by Kim Law
He did feel a tiny bit bad about his part in it, though. Keeping this from her did make him a bit of an ass.
But then, genetics and all, he couldn’t help but be an ass.
He had a sudden vision of his ex completely livid, her eyes snapping with heat, and her body coiled and ready to snap. The girl had a temper. And he’d always loved it.
Cal groaned at the unbidden thought. Surely that hadn’t played into his agreeing to be on the show. Just to get her mad? To see it directed at him?
What in the hell was wrong with him? Would making her finally speak to him again—winning the unspoken battle she’d declared between them—give him a sense of power? Or would it prove him a complete moron for putting himself in her line of fire to begin with? Because the fact remained that he’d never been able to resist her particular brand of fire. And he suspected it would engulf him just as fiercely today.
What an idiot.
He turned and slipped inside the house. There were still hours of daylight left. His uncle could entertain the crew however long he wanted, but it was time for Cal to get to work. And to quit thinking about Jill.
“Two breakfast specials, half a grapefruit on the side, and . . . uh”—the waitress’s too-wide smile faltered as she stared unblinking at the third plate in her hands—“one . . . uhmmm”—her hands shook as she clearly fought to regain her thoughts—“one veggie omelet,” she finished in a rush of relief. She quickly distributed the plates, her smile once again too bright.
“Thanks, Harley.” Jill touched the back of the younger girl’s hand. Harley had been doing her best to ignore the cameras scattered around the local diner, but her best hadn’t quite been doing it for her today. The abrupt appearance of the production crew had overwhelmed the girl.
“I’ll be back with your . . .” Harley froze again as the overhead mic dipped closer.
“Coffee,” Jill whispered, and Harley’s gaze shot to hers.
She blinked. “Coffee. Yes. I’ll be right back with refills.”
She spun on her heels and was gone a second later. Jill knew Harley would be okay. She’d worked for Bluebonnet Construction over the last two summers, and though she sometimes let her nerves get the better of her, she always managed to pull it together. She’d started college the previous fall, and Jill had already seen her confidence begin to climb.
Picking up her fork, Jill eyed the plate of bacon, eggs, and hash browns in front of her. Should she have chosen something lighter since this was being filmed?
“How long do we have to sit here pretending to eat?” Heather asked under her breath. Both she and Trenton peered across the table at Jill, each holding her own fork the same as Jill, and Jill felt a momentary pang of guilt.
“He didn’t say,” she murmured. They were looking to her for direction because the night before, the Texas Dream crew had gathered them together and “explained the situation.”
Yes, Bluebonnet Construction had been chosen to compete on the show, and yes, they wanted all three of the owners available for filming, and most definitely for the renovations. They were looking forward to seeing them working together as a team. But the majority of the attention would be focused on Jill. She’d come across best during the screen test.
“I’m sorry,” she said again. She’d been apologizing since last night. “I didn’t want it this way.” She’d even tried to talk the producers out of it.
“We’re fine with it.” This came from Trenton. She looked from Heather to Jill, nodding as she did. “Seriously. Whatever it takes to get the job done. Plus, you were amazing in the clip they showed us. I didn’t know you had it in you.”
Jill had been a little amazed herself. She hadn’t lost all the things she’d once learned.
“We can’t control how they want to set up the show,” Heather chimed in. “All we can do is manage the outcome.” She flashed deep dimples before poking a bite of omelet into her mouth. “Which means our business name splashed all over and our phone ringing off the hook,” she said around the egg whites.
Jill could get behind that.
And the fact was, as soon as it had become public knowledge that homes in the area had been purchased for the show, the number of calls had already increased. No one knew that Bluebonnet had been picked to compete, but people did love to speculate. Not to mention, the entire town had been abuzz with excitement not only at the prospect of their little town being “put on the map,” but that one of their own might be the star of a national television show. This alone had upped the chatter among everyone.
Because of all the extra excitement, Jill and her foster sisters had brought in Aunt Blu to man the phone, allowing them to keep moving forward with scheduled work. A handful of the calls had been people merely hoping to get their own fifteen minutes of fame—if it turned out that Bluebonnet would indeed be on the show—but the largest percentage had been legit business inquiries. Many people hadn’t even been aware that Bluebonnet did renovations until an article about all the local construction companies had run in last week’s newspaper.
Aunt Blu had reassured each and every one of them that Bluebonnet Construction was more than capable. She’d then sent photos of some of the more recent work the company had done, as well as the full renovation on the farm’s original homestead—where Heather still lived. All three of them had moved into the three-bedroom cottage upon first returning to town, and as a way of paying Aunt Blu back, they’d given the place a major overhaul.
That renovation, in fact, had led to the creation of Bluebonnet Construction. They’d started the company in honor of Big Gerry, as well as Aunt Blu’s three young daughters, all of whom had been killed in a car wreck with her husband.
Along with providing manual labor, each of them filled a specific role in the business. Jill handled schedules and personnel. She made sure the jobs got done. Heather was the spokesperson. She was hard to ruffle, so she worked directly with potential clients and spent time publicly promoting the company. While Trenton preferred to deal more behind the scenes. Trenton took care of the finances, but mostly, she just wanted to get her hands dirty and build things. She was their workhorse.
