by Em Petrova
“I want you to get a good night’s sleep. Yesterday, it looked like King worked you over pretty good.”
Those words hit her hard and in all the wrong—or right—ways.
She nodded. “He’s tough, but I appreciate the challenges. I could use more lessons on horseback, as we only got through balance and a few other things today.”
“Of course. After you’re free tomorrow, you can pick up with King. We’ll be shooting some of the wedding shots in that little chapel in town.”
She nodded. “Thank you for the information.”
“That’s my job.” He smiled. “What do you think of King?”
Her mind bumped over praise for his lickable body to his gruff way of letting her figure out some things for herself. And the very rough scrape of his five o’clock shadow over her sensitive cheeks. Was she still wearing his beard burn? She’d forgotten to look in the mirror.
“He’s tough on me but I’m learning an exceeding amount of information about ranch life.”
“Good. I knew he’d be a good match with you.”
She blinked. “What made you surmise that?”
Dickson tipped his head, contemplating her. “Well, you’re both hard workers and know your business inside and out.”
“Oh. Yes, of course.”
A quizzical smile crossed his face as if he saw through her.
“King and I go way back.”
At that, she jolted. “He’s a friend from your past?”
He chuckled. “I own a ranch not far from here. King and I revolve in the same circles. I don’t get up to my ranch often, and I admit that sometimes I crave the air here.” He dragged in a deep breath and she found herself doing the same.
“I understand. Weeks ago I would have said this piece of land right here has the cleanest air I’ve ever breathed, but I have to say that being at Blackwater changed that notion.”
He gave her a smile of genuine understanding. “That’s how I feel about my place. First chance I get to slip away, I’ll be heading up there. Maybe you and some of the others would enjoy the trip too.”
“That sounds nice.”
“I also owe you that trip to the winery.”
“I’d like that very much.” Only right now, she didn’t exactly care about anything besides getting back to Blackwater.
Or was it back to King?
She spoke with Dickson a while longer and then headed back to her trailer. Evening was falling. Yesterday at this time, she’d been just leaving King, looking back at him as they drove away and seeing him watching her go.
Had he done the same today when she’d taken her leave?
She had spent too long dwelling on these thoughts for one day. Besides, she had a lot of preparing to do before tomorrow’s shoot. She had lines to memorize and a headspace to get into in order to become Amelia, lover and future wife of Cutter.
All of their scenes involved some sort of romantic interlude going forward, and she was a little daunted by the thought. When he kissed her at Blackwater, on King’s own stomping ground, she knew she’d only be thinking of being in the rough rancher’s arms.
* * * * *
“Thought I’d get that top field mowed and we can begin baling it over the weekend.” Wheeler’s words went in one of King’s ears and out the other. He waved a hand in front of King’s face.
He jerked his attention from the vehicles rolling in a steady stream up his drive to the ranch. “Yeah, that’s perfect. Get started on that before all hell breaks loose here.”
He’d explained to Wheeler and Schmitty what was happening around the place and both had been a little starstruck after meeting Bellarose. He hoped he could keep his hired help on task, but they were both good workers so he shouldn’t have problems.
When he spotted the rental car Bellarose always arrived in, he broke away from Wheeler and headed toward the drive. It pulled to a stop and instead of Bellarose’s long legs and red hair, he saw it was a short brunette. Several other car doors slammed, and someone called his name.
He turned to see Dickson striding his way. He extended a hand and they shook. “Good to see you, King. A fine day for work.”
King wasn’t going to commit to it being a fine day—the weatherman was calling for storms moving in this afternoon but he didn’t say so.
“Happy to accommodate,” he said. Especially for the money he was being handed. He’d do good to remember where he stood with this production, and it wasn’t leading man to Miss Bellarose Abbott.
He looked away from Dickson and glanced around for her. She was standing with the brunette he’d seen before. The mere sight of her was a punch to the gut, and he had to struggle to draw breath.
Today she was even more stunning, if such a thing was possible. Wearing something he’d call a catsuit, fitted tight to her curves and leaving nothing to the imagination. Her hair was loose and flowing around her shoulders with big curls at the ends.
People began setting up tents right away and the brunette hauled several large trunks to one, leaving Bellarose standing there looking at the view.
His heart slammed harder as he started toward her.
At his approach, she turned. “Hi, King.” The shyness of her greeting sent an ache through him.
“Bellarose. Look, we need to talk. Can we…”
“Bellarose! We need you up here for makeup!” the brunette called.
She offered King a small smile. “We’ll have to put that talk on hold.” She started by him, and he grabbed her arm.
Standing so close, her personal scents of perfume and pure woman flooded his head. He leaned over her, pitching his voice low for her ears only. “But we will talk, Bellarose.”
She went still in his grasp, eyes downcast. Finally, she gave a nod before moving off. He couldn’t bear to watch her go—this new side of her life was one he wasn’t certain he wanted to know. If he was honest, it scared him a little.
The place looked like a circus with tents and cables being run to electric outlets that he’d foot the bill for.
