A Real Cowboy. Sarah M. Anderson
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Some of her blush disappeared as she paled. What did she think it was? Maybe she was one of those strident vegetarians. Instead of launching into an animal-rights lecture, she put on a weak smile and said, “Okay, thanks,” before she went to the bathroom.
Well, if that didn’t beat all. Where was the full-court press? Where were the obnoxious compliments designed to sway his ego? Nowhere. All he got was someone who, for a sleepy second, looked happy to see him.
Dinner was a huge mistake. He debated hiding in his room until the woman—whose name he still did not know—left. Then he caught Minnie giving him a wallop of a glare from the other side of the room as she tapped a wooden spoon on the counter. Right, right. He’d promised to be nice and polite, which probably didn’t include hiding.
So he set the table instead. Hoss finally clumped down the stairs, just as J.R. was finishing. For a man who wasn’t afraid of putting in a hard day’s work on the range, Hoss had the unique ability to never be present when a small household chore needed to be done. “Well?”
Minnie flashed her wooden spoon like it was a weapon. “She’s staying for dinner, and you will behave or else.”
“When am I not a perfect angel?” Hoss gave her his best puppy eyes, but it didn’t work. “Can I at least sit by her?”
“No.” J.R. didn’t mean to sound so possessive; it burst out of him.
Minnie shot him a funny look. “No, I’m going to sit by her. You two are going to sit in your normal spots and keep your hands, feet and all other objects to yourself. Clear?”
Hoss met J.R.’s gaze and lifted one eyebrow, as if to say, game on. Jeez, if Hoss was acting this much the cad now, how much of a pain would he become when he saw her all warmed up? “Yes, ma’am.”
Then a noise at the other end of the room drew their attention. The woman was standing by the chair now, her hair fixed, her boots on and her coat off. Whoa. The gray wool dress she had on was cut close, revealing a knockout figure that went with her knockout legs. Either she was stunning—hell, she was stunning—or she’d had a good plastic surgeon. One never could be sure when it came to Hollywood types.
Then her gaze locked on to his, and he swore he felt the same dizzy charge that he’d felt when she’d touched him, only this time, there was a clear thirty feet of space between them.
She’s not here for you, J.R. practically shouted at himself. She’s here for James Robert.
Damn shame she wasn’t there for him, though.
“Whoa,” Hoss muttered next to him, and Minnie promptly smacked his butt with the spoon. “Ow!”
“Feeling better?” Minnie pushed past J.R. and went to greet her visitor.
“Much, thanks.” The woman gave Minnie a friendly smile. “Where should I put my coat?”
“Lay it on the chair. I’ll make the introductions.” Minnie took her by the arm and led her to where J.R. and Hoss were gaping like horny seventh graders. “This is Hoss Red Horse, and J. R. Bradley.”
J.R. rolled his eyes—obviously the woman knew who he was. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be here.
“Boys,” Minnie went on, giving them both the warning stink eye, “this is Thalia Thorne.”
Hoss stuck out his hand. “A pleasure, Ms. Thorne.” Miracle of miracles, that was all he said.
“Nice to meet you … Hoss.” She looked from him to Minnie. “Are you two related?”
Hoss’s polite grin dialed right over into trouble. “Yeah, but she don’t like people to know I’m her son. Makes her feel old or something.”
Minnie hit him with the spoon again, which caused Thalia to stifle a giggle. Her eyes still laughed, though.
Not that J.R. was staring or anything.
Then those eyes—a clear, deep blue—shifted to him, and she held out her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, J.R.”
He couldn’t do anything but stare at her. She wasn’t going to insist on calling him James Robert? Just like that?
Minnie cleared her throat and shot him a dangerous glare. Right. Acknowledging that she’d spoken to him was probably the nice, polite thing to do. “Likewise, Thalia.” Against his better judgment, he took her hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze. Heat flowed between them. Probably because she’d warmed up in front of the fire. Yeah, that was it.
That small, curved smile danced over her nice lips and was then gone. “Dinner smells wonderful, Minnie. I can’t remember the last time I had a home-cooked meal.”
There was the flattery, and boy, was it working on Minnie. She blushed and grinned and shooed all of them to the table, saying, “Sit by me, dear, so we can talk.”
Of course, sitting by Minnie also turned out to be sitting by J.R., as Thalia was on the corner between him and Minnie. His thoughts immediately turned to the patterned tights under the table—and their close proximity to his own legs—way more than they should have. Man, he was hard up.
How the hell was he going to make it through dinner?
Three
“So, tell us about yourself,” Minnie said to Thalia as she passed a basket of piping hot corn muffins around the table.
J.R. waited. Everyone waited, including Hoss, which was saying something. Hoss wasn’t seriously trying to make a move on this woman, was he? In front of his own mother? Ugh. This whole thing couldn’t be more awkward, J.R. decided.
“I’m an associate producer.” J.R. couldn’t help but notice she looked at Hoss and Minnie—but not at him. “I work for Bob Levinson at Halcyon Pictures.”
“He’s an ass.” The moment the words left his mouth, Minnie looked like she would smack him upside the head with the spoon—if only their “visitor” wasn’t sitting in between the two of them. “Pardon my language.”
One of those quick, nervous smiles darted over Thalia’s face. But she still didn’t quite meet his eyes. The closest she got was more in the region of his shoulder. What the hell kind of new negotiating tactic was this—ignore the person you were trying to ensnare? “It’s true he has a certain reputation.”
A certain reputation? J.R. had had the intense displeasure of working on two Levinson movies—Colors That Run and The Cherry Trees—and both had been sheer torture tests. On his good days, Levinson had been demeaning and derogatory. On his worst days, he had inspired J.R. to envision creative ways to off the man. He couldn’t imagine Levinson had mellowed with age. His kind never did. They just got more and more caustic, leaving nothing but scorched earth behind them.
And, in Levinson’s case, a growing list of Oscar winners. He was an ass, all right, but because he delivered the box office returns and the shiny little gold men, everyone in Hollywood gave him a free pass. Except J.R., who wasn’t in Hollywood anymore.
And this Thalia—who looked soft and could pull off innocent—worked directly for him. In so many ways, she was not trustworthy.
“Are you famous?” Hoss asked.
J.R. shot Hoss a dirty look, which earned him a grin that bordered on predatory. Did Hoss think he had a shot? Hell, no.
Thalia’s laugh was small but polite. “Only to my mother. Every time one of my movies comes to Norman, Oklahoma, she rounds up a bunch of friends.” Hints of color graced her cheeks, but she showed no other sign of being embarrassed by this. “They sit through the credits and when my name rolls by, they all stand and cheer. And I’m famous for a whole three minutes.”
“So you’re not originally from California?” Minnie’s eyes were bright and her smile was huge. She was having fun, J.R. realized. That made him feel better. Not much,