One Night Scandal

by Joanne Rock

  Her coffee cup froze midway to her lips; she appeared surprised to be a part of the conversation. He noticed a name—Hannah—had been written in gold marker on the front of her take-out beverage.

  “Sure. Um. Yes.” She lowered her drink, standing straighter. “I borrowed one of the set vehicles to follow the ambulance.”

  Set vehicles?

  He didn’t have a clue what that meant, but he remembered she had been beside him when he regained consciousness. Everything else—including what he’d been doing with her—was hazy.

  “Great. If you don’t mind dropping me off at the Creek Spill, I can meet you downstairs in ten minutes.” He knew the hospital couldn’t keep him here against his will.

  Her gray eyes darted from him to the doctor and back again, but she nodded. She reached inside her handbag for a set of keys and slipped out the door.

  There was something peculiar about her that went beyond her odd outfit. Something in those uneasy gray eyes of hers, but maybe it was simply worry for him.

  Right now, she was his fastest ticket home so he could figure out what was going on with his family. Besides, she’d be able to provide some answers about the accident that had landed him here.

  Assuming, of course, he could trust her.

  * * *

  Short-term retrograde amnesia.

  Hannah mulled over the term as she steered the compact car onto the county route on their way back to the Creek Spill Ranch half an hour later. The orderly who had accompanied Brock outside had handed her the discharge papers with instructions for follow-up care, giving Hannah a moment to see the diagnosis while Brock buckled his seat belt for the ride. Now, chewing her lip between answering the questions Brock fired her way, she wondered what exactly the amnesia would mean for him.

  Did “short-term” imply the problem was temporary? Or had he lost only his short-term memories? She couldn’t even ask Brock since he was clearly still reeling from the injury. He’d asked her how the accident happened, why she was dressed like a frontier woman, why a movie scene was being filmed on his land and how long they’d known one another.

  She was honest about how they met, and even admitted he’d given her a ride home the night before. She just skated over the part about throwing herself into his arms afterward, seizing the chance to conceal their intimate connection.

  But she found it surprising that he’d forgotten her yet knew that his family needed him now. He’d said as much to Dr. Kreshnik, but it hardly seemed possible he would recall the McNeills were being blackmailed if he had amnesia. Then again, maybe he’d put things together from reading texts on his phone. She knew he’d been receiving messages from his siblings. No wonder he’d been able to verify today’s date when one of the doctors had asked him about it, even though that very same question had confused him in the ambulance. Brock must have been able to orient himself with the evidence on his screen.

  “Honestly, Brock, are you really sure you want me to take you home? I couldn’t help but notice those discharge papers.” She removed one hand from the steering wheel to point at the paperwork now resting on the console between them. “If the doctor is correct that you have amnesia—”

  “I’ve hit my head before. Bull riding.” He stretched his legs in the cramped quarters, one denim-clad knee bumping the dashboard. “I know concussion symptoms and I have a good neurologist in Denver. I’ll give his office a call when I get home.”

  She bit her lip, unsure how much to argue. A concussion could make someone irritable. Act out of character. She’d read that much online when she’d been in the waiting room today, hoping all the while someone from his family would come take her place. No one had. But at least she’d learned a little more about head injuries, and she knew that stress could aggravate his symptoms.

  “That’s a good idea.” She tried being agreeable as she turned off the county route onto the private road that led to Creek Spill. “But I’m not sure a concussion alone can account for how much time you’ve lost if you don’t remember that there’s a movie being filmed on your land.”

  Winning the West had been on-site for almost two weeks, and before that, the location scout had been staying with Brock’s older brother, Cody, while she worked out the logistics for the filming.

  “I’ll look into it once I check on my family.” He rapped his knuckles lightly on the inside of the window. Anxious? Impatient? Or maybe just agitated. “And keep going past the main house. My family will be at my father’s place. I could tell from my sisters’ messages today that something is really wrong at home.”

  The obvious worry in his voice struck a chord with her. Hannah understood all too well the way fierce family loyalty could drive a person to great lengths and behave in a way they wouldn’t normally. Like checking themselves out of a hospital when they needed medical care. Or taking a job working for a man who’d molested a family member.

  They had more in common than she’d realized.

  “I might know something about that,” she admitted, wanting to help him if only to make up for the way she’d omitted details about their relationship. “You mentioned something to me about your family before that light hit you.”

  She drove past the main house at Creek Spill Ranch, as he’d asked. She hoped he remembered the directions to his father’s home since she didn’t know where she was headed any longer.

  “Tell me,” he said simply, turning the focus of those blue eyes on her. “What exactly did I say?”

  She shivered with awareness, feeling the impact of his gaze even as she kept her attention on the road ahead. Memories of being with him tantalized her. Taunted her with all she’d never experience again.

  “I—” Her voice hitched on a breathless note. She cleared her throat and tried not to think about the way he’d touched her. “That is, you mentioned your family had been going through hell lately. That someone was threatening the McNeills.”

  “I knew something was wrong when no one came to the hospital.” His fingers tightened into a fist, his shoulders tensing. “Threatening how?”

