STUDS AND STILETTOS (Romantic Mystery)

by Bev Pettersen

  The door to the cottage rattled. Billy shuffled out, his scowl outlined by the bright porch light. “It’s not time,” he said. “I don’t open the gate until six. You’ll have to wait.”

  “That’s okay,” she said. “I’ll just walk around the post.”

  “You can’t do that.” His voice quivered in agitation. “No one goes through until six. Mr. Hamilton said so.”

  The alarm in his voice made her pause. She glanced longingly at the path that circled the gate, wishing now that she’d taken the rougher trail through the woods. Time was critical.

  “The gate is for cars, Billy,” she said soothingly. “It’s okay if people are walking. And you don’t have to open the gate for me. See.” She pointed at the gap between the steel post and the trees. “I can easily walk around.”

  Billy’s forehead wrinkled in confusion. “But that’s not the way it’s done. Mr. Hamilton wants his privacy. You have to wait.”

  Emily tapped her foot. She didn’t want to upset Billy, but she certainly didn’t want to be late for her scene. “I’m on my way for doughnuts,” she said. “Sure hope they don’t run out.”

  “Maybe I’ll open the gate a little early. Just for today.” He creaked toward the gate, almost tripping in his haste, but righting himself with his cane.

  Emily helped him push the bar back, wondering if this old guy really should be living alone. “How often do you have visitors?” she asked. “Do you have family close by?”

  “No, it’s just me. This area is my responsibility.”

  “But who brings your groceries?”

  “Some regular people.”

  Her gaze swept his baggy pants, his stained shirt. Dirt rimmed the collar and threads dangled from his tattered cuffs. It was hard to determine the original color of his clothes. “Well,” she said, “I’ll bring some food later. Maybe a sandwich.”

  He scowled. “You promised doughnuts.”

  “Yes. One doughnut,” she said. “But maybe some other food, to eat before the doughnut.”

  “I like doughnuts best,” he said sulkily.

  “Okay.” She nodded, hiding her concern, and continued down the driveway. Once out of sight of the cottage, she turned on her phone and checked the time. Already past six. She’d wasted precious minutes but it certainly seemed that Billy needed more care. Back home, Jenna checked on their old neighbor regularly. Burke had even installed a downstairs bathroom so Mrs. Parker didn’t have to climb stairs.

  Billy had trouble staying upright on a paved driveway but at least his cottage was one level. And surely Mr. Hamilton was aware of his living conditions.

  Shaking her head, she broke into a jog, trying to make up for lost time. Crew hammered nails by the racetrack and she cut along the trail behind them, returning their greetings with a breathless ‘good morning.’ A path edged between a row of trailers and led to an area filled with generators and the smell of bacon. She spotted the dining tent and slowed to a more dignified walk.

  An officious-looking man with headsets draped around his neck strode in the same direction. She swerved to join him.

  “Smells like another nice breakfast,” she said.

  “Sure does. But I ate too much last night.” He groaned and rubbed his belly, then detailed last night’s feast of steak and lobster.

  Emily salivated, almost sick with longing. The door monitor eyed her suspiciously when they walked into the crowded tent but the friendly man was still talking, and his presence obviously lent her credibility. She didn’t want to hear anymore about food though, and the smell of frying bacon sent her taste buds into a frenzy. However, she didn’t have time to stand in any long lineup and she was used to skipping meals. It was much more important to be on time for her rearing scene.

  She veered to the empty beverage table, made two cups of coffee and headed to the wardrobe tent.

  Luckily Maggie was working. Her kind face creased in a smile when she spotted the coffee. She immediately dropped her bundle of clothes. “You’re awesome,” she said. “It’s impossible to grab coffee when I work the red-eye shift.”

  Emily glanced around. Except for a lady washing makeup brushes, the tent seemed deserted. “Are you working alone again?”

  “Yes, but tomorrow there’ll be five of us. We have a busload of extras coming in. What are you here for?”

  “More groom’s clothes,” Emily said. “My scene was postponed.”

  “But I gave you clothes yesterday. You don’t need more.”

