by Joanne Rock
How fitting that her gaze ended up there. Cursing herself, she shoved her phone in her back pocket and resolved to look him in the eye.
“Hello, Logan.” She tipped her chin up, ignoring the urge to smooth her windblown hair from her face.
“I hope your presence here means you’ve decided to bury the hatchet?” He stepped closer and lowered his voice at the same time.
A conversation for her ears only.
She realized he probably knew the handful of others milling around the big camera set up on a wide rug nearby. There were two screens mounted inside a rolling cart full of electronic equipment, with a canopy over it to minimize the glare. She didn’t recognize any other stars among the group, and guessed they were technical experts of some sort.
“I’m only here to film some video to promote the ranch.” And possibly to mingle with the Hollywood crowd since she had every intention of leaving Cheyenne for good this fall to test out a career in acting for herself. It was a dream she’d deferred far too long to help out her family. “So no, I don’t consider the hatchet buried.”
“Even though I was hamstrung by a despotic director?” He glanced over one shoulder before continuing. “Wait until you meet this guy. He might have some critically acclaimed pictures to his name, but this is the last time I work with Antonio Ventura.”
“He’s that bad?” she asked, telling herself she was curious more for the sake of her future acting career than because she was tempted to give Logan a second chance.
But he smelled amazing as he stood beside her. Like soap and aftershave. A hint of leather. She breathed deeper, remembering how he’d dazzled her when they first met. They’d been in first class on a flight to the West Coast. She’d been taking a shopping trip for her mother’s birthday. They’d flirted. Kissed. Had an incredible surprise night together. She had thought it was about more than lust, and grew certain the feeling was mutual when they messaged each other briefly afterward. Then he’d mysteriously stopped, the growing silence hurting her more each day.
What if his ghosting her had been out of his control?
“He’s arrogant, demanding and unreasonable,” Logan continued, bending down to snap a sprig of white yarrow from the stem. “If I hadn’t already signed on for this picture, I would have never worked with him a second time.”
His gaze traveled her face, lifted to her windblown curls. Then he slid the wildflowers into her barrette before tucking some of her hair behind her ear. She told herself to move away. But his touch still affected her. Made her long to bury that damn hatchet after all.
She might have done it, too, if she hadn’t remembered her sister Maisie’s suspicions about him. That Logan could have been involved with the mysterious third party handing her that blackmail note.
That Logan himself could be the one who knew something about her mother’s past and wasn’t afraid to use it for leverage against the McNeill family.
Do you know your mother’s true identity? You might be surprised to find out her real name. And to learn her marriage to your father was never legal. I will make trouble for your family if you continue your plan to let Winning the West film on McNeill land.
She’d memorized every word. And although she could buy into the idea that Logan might want to stop the filming of Winning the West, she couldn’t reconcile the man who’d just slid a flower into her hair with someone plotting to take down the McNeills. He was Hollywood’s golden boy.
His past was the kind of story Hollywood loved. He’d traveled to LA from the Ozarks as a teen without a penny to his name, doing odd jobs until he turned eighteen. Then he’d gotten a GED and started working as an actor. Just two months ago, at age twenty-six, he’d catapulted from small-time fame to the A-list when his breakout blockbuster released, giving him enough wealth and fame that it simply made no sense to turn to blackmail.
“Seriously, Scarlett,” he told her, tipping her chin up to look him in the eye when she didn’t respond to him. “I know you’re angry with me, and I don’t blame you. But when you come to LA and start working, please don’t take any jobs with Ventura. He’s a tyrant.”
The fact that Logan King—a celebrity on the cover of half the magazines at the grocery store checkout right now—was not only looking out for her, but that he remembered and actually believed she could be an actress one day, broke through the last of her defenses.
She didn’t believe him capable of trying to blackmail her family.
“I won’t,” she promised, gathering up the hair still blowing in her face and holding it in one fist. “And I would consider burying the hatchet with you if you help me with something.”
“Really?” The smile that teased his mouth made her want to kiss him. “Name your price, Scarlett McNeill. I’m so there.”
Her knees felt weak. Was it any wonder the man had won the hearts of every female demographic in the US? Maybe she was crazy for giving him another chance, but what if he could lead her to the blackmailer?
Two other actors arrived on the set, a makeup artist dressed in black trailing behind them, wearing a work apron full of cosmetic brushes. They must be getting ready to start the scene soon.
She kept her voice low. “I want you to help me find the man who passed me that note at the club in West Hollywood last week.”
His green eyes held hers. He frowned for a moment. “He was wearing the pin-striped jacket, right?”
“You remember him?” A tremor of excitement passed through her. Maybe she should have asked Logan outright about it sooner, but she’d been so fearful that he could have something to do with it. And, of course, then her mother had gone missing and had the accident in quick succession.
“I’ve seen him around before.” He nodded when one of the other actors called to him, acknowledging the guy by holding up a finger to indicate he needed a minute. “I can find out his name for you. But you have to do something for me in return.”
“I’m already considering burying the hatchet,” she protested. “I think that’s plenty.”