Though no new contracts had been signed of yet, the phone calls had gone well, and all they had to do at this point, it seemed, was to not screw up the upcoming six weeks. Do that, and a booming construction business would soon be theirs. And surely they could manage that.
Six weeks, one renovation? They wouldn’t even have to split their time between other jobs thanks to some stealthy rescheduling on Jill’s part. This would be a piece of cake.
“Ms. Sadler.” The nearest cameraman got her attention. He’d poked his head out from behind his camera, a big guy with a thick copper-colored beard and eyes the same kind of see-through blue as Heather’s. “We’re going to need you three to actually have a conversation we can use on tape.”
He looked mildly uncomfortable at having to make the request, but off to the side of the room, Patrick Whitaker nodded with an encouraging smile.
“Like we talked about last night,” Patrick said.
Right. Like they’d talked about last night. Jill glanced around at the faces of the patrons packed into the café, noting that no one seemed to be eating, even though everyone had food on their tables. Last night Patrick had given an overview of how the next few weeks would go, while letting them know the crew would be looking to her to take charge during most takes. To keep things rolling smoothly.
She put her fork back down. She couldn’t eat when so much was at stake.
Patrick had promised that by the time the episodes finished airing, the entire country would not only be begging for Bluebonnet Construction to renovate their homes, but they’d have fallen in love with the three of them, as well.
Only, Jill didn’t want them to love her. Her heart pounded at the thought. Then she mentally corrected herself . . . she didn’t want to want to be loved.
But she sure had at one point in her life.
�
�Can you do that, Jill?” Patrick asked. He’d come a step closer, concern dimming his smile, but his gaze never left hers. Patrick was the complete opposite of the camera guy. Smaller in stature, sharply dressed. His eyes missed nothing.
“We can do that,” Jill assured him. Only, her heart thudded so hard she wasn’t sure she could say anything more than the four words she’d just uttered. All she could think about was how she’d once poured everything she had into making it in Hollywood.
There had been few people from Red Oak Falls to ever make it “big” outside of the small community—one person went on to be a senator several decades ago, another had a music career, and a third had been hired by NASA—and none of them had returned to live in their hometown once finding their rightful place in the world. After Jill’s birth mother had died, Jill had promised herself that she’d be the fourth to make it onto that list. Only, she’d do it by going into acting. As, apparently, had been her father’s career of choice.
Janet Sadler had never come off a name for the man who’d gotten her pregnant, but from the first time Jill had asked, Janet had claimed him to be a Hollywood star. Janet had spent a few months in LA the summer after her senior year of high school, and Jill had been born nine months later.
“Aren’t you excited to finally get a firsthand look at the house we’ll be working on?”
Jill stared across to the other side of the table, hearing Heather’s words, but none of them made sense.
“I’ve driven by both houses every day for a week,” Trenton added. Her gaze pinned Jill’s as if trying to impart an urgent message. “Just hoping I could catch sight of anything.”
“As has everyone in town.” Heather chuckled. The sound came out slightly forced, but not so much that anyone who didn’t know her well would notice. “Pear Street hasn’t seen that much excitement since Bobby Gatlin decided to streak down the middle of the road for Halloween three years ago.”
Jill continued to say nothing. It was as if her throat had been glued shut.
Patrick circled his index finger in the air, telling her to get to it. And for crying out loud, what was her actual problem? She’d had acting classes for years. She could do this.
But mixed in with the hope for the company’s growth—of not wanting to once again have hope for anything more for herself—was also flat-out terror. Because if anyone could screw up this kind of hand-gifted opportunity, Jill knew it would be her.
Trenton’s gaze narrowed. “How many times have you been by the houses this week, Jill?”
Under the table, one of them kicked her.
The kick did the trick. Jill jerked, glanced around the room once more, then stared straight at the redheaded cameraman. He’d pulled out from behind the eyepiece again and was giving her a poor-thing look. His lips tugged down at the corners, and that alone was enough to tick Jill off. She didn’t want pity. Least of all from some stranger who thought she didn’t have the guts to play a role on camera. Or to pull it off like the pro she’d once wanted to be.
So with a determination she hadn’t managed to dredge up in years, she shoved her emotions aside and mentally cracked her knuckles. She not only could do this, she would do it. She had to, because this opportunity wasn’t only about her. If she screwed this one up, she’d be taking Heather and Trenton down with her.
She returned her attention to the table, and as if she were no longer inhabiting her own body, all nerves simply vanished. Her facial muscles eased, and she gave a teasing shrug. “This week?” She let out a snippet of laughter, recalling from her training what would translate best on screen. “Probably only a hundred times or so during this week. But if you’re talking about last week . . .”
Her words seemed to ease the tension at the table, and the three of them spent the next several minutes discussing potential design ideas for the hundred-year-old houses they had yet to see the interiors of. They also chatted with patrons of the diner after Patrick sent them over. Texas Dream Home had a script in place for how they wanted the next few days to go, starting today with “breakfast with the locals.” They’d drive to the houses next, where both teams would meet, and then they’d finally get a firsthand look at the condition of the homes.
