Dear Cupid

by Julie Ortolon

  “Kevin Wells?” Kate’s eyes widened at the mention of Hollywood’s newest box-office draw. “He’s going to be here? Tonight?”

  “Maybe.” Mike shrugged as if meeting a movie star held little interest. “He plays the owner of the Wild West show.”

  “You didn’t tell me that.” His blasé attitude made Kate feel a little foolish for being so excited. But then, who cared, she decided. She was there to have fun and meeting a celebrity would definitely be fun.

  “I thought I told you.” Mike said absently, then he turned back to his friend. “Ricky, I want you to meet Kate. Kate, this is Richard Sanchez, president of the Actors’ Alliance.”

  As they shook hands, Ricky leaned back to eye her up and down. “Great look. You in film?”

  “Heavens no,” she laughed.

  “Kate’s a writer,” Mike elaborated, making her blink in surprise. No one had ever introduced her as a writer.

  “Too bad.” Richard said. “A little peroxide and you’d be a dead ringer for Marilyn Monroe in that outfit.”

  Kate laughed at the outrageous compliment as the three of them moved through the doorway and into the dimly lit wonderland beyond. Overhead, hundreds of star-shaped silver balloons danced along the ceiling, trailing Mylar streamers that flashed like tiny rainbows in the colored lights. From the stage in the corner, a live band pumped out an energetic brand of boot-scootin’ boogie-woogie.

  The crowd ranged from the casually dressed to the flamboyant, their energy filling the room. Laughter vied with the music as old friends called out greetings and swapped news. A camera flash drew Kate’s gaze to an area of the room that positively buzzed with excitement.

  Oh my goodness,” she breathed as she saw who stood at the center of the beehive. “Is that Rachel Lee?”

  Mike glanced toward the leggy brunette wearing a hint of a dress that made Kate’s outfit seem like a nun’s frock. “That would be her,” Mike confirmed. “Being her usual low-profile self, I see.”

  “Is she in the movie?” Kate asked.

  “The starring role, even if Kevin gets top billing,” Mike answered.

  “Magic Man!” someone called from the buffet table.

  Kate raised a brow. “Your nickname, I take it?”

  “More of a job title, really.” He guided Kate toward the crowd of people hovering near the generous spread of Mexican food. “Frank,” he said, smiling as he extended his hand toward a short, dark-haired man. “Welcome to Texas.”

  Frank juggled his plate of food to exchange handshakes. He had a soft white face and shrewd dark eyes. “I need to talk to you about a problem the animation team has run into. Maybe you could help them work out a bug in their program.”

  “Sure. Tell them to call me tomorrow. In the meantime, let me introduce you to Kate Bradshaw. Kate, Frank Goldstein, the FX supervisor.”

  “It’s good to meet you.” She shook his hand.

  “Frank’s in charge of coordinating all the effects,” Mike explained. “From animation, makeup, and models, to special camera crews, and stunt teams, right down to the final film compositing to make sure we give the art department what they asked for.”

  “Sounds fascinating,” Kate said, a little overwhelmed that anyone could pull off the things these people did for a living.

  “Pain in the ass,” Frank said, mopping up some ranchero sauce with a flour tortilla. “You should try coordinating crews strung out halfway across the country. And then Cameron here, best damned animator in the business, turns traitor and joins the exodus from California to Texas. I’m asking ya, what’s so great about Texas, for God’s sake?”

  “Is he complaining again?” a young woman asked as she joined them. She had a startling shade of burgundy-colored hair that perfectly matched the baggy lace dress she wore with combat boots. Though Kate thought her unattractive at first glance, she suspected a little makeup and some less frumpy clothes would go a long way—not to mention a more natural shade of hair. “I swear,” the woman said, “you should have heard him on the plane out here. Bitching up a storm ‘cause he couldn’t get a bagel.”

  “Well, a man’s gotta eat,” Frank grumbled around a mouth full of tortilla.

  “Frank’s a real sensitive, cultured kind of guy,” Mike winked at Kate. “Which is why we all love working for him.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Frank made a face, then waved his half-eaten tortilla between Mike and the woman. “I don’t think you two’ve met. Cameron, Traci Hovick. Traci, Cameron the Traitor.”

