by Penny Reid
I’d have to speak with the production staff at some point. Stationing Dave and another of the security team outside would also help. Tom wasn’t to be allowed in my trailer. Ever.
On one hand, I couldn’t wait for the primary filming to be done.
On the other hand . . . Jethro.
***
Jethro promised he’d pick me up at 7:00 p.m. in the same spot where he’d dropped me off this morning. He kept his word.
However, he was driving a different vehicle, and he had someone else with him. Both of these facts gave me pause.
First of all, the truck was huge. I mean HUGE. It resembled one of those monster trucks, except it was painted a benign blue and the wheels were normal sized. Secondly, the man with him was dressed in grease-stained blue coveralls, a black and red checked flannel, and his beard was overgrown and wild. Actually, everything about him looked a bit wild.
But then my gaze moved back to Jethro and he grinned, big and wide, which meant I had to smile. I had no choice, because his grin was happy and open, epic even.
I waved.
He waved, still smiling like he couldn’t help it.
By Godzilla’s tibia, I felt like a teenager. I was all aflutter with happy anticipation.
I glanced at his companion, deciding—based on the look of him—the man was even less likely to know who I was than Jethro. Thus, gathering a breath for courage, I hitched my bag higher on my shoulder and closed the remaining distance.
As I approached the gigantic truck, Jethro took a few steps forward, hitting the other man lightly on the shoulder to gain his attention. But his companion didn’t look up. As I drew closer I saw the man was staring at the screen of an iPad.
“Hey you,” Jethro said, his green and gold eyes warm and welcoming, though his voice was gravelly and tired, as though he’d been talking a great deal. “You left your thermos in my truck this morning. I wanted to let you know, just in case you’ve been missing it. It’s been cleaned and it’s inside The Beast.” He indicated with his thumb the blue truck behind him and reached for my bag, adding, “Let me carry this for you.”
“Thank you, Jethro.” I let him take the bag, feeling a renewed sense of wonder at how he insisted on caring for me in small ways. Carrying my luggage instead of rolling it and ruining the wheels, remembering my thermos and cleaning it out for me, grabbing my backpack.
After spending the day with Tom Low and the other actors and egos on set, Jethro felt like a breath of fresh air. He felt real, a real person. Thoughtful. Normal. Nice.
“This here is Cletus, my brother.”
My eyes moved to his companion again and I extended my hand. “Nice to meet you, Cletus.”
Cletus didn’t look up, but he accepted the handshake. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. Jethro said you’ve been having car trouble.”
I lifted an eyebrow at Cletus’s odd behavior, as though he were pointedly not looking at me for some reason. Jethro caught my eyes and rolled his, communicating with the single gesture that his brother was a special snowflake and would have to be indulged.
I gave Jethro a reassuring smile as I addressed Cletus’s last statement. “Yes. Sadly, I have a terrible sense of direction. So your brother has been kind enough to help me find my way.”
“I’m sure he didn’t mind overly much,” Cletus mumbled under his breath. “So, you’re a writer?”
“That’s right.”
“You wrote this movie?”
“Yes.” I inspected Cletus’s forehead and the rest of his downturned features. His hands were big and strong, covered in either dirt or grease. I guessed both. He had thick hair, super thick, with an odd spirally curl every few tendrils. This added to the outward suggestion of his unkempt appearance. Though his hair was wild around his head and shoulders, sticking out in odd directions, it was clean and brushed. It was also two full shades lighter than Jethro’s dark brown with natural blondish highlights.
His face, or what I could see of it, was too manly and square to be pretty or adorable; but there was definitely a resemblance between the two brothers. They were about the same height, with Jethro being just a smidge taller and definitely leaner. Cletus was stocky. Where Jethro looked lithe, Cletus looked strong.
“What’s the movie about?” Cletus asked, still not looking at me.
“Cletus . . .” Jethro’s tone held an edge of warning, like he was losing patience.
“No, it’s fine. The movie is a comedy about a female FBI agent trying to infiltrate a cult and unwittingly becomes their leader. She allows the power to go to her head and starts dictating their lives.”
