Читать книгу New Year, New Man - Natalie Anderson - Страница 11
ОглавлениеSara didn’t say much on the drive from town, content to let April ramble about her meeting with the man who ran the local farm cooperative. She gazed at the tall pines that bordered the winding highway, continuing to be awed by her surroundings. The vivid colors, woodsy smells—the vast magnitude of every inch of this place.
She thought about Josh’s “real life” comment. Sara knew real life. Real life was struggling to meet her rent every month, praying each time she used her debit card that her bank account wasn’t overdrawn. She had to admit there was something about Crimson that felt—well, authentic. In L.A., life was about who you knew, where you could get a table, which plastic surgeon you frequented. She glanced in the rearview mirror, wondering for a moment about the last time she’d gone anywhere without full makeup. Her war paint, as she’d come to think of it.
Was it possible she could have a brief reprieve from battle in this small mountain community?
As Sara drove down the narrow driveway toward the ranch, she spotted a large black SUV parked in front of the main house.
“If that’s my mother...” she muttered under her breath.
April patted her knee. “You can deal with your mother. You’re a fighter.”
The car almost swerved into the ditch. “Did you talk to Josh?” Sara accused her friend once she was back on the dirt road.
“No,” April answered slowly, her dark eyes studying Sara. “What’s going on with you two?”
“Nothing.”
“I can feel the vibes. They aren’t nothing.”
“You’re imagining it.”
“He’s hot.”
“Go for it,” Sara suggested. “Maybe he’d relax if he got a little something.”
April chuckled. “You know that after my divorce I swore off men, at least until I’ve found someone who’s worth the time and effort. So I don’t go for it anymore. Besides, maybe you could relax if...”
“Not going there.”
“We’ll see.”
“You think you know me so well.”
“I’ve known you since you were fourteen.”
The studio had hired April to be Sara’s fitness coach when she’d put on a few pounds during puberty. Sara counted that decision as one of the few blessings from her years as a sitcom star. Without April’s gentle guidance, Sara might have added “eating disorder” to her long list of personal issues.
Nine years older than Sara, April had quickly become Sara’s soul sister and best friend. When April’s stuntman husband left her a few years later during April’s grueling battle with breast cancer, Sara had been more than willing to see her friend through months of chemotherapy and radiation treatments and the nasty divorce that resulted.
Neither woman had been lucky in the relationship department—another fact that, despite their different outlooks on life, bonded them deeply.
“You only think you know me. I’m a mystery wrapped in a puzzle clothed in an enigma,” Sara told her friend with a wry smile.
“Right.”
Sara parked the car next to the SUV. “Are you trying to distract me from the probability of another scene with Mommie Dearest?”
“Is it working?” April asked, reaching for the door handle.
Sara grabbed her arm. “Have I told you today how sorry I am you’re in this predicament with me?”
April shrugged. “Things happen for a reason.”
“Don’t go all Sliding Doors on me. The reason your savings account was wiped out and you lost the yoga studio is because I’m a gullible idiot, a loser and the worst friend in the world. We’re stuck in high-altitude Pleasantville for the summer, thanks to me.”
“Sara...” April began, her tone gentle.
Sara thumped her head against the steering wheel. “Maybe I was wrong to agree to Josh’s plan for the summer. If I sold to Mom’s latest sugar daddy we could be back in California next week.”
“Back to what?”
“Our lives.”
“Neither of our lives was that great to begin with, and you know it. Besides, what about Josh and Claire?”
“Not my problem.”
“I guess that’s true,” April admitted. She pushed open the passenger door. “But we’re not going to get anywhere sitting in this car. If you want to hear your mom out, that’s your decision. You have to take control of this situation.”
“Lucky me,” Sara answered, and started toward the house.
* * *
Sara walked through the front door, waiting for the scent of White Diamonds, the perfume her mother had worn for decades to hit her. She smelled nothing.
She turned the corner from the foyer and stopped so suddenly that April knocked into the back of her. She stood perfectly still for one moment, then launched herself across the family room at the man who stood on the other side of the couch.
“I’m going to kill you,” she yelled, reaching out to wrap her fingers around his neck.