  “Yes,” Emily said, automatically talking faster. “But this is a different scene—” She paused in the middle of her spiel. Maybe it wasn’t necessary to embellish. After all, she hadn’t done anything wrong. She wasn’t trying to steal clothes, only borrow them. Besides, they were all working for the good of the movie.

  “Actually,” she squared her shoulders, “I didn’t make it home the last two nights. I only brought a day bag from my apartment so the clothes I checked out yesterday are already dirty. Basically I have nothing of my own—except an entirely useless cocktail dress and a very pretty pair of shoes.”

  Maggie stared for a second then giggled. “You look darn good for not having been home in awhile. But I hope you know what you’re doing.” She shook her head, her face sobering. “Trust me. These movie people will break your heart.”

  “Oh, it’s not that. It’s pure work. I wish it wasn’t,” Emily said, indulging for a moment in vivid imagination of a shirtless Dan.

  Maggie gave an understanding nod. “Yeah. Working these hours kills my love life too.” She pulled two pairs of jeans off the rack. “Try these. In the meantime I’ll find a couple shirts. Unfortunately we don’t have any underwear, only some disposable stuff left over from a nursing home movie.”

  “I’d love them though,” Emily said appreciatively. “And dry socks too, if you have any.” She glanced around the tent, suddenly concerned for Maggie. Jobs were scarce in this area and working on a movie set had to be the best gig in the world. “You won’t get in trouble, will you?”

  “Thanks for your concern but I’m just doing my job.” Maggie’s eyes twinkled. “Didn’t you say you were shooting three different scenes today?”

  “Yes, I did say that.”

  “And that you need several changes of clothes?”

  Emily gave a solemn nod. “That’s exactly what I told you.”

  *

  The director was hyper and unsmiling, and he spoke so fast Emily could barely follow his words. She’d already sneezed twice and her throat was desert dry. She was going to screw up this scene. She just knew it.

  She swallowed, desperate to portray a cool professionalism. But her head throbbed, her nose was running and she was so terrified it was impossible to concentrate. Her eyes flickered to Dan, and his reassuring smile made her breathing steady a notch.

  “The groom will lead the horse from the barn,” the director said, pointing. “Here is where I want the first rear. Then another one here. Robert, you stand to the side and look worried. This is the point when you realize something is seriously wrong with Reckless. And remember, quiet. Turn off your phones.”

  Emily’s hands fisted. Her nose tickled and it was torture not to rub it. Everyone else stood unmoving, absorbing everything the director was saying. Oh, damn. Another sneeze was coming; she could feel it. She raised her hand, desperate to stifle it.

  Too late.

  When she lowered her hand, the director was frowning and everyone else stared. “Excuse me,” she muttered, her face flaming.

  “Dan,” the director snapped. “Don’t you have any background that isn’t sick?”

  And suddenly Dan was there. “Hey,” he said. He draped an arm over her shoulders, and it was so warm and comforting she wished it would never move.

  “Sounds like you have a bit of a cold.” His finger grazed her lower lip, his arm still exuding wonderful heat. He smelled crisp and clean and confident, and he was the best thing she’d seen this morning.

  “Open,
” he said, brushing her lip.

  His face was so close, his touch on her face gentle. If she looked into his warm blue eyes any longer she’d undoubtedly melt. Open her mouth? Was he going to kiss her? Here? Actually, she was fine with that, even though there were people all around, glaring at her because she’d sneezed.

  She opened her mouth.

  He popped a piece of gum on her tongue. “Just think of leading the horse, nothing else,” he said. “It’s just you and Bruno. You’re going to do great.”

  His voice was so calm, she nodded and let him guide her to Bruno’s side. Someone placed the lead line in her hand. “Walk,” Dan said.

  She walked.

  But the horse stopped and pulled on the lead. She turned and Bruno reared, so high and menacing that her brain stalled. She couldn’t remember a single direction, and it was obvious the director would fire her on the spot.

