скачать книгу бесплатно
Josh’s voice so close to her made Sara practically leap out of her skin. “Good gravy,” she said, thumping her heart with one hand. “Sneak up on a person much?”
“Avoid eye contact much?” he countered.
Sara knew a challenge when she heard it but didn’t rise to the bait. “I’m trying to help out, you know, get your kid fed.”
He spun her around to look at him and lifted her sunglasses onto her head. Her eyelids fluttered shut as his finger traced her eyelashes. “You left off the heavy makeup today. It’s nice.”
She batted at his hand. “I should have known you’d be a sucker for plain Janes. Trust me, I won’t tempt you again.”
“There is nothing plain about you, Hollywood.” His voice was a caress that made her insides warm and gooey. She swayed just a little. “Besides which, you tempt me each and every time I lay eyes on you. Now, tell me what’s going on.”
“Nothing,” she said, an obvious lie. “I’m just a little light-headed, probably the altitude. Food will help.”
“This is why I want the ranch to work.”
She stared at him. “To make people sick?”
His mouth twitched but his eyes remained serious. “To take them out of their comfort zone,” he said, dropping his arms to spread his hands wide. “These mountains change people. Inspire them. Make them see the world and their place in it in a different light. Sometimes there’s no other way.”
She nodded, although she didn’t know if he was talking generally or about her in particular. Either way, she understood down to her soul what he meant.
“I want to do that for the people coming here. When someone books a trip with us, it’s not like heading to Disney World or Fort Lauderdale at spring break. It means something. To them. To me.”
“I get it,” she answered automatically, taken aback at his emotion.
“Do you? Do you understand how precious these mountains are? How few truly wild places there are left in this country? I want to celebrate that, help people appreciate it.”
“A cowboy environmentalist?” Her lame attempt to lighten the moment fell flat.
He shook his head in clear frustration. “Do you think your mother’s fast-talking boyfriend is going to give a rat’s behind about the beauty of this place when he builds his luxury condos?”
“Rich people can have breakthroughs, too, you know.”
“Not with what he has planned. Have you seen them? The plans?”
“No.”
“He’s going to level the trees that surround your grandmother’s house. Put in a competition-size swimming pool under a huge bubble. Sure, he’ll have a couple miles of paved trails—wouldn’t want to scuff your running shoes on actual dirt.”
“He’s not going to demolish the entire forest,” she argued.
“It changes things, Sara. Crimson is special. We don’t need another Aspen-type playground for the rich and famous. Can’t you see that?”
She did see it, but the knowledge left her in a precarious position. “What I see is that I need money and Richard Hamish has it. I haven’t sold yet. You still have time, the entire season, to line up financing. But if not, you know what I have to do.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Spoken like a true Californian.”
“Was that the reason you let me come today, to prove some kind of point?” Despite her rising anger, her heart hammered in her chest anticipating his answer.
He stared at her, then sighed and said, “No. I wanted you to see this because it’s amazing and breathtaking. I thought you’d like it. Both you and Claire.” Reaching out, his thumb trailed across the skin exposed above the collar of her V-neck sweatshirt. “I wanted you here.”
She itched for a fight, a reason to funnel her traitorous emotions into anger. She needed to pull away, from this man and his daughter, from the house that her grandmother had loved. The place that, despite her best efforts, Sara had quickly come to consider home. The honesty of his response and the warmth in his gaze melted away her defenses, and she felt herself more drawn to him than ever.
Her hand lifted to his, her fingers rubbing his calloused palm. “Let’s focus on that, okay? Just for now. Can you do that? We’ll have lunch, make Claire happy and deal with the rest later.”
Her own version of a peace offering.
He lifted her fingers to his mouth and rubbed his lips across her knuckles. Butterflies flitted along her spine in response. “Later,” he murmured.
Somehow she didn’t think he was talking about their problems.
Which scared her even more.
* * *
Sara left Josh and Claire in the equipment garage two hours later and brought the backpacks into the kitchen to clean up. The afternoon had been perfect, relaxed and easy, with dad and daughter actually having a real conversation about Claire’s homesickness for her old friends. Josh had suggested setting up Skype on the office computer so Claire could stay in touch, which had made Claire happy.
Neither had brought up Claire’s mother or her dubious summer activities. The question remained what would happen once school started. But that was another issue to deal with later. And not hers, she reminded herself.
