by Lori Wilde
When Ranger was a freshman at Sul Ross, his father had decided he was going to raise exotic animals, including camels. That had been a short-lived endeavor, but it had given Ranger a year’s worth of experience as a camel wrangler.
“Why not tap Zeke?” he asked.
“We did. He said he won’t play Beale, but he’ll help out with the camels.”
“Why are you working with real camels and not some computer-generated magic?”
“We’re going for authenticity.”
“Lord love a dromedary, Luke. Camels? You’re serious?”
“Hey, camels are part of the rich history of the Trans-Pecos, and they’re essential to the founding of Cupid. Camels have to be in the film.”
“You’ve lost your mind, you know that.”
“Possibly, but we’re making the film anyway. The camels arrive next week.”
“Rhett knows as much about camels as I do, and he’s better looking than I am,” Ranger said, feeling the walls closing in. “Ask him.”
“He’s got the rodeo circuit. Besides, he’s Rhett. Not the most reliable person in the West.”
Yes, there was that; unless it had something to do with the rodeo, Rhett could be pretty flakey.
“This has disaster written all over it,” Ranger mumbled.
“That’s what Edward Beale said and yet, he did it anyway.”
“Because he was ordered to do it by his commanding officer.”
“Consider me your commanding officer. I have two million dollars dangling over your head.”
“I can’t act,” Ranger protested.
“You played the lead in Our Town in high school.”
“I was shanghaied into that role, and I hated every minute of it. Hire a real actor.”
“We can’t afford one. This is a volunteer project. Consider yourself shanghaied again.”
“Spend the endowment money for the actor.”
“I can’t. It’s got strings.”
“Clearly for everyone involved. Twist Ember’s arm to scare up the money to hire a real actor. She’s wicked clever at finding money.”
“Bottom line, Lockhart, this project means a lot to me and the town council. You want the endowment money, just remember either Angi, Andre, or Spence would be happy to accept it instead.”
Ranger glowered. Luke had him sewed up. You know, whispered the voice in the back of his head, you do have the job offer in New Zealand.
Yes, but that was a last-ditch option. While he loved New Zealand, his home was here in Cupid. His house. His family . . .
Ember.
Ranger sighed. “Who is the director on this wacko project?”
“You were just sitting at the table with her.”
“Fiona?”
“No. Fiona isn’t commanding enough to be a director.”
“Angi?”
Luke grunted and sent him a look that said, boy are you dumb. “Ember.”
What? Ember hadn’t said a word to him about directing a film. Why not? Then he remembered he’d had his head stuck in the stars the past month putting the finishing touches on his paper about fast radio bursts emissions of extragalactic origins.
“Ember’s the one who wanted you for the role of Edward Beale. Me, I don’t really care who does it as long as the movie gets made on time and under budget.”
Ember was behind all this? He should have known.
On the one hand, he was miffed. But on the other, if he had to play the part to get the endowment money, he couldn’t think of anyone he’d rather do it with than his best friend.
“You want the endowment, you play Beale. Will you do it?”
“Doesn’t look like you’ve given me much of a choice. When does filming start?”
“Next Tuesday.”
“All right.” Ranger plunked his Stetson on his head, pushed back his chair with a loud scrape against the concrete floor, got to his feet.
“Where are you going?” Luke called as Ranger headed for the door.
“To pick a bone with my best friend.”
“I can’t thank you enough,” Fiona said as Ember pulled into the driveway of Fiona’s little rented bungalow. Ember knew exactly how she’d list it for sale. Cozy, much loved Cape Cod situated in a desert oasis. Great garden room with full sunlight for artists.
“For what?”
“If you hadn’t let me borrow your red dress and given me a makeover, Ranger wouldn’t have paid me one bit of attention.”
“It wasn’t the clothes or the makeover,” Ember said, feeling weirdly sulky and having no clue why. “It was your mad poker skills.”
“Really?” Fiona pressed a hand to her chest, but kept sitting in the passenger seat even as Ember mentally willed her to get out. “You think so?”
“Only two things impress Ranger Lockhart. The outer space and poker.”
“Three things,” Fiona corrected.
Ember crinkled her nose. For the life of her she couldn’t think of anything that commanded his attention like the sun and the moon and the stars, other than poker. “What’s the third?”
“You.”
Ember could have modestly exclaimed, who, me? But she wasn’t built that way. She knew that she and Ranger shared a special bond. Had known it since her earliest memory at three when she’d gotten swatted on the fanny by her mother for tracking mud over the pristine white, freshly cleaned floor of the Lockhart mansion after she’d told them twice to stay out of the mud puddle.
Ranger had gotten so mad about that swat, he’d stood defiant with his little hands clenched into fists, his face turning red, and declared, “Don’t spank Emba, spank me!”
Struggling not to laugh, Mom popped him one light swat on the seat of his pants, mainly because she didn’t want him to feel excluded, not even from punishment. Bridgette had a soft spot in her heart for Ranger because he’d been so small and studious, and his biological mother had run out on him.
