Dusty: Wild Cowboy Page 13

  “My place. Stony Creek. Strange as you may find this, I have no intentions of living in an apartment above the barn for the rest of my life. I’ve been thinking of one day building a house.”

  “It’s perfect.”

  “I kind of like it, too.” His gaze scanned the horizon. “There’s a road on the other side of the hill so access isn’t a problem.”

  Maryanne’s earlier observation about Dusty belonging here was further enforced. The raw beauty of the land and sense of freedom it instilled matched the wild side of his personality. He, like the land, wasn’t easily tamed.

  “I can see why you’d want to build a house here.” She envisioned waking up every morning to this spectacular view instead of the dingy one from her apartment window.

  While Dusty held Snowball’s reins, Maryanne tried to lift her leg over the saddle and dismount. Her limbs, however, refused to function properly. Finally, through sheer force of will, she succeeded and all but fell out of the saddle. Luckily, Dusty caught her and eased her onto the ground.

  Pain shot up her calves as her feet made contact, and her fear that she’d lose her balance was realized—only she wasn’t in the saddle this time.

  Dusty grabbed hold of her arms right before she crumpled. “Hold on, I’ve got you.”

  He did have her. In more ways than one. Staring into his tanned and very handsome face, it occurred to her that kissing him would be a simple matter of leaning into him. He must have been thinking along the same lines for his eyes turned dark and smoky.

  Danger signals went off in Maryanne’s head. He was planning on building a house on the very spot they stood. A house he’d share with his son. She, on the other hand, was returning to L.A., a city she loved. To a job she loved just as much. And if all went well, she’d be closing soon on a new condo in the development of her dreams.

  She stepped back, her message subtle but clear. Dusty’s disappointment was evident by the slight sag of his shoulders, but he didn’t press the issue and let her go. Not for long, however.

  Her legs still resembled cooked spaghetti.

  “I’m okay,” she murmured and took a wobbly step.

  “You sure?”

  “What was that advice you had for my dad? Walk it off?”

  “It only works if you can actually walk.”

  “Watch me,” she said bravely.

  The friendly banter had them back to their old selves. Maryanne supposed she should be glad. And she was, or so she told herself repeatedly while she hobbled back and forth. Before long, the pain in her legs decreased and mobility returned.

  “Hungry?” Dusty began pulling all sorts of food storage containers from the saddlebags on his horse.

  “A little.” She hated admitting just how hungry she’d gotten on their hour-long ride.

  “Grab that blanket, will you?”

  “Where is it?”

  “Tied behind your saddle.”

  All this time she’d been riding with a blanket tied behind her and she hadn’t realized it.

  Dusty had tethered the horses to the low-hanging branch of a nearby tree. Within a matter of minutes, they’d spread the blanket beneath the shade of another tree and were divvying up the fare.

  “Did you fix all this?” she asked, opening a package of gouda cheese.

  “As much as I’d like to impress you by taking credit, I have to be honest. My parents’ housekeeper is the one to thank.” He grinned, and Maryanne’s resolve to keep things strictly platonic faltered. “I did pick out the wine,” he said producing a corkscrew from his pocket.

  It was one of her favorite kinds of wine, too.

  He poured two glasses—plastic glasses—and they toasted the success of his screenplay.

  “How soon do you think I’ll hear from your mother’s former agent?”

  “It could be tomorrow or not for months. Time in the entertainment industry doesn’t move at the same pace as for you and me.” She took a bite of pâté and cracker. “I can check with Herb when I fly home tomorrow.”

  “That’d be great.” He ate his pâté and crackers at twice the speed she did. “I’ll drive you to the airport.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “I want to.”

  Damn, he was insistent. “We’ll see.” She deftly changed the subject. “Have you written any other screenplays?”

  “Two. One’s completed. My first attempt. It sucks.” He refreshed their wineglasses. “I started a new one recently.”

  “Another family theme?”

  He shook his head. “This one’s more of a coming-of-age story about a roper who takes his young son on the circuit with him.”

  “Is that what you’d like to do with Matt?”

  “I’d like to take him with me. Not sure I want us to go through the same hell as my characters.”

  She enjoyed how he talked about the people in his story as if they were real. And how he talked about his son.

  “If I was out of line pushing you about Matt when we first met, I’m sorry. I sometimes let my feelings about my birth mother’s abandonment get to me.”

  “If you were out of line, I don’t care. I’ve only known him a few months but already I can’t imagine my life without him.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “We’re still having some difficulties. Bring-your-dad-to-preschool day is coming up soon. None of us can decide who should go.”

  “What does Matt say?”

  “He wants to take both of us.” Dusty popped a fresh strawberry in his mouth. “I’m trying not to turn it into a contest.”

  “Good for you. Hard as that is, it’s the right thing to do.”

  “He’s coming over tomorrow to spend the night. Do you think he’ll like leftover pâté for dinner?”