  Dan’s hand tightened reassuringly on her hip. “Watch the line,” he whispered. Her skin tingled and his touch jolted her memory. ‘Don’t pull too hard on the lead but no slack.’

  She tightened the line, concentrating on keeping it from tangling in Bruno’s waving feet, but making sure she didn’t pull on his halter. And then it was just her and Dan and Bruno. She forgot about the cameras and the dissatisfied director and her lack of makeup. She was only a groom trying to deal with a rebellious horse.

  She even stopped worrying about acting or what type of expression to use. She just tried to avoid the horse’s murderous hooves. And throughout it, she was conscious of Dan’s guiding hand.

  Bruno dropped to the ground, ears flattened. She coaxed him forward a few feet. But he reared again, looking so agitated she thought perhaps he really was upset. His front feet returned to the ground and Dan signaled for her to walk again.

  She moved a few more steps and Bruno reared and it really wasn’t scary at all.

  “Cut!” the director yelled.

  And then Dan was patting Bruno, and the director was talking to a camera guy and peering into a screen.

  “If we switch the groom to the horse’s other side, we can bring a camera underneath for a vertical shot,” the director said.

  The cameraman nodded and gestured at someone on his team. Dan, however, shook his head.

  “Why not?” the director asked.

  “It’s customary to lead from the left,” Dan said, his hand still on Bruno’s neck. “It would be jarring to horse people to see the groom on the right.”

  “I can do the angle from the left,” the cameraman said, “but it’ll be tight for space.”

  “Let’s try it,” the director said, and an assistant director relayed the information to Emily as if she couldn’t hear what was being said.

  Dan stepped closer. “Just do the same thing, Emily. But the cameraman will get underneath for an upward shot.”

  She nodded, glad the scene would be re-shot. Dan’s calmness boosted her confidence and despite her headache and runny nose, she didn’t want it over too quickly. Besides, if they did a lot of takes, there was more chance Jenna would see her face.

  They repositioned Bruno. Heads bent over cameras. Someone slapped the clapperboard shut. The director called ‘Action!’

  Emily stepped forward with Bruno and this time she didn’t need Dan’s guiding hand. She felt his calm presence though and knew Bruno felt it too. It was actually rather fun, now that she no longer agonized about the hovering cameras or the director’s disapproval.

  The lead tightened and she turned. Bruno’s hooves flashed in front of her face. He wore shiny aluminum race plates today and seemed very proud of them, slashing the air with aggressive abandon.

  “Cut!”

  Dan’s hand looped around her hip and he tugged her back. “You were too close on that one,” he said.

  “You changed Bruno’s shoes,” she whispered, smiling up at him.

  “And you had too close a view.” He smiled back at her. “If we shoot again, keep the positioning from the first time. You’re not being paid for stunt work. I don’t want my race advisor getting hurt.”

  “Moving on,” the assistant director called.

  “That’s great,” Dan said. “Anthony is satisfied with Bruno’s scene.”

  Her chagrin at Dan calling it Bruno’s scene was softened by his earlier reference to my race advisor. In fact, her heart was beating double time, something it always seemed to do when Dan was around. “Bruno was very careful not to hit me,” she managed. “What happens now?”

  “Bruno goes to his stall to relax.” Dan handed the lead line to Lizzie who smiled prettily at Dan and promptly handed Bruno off to a waiting wrangler.

  “I checked the small barn an hour ago,” Lizzie said, her mouth flattening as she turned toward Emily. “I hope you intend to clean the stalls better. They’re filthy.”

  “They were cleaned early this morning so they can’t be too dirty,” Emily said. “And of course I’ll pick them out again later.”

  “As long as they’re cleaned sometime today,” Dan said, his gaze narrowing on Lizzie. “Are the horses ready for the track?”

  “Mounted and waiting,” Lizzie said.

  “Good. Stick around, Emily. I’ll need your opinion.”

  Emily nodded, ignoring her rumbling stomach. She’d hoped to grab some breakfast but the opportunity to stay with Dan was irresistible. Already, crew hustled toward the track, and there was a strange vehicle with cameras mounted on a boom. It would be interesting to see how galloping horses were filmed, and with Dan she’d be in the middle of the action.

