Scott swallowed three aspirin and grimaced. His head pounded. He clenched his teeth and willed the pills to work quickly. He knew what he was supposed to do in the next scene, but his body moved slower than he expected. It seemed like a huge effort to get out of the chair and walk onto the set.
He could fight fires, carry men on his shoulder and move heavy equipment around, yet his body acted as if he were ninety years old. Right now he wished for the comforts of his time and a sharp, soothing Glenlivet.
Maybe he should see the doctor again. His vision blurred and he felt as if he walked in a tunnel. He decided to check into it after they shot the scene. He didn’t want Westerly pissed off at him for delaying the shoot any longer.
The argument between William, Susie and Alex went off without a hitch. They shot it three times from different angles. Scott’s head pounded and he still had trouble seeing but he managed to get through it anyway. As soon as Westerly said cut, he sank to a chair and dropped his head to his hands.
“Forrester,” Westerly shouted. “You okay?”
“No, Damon. I think I need the doctor again.” Scott’s voice sounded weak. He was exhausted. “Tell me where the nearest one is. I might have a concussion. Any way to beat the system and get something to drink?”
A few weak laughs sounded from the crew and a few minutes later a paper cup appeared in front of Scott. He looked up into Carey Chambers’ somber face. “Here. You don’t know where this came from.”
Scott took the cup and gulped the contents. Fiery warmth spread through him from the straight bourbon. Within seconds he felt his headache disappear.
“Get Dr. Miller here,” Westerly ordered. “Stay right where you are, Forrester, he’ll come to you.”
Scott nodded his head but the movement brought back the pain. He just wanted to sleep. He didn’t know how long it took the doctor to arrive but it seemed hours. When the short, rotund man with horn-rimmed glassed arrived Scott was nearly asleep in the chair.
“Wake up, Mr. Forrester. You can’t sleep,” the doctor said.
Scott jumped and pain shot through his head. “Don’t yell at me like that,” he said in a sour tone.
The doctor reared back. “You been drinking?”
Scott didn’t want the man questioning him. Who did he think he was, the Prohibition Police? “That’s none of your business.”
The doctor’s eyebrows rose but he kept quiet as he probed Scott’s head. “It is my business if you were drinking illegal whiskey. You could have injured someone other than yourself when the lights fell.” He pressed the lump on the back of Scott’s head causing Scott to suck in a sharp breath. He shone a light in Scott’s eyes, looked in his ears and felt along his arms and legs. “You’ll live, Mr. Forrester. But you’re gonna have one hell of a banger for a while.” The man rummaged in his black bag and came up with a bottle of pills. “Here take two of these tonight. They’ll keep you awake. You can’t fall asleep for twenty-four hours. Wouldn’t want you to forget and not wake up.” The doctor laughed at his own joke. “Don’t go wandering to any speakeasies to find some spirits to keep you awake. Los Angeles and this studio are strictly following the law.”
Scott didn’t care. “I’m tired. I don’t want to stay up. I’m not about to wander a strange city for a drink.” Scott felt like a recalcitrant child. “I’m going to sleep. Now.”
“Oh, no. No, no. That wouldn’t do. You must stay awake.” Dr. Miller turned to the director. “We need to keep him awake tonight. He can sleep tomorrow.”
“He can’t sleep tomorrow, he has to film tomorrow,” Westerly said. “Who wants babysitting duty?” Westerly asked the cast and crew.
No one answered. Then Maggie timidly volunteered. “I’ll do it, Mr. Westerly.”
“Can’t have you tired too, little Maggie. Nope. Chambers. You don’t have any scenes to shoot tomorrow, you watch Forrester.”
Chambers rose out of his chair. His face had turned a dark purple and the tips of his ears were bright red. “I’m not babysitting that pansy. I’m the star of the show for God’s sake. Find a flunky to watch the clumsy oaf.”
Scott waved his hand at the silent screen star. “Thanks for your concern, Chambers. I’ll take care of myself. And don’t worry, I wouldn’t want to do anything to lessen your star power. After all, one day you’ll be seen on Turner Classic Movies and no one will know who you are until Robert Osborne explains it before the movie starts.”
