by Peggy Jaeger
Her earpiece buzzed. After she’d put out a few administrative fires and fixed a few production problems a while later, she slipped quietly back into her seat.
Before her butt hit the chair, Nikko turned and sliced her with a steely glare, making her feel like a teenager caught sneaking in after curfew.
In the next instant, his attention was pulled back to the screens and he continued to bark out orders to the filming crew.
She took a deep breath, settled into her chair, and watched the king rule his realm.
* * * *
“Hey, Stacy?”
She turned and spotted Beau, his long legs eating up the wooden floor as he moved across the dining hall, a grin across his face.
Her own smile was fast and free.
“Whew.” Beau stopped in front of her, pushed his Stetson back from his forehead, and glanced around the room. “It sure is loud in here.”
“Isn’t it always this way at mealtime?”
“I wouldn’t know, since I’m usually up at the house with Daddy for dinner.”
She cocked her head. “I assumed you all ate your meals together as a—well, as a ranch.”
“Nope. We always ate as a family when Mama was alive. She insisted on it. Said she never got to see Daddy during the day, since he was out working the land. The least he could do was sit down to a civilized meal at the end of the day.” He readjusted his hat. “Habit stuck even after she died. Anyway, that’s why I came over. Daddy would be honored if you’d sit with us, since this is the first official challenge and all.”
“Oh, I wish I could. I really do. But I’ve got work. I’ve got to deal with any problems and help make sure everything goes smoothly. I’m sorry. I really am.”
“Don’t you get time to eat at all? A break? Anything.”
“When filming is done and there’s anything left over, maybe.”
“That just seems wrong.” He shook his head.
“Nature of the beast. I really would like to try a few of the dishes you’re going to be served.” Remembering how mouthwatering some of them had looked and smelled during production had her smile growing. “They all look fantastic. I’m glad I don’t have to vote for a favorite.”
“Well, if you get a break or can spare a minute, stop by the table for a spell. I know Daddy would appreciate it and so would I. That lady judge is seated with us and she’s not the most friendly female I’ve ever met.”
Stacy kept her opinion of Jade Quartermaine to herself, although she silently agreed with him.
Nikko and Melora came into sight when she turned. The girl had her arms crossed in front of her, her shoulders bowed and was trying her hardest, it seemed, to be invisible.
When the teen glanced up and saw Stacy, her entire face changed from morose to happy as a smile branched across it. She said something to her father and Nikko’s gaze immediately shifted to Stacy.
With a small nod in her direction, he reached down, took his daughter’s hand, and led her across the room, his eyes staying focused on her.
Stacy’s feet glued themselves to the floor.
Ranch hands, technical crew, cowboys all moved out of his way as he marched toward her, Melora clamped to his side. He never had to break stride once to angle around someone, or wait for someone to move out of his way. Like the Red Sea had for Moses, the throng of people in his path all parted for Nikko Stamp.
The moment he was in hearing distance, she didn’t wait for him to speak, but jumped right in to tell him, “Everything is just about ready to go. Hi, Melora.” She smiled at the girl.
“Hey.”
Turning her focus back to Nikko, she smoothed her features and said, “The chefs are going to serve buffet-style, just as you ordered. Film crew is set and the judges are seated with Amos Dixon and his family.”
Nikko nodded, his gaze shifting about the room and then back to her.
There was something in his eyes she couldn’t read. His brows pulled together and he looked down at his hand, joined with his daughter’s.
Stacy watched as the girl squeezed it and bumped her father with her shoulder.
Nikko’s gaze shot back to hers and Stacy swore he was nervous about something.
He took a deep breath and she stared, fascinated, as he shifted in his stance and tilted his shoulders forward.
“Listen,” he said, leaning down closer to her, so close she inhaled the scent of sandalwood. “I’ve gotta get to the operations truck.”
Stacy nodded.
“Would you—I mean, could you…” He stopped, glanced down at Melora, and then nodded again when she shot her eyebrows up and pierced him with a bug-eyed glare.
“Melora needs to eat,” he said, turning his attention back to her. “Can you walk her through the line and…get her settled? Maybe…stay with her? So she’s not alone?”
Whatever she’d expected him to say, this wasn’t even close.
Without hesitation, she answered, “Of course I will. Do you want to get something and bring it back to the trailer with you?” she asked the girl. To Nikko, she added, “I mean, if it’s okay with you that she’s there?”
Relief washed across his face. The lines in his brow disappeared and his shoulders squared and lifted.
He turned to his daughter and asked, “Is that okay? Being planted in the truck while I work?”
Melora’s head nodded so vigorously, Stacy had to bite her lip from laughing. How could Nikko not see how much the girl wanted to be with him?
“Okay, but you’ve got to be quiet,” he told her. “I need to focus and I can’t be distracted with questions or chattering. Okay?”
“’K.” She reached up and kissed his cheek. “Thanks.”
Stacy’s heart swelled when he looked down at his daughter’s happy face, smiled, and pumped her hand again.
“I’ll bring her down as soon as the food gets served. Do you want me to bring you back something as well? I can grab a plate with samples.”