Bridgette felt that tenderness for his brother Ridge too, but Ridge hadn’t let her get close the way Ranger had. Ridge’s defenses had already been set in stone by the time he’d come to live at the Silver Feather.
“So you think I have a chance with Ranger?” Fiona asked, snapping Ember back to the present.
“Keep playing poker the way you do, and he’ll stay interested,” she heard herself say when she wanted to say the exact opposite. Ack!
Fiona shook her head and pulled her bottom lip up between her teeth, her face turning grim. “He’s already caught onto my game play. I won’t beat him again.”
“Don’t get defeated. Keep him on his toes. Change things up.”
“I don’t really like poker, even though I’m good at it. It reminds me too much of the way my daddy wrecked his life.”
More than anything in the world, Ember wanted Ranger to be happy, and if Fiona could provide that happiness, Ember would see that they ended up together, even if it felt like a knife was stuck all the way through the fleshy part of her heart.
“Hang in there,” Ember encouraged her past the lump in her throat. “It takes Ranger a while to warm up to new ideas. If you want him, I’ll help you get him. Just make sure he’s what you truly want.”
And you, Ember, what do you truly want?
She pushed that thought aside. Her needs didn’t matter. All that mattered was Ranger’s success. He was the one with the brain to change the world.
Chapter 8
“It’s such a happiness when good people get together.”
—Jane Austen, Emma
Ember had no more gotten settled into her house in Marfa than a hard knock sounded at her door, and she knew without looking who was standing on her porch. She’d recognize that particular brand of rap-tap-tap anywhere.
Before she answered, she made a detour to the fridge and took out two beers. Ranger would need appeasing since he must have found out she’d been in cahoots with Luke to con him into playing Edward Beale.
She opened the door on the third knock, passed h
im the beer without even saying hello, and led the way into the living room.
Ranger grunted and followed her.
“Have a seat.” She plunked down on the sofa and slung her socked feet onto the old trunk that doubled as an ottoman. Samantha sauntered over and hopped into Ember’s lap.
Ranger loomed for a moment, looking like the Big Bad Wolf, but he didn’t intimidate her. She knew everything there was to know about him, and he knew the same about her. They had no secrets between them.
She patted the cushion next to her and he sank down, his weight a comforting anchor. Samantha immediately traveled over to him. He scratched her ears. So much for the Big Bad Wolf.
“Tell me all your troubles, Professor,” she coaxed, and took a sip of beer.
“You mean besides you?” His tone was as dry and barbed as the Chihuahuan Desert. “You know what? I was gone for a whole year and never once got mixed up in anything like your crazy schemes.”
“Oh you mean the schemes that push you out of your comfort zone because you’d never willingly take that step yourself. You mean the—”
She stopped talking because Ranger had that look in his eyes. The look that warned her not to push him. He might be easygoing ninety percent of the time, but when he dug in his heels, he plowed them deep and there was no moving him.
Ember winked, trying to soften him up. “Bet you missed the old pebble in your boot while you were whooping it up in Australia, huh?”
“I was in New Zealand.”
“Same difference.”
“No, it’s not. They’re distinctly different countries.”
“Whatever. They’re both very far away from here.” And her.
“You’ve never been a pebble in my boot.” His tone softened along with his eyes. “But challenging? Woman, I’d forgotten exactly how much of a handful you could be.”
Handful.
Trey had slung that word at her on many occasions, but always with a sharp sting in his voice. In Ranger’s voice, the word was a feather stroke, light and ticklish. Playful.
She’d often wished she wasn’t so hard to manage. It certainly would have made life easier, but she didn’t know how to be anything other than what she was. She could pretend of course, had done so during her marriage. But sooner or later, the real Ember always popped out, and that’s when things fell apart.
Hence, the reason why she’d decided to take herself off the market as far as marriage went, forget all about love, and make matches for others. She didn’t want to be the cause of anyone having full hands.
“Luke offered you the endowment?” she asked.
“Don’t be coy. It doesn’t suit you.”
“I didn’t know for sure he was going to offer it to you.”
“Woman, please. You had donors lined up for everyone else at that meeting.”
Ember couldn’t suppress her smile. She had. There was some benefit to knowing most everyone in the Trans-Pecos.
“But there’s one question that’s plaguing me about all this.” He paused and drilled her with his stare.
“What’s that?”
“Why didn’t you have a benefactor lined up for me?”
“Their causes were easier to fund . . .”
“And?”
“Luke wanted you to play Beale. The film is important to him since his great-granddaddy was in the Camel Corps, and—”
“Ember,” he chided.
He knew her too well. “All right, I wanted you to play Edward Beale. I wanted to direct you.”
“Why?”
“You were so great in Our Town.”
His right eyelid twitched in bewilderment, or maybe it was stress. “No, why did you want me to play Beale? You know how I hated acting in Our Town.”
Why? After a year away, she wanted to be near him from eight to five, Monday through Friday. But there was no way she was going to tell him that. “You’re distantly related to Beale.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are. That’s why you look a bit like him.”