Strong arms pulled her away and she was enveloped in a different scent—one that even in her anger still had an effect on her insides. “Settle down,” Josh whispered in her ear.
“Let me go,” she said on a hiss of breath. She fought, and his arms clamped around her, pressing her against the solid wall of his chest. After a minute she stopped struggling. “Let me go,” she repeated. “I’m not going to hurt him.”
Slowly, Josh loosened his hold on her. For the briefest second, Sara fought the urge to snuggle back into the warmth that radiated off his soft denim shirt, to bury her face into the crook of his neck and simply breathe.
She stepped away, needing to break their invisible connection, and straightened the hem of her long shirt. “You’ve got a lot of nerve showing up here, Ryan. Unless you’ve got my money and April’s, too, you can crawl back under the rock you came from.”
“Hi, Sara.” Ryan Thompson, her onetime business partner and long-ago ex-boyfriend flashed a sheepish smile. “I came to apologize.” He held out his hands, palms up. “To beg your forgiveness. Go ahead, attack me if you want. I deserve it. Whatever it takes to put this behind us.”
Sara felt her temper building but kept her voice steady. “What it will take is you handing me a check for two hundred thousand dollars. The money it will take to repay April for losing the studio.”
Ryan looked past her to April. “Do you, at least, forgive me, April? You understand, right?”
“I understand you, Ryan” came April’s taut response.
His brows furrowed and he turned his attention to Sara again. “I messed up. I’m sorry. I’m going to make it better.”
“By writing a check?”
He sighed. “You know I can’t do that.”
Sara knew a lot about Ryan Thompson. They’d met when she was nineteen.
Her career had stalled; audiences did not want to see another childhood star grow into a bona fide actor. She’d had a couple of box office flops, lost roles in several Lifetime movies to former cast members of 90210 and could barely get casting directors to meet with her for even supporting roles. She’d briefly thought of applying to college until her mother had informed her that with the quality of on-set tutoring she’d received, she’d been lucky to get her GED.
Her mother, who was still managing her at the time, had come up with the brilliant idea of sending Sara to rehab for undisclosed reasons.
Although the closest she’d come to an addiction was a great affinity for Reese’s cups, Sara had been legitimately exhausted for months and welcomed a break from the Hollywood rat race.
Rose thought the publicity would make people see Sara as an adult, and if they didn’t get specific about an addiction, the backlash would be manageable. The whole Drew Barrymore comeback—maybe even a book deal.
It hadn’t worked. At all. She’d been blacklisted by every major studio, and her stalled career had gone down the toilet completely. But she’d loved her time at the secluded facility, morning meditation classes and long walks through the desert trails. On one of those solitary walks, she’d met Ryan, a hot young director who’d blown a huge wad of his last project’s budget on his gambling addiction. The producers had sent him to the Next Steps treatment facility for a month-long program. As far as Sara could tell, he was the only other patient at the center not half crazed with withdrawal symptoms or buying drugs from the cleaning crew.
They’d been fast friends and had even tried a romance for about a millisecond. Ryan was prettier than Brad Pitt in Thelma and Louise and higher maintenance than a full-blown diva. He loved women, could flirt the pants off the Pope’s sister and was as good at monogamy as he was at staying away from the blackjack table.
They’d remained close, and while he’d had a couple of critical and box office hits, Ryan continued to be a master of self-sabotage, finding it impossible to resist the lure of Las Vegas’s shiny lights.
He’d been clean a year and a half when he’d approached Sara about forming a production company together. She was at the end of her rope with bad waitressing jobs and potential projects falling through. He presented a well-thought-out business plan, complete with spreadsheets, a list of potential investors and a movie script that had award written all over it. One with a lead role that made Sara literally salivate with need.
She’d agreed, and for months they’d hit the pavement, calling and setting up meetings to try to make this new dream a reality. After one of the major investors backed out, Sara’d complained to April, who’d offered to take a second mortgage on her yoga studio and give the money to Sara. April had a solid client list of California high rollers and had even been offered her own DVD series working alongside one starlet yoga devotee.
