Nobody Else But You

by Claire Marti

  “What did you think? Maybe it isn’t right for the film after all?” A hopeful note lifted the vet’s voice.

  “Actually, it’s absolutely perfect.”

  “Good to know. It’s just tough. I hope you can understand. We’d really prefer anything to do with Hollywood and the movie industry stay in the past. It brings up a lot of negative memories.” The eldest McNeill sister wound her long slender fingers together.

  His jaw tightened. Damn it, their past wasn’t his fault and he needed this movie to be a blockbuster hit to protect his investment and set up his future. But, his conscience prickled. “I’m sorry.”

  Dylan moved to her side and slid a slender arm around her older sister. A united front. “We know it isn’t your fault. If the press gets wind of a movie being filmed here, it could get really ugly,” Amanda said.

  “Look, I know Harry will make it work and I’m sure your dad will kick his ass if he doesn’t.” Sweat popped up on the back of his neck. Harry damn well better have it under control.

  Desperate to change the subject, Holt swung his gaze around the room. “So, where’s the rehab facility?”

  Amanda nodded. “Let me show you. We can cut through the back way because a lot of it is attached.”

  He exhaled and followed them into a long hallway, which opened into a huge space with various stalls. Just like the clinic, the vast area was bathed in plenty of natural light. Assorted contraptions lined the walls, some recognizable and others looking like something from a Star Trek convention.

  “So, this is the primary rehab facility where we treat injured or sick horses. Off-season and sometimes even during the season, I also work with other local animals. We’ve helped many of them get new jobs as dressage or jumpers or pasture horses.”

  “That’s great you work with all kinds of horses. And I’m assuming you’re referring to ones that can no longer race?” He knew the McNeill ranch specialized in quarter horses specifically for racing.

  Amanda nodded. “Exactly. Many of the horses you see in our pastures never raced for a variety of reasons, but they have great bloodlines and are excellent for breeding. They also can work as nannies for the foals.”

  Holt cautiously approached a huge, bizarre-looking device. “Is this one of those horse treadmills?”

  Amanda laughed. “It’s called the Equisizer and yes, it helps the horses walk to get exercise and build strength so they can hopefully return to normal.”

  “Okay, this is pretty amazing. How big of a horse can it hold?” It looked big enough for an elephant to stroll along on its wide track.

  “Well, we’ve gotten Hercules on there before and he weighs twelve hundred pounds.” Dylan piped in as she moved to the next giant piece of equipment. “This is my favorite: the theraplate. The horse just stands on it and it vibrates. It helps just about everything from increasing circulation to curing tummy aches.”

  “You know horses can’t vomit, right, Holt?” Amanda asked.

  “Right and they also never stop eating. The plate helps?” The old school ranch where he’d helped out certainly didn’t have one of those. In fact, it didn’t have any kind of rehab equipment at all. Another difference between the wealthy and the rest of the world.

  “It can help prevent colic—pretty incredible. And my favorite is the saltwater bath on the other side. Thirty-five-degree water helps soothe and encourage the healing process.”

  “All of this is incredible.” Everything in the facility was shiny, clean, and looked brand new.

  “We’re really proud of it. We’ve also got the Pegasus laser, it’s infrared and can heal wounds faster.” Amanda smiled. “We love the horses and we make sure they get the best of everything.”

  “Wow, you’ve got quite the operation here.” They were using their money for admirable purposes. As an animal lover, he approved.

  “Do you work with the horses too, Dylan?” She always seemed to wear dresses, so it seemed unlikely.

  She shook her head. “Only if I’m sketching them. I love horses and I ride, but I don’t work for the ranch. I’m an artist.”

  “That fits. What type?”

  “I’m a painter, but I love to work with charcoal too. Landscapes, portraits, a little abstract, a little old school impressionism. It all depends.” She waved a slender arm.

  “She also writes poetry and plays the piano. We joke she got all the ladylike talent and Sam and I are the dudes.” Amanda laughed.

  “Strong women don’t have to be dudes. My mom is the most incredible woman on earth and she doesn’t have to act like a guy to do it.” Maybe someone could alert Sam to be more like her sisters. Damn it, why did she keep popping up in his brain?