  She hated to upset him when he was in this condition. But he had the right to know. “Blackmail.”

  He bit off a curse and reached to withdraw his phone from his back pocket. “There’s got to be some clue about what’s going on in here. My sister mentioned a scandal, but I’ll be damned if I know what she’s talking about.” He stabbed at the screen, his movements agitated as he muttered, “This thing must be new.”

  Did the scandal have anything to do with the secret she knew? Her skin prickled, a guilty feeling pinching her conscience that she might know more about Brock’s family than he did. But had he forgotten the truth only because of the amnesia? Or had his family carefully hidden their connection to the Venturas?

  The road grew narrower as Hannah drove deeper into the woods. Lost in more ways than one, Hannah wondered how she’d gotten herself so deeply embroiled in Brock’s life so quickly.

  “Am I still going the right way?” she asked.

  He glanced up just as his phone chimed. “Yes. My father’s place is up here on the right. Just around that bend.”

  When he glanced back down at his screen, he asked her for her phone number in case he needed to contact her later. She gave it to him, wondering if he would be in touch with her again, or if it was just a formality. Moments later, he sucked in a sharp breath.

  “What is it?” She slowed down as she guided the car around the corner.

  Brock’s attention remained on the phone. His voice—when he spoke—sounded hollow. “A Hollywood tabloid just put my stepmother’s name in the headlines.”

  Foreboding squeezed her belly. She took her eyes off the road long enough to see his expression.

  The shock in his voice sounded genuine when he spoke again.

  “Apparently my father’s wife is Hollywood royalty.” He peered over at her a
nd Hannah hurried to return her focus to the road, afraid her face might reveal her lack of surprise.

  She swallowed hard, pretending a confusion she didn’t feel. “What do you mean?”

  “If this report can be believed, Paige Samara McNeill is actually Eden Harris, the daughter of Emilio Ventura and B-movie actress Barbara Harris.”

  Hannah waited the space of a heartbeat. And then another.

  “That means your stepmother is my director Antonio’s stepsister.” She hated even saying the bastard’s name. But she needed to ask Brock the question that mattered the most to her. “Did you know about that?”

  Brock shook his head. “You mean half sister,” he said absently, his gaze on the log cabin home ahead of them with several vehicles parked out front. “If this is true, Paige would be Antonio Ventura’s half sister.”

  “Not in a biological sense. Antonio is Emilio’s adopted son.” Hannah pulled over, parking behind a pickup. She had researched her sister’s tormentor thoroughly, but the fact that Antonio was adopted was common knowledge. Emilio Ventura had already been a famous director in his own right before he married Antonio’s mother, and he’d made headlines when he adopted his wife’s son.

  The son had followed in his father’s footsteps, acquiring millions along with the Ventura filmmaking connections once Emilio retired. Then, he’d misused the power and prestige to intimidate Hope, banking on her silence. Or that no one would believe her.

  “My father’s marriage to Paige was never legal since she wed under a fake name.” Brock swiped a hand over his face. Rubbed his temples. “My family—my sisters—must be reeling.” He held up his phone long enough for her to see the photo on the screen of a teenage Eden Harris next to a photo of Paige’s daughters with Donovan McNeill. The resemblance, especially with the youngest daughter, was unmistakable. “Wyoming doesn’t recognize common law marriage. So this makes them all illegitimate.”

  If Hannah had to guess, she would say that Brock’s shock was genuine. That he hadn’t known about any connection between the McNeills and the Venturas. But was that because of the amnesia? Or had he truly never known about his stepmother’s identity?

  Either way, for today, he was clearly stunned.

  “I’m so sorry.” She reached across the console to lay a hand on his arm, the need to offer comfort too strong to resist even though she knew that touching this man had a powerful effect on her. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  She wished someone from his family would come out to the car to help him inside. Was he steady enough on his feet? But there was no sign of movement in the log cabin home.

  Brock’s gaze dipped to where she touched him. It shouldn’t have set off sparks, especially given the family crisis he was dealing with. Yet, strangely, that’s exactly what happened. His blue eyes lifted, locking in on hers.

  Her breath caught.

  “Are you sure nothing happened last night? After I brought you home?”

  Had his memories returned? Was the doctor wrong about the amnesia? Brock had been in the emergency room so briefly.

  Visions of their time together spun through her mind so vividly she feared he’d somehow see them in her eyes. But she couldn’t afford to get tangled up with a McNeill—especially not now that his connection to the Venturas was public knowledge. What if her unwise affair somehow compromised Hope’s position to bring charges against Antonio? Or made other potential victims less inclined to confide in Hannah?

  “We just talked.” She scavenged a smile as she pulled her hand away from the warmth of his arm. She thumbed the silver ring on her finger, a piece that matched one she’d given to her sister. “That’s all.”

  Her heart thudded from the lie. And the impossible attraction that wouldn’t go away.

