But Middle Valley wasn’t Hollywood. People weren’t out to get each other. Besides Mavis was a nice person, she wasn’t an opportunist. A gossip, yes, but not vindictive. It would never occur to her to call a tabloid or news reporter.
“Ty? Everything okay?”
He looked at Carrie and threw the car into gear. “Of course. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
Chapter Five
Carrie set the phone down beside the stove and sighed. Phew, at least that’s over with. She’d been stressing all day about the dinner time check-in with her father. Usually they just chit-chatted about the weather, a funny story about a local parishioner, or tidbits of news from the Archbishop. Not a daily interrogation, but if the subject of Ty and the press event came up...
If he didn’t ask specifically about Ty, she sure as heck wouldn’t mention him. So if she was guilty of lying by omission then so be it. It wouldn’t be the first time.
The angry wind rattled the frame on the kitchen window, so she pulled on the crank to tighten the seal. Installing new windows was next on her to-do list, but the barn took priority. Ty had been out there banging away since they came home from the store. Not that his diligence surprised her. What would, however, was if he didn’t come running when he smelled his favorite meal.
She pulled the pot roast from the oven and basted it, taking a deep whiff. Even though eating sometimes was a struggle, cooking was not. She considered it an art. When Lizzie told her Russ was coming home, Carrie insisted on cooking them dinner. She slid it back in the oven. It should be done in an hour. Then she'd pack it up and drive it down the road to them, hopefully before the snow started back up.
Carrie retrieved the strainer from the cabinet and went back to the sink to peel vegetables for the relish dish. She was stuffing the cucumber skins down the garbage disposal, when the door creaked open behind her.
“Something smells good in here,” Ty said from the mudroom, his voice carried on a rush of cold air. “If I didn’t know better I’d say its pot roast.”
Her heart skipped when she heard the thuds of his boots falling to the floor. “I hope you’re hungry.”
She heard him rub his hands together before opening the oven door behind her. “That’s one hell of a slab of meat, darlin’. What army are you feeding tonight?”
“Lizzie.”
“Damn, and I was hoping for leftovers.”
She smiled, her attention still fixed on the veggies. “I made two actually. The small one is for you. I thought I’d feed you first, before I took the rest over to Lizzie and Russ.”
“Feed me first? What am I a poodle?” He came up behind her and reached around for a carrot in the strainer. She smelled the snow on his sweatshirt, mingling with his musky aftershave. Her stomach stirred at the familiar scent, her eyes fluttered to a close, and she forced them back open.
He moved about the kitchen, setting the table, stirring the gravy. Things he used to do before. Years ago she loved moments like these. No rehearsed lines, no characters to play. Just the two of them co-existing, operating as a real-life, everyday couple.
Except now, things were different. Her lines were rehearsed, even if just in her head, and the space they shared was now clouded with regret. She sliced the carrot hard, taking a hunk of her skin along with the vegetable.
“Damn it!” She dropped the knife into the sink. Ty pushed around her and took her hand in his. “What’d you do?”
“What does it look like?”
He turned on the water, adjusting the hot and cold knobs. When the temperature satisfied his own hand, he held hers under the stream. “I think you might live, Lexie Love. It just looks like a flesh wound.”
She rolled her eyes at her character’s name. “Thanks, Jax, you’re my hero.”
“Let me put a bandage on it, so it doesn’t get infected.” He winked at her and opened the cabinet next to him. She stared at her small fingers held tightly by his large ones. Gentle and kind at times, but also strong and agile. She gulped, remembering the pleasure they conjured.
“You know, I snuck in here earlier for a glass of water, and you were in the other room on the phone.” He smoothed the bandage gently over the wound. “Sounded important.”
“It’s nothing,” she mumbled.
“You didn’t tell him I was here, did you?”
He said it like a statement rather than a question, and somehow the presumption irked her. “You’re not always the first topic of discussion, Ty.”
“When’s he coming home?”
“Tomorrow or the day after. He’s not sure.”
He nodded like he understood and turned his attention back to her bandaged hand. “Well, I think you won’t have to amputate, but the carrots are a casualty. You bled all over them.”
She looked into the sink at the tainted vegetables. “Sorry.”
“No problem with me. You know I’m a meat and potatoes man.” He picked up the strainer and dumped them into the sink. “How about you sit at the table and look pretty, and I’ll finish up here.”
“Ty-”
“Hush, girl,” he said, pulling the dinner plates from the hutch. “You’ve been putting me up in your house. The least I can do is serve you dinner.”
Carrie sat at the table with a cup of tea, watching Ty move around the kitchen. In minutes, he carved the roast and arranged the fixings on the table. He helped himself to some merlot from the wine closet in the pantry and handed her a glass.
“Looks good.” Ty rubbed his hands together, before sitting down across from her. His smile made it impossible to protest, when he spooned a healthy helping of mashed potatoes and a thick slice of meat on to her plate. If she didn’t have to worry about the camera’s scrutiny over the next few weeks, she’d eat at least some of it. But the power in defying her hunger was far too liberating. If she couldn’t control the hold Ty still had over her, at least she could take heart in resisting a piece of beef.