He shifted his gaze to hers and nailed her with a look so hot, so piercing, and so filled with...intent, her breath caught.
His eyes skirted down to her lips and Stacy swore she could all but feel his mouth pressed against hers. Her insides fluttered and her thighs quaked together with the effort it took to keep her upright.
In the next instant that fierce professional mask shot down his face. The moisture in his eyes froze over and his mouth pulled into the thin, hard line he’d first met her with.
“No need,” he told her, turning back to his daughter, dismissing her.
“I’ll see you in a little while.” He bent, kissed Melora’s cheek, and without another word to Stacy, walked away. As it had before, the crowd of people filling the hall moved to let him pass.
Stacy blinked a few times and tried to mentally will her heart to cease pounding like a jackhammer.
What the hell? She’d never been so overtaken with any man she’d ever worked with before, and certainly not one who so obviously disliked her. Stacy wasn’t the kind of woman who developed crushes or sentimental feelings about the men she was surrounded by.
In truth, she knew and accepted her reputation as the go-to girl around a television production, valued for what she could do, liked because she was a likable person, and not lusted after because she was devastatingly alluring.
But she swore she saw desire when Nikko Stamp had just stared at her, just as she swore he was angry about feeling it.
“You okay?” Melora asked from her side. “You don’t mind, like, letting me hang with you? I promise not to be a leech.”
Stacy gave herself an internal shake. Smiling, she rubbed a hand along the teen’s shoulder. “That was the nickname my cousins gave me when we were kids.”
Melora’s open smile warmed her.
“Come on,” Stacy said. “Let’s go see how the set
up is coming along and then we can get you something to eat.”
“I’m not really hungry.” Melora pulled back on Stacy’s grip. “And I don’t like barbeque,” she added. “At all. It’s, like, barbaric. I told Nikko I wouldn’t eat anything but he, like, insisted I come anyway.”
A mulish tinge colored her words. Stacy was well acquainted with teenage obstinacy. “Okay. We’ll find you something,” she told her as they weaved through the crowd. “No worries.”
* * * *
He knew immediately when they entered the truck. Although they didn’t make a sound and the noise from the monitors and the crew all around him was loud and boisterous, the back of Nikko’s neck tingled, the tiny hairs standing on edge like a static-electricity charge when he sensed their arrival.
He tried to tell himself he hadn’t been waiting for them, worried they were taking so long.
He attempted to convince himself he hadn’t been more tense than usual, unable to completely focus on the scenes in front of him without Stacy’s calming presence behind him.
He flat-out lied, calling the crazy notion in his head that he was fiercely, totally attracted to her a gross untruth, his visceral reactions to her nothing more than his body reminding him he hadn’t gotten laid in a long, long time.
His gaze flicked from one monitor to another as the cameras filmed the chefs serving their meals.
Nikko pushed a button on the control panel. “Camera five, move closer to the judges’ table. Get me some visuals.”
A shot of Amos Dixon smiling at Jade Quartemaine as the judge flirted with her host came on screen.
“Record sound,” Nikko commanded. “Camera six, zoom in on Burbank’s hands. I want to see that steak portion.”
Each cameraman did as he bid. Satisfied, he reached a hand down to the console and grabbed his water bottle.
A fresh one sat in place.
Nikko spun around to see Melora seated next to Stacy, a plate half filled with—what was that, salad? Where had she gotten a salad? None of the chefs had prepared one. Stacy had a similarly filled plate. Two small bowls sat next to them, one with what Nikko knew was Riley MacNeill’s stew, the other Dorinda Katay’s shish kebab.
His eyes almost popped out of his head when his daughter took a whopping spoonful of the stew, rolled her eyes at Stacy, then swallowed and smiled. His EP said something in a low tone to his daughter and the girl actually giggled.
When was the last time his daughter had giggled? Or even laughed?
Melora happened to catch him staring and, looking sheepish, squinched up her nose and mouthed, “Sorry.”
He gave her a small grin and winked at the exact moment Stacy looked over at him. The smile she’d had for his daughter was still on her mouth, but when their gazes connected, it disappeared.
For one fleeting moment, though, he’d been graced with her unguarded expression, and in that sparse second he’d been enchanted.
Loud laughter from the screens pulled his attention back to his job.
When all the meals had been served, the food eaten, and the pans emptied, the cowboys and ranchers began filling out ratings cards on each meal they’d sampled.
Nikko turned around and without even saying her name, Stacy snapped to attention.
“Who’s collecting the scorecards?” he asked.
“I thought Melora and I could do it,” she answered.
“Can I, Daddy? Can I help?”
It had been on the tip of his tongue to snap at Stacy and tell her his daughter wasn’t involved in the production, but the unexpected and rare expression of happiness on the teen’s face killed the words before he let them go.
He couldn’t refuse Melora anything if it made her that happy.
“Go ahead,” he told them. “Bring them straight back to me so I can tally them. And tell Jade and Roth to set up for the judges’-table filming. I want it done now.”
“Can I dismiss the chefs for the night, or do you want to talk to them about tomorrow?”