“And of course disaster ensues,” Cletus guessed with a smirk.
“Actually, no. She really helps them. She talks them out of their suicide pact, saves their lives, keeps their commune from financial ruin. But no amount of good intentions can make up for the fact that she lied.”
“In the end they forgive her?”
“Nope. They try to sacrifice her to their god.”
“Well, that’s unexpected.” Cletus chuckled, lifting his chin slightly and affording me a fuller view of his features. They shared the same nose, yet their eyes were different. Jethro’s were nearly almond shaped; Cletus’s were big and round and framed by ridiculously long and dark eyelashes. They brought the word extravagant to mind, and I was a little envious.
I continued explaining the details of the script. “But she is busted out by her partner.”
“Who’s been in love with her the whole time,” he guessed.
“Exactly.” I glanced at Jethro. He smiled at me like he was proud. I twisted my lips to the side, to keep my ridiculous answering grin at bay. I swear, at this rate of staring and grinning, Jethro and I were in serious danger of going steady and holding hands.
“What kind of car are you driving around?” Cletus asked unexpectedly.
“Uh, a Kia Ultima.”
“You mean a Kia Optima.”
“Yes. Sorry.” I scratched my forehead, tired, the length of the day catching up to me. “You’re right.”
“Why’d you choose the Kia?”
“Um, I don’t know. It’s what they had at the rental counter.”
“Do you like it? Driving it, I mean.”
“Sure. If I didn’t keep getting lost.” I checked my watch.
I was just wondering how much longer we were going to play twenty questions when Jethro’s brother lifted his eyes and looked at me. Actually, he pinned me with his gaze, making mine widen with surprise, because he did not look happy.
And in that moment I knew. I knew that he knew that I knew that he knew who I was. By all appearances, he seemed to be debating what to do next. His glare was hard, irritated, and distrustful.
I realized he’d likely known my identity the second I’d opened my mouth, maybe even before. And speaking of my mouth, it went dry.
“What’d you say your name was again?” Cletus asked, his tone flat.
“I already told you, her name is Sarah. Can we get going?” Jethro opened the cab door, motioning for Cletus to step up and sit behind the driver’s seat.
Cletus narrowed sharp eyes on me, tucked his iPad under his arm, and climbed up into the truck. I tried to swallow, act naturally, as Jethro escorted me to the passenger side door.
As soon as Jethro opened it, Cletus said, “Oh, hey, Jet. Can you check the ties on the master lock in the truck bed? I think I tightened the winch, but it’d be great if you could double-check before we’re leaving machine parts all over The Parkway.”
“Fine.” Jethro nodded, helping me up and giving my hand a squeeze before he released me and shut the door, leaving me alone in the car with his astute brother.
“I can—” I started, but he cut me off.
“I don’t know why you’re being dishonest with Jethro, and you owe me no explanations. I doubt I’d be interested in them anyhow. But I haven’t seen my brother hopeful in a real long time. Mind, hopeful is different than happy. Don’t con
fuse the two, because hopeful is a good deal more dangerous than happy. My only warning is as follows.” Cletus paused, waiting for me to turn over my shoulder and look at him before continuing.
“He’s got five brothers and a sister, all of us love him something fierce. As such, none of us are going to sit idly by and watch while he’s being toyed with. So either you tell him who you are, and tell him soon, or I will.”
CHAPTER 8
“Nothing on earth can make up for the loss of one who has loved you.”
― Selma Lagerlöf
~Sienna~
I didn’t get a chance to speak with Jethro during the drive back to Hank’s place, not with Cletus in the back seat glaring daggers at the back of my head. I didn’t blame him for disliking me, not when it was clear I’d been dishonest with his brother about my identity.
But despite how magical, exhilarating, and honestly addictive it had been to be just some girl flirting with some guy, I was determined to explain everything to Jethro the next morning. Unfortunately, Cletus was in the truck when Jethro picked me up at 5:00 a.m.