He shook his head, shifting closer to speak in her ear. “You have to let me take you out to dinner tonight.”
The tickle of his breath on her ear made her skin tingle with awareness.
“I’m busy,” she told him, so damn breathlessly he had to know how much he affected her. But her mother was still in the hospital, and family came first.
“Friday, then?” he persisted, wrapping one of her curls around his finger.
She had to lick her lips before she spoke, her throat dry as dust.
“Okay,” she agreed, telling herself it was for the good of the family.
Knowing that was a big fat lie.
“I’ll text you, but you have to unblock my number.” He backed away as his cast mates called to him a second time.
She smiled to think he knew she’d blocked him. Maybe he really hadn’t ghosted her on purpose.
“Deal.” She got out her phone to take some footage behind the scenes for her video as Logan walked away.
Had she made a bargain with the devil? It wouldn’t be easy to ignore the heat simmering between them, but if Logan had any answers about who was threatening her family, she needed to find out everything he knew. She just hoped she didn’t get burned in the process.
Five
Settling his hat on his head as he left the foreman’s office the next morning, Carson went to the stables, dark mood lifting at the thought of seeing Emma. His meeting with the Creek Spill foreman had run long thanks to a dozen pieces of business that had cropped up because of the movie crew’s presence. Deliveries needed to be delayed because of storage issues. Grazing field rotations had been interrupted in some places and field maintenance was on hold in others because the crew wanted to shoot in a meadow with tall grasses.
Carson had agreed to all of it ahead of time in an effort to placate Scarlett and Mad
eline, who’d made the best case for the promotional value of the film for the guest ranch. But Carson had also done it, in part, because his twin brother had been so stubbornly opposed to having anyone on his own property, the Black Creek Ranch. Carson had been happy to step in as the good guy and offer up the Creek Spill instead. Butting heads with his twin was second nature by now after a lifetime of not seeing eye-to-eye. Carson had to admit his brother may have had a point on this one.
Cody had been adamant about safety precautions on the ranch given the way their mother had died. Now that Carson had the safety of a movie crew and cast on his shoulders, he could see why. If he ever found time away from the Creek Spill again, he’d owe Cody the courtesy of telling him he’d been right all along.
Although, if Carson hadn’t signed off on Winning the West, he wouldn’t have Emma Layton sleeping in the bedroom next to his. He’d take that trade-off again, even knowing the headaches that would come with housing extra people, equipment and animals.
As he neared the stables on foot, his brother Brock pulled up in his 4x4 pickup with the horse trailer already hitched. He called to him through the rolled-down window.
“Carson. Do you have a minute?” Brock was dressed for a meeting, his black button-down paired with his good Stetson, as opposed to the battered hat and dusty T-shirt that he wore when he worked with the quarter horses.
Carson didn’t see Emma near the stables, but the security guy, Dax, lifted a hand in greeting from where he stood near the arena railing.
“Sure thing. You have a delivery today?”
Brock nodded. Folding his arms across his chest, he stared out at the stable yard where the stunt coordinator was working on a jump with another rider.
“I asked a long-distance customer to take delivery early on a couple of horses so I could have a few days away from the movie madness.” He gestured to the stable yard full of strangers, his elaborate forearm ink on display where his sleeves were rolled up. “I’ll be the first to admit I wasn’t expecting the carnival to come to town when we said yes to this.”
“I was thinking the same thing this morning. It’s just for two weeks, though.” Something he needed to keep in mind where Emma was concerned. He wanted her, no question. And he couldn’t afford to wait if she was heading back to LA that soon.
“I’ve read that movie productions are notorious for underestimating the timetable. Especially films this Ventura guy is associated with.” Brock turned toward him and lowered his voice. “But more importantly, I wanted to ask if you’ve heard an update from the PI you hired to find the blackmailer.”
“No.” Carson had meant to check in with him today. “But it’s been a week with no new demands. Maybe the note Scarlett received was just a shot in the dark. A one-off from someone maneuvering to keep the production in LA.”
Out in the practice arena, the horse and rider fell as one. Brock swore softly, his shoulders tensing until the horse and rider both popped back on their feet.
“That’s damned impressive, even if it’s hell on the nerves,” Brock muttered before returning his attention to his brother. “And as for the blackmail note, it seems too specific about Paige to be a shot in the dark. Someone has dirt on her and thinks we’ll pay to hide it.”
Carson frowned. “And if she married Dad under a false identity, it means the marriage isn’t legal. At first, I wasn’t too concerned since Paige and Dad have been together for over twenty years. In most states, that would be more than enough to have their union legalized as a common-law marriage—no matter her name. But I looked it up. Wyoming doesn’t recognize common-law marriages.”
Brock’s jaw flexed. He scrubbed a hand over his eyes. “I know. And that makes me wish we brought Dad in the loop so he could put a lawyer to work on that.”
“I’ll call the PI today,” Carson assured his brother, clapping him on the shoulder. “And I’ll tell Scarlett she’s got to make it a priority to ask Paige about it the next time she wakes up. She’s remaining alert for longer periods of time now.”
