by Joanne Rock
I wanted Fraser Farm to be a success, and I knew you didn’t build a Thoroughbred dynasty with a reality TV actress as the face of your brand. My tacky, scandal-ridden image would be a blight on all his hard work.
His hands fell away from me and I felt the chill all the way to my toes.
“You can’t run every time things get tough.” His voice sounded cool, remote.
I felt my defenses rising fast, shielding me from the hurt I knew was coming, a hurt that no physical boundaries or distance were going to fix.
“This isn’t about me, Damien, and this isn’t about things getting difficult for me.” I’d lived through bad times. Fought through them. Emerged stronger.
I thought about my hard-won self-esteem, and the book I was writing, and all the ways I’d worked to heal myself.
“Then if you’re doing this for me, I’m telling you flat out—I don’t want you to go.”
I knew he believed that now. But over time, he would grow to resent me and all the notoriety I’d bring to his life. He’d be too honorable to say anything, but that tension would always be there, and I’d always regret it if I did that to him.
“I can’t do that to you. And I won’t do that to us.” It took all my strength to say it, but I wasn’t going to be selfish. I cared about Damien too much. I’d seen what fame had done to Joelle’s business, and she was my best friend. How could I put that burden on the shoulders of a guy who’d left his own family to escape life in the glass house that tabloid media could put you in?
“This isn’t your call to make, Miranda.” He reached for me. Squeezed my forearm. “Rick could be out there looking for you. You need protection, especially now that the news has spread that you’re here.”
“Rick has known where I lived for the last six years. Just because I don’t want to ever see the bastard’s face again doesn’t mean he’s going to hurt me.” I wasn’t going to let Rick run my life, especially not based on a bogus phone message from a sister who’d never liked me. “I’ll be careful.”
“If you go anywhere, take the driver with you. That’s not optional, and I’m texting him now to let him know he needs to stick by you.” Damien’s cell phone buzzed while he spoke. He didn’t check it, but we both knew what it meant.
It was time to make our break for it. If we didn’t move now, the throng of photo hounds would catch us in their lenses and we’d be on the late-night edition of every TV and pop entertainment blog imaginable.
Outside, a voice sounded through a bullhorn. Scotty must be rounding up the trespassing vultures to warn them off.
“Fine. The driver can go with me to Joelle’s hotel, but that’s it.” I tucked my hair behind my ears and slung my lightweight purse under my jacket, as I’d worn it while we were riding. “This is exactly the kind of life you ran from once, too, isn’t it?” I asked, imagining fifteen-year-old Damien on that first date as I backed closer to the window.
“Damn it, Miranda, we don’t need to run from it anymore.” He double-checked to be sure the coast was clear and then slid the window open for me, resigned to our quickly patched together plan.
I knew it was easier this way, even if it did hurt like hell.
“Tell me this. If we don’t need to run, then why did we set it up so I’d escape out a back window?” I asked, unable to resist, unable to stop hoping for just an instant that he would prove my fears wrong. I hoisted myself up on the sill with a speed and skill acquired from months of dodging the press.
Damien’s mouth worked for a second, as if he wanted to find an answer to that one. My heart sank, because we both knew the truth. He didn’t want this kind of life any more than I did. And since he had to stay here for the sake of his business, I had to leave.
I wanted to kiss him goodbye. To feel that amazing connection with him one more time. But I was scared that if I did, the connection would be gone. What if I’d just made him realize I’d never been the right woman for him at all? That these few days we’d had together had been a fluke, and he really was better off without me? I didn’t want to know what that kind of bittersweet kiss would feel like.
I’d rather remember those kisses when it had all felt magical. Almost as if we were falling in love.
“Thanks for holding the press off as long as you can.” As much as I wanted to be with him, it would be easier to escape with Damien out there. “I’ll go fast.”