  She took another bite and eyed the container. “I don’t think there’ll be any left for him to eat.”

  “You’re right.” He scooped the last of the pâté onto two crackers and passed her one. “Fish sticks and tater tots it is.”

  “Oh, gosh.” She made a face. “I haven’t eaten fish sticks in years.”

  “You’re not missing anything.” Dusty leaned back on one elbow, his expression becoming thoughtful. “I know you’ve heard a lot about me and the women I’ve dated.”

  “Adele says your exploits are legendary.”

  He chuckled. “They’re also exaggerated.”

  “Ha!” She gave him an arch look.

  “What about you? Any men in your life?”

  “Not at the moment.”

  “Ever married?”

  “Nope.”

  “Close?”

  “Mmm…” She lifted one shoulder. “A couple of serious relationships but they didn’t last.”

  “You get tired of them?”

  She plucked a piece of dried grass from the blanket and flicked it away. “More like they got tired of me.”

  “I can’t imagine that.”

  She shrugged again. This wasn’t a comfortable topic for her.

  “What happened?”

  “I dated this one guy in college. He got a job offer right after graduation in a town outside of Portland. I still had another year to go. We tried dating long-distance over the summer but we were young, and it didn’t work out.”

  “What about the other one?”

  “He was in the military reserves. We’d just moved in together when he got called to active duty.”

  “You didn’t want to wait for him?”

  “He didn’t want to wait for me. He came back on leave before being shipped overseas, and things were different.”

  Maryanne let Dusty think she and her former boyfriends had simply drifted apart. Now wasn’t the time or place to expound on what had been painful breakups.

  “Their loss,” he said with a half smile and caressed the back of her hand with his fingers.

  “Everything happens for a reason.”

  Did it? she wondered.

  After a leisurely postmeal respite spent
lying on their backs and watching the clouds float by, they packed up the empty containers and mounted their horses. Dusty took them on a different route, one with fewer up-and-down trails. Maryanne’s sore bum appreciated his consideration, not that she’d admit in a million years what specific part of her body ached.

  The closer they got to Cottonwood Ranch, the faster the horses moved—or wanted to move. Dusty held Uno back to accommodate Snowball’s shorter legs and instructed her to “give Snowball a nudge.” The horse didn’t exactly break into a run but she did move out at a more brisk walk.

  Maryanne’s sore muscles sang in happiness when the main gate appeared ahead. At the hitching post, she again required Dusty’s assistance to dismount. Solid ground had never felt so good. While Dusty began the process of unsaddling Uno, she held on to Snowball’s neck, still unsteady.

  “Thanks, girlie,” she cooed to the mare. “I’ll tell you a secret if you promise not to repeat it.”

  Snowball flicked her ears.

  “You’re only the second horse I’ve ever ridden.”

  Snowball turned her head around and looked at Maryanne as if to say she’d figured that out.

  “No fooling you, is there?”

  One of the wranglers drove up on an ATV. Maryanne recognized him from the night Dusty had given her father his first roping lesson.

  “Hi. It’s Big Ben, right?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He touched the brim of his hat. “Is Dusty around?”

  “He took the saddles to the tack room and should be right out.”

  The older man climbed off the ATV. Apparently, he was in too much of a hurry to wait and started for the barn. Her curiosity spiked, she couldn’t help it, and she was tempted to go with him. Just as he reached the entrance to the barn, Dusty emerged. Maryanne was close enough to hear their conversation.

  “Hey, Big Ben. What are you doing here?”

  “Barbara sent me with a message.” He handed Dusty a slip of paper. “Guess this person’s been trying to reach you for almost two hours, and you’re not answering your cell phone. They finally called the main house. Barbara says it’s real important.”

  Dusty read the note quickly, and a flash of intense emotion crossed his face. Maryanne’s stomach knotted. Had something happened to his son? Without thinking, she went to him. “What’s wrong?”

  “The message is from Kenneth Casey of Sundown Pictures.” Sweat had formed on his brow, and he wiped it off with the back of his hand. “He wants me to call him right away.”

  “SO SOON?” MARYANNE ASKED Dusty. “You just sent the screenplay.”

  “Would he read it that fast?”

  “He could have, I suppose. You won’t know till you call.”

  Dusty turned to Big Ben. “Take care of the horses for me, will you?”

  “Sure thing.”

  “Come with me,” Dusty said to Maryanne once Big Ben had left.

  She wavered. If the news was bad, Dusty may prefer to be alone until the worst of his disappointment abated. Her mother always had when she’d lost a role she wanted. Then again, if the news turned out to be good, Maryanne was the only person on Cottonwood Ranch, the only person in the world except for a handful in California, who knew about his screenplay and could share in his excitement.

  “Are you sure?”

  His gaze didn’t falter. “Very sure.”