He talked to Dickson again, gave instructions about what to stay away from, which consisted of his cattle and his bedroom. Then he threw himself into work. Every task seemed to take him longer today, and it wasn’t because he hadn’t slept well and had woken from dreams of a gorgeous redhead in his bed.
If he could stop looking around in hopes of getting a glimpse of Bellarose, he’d be more productive. By lunch, he was dragging, so he went inside for some caffeine and lunch, only to find women in every room cleaning.
One eyed him, a smile on her face. A month ago, he might have given her a second glance. She was cute in a girl-next-door way, but now King had another type of woman fixed in his mind.
He wanted Bellarose, plain and simple. There was no earthly reason why she’d respond to his advances, yet she’d kissed him back with all the fervor he’d felt. The moment had meant something to him and affected her enough to make her run.
Hours of pondering the situation hadn’t given him a single answer. All he knew was she’d bewitched him in some way and in two days’ time she’d managed to throw a lasso around him and reel him in.
He gave the woman dusting his shelves a smile and went to make himself a sandwich. With it and an energy drink in hand, he went to the front porch to eat. From this vantage point, his ranch didn’t even look like his land, with several tents set up and people milling all over it like ants in an anthill. Busy workers doing nothing, from what he could see.
But Bellarose was among them, somewhere. Probably in one of the tents having her makeup done.
He polished off his food and drink quickly so as to get into the field and away from the crowd. As he strode across the yard to his truck, he heard a clear voice, arguing.
He stopped in his tracks. Bellarose.
When his feet carried him that direction, he frozen at the sight of her. Her red locks had been tamed into more order and made him want to muss it up with his hands. The catsuit had been replaced
with worn denim and a plaid shirt that fitted like it had been tailored for her and probably had.
She was standing with Dickson, and her words filtered to him one by one.
“This hair,” she grabbed a chunk and held it out from her head, “it’s all wrong. A rancher’s wife doesn’t look all girly. She isn’t curling her hair! She’s getting up at sunrise and throwing on clothes—which aren’t these—and going to work. She’s feeding cattle and cleaning stalls.”
His chest expanded with complete and total pride. It seemed he had taught her a thing or two about ranch life, and she was arguing her point with Dickson.
“Yes, I know, Bellarose, but this is TV. Fans don’t want to see you without makeup and your hair blown into a tumbleweed from the stiff mountain wind.”
“Okay, fine. I’ll keep the hair and makeup. But we’ve gotta change the script. I’m not going to be in the kitchen doing wifely duties while my husband is out busting his butt for this ranch.”
King’s throat clamped shut at the mention of a husband. Even a fictional one had him wanting to grab her and hide her away from anyone but him.
“Please speak with the writers, Dickson.” Her voice held a note of command.
From his spot off to the side, King was gifted a look at the steely resolve on her face.
“We want to portray what ranch life is really like, and this isn’t it.” She waved at herself. “We want to show strong women.”
“Behind every strong man is a strong woman,” Dickson argued.
Bellarose narrowed her eyes and glared at him. “How about we ditch that archaic thinking and just say she’s a strong woman? That’s who I want to be. That’s who I’m going to be.”
Dickson held up both hands in surrender. “Fine, I’ll have some things adjusted. But you won’t be getting your way in everything, Bellarose.”
She shook her head full of overly done curls. “I understand.”
King’s grin spread over his face. It was a victory for her and he wanted nothing more but to walk up and hug her.
All of a sudden, she turned and met his stare. A direct arrow to his heart. Their gazes held for several never-ending heartbeats, and then someone spoke her name and she twisted away from King without so much as a nod or smile or acknowledgment.
Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he hunched his shoulders and took off, away from the mass chaos. But there was no peace in his solitary work this time, because his mind was back there with the woman who had him so bent out of shape.
* * * * *
“Stare up into his eyes, Amelia.”
Bellarose took the direction, fixing her stare on Cutter’s blue eyes. Being enfolded in his arms was awkward enough when he was sporting a boner, let alone looking deep into his eyes at the same time. All she wanted to do was put distance between them.
“Loosen up, Bella,” Chaz said softly.
“Don’t call me Bella.”
He squeezed her buttocks, and she stiffened.
“I don’t think that’s in the script.”
“Freestyling.” He grinned at her and slid his hand up to her lower back, drawing her closer.
“That’s it. Just what I’m looking for. You’re in love. He’s just asked you to have his children to continue his family name. Now—kiss her!” Dickson ordered.
Chaz swept in and captured her lips.
Panic rose up. The feel of him was all wrong.
His taste all wrong.
She stuffed down her disgust and shifted out of her own headspace, letting her character take over. This was a role, she kept telling herself. She’d worked with more ignorant male actors in her lifetime than Chaz.
He angled his head, threading his fingers into her hair. The white shirt she wore already hung completely open—they were supposed to have been at it hot and heavy for long minutes before this scene—and Chaz slipped his hand against her skin.
A gasp escaped her at the foreign feel of his hands, her mind stuck on how it had felt to be touched by King.
Chaz plunged his tongue into her mouth and she forced away her own feelings of wrongness and closed her eyes.
A shout sounded.
“Oh for fuck’s sake, cut!” Dickson yelled.
