"My fault. Only a fool rides in the middle of a road with his mind wanderin'." Carefully he settled the battered hat on his head. "You aren't from around here."
"I'm British originally. These days, my official home is in California." Kenzie scanned the countryside. "Your horse seems to have vanished. Can I give you a lift?"
"Wouldn't mind if you did. My horse will get home before I do, but it's a long walk for an old man. My name's Grady." He offered his hand.
"Mine is Scott."
"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Scott." Grady might be an old man, but he had a powerful grip. And, pleasantly, he didn't seem to recognize Kenzie.
They climbed into the SUV and Kenzie set off, following his passenger's directions. A couple of miles along, Grady directed him to turn left onto a primitive road that led under a sturdy archway built of weathered timber. Across the top, the name Cibola had been shaped from wooden letters.
Kenzie searched his memory as he drove through the arch. "Didn't the Spaniards explore this area searching for the legendary Seven Cities of Cibola?"
"Yep, that's the tale. The Cities of Gold. The conquistadors hoped to find the kind of wealth they'd looted from the Aztecs. They never found what they were lookin' for, but I did. That's why I named my place Cibola. Forty-seven years we've lived here."
Kenzie crested a small hill, then halted to admire the valley below. Carpeted with grass and wildflowers, it lay serene and lovely as a Chinese landscape painting. On the opposite side of the valley, a sprawling adobe house nestled into a hillside among a scattering of outbuildings.
To the left light glinted from the surface of what looked like a small lake. Above, jagged mountains loomed against a sky of breathtaking blue. "What incredible beauty. Do you own this whole valley?"
"Yep. Not the best spot for ranchin', but there's not a prettier place on God's green earth." Grady sighed. "We're going to have to sell up soon."
Guessing the other man wouldn't have mentioned the subject if he hadn't felt the need to talk, Kenzie asked, "Why do you have to leave?"
"Too much work, not enough money. Had to take out a mortgage when my wife was ill a few years back. When we sell and pay that off, there should be enough left to buy a little place down in Chama. It'll be a lot easier life." He frowned at Kenzie. "Don't know why I'm tellin' you all this."
"Some subjects are easier to tell a stranger than a friend."
"True, and you're a deep listener."
"Listening is a large part of my job." A good actor had to be a good observer. Even as Kenzie sympathized with the old rancher's plight, he was taking mental notes of what dignified despair looked like.
He put the vehicle in gear and slowly crossed the valley on the rutted drive. As they pulled up in front of the adobe house, a pleasantly round woman with snowy hair and tanned skin came out to greet them, accompanied by a dog with some border collie in its family tree. "Glad to see you back, Jim. Figured it was a bad sign when Diablo showed up alone." She couldn't quite conceal the relief in her voice.
Grady climbed stiffly from the SUV. "Luckily, Mr. Scott was there when Diablo and I parted company. Mr. Scott, my wife, Alma, and my dog, Hambone."
As Hambone trotted forward, tongue lolling, Alma studied Kenzie, her eyes narrowed. He probably looked familiar, but she couldn't quite place him. "Thanks for bringing my wanderer home, Mr. Scott."
"That was the least I could do when it was my vehicle that startled Diablo." Her face suggested Indian and Hispanic blood. Like the house, she belonged in this place. His gaze moved across the adobe and its surroundings. "Your home is very lovely, Mrs. Grady. It could be on the cover of a book about New Mexico."
She smiled. "Spoken like a tourist. The house may be picturesque, but to me it's a run-down old place that needs one repair after another. I'd trade it for a nice new double-wide trailer with good plumbing and heating and not much to clean."
Wondering if she was saying that to prepare herself to leave her longtime home, he said, "Please don't shatter my illusions. Like all tourists, I like to think that now and then I find something authentic."
"Oh, Cibola is authentic enough. Not convenient, but authentic." She hesitated, then asked shyly, "Would you join us for supper? The food's simple, but... authentic."
"I'd be delighted." He liked the Gradys, and dining here would keep him away from the hotel—and the shadow of Rainey's presence—a while longer.
Grady ruffled Hambone's ears. "How about I show you around while Alma finishes cookin'?"