She couldn’t quite wipe the grin off her face and was relieved April didn’t seem to be around to ask questions about the afternoon. She bent forward to put the leftover apples back into the fridge.
“You’re avoiding me.”
At the sound of the voice, Sara jumped, banging her head on the top of the refrigerator. “Then take a hint, Ryan,” she said, rubbing the bump.
“We need to talk.” He stood, one hip hitched up on the counter, wearing a wrinkled polo shirt, cargo shorts and flip-flops.
“I don’t think so.” She pointed at his feet. “What kind of help can you be on a ranch wearing those?”
“I had a meeting in Aspen earlier.” He raised a brow. “Besides, I saw you take off with Josh. Looks like I’m not the only one playing hooky today.”
She blew out a breath. “He wanted to take Claire for a ride. It made her more comfortable if I came, too.”
“You’re still as much of an addict as me, Sara.”
“I was in that rehab center for publicity and you know it. I am not an addict.”
“I’m not talking drugs or alcohol. People and their problems. You’re addicted to fixing other people’s issues. Makes it easier to ignore your own.”
“You’re crazy.”
“Tell me why you’re here.”
“Because this house belongs to me now,” she said, holding tight to the refrigerator door handle but unsure why she needed the support. “I can make more money from a successful season than a bust.”
“And what will you do then?”
“Repay April the money that you gambled away. Finally start the yoga center she wants.”
“Her dream. Her problem.”
“She’s my friend, Ryan. The only one who’s stuck with me all these years. And I want to run a business. I want to do something. Something real. Can’t you get that?”
“Read for the part. That’s real. Do you really think you can go back to L.A. and run an exercise studio? Cater to whatever star of the week flounces through the front door looking to use yoga as a front for her latest eating disorder?”
Her eyes narrowed. “It would sure beat waiting tables and clearing up their plates of barely touched food.”
“You’re an actress, Sara. It’s in your blood. You have something to prove still. I know it. Don’t give up on your dream.”
“Acting wasn’t my dream, Ryan. That one belonged to my mother.” It was true, but so was his comment about Sara having something to prove. She hated that her career had fizzled so publicly. If she’d been able to walk away on her own terms, with some of her pride intact...well, maybe that would have made a difference. She didn’t know. What could she do about it now? Read for a part and open herself up to more ridicule? She’d swallowed loads of that in the past and wasn’t sure she could stomach any more.
“Your mother’s here right now.”
Her gaze flicked to Ryan’s face. He looked guilty and sheepish. “Why?” she said on a growl.
“To help you. Sell this place to her boyfriend. He tells me he made you a pretty good offer.”
“It’s not worth what he plans to do to this place. It was my grandmother’s house, Ryan. Her home. I may not have known her well, but I have to respect what she built here. I can’t let it be destroyed without at least trying to save it.”
Her mind strayed to the photo album on the dresser upstairs and the genuine smile on her eight-year-old face sitting on that porch swing. She thought about the pure joy she’d felt racing through the forest earlier, the way the mountain peaks felt like they cradled this valley and the peace it brought her. A feeling she hadn’t known for years, if ever.
Ryan’s voice broke through her reverie. “He wants the property, Sara. He’s going to get it one way or another.”
“Not from me.” Sara didn’t have much to hold on to in her life, but that feeling of peace was worth fighting for. She wouldn’t give it up. She glanced at the doorway to the family room. “Is she waiting?”
“In the office.”
She released her death grip on the refrigerator, flexing her cramped fingers. “Put some decent shoes on and go find April. Whatever she’s doing, I’m sure she can use some help.”
Ryan’s full mouth twisted. “She doesn’t like me.”
“Do you blame her?”
“I’m a cad. That’s my deal. But women still like me. They can’t help themselves. She’s different.”
Sara stifled a laugh. “I can’t believe you just said that line out loud. This isn’t the nineteenth century. I’m a cad. So what? You can’t flirt and charm your way out of what you did to April. This time you may have to actually work at making things better.” She paused. “Trust me, Ryan. It’s worth it.”
He scrubbed his hand over his face. “Fine. You deal with your mother. I’ll face the wrath of the hippie princess.”
“You’re so brave.” Sara patted his cheek as she passed him.