Jethro held the door for me, giving me a wide grin and offering me his hand. “You left your thermos in the truck again last night, so I took the liberty of filling it with coffee for you. Watch your step.”
After he helped me up his hand lingered in mine, entwining our fingers for the barest of seconds, sending a shock of warmth up my arm and stars in my eyes before he pulled away. I mourned the loss of his touch as soon as he shut the door and watched his easy strides as he crossed in front of the truck.
But Cletus’s hard voice saying, “Sienna,” by way of greeting pulled me out of my happy Ranger Jethro musings.
“Cletus,” I returned, frowning.
“Have you told him?”
“When would I have told him?” My response was urgent, because Jethro was almost to the driver’s side.
“You need to tell him.”
“I will.”
“When?”
“As soon as we’re alone, somewhere quiet and private. Where we can discuss it.”
“Make it happen,” he whispered hastily and harshly just as his brother opened the door.
Jethro climbed into his spot and gave me a friendly smile. “How’s the coffee?”
“She hasn’t had any yet,” Cletus answered for me, then added, “but she wants you to ask her on a date tonight, no place public. Somewhere private, for discussing things.”
Jethro’s eyes widened, and he glared at his brother’s reflection in the rearview mirror, snapping, “Cletus.”
“Don’t clutch your pearls at me, big brother. Look at her, for hootenanny’s sake. She’s got the hots for your ugly face, Lord help her. And I know you’ve been thinking about her, judging by how long you took in the bathroom this morning.”
I clamped a hand over my mouth just as shocked laughter burst from my lips.
“Dammit, Cletus,” Jethro growled, turning the ignition and shooting his brother an incendiary look. “You are the worst. Just, don’t speak. Ever. Don’t speak ever again.” Jethro’s gaze darted to me then away as he sighed, looking remorseful. “I’m so sorry.”
I placed my hand on Jethro’s thigh—FYI he had a really nice thigh—to ease his mind and because I wanted to touch him. “No, no. Please don’t apologize. He’s right and he’s wrong. I do have the hots for your face, but it isn’t at all ugly.”
At this Cletus snorted and grumbled, “Well, it ain’t pretty.”
Jethro pressed his lips together and I could see the hint of a smile there amidst his frustration. “Glad you have the hots for my face.”
“Just ask her out already,” Cletus demanded. “She ain’t doing anything tonight. You two will go out tonight.”
Jethro cast his brother another murderous look, but I took the opportunity to interject. “That’s right. I’m not doing anything tonight.”
Cletus pressed his hand to Jethro’s shoulder. “Fine. It’s settled then. And you’re welcome. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to sleep back here until we get to the Cove. So if you two lovebirds could keep it down, I’d much appreciate it.”
***
I ran into Tom in the staff tent during breakfast.
Actually, let me clarify that.
Tom’s administrative assistant, Elon, tracked me down in the staff tent during breakfast and demanded I come with her immediately to eat with Tom in his trailer. When I politely but firmly declined, she left. And then five minutes later, Tom swept into the staff tent.
This was kind of a big deal. Tom didn’t like to mingle with the production staff. I honestly didn’t blame him. As soon as he entered, capable women were reduced to giggling girls. Even some of the men behaved like star-struck goofballs.
Production staff and support actors never behaved this way around me. I didn’t enjoy having colleagues who lost their ability to speak whenever I walked onto the set, which was prone to happen when headliners held themselves separate from the people actually making the movie. I made a habit of making myself available from the get-go and worked on ingratiating myself to everyone, from the production assistant to the cameraman (or woman).
But I wasn’t Tom Low. I didn’t have fifteen years of brooding star status under my belt. Plus, Tom was a very hot guy. I’d been beyond captivated by him the first time we’d met, reduced to one of those giggling girls, blinded by his looks and importance.
“Sienna,” he said, scowling at Janice Kenner who sat next to me on the bench. She was one of the lead support actresses, and we were friendly acquaintances.
“Why the constipated face, Tom?” Janice looked up from her salad. “You should try more fiber.”