Dropping to the ground outside the office, I felt the night dew on the long grass. Without looking back, I ran toward the pickup truck and an uncertain future. Leaving somewhere—someone—had never been hard for me before, but this time, I ran as if I had bricks on my feet. I guess because I’d left my heart behind.
12
“FOR A GUY WHO wanted to put the tabloids behind him, you sure got involved with the wrong woman,” Damien’s older brother, Trey, observed in a video call later that night.
Damien had his laptop open in the kitchen, right where Miranda had sat with her friend that very morning. Amazing how much emptier a room seemed without her in it. He had a hole in his chest the size of a fist, knowing she was gone. He’d warned off most of the reporters out on the construction site and then stuck around to personally escort a few jokers who hadn’t understood the message the first time.
When he got back to the house, her few belongings were gone. The only thing she’d left behind? A case of that cinnamon vanilla tea, right on the floor of the kitchen where Joelle had left it for her. Just looking at it made the hole in his chest widen.
At least she’d taken the driver with her. Bill had texted a few minutes ago to say they were on the way to Joelle’s hotel, the Sea Wind.
“I had no choice in that one, brother.” Damien scraped a hand through his hair, wondering where Miranda would go in the morning. “She just plowed into my life and made herself...indispensable.”
At least Joelle would be with her in case Barrow showed up. Damien was glad he’d gotten the SUV fixed and the broken lock taken care of today.
“I know a thing or two about indispensable women.” On the other end of the video call, Trey sat on the patio of his fiancée’s Mar Vista house, the turquoise pool glowing with pink floating candles behind him.
It was a change from the stark existence he’d led up until he met Courtney Masterson, his soon-to-be wife, but he seemed happier and more at peace these days. Then again, he’d need to be at peace to go back into business with their father. Damien had no idea how they’d mended that broken fence, but more power to them for figuring it out.
“So you understand that I can’t just...let her go, to face this idiot ex-boyfriend of hers who is looking for her.” Damien double-checked his most recent text to a friend in the local cop shop. After talking to the police tonight about the slew of camera-wielding trespassers, he’d given his buddy on the force a heads-up about the possibility of Rick Barrow being in the area.
Didn’t matter that the guy had never threatened her. The truth was, Miranda didn’t want to be anywhere near him, so Damien would do everything in his power to make sure she stayed safe. If he couldn’t have her at his side, he would do whatever he could from afar.
“I’ve got a great security company. They can have a team up there—” Trey checked his watch, a fancy-ass Breitling that was the kind of thing Damien never wore anymore except to meet with possible Thoroughbred buyers “ —just before dawn. In fact, I’ll shoot my guy a note right now.”
Trey was already at work on his cell phone.
“Whatever it costs.” Damien wouldn’t let photographers or Nina’s smarmy ex-husband within fifty feet of Miranda.
“This one is on Pops, Damien.” Trey grinned over the video feed. “The old man needs concrete ways to make it up to us for all the ways he screwed us over as kids.”
Damien held up his hands. “Not happening. You know I don’t accep
t anything from Dad. I’ll take care of the bill.”
“Do what you like, but I’m telling you, Dad has changed. He has a tough time getting past the ego to smooth things over with other people, but he wants to make things right with his sons. It’s been...” Trey nodded thoughtfully for a moment, looking off into the distance while that pool water shimmered blue-pink behind him “...eye-opening to understand Dad better. And it’s been even more of a wake-up call to realize he may have given us equal parts of his stubbornness. At least, it was for me.”
Damien couldn’t think through that mess of sticky family politics right now. Not with Miranda gone and potentially facing Rick Barrow alone. What the hell did that guy want from her?
“Let’s wait and see on that one. For now, thanks for the extra security. I can’t stand the idea of those vultures near her or near this place.”
“Done. The bigger question is this—why haven’t you gone after her yet?”
Damien pounded his fist on the granite in slow, rhythmic thunks, willing the right answer to come into his head. His eyes went to the refrigerator, where he knew the quiches she’d made were still stacked. He felt like a sap for wanting to open the appliance and stare at a bunch of tinfoil.
