This time a nod. She poured a tall glass of juice. Noticing that he hadn't shaved, she asked, "Growing a beard for anonymity?"
"Maybe."
He was definitely not in a communicative mood. "I thought it would be nice to eat in Alma's walled garden. Would you set the table, please?"
Another nod. Juice in hand, he opened the door to the garden, kittens skittering out with him. She poured the beaten eggs into a skillet, then started the coffee and toasted Alma's sourdough bread.
By the time Kenzie had scouted the garden and located placemats and silverware, breakfast was ready to go. Rainey divided the omelet with two-thirds for Kenzie and the rest for her, slid the pieces onto plates warmed in the oven, then added the toast and a jar of honey. As she lifted the tray, she asked, "Could you pour the coffee and bring it out?"
He filled the mugs and followed her out to the garden, which was at the height of late summer glory. Flowering vines covered one wall and the air was heady with high desert scents. She noticed a small, weathered statue of St. Francis lurking beside a sage bush. The circular table and chairs were pleasantly cool under the arbor, and decorated with a hopeful-looking gray kitten.
Kenzie set down the coffee mugs and removed the kitten from the table. "Sorry, gray guy, that's not allowed."
"Is Gray Guy his name?" Rainey placed the plates on the table and set the tray aside, then took one of the chairs.
"It might as well be. Do you want to name the tabby, since she's just leaped on your lap?"
Rainey petted the little cat, who purred ecstatically at the attention. "She says her name is Honeybunny, since her fur is bunny soft, honey-colored, and she certainly is sweet." Gently she returned the kitten to the weathered quarry tile floor. "I hope the food is okay. I'm feeling vastly proud of myself for remembering how to turn on a stove."
Kenzie sampled the omelet. "This is good. I'm not sure I knew you could cook."
Glad he was eating and speaking sentences, Rainey started on her eggs. They had turned out pretty well, and the food steadied her. How long had it been since she'd eaten? She bogged down on the time zones, but knew it had been too long.
Under the influence of dappled sun, fragrant flowers, and wrestling kittens, the knots in her shoulders slowly eased. Peace radiated from the earth itself. Los Angeles and London both seemed like different planets.
It felt so right to be sitting here quietly with Kenzie. Despite their hectic lives, there had been many pleasant times spent sharing meals and each other's company in some remote, beautiful spot. For a few minutes, she allowed herself the luxury of pretending that all was well. After they finished eating, she poured second cups of coffee. "I'm beginning to remember what it's like to have a life."
"Enjoy it while you can. I should think you'll be as busy in postproduction as you were doing the shooting."
She contemplated the return to Southern California without enthusiasm. "You're probably right."
Kenzie rested his elbows on his knees, turning his mug restlessly in his palms. "What did Marcus have to say?"
"Things are looking pretty good." Rainey briefly summarized the producer's remarks. She hesitated before adding reluctantly, "Apparently Nigel Stone has also produced a child pornography video he says you were in."
Kenzie shut his eyes, face twisting. "I'd almost forgotten about that. Rock gave me some kind of drug, a form of Ecstasy, maybe, then took me to this grimy little studio. I don't remember much about it, and never saw the finished product. Nigel probably found a copy among his father's things after Rock's death."
"Val saw a still picture from the video, and said it didn't look like you--right coloring, wrong features. So Nigel can't hurt you with it."
Kenzie's gaze went to a pair of butterflies dancing above a bush. "He's already done quite enough damage."
"It's hellacious to have everything you wanted to forget stirred up again, but it will blow over in a few weeks."
"It didn't for Humpty Dumpty. All the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't do a damned thing for him." Kenzie glanced up at her, expression taut. "Don't look so worried. I won't kill myself on your watch."
Her blood froze. "Is killing yourself an option?"
Too much time passed before he said, "It's not very likely."
"For God's sake, Kenzie, don't even think of that!" She leaned forward and clasped his wrist. "This will pass."
