A Cowboy's Wish Upon A Star (Texas Rescue Book 5)

by Caro Carson

  Travis set the bowl down with a soft curse.

  He didn’t want to hear her story? Too bad. He needed to know exactly what he was doing by giving the paparazzi supposedly harmless details of her life.

  “I got reamed by America for setting a bad example for the youth of today. The youth of today! Because one of those youths took a picture of some insanely greasy concoction and claimed it was mine. Then everyone said the only way I could eat like that and keep my figure would be if I abused laxatives or stuck my fingers down my throat after every meal. The fact that they photographed me going in and out of a gym every single frigging day was irrelevant when it came to how I might be keeping my figure, but that’s beside the point. I was suddenly personally responsible for every poor teenager with an eating disorder. I know how this game works, Travis. You’ll get cash, and I’ll get punished.”

  She nearly choked on his name. Travis—the betrayal shouldn’t have hurt this badly. She didn’t really know him any better than the deli counter kid.

  “I’m not talking to any damned paparazzi. I don’t think I’ve ever said that word out loud in my life. Paparazzi.”

  “I’m not stupid,” she said, feeling very stupid for having let down her guard for an instant. “Since when does a big, tough cowboy suddenly take an interest in what kind of cereal a woman eats?”

  “Since the big, tough cowboy got scared. Bad.” He started walking toward her, two steps that covered most of the big kitchen. “I didn’t just knock. I called the phone, too. You didn’t move when I turned on the lights. I had my phone in my hand because I was going to call nine-one-one if I couldn’t wake you. My grandpa had diabetes. I’ve seen what happens when a person’s blood sugar gets too low. You scared me. That’s all.”

  He took another step closer. She didn’t back up, but she crossed her arms defensively. He was a lot of man, looming over her. A lot of man with a lot of honesty in his voice, and concern in his expression, and really beautiful brown eyes.

  He ran his rough-warm palm over her arm, from her shoulder to her elbow, and kept his hand there, firm. “I’m very sorry I scared you in return.”

  Sophia felt her world turning. Pieces of her mind tumbled and landed in a new order. A better order. If she lived her life a different way...if she didn’t always assume the worst...if she could believe someone wanted to help her instead of use her...

  She could have a friend.

  It was what she’d hoped for with Deezee. Things with him had started out with this kind of instant attraction, this desire to trust a man she barely knew.

  Hope hurt.

  Sophia took a step back.

  Travis bowed his head, a quick nod to himself. When he looked up, he was the remote, stern foreman once more. “Do you always sleep so hard?”

  He meant, Is there something I should know about, because I’m responsible for all the horses and pregnant cows and cats around here? She could hear it in his voice.

  The truth would guarantee that he’d think of her as some kind of crazy diva: No, I’m just sad. When I’m really sad, I deal with it by checking out of the world and going into hibernation.

  She couldn’t tell him that.

  “I’m just making up for a lack of sleep. A few years’ worth of sleep.”

  “And do you always eat such a spartan diet? You never went to the grocery store, did you?”

  “Don’t start with that.” This was why she didn’t have friends. No one walked a mile in her shoes. No one understood.

  She imitated his unruffled, even tone. “‘If you need groceries, then go to the grocery store.’ Everything is so easy for you, isn’t it? You get to come and go as you please on any horse that strikes your fancy. You know what to do if you find a half-dead kitten, so you don’t freak out. Of course you can decide whether or not you’ll head to the store for more groceries.”

  She was afraid she might cry, but only because she wanted him to understand.

  “Do you know why I have to wait for my sister to bring me groceries? It’s not because I’m a diva. It’s because I’ll get hurt if I go out by myself. It’s happened before.” She held out the arm he’d stroked. “See these little half moons? That’s how much my fans love me. If I walk down a street, I’ll let them take their selfies and then I’ll try to say goodbye, and they’ll dig their fingernails into me. ‘No, wait. You have to wait until my friend shows up.’

  “I have to smile. I can’t pitch a fit or else I’m a bitch or a diva or a monster. I’ve been held hostage, forced to wait on a sidewalk for a stranger’s friend while people start penning me in from every direction. The police will stop to see what the crowd is about and they’ll smile and wave at me. So I just sign autographs until it’s the policeman’s turn, and then I have to smile while I ask them to keep people from hurting me. ‘Gee, Officer, could you possibly escort me back to my hotel?’”

  Oh, hell, her eyes were tearing up, but she didn’t care. Deezee had gotten off on these stories. He’d wanted them to happen to him. But Travis was frowning, and she didn’t know if it was because he believed her or if it was because he thought she was spooking herself again.

  But she had more proof, a secret that only a few hairstylists knew about. She turned her back to him and started pawing through her hair, piling her hair up until her fingertips found it, that dime-sized bit of her scalp where no hair grew. “This is how much they love me. Right after Space Maze came out, I was spotted at a grocery store. Honest to God, I had no idea how much people loved that movie. They pulled the hair out of my head as a souvenir. That’s love. Right there.”

