Hot in Hellcat Canyon

by Julie Anne Long

  She took a deep breath and looked at herself in the mirror. “Alley-­oop, Britt.”

  J. T. locked his house door and stood back to stare at it. He’d loved this house, but suddenly it felt like a movie set, unreal, without Britt in his life. Maybe he’d sell the place when they were done filming Hellcat Canyon location shots.

  Something tumbled toward him and knocked into his boot. He picked up an old horse-­chestnut husk, blown from one of the thousands of trees in the hills here.

  That’s just how he felt. Empty and exhausted.

  Rebecca was really quiet. And she’d been really quiet all night, too. Her mood was both taut and pensive and it was unfamiliar to J. T., but he patently didn’t care what she was thinking.

  At the moment, he wanted to get away from the scene of where he’d been happiest, because it was like a taunt. Rebecca chucked her bag into the front seat, and he chucked his overnight bag in after it, and in the cool gray early light he maneuvered his truck onto the road. Past the river. Past the vista point that looked out over the canyon where he and Britt had found a new use for his truck. Back through town. Past the turnoff to Britt’s house. Past the redecorated bus benches and the Misty Cat. He could have sworn he saw a movement in the upstairs window there, even though it was too early for anyone to be in.

  And finally out onto the highway.

  All in utter silence.

  They had the road completely to themselves at this time of day. That billboard was visible in the distance, and it was entirely white. But Rebecca had clearly vanished from it. Efficient of them to take the clown version down so quickly. J. T. thought it was kind of a shame.

  But . . .

  Wait.

  He squinted. He’d thought the billboard was all white, but was there writing on it?

  “Guess they took my ruined billboard down,” she finally said with some satisfaction. “They should have a new one up pretty soon. Same ad.”

  They got a little closer. J. T. stepped on the brake and slowed to a crawl.

  It looked as though a fresh layer of white butcher paper had been slapped up over the entire thing.

  He slowed down even more.

  “Hey . . . doesn’t that say ‘J. T.?’ ” Rebecca was confused.

  He nearly drove off the road.

  He got a grip on the steering wheel in time and carefully pulled over to the shoulder and cut the engine instantly.

  He froze, staring at the billboard.

  DEAR J. T.,

  I LIED. I NEED YOU.

  Below it was a drawing of a huge and exceptionally attractive chicken, with fluffy, elegant plumage and meticulously rendered feet. Next to it was an adorable donkey, its ass pointed toward the highway, its head peering coyly over its shoulder.

  The word Me was written above them in big, bold blocky letters. And two arrows ran from that word: one pointed at the chicken, the other at the ass.

  “John.” Rebecca was sure awake now. “What the hell? You just scared me to death.”

  “Shush,” he said so abruptly she actually recoiled.

  And then he sucked in a long, long breath.

  Sighed out all that air.

  And yanked the keys from the ignition and tossed them in her lap.

  “Here.”

  She stared at them as if he’d handed her a snake.

  “What’s the matter with you? Can’t you drive? Are you having a stroke?”

  “I’ll get a flight out of Sacramento or San Francisco into L.A. tonight or tomorrow. No matter what, I’ll get there somehow and I’ll meet you at the studio. I’d take you back to town and see if we could get you another ride, but if you don’t drive yourself to the airfield now you’re going to miss your flight.”

  “You mean our flight.”

  “I mean your flight.”

  “John, for God’s sake, what’s going on?”

  “I’m going back to Hellcat Canyon. Something I have to do. I have feet. I’ll walk there.”

  “It’s that waitre—­”

  He stopped her with a look like a hard, cold wall.

  “These seats have just been Armor-­Alled, Rebecca. All I have to do is open the door and give you just a little nudge and you’ll shoot out like a watermelon seed. And so help me God, if you call her ‘that waitress’ again, that’s what I’ll do. And I’ll leave you on the side of the road. Britt. Her name is Britt.”

  She drew in a breath and sighed it out. “I’m sorry.”

  “Good.”

  “You know why I do it.”

  “Yep.”

  “I shouldn’t do it.”

  “Nope.”

  She smiled an uncertain tight smile. “I always liked you best when you called me on my B.S.”

  “That’s because you’re perverse, Rebecca.”

  “It’s just that . . . you’re . . . special, J. T. There’s no one like you.” She said this almost pleadingly.

  Rebecca was actually trying to be sincere.

  “Yeah. I’m a prize.”

  They were silent a moment.

  He looked into her beautiful eyes and felt only impatience.

  She swallowed. “That speech at the wedding . . . it was about her, wasn’t it?”

  “Yep,” he said shortly.

  Rebecca leaned back against the seat. She sighed. “Look,” she said softly. “I want to lay it on the line right now. I know I blew it, Johnny. I confess I had an ulterior motive when I came here—­I thought maybe we could talk about starting again. I couldn’t bear seeing you with someone else, and that’s when I knew how wrong I’d been. What we had was unforgettable and . . . I should have tried harder. I shouldn’t have bailed. We just have to—­”

  “Here’s the deal, Becks. I don’t love you.”

  He saw her take that like a blow.

  He was in too much of a rush to feel too sorry.