His gaze dropped to her hands, then traveled down her body, lingering where the tank top fell away from her breasts. She felt a strange heat between them--desire so tangled with complications that it was impossible to act on.
Grateful he hadn't wrenched away, she released his hand and leaned back in the chair, trying to look normal even though she was shaking inside. If she freaked out, he'd stop talking to her altogether. "I'd like to be sure I understand this. You're saying you're too considerate to off yourself while I'm around to find the body?"
"That's pretty much it." His voice dropped to a whisper. "No one should have to do that more than once in a lifetime."
She winced as she thought of Clementine, and the hapless girl called Maggie Mackenzie. "Given the horrible effect of suicide on one's nearest and dearest, can I get you to extend your promise to the point of saying it's not an option? You'll get over this depression, Kenzie, I'm sure of it. You're so strong. You've survived too much to be brought down by a vicious little weasel like Nigel Stone."
"Not depressed. More ... hollow," he said, choosing his words slowly. "It took so much time and energy to create Kenzie Scott out of such unpromising material. He was like a blown glass Christmas ornament--impressive until it shatters, and there's nothing inside but emptiness. Building again would take more stamina than I have. But I don't intend to do anything rash. At the moment, my thoughts are running more toward never setting foot outside of Cibola for the rest of my life."
She raised her gaze to the mountains soaring above the adobe walls. "That I could understand. But what would you do with yourself? I have trouble seeing you as a serious rancher."
"I'm going to start by building a labyrinth. There's a little meadow on the hill above the house that's perfect for that."
At least constructing something was productive. "A turf labyrinth like the one at Morchard House?"
"Too dry for that. I thought some kind of tile or flagstone."
"Shall we go into Chama and see if they have a building materials supplier?"
He shrugged. "Callie Spears, the decorator I used, can pick something out and get it delivered."
So much for getting him away from the house. He might claim he wasn't depressed, but she had her doubts. Whenever she was depressed, she wanted to crawl under her bed and hide, which was pretty much what Kenzie was doing now.
"Back to the woodpile." He stood and collected the plates, then left.
She watched him enter the house, thinking that he might doubt if he had the strength to rebuild himself, but he certainly had more energy than she did. For days, she'd felt like a limp dishrag. A pity his energy was fueled by anger and frustration.
She closed her eyes, feeling the blood pound in her temples. She couldn't leave him when he was in this strange, dangerous mood.
But what about the damned movie? Investors had risked their money, cast and crew had knocked themselves out to make it. She had a responsibility to all of them.
Feeling a headache coming on, she went inside to her bedroom to call Marcus again. Too tired for tact, as soon as he answered she said bluntly, "I can't come to L.A. to edit the film, Marcus. I don't dare leave Kenzie alone."
The producer sucked in his breath. "If he's in that bad shape, we should get him into a good clinic until he's stabilized."
"No! That would be the worst possible thing for him. He's not raving or anything, and I'm sure he could convince any shrink he's fine. It's just that he might, in a perfectly rational way, decide that he's tired of having to work so hard on his life."
She expected an argument, but Marcus surpri
sed her. "Okay, stay in New Mexico. No movie is worth risking a person's life, especially if losing Kenzie meant losing you, too."
How well he understood her. "Thanks, Marcus. Eva Yanez is the best editor in the business for this kind of character-driven movie, and my scene notes are so complete she can do most of the job without me. I'll fine-tune after she's through cutting it."
"Whoa, girl! You can stay in New Mexico, but I'm not letting you off the hook for postproduction. With the right communications and satellite hookup, you can work with Eva and the sound people as if you're in the same room."
"I can do this by computer?"
"Sure. It's not ideal, and it's certainly not cheap, but the technology has been in place for several years now."
"I'll have to ask Kenzie for permission to set up all that equipment," she said uncertainly. "He is the owner of this place, and it's not beyond the realm of possibility that he might very politely say it's time for me to leave."