She broke away from Chaz, happy for the distance, and tugged the open ends of her blouse together.
“Who the hell’s that?” Chaz asked, and she followed his gaze to see King racing toward them on horseback. Her heart skipped a beat and skidded before picking up again. His hat was pulled lower than usual, and she just knew if she pushed it back, she’d see fury in those brown eyes of his.
A shiver coursed through her.
“Here, Bellarose.” A crew member draped a heavy blanket around her shoulders. She didn’t look away from the rancher as he drew the horse to an abrupt halt that impressed the hell out of her even as she got a good look at his face.
Yep—fury. Thunderous anger made his hard features more dark and brooding.
“Who the fuck left my gates open?” he demanded.
Dickson looked around before edging closer to the man and the huge horse called Buffalo.
“What’s this now, King? You say somebody left your gates open?” Dickson asked.
King swung out of the saddle and landed hard, striding right for Dickson. She must have made some noise, because King slashed a look at her, his gaze dropping over her attire. Then he glanced away and focused on Dickson.
“Yes, goddammit. Your crew was given orders to stay away from my cattle and they didn’t heed that rule. They left open two gates and now half my herd’s spread out over the neighbor’s ranch.”
“Oh damn. I’m sorry, King. I told them—”
King glared at him. “The rules are set for a reason, and you of all people should know it.”
“I do. We’ll get some people to help round up your cattle.”
“Don’t bother. I’ve got the neighbor and his hired hands as well as mine separatin' them out and roundin’ them up. But I don’t fucking abide by carelessness. This,” he waved a hand, “is just a show. But it’s my livelihood.”
“Just a show?” Chaz said to Bellarose. “Did you hear him?”
King shot him a glare. Then he turned back to Dickson and pointed a finger in his face. “I expect you to make things right. Not only did your crew leave the gates open but someone has dumped the feed out of one of my barrels and turned it over to use as a table. There’s a goddamn plate of wine and cheese on it!”
She let out a gasp, and this time he looked at her fully. She pressed her lips together and shook her head. “I’m sorry, King. Dumping out that feed is really inexcusable.”
His stare roamed over her hair, which was falling down from Chaz’s fingers, to the line of skin from neck to navel exposed by her open shirt. Something flickered in his eyes before he whirled away. He grabbed the horse and mounted in one fluid motion, spinning and taking off in the other direction without another word.
Stunned silence followed him.
“He’s damn high strung, isn’t he?” Chaz asked.
Dickson gave him a look. “Break for ten while I speak to the crew.”
Bellarose tossed the blanket off her shoulders and headed around the barn to where they mixed the feed. Sure enough, a scene had been set up with the barrel and the wine and cheese King had mentioned. On the ground, the grain mix he used was scattered.
She grabbed the wine bottle and two glasses set out for her and Chaz’s characters to share a romantic moment on film and set them aside. Then she moved the cheese plate.
“Ridiculous. Who has wine and cheese on a ranch?” she muttered, grabbing the nearby shovel.
She nudged the barrel over with some effort. It weighed a ton—yet King made it look so easy. She began to shovel. When she’d scraped what she could out of the grass, she wrangled the heavy metal lid back on. Then she circled the barn again.
“Bellarose, we were looking for you. Oh jeez, your hands are filthy.” The film set assistant assessed her
grubby hands. “Holy crap! You’re bleeding.”
Everyone turned to look at them. Dickson started forward. “You’re bleeding, Bellarose? What happened?”
She clenched her fingers around the blisters she’d gotten days ago but had just broken open from shoveling without gloves. “Just some blisters. I’ll go wash my hands and I’ll be fine. Give me five more please.”
Instead of heading for the tent, which was farther away, she went into King’s house. One glance told her the setup crew had added a lot of touches that were not King’s. Candles sat on the living room coffee tables and someone had dragged in an old-looking Indian headdress and propped it next to a saddle that was too new to be one of his.
She grunted at the mistakes and went into the kitchen. There, she washed her hands and took a moment to gather her thoughts.
Which were rooted on King more than her work, and that just couldn’t happen.
So she’d kissed him—she’d kissed a lot of people and that hadn’t rattled her or drawn her away from her focus on acting.
Setting aside the towel she’d dried her hands with, she went back outside. The daylight was already fading, and she knew they had only one more chance to nail this scene.
Dragging in a deep breath, she resolved herself to professionalism and no more thoughts of the hunky rancher who kept bombarding her mind. As she approached Dickson, she gave him a smile. He visibly relaxed at seeing an amiable actor. She moved into place before Chaz and looked up into his eyes.
“I’m ready,” she said.
He grabbed her.
This time it only took half a minute for his boner to insinuate itself into the scene.
* * * * *
Bellarose shouldn’t go looking for King, but leaving the ranch without a goodbye felt… all wrong. Especially when they’d left things as they had.
Without changing out of her costume, she walked toward the cabin. She’d seen him go inside and his ranch hands stood around on the porch, as if waiting for him. When she neared the steps, she heard him bellow, “Jesus Christ!”
She stopped in her tracks.
The guys, Wheeler and Schmitty, moved to the open front door and peered in.
