Oblivious to the people who had climbed the bleachers to watch the fight from above and those who had circled around them for an even closer look, Alex didn’t pause until he looked up and saw Faith at the front of the crowd.
A different kind of humiliation gripped him, and he sat back on his heels, his chest heaving. Leland wriggled away from him, his forearms and elbows still protecting his face.
“You had that coming, Leland, and you know it,” Travis admonished his friend. “Show’s over, folks. Did y’all come out for a game or a fight?”
His eyes fixed on Faith, Alex couldn’t move until the murmuring started. Voices, all of them so low he couldn’t identify their owners, overlapped and drove him to his feet.
“…such a shame…”
“His daddy has a short fuse, too…”
“…poor boy…”
“…white trash…”
Alex shouldered his way through the crowd and hurried to the parking lot.
“Wait!”
He recognized that voice, but he kept walking.
“Alex, wait!”
He hopped onto his Harley and turned the key in the ignition. The ferocious roar of the Harley’s rebuilt four-cylinder engine scared most people, but Faith showed no fear as she straddled the front wheel to stop him from leaving.
“Don’t you ever make me chase you again!” she shouted over the bike’s growl.
He tightened his hands on the handles, his only indication that he was leaving. With or without her. Faith understood him perfectly, because in the next instant she had mounted behind him. Once her hands had knotted themselves securely at his waist, he took off, the wheels of his bike spraying gravel behind him.
He drove with no destination in mind, and it was all he could do not to keep going until he hit Interstate 64. He had everything he needed right there with him, and there was nothing to stop him from heading west and driving until the road ran out.
His vision of escape vanished when Faith began to shiver behind him. His denim jeans and heavy leather jacket protected him from the wintry wind, but Faith was far more vulnerable. He couldn’t take her to his house, and he didn’t dare take her home, so Alex brought her to the one place he could call his favorite in Dorothy.
The Harley climbed Kayford Mountain only as high as the trails that had been cut by the heavy machinery used by the Lady Emiline Coal Company. Alex parked the bike in the shelter of the boulders that had been cleared after a recent blast on the mountainside. He took off his jacket and wrapped Faith in it. Her teeth stopped chattering the instant he zipped it up around her. The jacket was big on him, so it all but swallowed Faith.
Holding her hand, he helped her pick her way a bit higher on the mountain, to an area that hadn’t been deforested by her father’s strip mining operation. Most of the larger wildlife had been frightened off by previous explosions, but the smaller, friendlier animals could still be heard darting in and out of the underbrush. A white pine that had fallen because of weather or the concussion of a mining blast made a cozy bench for them, once Alex had brushed it free of leaves and smaller branches.
“You come here a lot, don’t you?” Faith asked as she sat crosslegged on the log.
“What gives you that idea?” he responded.
“There’s no moss growing on top of this log and the brush is flattened in front of it.”
“I like the way you notice things,” he said. He sat close to her, hoping to steal a little of her warmth.
“I noticed Leland Birch provoking you into a fight.” She pushed back the sleeve of his jacket so she could take his hand in hers. She turned it over, wincing at the sight of his bruised knuckles and the blood caked in their creases.
“Birch came off the worst for it.” Alex stared beyond the trees and onto the quiet town far below them. “Dorothy looks so much better from up here. I can see your pool.”
“It looks like an ice mint Jelly Belly.”
“Can I have that back?” he asked, indicating his hand with a tip of his chin.
“No.” Faith held his hand tighter, and he made no move to take it from her. “Why did you let Leland get under your skin? He’s a total ass.”
“He thinks he’s so much better than me,” Alex said.
“Do you think he is?”
“Hell, no.”
“Then if it isn’t true, who cares what he thinks?”
Alex chuckled. “I wish it was that easy to let go of stuff like that.”