Design plans and pulling permits would be the priority over the next two days, and on Wednesday, the show’s regular hosts, Bob and Debra Raines, would arrive to film the “official” meeting of the teams. Bob and Debra wouldn’t return after that until renovations were complete, at which point they’d choose the winner and gift the deeds to the city.
As Jill listened to Bonnie Beckman talk about how she’d taken her Pomeranian for a walk down Pear Street just last week, and how her precious Winston had made it known to her that the Cadillac House would be the home to choose, Jill let herself wonder about their competition.
It would be an all-male team, but that was all she knew. Men versus women was how they were billing it.
She’d been hoping to find out more the previous evening. At least what part of Texas the others were coming from. But Patrick had held firm. Teams would meet for the first time in front of the houses today. That way, neither could gain an advantage.
She supposed that made sense.
However, Patrick’s gaze had drifted away from hers more times than not during that part of the conversation, and Jill had been thinking about that ever since. She didn’t like entering into situations with only partial details, nor did she deal well with being “handled.” And though nothing up until now had indicated there was anything off about the setup of the show, she couldn’t help but feel she was missing a key part of the picture.
She couldn’t help but consider calling a stop to everything, and just walking away.
“So that’s when I knew,” Bonnie was saying now, her eyes round as she clutched her black patent leather purse in her lap, and Jill realized that she’d missed a huge chunk of the other woman’s story.
“What did you know?” Heather asked, her tone as awestruck as Bonnie’s.
“That it was my Winsti who brought Texas Dream Home to town in the first place. And that allowed them to choose you.” She placed a hand over her heart. “Because you didn’t just build me a retreat earlier this year, you built the best vacation home for my baby that any sweet puppy dog could ever ask for.”
Jill stared at the other woman. And she ignored the boom mic hovering over them.
Bonnie’s dog had communicated to the producers of Texas Dream Home by telepathy, telling them not only to come to Red Oak Falls, but to choose Bluebonnet Construction to be on the show? And the backyard shed Bluebonnet had built for her had been a . . . vacation home? For the dog?
None of those things was the vision Jill would have chosen to start viewers off with.
She made a mental note to beg Patrick not to make too big a deal of this.
“We’ll be sure to mention that to the parade committee,” Heather assured Bonnie. A parade had been in the works for a week now, even though until that morning no one had known who the featured guests would be. “Winston will need to be recognized.”
Bonnie beamed at Heather’s words—while Jill wanted to reach across the table and strangle her foster sister.
There was no way the producers wouldn’t follow up if Bonnie and her dog made it into the parade. And if that happened, Jill could already imagine what their next career rut would be. That of building doggie vacation homes for the rich and eccentric.
But at least if the crew checked out the retreat, they’d have to agree that Winston’s vacation home was one of a kind. A cushy bed, a mirror to groom himself in, window seats on either end of the rafters so he could watch outdoor activity. But the crowning glory was the two-chair “throne,” where Winston and Bonnie could watch “their shows” together. Bonnie’s husband wasn’t a fan of the daytime dramas that Winston preferred, thus the real reason for the “vacation home.”
Harley appeared at their table then, a decanter of coffee in one hand and to-go cups in the other. T
his was the third time she’d shown back up since the cameras had started rolling, and finally, the smile gracing the younger girl’s lips was that of a confident young woman. “One for the road, ladies?”
“Please.” Trenton was the first to answer.
Jill glanced at Patrick, knowing he must have sent Harley over to communicate that things at the diner would soon be wrapping up, and as she did, the cameraman nearest to Patrick began to move. He slid out from behind the producer, repositioning his lens to point toward the café’s front door, just as a swooshing sound came from behind Jill. The smell of morning dew and sunshine filtered in to mingle with that of freshly brewed coffee, and as Trenton’s outstretched hand closed around her to-go cup, her gaze snagged over Jill’s head.
Her jaw stiffened for a split second before she quickly averted her gaze. She brought it back to Harley and forced a bright smile. “Thank you.” Trenton’s voice was pitched too high.
“What?” Jill mouthed, but Trenton ignored the question.
Heather had caught the interaction, though, and her gaze followed the path Trenton’s had taken. And then her jaw stiffened.
And with nothing more than that to go on . . . Jill instinctively knew.
Pressure settled in her chest as whispers immediately started around her, and she didn’t have to look to confirm that her ex had just walked in.
“What do you give her, five seconds?”
“My money’s on three.”
“There’s a camera on her. I say she breaks a record. I’m going for two minutes.”
Jill stared across the table, seeing nothing but the blurred edges of her anger. They were betting on how quickly she would depart from the building now that Cal had entered.
And she so wanted to get up and leave.
But instead, she sat there. Because dang it, Cal was a jerk. And she refused to give him the pleasure of a victory today. It wasn’t enough that he corralled all the business in town for his own, that he had every last person eating out of his hands thanks to that stupid “Reynolds charm” that he and his uncle were so proud of, or that he’d lied straight to her face when he’d talked her into marrying him.