  “Oh, that’s so sweet. Are you close to her?” Dylan asked, her tip-tilted chocolate eyes wide.

  “I am. And to my little sister. They mean the world to me.” His chest tightened. He would move heaven and earth for them.

  “Are they up in Los Angeles too?” Amanda asked.

  He shook his head. “No. They still live in Littleton, just outside of Denver.”

  “That’s so far away. Do you see them often?” Dylan’s dark brows drew together.

  “I travel so much, I don’t see anyone often. I visit when I can.” He ignored the hollowness under his breastbone. Once he received the payout for this movie, he hoped to convince his mom and sister to relocate to California.

  “Aren’t most of the movies shot in LA anymore?” Amanda said.

  He shook his head. “These days a lot of movies and TV shows are filmed in Atlanta, Vancouver, North Carolina, and all over the world because Southern California is so expensive. I go where the work takes me.”

  “That sounds like a tough life.” Dylan frowned.

  “I make great money, there’s always something new happening, and I get to see the world on someone else’s dime. What’s tough about that?” He injected enthusiasm into his voice.

  Lately, the shine had worn off the planes, trains, and automobiles. Playing the guitar or reading books in interchangeable, generic hotel rooms or grabbing drinks with the crew in another dive bar no longer appealed.

  Amanda tilted her head. “Are you trying to convince us or yourself?”

  He forced a laugh, but her question struck a nerve. “Not trying to convince anyone of anything.” He’d worked his tail off for the last twelve years to become the top stuntman and the money he’d amassed would set up his new future. Nothing else mattered.

  “Of course, I didn’t mean to give you a hard time.”

  “No worries. I need to head back to L.A.” He couldn’t call it home, especially after seeing how the McNeills lived. “Thanks again for the tour, I appreciate it. Good day, ladies.” He lifted his hand in a half-wave.

  He strolled back to his truck, and hopped in. Flicking on the ignition, he scratched the day-old scruff on his chin. This movie symbolized the turning point for his adult life. As long as Harry ensured everything ran smoothly, he’d play a challenging role in an intriguing movie, benefit from a little peace and quiet on a dream ranch, and achieve freedom once his highest paycheck to date hit his bank.

  How hard could it be to avoid one bad-tempered little redhead?

  6

  Sam stretched up on her tiptoes and pecked Angela’s cheek, then grabbed a shiny green apple from the cheerful striped bowl on the kitchen counter. “I won’t make it home for dinner tonight, because I’m going to try to make ballet after I knock out a few errands.”

  “Oh, good, I love to see you dancing again. You’re a vision on toe shoes. I’ll save you a plate, sweet girl—I’m making tamales and I know how much you love them.”

  Sam snorted. “Not so sure I’m a vision, but I do love going back. And yes––a heaping plate. You make the best tamales in the world.” Sam grinned in anticipation of stuffing her face after ballet. Not that she was eating her feelings about the movie shoot starting tomorrow—no, of course not—she just had a healthy appetite, that’s all.

  Ang
ela’s dark eyes twinkled and the dimple in her full cheek appeared as she smiled indulgently at her. “I know how you can eat more than your dad, don’t worry, I’ll load it up for you.”

  “You’re the best. See you tonight.” She twirled out of the kitchen and started down the wide, biscuit-colored hallway.

  Sam adored Angela and couldn’t imagine any of their lives without her peaceful strength. Back when they’d first fled Hollywood and moved to Pacific Vista Ranch, they quickly realized they were in over their heads. Her dad hired Angela to manage the household and ranch. Her police officer husband had been killed the year before, in the line of duty. She’d moved into one of the guesthouses with her sons and assimilated into the McNeill’s lives.

  After the first year, the business relationship turned romantic between her dad and Angela. By that time, it had been two years and the initial grief of losing their mom had dissipated, but their scars ran deep. Having a caring, warm, strong woman as a role model helped immensely. Angela was the opposite of their fragile, artistic mother—practical, no-nonsense, yet warm and caring too. By the time Angela and Chris fell in love, the girls were comfortable with it and happy to see their dad feeling loved and supported by such a great lady.

