by Joanne Rock
And he’d learned not to tease her.
“How are you holding up?” he asked as he pulled away, taking an extra minute to look in her eyes.
As the recipient of the blackmail note, Scarlett had borne an extra burden before their mother’s fall. She’d been given the message during a confrontation with one of the actors in Winning the West at a Hollywood nightclub. A guy she’d dated briefly. Scarlett had gone to LA, wanting to set the record straight with the dude before he showed up in Wyoming to do the film. During their argument, a man neither of them knew had slipped her the paper. The message implied that Paige had had a different identity prior to marrying Carson’s father.
Scarlett had been caught flat-footed when Paige had the accident before she could share the information. She’d told her siblings in the hospital, but regretted not speaking up sooner, during the hours when Paige had gone missing the night before.
“I’m fine.” She nodded, then went to work around Paige’s bed, straightening the already straight blanket, fluffing the pillow behind her mom’s head. “No news from the private investigator you hired to look into Mom’s past?”
“No.” Carson knew Scarlett hadn’t been keen on the idea, but her older sisters had been worried about the danger a blackmailer presented. “But in all fairness, the guy has only just started making inquiries.”
For the first few days after Paige’s fall, her health had been the number one priority and the family’s time had been consumed with that.
“Dad will be angry when he finds out.” Scarlett paused in her busywork, turning worried blue eyes toward her brother.
In the quiet of the room, the balloons bumped one another as they swayed from the air-conditioning blowing through a nearby vent.
“No, he won’t.” Carson had watched his stern father crack under the fears for his wife after her disappearance and then her fall. And even before that, Donovan McNeill had been dealing with his own father’s reemergence in their lives after a long period of estrangement. The stress of the last year had changed him. “He’s got enough to bear right now just worrying about her. He texted me a little while ago to tell you he’ll be in around midnight.”
The fact that Donovan had texted him in itself told Carson a lot about how his father had changed. Carson had opened his home to his estranged grandfather, Manhattan-based resort mogul Malcolm McNeill, when the old guy showed up in Cheyenne. Donovan hadn’t spoken to Carson for weeks afterward, refusing to acknowledge the billionaire father he’d bitterly cut out of his life decades ago. But now, Donovan seemed to have moved past that, too worried about his wife to care about the old grudge.
“Okay. Thanks.” Scarlett dropped into the chair closest to the bed and held her mother’s hand, careful not to bump the IV line. “How’s the filming going at the Creek Spill?”
Thoughts of Emma filled his head. Her scent. Her touch.
The danger she was in.
“Everyone is still settling in.” He wasn’t ready to say anything about Emma when they’d only just met. No matter that he’d moved her into his house. “Shooting starts tomorrow, though.”
Scarlett stared at him expectantly. Had his sister already heard rumors about him spending all day with a sexy stuntwoman?
“Damn it, Carson, don’t make me ask. Have you seen Logan King or not?” She leaned closer, one of her dark curls falling onto her forearm.
“Sorry.” He’d been so wrapped up in thoughts of Emma, he’d forgotten about her sister’s tangled connection to one of the stars of the film. “I’ve been busy making room for the extra stunt animals they brought for this thing. When they wanted to house animals, I didn’t realize they’d be high-strung Spanish dancing horses that needed a whole damn barn to themselves.”
“Spanish dancing horses?” Scarlett grinned. “You mean like Andalusians?” At his nod, she continued excitedly. “They’re some of the best-trained animals in the world. I doubt they’re high-strung.”
His thoughts strayed to Emma again, as he remembered her working on the complex commands with Mariana. The horses knew how to fall, roll and do a series of complicated jumps.
He’d started out the day worrying about how Emma would do with the animal. Now, he was far more concerned about how she’d fare with a bastard of an ex circulating among free men again.
Before he could respond to his sister, two nurses entered the room, pushing a rolling cart between them. It amazed him how many different tests they needed to run on patients.
“I’m going to let you handle things,” he murmured to his sister before kissing her on the cheek. “But I’ll keep an eye out for Logan and let you know how the shooting is going tomorrow, okay?”
She nodded while the nurses moved the cart closer. “Sure thing, Carson. Thanks.”
He didn’t need to check his watch as he left the hospital room. He knew that Emma would be long asleep by now back at his ranch. But that didn’t slow him down any.
He’d rest easier once he was at home, under the same roof with her, personally making sure she stayed safe. The fact that he would relive every second of that kiss in his dreams tonight was just an added bonus. And something he couldn’t help.
* * *
Emma stood on the balcony of the suite Carson had given her long after dinnertime, staring out at the ranch under the rising moon. She knew the moon was the same size everywhere, but right here, where she could see it break over the horizon, it was a huge white spotlight turned on the Creek Spill. She wrapped her flannel shirt tighter around her to stay warm against the cool night breeze. She hadn’t brought a bathrobe, so she’d put on the flannel over the pajama T-shirt she wore with an old pair of running shorts. Summer was warmer in southern California.