Scott could hear a pin drop. He pushed up from his chair and swayed a bit on weak legs.
Chambers strode over to him and pushed a finger in his chest. “Don’t ever speak to me like that again.”
“Right.” Scott turned to go to his trailer. He knew he should thank Chambers for the drink, but he just couldn’t do it at the moment.
“I mean it. I deserve respect.”
He turned back to Chambers. “Then quit acting like a prima donna. And a lush,” Scott muttered.
“Why you—”
Even with his pounding headache Scott easily sidestepped Carey Chambers’ fist. He grabbed the man’s wrist and turned it, effectively stopping Chambers from any further forward movement. “Don’t mess with me, Chambers. I’ll have your ass on the floor before you know what hit you.” Scott dropped the man’s wrist and walked out of the building.
The last thing he heard before the door closed was Damon Westerly asking, “What’s Turner Classic Movies and who’s Robert Osborne?”
* * * * *
After chasing down two more aspirin with a Coke Scott pulled out Shauna’s BlackBerry. He stared at the device willing it to work. “Find me, sister-in-law. Before I get killed.” Scott threw the device on the chair across from the sofa and stretched out. He wanted to sleep off his headache, but the doctor said he couldn’t. He wasn’t a paramedic, but he didn’t think the rules were so stringent in his time. Since he’d never had a concussion before he decided to play it on the safe side and picked up a magazine to read.
But two minutes later he was falling asleep and Scott knew he’d better get moving. He left the trailer to walk around the darkened movie lot. Most people had gone home but there were those like Scott who stayed in their trailers because of early call times. He grabbed a ham sandwich from the commissary and munched on it while strolling the lot. Buildings of varying sizes popped up out of the dark. Enormous ones like the studio his film was being shot in loomed like hulking monsters in the dark. Little shops and sheds littered the area, too. Scott knew from the few days he’d been there that these smaller buildings were crucial to the smooth running of a studio lot.
He hadn’t had much time to think about it, and now he wondered what his fate would be. If this movie hit it big would he become a well-known star? Scott didn’t want that. He liked being invisible to all but his family and friends. Scott treasured his independence, his freedom to move about the world in his own little way. He didn’t need to attract attention. Being a firefighter was enough celebrity for him.
Ever since high school he drew attention just by walking through the school. Well over six feet back then, he stood head and shoulders above the other kids. That put him on the basketball team. He was good at sports but didn’t care for the politics played by the teachers and coaches.
Girls trailed after him like puppies. When the team won the state championship for the first time in twenty years, he had no peace. Hounded and followed constantly, he couldn’t even go to the bathroom without a girl sneaking in to be with him. Scott’s teammates didn’t understand his need for privacy and teased him mercilessly. He ignored them.
Now here he was in 1925 filming a movie. Nothing like being thrust out of his comfort zone. Scott pondered his recent change in scenery. Times were slower. People cared more. There were no frantic cell phone calls from rude people in theaters and restaurants. Men tipped their hats, women acknowledged compliments with small smiles and people dressed with care and style. Women wore skirts and dresses, men suits and hats.
Scott had read t
he Los Angeles Times every day since he arrived. Politics were the same in every time. He read about the professional baseball team, the Vernon Tigers owned by Roscoe “Fatty” Arbuckle who played for the Pacific Coast League and when he saw an article about the Los Angeles Railway he decided to take a ride on a trolley at his first opportunity.
The night was dark and quiet, no birds sang their nightly tune. Scott smelled hay and horses, probably for the western being filmed. A slight oily scent reached him but he wasn’t bothered by it. Who knew what chemicals were used in this day for special effects.
As he walked between buildings Scott realized his headache had lessened. Thank God. His head felt clearer and when he passed a signpost in the middle of a road that pointed to different buildings he realized he wasn’t seeing double anymore. He glanced up at the sky and froze. The stars were so clear and close he could reach out and touch them.
This was a night for romance, Scott thought. Beautiful turquoise eyes floated in front of him and a subtle scent teased his consciousness. He hadn’t realized it but his walk around the studio had taken him to Maggie’s trailer.
