The Cowgirl's CEO. Pamela Britton
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bars,” he said, after flipping the thing open.
“Oops.”
“Is there a problem?” The man working on her horse straightened. Worn chaps covered the front of his legs, and he held a rasp in one hand.
“No,” Caroline said quickly. “Mr. Harrison here was just being his typical, high-handed self.”
“Excuse me,” Ty said, shocked that she would talk to him that way.
“It’s true,” she said, raising her chin. “But since you’re here, I can only assume we’re a go for the commercial.”
“We are,” he said, scanning her up and down—the T-shirt tucked into her jeans, the sparkling belt accentuating her narrow waist. Yes, under other circumstances he would have enjoyed bringing her to heel. “And since it took me nearly half an hour to find you, you now have less than an hour.”
“I don’t need an hour. I don’t even need five minutes. I can wash up inside my trailer,” she said, pointing at the rig, which, Ty noticed, was some sort of RV-horse trailer combination, complete with motor-home-type tinted windows near the front.
“I’ve arranged for a local makeup artist to assist you.”
“I’d rather do my own.”
He felt his blood begin to pound again. “Caroline, I know you’re less than thrilled about our change of schedule, but it’ll make it easier on everyone—myself included—if you’d just go with the flow.”
He could tell she wanted to protest, but something held her back. Probably his subtle reminder that he was her sponsor.
“Dale, can we finish up later?” she asked.
“Sure. I was just filing the hoof around the new shoe. I can do that on my own.”
Caroline sighed. “All right. Gimme a sec.”
But she didn’t seem in a big hurry to tie her horse to the side of the trailer. And she took more than five minutes to wash her face—or whatever it was she did inside her trailer.
Brush her hair, he realized when she returned. Her most stunning attribute, he noted objectively, it looked like a collection of silk threads, each a different color, the whole mass so thick he’d have thought it fake if he didn’t know better.
“Let’s go,” he said.
“Lead the way.”
He turned, but not before noticing that she wiped her palms on the front of her jeans. When she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her hands shook.
“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