At first Sara had resisted her friend’s offer, but April was confident in Sara’s ability to make the production company a success. April was the only person who knew that Sara had been taking classes part-time at UCLA and was close to earning a business degree.
She and April planned on franchising the studio, and April’s particular brand of yoga and one hit movie could help finance the expansion. Sara saw her chance to create a career away from Hollywood that would both fulfill her and give her the respect she craved.
That was before Ryan fell off the wagon again, blowing all their money on a weekend in Vegas. In less than a month, Sara had lost her savings, her apartment, her latest job and almost her friendship with April.
Now Ryan stood in front of her, offering to make it better. She’d trusted him once and wouldn’t make that mistake again.
“If you can’t write a check, how could you possibly make anything all right again?”
“The financing is almost set. I’ve got a new director interested. One who wants you for the lead. He’s in Aspen for a few weeks. I just need to get hold of his people and set up a meeting with the two of you.” His eyes shifted to April. “I’ll get your money back. All of it.”
Sara shook her head. “No way. We’re done, Ryan. I don’t trust you. I don’t want to work with you. I don’t want you anywhere near me.”
“Sara, please,” he pleaded, his voice a soft caress just short of a whine.
“She said no, bud.” Josh had been so quiet where he stood a few feet behind her, she’d almost forgotten he was there.
Almost.
“I wasn’t talking to you, Roy Rogers.”
Sara saw Josh’s fists bunch at his sides. “Well, I’m talking to you,” he said, and took a step forward.
She put up a hand. “It’s okay, Josh.”
She’d been friends with Ryan long enough to know the pain and regret in his eyes were real. She wouldn’t admit it, but it got to her. That was Sara’s problem. She was a sucker for lost causes. Having been one for so many years, she could smell desperation on a person like some people could sniff out a good barbecue.
“I’m sorry,” Ryan said again.
“You didn’t even call. I had to find out from your assistant.”
“I went straight from the casino to another stint in rehab.” He offered a sheepish smile. “I’m a little more self-aware now, at least.”
“Some good it did me.”
“Give me a chance, Sara.”
She blew out a breath and tried to ignore Josh seething next to her. “Fine. Call me if you get a meeting.”
Ryan gave her a bright smile. “That’s great. I’ll—”
“In the meantime, you can help out around the ranch. Aspen’s not that far and I know you have time on your hands. There’s lots to do before the guests arrive.”
“Hell, no.” Josh sliced the air with one hand. “He’s a lazy, no-good, designer-jeans-wearing pansy, and he’s not touching anything in my house.”
Sara whirled on him. “As I remember, this is my house.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do,” she said with a sniff. “And I don’t like it.” She turned to Ryan. “You’ll work, Ryan. And not as in making reservations. The real thing. Start paying off your debt.”
The frown he gave her said he wanted to argue but knew he didn’t have a leg to stand on. “Sure. I’ll do it. This is a guest ranch, right? What do you need? Someone to charm the clients. A wine sommelier, perhaps?”
She grinned. “A prep cook.”
“A what?”
“Someone to help April in the kitchen.”
April coughed loudly. “No, no, no. I don’t need him, don’t want him, won’t have him.”
Sara studied her friend. April was the kindest person she’d ever met. She didn’t have a bad word to say about anyone. She’d give the coat off her back to a complete stranger. She’d expected April to take on Ryan like another one her charity cases. After all, April had been taking care of Sara for close to a decade. April’s typically peaches-and-cream complexion had gone almost beet-red, and her chest rose and fell in frustrated huffs as she glared at Ryan.
He’d cost April her business and most of her savings, but even when Sara’d first shared the awful news, April had taken it in stride. She never lost her temper or got ruffled.
Until now.
She waited for Ryan to turn on his almost irresistible charm, offer April one of his trademark lines, smooth talk her into agreeing. Instead, he looked at Josh.
“Could you use a hand with maintenance?”
Josh shook his head.
“Grass to cut?”
“Nope.”
“Horse droppings to scoop?”
“Nothing.”
Ryan’s squeezed shut his eyes. “I can’t be completely useless. I’m done with useless.”