“It is,” Faith assured him. “You think I don’t get crapped on? Every time Leland Birch calls me Brillo Head, or Bethany Brewer tells me that there are no black prima ballerinas, I just think about where I’ll be in ten years and where they’ll be. Leland will be running his dad’s used car lot, and he’ll probably have the same terrible comb over. Bethany will find a way to trap Travis Gates into marriage, and she’ll be living the soccer mom life with a frooty bigger than the mayor’s wife’s.”
“Where will you be, Faith?” Alex asked.
“Anywhere but here,” she answered wistfully. “I hate it here sometimes.”
“You’ve got it made, princess. You don’t have any problems you won’t outgrow.”
“I won’t ‘outgrow’ being black in an all-white town,” she said. “I can’t ‘outgrow’ being thought of as the spoiled rich girl.”
“Those aren’t real problems,” he said.
“They’re as real as yours.”
“You’ve got the whole world out there for you, Faith,” he said passionately. “I was born in this town, and I’m gonna die in this town. There are only two Brannon family traditions—alcoholism and dying in the mines. My dad’s got the alcoholism sewed up, so I guess I’ll end up dead in a mine like my granddaddy.”
“Then I guess you have to get outta Booger Hollow,” Faith said dryly.
Alex laughed, and the sound echoed off the trees. “You always know the right thing to say.”
“You have a nice laugh,” she told him. “It’s a shame you don’t do it more often.”
Rubbing his hands together to warm them, he shrugged. “Yeah, well, I don’t have much to laugh about most days.”
Faith unzipped his jacket and slipped out of it. “Put this back on,” she directed, handing it to him.
“I’m good,” he said, refusing it. “You’re only half dressed.”
“Just put it on,” she said.
He did so, and she switched position on the log, sitting with her back to him and scooting back until she was nestled between his legs and cradled against his chest. “We can both keep warm this way,” she said, pulling his arms around her.
“I’ll say,” he sighed, nuzzling her soft curls with his nose and chin.
“Let’s not go back,” Faith suggested. “We could just stay up here forever.”
“It might be a little noisy with your dad blasting the mountain away to get to the coal.”
“Don’t mention him,” she said. “You’ll ruin the fantasy. Did you ever read a book called My Side of the Mountain?”
“Didn’t catch that one.”
“It’s about a boy who spends a year living in a hollow hemlock tree in the Catskills,” Faith said. “Any hollow trees around here?”
“I think there’s an old pine stump somewhere nearby, but a family of raccoons has dibs on it.”
She playfully drove an elbow into his ribs. “Don’t make fun. It’s a good book, and I’m serious. I’d love to get away from Dorothy and start life somewhere new and exciting.”
“I’d settle for new,” he said.
“Take me with you.”
“Where?”
“When you leave, take me with you.”
“I wish I could.” He brought his legs to the top of the log, forming a cocoon of warmth around her with his body. “You don’t know how much I wish I could, Faith.”
* * *
“Zander, you’ve not heard a word we’ve said, have you?”
Olivia’s cool, calm inquiry gentl
y pulled Zander from his warm memories of Faith Wheeler. “Forgive me,” he said quietly. “I was thinking.”
“I would ask what has you so completely absorbed, but I believe I already know,” Olivia said. “The very person we’ve been talking about for the past twenty minutes.”
“Faith just might expose me for a fraud,” Zander said. And I wouldn’t blame her for one second.
“Don’t underestimate your publicist,” Olivia said. “There’s nothing I can’t spin. Alexander Brannon’s story is far better than Zander Baron’s.”
“I don’t ever want anyone to know who I really am!” he stated with a bit too much vehemence. “If it gets out, I’ll disappear again. For good.”
“There’s obviously more to your past than you’ve told us,” Brent said. “What are you hiding?”
“Your mother did a very thorough background check on me before I moved into your house,” Zander said. “You don’t have to worry about any skeletons falling out of any closets.”