  Kate watched Traci’s face light up. “No, we haven’t met. Not in person anyway. But gosh, I’ve admired your work since like forever.”

  “Same here.” Mike shook Traci’s hand, then introduced her to Kate. “Traci does some really kick-ass makeup effects.”

  “Horror flicks mostly,” Traci elaborated, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm.

  “Sounds ... interesting,” Kate managed.

  “Oh, its great! I get to cut people up and drench ‘em in blood. Of course I do monsters and aliens too, but mutilated bodies are my specialty. I get to do a really cool effect for this film in the final scene when an explosion burns the human skin off the robot that Cameron is creating.”

  “I see,” Kate said, wondering why they needed a makeup artist for an animated robot.

  “What about you?” Traci asked Kate.

  “Hmm?” She blinked at the woman.

  “Kate’s a writer,” Mike answered for her.

  “Cool,” Traci said.

  “Now, if you guys will excuse us”—he dropped his hand to the small of Kate’s back—“we haven’t even made it to the bar yet. And from the looks of this crowd, it may take a while to fight our way over there.” Drawing her near, he steered her through the milling throng.

  “You have ... unusual coworkers,” she said.

  Mike laughed. “Yeah, ‘unusual’ is definitely one word for them.”

  She realized that he had his arm halfway around her waist. The heat from his hand sent a shiver of pleasure over her skin. Before the heat could seep inward, she wiggled away. “Mike ... I’m not your date, remember?”

  “Oh, sorry.” He found standing room for them at the bar and asked what she wanted to drink.

  “White wine,” she answered. “Why did you tell them I was a writer?”

  “Because you are.” Mike caught the bartender’s attention and ordered wine for her and gin and tonic for himself.

  “Not in the sense they thought you meant,” she said. “You made it sound like I was a real writer, as in scripts or novels or something like that—not just an online advice columnist.”

  “Kate.” Mike gave her an exasperated look as he handed her the wine. “I’ve read your work. Trust me, you are a real writer.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Exactly how much of my Web site did you read?”

  He cringed playfully. “You mean before or after you caught me?”

  “Mi-ike!” She couldn’t believe she actually stamped her foot.

  “I don’t know what you’re so embarrassed about. It’s a great site.”

  “It’s just—Oh, never mind.” She wasn’t sure why having him read her column embarrassed her either, except it made her feel exposed. “Besides, it’s not like I designed the site. Gwen has a whole team of people who take care of all that.”

  “I was talking about the articles, not the site itself.”

  “Oh.” A warm feeling blossomed in her chest at the thought that someone like Mike, someone who rubbed elbows with movie stars and Hollywood directors, would find her articles worthy of praise. “You really liked my column?”

  “Mm-hmm.” He grinned. “I especially liked the advice to men on how to talk sexy rather than dirty in bed.”

  The warmth shot right to her cheeks. “I happen to have a lot of men visit my site.”

  “I believe it. I’m just wondering where you were back when I was in high school. I could have used some of your dating pointers.”

  “Somehow
I doubt that,” she said. Although maybe she was wrong. Maybe Mike did need her help. Otherwise, how had such a charming and attractive man stayed single so long?

  Sipping her wine, she let her gaze wander about the room. Several people in the crowd looked vaguely familiar, and she wondered if she’d seen them as minor characters in films. Then her gaze landed on a figure that seemed completely out of place: a cowboy who stood alone on the far side of the room, his shoulder propped against the wall. With his arms crossed over his chest, he watched the crowd from the shadow of his black Stetson. Being female, and still among the living, she couldn’t help but notice how the white western shirt and black jeans hugged his tall, muscular body. He wore his long black hair in a ponytail that gave him an extra ounce of sex appeal.

  Not until he turned his head, though, did recognition strike. “Holy cow!” She gripped Mike’s arm in reflex. “That’s Trey Evans.”

  “What?” Mike turned to look.

  “Over there.” Kate turned toward Mike so she wouldn’t be caught staring. “See the man leaning against the wall? I think that’s Trey Evans, the world-champion bull rider.”