The blackness of the night was complete. Scott leaned against a wall of the nearest building and wondered what the beautiful socialite thought of her co-star. He knew she was attracted to him. Her body instantly responded to his kisses, his touches and his smoldering stares.
And Scott sure smoldered.
He’d never reacted with such force to a woman before. Even in his teenage years he hadn’t felt such an overwhelming need for a woman. When they were in the same room he felt a magnetic pull toward Maggie. The widening of her eyes each time they were near each other told him that she felt it too. Scott visualized her perfect mouth opening, her tongue darting out to moisten her lips and the flush that would rise on her face.
The last scene before the lights fell had been a mix of powerful emotions. When they’d kissed he’d forgotten all but the hot blood rushing through him. Damon Westerly had ordered them closer together and his hips had molded to hers. Her sigh tore through him when Maggie gave in to his ministrations. He couldn’t keep his hands from running up her small waist, past her breasts and trailing featherlight strokes along her swan-like neck.
Too bad the lovemaking was just a scene in a movie. Scott had never felt such intensity before. He wondered what it would be like away from the burning lights, the intrusive cameras and the paid onlookers. He knew the crew had a job to do, but somehow this felt more than fantasy to him.
It felt like forever.
Something moved in the darkness and Scott straightened. He probably imagined it. His mind went into hyperdrive whenever he was around Maggie Ingram. But some instinct told him to stay put for a while longer. It paid off when a man emerged from the shadows. He crept near the trailer then stopped under a window. Anger flooded Scott. Who would be creeping around in the dark by Maggie’s trailer? He caught himself before he barked out a laugh. Wasn’t that just what he was doing?
The man straightened and stepped up to the door. He knocked. Scott heard Maggie’s answer and the door opened. When the light flooded over the man’s face he saw Carey Chambers standing with his hat in his hand.
“Hello, Maggie. I hope I’m not intruding at this late hour,” Chambers said.
“I’m preparing for bed, Mr. Chambers. Is there some importance to this visit, or can we talk in the morning?”
Chambers fiddled with his hat, looked down at the step then said, “I just wanted to be sure you weren’t hurt earlier today. I’ve been very worried about you.” Chambers swayed a bit, but steadied himself.
“I’m quite fine, sir. Thank you for your concern.” Maggie stepped back to close the door.
“Wait. Maggie. Would you mind if I came in for a short chat?”
“Now? It’s quite late, Mr. Chambers. It wouldn’t be proper.”
Maggie had closed the door partway. Scott could hear the slight puzzlement in her voice.
Chambers stepped back a step. From where he stood Scott could see a change in Chambers’ features. His face hardened, his eyebrows lowered. Before Scott could react, Chambers shoved the door open and, knocking Maggie out of the way, forced his way into her trailer.
Maggie screamed and screamed. She kicked and shouted and pushed Chambers away from her.
Scott ran to the open door, hauled the drunk actor by his collar off a squirming and fighting Maggie and threw him out of her trailer. He towered over the man sprawled on the ground. “Don’t ever force yourself on a lady again,” he growled. “If I see you lay a hand on her, I’ll kill you. Remember this, Chambers. It’s called rape. And I’ll splash it across every newspaper in the country. Your days as a leading man will be over.”
Chambers growled at Scott but didn’t say anything. He lay on the ground amid dirt and garbage.
Scott turned to Maggie and said, “Are you all right?”
Maggie threw herself into Scott’s arms. Sobs racked her body. She clung to him, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck. Scott murmured soothing words as he rubbed her back and shoulders. When the sobs subsided she said, “I thought he was go-going to force himself on me.” She hiccupped and wiped tears off her face. “Th-thank you. You saved me.”
“You’re safe now. I won’t let him hurt you.” Scott tucked a strand of her golden locks behind her ear. He stepped back and said, “You’ll be safe. My trailer’s just across the way.” He started to leave but turned back. “Since I’m not allowed to sleep, I’ll be happy keep an eye on you. Would you like to lie down? I’ll stay in the chair.”