  “The best thing you ever did was dump me in Cannes, and for that I owe you a debt of gratitude. We are simply never going to happen that way ever again. That’s a fact. There will be no discussion. Are you hearing me?”

  She stared at him in mute shock.

  “I’m sorry to say it that way. I just needed to get it said and fast. Because God knows I don’t want you to miss your jet.”

  She was staring at him, apparently frozen in shock. She’d gone white.

  “Come on. You don’t actually love me either, do you?” he demanded softly.

  She gave a short, incredulous laugh. And then all at once, her big round blue eye were brimming with tears.

  She gave her head a sharp toss and she sniffed, her nose already going pink.

  Which is how he knew the tears were real.

  She probably did love him. Or thought she did. He sincerely doubted she really knew.

  He sighed. No matter what, he couldn’t relish hurting her.

  “I’m going to do you the favor of assuming you can be a rational, detached professional when it comes to me, and that’s based on no evidence whatsoever, and you’ll tell them I was held up and y’all will wait for me to get there. But if not, I’m okay with that, too. You can tell them that John Tennessee McCord hasn’t changed one bit, and he’s the unreliable ass of ten years ago. Your call. We can make a great movie and I think you know it. When it comes right down to it, caring about that kind of thing is what we have in common. And that’s about it. But right now, all I care about is Britt. And I never liked it when you called me Johnny.”

  He had a sense he was bludgeoning her with the words, but primarily it was because she was unaccustomed to unvarnished honesty. No one except him had ever told her the truth about anything, particularly herself.

  “Bastard.” The word lacked oomph. She’d said it to him too many times. He’d heard it too many times.

  “They should probabl
y invent a new word for me,” he sympathized.

  She jerked her gaze from his. And she stared stonily out through the windshield. Her jaw was taut.

  There were a dozen things he could have said in the following silence. But only one thing seemed important right now, and she was just waking up and feeding the cat, and putting the coffee on and maybe watering the plants . . . and damn, but he wanted to be there. For every little thing.

  “Leave the truck in the airfield parking lot, Rebecca, and hand the keys off to the guy at the front desk, tell him I’ll be along for them later. Or you can just set the truck on fire when you get out of it, if that’s what you feel you need to do. I’m insured up the wahoo.”

  He’d miss that truck, if she did that. But sometimes it was good to know when to let go.

  He slid out and shut the door hard behind him and started walking. Quickly.

  He didn’t look back.

  Not even a few moments later, when he heard the motor start or felt the spit of gravel against his calves as she roared off toward the airport.

  He hadn’t been walking for very long along the highway when a big silver truck slowed down next to him.

  He glanced over.

  Aw, hell’s teeth.

  Truck Donegal’s big square handsome face was hanging out the window. “Where’s your truck, McCord?”

  “Long story.”

  He said nothing else. But his entire body was tense as a compressed spring. Prepared for anything Truck might want to throw down.

  They regarded each other unblinkingly.

  “Hop in,” Truck said finally, neutrally, and surprisingly mildly. “I’ll take you back to town.”

  J. T. hesitated. He’d look like an ass, or worse, a chicken, if he refused.

  He sighed.

  Truck unlocked the door. And J. T. went around to the passenger side and got in.

  The inside turned out to be spotless and polished. A little air purifier in the shape of a pine tree hung from the rearview mirror. The guy took good care of his truck.

  This was a guy with pride, in general.

  And a guy with pride would really suffer over not being able to find work for more than a year.

  They drove in absolute silence for about two minutes.

  And then J. T. smelled something . . . unusual. “What’s that smell? It smells great in here.”

  Truck cleared his throat. “Got me a catering gig. A little wedding down in Lightning Forks. That’s why I had to set out early.”

  J. T. turned around. On the little seat behind them several trays were indeed covered in Saran Wrap and heaped with things.

  Many of them on sticks.

  “Is that . . . chicken satay?”

  Truck kept his eyes on the road as he took the little curving exit into town.

  “I Googled it,” Truck admitted, not looking at J. T. “And it actually sounded pretty tasty. So I got me some chicken and I made some. And it turned out great. And I made some other stuff I read about when I read about the satay. And that turned out great, too. Turns out I have kind of a knack for this stuff.” He said this with a sort of mild, bemused pride. “And I’ve been cooking a lot of stuff since. To make a long story short . . . Kayla Benoit—­you know, from the dress shop in town?—­is hooking me up with weddings and baby showers.”

  J. T. was astounded.

  A slow smile spread over his face. “Daaaaamn, Truck.”

  The guy swiveled his head and grinned at him.

  J. T. was a little worried about what might go down between Casey and Kayla now, though.

  They drove in silence for a moment.

  “McCord, I owe you an apology for—­”

  “I appreciate the gesture Truck, but it’s Britt you owe the apology to.”

  “You’re right. I’ll apologize to her, too.”

  J. T. nodded.

  And to his surprise, once he was in town, Truck, without asking, took the turn up the road to Britt’s house.

  And he idled the engine a few houses down from hers.

  “How’d you . . .” J. T. began.

  But probably everyone in town knew.