"Play cat--quiet but companionable. Sometimes the best thing you can offer someone is your presence. Don't press him to bare his soul--being English and male, he won't want to."
She smiled a little. "I'll try not to be too touchy-feely Californian."
"Get his permission to set up shop as soon as you can. I'll make the arrangements to get the equipment together and trucked to you. It should be in place by the beginning of next week. The installers can be in and out in a day, so it shouldn't be too intrusive."
"Marcus, this will cost a fortune, and every penny in the budget is spent or committed already!"
"I'll put in whatever extra is needed."
She ran her fingers through her hair, hopeful but anxious. "What happened to never investing your own money?"
"A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do." There was a chuckle in his voice. "This has the potential to be a truly fine movie, Rainey, but it needs your vision every step of the way, or we risk losing what will make it special. I'll be damned if I let a terrific movie be lost for the sake of a couple of hundred thousand dollars."
She rubbed her eyes. After years of never crying, now she felt on the verge of tears constantly. "No wonder you're the best independent producer in Hollywood."
"Damn straight. In return, I expect you to bring your next project to me first." He turned serious. "I mean that, Rainey. The world has enough blockbuster special effects flicks. What it needs is movies with heart. If I can't support the kind of project I love, what's the point of being in the business?"
"Bless you, Marcus." After she hung up, she closed her eyes and uttered a silent prayer of thanks. Maybe she could honor her obligations to both the movie and Kenzie--if she could persuade him to let Hollywood invade his sanctuary.
He found the paving tiles in a corner of the toolshed when he returned the ax. Eight inches square and made of an unglazed clay that matched the soil of Cibola, they were exactly the look he wanted for his labyrinth. He was laying a few of the pavers out on the ground when Rainey found him. He glanced up. "What do you think?"
It took her a moment to recognize what he had in mind. "For the labyrinth? Perfect. They must be made here in northern New Mexico. In fact, these look as if they were left over from paving the area under the arbor." She knelt and brushed her fingertips across the reddish brown surface. "Callie Spears is good, but for something as personal as a labyrinth, you should choose the materials yourself."
He agreed, as long as he didn't have to leave the ranch to do it. "I'll ask Jim Grady where these pavers came from so I can order more."
She looked up at him through tousled apricot hair, biting her lower lip the way she did when she was going to say something she wasn't sure he would like. "I talked to Marcus again."
With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, he wondered if she was going to tell him that she had to return to Los Angeles right away. Lord knew he was the worst possible company, dour as an old bear. She should leave--but he'd thought she'd be here for a week or so longer.
"When I told Marcus how much I hated the idea of coming back to the smog and traffic, he suggested that I edit the movie from here." Her words tumbled out in a rush. "It would require a lot of computer equipment and a satellite link and probably another phone line or two, but Eva and I can talk and watch the images on the screen at the same time just as if we're in the cutting room together."
When he sat back on his heels, startled, she began twisting a lock of hair around her index finger. "Would you mind terribly if I stayed on and worked from here? I'll keep out of your way. You wouldn't have to see any of what's going on. The equipment can be set up in the bunkhouse."
When Rainey wasn't consciously acting, she was transparent. "Are you suggesting this because you're afraid to leave me alone?"
"That was the original reason," she admitted, giving up on subtlety. "But I truly don't want to go back to Tinseltown."
He frowned, torn. The last thing he wanted was to have John Randall around again, and the sooner Rainey got back to her real life, the better.
Yet if he was honest with himself, and these days he seemed unable to be anything less, he would love to have her near. She was the only one who understood why he was in such a state, and she was wise enough to leave him alone. "The bunkhouse isn't air-conditioned. It would be better to set up in the two empty bedrooms."
Her expression turned bright with relief. "You wouldn't mind?"
"I sincerely hope I never have to see a frame of that film again. But I do like having you around. Just ... don't expect much from me."
"I won't ask much," she said softly.