“Get out of here. For real?”
“When Kaia was pregnant with Ingrid, part of her nesting instinct included doing genealogy and spending an epic amount of time on Ancestry.com. Beale is your third cousin once removed or something.” Ember flapped a hand. “Kaia knows for sure.”
“On my father’s side?”
“If it was on Ridge’s mom’s side, you wouldn’t be related. Think about it, man.”
“If you wanted me to play the role that badly, you could have just asked.”
“And what would be the fun in that? Besides, you would have said no.”
“I might not have.”
“You would have.”
“You think you know me so well.”
“That’s because I do.”
“Yeah.” He took a pull of his beer, propped his booted feet on the ottoman beside hers. “You’re right. I would have refused.”
“Are you mad at me?” She jostled his foot with hers.
“A little, but I’ll get over it.”
“That’s what I told Luke. You don’t nurse grudges.”
He reached over to chuck her under the chin. “I can never refuse you anything, Sparky.”
“I told Luke that too.”
“Pretty damn sure of yourself.”
She couldn’t help grinning. “Pretty damn sure of you.”
“Am I that predictable?”
“Geese migrating south for the winter aren’t as predictable as you.”
“Luke must think I’m your puppet.”
“No more than I’m yours. I’d fly to the moon and back if you needed me.”
“Truth.” He conceded and raised his beer bottle. “Best friends?”
“Forever and always.” She bumped her beer bottle to his in a satisfying clink.
They drank simultaneously and fell into a comfortable silence, sitting with their feet touching.
Several minutes later, Ranger asked, “How did you get lassoed into the directing gig in the first place?”
“I wasn’t lassoed. I thought it would be fun. I had a blast making that real estate commercial last year.”
“You made a commercial?”
“I sent you the link.”
Ranger pulled a palm down his face. “I forgot to look at it.”
Ember shrugged. She didn’t take it personally. She knew how Ranger could get lost in his work. That’s just who he was. The proverbial absentminded professor. She found it adorable . . . most of the time.
“I feel like a dick. I should have watched your commercial.”
“Seriously, do not give it a second thought. I don’t.”
After a lapse in companionable silence, Ranger said, “I have one condition to playing Edward Beale.”
“Oh?” Ember kept her voice mild. Ranger wasn’t one to make demands, and as such, when he had a request, he expected it to be carried out.
“If I’m going to do this damned film, I want you to play Mary Beale.”
“I can’t—”
“I know you’re the director, but there are a lot of directors who act in the films they’re directing. Robert Redford, Clint Eastwood—”
“How flattering to be mentioned in the same breath as such movie icons.”
“Is it working?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I already cast the role.”
“Uncast it.” In that declarative statement, she heard the strong leader in him, the one who would make a decisive director when he landed the department head job at the observatory. It would be a crying shame if Wes and the board of directors didn’t hire Ranger. He deserved the position, and the observatory deserved someone like him at the helm.
Solidified in her aim, she said, “Sorry, no can do. The actress is very excited to play Mary Beale.”
Ranger studied her with narrowed eyes. “Ember . . . whom did you cast?”
“Fiona.”
He pursed his
lips but did not seem put off. In fact, he smiled a little, which should have made her happy, but it did not. “Does Fiona have any acting creds?” he asked.
“More than you.” She listed off Fiona’s theater experience.
“Touché. Maybe you should get someone else to play Beale.”
“What about the endowment money?”
“Rats.”
“You’ll be fine. You did play the lead in Our Town.”
“Yeah because I was trying to impress the science teacher who wouldn’t let me into the summer intern program until I did something to prove I was well rounded.”
“I see a theme emerging around you, Ranger Lockhart. You stick your head in the stars, people force you back to Earth, you stick your head in the stars, people—”
“This movie is going to suck so bad.”
“It’s not like it’s a Hollywood production. It’s basically just a long Chamber of Commerce tourism commercial. It’ll be cute. Adorable. Forty years from now they’ll still be playing it, and we’ll watch it again and say, aww, look how young we were.”
“Why do I feel like I’ve been sewn into a straitjacket?” Ranger mumbled.
Ember splayed a palm over her chest, pantomiming pledging allegiance to a flag. “Because you had a dream.”
“I wished upon a star.”
She’d so missed their bantering. “Be careful what you wish for, Professor. Dreams come with strings.”
“A yarn store doesn’t have this many strings.” He gulped his beer. “Going back to New Zealand seems easier. That job they offered is a sure thing, and they don’t expect me to become a fund-raiser to keep it.”
“You wouldn’t really do that, would you?” she asked, trying to keep the alarm out of her voice. Ranger didn’t need to know how much his moving back to New Zealand would kill her soul. The past year had been wretched enough without him.
“Are we being serious here?”
“As a heart attack.”
Ranger leaned his head back on the couch, let loose a demoralized sigh. Which wasn’t like him. Not at all. He was normally the opposite of demoralized. “If I don’t get this position, what else can I do? It’s not like jobs for double PhDs are falling from the sky.”