He rubbed a hand down his leg. In reality he wanted nothing more than to get back to the cabin, put his aching leg up, and have a few shots of the whiskey waiting for him in the den.
“I’ll meet them in the stew room in twenty minutes. After that they can call it a night.”
Stacy rose, as did Melora. Both gathered up their plates and empty water bottles. Before leaving, Melora moved to her father, kissed him on the cheek, and said, “Thanks, Daddy.”
Emotion choked in the back of his throat, making speech impossible. He nodded and kissed her back.
Chapter Eleven
While she’d been packing to leave for Montana, Stacy had told Kandy the trip would be like one to hell.
It wasn’t a far-off description.
Stacy opened the top two buttons on her blouse and dragged the cool water bottle from the front of her neck to the back. Her body was dripping with sweat and she wasn’t even doing something fun, like hot yoga.
The pop-up canopy she sat under with a few of the tech crew and Nikko helped keep the blazing sun off of their heads, but did nothing to prevent the morning heat from sweltering their bodies.
Befitting the weather, the majority of the crew was in shorts and T-shirts, baseball caps atop their heads with the show’s logo, and sunglasses to ease the glare.
Stacy wore her usual long-sleeved shirt to cover her arms, although she had opted for a lighter cotton-blend mix and cotton trousers. She’d secured her hair into a ponytail, her logo cap in place over it. Having forgotten to pack her prescription sunglasses, she’d been forced to wear her contact lenses, plain sunglasses over them, and her eyes had begun to sting and water the moment they’d arrived at the dry and rocky location shoot.
If she was boiling like a lobster after being shoved into a waiting pot, the cooks had to be near the dropping point.
The truck’s thermometer when they’d left the ranch at six a.m. had already read 85 degrees. Three hours later, with the sun exploding in a cloudless blue sky, it had to be at least 100—if not more—in the shade.
The chefs were offered no refuge from the scorching heat as they barreled through their challenge.
Nikko had taken them a mile from the main ranch, the property still held by Amos Dixon. Stationed atop a rise of rocks, the chefs were given supplies to cook with that the average cowboy would use on a cattle drive. A cowboy of the 1800s, that is.
Three large, period chuck wagons, bursting with cooking supplies, surrounded the chefs in a wagon-circle fashion. Each chef had been given a pit to cook over and the instruments to start a fire. The challenge was an interesting one: make breakfast using only the supplies and utensils available from the food wagons.
“Dorinda’s having some trouble with her fire,” Todd said as he, Nikko, Stacy, and a few other techs watched the three portable monitors they’d brought with them. Since they were on a location shoot, all the filming was done with handheld cameras.
Nikko ordered the camera to zoom in on Dorinda’s struggle to light the coals under the metal fire-pit grate.
Stacy chugged the remnants in her water bottle, then rose to get another. The last thing she wanted to do was dehydrate in the blistering heat. A quick scan at the others and she took out a few bottles of water from the cooler, placing one at Todd’s seat, then Nikko’s.
The director never lifted his head to indicate that he’d noticed her remove his empty bottle and replace it with a full one.
Stacy decided to take a few minutes and see if there were any concerns she could attend to.
They’d driven out to the site in four humongous, air-conditioned, and fully stocked motor homes. Nikko and Melora had been in one with the sound and filming crew, the judges, Jade’s entourage, and the producers in another and the final two were split between the chefs. Stacy had driven out with the chefs and producers in order to make sure
everyone knew what was going to happen and to answer any questions. In all honesty, she should have ridden in Nikko’s coach, but when she’d met up with him for a few short minutes prior to leaving, he hadn’t asked her to and she hadn’t wanted to push herself on him, especially when they’d appeared to have come to some kind of truce.
After she and Melora had gathered up the voting sheets from the first dinner challenge, she’d brought them back to Nikko as instructed. She was supposed to tally the results with him and then seal and store them so no one could find out who had won the challenge. Nikko had told her he didn’t feel like doing it just then, that they would get to it after the next challenge, and that he would be responsible for making sure they were put in the safe.
She’d wanted to tell him that wasn’t the way it was supposed to go, but stopped herself when she realized he wasn’t being obnoxious or challenging her. He was simply exhausted and in a great deal of pain. His hand gripped his injured thigh and she could read torment along his grooved brow and pinched mouth. His chest rose and fell in a staccato rhythm and a very fine line of sweat covered his upper lip.
Every fiber in her being ached to help this man, but she knew any reference to his pain would only serve to make him dislike her more.
Nikko Stamp was one of the proudest, most stubborn, and intriguing men she’d ever had the pleasure—or displeasure—to meet. If she gave him the slightest indication she knew the agony coursing through him, he would have been mortified and furious.
So she did the one thing she hated more than any other: She ignored his suffering.
Stacy knocked on the judges’ coach and entered.
“Are they ready for us?” Dan Roth asked.
He was lounging, feet up on a chair, a makeup girl applying foundation to his cheeks.
“Not yet.” She looked down at her tablet. “The challenge has twenty minutes left. You’re going to want to stay in here until the last second. It’s miserable outside.”