He looked into her marvelous, changeable eyes, blue from the intensity of the New Mexican sky, and told himself that he really had to call his lawyer and refile the divorce suit.
But not yet.
* * *
CHAPTER 36
Suppressing a yawn, Rainey said, "Time to break for lunch, Eva, and maybe a nap as well. I can't imagine how professional editors keep up the pace. This is grueling."
"We practice sitting still for hours on end, and have the butts to prove it," Eva explained. "You eat and take your nap. I'll call in a couple of hours, after I've had lunch and worked up those three versions of the farewell scene for us to compare."
"Thanks. Talk to you then." Rainey hung up, then stood and stretched. The long-distance editing was going well, but it took one hundred ten percent concentration to study the images and discuss the possibilities with Eva. Marcus had been right to insist that Rainey stay involved every step of the way. As good as her film editor was, God was in the details when it came to moviemaking, and editing was nothing but details.
She'd worked every day in the two weeks since Marcus's techies had arrived and installed the equipment, then taught her how to use it. Their presence hadn't disturbed Kenzie, because he'd saddled a horse and ridden into the hills for the day to avoid them.
She wandered to the window and looked up the hill. The labyrinth wasn't visible from the house, but she knew Kenzie would be working away up there. He was as obsessive about his project as she was about hers.
As soon as the computers were installed, he'd found Internet instructions on how to design and build a labyrinth. He'd leveled the ground, then laid out the concentric circles with powdered chalk. Now he was painstakingly setting each tile in a bed of sand for stability, teaching himself how to do it as he went along.
Their lives hardly touched except once or twice a day at meals. Kenzie was unfailingly polite, but they might have been strangers living in the same boardinghouse rather than husband and wife. Conversation never got beyond the superficial, if they talked at all. She did as Marcus had suggested, playing cat, quiet and undemanding, hoping her presence had a beneficial effect. And very frustrating it was, too.
Maybe he'd like a picnic lunch, since otherwise he'd probably forget to eat. She packed a tote bag with food and drink, then hiked up the hill.
Kenzie was on his knees setting pavers in place, watched solemnly by Hambone. Bo
th glanced up at her approach.
"Hi," she said cheerfully. "I thought you might like some lunch."
"Thank you. That would be nice." Kenzie stood, stretching the kinks from his muscles. He'd lost weight, and there'd been no fat on him to begin with, but he looked healthy enough otherwise, as long as his eyes were covered with sunglasses. He'd acquired a beautiful tan and a beard several shades redder than his long dark hair. Soon he'd be able to play a convincing mountain man without benefit of makeup.
She hadn't been up here in several days, and she was startled by the progress he'd made. The concentric circles that doubled back and forth, twining their way to the center, were almost complete. "You've worked fast. How long until you're done?"
"Later today or tomorrow morning."
"What will you work on when this is finished?"
"Landscaping, I think. Shifting rocks around and planting tough native bushes will enhance the site." He wiped his sweating face with a towel. His hands were grazed and bruised from the manual labor, but still beautiful in their shape and strength.
Accepting a tall glass of Alma's fresh, cold lemonade, he asked, "How is the editing going?"
"Pretty well." She spread a bright embroidered tablecloth on the pallet of remaining pavers, which was down to the height of a low table. Then she set out utensils, a bowl of Southwestern bean salad, and a couple of pita sandwiches filled with tomatoes, lettuce, and chicken salad. "It's fascinating how easily we can try different scenes, different cuts, different optical effects, but it gives too blasted many choices. A good thing I had a pretty clear idea of what I wanted before starting, or I'd be paralyzed by all the options. Even so, it's hard to make the film match the story in my head."
"'Story is all,' Trevor used to say."
She scooped bean salad onto her plate. "What was Trevor like, besides being a good teacher?"
Kenzie's face blanked. "He was a brilliant man torn between what he knew was right, and urges he couldn't suppress."
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