He held on to her wrist. “I really am sorry, Sara.”
“I know. Now go make it better.” She slipped from his grasp and walked out of the kitchen, hesitating at the doorway to the office.
Go make it better.
Could she take her own advice? Was it possible to make better all the things that were wrong in her relationship with her mother? Did she even want to try? Since her career had gotten so far off track, Sara hadn’t seen Rose often. She’d quickly tired of the never-ending litany of advice and criticism. Without the spotlight, Sara didn’t have much to offer her mother. Rose was a stage mother in the worst sense of the word—Sara could give Lindsay Lohan or Brooke Shields a definite run for their money in the bad-mama department.
As awful and contentious as their relationship had become, some part of Sara still craved her mother’s approval. That knowledge upset her more than anything. The fact that Rose could still send her into a tailspin with a well-chosen dig or subtle jab ate at her self-confidence before either of them spoke a word.
Laughter rang down to where she stood. Not her mother’s voice. Claire. Sara took the steps two at a time but slowed in the hallway outside Claire’s bedroom.
“That’s right, dear,” she heard her mother say. “Look over your shoulder. Just the hint of a smile. Make them want more of you.”
Sara’s stomach lurched. She’d listened to that same litany of advice for years. Before every Hollywood event, premier or even trip to the mall Rose had coached her on what to wear and how to carry herself. According to Rose, being an actress was a 24/7 occupation. Sara had never been allowed to be truly off. Even now she’d catch herself doing an unconscious hair toss when someone recognized her. Maybe the training had served her well, she thought, as it was the one thing that had made her hold her head high in the face of many moments of ridicule.
But that had nothing to do with Claire.
“What are you doing?” she asked, bracing one hand against the door frame.
Claire beamed at her. “Auntie Rose is giving me lessons on how to be a star.” The girl breathed the word star with such reverence it made Sara’s teeth hurt.
“Auntie Rose?” She flashed a pointed glance at her mother.
“Do you know who Claire’s mother is?” Rose asked by way of an answer.
Sara nodded and tried not to roll her eyes.
“Jennifer Holmes, the supermodel,” she answered anyway. “The girl has an in. You know how much that can help, Sara. How my fame opened doors for you.”
Give me a break, Sara thought to herself. “Claire doesn’t need doors opened for her, Mom. She’s thirteen.”
“I know it’s a late start.” Rose walked around the desk and stood next to Claire, running one finger along her cheek. “But look at her bone structure. She was meant to be on screen. The camera will love her. I have a friend over at Disney. They’re always looking for the next big thing.” She tipped Claire’s face to hers. “You could be it. Can you sing?”
“I think so,” Claire said, looking dazed.
“Mom! Stop.” Sara stepped forward and pulled Claire away from Rose. “She has a life here. A good, normal life. She’s not going to California or anywhere with you. Leave her alone.”
“Just because you crashed and burned...” her mother began.
At the same time Claire asked, “Don’t you think I’m good enough?”
Sara squeezed her eyes shut and tried to block out the sharp stab of pain Rose’s words caused. She focused on Claire. “Honey, of course you’d be amazing. That’s not the point. It isn’t all fun and glamour. It’s not a good place sometimes. There are a lot of bad people in show business.” She threw a glare at Rose. “People who only care about themselves.”
“Maybe it would give me something in common with my mom. If I was famous she might come be with me instead of...” Her voice trailed off and she swiped under her eyes.
“Oh, Claire.” Sara enveloped in her in a tight hug. “Why are you doing this?” she asked her mother over Claire’s shoulder.
Rose smiled sweetly. “I came here today to talk to you about this house. Richard wants to stay in Colorado until you decide to sell. I need a something to keep me busy. Claire is a lovely girl. Maybe she’s it.”
Sara’s throat tightened. “Leave her alone, Mom.”
“You know how to get rid of me,” Rose said softly, and tapped the corner of the bed where a stack of paperwork sat. “Are you ready to sign?”
Chapter Seven (#ulink_5927768b-1cda-5a00-873c-8a1af2f9078f)
Sara swallowed against the lump of regret balled in her throat. She’d spent years avoiding Rose, and now she wanted nothing more than to get rid of her mother. But not at the expense of her grandmother’s dream. Selling would be simple and give her the money she desperately needed to repay April and get her own second chance.
