
“Kelton’ll be in town checking on progress at the location site. Makes more sense than having you fly out to LA, and this way you can see where the movie’s going to be filmed.”
A circling hawk caught Joe’s attention, and he watched it swoop down out of sight into the canyon below. “Kelton’s not renovating the original site here in Brackettville? I figured with his attention to detail that would be his plan.”
“You’re partly right,” Gabe said. “Only the historians he hired to authenticate the original movie set suggested some changes, so he’s building from scratch.”
“From scratch?” Joe laughed. “As in creating a whole new Alamo?”
“That’s the idea, kid. Now go celebrate, and I’ll take care of the details.”
Joe’s first call was to The General, where he left a message. Then he went inside and poured another glass of sweet tea and reached for the remote. Thinking better of it, Joe snatched up the well-worn deck of playing cards and dealt a hand of solitaire.
“The life of a Hollywood star,” he said as he turned over the first card. “King of hearts.” He laughed. “Hardly, but I am going to be Davy Crockett, and that’s almost as good.”
And by the time Joe’s boots landed at the front entrance of San Antonio’s Hotel Valencia Riverwalk, Joe had his lines memorized. Most of them, anyway.
Gabe’s last e-mail had indicated someone from the film crew would be picking him up in the morning to take him to the site, so Joe stowed his gear then turned on the television to check the football scores while he dealt a hand of solitaire. Somewhere between commercials, he fell asleep fully dressed and did not awaken until his phone alerted him to the impending arrival of the studio’s limo.
He reached for the remote to shut off the television then rose to take a quick shower and shave. By the time room service brought breakfast, Joe had dressed and stepped into his boots. When the call came that the car had arrived, Joe grabbed his sunglasses and room key and then paused to give thanks one more time for the opportunity that had taken him—but not God—by surprise.
“Give me the good sense and grace to live up to the part.” Joe reached for the doorknob. “And let me be a light that shines toward You.”
The studio’s car was waiting when he stepped out into the unseasonably warm November dawn. Though the sun shone over downtown San Antonio, the ache in his knee—a high school football injury that predicted weather more accurately than the weather service—told him rain was on the way.
Slipping on his shades, Joe moved toward the limo. Whatever the cause for this meeting, or rather, whatever type of initiation awaited him, Joe knew he could handle it. He climbed in and leaned back against the seat, closing his eyes.
“Good morning.”
That voice. His heart jolted and his eyes flew open. It could only be—
Joe nearly lost his sunglasses trying to get them off. The woman before him was sleek and well put together, a dark-haired beauty he’d more than once likened to dynamite in a tiny package. Her briefcase matched her boots and her eyes—all deep coffee-colored brown.
He swallowed hard. “Sienna?”
Her lips turned up in a slow smile. Without pausing, she reached her hand toward his. “Welcome to San Antonio, Joey.”
Chapter 3
A full week of practice still ha
d not prepared her for this moment.
Sienna called upon her limited training as a high school drama club actress to keep her breathing even and measured and her tone light and unaffected by the man sitting so close their knees almost touched. The fact he looked as flustered as she felt gave Sienna enough courage to offer a smile even as she wished to rub her palms against her jeans to rid herself of the feel of his touch.
Joe appeared to be completely unaffected by her presence, or at least he showed nothing of any feelings to the contrary. Sienna leaned back against the soft leather of the limo’s backward-facing seat and tried not to take offense. Of course the man who broke her heart would move on and feel little or nothing for her.
Why had she expected anything different?
“Your hair’s longer,” the object of her thoughts said. “Still wearing it up, though.”
That’s it? Seven months and eight days of total silence, of headlines proclaiming her Joey’s reject, and the best Joe Ramirez could manage was a comment about the length of her hair?
Sienna resisted the urge to tug at her ponytail and instead let out a long breath as she watched Joe put his dark shades back in place. The better to hide his emotions, she decided. For anything Joe Ramirez felt was easily discernable in those caramel-colored eyes.
“Yes, well, I trust you’ve settled in comfortably at the Valencia.” Too formal and yet the only thing she could think to say.
“Do you now?” His grin was slow, familiar. She had to look away. “Not sure how you did it, but I’m glad you found me.”
On this she couldn’t help but stare. Did the man actually think she had gone hunting for him?
“Actually you’ve got Regina in casting to thank for that,” Sienna said.
He seemed confused by her statement then shook it off and leaned forward to place his palms over her hands. “I should have expected you’d have connections. Makes sense you’d use them to locate me.” Before she could respond, Joey slid across the gap between them to settle himself beside her. As he stretched out, he also had the audacity to reach behind her to gather her close. “So, all’s forgiven.”
A Riverwalk Christmas: Four-in-One Collection Page 20