  “So it is.” Mike nodded.

  “But what’s he doing here?” Kate asked in disbelief. When she’d been in college, Trey Evans had been the heartthrob of her entire dorm. Not that any of them cared about the rodeo. They’d known him more from the TV commercials and magazine ads he’d been in. She vividly remembered the life-sized poster of him wearing Wrangler jeans, a black Stetson, and nothing else, that had hung in her suitemate’s room.

  “Actually, I’m surprised to see him here,” Mike said. “He doesn’t usually come to these things. You want to meet him?”

  Her eyes widened at the thought. An offer to meet any other celebrity in the room would have pleased her rather than intimidated her. But this was Trey Evans, a walking female fantasy. “I—I—”

  “Come on.” Mike took her by the elbow and led her across the room. “Hey, Trey!” he called over the music as they drew close.

  Kate scrambled for something remotely intelligent to say—anything that wouldn’t make her sound like an idiot. Then the man turned to fully face her and she froze. A jagged scar slashed down one cheek from temple to jaw, pulling the corner of his eye down and his mouth up in a permanent snarl. He nodded in greeting as he shook hands with Mike.

  “Trey, I want you to meet Kate, a friend of mine who lives out here at the lake.” To Kate he added, “Trey is playing Kevin Wells’s stunt double.”

  “I’m, um, pleased to meet you,” Kate stammered, trying not to stare as empathy squeezed her chest. His face, she thought, his beautiful face. She couldn’t even imagine the physical and emotional pain he must have suffered from whatever accident had left his face so ravaged.

  “So, where’s Jesse?” Mike asked. “Since I know coming to something like this wasn’t your idea.”

  Trey grimaced in agreement and nodded toward a cluster of women by the dance floor.

  “Jesse!” Mike called.

  A young woman lifted her head and smiled. At Mike’s wave, she headed toward them with a coltish kind of energy to her gait. She wore a broomstick skirt, western-yoked shirt, and cowboy boots. Her dark hair swung in a thick braid down her back.

  “Hey, Magic Man, good to see ya.” Jesse thrust out her hand with the straightforwardness of a man. “I heard you were working on this dog-’n’-pony show.” When Mike introduced Kate, Jesse turned to her with the same down-home friendly smile.

  “So,” Mike said to Trey, “I hear you actually agreed to leap from a train into a river—on horseback?”

  Trey made a series of motions with his hands. Watching him, Jesse said, “If the ASPCA says I can.”

  “And what does your horse have to say about it?” Mike asked.

  Again Trey moved his hands in sign language and Jesse spoke. “For enough carrots, that crazy horse’ll do anything.”

  Mike snorted. “I still say they should use CGi to animate the whole thing.”

  “Not a chance,” Jesse interpreted as Trey signed. “You computer nerds can’t have all the fun.”

  “Maybe not,” Mike said. “But at least we don’t risk our fool necks every time we create a special effect.”

  Trey started to sign again, but Jesse put her hand over his. “Enough shoptalk,” she growled playfully at the former bull rider. “I came here to dance. And you owe me one, remember?”

  Trey rolled his eyes toward Mike as if to say, Women!

  Jesse just laughed. “He lost me a game of dominoes, so now he has to pay up.”

  “Well, that explains it.” Mike laughed as Jesse grabbed Trey’s arm and dragged him toward the dance floor.

  Kate stood numbly watching them go. An odd blend of emotions swirled inside her. In spite of Trey’s slight limp, he glided over the floor as only a born and bred cowboy could, with knees slightly bent and hips perfectly still. Jesse smiled up at him, adoration in her eyes, blind to his scar and so proud to be his partner she beamed. A lump formed in Kate’s throat.

  “He was trampled by a bull,” Mike explained, in answer to her unspoken question. “Apparently he suffered some brain damage, which is why he uses sign language.”

  She thought of the commercials he’d made, and how the girls in her dorm used to sigh dramatically just at the sound of his deep, husky voice. “Will he ever be able to talk again?”