Zander took his earlobe between his thumb and forefinger—the nervous mannerism Entertainment Express magazine recently credited with stealing the heart of every female moviegoer in America over the age of nine. The motion had no effect on Brent, other than letting him know that Zander wasn’t ready or willing to supply new revelations about his past as Alexander Brannon.
“There it is, then,” Olivia said lightly.
“So we’re in agreement?” Brent said.
“Yes. I’ll phone Personality! now, and then I’ll call you with a date and time.”
“Hold on,” Zander said, raising a hand. “Who are you calling? What are you up to?”
“I’m saving your career,” Olivia said, clipping her phone headset onto her right ear. She spun her chair to face her glorious mountain view, effectively dismissing both her only son and favorite client.
“Paula,” she said, speaking to her assistant through the headset, “conference me in to Magda Pierson at Personality!”
“I’d rather you didn’t,” Zander said, stepping toward the desk.
Brent caught his arm and silenced him with a wave.
“Tell them that I’d like to set up a tête-a-tête with Faith Wheeler and one of my clients, Zander Baron,” Olivia continued. “Off the record, of course.”
Brent signaled for Zander to follow him as he exited his mother’s office. Olivia’s entire house had been decorated in her signature snow queen shades of white, faded blues, greys and silver. Zander had done some amazing drops and car chase stunts in his films, but nothing daunted him more than navigating his way down Olivia’s “floating” spiral staircase. Constructed of narrow six-foot planks of silvery-white marble, the gently spiraling staircase had no visible means of solid support.
Zander always felt as though he were hovering in midair when he went down the stairs.
“What does she hope to accomplish by shoving me right under Faith Wheeler’s nose?” he asked once both feet were safe on the gleaming white marble floor of the foyer.
“Mom is worried,” Brent said, grabbing the long, stylized chrome handle of the frosted glass front door. He swung it open for Zander. “She’s managed every detail of Zander Baron’s life and choreographed his rise flawlessly. That Personality! reporter really threw her for a loop.”
“Yeah, she kinda surprised me, too,” Zander admitted, stepping into the bright February sunshine.
“You’re doing it again,” Brent said in a warning tone.
“Doin’ what?”
“Your Appalachia is creeping in.”
Zander grinned. Of all the things Brent policed him on, his native accent was the one Brent monitored most closely. When he got tired or stressed, two years of diction coaching gave way to his West Virginia origins.
“Sorry,” Zander replied in the Midwestern accent Olivia had paid for. “I’ve got some things on my mind.”
“Some things or some one?” Brent asked, following Zander to his bike. “And why didn’t you ever tell me about her?”
Zander scratched behind his ear. “No reason to. She’s someone from a long time ago. From another life.”
His answer was really no answer at all, but he knew Brent would understand.
When Olivia discovered an unformed lump of West Virginia mountain clay and brought it home to shape into Zander Baron, Brent’s first instinct was to resent the intrusion of the country-bred stranger who had become his mother’s latest project. But Brent’s head for business had prevailed, and he had accepted Zander’s role in their lives, with the two ultimately becoming friends. Truthfully, Brent was Zander’s only friend, and he felt guilty for not having shared the one good thing in his past with him.
Brent’s hybrid car, a sunset-orange Lexus GS, was parked alongside Zander’s motorcycle. He paused at the driver’s door, toying with his keyless remote. “It’s all gonna come out someday, you know, probably sooner than later. And you don’t have anything to be ashamed of.”
“I know,” Zander said hastily, mounting his bike. He absently ran his hand over the handlebar. The Confederate Hellcat, the first thing he’d purchased with his very first big paycheck, had been hand-built in Alabama to his specifications. Having money in his pocket for the first time, he’d gone a bit spend crazy, but the silver and black beauty beneath him was far and away his favorite purchase. He’d often thought about driving into Dorothy, announcing his return with the roar of the Hellcat. But there was no reason to return to Dorothy now, not with Faith in Los Angeles.