  Brock nodded as he slid the hospital discharge papers off the console. “It just makes me wonder why I sought you out today on the set to tell you about the blackmail.” He levered open the door and stepped out onto the lush green grass. “That doesn’t seem like something I’d confide to a woman I just met.”

  She could see his point. But she couldn’t think of an answer.

  “I don’t know.” Shrugging, she turned the key in the ignition. “But I hope you feel better soon.”

  His brusque nod was his only answer before he pivoted on his boot heel and strode up the stone path toward the cabin.

  Hannah couldn’t help but think about how different their parting had been the night before when she’d been wrapped in nothing but an afghan, and he’d promised they’d talk more soon.

  Today, she’d gotten what she wanted—distance from a McNeill. A do-over on the relationship that should have never happened in the first place.

  Yet in the process, she’d made him suspicious of her.

  And with a blackmailer on the loose, Hannah wondered if she’d just made a huge mistake.

  Five

  Scarlett McNeill sped north on Pacific Coast Highway, the car radio tuned into the same news she’d heard on a loop, over and over again, since the family scandal broke.

  With an effort, she eased her foot off the accelerator as she crept too close to the car in front of her. Her whole body felt brittle with tension, her brain too stunned to think.

  “... Eden Harris, daughter of troubled actress Barbara Harris and famed director Emilio Ventura, has been living under an assumed name for over twenty years.” The disembodied voice on the radio reported the story using almost the same exact wording Scarlett had heard on two other stations since she’d slid into the driver’s seat of her rented vehicle.

  She needed to get to Logan’s house. Needed his embrace to ground her when her life felt too surreal. Everything she thought she’d known about her mother was a lie. The woman she called “Mom,” a seemingly simple woman who’d shunned the spotlight for Scarlett’s entire life, had run away from one of Hollywood’s most famous households when she’d been seventeen years old. And she’d never breathed a word of it to anyone.

  Worse, Scarlett wasn’t in Cheyenne with her sisters or her half brothers when the news broke, she was on her own trying to deal with the fallout. Of course, they’d all known a scandal was brewing after Scarlett had been handed the first blackmail letter by a stranger in an LA nightclub earlier in the month. But while Scarlett had been a proponent of trying to work with the blackmailer or the police to prevent the scandal from hitting the tabloids, her father and siblings had decided not to bargain with an extortionist. Scarlett had been angry and indignant on her mother’s behalf, all the more so since Paige was recovering from a coma after a hiking accident and wasn’t well enough to fight for herself.

  Between that fundamental difference of opinion and her brother hiring a private investigator to keep tabs on her on a trip to LA, Scarlett had it with her family. She’d moved up her timetable to relocate to Hollywood and try her hand at acting. She didn’t regret it, but right now, the eight hundred miles between her and Cheyenne might as well have been a million.

  Thankfully, she’d arrived at Logan’s. His driveway was on the left, and she pulled off Pacific Coast Highway in front of the three-bay garage. While she parked, she continued to listen to the radio broadcaster’s story. “Ms. Harris, calling herself Paige Samara, married heir to the McNeill Resorts empire Donovan McNeill, and has three daughters with him. No word yet on whether that marriage would still be legal under the circumstances.”

  Scarlett switched off the ignition, quieting the broadcaster’s voice. The sudden silence didn’t stop the last words from echoing around and around her head, though.

  She’d just barely renewed her relationship with actor Logan King, but he’d seemed sincere about wanting a second chance with her. About caring for her.

  Today, she needed to believe in that, in him. Locking the car behind her, she shoved open the side gate that led to the outdoor stairs alongside Logan’s beach house. Run
ning down the steps, she followed the sound of the waves crashing on the rocks below until she emerged on the patio behind the house.

  “Logan!” she called, not seeing him right away.

  His house opened onto the patio, with a wall of glass doors that almost completely retracted so the living room could be open on one side.

  Peering into the open space, she saw him emerge from the kitchen. She had a quick glimpse of his dark hair and green eyes, his strong shoulders. He was already reaching for her.

  She dropped her purse on the ground and realized she was shaking as she lifted her arms to slide around him.

  “Are you okay?” he asked against her hair, kissing the top of her head. “Do you want to go home and be with your family?” He stroked a hand down her spine, warm and comforting. Enticing, in spite of everything. “I planned to fly to Cheyenne later in the week to film my final scenes in Winning the West, but I can change my flight so we can travel together.”

  She breathed in the scent of his aftershave mingled with the salty air blowing off the waves hitting the beach below them. The rhythm of his heartbeat and the steady crash of the surf helped to ease some of the panic in her chest.

  Logan had a prominent role in the movie shooting on the McNeill ranch. He had offered her his beach house while he was out of town since she was staying in a hotel suite in Beverly Hills until she found a place of her own. But she was trying to take it slower with Logan this time after the way she’d thrown herself into their relationship when they’d first met.

  “That’s kind of you.” She eased back to look up at him. The sun was starting to set, bathing the sky in shades of pink and purple. “I haven’t been able to think that far ahead. I’m just so...stunned.”

  He drew her over to one of the love seats that looked out toward the water and tugged her down onto a cushion beside him.