“Carrie Ann, I’m not trying to boss you around, but I really want you to eat a little of that.”
The yellow pond of butter in the potatoes and the perfectly pink meat looked incredibly appetizing. It made her feel even better when she pushed the plate away. “I can’t.”
He stared at her, balancing his fork in his fingers.
“And I know what you are thinking but it’s not like that. I just want to lose a few pounds before I go in front of the camera, that’s all.”
“No.” He took a sip of wine and shook his head. “Absolutely not. I like you the way you are.”
“I don’t care what you like. I care what I like, and I want to look my best.”
He stabbed a bite of meat, and shoved it in his mouth. His calm was a practiced tactic she remembered well. When her emotions got to her, he always steadied his. Crisis never rattled him. He was always lucid and methodical. At times the strategy frustrated her, and at this moment she almost resented it.
Her gaze fell on the Celeb! Magazine lying at the far end of the long table. Somehow they had ended up with it after their visit to the grocery store. The corner picture showed a dark-haired model in a string bikini, hanging on Ty at some European beach. She bit her lip and regarded Ty sitting across from of her. “You know, Ty, you’re used to sharing the screen with beautiful women. I would think you’d want me to look my best.”
He dragged his napkin across his mouth, and his forehead wrinkled in the center. When he spotted the magazine, he dropped his fork to his plate. “Okay, that’s it. I think we need to clear the air here.”
“Oh yeah, about what?”
He leaned back in his chair and cleared his throat. His pursed lips told her he chose his words carefully. “Okay, I know it may be your intention to lose a few pounds, but I don’t trust you can leave it at that.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Oh no? Look at your track record.”
“And don’t you think I’ve learned my lesson?”
“I don’t know, Carrie Ann. You tell m
e.”
She wasn’t sure if she was offended by his boorishness or grateful for his patience. She looked down at her plate. The sight of the gravy turned her stomach, so she closed her eyes and took a breath.
When she felt his hand caress the side of her head, she flinched. “Can I ask you something?”
“What?” she croaked.
“Remember we had our little ritual? Can we do that?” The palm of his hand slipped across her cheek, his thumb brushing her chin. “Please.”
At first the idea of doing something so intimate scared her, and then it angered her that he had the audacity to ask. Confusion swam inside of her. What would a stronger woman do?
If it meant proving she was okay, there was no reason to balk. Her decision made, she lifted her fork, and with painstaking effort took seven bites of each food. Minutes felt like hours as the food stung her mouth, pushing down her throat in a tasteless lump. She felt defeated and weak. Her palms moistened, and her breath thinned. Again, she closed her eyes, this time to steady herself, and when the last bit of food passed her lips she took the glass of wine Ty offered.
When she pushed the plate away, her heartbeat slowed to a gentler pace. She followed Ty’s shadow across the floor, and when he stood next to her, he offered his hand. “Come on,” he whispered, his voice as soft as his touch. She rose and forced one foot in front of the other until she found herself in the great room, with Ty standing beside her in the darkness.
The outbuilding lights across the yard hit Ty at his back. It reminded her of standing on a soundstage, the stillness of the room, the silence collecting around them. In front of them, the gigantic stone fireplace. It was the only one in the house still not equipped with a gas insert, and the sweet scent of smoldering oak swam around them like a spell. The embers little more than a glow, and he released her hand to add another log to the fire.
When the flames danced to life, he brushed the dirt from his hands and straightened the long mirror above the mantle. He turned back to Carrie, his fingers lingering at the top button of her shirt. “You ready for this?”
His breath hit her in the face, and her lips parted in response.
“Open your eyes,” he whispered. “You know the rules.”
He smiled down at her, the firelight twinkled in his azure eyes. She heard each button release with a snap, the sound deafening in her ears. Sliding his hands to her shoulders, he pushed the fabric to the floor. The sudden rush of air brought a hiss to her lips. He chuckled and ran his hands over her goose-pimpled skin.
“You’re shaking.”
“I’m cold.”
“You’re scared.” He touched her face, his thumb running down her throat. “Don’t be scared, baby. It’s just me.”
That was precisely the problem.
Holding her by the hips, he slowly turned her toward the mirror. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust, but just as they did, they clouded with tears. She turned her head against his chest, grabbing his shirt in her fists. Gently he released her, his long fingers running circles on the nape of her neck. “You’re okay,” he soothed. “Just look at yourself. Tell me what you see.”
She gawked at her own image in the mirror. The white lace bra and panties looked virginal, and considering who was next to her, it seemed silly and embarrassing. Her hair held loosely bound, and tendrils curled around her face. People liked to describe her as a nymph, and while she couldn’t say that she thought it was inaccurate, nothing else really came to mind. She had the hips and breasts of a woman, but on a childlike frame. In Hollywood, she wasn’t voluptuous enough, and as a ballerina she was too big. Never just right. And that’s how she wanted things.
“Work in progress,” she mumbled.
His mirrored reflection dropped his head to hers, and he gently kissed her temple. “Come here.”
He led her to the couch and laid down with her in spoon fashion. Her head rested on the inside of his thick arm, her cheek tingled as his breath teased her skin. The heat of the fire hit her face, but despite the warmth she shivered.