It was another offer Kenzie had no desire to refuse. Just as people interested him, so did their settings, and the Gradys fit this ranch the way well-worn tools fit a hand.
Hambone at their heels, they visited the stables, where Diablo was placidly eating dinner. A small gelding was the only other occupant of the dozen stalls. Grady produced a sugar cube for the gelding. "When the kids were growin' up we had half a dozen horses. I hope we'll be able to take these two along when we move. Like us, they're too old to leam new tricks."
As they moved among the outbuildings, Kenzie spotted a small satellite dish. Grady said, "The kids chipped in to buy us that for our forty-fifth anniversary. Authentic means satellite dishes and four-wheel drive, not livin' in a museum."
"I should think a museum would be boring." Cibola wasn't—it was a living entity, well-cared for despite signs that money was in short supply. The adobe buildings looked as if they'd grown from the soil and had the spare, pure elegance of function and simplicity. Kenzie studied everything, an idea tickling the back of his mind.
The small, postcard-perfect lake was only a five-minute walk away. When they reached it, Grady said, "Alma wasn't kiddin' about the double-wide trailer. When we find a buyer, I might ask if he'd sell us a lot so we can put a little place here on the lake. More private than Chama. Shouldn't think a new owner would want the old ones around, though."
"None of your children want to take over the ranch?"
"Not a rancher in the lot, but we're proud of 'em." Grady gave a fleeting smile. "A teacher, an air force pilot, and a nurse. Do you have children?"
"No." Kenzie softened the edge in his voice. "No children, and once the courts finish their business, no wife."
Grady gave a sympathetic nod. "There's all kinds of hard luck."
When they returned to the house, Grady sent his guest inside while he took care of some chores. Kenzie saw when he entered Alma's kitchen that she hadn't exaggerated about the work that was needed. Though immaculately clean, the appliances were old and rickety, the sink marred by permanent stains, and the cabinets cheap and inadequate.
Yet that hardly mattered, for the kitchen had the warmth of a mother's smile. The irregular beams in the ceiling had been shaped by hand, and the quarry tile floor was softened by Indian rugs whose colors were muted with age and honest wear.
He held his hands to the rounded adobe oven built in a corner, feeling the warmth of whatever was baking inside. "I've been in Southwestern-style houses in California, but they're only pale imitations of this. Would it be too forward of me to ask for a tour?'
"I'd be happy to show you around." When he smiled, she added, "Better watch that smile, Mr. Scott. Anyone ever say you're too handsome for your own good?"
"Frequently," he said with great dryness.
Chuckling, she showed him through the adobe. High ceilings and spacious rooms that had been designed to keep the house cool in summer gave the structure an airy feel.
He liked the serenity of the white stucco walls and mellow pine floors, and the warm promise of the massive living room fireplace. The windows in the room looked across the valley and showed the sun sliding behind stark mountain peaks. He paused to admire the blazing colors. "Does it snow much here?"
"Some, but usually we don't get a lot. We're at the perfect elevation—high enough not to scorch in summer, low enough not to be buried with snow in winter."
The bathroom was as primitive as the kitchen, but like the bedrooms, it was generously sized. The smalles
t of the four bedrooms had been converted to a computer room. "E-mail sure is handy for keeping in touch with the kids and grand-kids," Alma said. "When we first came here, Cibola seemed like the end of the world, but not now."
"How do you feel about moving?"
Instead of telling him to mind his own business, she shrugged. "This house is too big now the kids are gone, but I'd be lying if I didn't say it'll be hard to leave. No use complaining about what can't be helped, though." Briskly she turned back to the kitchen. "This is my favorite part of the house."
She opened a back door and stepped into a small garden surrounded by high adobe walls. Stone paths wound between vibrant flowers and shrubs, while in one corner vines were trained over an arbor to shade a table and chairs.
Kenzie caught his breath. "A secret garden."
"Like the movie? I watched that with my grandkids. This garden is walled to keep the wild pigs from eating my herbs and flowers."
