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“Caroline,” he said, stopping abruptly. “There’s no need to be nervous.”
“What makes you think I’m nervous?”
“Aren’t you?”
She took a deep breath, relaxed her shoulders and said, “All right. I’ll admit it. I’m terrified.”
“There’s no need to be. The thing about filming a commercial is that we can do it again, if we need to.”
“Yeah, but everyone has their limits. Your director won’t be happy if I keep messing up, and neither, I suspect, will you.”
“I won’t mind.”
“You’ll mind if we end up having to reshoot the whole commercial. I imagine this is costing you a pretty penny.”
No more so than she’d cost him. “We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it.”
He saw her swallow. “It’s not just flubbing it that I’m worried about.”
“It’s not?”
She tugged her T-shirt down. “This is big. Once the commercial starts airing, my life will change. I know. I’ve seen it before. One of the bull riders got a big sponsorship deal. He started filming commercials, too, for some rental car agency. Suddenly he was being stopped for autographs, girls were calling out his name, people were writing him letters. He had to hire an assistant to deal with it all. I don’t have time to hire an assistant.”
“Harrison’s Boots can handle the fallout, Caroline. You just concentrate on winning the NFR.”
“Caro,” she said. “Only my mom calls me Caroline.”
He nodded. “And besides, I have a feeling you’ll take to stardom well.”
Stardom. When he said the word he saw her wince. “All I want to do is ride my horses, not sign autographs or do public appearances.” She brushed a hand through her hair, the long strands catching in her fingers. “Maybe this was a mistake.”
“You want to pull out?”
She looked him square in the eye. “What would you do if I said yes?”
He’d like to tell her hell no, they had way too much money invested in her to allow that. Then he’d tell her to call an attorney.
But he wouldn’t. He wasn’t an insensitive ass, as much as she might think otherwise. It was apparent by the way she braced herself that that’s exactly what she thought he’d tell her.
“If you’re truly uncomfortable with this, you don’t have to do it.” Ty placed his hand on her shoulder and immediately felt her stiffen. Her cheeks filled with color. Her eyes ducked away from his.
“Thank you,” she said to the ground.
He pulled his hand away. “You’re welcome,” he said softly.
A horse neighed in the distance. Ty could hear voices on the other side of one of the trailers.
“Let’s go,” she said, still not looking him in the eye.
Yes, they probably should go. Another moment and he might…What? Just what did he think he’d do?
Nothing, he reassured himself.
Chapter Four
Contrary to her belief that she’d muff it, Caroline could tell from the moment she said her first line that she’d been worried about nothing. Talking to the camera seemed as natural to her as riding a horse, maybe more so. She was able to smile, walk and talk, all at the same time, and without stumbling or bumping into the power cords and coaxial cables that hooked everything together.
And the whole time, Ty watched her, just as he had that first day, and she had no idea why that bothered her so much.
Afterward, Caro had a pounding headache. But she had to admit the commercial looked great. So authentic it seemed surreal—as if she really had walked her horse along a snowy lane.
“Caroline, that was fabulous,” Bill, the director said, coming out from behind the camera after they’d filmed her saying her line “Harrison’s Boots…the footwear of champions,” from the back of Thumper. “If you ever want to change vocations and become an actress, I know an agent who’d be thrilled to have you.”
“No thanks,” she replied. That was the last thing she needed—a second career. She already had her hands full riding the rodeo circuit.
“Now that we’re done with the vocals, I’d like to get some shots of you riding,” Bill said.
Caro nodded, feeling Ty’s eyes on her yet again as she led her horse toward the arena. He sat on the perimeter of the set in a dark green director’s chair, sunglasses on and the sleeves of his white dress shirt rolled up. The black belt around his dark gray slacks accentuated his toned stomach.
Good-looking. Go ahead. Admit it again, she told herself. But remember what happened the last time your head was turned by a handsome man. David. She only had to think his name to have all the same emotions come flooding back. Regret. Sadness. Humiliation. Never again.
“Come on, Thumper,” she said, happy to go for a ride. Grasping the leather reins, so worn and supple they felt like satin ribbons, she swung up into the saddle.
They’d attracted a crowd, she noticed once she mounted. People sat in chairs around the nearby stalls, watching the proceedings.
“Go, Caro,” someone yelled, probably Mike. She could see his wide shoulders and big grin from a mile away.
“Just get on and ride around,” Bill called through a bullhorn.
The scaffolding outside the arena didn’t thrill Thumper at first, but Caro soothed him, looking up and catching Ty’s gaze again. Damn it. Why did she keep doing that? She was like a stickpin near a magnet.
She kicked her horse forward. Someone yelled, “Yee-haw!” Probably Mike again. She felt self-conscious and silly. With a thick coat of makeup on her face and a fancy silver saddle on her horse—she had no idea where they’d gotten that from—she didn’t feel like a barrel racer, but a freak.