Sara threw a sharp glance in April’s direction. “Come on,” she mouthed silently.
April growled low in her throat. “You can help. But you’ll do what I say, which mainly involves staying out of my way.”
To Sara’s surprise, Ryan nodded, then stepped forward and wrapped her in a tight hug. “I am sorry.”
“Make it better with April,” Sara whispered.
“She hates me.”
“Do you blame her?”
“I’m a good guy. With a little problem.”
“Ryan.”
“I need to get back to Aspen today.” He leaned back and scrubbed his hand over his face. “But I’ll be back and I’ll try.”
Sara glanced to where April stood, but her friend was gone. “Try hard,” she told Ryan. “April deserves to be happy.”
He ran a finger across her cheek. “We all do.”
“If you say so,” she answered. They both knew she didn’t mean it.
Josh watched Ryan head toward the front door. His plan had seemed so simple a few months ago. Move back to his small hometown and make a new life on this secluded property. Work at the ranch would give both he and Claire the home and stability he needed. He’d be able to forget his past, the pain of his accident and losing his career—the only thing he’d ever cared about in his life.
With enough hard work, he’d be so exhausted he wouldn’t miss the smell of the arena, would stop aching for the feel of a thousand-pound bull beneath him and the adrenaline rush that came with those seconds in the ring.
With enough patience, his daughter would stop looking at him like he was the enemy.
Now he had three California misfits crowding his space. Josh didn’t do people and their problems. He had friends, sure. Other bull riders who were like him, happy to spend time drinking beer and watching old footage. Once guys left the ring and made homes and families for themselves, he usually lost touch. He was a loner and liked it that way. No complications.
The woman who walked over to the picture window at the far end of the family room was the biggest complication he’d ever met. She complicated his life. What happened to his insides when he watched her was a problem he sure didn’t need.
He took a few steps toward her, not close enough to smell the scent that always surrounded her—some strange mix of honey and cinnamon—sweet with a bit of kick. But close enough that she couldn’t not be aware of him. He wanted her to notice him as much as he did her.
“Do you two have a thing going?” he asked casually.
She looked over her shoulder at him. “You mean Ryan?”
“Who else?”
“Does it matter?”
A muscle ticked at the side of his jaw. “Stop answering my questions with questions.” He hooked his thumbs into his belt loops. “My thirteen-year-old daughter is right down the hall from him. I don’t want her waking up to any moaning and groaning next door.”
One side of her mouth kicked up. “What if Ryan’s at my cabin?”
He fought the urge to growl. “I don’t need a soap opera played out in front of the clients.”
She turned to him fully. “I don’t do soap operas.” Her eyes narrowed. “What makes you think I’m a moaner?”
Only the fact he’d spent the past three nights imagining the sounds she’d make when she was in his arms, under him, wrapped around him.
He took a step closer, so near that her subtle scent surrounded him and he could feel her breath against his jaw. His fingers reached out and pushed a wayward lock of streaked hair behind her ear. He’d only meant to touch her that little bit, but she turned her cheek, ever so slightly, into his palm. Her warm skin tempted him, called to his inner need. It wasn’t a fight he could possibly win.
He brought his other hand up to cradle her face, tracing the edge of her lips with a calloused thumb. Her eyes remained glued to his mouth, and as he came nearer they drifted closed.
The desire to kiss her raced through him like a runaway train, almost knocking him back with its speed and strength. He needed to know if she tasted as sweet as she smelled, if her mouth was as soft as her skin. This prickly, snappish woman who played it so tough on the outside had sparked something in him he’d never felt before. Because he had a feeling that on the inside she was soft and warm. He craved knowing that side of her.
Josh tried to pull away, but he’d never been much for self-preservation instincts. This moment was no different.
She made a noise somewhere between a sigh and a moan.
He was a goner.
“I knew it,” he whispered against her mouth.
“Why are you still talking?” she asked, her eyes dark with the same desire he knew was reflected in his.
He pressed his lips to hers. Although he’d known she’d taste amazing, he wasn’t prepared for his body’s reaction to her. Electricity charged through him as he brushed his tongue across the seam of her lips. He forced himself to keep the kiss gentle when what he wanted was to wrap his arms around her and carry her to his bedroom.