  Emily was so happy she even shot Lizzie a conciliatory smile. If she had an amazing boss like Dan, she’d probably be a little territorial too although it was crazy Lizzie even perceived her as a threat. There were too many other women around, stunning women with fashionable clothes and artful makeup and buttery soft Italian boots.

  Her nose suddenly itched. She ducked her head, muffling another sneeze.

  “Would you like a coffee,” Dan asked. “Or perhaps some juice?”

  She lowered her arm from her mouth, still blinking from the sneeze. “Is there time to go to the tent?” she asked hopefully.

  “We’ll have it delivered,” Dan said. “Are you allergic, or sick?”

  “Just what we need,” Lizzie said darkly. “A flu bug.”

  “I’m not allergic,” Emily said, “and sorry if I’m sick.’

  “Tell Lizzie what you want.” Dan’s voice hardened, his eyes turning an icy blue. “And she’ll get it for you. Whatever you want. Cough drops, Kleenex, coffee.”

  “Coffee would be great,” Emily said. She wanted food too but she suddenly empathized with Lizzie. The wrangler looked quite stricken and no wonder. Dan’s eyes and voice, so warm only minutes ago, now projected an icy chill. It was obvious why even the autocratic director listened when Dan spoke.

  Dan was already moving away, completely dismissing Lizzie, his attention on the track. “Let’s go, Emily,” he said. “We need to make this track scene realistic. And I’m curious what an expert like you will spot.”

  Emily gulped. “Me too,” she said.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Emily followed Dan’s gaze, listening as he relayed information about each horse. It was a relief to be alone with him, away from the director. She hadn’t sneezed since, although her head still throbbed. Clearly she’d caught some sort of bug but hopefully her headache would disappear with coffee.

  “The first four horses will be on camera,” Dan said. “Filmed walking in a line with Reckless in front.”

  “Is that the obedient Reckless?” she asked, studying the bay colt with the distinctive blaze and two white socks on his front legs.

  “Yes. That’s Reckless before his groom left. When Thomas Hamilton had high hopes for the Derby.” Dan edged sideways so a harried camera woman could move some equipment. His hard thigh brushed Emily’s hip. “So,” his voice softened, “do you see anything that needs adjustment?”

  Emily tighten
ed her hands around the rail, struggling to calm her senses. But she could smell his subtle aftershave, feel his welcoming heat. And if she leaned two inches to the left, her elbow would touch his arm. His sleeves were rolled and for some reason, she couldn’t pull her eyes off his ridged forearms, the tanned skin with the sprinkling of dark hair.

  She jerked her gaze away and stared across the track, trying to stay grounded, desperate to find something—just one detail—that would help. Anything that would justify his faith. But everything looked authentic.

  There were no obvious mistakes. The horses wore exercise saddles, the riders were properly equipped with race helmets and protective vests. The stirrups were short and the riders sat their horses easily. It could have been a group of riders from Three Brooks or any track in North America. Except something was missing—

  “What about their whips?” she blurted.

  Dan frowned. “They’re not racing.”

  “But they’re a necessary training aid. Especially with short stirrups, when you can’t use your legs in the usual way. The riders at Three Brooks just tucked them in the back of their jeans but they always carried them, just in case.”

  Dan stroked his jaw, staring at the horses. “You’re right,” he said. “They should have them.”

  Emily’s hands slowly loosened. He’d been quick to acknowledge the oversight. Most men would have scrambled rather than admit fault. At least, the men she’d known had been like that.

  Dan was already signaling to someone—not Lizzie who was approaching from the other direction with a coffee tray and a forced smile—but to a man with a ponytail who sat in a golf cart.

  “Here’s your coffee.” Lizzie thrust a cup at Emily. “And cream and sugar if you want it.”

  “Thanks,” Emily said. She picked up the cup and took a grateful sip. It was strong and hot and would certainly ease the painful emptiness in her stomach. “I hope you didn’t have to walk far.”