  She jabbed at the spot, such a small scar left after so much blood and pain, but Travis’s hand stopped hers. He smoothed his thumb over the scar. She closed her eyes, remembering his thumb on the sole of her foot, smoothing an adhesive bandage into place, making everything better.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  She dropped her hands, and her hair fell back into place with a shake of her head, just like Jean Paul had designed it to do. It was such a great perk of fame, those great haircuts and free shampoo. What a lucky girl she was.

  “I’m sorry,” Travis repeated, gruff words that whispered over her hair.

  She felt all the fight go out of her. She couldn’t remember what was supposed to take its place. Before Deezee, before the breakthrough roles, before her parents’ deaths...what had life been like when she hadn’t fought for everything?

  She opened the door so Travis could leave, facing him with what she hoped was a neutral expression and not a desolate one. “You don’t have to worry if you don’t see me around. I think any normal person in my position would stay out of sight. It’s just that my future brother-in-law told me that the MacDowells said I could trust the foreman, so I... I showed myself to you. Everyone else will just have to think there’s a vampire living in the house or something.”

  Travis nodded and picked his hat up from the table. He must have tossed it there instead of using the hook by the door. It was the sort of thing someone might do in a rush.

  He walked out the door. Sophia realized he already had his boots on. He’d come in without stopping at the boot jack, breaking his own rule about boots in the house. He’d really been worried about her.

  A little rush of gratitude filled some of the empty space inside her.

  “Travis?”

  He turned back to her, his expression serious, illuminated by the light from the kitchen. Beyond him, the night was black, the night he would have ridden in, looking for her.

  “I’m not a crazy recluse. I’m just a recluse, okay?”

  “I get it.”

  She’d been holding her breath. Now she could breathe.

  He tapped his hat against his thigh. “I never told you the reason I came looking for you in the first place. That kitten got more lively when he warmed
up, so I found the mother cat’s new hiding spot. She didn’t object when I slipped him in with his brothers.”

  “Oh.” She took a deeper breath. The night air felt fresh. “Oh, that’s great news. She’s not a terrible mother after all.”

  “I never said she was. She had her reasons. We just don’t know what they were. I put out some extra food, in case she was worried about having enough to eat. The other barn cat will probably get to it first, but it’s worth a try. When I left, she was pretty relaxed and letting all three kittens nurse.”

  Maybe Sophia was crazy after all, because it felt like Travis had just given her the best gift. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

  “I wouldn’t want you to get too hopeful. That kitten’s had a rough time of it so far.”

  “But now he’ll be okay.”

  “We’ve given him a chance, at least. I’ll see you when I get back in a few days. Good night.” He touched the brim of his hat, and walked into the dark.

  A few days?

  She shut herself in the house.

  Chapter Eight

  She didn’t wake up until noon.

  What was the point? Everyone was gone again. Everyone meaning Travis and the horses.

  Sophia was willing to bet that Travis had been saddling up those horses before dawn, true to the cowboy stereotype. She looked out the window toward the empty barn and tried not to feel resentful that the horses had been taken away. They had to work.

  She wished she had to work. Resentment for her ex bubbled up, a toxic brew that made her stomach turn.

  Thanks, Deezee.

  Actually, Deezee was probably working, too. The more he partied, the more people wanted to pay him to appear at their parties. The more outrageous he got, the more bookings he got. Busting into that Texas Rescue ball and making a scene had been a smart thing for him to do. During their week in Saint Barth, his cell phone had blown up with offers.

  Not hers.

  A movie studio didn’t make job offers to actors who skipped town without notice. A production couldn’t build a PR campaign if their star said outrageous, unpredictable things. What helped Deezee’s career killed hers.

  Looking back, she doubted Deezee had realized how much he was hurting her. She doubted he would have cared if he had.

  But she should have known better. She should have cared.

  Deezee had lied to her. He’d cheated on her with other women. But he hadn’t forced her to party like a rock star. That was her fault.

  Thanks, Sophia.

  She couldn’t spend all day at the kitchen window, waiting to see which cowboy would come in at sundown. It wouldn’t be Travis; that was all that mattered. She couldn’t be seen by anyone else. She couldn’t make another stupid mistake like she had yesterday, falling asleep on the picnic table. Alex and Grace wouldn’t be able to pull another great hiding spot out of thin air. This was it. This was her only place to sleep, eat, hide and sleep some more.

  But today, she didn’t have the desire to go right back to sleep. She felt at least a little bit rested for a change. She’d slept in a real bed instead of crashing on the couch with the television on.

  All week, she’d been avoiding the master bedroom. It was too spacious and too obviously someone else’s room, with its family photos of little boys and a handsome father from decades past. She knew Mrs. MacDowell was a widow. She didn’t like to look at photos of the dead father. She had her own.

  But last night, after Travis had left, she’d wandered into one of the smaller bedrooms, one that looked like it was intended for guests. It had a queen-sized bed instead of a king. It had paintings of Texas bluebonnets on the walls instead of family photos. She’d been able to sleep there.

  Great. So now she wasn’t sleepy, but she still couldn’t leave the house. Her one little foray to the picnic table yesterday had almost resulted in blowing her cover, because she’d lacked enough common sense to come back inside when sitting in the sun made her drowsy. She had no common sense. No self-discipline. She was in a prison of her own making, because she couldn’t handle her own life.