The balcony under her feet was made of smooth planks covered by a big woven rug in sunset colors. The wooden chairs were made of narrow logs, the knots still visible, the cushions as thick as her mattress back home. She’d switched off the lights in the room behind her so no one roaming around outdoors would see her up here.
Or at least they wouldn’t see her well. She’d been drawn outdoors by that big glowing moon, but now that she was out here, she took a minute to orient herself. The main house overlooked stables and a lighted swimming pool, along with numerous barns and sheds, all landscaped and much of it fenced. The buildings she could see, however, were small compared to the stables and barns where the stunt horses were kept and where Zoe was staying with many of the other crew members. She’d read online that the Creek Spill and its neighboring ranch, the Black Creek, were a combined fifty thousand acres, an amount of land that had boggled her mind.
It made her wonder how the owner of all that property had time to watch her ride a horse today.
Carson had an army of people working for him. She understood that now after meeting his housekeeper, who had shown Emma her room. A maid had brought up her dinner, which had been prepared by a cook. Knowing there were so many people on staff in the house had helped her feel a little less awkward about sleeping in Carson’s home. It wasn’t as if she was alone in the house with him.
Deciding she needed to stop thinking and start sleeping, Emma was about to return to her suite when a shadow emerged near the illuminated swimming pool.
A very male shadow.
The heavy shoulders and narrow waist told her as much. But she’d spent enough time admiring that particular masculine physique today that she didn’t have to guess who she was watching.
Carson McNeill had come home.
He stood at the deep end, facing the house. Facing her. She recognized his clothes from earlier; he must have just returned from his family obligation. She didn’t move, not wanting him to see her.
Wanting to watch him a little longer.
But then he raised his hands and dragged his T-shirt over his head. The light from the pool glinted off the bare muscle of his arms. She couldn’
t see his abs in the shadows but her imagination supplied a picture of them just fine.
It was too late to shout down to him. Or at least, that was what she told herself. She seemed to have forgotten how to move, let alone speak.
His hand moved to his belt and he stepped out of his boots. Her mouth went dry when he reached for the button on his fly.
She gasped out loud when he stepped out of the denim.
That must have been what he heard. His head snapped up then, his gaze immediately finding her.
Her heart thudded so loud in her own ears she wondered if he heard that, too. Still, she couldn’t seem to lift her eyes from the slim-fitting boxer shorts that hugged his hips.
“Emma?” His voice smoked through her, heating her skin from the inside. “Is that you?”
Four
There would be no slinking back to her room now.
Emma struggled to find her voice, flustered to her toes to be caught gawking.
“Carson?” She feigned surprise, as if she’d been standing at the railing staring at the moon and not the almost-naked gorgeous man in the courtyard. “I—er—didn’t see you there.” She cleared her throat to smooth over the cracks in her voice. “It’s a little cool out for a swim, isn’t it?”
She couldn’t quite peel her eyes away from him. But it was dark enough he couldn’t possibly tell exactly where she was looking. She hoped.
He grinned, his teeth a flash of white in the moonlight. “Spoken like a southern California girl. And no, it isn’t too cold.” He backed up a step, retrieving his jeans and shirt. “I thought you would have been asleep by now or I would have checked on you.”
Moonlight played over his muscles as he slid the denim back up over his hips. The light in the pool cast a watery glimmer on his chest until he put his T-shirt on. Having him less naked helped her brain cells start functioning again, but she wasn’t forgetting what she’d seen any time soon.
“I’m fine.” She wondered what “checking on her” might have involved, though. “Mrs. Tillson made sure I had dinner and helped me get settled.”
She noticed he left his boots by the pool as he jogged across the pavers to the wooden staircase at the far end of the upper deck. The deck that led to her.
Straightening, she remembered what she was wearing. A flannel shirt over an outfit she normally wore to bed. It was decidedly lacking in coverage. While Carson climbed the steps, she discreetly adjusted the waistband of the shorts, easing them a bit lower on her hips to cover the tops of her thighs before wrapping the flannel shirt around her again.
Her heart thudded hard against her chest as he strode closer, his steps light on the planked decking that lined the whole upstairs floor along the back of this section of the house.
“Are you sure there’s nothing else you need?” he asked as he reached her, his gaze missing nothing.
For one heated moment, she allowed herself to consider the question. Then reason returned and she shook her head. “I’m all set. And I appreciate the hospitality. I certainly never would have expected you to—”
He waved off her thanks, leaning on the rail as he faced her. “Don’t think twice about it. I will sleep better knowing you’re as safe as we can make you here.”
A different kind of warmth filled her at his kindness. “Thank you.” She soaked in the comfort of his protection for just a moment. His caring. Then she remembered his quick exit earlier. “Is everything all right with your family? I’m sorry that your stepmother is in the hospital.”
He looked out over the ranch for a moment, his jaw flexing. He nodded. “Things are better now. My stepmother has been in a coma since she fell in a hiking accident, but her doctors say she’s coming out of it.”
“I’m so sorry. That must have been frightening for your whole family.” Her hand landed on his forearm. Squeezed. She had a tenuous relationship with her own mother, but she couldn’t imagine life without her. Jane Layton was the only family Emma had since her father’s suicide when she was three years old.