“You realize there’s a good chance the person who sent Scarlett that note in the first place is someone who is here now, actively involved with the film?” Brock’s expression turned to a glower as his gaze swept the stable area.
“The thought has occurred to me.” Carson didn’t want to think about a traitor right under their noses. “But I hired more security.” He pointed toward Dax. “In fact, I have a meeting with one of the new guys now.”
“I’ll let you get to it then.” Brock backed toward his truck, the door newly painted with the ranch’s logo. “I’m going to escape the mayhem and deliver one of my best two-year-olds to a ranch on the West Coast. Take my time. Maybe come home Sunday unless I’m needed back here?”
Brock looked so damned hopeful Carson had to laugh.
“We should be fine. I’ll let you know how Paige is doing and if there are new developments.”
He left Brock to find Emma, surprised he hadn’t already seen her around the stables since it was after ten. He’d barely slept the night before, thinking of her in the next room over, dressed in her skimpy night shorts. Her bare legs had been all he could see until he’d covered her with the throw blanket, her toned muscle and creamy skin a feast for the eyes.
That visual, coupled with the memory of her kiss, had fueled enough fantasies to make him restless. Edgy. Ready to have her all to himself for a while. He wasn’t going to bank on Winning the West staying in Cheyenne more than two weeks. He needed to make his intentions crystal clear where she was concerned.
But first, he needed to find her.
He approached the bodyguard still standing at the arena fence. “Dax, I had hoped to introduce you to the woman who will be your primary assignment, but I don’t see her. Can you check with your colleague who worked last night and ask about Emma Layton? I told him to keep an eye on her.”
Dax, whose scuffed boots suggested it wasn’t his first time on a ranch, nodded as he withdrew his phone from his pocket. While he tapped out a text on the screen, Carson scanned the stable yard one more time.
What if he didn’t see her because her ex-boyfriend had found her first? A sickening feeling chilled his gut. He knew he’d been low on security yesterday. But he’d hired more for today—
Relief hit him fast when he saw Emma rushing his way, her glossy ponytail bobbing as she double-timed her step. She was smiling, but something about her expression struck him as off. Nervous, maybe?
Or was that just his leftover worry about her?
“Carson.” She darted around one of the film crew pushing a big cart full of electronic equipment. “I’m so sorry I’m late.”
“Is everything okay?” His gaze locked on her dark brown eyes. He reached for her, still sensing something wasn’t quite right. She looked agitated, her attention jumping around the practice area.
“Everything is fine,” she assured him, turning to extend her hand toward the bodyguard. “You must be Dax. I’m Emma, and I’m sorry I got held up.”
Dax took an extra moment to finish reading something on his phone before he shook Emma’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Emma. My colleague just texted me that you were cut up pretty bad this morning. Are you sure you’re all right?”
Carson’s stomach dropped. Ice filled his veins.
“You’re hurt?” A hundred ugly scenarios filled his brain. “Your ex—”
“No.” She shook her head. “Nothing like that. I was just working on some fighting techniques—”
“You were fighting.” Some of the iciness in his blood started to thaw. Her ex hadn’t been involved. But if he had a megaphone at that moment, he would have shouted to everyone within listening distance that the film was canceled and they all had to go the hell home.
“It’s just a scratch on my arm—” she began, pointing to the hint of a bandage peeking out from her long-sleeve T-shirt.<
br />
“Excuse us, Dax.” Carson didn’t take his eyes off Emma.
Now her expression—the agitation, the nervousness—made perfect sense. He tucked her under his arm and drew her away from everyone, toward where his own truck was parked.
“Carson, I’m fine.” Emma laid a hand on his chest.
Was she honestly offering comfort to him? Damned ironic when he wanted to wrap her in cotton and take her far away from here. Reaching his pickup, he opened the passenger-side door for her.
“You’ll be even better after you take care of yourself.”
She didn’t make a move to get in his truck. She folded her arms and glared at him. “I have to work on my riding today. You’re supposed to be helping me get better for the race scene.”
“We’ll practice when I’m sure you’re all right.”
“My word isn’t enough?” She looked ready to dig her heels in.
Clearly she didn’t know how serious he was about this.
“Not when I’ve seen you throw yourself from one dangerous situation into another. No.” He leaned closer when she still didn’t move. Quietly, he spelled out her options. “The alternative is that I get Antonio Ventura on the phone right now, and tell him the deal is off because safety measures aren’t being met.”
Her eyes narrowed. Her lips pursed.
He guessed she was debating the merits of arguing further. But maybe she could see that he had no intention of backing down, because she huffed out a sigh and stepped up onto the running board of his truck instead.
* * *
“Where are we going?” Emma asked as Carson drove right past the main house.
She’d assumed that was where he was taking her. Enforcing a day off or something. But now, as the truck wound down the long access road leading to a county highway, she had to wonder what he had in mind. He drove underneath the wooden arch where a sign hung for the Creek Spill Ranch.