  “Samantha.” Dylan’s voice was practically a whisper, yet it stopped her in her tracks, two steps out of the kitchen.

  “What’s going on? Why do you have a suitcase?” Her breath caught in her throat and dread filled her when she raked her gaze over her usually ethereal sister.

  Instead of one of her floaty ensembles, Dylan was dressed in slim black pants, a black t-shirt, and Converse tennis shoes. She had a roller-bag with her artist supply case propped on top of it. Her hair was slicked back from her pale, makeup-free face.

  “I can’t stay here while they film. It’s stirring up too many memories. I’m afraid to go to sleep.” Her usually glowing complexion looked dull, and bluish circles marred the underneath of her sister’s brown eyes. For years, Dylan had been haunted by nightmares, particularly from one incident when Sam had been late to meet her to leave school and one aggressive reporter had chased Dylan down the sidewalk, causing her to trip and slam into the pavement. Sam still felt guilty for not protecting her sibling.

  Sam’s stomach clenched into knots. What would she do without her twin’s calming influence to soothe her own jangled nerves? “You seemed fine. I need you here. We need you here.”

  Angela glided into the hallway, wrapped a strong arm around her sister’s narrow shoulders, and led her back into the sunny kitchen. “Dylan, sweetheart, are you sure? Where are you planning on going?”

  “I’ll be fine. It just hit me yesterday and I know we’ll all be better off if I’m not here. Sam––I think you’ll be able to focus better without having to cheer me up.” Dylan’s eyes pleaded with her.

  “But where are you going? For the whole shoot? That’s a month or more.” Panic began to bubble in her throat. How could she deal with damn Holt Ericsson without the buffer of her sister?

  “One of my girlfriends from art school lives in Paris now. It’s right in the middle of the art scene and will be an incredible opportunity for me to paint, to be away, to immerse myself. It’s an opportunity I can’t pass up.”

  “Paris? What’s this about France?” Their dad stepped into the kitchen.

  “I need to focus on my work. It’s impossible with a movie crew on our property. You chose to allow the movie to be filmed here despite none of us wanting it. I thought I would be okay, but I’m not. It resurrects too much about mom’s death. So, I’m going.” Dylan’s cherry red lips flattened into a mutinous line. Uh-oh. Sam recognized the look. Dylan didn’t share her short fuse, but when she dug her heels in, she was as stubborn as a donkey and nobody could change her mind.

  Sam silently applauded her sister’s brave speech. She rushed forward and enveloped her sister in a bear hug. They’d been apart for longer periods of time back when Dylan had gone to art school and Sam remained behind and studied biology at San Diego State University, but this was different. Her twin was leaving without giving Sam a choice but to stay. Then again, she hadn’t lived anywhere else––the ranch was her refuge. Or, had been before this movie debacle.

  “Are you sure? Do you have enough money? What arrondissement are you staying in? Is it safe?” Her dad peppered her sister with the questions at a gunfire pace.

  “Of course, Dad. You know Lily’s family has owned a place in Paris for years. It’s in the Marais and it’s lovely. Sam, you should come join me for a few weeks. She needs a vacation and the stuntman guy really rubs her the wrong way.” Dylan smiled for the first time since she’d entered the room.

  “What? Ericsson? Did he do something? I’ll have him kicked off the film, Harry be damned.” Her dad pierced her with his hazel eyes, his cheeks flushing in what she recognized as the beginning of the famous McNeill temper about to ignite. She should know–– she’d inherited it from him lock, stock, and barrel.

  “No, Dad, he didn’t do anything. I just think he’s an arrogant Hollywood blowhard.” Sam scowled. “I need to stay here and make sure everything stays safe.” Please, like she could leave the ranch while it was under siege by a movie crew?

  “I’ve actually got an Uber coming for me now. My flight is later today and I want to get to the airport early.” She smoothed one hand back over her topknot.

  “Okay, okay. Now, have you written down the address and Lily’s phone number and her parents’ number and––” Their dad frowned.

  “Dad, I’m going to Paris, not the high school prom. Please.” Dylan laughed. “I’ve written it all down and my cell will work there. It will be fine”

  “We’ll all walk you out. Did you say goodbye to Amanda?” Chris and Angela flanked Dylan as they exited the kitchen and headed to the front door.