“I want to.” It was killing him not to get in the truck and meet her at that hotel himself. “But I already told her I wanted her to stay. What can I say this time that’s any different?”
“You can’t think of anything you’d say differently? Any way you missed the point or didn’t give her what she needed?” Trey leaned forward on the wide, cushioned pool lounger, staring into the webcam intently. “I’m telling you, dude, we were not raised with the kind of emotional sensitivity you might need in this situation.”
“A week ago, I would have laughed my ass off at you for using phrases like ‘emotional sensitivity.’” Damien wasn’t laughing now. In fact, he prayed hard Trey had the answers he lacked. “But right now, I’m inclined to agree. I don’t know what I’m doing and I don’t know how to get her back.”
“And that’s what you want?”
More than any damn thing in the world. His chest ached as if someone had taken a baseball bat to it.
“She matters to me more than this farm, more than my debt to Ted and more than anything else that I thought was important before I met her.”
“You have to tell her that.” Trey stabbed his finger toward the camera. “That’s the stuff she needs to know. How she’s important and how much you care. Anything that you think is practical, like, logical reasons you belong together—I don’t think that matters to women.”
Damien remembered telling Miranda how much he wanted to keep her safe. Maybe that hadn’t been the right approach. For that matter, he recalled how he’d sent her out the back window when the press arrived. That distinction—her going out the back alone while he talked to the media out front—had felt like a statement to Miranda. Maybe he should have walked out the front door with her. Put his arm around her during that press conference and made it clear she was off-limits, instead of sneaking her out the back.
Maybe he’d arranged the kind of escape he’d dreamed of as a kid instead of thinking about how Miranda wanted to handle it. He’d definitely never asked for her input.
“I don’t know if anything I say is going to make a difference.” Still, he stared at the tea and wondered if he could have told her how he felt. If he could have tried to put into words how much he cared about her already. How much more there could be for them.
“But you’re a total stooge if you don’t at least try. I’d even go so far as to say you might never forgive yourself if you don’t try harder.” Behind Trey, a pretty brunette with wide gray eyes approached the camera. She wore a pink bathrobe, her hair in a ponytail that lay on one shoulder. She waved into the camera even before Trey knew she was behind him.
Damien tried to find a smile for Courtney, but all he could think of was Miranda wearing his bathrobe this morning. Miranda smiling. Miranda twirling on the lawn and telling Violet Whiteman what a great place Fraser Farm was, and offering to make her tea.
“You’re right, Trey.” He needed to find her, tell her how he felt and keep telling her. “Thanks, man.”
His brother wished him luck before disconnecting the call, Trey’s eyes already on his fiancée and his future, while Damien sat alone in a kitchen that was way too big for one person. He just hoped it wasn’t too late to tell Miranda that he wanted her back and it wasn’t about keeping her safe. It was about building a life with her, since he couldn’t imagine the days ahead—the years ahead—without her.
* * *
DAMIEN’S DRIVER PARKED MY SUV in the far corner of the lot behind the Sea Wind hotel after I left Fraser Farm, hoping to keep the vehicle out of the overhead lights in case the media knew what I was driving.
“I’ll just walk you to the door.” The driver, a young guy who’d been a particular fan of the Gruyère quiche, had been nice enough company for the ride over here. “You need anything from the back?”
“Yes.” I started to open my door to retrieve it. “I’ll grab it.”
“Let me,” he protested, levering open the driver side door. “What is it you need?”
“Floral print backpack. Lots of pins on it. It’s hard to miss.”
Bill grinned and passed me the car keys. “Sure thing.”
I stuffed them in my purse and grabbed a few things from the console while Bill got the bag. No one had followed us from the farm. I felt sure of that, since I’d been in and out of Damien’s house with lightning speed, eager to go before any reporters slowed my escape. If I didn’t leave then, I might have been tempted to stay as he’d asked. And I knew that wouldn’t be good for either of us.
