The Gentleman Rancher. Cathy Thacker Gillen
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more time together, Jeremy came closer. “Why’d you get together?”
“Also. None. Of. Your. Business!” Taylor went back to her suitcase.
Jeremy watched her bend over to unzip it. “Find any more beach bums in Hollywood land?”
She extracted a toiletries bag and carried it into the adjoining bathroom. With the same ease she’d exhibited when they’d been med students, sharing a house with half a dozen other students of both sexes, she took out the facial cleanser and began to lather up her face. “I haven’t been dating anyone for the last two years.” Finished, she reached for a towel.
“How come?”
Briefly, she buried her face in the soft yellow terry cloth. “If you know so much about me, why don’t you know that too?” Taylor left the bathroom and began to rifle through the suitcase.
She gave him a look that said, “If you don’t mind…”
Taking the hint, he lifted a hand and eased out of the room. She shut the door behind him with a definite thud. Jeremy exhaled in frustration, then walked out the rear of the house, across the pool area to the guesthouse.
Paige’s light was still on. She answered his knock with a look of aggravation. Open book to her chest, she waved him in. “That didn’t take long.”
He sank into a club chair in front of the fireplace and stretched his legs out in front of him. “What didn’t take long?”
Paige settled on the far end of the sofa. “For the two of you to have a fight.”
Jeremy shoved his hands in the pockets of his cargo shorts and studied the Remington painting above the mantle. “What makes you think we quarreled?”
“That look on your face,” Paige said. “The one that says you still can’t figure out what’s really going on between the two of you.”
Not true. They all knew that Taylor brought out the worst in him—the overbearing, intensely protective, got-to-have-the-last-word side his three sisters detested.
“We actively dislike one another,” Jeremy observed dryly.
“There’s that,” Paige conceded with a dip of her head.
Jeremy had an idea where this was going. He stood and restlessly, began to pace. Eventually, he slanted his old friend a reproving look. “That’s all there is.”
Paige tried not to grin but failed miserably. “If you say so.” She stuck her nose back in her book.
Jeremy scowled and continued to roam the living area. Given the amount of swimming he’d done earlier this evening, before Taylor had showed up, he should be relaxed. Instead, he was more tied up in knots than ever. In need of… hell, he didn’t know what he needed…that was the problem. Aware Paige was still watching him with a twinkle in her eyes, he chided gruffly, “I didn’t come over here so you could play shrink.”
Paige sobered, for reasons all her own. “Then why did you come over here?”
As long as he was here, he might as well ask. He’d wasted enough of Paige’s time already. Jeremy massaged the rigid muscles along the back of his neck. “Do you have a copy of Taylor’s book?”
“Yes, I do, and it’s back at my house—in town—nicely packed away so it won’t be damaged by all the renovation currently going on there.”
Jeremy swore beneath his breath.
Paige lifted her brow. “You really want to read it that badly, hmm?”
“I thought I might browse through a chapter or two,” Jeremy allowed, casually.
Paige considered that, coming to some private conclusion he would just as soon not know about, then eventually said, “There’s a signed copy in my mother’s office. It’s on the shelf next to her desk. You can read that if you promise to put it back. Anything happens to it,” she paused, accompanying her warning with a stern look, “my mother will have your head. She says it’s one of the best chick lit novels she’s ever read.”
Jeremy’d heard that a lot in passing. He’d never ventured even a glimpse of anything Taylor had written. “What do you think?”
Paige turned sincere. “I share my mom’s opinion. Taylor’s really talented.” She lifted a hand. “I don’t know what the problem in her life is now—”
“You think there’s something wrong now, too?” Jeremy interrupted.
“Duh. She only drove eighteen hours to get here today. She wouldn’t have done that if she weren’t running from something.”
Jeremy’s mouth tightened. “My thoughts exactly.”
“I offered her safe harbor here—as long as she needs. You mess with that, you wreck her peace of mind any more than it’s been wrecked, and you’re out of here.”
Already heading for the door, and the answers to at least some of his questions, Jeremy jeered, “Nice to know where I stand.”
“Isn’t it?” Paige echoed cheerfully.
Jeremy said good-night and walked back across the pool area. Unbidden, the memory of Taylor stripping down to her skivvies popped into his consciousness. Resolutely, he pushed it back down. He continued on into the house, and entered Dani’s office. The copy of Taylor’s first novel was right where Paige had said.
He sat down in a comfortable armchair and studied the cover of the oversized trade paperback novel. There were two cartoon figures on the book—a studly guy on a sailboat, and a pretty girl with track shoes on, beneath the big block letter title. The Guy Who Sailed Away and the Girl Who Found Herself by Taylor O’Quinn.
One Texas newspaper had given it a four-star review and deemed it “Unforgettable.” “Funny and real” said another. “Couldn’t put it down!” declared a third reviewer.
Impressed, despite himself, Jeremy opened the book, and began to read.
TAYLOR AWAKENED to the blinding glare of sunlight and the sound of “Chasing Cars” by Snow Patrol. Groaning, she groped for the cell phone on the table beside the bed and flipped it open. The music ceased.
“Where are you?” the voice on the other end of the connection demanded.
Good question. Taylor blinked and keeping her cell phone pressed to her ear, pushed her way to a sitting position in the comfy queen-sized bed. She felt like a truck had run over her. Her entire body ached. And she was so stiff, it was hard to move.
Which was what she got, she concluded as she recognized the guest room in the Chamberlain ranch house, for driving halfway across the country in one day.
“Why weren’t you at the wrap party for Sail Away?” Geraldine Meyerson demanded.
“How did you know about that?”
“It was on Mandy Stone’s show on CEN last night,” her editor at Sassy Woman Press replied with customary frankness. “Zoe and Zak said they were worried about you. Something about you crying as you were leaving the set?”
She’d been crying, all right. Taylor rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “Those were angry tears.”
“I know Zak and Zoe have a rep for being difficult…”
“Difficult?” Taylor echoed. “Try insane!”
“It’s all going to work out,” Geraldine soothed.
“I don’t see how,” Taylor said miserably.
“It can’t be as bad as you think,” her editor insisted.
Taylor moaned. “You didn’t see the dailies. You didn’t have to participate in the rewrites.”
“Just calm down and think about the hundred-thousand-copy reissue we’re