A cool breeze chilled her, sending a shiver up her spine.
“I just hope they’ll let her come home soon. Worrying about her has really taken a toll on my father.” Carson glanced over at her, frowning down at her bare legs. “You’re cold. Let’s find a spot to sit away from the wind for a minute and then I’ll let you get to bed.”
He palmed the space between her shoulder blades, steering her toward the seating area close to the French doors that led into her suite. As she dropped into one of the thick cushioned seats, he tugged a throw blanket off the love seat and laid it over her legs.
“It’s okay. I’m too wound up to sleep anyway.” She hadn’t anticipated her ex’s release from prison to churn up so many old insecurities, especially after the months she’d trained to feel strong and confident. She tucked the edges of the blanket—a soft wool blend—under her to keep the wind out.
“I ordered more private security starting tomorrow.” He lowered himself into the love seat, putting him at a right angle to her chair.
His knee brushed hers through the blanket, and she remembered exactly what he’d looked like when he’d been moments from jumping in the pool earlier. Her gaze found his in the light filtering through the French doors, her skin humming with awareness beneath the layer of wool.
“Thank you. But you’ve already done more than enough. I feel safe here.” She couldn’t allow herself to live in hiding, continually running from old fears. She’d worked too hard to overcome them.
“Nevertheless, I don’t want you to worry if you see a guard keeping tabs on you. I’ll introduce you in the morning.”
She hesitated, not sure how she felt about having someone watch over her all day. “I have an early call.”
Carson grinned. “I’m a rancher. Early is all I know.” His smile faded, his expression turning serious. “Besides, we’re working together for some of the morning. A security detail can’t keep you safe in a horseback stunt, but elevating your riding skills will go a long way toward that goal.”
“I can be at the stables by ten.” She wasn’t ready to share the details of the rest of her day, which involved demonstrating a few moves for a knife fight assigned to two other members of the stunt cast.
Fighting, she was good at. No doubt because she’d spent an inordinate amount of her training time on mixed martial arts in the last few years.
He looked like he wanted to ask more. To insist she meet with his security guard first, but he simply nodded.
“I’ll introduce you to Dax at ten, then we’ll get to work.” He shifted on the love seat, leaning forward as if he was ready to leave. “I’ll let you get your rest then.” His gaze held hers, making a spark leap inside her. “Unless you’re game for a night swim?”
A shiver coursed through her that didn’t have the slightest thing to do with the cold.
She shook her head, unwilling to get any more tangled up with Carson McNeill. “A good professional risk taker knows where to draw the line.”
His blue eyes lingered on hers for a long moment. “Maybe that was my problem as a bull rider. I never could walk away from a challenge.”
Her heart thudded faster. Harder. If he’d leaned any closer, she wouldn’t have been able to resist kissing him. Tasting him again.
But he rose to his feet with a terse “Good night” and strode down the deck in the opposite direction from where he’d come. She watched him for a moment, long enough to see him open the next set of French doors beyond hers.
He would be sleeping close to her then. Which would give her plenty to think about while she lay in her bed. Alone.
* * *
Scarlett McNeill was not at her brother’s ranch in the hope of sighting Hollywood’s hottest up-and-coming young actor the next morning. Of course she wasn’t.
She had permission from the film production com
pany to take some footage behind the scenes for a promotional video the McNeills could use afterward to tout their properties. She had a legitimate reason to hover around the site of today’s shoot. The fact that Logan King was going to be in the scene filmed on a high meadow north of the Creek Spill main house had nothing to do with it. She had recovered from her old crush on him.
Mostly.
Besides, she had already suffered the indignity of flirting with him, falling into bed with him and then having him ghost her. The last thing she needed was a reminder of how mortifying it had been to have her texts ignored for weeks. But her family came first, and this footage could help the White Canyon Ranch for years to come. The video would also give more visibility to her brother Brock’s business of breeding and training quarter horses.
Still, as she checked the settings on her phone’s camera app, it bugged her that she needed to be in close proximity with a man who’d treated her the way Logan had. She’d even traveled to Los Angeles a week ago to try putting the situation firmly in the past by telling Logan off in person. It should have been gratifying to give him hell on his home turf before he showed his face in Cheyenne. But he’d turned the tables on her by announcing he hadn’t meant to ghost her. He’d just been on a difficult shoot in the Congo, at the mercy of the notoriously hard-nosed director Antonio Ventura, the same guy directing Winning the West. Ventura had demanded the young cast “bond” and taken away their cell phones for two weeks.
The excuse had sounded overly convenient at the time, but she had done an internet search when she got home and the stories she’d seen backed up what Logan said.
Then there was the mysterious message about her mother from that night.
“Scarlett.” Startled out of her musings, she nearly dropped her phone in the meadow grass.
Logan King stood a few feet away in all his glory, with his chiseled jaw, dark brown hair and deep green eyes. He was dressed in period costume, like a cowpuncher from the Old West, with cotton trousers, worn leather chaps and tall boots. His white shirt was half-open and stained with dirt, his leather vest soft enough to mold to his chest.