“I’ll give you a call after my mother finishes working her magic,” Brent said, getting into his car. “Hopefully, what she comes up with won’t be too painful.”
“I can handle it, whatever it is,” Zander said. “I’m the strong, tough movie star, remember?”
Chapter 3
“I can’t do this,” Zander said, the heels of his boots wearing a path in his living room carpet. “I won’t.”
Brent snorted. “What happened to Mr. Tough Guy? I’ve never seen you like this. Zander Baron, scared of a woman.”
Zander glared at him. If some other man had made such an accusation while reclining on his dark-brown leather sofa he would have found himself bleeding profusely, but Zander realized Brent’s baiting was deliberate.
“I’m not afraid of her,” Zander insisted. “And she’s no ordinary woman. She’s…”
He left his response hanging. He had no idea what Faith was anymore. She had been in the deepest reaches of his heart and head for years, but he hadn’t seen or talked to her. The Faith Wheeler who had hurled angry questions at him at the Reunion press conference was not the girl he’d known in Dorothy.
Or was she?
“The only way to take control of this situation is to meet it head on, find out what the reporter wants—”
“Faith,” Zander interjected. “Her name is Faith.”
“Once we find out what Faith wants, maybe we can turn this situation our way,” Brent said.
“I don’t see how.” Zander drained the last of his Ned’s Pale Ale. His fondness for the West Virginia Brewing Company product was one of the very few things he hadn’t left behind when he left Dorothy. At Olivia’s hypocritical insistence, he had given up smoking, but he refused to abandon his home state brew. As if doing something illegal or illicit, he had to order his beer from the distributor through Brent, so that nothing connected him directly to anything associated with West Virginia.
“You two have history, right?” Brent asked. “There are a couple of approaches you can take. One, appeal to her memories of the friendship you two once shared, or…” He raised an eyebrow and tipped his head in some wordless communication Zander was meant to understand.
“Or what?” Zander said, failing to translate Brent’s expression.
“Or use your considerable appeal to win her silence,” Brent answered. “It’s not like you’ve had any trouble seducing any woman you’ve set your sights on. I’ve seen some of the coldest broads in Hollywood turn to putty once y
ou smile their way.”
“Faith was never like that. It’ll take more than my rebuilt face and dubious charm to turn her to putty. As for friendship, I don’t think her memories of it will be that good.”
“What did you do to her?”
“Nothing,” Zander said defensively. “What the hell kind of question is that? Why are you automatically assuming that I did something to her?”
“Calm down, Zander,” Brent said. “It was an innocent question. Or so I thought until your reaction just now.”
“I—” His words snagged in his throat. He couldn’t look at Brent as he admitted, “I hurt her.”
Brent sat up, his concern evident in the serious set of his features. “What happened?”
Dropping heavily onto the sofa, Zander rubbed his palms over the stubble covering his cheeks. “I left her alone in Dorothy.”
Brent relaxed, sitting back and sighing with relief. “Don’t scare me like that, Alex. I thought you were gonna tell me that you killed somebody.”
“I did, in a way,” he said. “You don’t know what it was like for me and Faith back there. We were freaks.”
“I don’t doubt your memory of your childhood, bro, but I have to tell you that Faith Wheeler isn’t anything close to what I’d call a freak. That woman is beautiful, and she’s obviously smart. If Mom wasn’t so frustrated with her right now, she probably would have tried to get me to sign her as a client.”
“Freak isn’t the right word,” Zander said. “We were outcasts. We couldn’t have been more opposite, but we were still in the same boat. She was black and rich, I was poor white trash. Her dad owned the biggest coal mining company in southwestern West Virginia. My dad was the town drunk. She was an honor student and a cheerleader—”
“You’re right,” Brent chuckled. “She was a freak.”
Zander ignored him. “I was the local waste of space working two minimum wage jobs to keep the trailer over our heads and my mother’s antidepressant prescriptions filled.”
Tempting Faith (Indigo Love Spectrum) Page 5