  Truck smiled at him again, with something very like sympathy.

  “Go get ’er, McCord.”

  CHAPTER 24

  He saw the back of her first. She was watering the plants. And he just hung back and watched, and soaked up the scene. He noticed the coleus was gone, which meant she must have adopted it out, but now she had another patient, something with big, broad shiny green leaves that had some brown spots.

  “You’re all doing great,” he heard her murmur.

  His heart squeezed.

  She put the watering can down and turned and gave a start when she saw him.

  And then Britt’s heart, formerly charred and withered, sprang back to full blossoming glory.

  J. T. was wearing, shockingly enough, jeans and a black T-­shirt. And he was holding a tray covered in plastic wrap.

  They stared at each other in silence.

  “Hi,” she said. Her voice was awfully faint. More an exhale than a word.

  “Hi,” he said. His voice was a little on the gruff side.

  They didn’t say anything else for a time.

  “I brought some chicken satay.” He settled it carefully on the little table on her porch.

  “Oh,” she said. “Thanks.”

  Apparently this conversation was going to be catered.

  Her heart was jackhammering away in her chest, overjoyed at its resurrection.

  “So . . .” He inhaled. He sounded nervous, too. “Got your message. The one out on the highway.”

  Her face was hot now. “Okay.”

  “That was a pretty brave thing for a chicken to do.”

  She smiled tentatively. “I was sober when I did it, too.”

  “By the way, I don’t really think you’re a chicken, Britt.”

  “But you were right, J. T. About me running. About me . . . looking for an excuse to run.”

  He nodded shortly. A tense little silence passed.

  “Britt . . . what did you mean when you wrote, ‘I need you’?”

  “What I meant was . . .” She drew in a breath. “I lied when I said I didn’t need you.” And then the words came in a rush. “I’m so sorry. I know it was a horrible thing to say and I was lashing out because I was hurt and my pride was hurt and . . . everything hurt. And I lied when I said I’d be just fine without you. I have never felt so happy, or safe, or cared for, than I have with you. And I have . . .” she swallowed. “Oh God, I have felt half dead without you. And not just because of the hangover.”

  Light surged into his face, brilliant and joyous.

  But then he went still again. Cautious.

  “Britt, I’m going to talk for a while now. Do you want to sit down?”

  She welcomed that suggestion. Her knees were weak anyway.

  She sank onto her patio lounge chair.

  He came up the steps slowly, as if he was afraid she might dart off, and he leaned against the now sturdily repaired railing.

  She could hear him breathing in the still of the morning.

  He seemed to be rallying his thoughts.

  “When I was a kid back in Tennessee . . .” He cleared his throat. “When I was a kid back in Tennessee, I got through tough days because I could dream of better things. And I got those better things. And I learned I didn’t want everything that came my way. It took being really unhappy to learn what happiness is.”

  He stopped to check the impact of this on Brit.

  “Okay,” she said softly, encouragingly.

  “I’m going to fly to L.A. tomorrow and read for that part unless my agent tells me that’s out of the question. It’s Hollywood. Anything can happen. If and when it fina
lly shows up in the theaters, it could be a musical starring Neil Patrick Harris and the Muppets, for all we know. And even though I’ll be filming The Rush for a while come fall, and I don’t know whether I’ll get this part, there might very well be other movies. And I will go away for a few months and maybe kiss other women as part of what I do for a paycheck and people may say or print untrue things about me. I might even kiss another guy if the part is good enough. That’s my life. It’s a crazy life. But dreams are like that, surreal and fragmented and unpredictable. And being a part of that life . . . that might not be something you want. I wouldn’t blame you. But before you say anything . . .”

  He paused a moment here.

  He was a little blurry, and she swiped at her eyes. And she couldn’t speak if she tried.

  “. . . I guess what I’m saying is that because of all of this I consider myself some authority on dreams. You’re smart, Britt, but you were wrong about one thing. The part with us? That’s not the dream. We’re the real part. We’re the only thing that matters. The other stuff is the hurricane. You and me, we’re the eye of the hurricane. And you know . . . you know how your lungs just know to breathe in and breathe out? It’s like that with us. I breathe in, you breathe out. I don’t know how else to say it. I need you, Britt. When we don’t fight it . . . you and I . . . we just know. We just work.”

  He dropped his forehead into his hands briefly and then pushed his hair back, and sighed, and it tapered into a short, wondering laugh. “I am so in love with you.”

  His voice broke ever so slightly.

  She could hear him breathing.

  Or maybe it was her breathing.

  All she knew for certain was that she had to get to him. She stood very, very slowly.

  She crossed the porch to him, and looped her arms around his neck and pressed her cheek against his cool, stubbly morning cheek and pressed her body against his, and his arms wrapped around her slowly, and then tightened.

  “I love you,” he repeated fiercely. Claiming his right to that word for the first time. “And I will always do everything in my power to make sure you feel safe.”

  “I love you, too, J. T. So much,” she whispered in his ear. “I’m not going anywhere, unless you want me to come with you. I can do crazy, I can do quiet. Knowing us, it’ll be both. But Hellcat Canyon is our home.”