Tears still ran down Maggie’s face. She gave one last hiccup and said, “I think I’d like that, Scott. I wouldn’t be able to rest otherwise. You sure you don’t mind?”
“Not at all. I just wish you had a TV for me to watch some late-night movies.” The minute Scott said that he wished he could take it back. Maggie’s head snapped up and alarm filled her face.
“What do you mean? What’s a TV?”
Scott’s mind flew over his responses. Luckily his answer came to him. “Oh, earlier this evening I read an article in the newspaper about a new invention. It sounded fantastic. Something about watching pictures move in a box.”
At Maggie’s puzzled look Scott laughed. He hoped it would put her at ease. “Never mind. If you have a radio I’ll just listen to it quietly while you rest.”
Maggie smiled. It lit up her whole face. Her eyes glowed with trust and relief.
Scott’s stomach plummeted. He clenched his teeth to will away the hunger that raced through him at that innocent smile.
He began to wonder if he could keep Maggie Ingram safe. A whole night in the same small trailer would put a huge strain on his already frayed libido. Scott told himself to push away the lust and need crawling through him and act like the bodyguard he promised her he’d be.
Yeah. Right.
Chapter Four
Torture.
The night became one long, agonizing attempt to keep himself under control.
Maggie slept on the couch in her trailer and Scott sat at the small table playing cards and listening to the radio. It would have been peaceful except for the little mewling noises she made in her sleep. She tossed and turned and once cried out loud. Scott raced to her side and held her. It was four in the morning and her liquid blue eyes looked sleepy with trust. “Have a bad dream?”
“Yes.” Maggie snuggled closer, her head in Scott’s lap. “It was so distorted, but first I dreamed that Carey Chambers was chasing me, then, when I was cornered, his face turned into Roger Morgan. He disgusts me.” She shuddered. “His hands are all over me when my father’s not looking and he leers at me.” Maggie sighed. “My father wants me to marry him.”
Scott stroked her hair off her face. His gut churned at the thought that her father wanted Maggie to marry someone else. His jaw clenched and the hand that wasn’t stroking Maggie curled into a fist. No. There’s only one person Maggie’s going to marry.
That thought
shot through Scott like he’d been struck by lightning. Who? Me? Fear and pleasure streaked through Scott at the realization that he could want to marry this woman. The fear came from the fact that he didn’t even know her. The pleasure came from the rightness of the feeling inside him.
The strands he stroked looked dark in the trailer, but Scott knew that during filming the bright lights turned her golden locks to pure sunshine. He slid a finger down her temple and circled her ear. He intended it to have a calming effect on Maggie but she turned her face into his hand. “Maggie, don’t,” he growled. His body leaped to attention, already hard.
“Don’t what, Scott?”
“Don’t tempt me. I don’t know if I can hold back much longer.”
“You want me, I know.”
“More than you know,” he said in a quiet tone.
Maggie rose to sit on the sofa next to Scott. “Look, I-I’m not sure what to do with this attraction.” She laughed a lighthearted sound as she twisted her hands together. “The men I’ve been around only want me for my father’s business. They’re climbing the ladder of success and I’m the rungs.” She shifted closer and rubbed his arm. The light strokes shot smoldering desire straight through Scott. He groaned and moved away.
“Stop that.” Scott hopped off the sofa and grabbed a Coke out of the icebox. He drank the small bottle in one long gulp, then grabbed another and placed it on his forehead.
Maggie jumped up and came to the little table in the trailer. “Are you all right? Your head hurt?”
“My head is fine, tempting Maggie. The rest of me isn’t doing as well.” She stroked his forehead and down his temples. Then she nuzzled his neck. Daggers of desire shot straight to his hard erection. Scott groaned and stepped away. He desperately needed distance from Maggie otherwise he wouldn’t be able to control himself. “We’ve made it to five o’clock. Will you be all right if I grab a shower in my trailer? I’ll come back and take you to breakfast.”
“Scott Forrester, you’re running away.”
“Sweet, tantalizing Maggie Ingram—you bet I am.” Scott gave her a lopsided grin, a jaunty salute and bowed as he backed out of her trailer.
No Silent Christmas Page 5