“I get plenty of fiber.” Tom sniffed, rolling his shoulders and glancing around the tent. “I’d like a word with Sienna.”
“Take a seat.” She motioned to the empty chair across from hers.
Tom glared at her then at me. She was outwardly unaffected, but I knew she was enjoying his discomfort. Janice was nice to me and hugely talented, but she was also a harbinger of drama. Whereas I preferred to keep the peace.
“Hey, Janice,” I nudged her with my elbow, “I’ll be back; save my seat?”
She shrugged mutely and rolled her eyes. I shot to my feet before she decided to make a comment about the puffiness of his face, making the comment under the guise of concern, as she was prone to do. Capturing Tom’s elbow, I steered him past the remainder of the tables to a quiet corner just outside the tent.
Feeling eyes drilling into the side of my face, I glanced at Tom, finding him tossing every ounce of his extraordinary man-handsome in my direction. It was enough to take my breath away, had I not known he was incapable of doing his own laundry.
“What’s up?”
“Come to my trailer,” he said, using his sexy voice. “Let’s talk. I didn’t get a chance to talk to you yesterday.”
“Yes, we did. We talked about your lemon cleanse and your cashmeres.” I tried for innocently perplexed, but the truth was I’d avoided him for the remainder of the day after finding him in my trailer. It hadn’t been easy. I’d been forced to hide in the attic of one of the old houses we were using because he kept searching me out everywhere else.
His mouth hitched to the side, his glorious azure gaze moving over my features with potent tenderness. “I want to know what’s going on with you. Tell me about your next script.”
I tried not to outright scowl. I’d helped Tom get the role for this film. His last several movies, since the last one we’d starred in together, had been box office disappointments. Even Marta—who was his biggest fan—had admitted his career was floundering.
I shrugged, glancing at my watch. “Uh, I don’t—”
Luckily I didn’t have to finish my excuse because my phone rang. Marta. I held a finger out to Tom, saying “Sorry, we’ll have to talk later. I have to get this,” then rushed away from the tent.
“Sienna, my lovely, beautiful, wonderful sister. You have
n’t, I mean, has anyone mentioned anything to you?”
I smiled at the sound of Marta in such a good mood, searching for a quiet corner where I could take the call but also not be found later by Tom. “About what?”
Ignoring my question, she asked, “How are you this morning?”
“I’m great. How are you?”
She breathed a sigh of obvious relief. “I’m also great. Do you know why I’m great?”
“Do you want me to list all the ways? Because it’s a very long list.”
“You’re cute.” She chuckled, sounding pleased. “I’ll tell you what happened. I’m great because I just heard from Jenny this morning. Guess who they’re looking at to play Smash-Girl? Guess?”
“I have no idea. Who?”
“You.”
I blinked. I frowned. “What?”
Smash-Girl? Am I asleep? Is this an awesome dream?
“They want you to play Smash-Girl! The studio is adamant. And they want you to write it.”
“They want me to write it?” If this is a dream, NEVER WAKE UP.
“Well, co-write it.”
“I’m confused. Is this going to be a superhero movie or a comedy?”
“Both. After the success of Smash-Boy, the word is Dimension Comics is scrambling to capitalize on the appetite for subversive, funny, action movies, and they thought of you first.”
“So . . .” I stared off into space, my brain not quite accepting or understanding the most basic part of this conversation. “Don’t I have to, you know, be buff? Isn’t Smash-Girl super strong?”
“No, no, no. They plan to do a green screen with CGI capture, like they did for the Dimension movies with Bryce Boomer. It would be you when she’s in normal form. The character would be a super-polite, good-natured, likable, normal woman. And then it would be CGI you when she has her freak-outs.”
An avalanche of ideas rushed to the forefront of my brain, funny ways Smash-Girl could lose her cool. “Maybe, before she is able to control her powers, she goes red at the OBGYN’s office when the speculum is cold, or if she’s out of red wine. Or when people keep cutting in front of her at the DMV.”