“Relax.” He brushed his fingers though her hair. “I’m right here.”
They were the exact words she had dreamed of hearing for years after he’d left, but tonight they offered more confusion than comfort. There had been so many things she’d wanted to say if ever she was given the chance, but at this moment there was only one think she could think of. “Everything is different now,” she whispered. “So different.”
“Hush, darling.’” He pulled her closer, his southern draw thick against her ear. “It’s all over. The past is the past.”
“If I could change things I would. You have to believe me when I say I would never do that to myself twice. I’m stronger now.”
“You were always strong, Carrie.” His fingers splayed against her belly, teasing the edge of her panties.
“Ty really, I mean it.” She rolled over on her back so she could look him in the eyes. “Running this place has been like a weird therapy. I make my own decisions, and live how I want. Plus, I get to take care of people instead of everyone taking care of me. It gives me a sense of control.”
“I’m glad, Carrie.”
She took a deep breath, suddenly realizing she’d let her mouth run off. “Sorry, sometimes I go all pop psychology.”
“I remember.” He chuckled and laid his head on her chest. “Keep talking, darlin’, Lord knows I could use some.”
She touched his face, her fingers running over the dark stubble. In her whole life the only person she had ever been completely honest with was Ty. Even at times when she lied to herself, Ty knew the truth. It wasn’t until that moment she realized how much she had missed that, and how much she needed for that to still be the case. “My weight is something I can control, Ty. Even if other things around me I can’t. This whole thing with the show, and seeing you, and worrying about my dad and the press.” She took a deep breath. “I don’t have much control over any of it, and I just want you to know that I know that.”
“You don’t have anything to prove, Carrie Ann. Leave that to me.”
She felt his hand run the length of her body, down her side, over her hip. It felt good. Almost right. She let her body ease into it. “Do you remember when we used to lay here and run our lines?”
A puff of air tickled her breast. “Sure.” Ty chuckled. “Earl was always impressed with how well we knew our stuff. At least the love scenes anyway.”
“I miss your piano playing. No one has touched that thing since you.”
“I only played for you,” he said in his deep gravel voice. “We were good together, Carrie Ann. So good.”
Her body tensed when she felt his mouth on her neck. Kissing her gently, scattering her thoughts and assaulting her better judgment. Instinctively, her hands wandered south and reached for the fly of his jeans.
“Carrie, no.”
She jumped when she felt a vibration against her hip. Ty cursed then moved around behind her, retrieving his cell phone from his pocket. “It’s Earl. Should I take it?”
She looked at him over her shoulder. “If you don’t, you know he’s just going to keep calling. I have to take dinner to Lizzie anyway.”
“You’re the boss.” He put his finger to his lip and pressed the “answer” key. “Earl? What’s up?”
Carrie lifted her head, straining to hear Earl on the other end. Ty still held her against him, his hand rubbing her arm while he spoke.
“Yeah, I talked to Carrie after we left the studio Friday. I haven’t seen her since, but she seemed okay.” He smiled down at her. “I think we smoothed things over at least a little.”
The statement offended her for some reason. She pushed herself up from the couch and threw on her clothes, before heading back into the kitchen to wrap up the food.
“No.” Ty laughed. “I think she looked great.”
She ripped the tinfoil off the roll like it gave her a reason. How long would she have to put up with people talking about her like a sc
ience project? Like she was a time bomb or an invalid. Who was he to decide what she was ready for?
And how many times would she let Ty Hollister reject her?
He hung up and came into the kitchen. He scooped up some dishes from the table and deposited them in the sink beside her. “Well, Earl’s glad to hear we made nice. By the way the story is I’m still in New York, and you’re here safe and sound.”
“You could have told him the truth. We don’t need to lie to him anymore.”
“You’re probably right.” He came up behind her and squeezed his shoulder. “Habit I guess.”
“And he could have called me himself and asked how I was.”
“Put yourself in his shoes, Carrie. Before you signed on to do this press stint, the last time he heard from you, you were in a Connecticut hospital with an ‘undisclosed ailment.’” He quoted with his hands. “He’s just concerned.”
“Concerned I’m going to jump ship.” She dropped the basket back on the stove with a thud. Turning toward him, she squared her shoulders, trying to look as imposing as possible with more than a foot disadvantage. “Just because you were my mouthpiece in the past, doesn’t mean that you are now.”
“What did I say so wrong?”
“And I don’t need a babysitter. I was fine without you before, and I’m fine without you now.” She stomped around him to the mud room, jammed her feet in her boots, and threw on her jacket.
“If anyone in this room needed a babysitter it would be me. I know how capable you are.”
“Good, then I don’t need to explain myself any further.” She picked up the food and stomped out the door, unsure if she had a point in the first place.
***
“Marcy, come quick! I think I’m blind!”
Layla Hollister ripped the cucumber slices from her eyes and chucked them over the lanai. A pool boy in a leopard print Speedo ducked. He still sported a knob on his forehead from where an avocado hit him earlier. “And didn’t I ask for a pitcher of margaritas an hour ago? I’m parched, people! How come no one around here can follow directions?”
Undercover Heat Page 7