"You've made the practical into a thing of beauty." He touched the ripening sphere of a tomato. A tabby cat poked her head out from under a shrubby rosemary bush, surveyed Kenzie thoughtfully, then began washing one of several plump, furry kittens. Above the walls, craggy mountains floated majestically. What would it be like to live amidst such peace?
Dinner was classic Southwestern fare, with com tortillas, beans, rice, and salad. It was also sensational, though if the peppers had been any hotter, Kenzie would have been in trouble. After washing down the last bite with coffee, he asked, "Is New Mexican cuisine different from other regions, or is this so good because of the cook?"
"Both." Grady smiled fondly at his wife. "New Mexican food is better than Texas or Arizona to begin with, and nobody makes it better than Alma."
Placidly she topped off everyone's coffee. "He learned early that the best way to eat well was to flatter me shamelessly."
Kenzie laughed, feeling as if the Gradys were old friends. He hoped their children appreciated how lucky they had been to be raised in this place, by these people. "You're serious about selling?"
"Dead serious," Grady replied, his light mood vanishing. "I'm calling a real estate agent this week."
Kenzie hesitated for an instant, checking to see if he was really sure about this. He was. "I want to buy Cibola."
Absolute silence. The Gradys stared at him.
"Since I travel a great deal, I don't know how much time I'll be able to spend here," he continued. "So I'd like to work out an agreement with you. In return for my building you a house on the lake, will you stay on and watch over the place?"
Alma clunked her coffee cup onto the table. "Are you serious?"
"Completely."
Alma's eyes widened with shock. "You're Kenzie Scott, the actor! I knew you looked familiar, but it never occurred to me a big Hollywood star could just wander in!"
"I'm shooting a movie about twenty miles away." He looked down at the beautifully woven old Indian rug, knowing he must reveal something of his private self in return for their honesty. "I have a home I love on the Pacific, but in Southern California one is always aware there are millions of people nearby. Cibola has the serenity of solitude. Since you're planning to sell, maybe... maybe it was meant for us to meet."
"Do you have half a dozen homes all over the world?" Alma asked.
"Not half a dozen. Just the California house, which I'd keep because of the amount of time I have to spend in Los Angeles, plus an apartment in New York."
Overcoming his initial shock, Grady said, "The place on the lake—would you put us out if you decided you wanted a new caretaker?"
Kenzie thought a moment. "You would own the house and the land it's on, but we'd need an agreement that I'd have the right of first refusal at a fair market price if you ever decided to sell. I wouldn't want strangers there."
Eyes sparkling, Alma said, "So I get my double-wide trailer!"
"Actually, I was thinking of one of those prefabricated redwood homes with a nice deck." Kenzie smiled. "Since I'll be looking at it, I want the place to be attractive."
Alma and her husband looked at each other, and she gave a faint nod. Grady offered his hand to Kenzie. "If you're not a raving lunatic, you've got yourself a deal."
* * *
After an hour of working out details, Kenzie headed back to the hotel. In the morning he'd call his business manager and put the legal wheels in motion, but that handshake was the real contract.
Money could make things happen very quickly, and he wanted to be able to come here to reknit his raveled nerves when he finished shooting The Centurion. A prefab house wouldn't be quite as easy as a double-wide trailer, but it would still be fast, and the Gradys could choose a house that appealed to them.
Alma had happily agreed to do light housekeeping and some cooking when he was in residence. He suspected she missed having a house full of children to care for.
Buying a ranch on impulse might seem eccentric, but he had no doubts at all. He looked forward to retreating to this place of tranquility whenever he wanted—and it would have no memories of Rainey.
Chapter 10
As nightfall obscured the spectacular New Mexican scenery, Val's eyes drifted shut. She hadn't gotten much sleep since agreeing to work on The Centurion.
She'd been on the verge of backing out daily, but kept returning to the fact that she needed a change. And maybe Rainey really needed her as well. In the meantime, if being picked up by a Lincoln town car in Albuquerque and carried to the door of her destination was typical of the movie business, Val could get used to it.
The movie was headquartered in a sprawling, lodge-style resort hotel in the middle of nowhere. A very upscale lodge, she saw when she checked in. Yes, she could get used to this.