“I don’t want to do this,” she said on a ragged breath.
He stilled. “Do you want me to stop?”
“Lord help me, no.” Her arms twined around his neck, drawing him closer.
What a hypocrite, to complain that his daughter might catch wind of her and Ryan when Josh was ready to get naked in front of an oversize window.
The window. Claire. The thought of Claire seeing him play tonsil hockey with Sara made him pull away from her.
“What’s the matter?”
He rested his forehead on hers and drew in several steadying breaths. “Everything. This summer is about Claire. About starting over with her. A second chance.”
“Second chances,” she said, her voice impossibly quiet. “I get that.” The next moment she pushed hard on his chest. “You know what you are, Lone Ranger?”
He shook his head as she started past him, wondering how she could go from soft and pliant to prickly in less time than he could stay on the meanest bull. “What’s that, Hollywood Barbie?”
“A tease.”
Fighting words. She’d probably chosen them purposely to break the spell between them, but he couldn’t let it go. He grabbed her wrist and swung her around to face him. “You’d better take that back. Now.”
She shook free of his grasp. “You won’t let anyone in and you’ll throw out any excuse in the book so you don’t have to.” Her eyes glinted, daring him to argue.
His gaze locked on hers, and he let her see how much he craved her. Her breath caught. She took a small step back.
“Do you want in, Sara? Really?”
She looked at a point past his shoulder for a few moments, and when her eyes finally found his, she shook her head. “I want out. Out of Colorado. Out of debt. Out of owing people.”
The right answer for both of them, Josh knew, but a sliver of pain sliced across his chest. He wasn’t the kind of man women took a chance on. He had nothing to offer except a wild night between the sheets and a wave in the morning.
Even if she didn’t know it, he could tell Sara needed a man who would stick.
Joe Hollywood upstairs wasn’t it, but neither was Josh.
“It’s better this way,” she told him. “No complications.”
Right.
She tapped her fingers against her jaw as if deep in thought. “I don’t like you that much anyway,” she said finally. “You’re not my type.”
“Could you stop waving red flags in front of me?” He dug his hands deep into his pockets to keep from reaching out to her again. Every time she made some kind of ridiculous comment, he itched to prove her wrong. Over and over again.
As if sensing his intentions, she took another step away. “Sorry. No red flags. I have some voice mails to return, so I’ll see you later. Or not. Probably not.”
“Are we still in good shape?”
Her brow arched.
“Bookings,” he clarified. “Guests. Good shape with actually making money this summer.” He hadn’t wanted to turn the office side of the ranch over to her, but as the start of the season got closer, it became harder to balance the preparations on the property with the work involved in making reservations and talking to potential customers. Sara had insisted that customer service was her strong suit, and despite her sassy attitude with him, so far she’d been a whiz. In less than a week, she’d organized the jumble of paperwork in the office, confirmed their current reservations and followed up with a half-dozen prospective clients.
The best part was that Josh’s cell phone, where he’d had the office calls forwarded, had stopped ringing every ten minutes. He’d actually been able to get a lot of projects done. He felt almost ready for guests to arrive.
“We’re in better than good shape. I just confirmed a family reunion for six nights at the end of June. There’s only one weekend in July still open and August is full.” She studied him. “You did an excellent job with the marketing. I guess there was a write-up in Sunset magazine recommending the ranch. That’s quite a bit of publicity.”
He shrugged. “I know an editor there.”
She leaned in closer. “Must be an ex-girlfriend because you’re blushing.”
“I don’t blush.”
That elicited a full-blown laugh. “If you say so.”
The sound of her laughter flowed through him. He grinned back at her. The moment grew quiet again, just the two of them watching each other. The heat in his cheeks took a nosedive south.
She blinked and her lips thinned. “I’m going to the office now.”
“Gotcha.”
“Don’t follow me.”
He tipped his head. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
She headed for the other side of the house and the two rooms he’d converted to central operations with a little too much speed for a natural gait.
It looked as if she was running away.
Good. Maybe that would save them both.