  “I already did. She’s the easy one to tell—not the emotional ones like you guys.” Dylan smiled to soften her words.

  They accompanied Dylan to the circular driveway and helped load her belongings into the driver’s silver compact car.

  “Promise me you’ll come visit,” Dylan whispered in her ear.

  “We’ll see. Please take care of yourself.” Sam squeezed her one more time.

  “Okay, I’m out of here. I hope there are no more surprises today. I don’t know if I can deal with it.” Sam waved at her dad and Angela and headed to her white Land Rover.

  Damn it, this movie filming on the ranch was causing ripples from the past to morph into pounding waves. She would not relive everything with her mom right now. Or ever again. Once was enough. Thank goodness she was heading to ballet later. She’d hopefully be able to work out the lump in her throat and the prickling behind her eyes.

  7

  Holt returned Pete’s wave as he drove through the South gate entrance onto the McNeill’s ranch. The security guard had recognized his truck immediately, so he got express entrance now. That had to be good, right?

  He whistled as he pulled up to the main house to meet Angela and get the keys to the guesthouse where he’d be staying for the next several weeks. After being on the road for more than a decade, packing was a cinch, at least when he wasn’t somewhere like the hills of Hungary in January or the swamps of Louisiana in August. A couple duffel bags and his guitar and he was good to go. His shoulders relaxed when he didn’t see the white Land Rover he’d learned was Sam’s. He was in too good of a mood today to wrangle with her.

  Everything was falling into place for his secret plans for the future. Not that he was keeping it a secret on purpose. He’d just hung up with his accountant and she’d confirmed he was on track. His mom and sister heartily approved. This film would be the last one and it needed to go off without a hitch.

  He hummed as he sauntered up to the house. Maybe Dylan would answer the door again. Although he’d realized the other afternoon, despite her sweetness and loveliness, he didn’t feel any spark of attraction to her. It made no sense. No, when he was on McNeill property
, the primary sensation evoked was anger, annoyance, or impatience, all at the hands of one Ms. Samantha McNeill. Not today, though, nothing could bother him.

  The door swung open before he could ring the bell and Mrs. Angela McNeill smiled warmly at him. She was an attractive brunette in her fifties, tall, with an athletic build. Thus far, she’d been nothing but welcoming to him.

  “Hi, Holt. I’m glad you made it. I’ve got the keys, so why don’t we walk over to your new home away from home?”

  “Great. Should I move my truck or leave it parked there?”

  “Let’s walk over and then you can come get the truck. The guesthouse isn’t far and it has its own parking. But, this way you can see the path so when you come up for dinner and such, you’ll know the shortcut.” She stepped out of the doorway and pulled the enormous wooden door closed behind her.

  “Dinner?” He fell into step with her long strides.

  “Of course, we’d love to have you over for Sunday dinners—you’re our guest.” She smiled at him, as if this were the most normal scenario in the world.

  His eyes widened. Family dinners? Guest? “It’s really kind of you, but I wouldn’t want to get in the way. The hours are crazy…”

  Her easy smile remained in place. “You come when you feel like it. 7 p.m. It’s an open invitation.”

  He shrugged and followed her through the sun-drenched courtyard framed with giant palm trees, birds of paradise, and lush clusters of fuchsia and violet bougainvillea. The Santa Ana winds had finally dissipated and a cool Southern California breeze ruffled his hair as they strolled along the gray-stone paved path.

  Had he stepped into a Disney movie? Shimmering hummingbirds flitted over tidy rows of fragrant pink and white rose bushes planted along the cream-colored stucco walls. Water gurgled from the spouts of a pair of dolphins gracing an azure-tiled fountain.

  After they turned the corner, the open space widened dramatically and an Olympic-sized swimming pool sparkled in the sunshine and a white-canopied cabana beckoned. An enormous built-in barbeque, bar area, and outdoor dining set signaled this was party central at the McNeill mansion. Because he’d seen tons of estates in Bel Air and the Hollywood Hills, he managed not to gawk. The way he’d gaped when he’d arrived in L.A., back when he was a relatively innocent eighteen-year-old.