  Round and round her thoughts started to go. She hated them, because they always led to the same conclusion: she was a failure. She hated herself, and she was stuck.

  But a new voice broke through the old soundtrack.

  If you want to go outside, then open the door and walk outside.

  Travis.

  If he saw her standing here, if he could hear what she was saying to herself in her head, he would cut through all the nonsense with one of those infuriatingly simple solutions.

  You’re a grown woman, he’d say. A grown woman who was standing here, wishing she could go outside for a breath of fresh air but afraid that would be some catastrophic mistake. She’d fall asleep on a picnic table again, and let down Alex and Grace, and be laughed at in the press for being found on a cattle ranch, of all places. If she went outside, it would start a chain of disasters. It made sense to her.

  Or it had, before last night. Before she’d spent some time with Travis and realized that all the puzzle pieces didn’t have to go together in the complicated order she’d been putting them.

  If you don’t want to be in here, then open the door and go out there.

  She opened the kitchen door, and stepped on a pile of zucchini.

  She cursed as the zucchini scattered. She spewed every variation of the F-bomb that Deezee had ever shouted while playing a combat video game. She’d hated the way he’d lost control when he killed animated, imaginary enemies, yet she sounded just like him.

  She shut up. It was zucchini, not the end of the world. Heck, her own Space character had managed to save an entire civilization without resorting to so much drama.

  The zucchini rolled to a stop. A note was wedged into what remained of the pyramid by the door.

  Sophia—

  When I got to my house, I saw that Clay had left a bunch of zucchini in my sink. His mother had a bumper crop, and she stopped by the bunkhouse when no one was there and left a ton in their kitchen. I don’t think it’s breaking and entering if someone’s mother does it. The real crime here is that nobody can eat as much zucchini as Clay’s mother grew. I’m passing off some of it onto you. It might make a nice change from cereal.

  —Travis

  P.S. I left you some milk in case you don’t actually like your cereal dry. It’s in the barn fridge. Please wear boots or shoes. You have enough scars. I don’t want you to get any more.

  Sophia stared at the letter. The man had been doing just fine, dropping little smart-aleck comments, but then he’d had to finish it up with that line about the scars. She must be crazy after all, because she felt all choked up by a hastily written P.S.

  Sophia picked up the zucchini one by one, cradling them in her arm like a bouquet, and carried them into the kitchen. She put the zucchini in the sink. The letter she spread out on the counter. She read it again and smoothed out the crease. Read it again.

  Then she went into the master bedroom, where Alex had left her suitcases. She hadn’t unpacked them yet. Just reaching in and wearing the first thing she touched had taken all the energy she had, but now she lifted out the neat piles of clothes and carried them down the hall to the bluebonnet bedroom.

  Trip after trip, she emptied the suitcases her sister had filled for her. As Sophia’s personal assistant, Grace had been packing her bags ever since they’d moved to LA. Maybe Sophia hadn’t wanted to unpack these final suitcases. Alex was going to be the person Grace took trips with from now on. These were the last shirts her sister would ever fold for her with care and love.

  “This is depressing as hell.” Sophia spoke the words loudly, but her voice didn’t have to reach lofty rafters in here. The carpet and quilts of the guest bedroom absorbed the sound. The words weren’t as scary out loud as
they were when they echoed in her head.

  Whether or not it was depressing, whether or not it was some kind of symbolic final vestige of her life with her sister, the suitcases had to be unpacked now, because Sophia needed her shoes. The only boots she had were the thigh-highs with the killer heels, but she knew that Grace would have packed workout clothes and a selection of running shoes for Sophia to choose from, depending on her mood and her clothes’ color scheme.

  She found the sneakers. Sophia left the empty suitcase on the king-sized master bed. In her bedroom, she changed into a shirt that had sleeves and a pair of shorts that barely covered her rear but were made of denim. She laced up her most sturdy pair of cross-trainers and once more opened the kitchen door.

  She wasn’t going to fall asleep or get caught by a stranger or ruin her career. She was going to get some milk that Travis had left for her in the barn.

  Nothing bad was going to happen.

  * * *

  The fresh air cleared the last bit of fog from Sophia’s head as she walked the hundred yards or so to the barn.

  The heat of the day was building. Her yoga instructor would say every molecule of hot air shimmered with energy that she could welcome into her lungs with intentional breaths. Sophia could practice here, doing yoga outside on the flagstone, holding poses that took all her concentration in the May heat. If she set an alarm clock tomorrow, she could get up a little earlier and go for a run before it got too hot.

  If she really wanted more work in Hollywood, that would be the smart thing to do. Having a great body was an essential part of winning roles. If she let herself go too long without exercise, she’d pay a price. She really didn’t want to keep paying for stupid decisions. If you want to keep your fitness level, then work out.

  She’d have to be careful who saw her. But if only she and Travis were around, and he should happen to catch her in the middle of a workout in her painted-on exercise clothing...her muscles working, her skin glistening...