The bellman was whisking her luggage away when Kenzie Scott walked in the front door and headed toward the front desk. Val struggled with an impulse to go over and deck him. Not that she'd be successful, unless maybe she stood on a chair for a better shot. Unlike many stars, Kenzie Scott was tall and strongly built, not pumped up like a bodybuilder, but with the overall fitness of a decathlete.
He was also surreally handsome, with perfect, ruggedly masculine features. Though she'd met him once when visiting Rainey, she'd forgotten the impact of his looks, which had to be seen to be believed.
But he'd made Rainey miserable, which deserved a decking in Val's book. Though as a lawyer she knew that every dispute had at least two sides, probably more, she turned off objectivity when her friends were involved. Especially when the friend in question was Rainey, who'd bailed Val out more than once.
Since Kenzie was the Big Star of this picture, Val would have to be polite to him, but she'd save that for the next day, when she'd had a good night's rest. Quietly she carried her hand luggage to the elevator so she'd be gone by the time he finished his business at the front desk.
The elevator doors had almost closed when they suddenly snapped open and Kenzie Scott stepped in. Val withdrew to a corner as he glanced at the control panel. There were only four floors and apparently they were both going to the fourth. His gaze touched her absently.
Then, dammit, he said, "You're Rainey's friend Val, aren't you?"
She nodded. "I just got in." Irritated by his lighthearted expression, she added, "I suppose you've been out tomcatting around."
The sound of her words appalled her. She hadn't even started work, and she'd just gotten herself fired by breaking the first rule of moviemaking, which was that The Star was never, never to be annoyed.
Kenzie looked startled instead of angry. "Actually, no. I did see a cat, but even though it was female, I had no designs on its virtue."
Flushing, Val said, "I'm sorry. I had no business saying any such thing."
"Probably not, but you're Rainey's friend. It would be odd if you weren't partisan." The elevator glided to a stop. He stepped back politely so she could exit first.
Wishing she could sink through the floor, Val stepped out, then had to pause to figure out which direct
ion her room was. Behind her, Kenzie said, "Do you need help with your bag? It appears to have a rock collection inside."
Why did he have to have that wonderful British voice? She pivoted and started down the left-hand corridor. "I'm fine, thanks. I'm used to hauling heavy loads around."
"And wouldn't accept my help if I were offering free water in Death Valley." He fell into step beside her.
She smiled reluctantly. "Probably not. I'm famously stubborn. But I'll do my best to be polite." Reaching her room, she slid the card key into the slot. "Good night, Mr. Scott."
"Kenzie." He smiled. "I always envied Rainey her friends. Good night, Val."
Wishing she hadn't seen that smile, she darted into her room as he continued down the corridor. His charm could melt asphalt shingles off a roof. And those green eyes!
No wonder Rainey had married him against her better judgment. Of course that easy charm, lavishly spread around, had been the problem, but it was hard to dislike him in the flesh as much as Val did in the abstract. Which was just as well, since they'd be working together.
Flopping on the bed, she lifted the phone and asked the switchboard to connect her to Rainey's room. She half expected not to be put through, but Rainey picked up immediately. "Hi, Rainey. I'm here." Val covered a yawn. "Do I start work immediately, or do I get a good night's sleep first?"
"You made it! Come up to my room for a hot fudge sundae." Rainey chuckled. "I'll fill you in and even give you an official red Centurion show jacket, which won't go with your hair any better than mine, so I guess you start work tonight."
Val's doubts about the wisdom of this job evaporated. She might be in for a wild ride, but she wouldn't be bored.
* * *
Kenzie smiled to himself as he entered his suite. Val Covington was a small but not-to-be-underestimated wildcat. He wondered how much Rainey had told her friend about their marriage. Probably not a lot—Rainey was almost as reticent about personal matters as Kenzie—but enough that Val seemed to be ready to scratch his eyes out.
Saying he envied Rainey her friends had been the honest truth. Women were so much better at sharing their feelings and supporting each other than men. That was something he'd never been able to do, and not only because he was male and British. Despite all Trevor had done for him, they'd never had a confiding relationship. Even with Charles Winfield, there had been subjects untouched. A good thing he had acting as an outlet for past angst.
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