Now I levered open the passenger door and hopped out.
“Do you see it?” I called, surprised Bill hadn’t found it already.
True to the hotel name, sea wind coated my cheeks with damp, salty air as I moved toward the back of the vehicle.
“Bill?” A prickle of warning tripped over my senses even as I said the name.
Was it just me, or did the night seem unnaturally quiet?
“Hello, Shaelynn.” A male voice sounded close to my right elbow.
I nearly leaped out of my skin. I hadn’t heard that voice in person for six years, but I’d know it anywhere. I felt a cold, sick fear in my gut.
And why the hell had he just called me Shaelynn?
“Rick?” Turning, I found Nina’s ex-husband beside me, his hands in the pockets of a denim jacket, where I couldn’t see them.
I realized I was shaking, inside and out.
“Where’s Bill?” I looked around wildly, scared.
“Down for the count, but definitely breathing.” Rick pointed to a dark shadow on the ground. “Let’s keep things quiet—you and me—to make sure he stays breathing. Okay?”
I went to scream, but only a hoarse croak emerged. It was like those dreams where you try to make a sound and nothing happens.
Rick noticed, though. He looped an arm around my neck and clamped a hand over my mouth. Pinning me to his side. Silencing me.
“Nice and quiet. Okay?” He smelled as if he hadn’t washed in a week. Fear spread into cold, cold ice in my veins. I swallowed hard. Nodded. Hoped that Bill really was okay.
A million things ran through my brain. Unwashed and rumpled, Nina’s ex-husband looked like crap. He’d aged in a lot of ways. Most ironic? After making me feel bad about myself for not being as svelte as my sister, Rick Barrow was now a stocky man. I pushed such crazy thoughts in the background for now and finally found enough of my voice to shout against the suffocating pressure of his palm. I tried to motion that I wanted to speak.
“Okay,” he crooned in a soft, cajoling voice that made me want to throw up. “But quietly, or else I’ll make sure yo
ur friend here doesn’t wake up, okay? We don’t want that on your conscience.”
My stomach cramped harder. I nodded.
“How do you know about Shaelynn?” I blurted, when he finally moved his hand enough that I could speak. He kept me pinned to his side in a headlock, deep in the shadows behind the vehicle.
I didn’t want to agitate him any more. His eyes gleamed with a crazy glint and he looked as if he was going to lose it any second. I was alone out here. Joelle didn’t even know I’d come to crash in her hotel room for the night. I hadn’t checked into the Sea Wind yet. And, in another stroke of brilliance, we’d parked as far away from the lobby as possible to hide from photographers.
My heart made a pitiful plea for Damien and all the safe, practical suggestions he would have offered if I’d stuck around the farm for another day.
“How do you think?” Rick thrust one hand into his pocket and I tried to edge farther from him, scared he might have a weapon. He must be seriously unstable if he’d tracked me down fifteen hundred miles from his home. But it wasn’t a weapon he held up.
It was my flash drive.
He jerked me closer, cutting off circulation in my neck. When I started to choke, he loosened his hold a fraction.
“How did you get that?” I demanded, my eyes watering from the pressure at my throat.
“What do you mean, how did I get it? I took it right where you left it for me, in your computer.” He smiled in a way that made me feel as if spiders were skittering over my skin. “When I followed you out of L.A. on Friday, I noticed you left the door to the SUV open for me when you abandoned the vehicle.”
My brain hurried to process this. He’d followed me. He’d gone through my things.
“Rick, I didn’t even know you were in L.A.” The night air felt clammy on my skin and I swore I smelled desperation rolling off Rick along with the scent of cold sweat. “You do not have my permission to have that flash drive.”
Maybe it was stupid to try and reason with him. But what else could I do? If there was any chance I could appeal to his rational side, maybe he’d let me go. Maybe he’d think we could be friends or something.