“Okay, we’ve got a good camera angle here,” Bill said, perched with his cameraman on one of the towers they’d erected. The long lens followed her faithfully. “If you could run now, that’d be great. Pretend you’re headed toward one of those things you run around.”
Barrel. It was called a barrel. But she did as asked, pressing her calves against Thumper. Her horse responded by lowering his neck and stretching out. Faster and faster they flew, the wind catching her hair and whipping it back, and soon she forgot everything. There was no camera, no audience, no Ty…just her and her horse and the rush of air against her face.
“Cut,” Bill called, bringing Caro back to reality. Her headache also came crashing back.
A few people applauded. Caro pulled Thumper up, her temples pounding with every beat of her heart. It was all she could do to slip off without throwing up.
“Nice,” Ty said, appearing suddenly by her side.
“Thanks,” she said.
“I think we can call it a day.”
“Good,” she breathed, resisting the urge to rub her forehead.
He stepped in front of her, forcing her gaze up. “You okay?” he asked softly.
And there it was again, that look in his eyes, the same one she’d noticed out by the trailers. Concern mixed with compassion.
“Fine,” she said, walking Thumper forward. “Did we get everything done? Or will we have to shoot some more tomorrow?”
“I think we got it all,” he said, walking beside her. Thumper’s sides were expanding and contracting, after his impromptu workout. She’d have to cool him off.
“When will we know?” she asked, glancing over at the snow-covered ground. Rice flakes. Who’d have thought?
“Bill will review what we’ve got tonight. If it’s okay, he’ll let me know.”
She nodded, her head throbbing even more. She winced.
“You’re not all right, are you?”
“Just hungry,” she said.
“You have any lunch?”
“No time.”
He didn’t look pleased. She was about to tell him to let it go, that she missed meals all the time. Part of life on the road. Fast food made you fat, and there was little or no time to cook. But Ty cut her off before she could open her mouth.
“Bill, we’re going to Ms. Sheppard’s trailer,” he called.
“What’s the matter?” The director peered into a monitor, reviewing the tape he’d just recorded.
“Caro needs an aspirin.”
“I don’t need medication,” she said, stepping aside. “I need to cool off my horse.”
“Don’t give me that,” he said. “I can tell you’re in pain.”
“I’m fine.”
“You need to sit down,” Ty said when she tried to get away.
“You’re the one giving me a headache.”
And a truer statement had never been uttered.
He frowned. “My mother had migraines, and I can tell yours is bad.”
“It’s not a migraine,” Caro said. Thumper stopped abruptly, pulling her arm back and further jarring her head. She gasped.
“Migraine,” Ty repeated.
“It’s just stress. My head feels this way after I compete, too. Once an event is over, my temples start to throb.”
“You’re going back to your trailer.”
“Ty—”
“No arguing, Caroline,” he said, taking her by the arm again. “You need to sit down.”
“Fine. But after I take something, I’m cooling down my horse.”
“I’ll do that for you.”
“You don’t know anything about horses.”
“Actually, I do. I grew up on a ranch.”
Caro was shocked, her eyes scanning his in an effort to discover if he was telling her the truth. For the first time she noticed how tanned he was. And that he appeared in excellent condition, his biceps straining against his dress shirt. She glanced at his hands.
They were a worker’s hands, long and strong, with fine hairs bleached by the sun, and calluses mixed with tiny scars.
“You grew up on a ranch?”
“The Rocking H,” he said. “We raise Herefords. Or my dad does. I haven’t had much time to do anything since taking over the reins of Harrison’s Boots, but I still get back there from time to time.”
She felt her jaw begin to drop. She snapped it closed before she looked like a complete idiot. How had she not known this? Why hadn’t anybody told her?
Why would someone tell her?
Harrison’s Boots was a household name, just as a certain type of bread was well known, or a particular brand of TV. But she knew nothing about the long-time owners of the company. And their commercials offered no clues. Until now they’d featured big, burly men holding jackhammers or climbing skyscrapers, not riding horses. But now that she stepped back and looked at him—really looked—she recognized the signs of someone who spent a great deal of time out-of-doors.
The CEO was a cowboy.
“Come on,” he said, obviously misinterpreting her silence for acquiescence. “Let’s go.”
Actually, now she really did need to sit down.
They made it to her trailer, Caro silent the whole time. “Go on inside,” he said, taking Thumper’s reins. “Sit down. As soon as I’ve unsaddled your horse, I’ll be back.”
“No,” she said, having regained some of her composure. “Thumper needs to be walked. And you don’t know where his stall is. It’d be better if I did it myself.”
“Then tell me where to get the aspirin.”
“It’s in the medicine cabinet, in the bathroom,” she said, wincing as she reached to loosen the girth.
Bong. Bong. Bong.
Her head felt like a Chinese gong whenever she bent down.
“Here,” he said a moment later, bounding down the aluminum steps of her trailer. He held out two white tables and a bottle of water.
“Thanks.”