  “Actually, his speech loss was only temporary,” Mike said. “I’ve heard him talk a few times and he sounds fine to me, but apparently the stutter embarrasses him.”

  “Well, at least he has Jesse to interpret for him. Have they been together long?”

  “They’ve worked together as long as I’ve known them.”

  “No, I meant together,” she clarified.

  “Together? As in together? Trey and Jesse?” He laughed. “Trust me, Kate, those two are more like brother and sister. Trey’s known her since she was just a kid.”

  Kate looked back at the dance floor and noticed for the first time how Trey held Jesse slightly away from him, the way a man danced with a female relative. Her heart went out to Jesse. On a personal level, she knew too well the pain of not having one’s love returned with the intensity it was given. Professionally, though, she wished she could pull the girl aside for ten minutes of advice on how to get the man to do the chasing.

  “Perhaps someone should point out to Trey that Jesse isn’t exactly a kid anymore,” she said.

  “Hmm?” Mike glanced at the dance floor as well. An appreciative look came over his face as if he were seeing Jesse for the first time. “You know, you’re right.”

  Kate frowned at the admiring gleam that entered Mike’s eyes. She felt illogically irked that Mike had noticed what Trey had not. “She’s too young,” she said.

  “For Trey?”

  “No, for you.”

  He looked at her, surprised, and then his expression turned mischievous. “Darn, are you sure? And here I was about ready to drag her off and marry her the minute she came off the dance floor.”

  “I’m afraid courting a wife isn’t quite that easy.”

  “No kidding,” he mumbled, then slipped his arm around her waist. “So, how about I dance with you instead?”

  “Absolutely not.” She leapt away, hating the way her heart fluttered every time he touched her. “You’re here to look for a wife, not dance with me.”

  “Who says I can’t do both?”

  “I do.” She scowled at him, wishing he didn’t look so tempting in the soft, colored lights. “And since you hired me as your dating coach, the least you can do is follow my advice.”

  “All right,” he sighed. “Coach me.”

  She looked around, searching for a course of action. Her gaze landed on a table where Traci and Frank had joined several others. “You should start by asking Traci to dance with you.”

  “Traci?” Mike looked dumbfounded at the suggestion.

  “Sure,” Kate shrugged. “She seemed impres
sed enough by you to be interested in a personal overture. Just remember to keep it light at first.”

  “You want me to come on to a woman who makes a living mutilating bodies?”

  “Not ‘come on’ to her. Just test the waters to see how well you mix. Besides”—Kate patted his arm—“I don’t think she meant any of that mutilation stuff literally.”

  “Yeah, well, if I start bleeding all over the dance floor, I expect you to come rescue me.”

  “What, you’re not willing to bleed a little to get a wife?”

  “Actually,” he grumbled, “you’d be shocked to learn what I’m willing to do.”

  Chapter 11

  “OOPS, sorry,” Traci said as she stumbled over Mike’s feet.

  “No problem. My fault.” Mike dredged up a smile as he held the woman a bit farther away. He’d been trying off and on throughout the evening to teach her the Texas two-step. Not that he’d perfected the dance himself, but at least he left his partner’s toes intact.

  A burst of laughter drew his attention back toward the table. He narrowed his eyes at Kate and Frank, who sat with their heads together looking as chummy as old lovers.

  “Sorry,” Traci said again and Mike hid a grimace as pain shot up his leg. One more dance with Traci and he really would be bleeding on the dance floor. “I just don’t get this two-step stuff, you know,” she complained, studying her feet. “Why can’t Texans dance like normal people?”

  Good question, he thought as his gaze drifted back toward Kate. He imagined holding her in his arms as their bodies swayed to some smoky, soft-rock tune. Of course, at the moment, he’d settle for just getting her to smile at him as openly as she was smiling at Frank.

  “Do you think it’s working?” Traci asked.

  “Hmm?” He glanced down and found his dance partner looking toward the table.

  “Have you managed to make her jealous yet?”

  His neck heated as he realized he’d been caught. The first time he’d asked Traci to dance had been to appease Kate, and to keep up the pretense of a wife hunt. Each time after that had been with a growing need to get Kate’s attention.