  Damn warning signals and good sense and guarding against heartache. He’d asked her to be with him during what could be one of the most important—or devastating—phone calls of his life. How could she refuse?

  “All right.”

  They went into the barn. Instantly, the temperature dropped by about ten degrees. Maryanne was overwhelmed by the number of horses in the barn, about seventy by her rough estimation. And there were a half-dozen more barns on the ranch.

  Midway down the main aisle they came to an opening and a set of stairs, at the top of which was a landing and a door. He didn’t have to tell her his apartment lay on the other side of that door.

  What was it with him and long narrow stairways or darkened hallways?

  She battled a sudden case of nerves. They’d been alone often, but not this alone. There had always been people in the vicinity or riding in vehicles behind them.

  He unlocked the door, and they went inside. Considering the apartment had been built above a horse barn, Maryanne expected to find basic accommodations at best and a hovel at worst. To her shock and delight she walked into roomy, spotlessly clean and tastefully appointed living quarters decorated in a striking combination of western and contemporary decor. In hindsight, she should have expected as much, given his tastes.

  “Holy cow,” she exclaimed.

  “You like it?”

  “I’m wondering why you want to build a house. This place is great.”

  “For one thing, I need another bedroom. This has only one, which is fine for me. But there’s no place for Matt to bunk when he stays with me except the couch.”

  “That’s true.”

  “And I’m pretty sure most women wouldn’t like living in a barn above a bunch of horses.”

  “I would.” She realized her mistake when Dusty’s eyes lit up and mentally kicked herself.

  Behind the overstuffed leather couch, afternoon sunlight streamed in through a pair of shutters, creating a criscross shadow pattern on the area rug. The effect was quite lovely.

  “Have a seat.” He removed his hat and took hers, hanging them both on a coatrack by the door. “Can I get you a cold drink?”

  “I’m fine, thanks.”

  He sat at what was obviously a custom-made mahogany desk in the corner of the living room. This, she thought, was where he wrote and created his characters. Setting the note from Barbara in front of him, he smoothed the paper flat, then picked up the phone beside the computer monitor.

  “Here goes,” he said and flashed his trademark grin, only it lacked luster.

  “Good luck.” She returned his grin and gave him a thumbs-up before sinking into the couch.

  High tension situations weren’t uncommon to Maryanne— at work or personally. She found herself thrown back in time to when her mother had gotten the call from her agent about the role of Wanda in Family Fortune. Maryanne had been a child but she remembered the afternoon clearly and how she’d stood by her mother’s side while her agent delivered the good news. How odd that Maryanne should find herself in a similar situation here, in Markton, Wyoming. And with Dusty Cody of all people.

  “Is Mr. Casey there?” Dusty gave his name. “I have a message to return his call.”

  Seconds ticked by, accumulating into minutes. It must have felt like a million years to Dusty. Frequently, their gazes connected across the room and more than once she considered going to him and standing by him like she had her mother.

  “Yeah, I’m here.” Dusty wiped his damp brow again. “How are you doing, Mr. Casey?” After a pause, he said, “Ken.”

  Maryanne sat with her hands folded in her lap. It was that, or wring them compulsively. Was an invitation to call someone by their first name a good sign? She hoped so.

  It was difficult to tell what the producer was saying from Dusty’s end of the conversation. Other than answering a few basic questions about his screenplay, he mostly listened and fidgeted, his leg beating an erratic tattoo beneath the desk. All at once, he swallowed and when he said, “Okay, I’ll do that,” his voice cracked.

  With a solemn goodbye, he hung up the phone.

  When he didn’t speak right away, Maryanne feared the worst and scrambled for the right words to say. Only lame platitudes like “There’ll be a next time” came to mind.

  Dusty stood slowly and pushed the chair back in under the desk. Its wheels scraped noisily on the hardwood floor, almost like an omen. When he was done, he shoved his hands in his jeans pockets. “He told me he’s sorry.”

  “Oh, Dusty.”

  One corner of his mouth curved up. “He wishes he could give me more but he just can
’t.”

  Maryanne didn’t understand. “Give you more?”

  “Money.” The other side of his mouth curved up, and his dimple appeared. “But they have a standard rate for first-time offers.”

  “They’re buying your screenplay?” she squealed and sat bolt upright, her fingers pressed to her mouth.

  Dusty scratched the back of his head, looking every bit like the lanky cowboy she’d first met and not the talented author she knew him to be who’d just happened to make his first sale!

  “Technically, they’re optioning it. For five years. Is that too long? Should I ask for less?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Do you think your mother’s agent has the names of those associates?”

  “Call him. Right away.” She couldn’t contain herself. Leaping up from the couch, she raced across the room. He met her halfway. “You sold your screenplay,” she repeated. “Optioned.”

  “Okay, whatever.”

  “He wants some changes first.”

  “No problem. You can do that.” She laughed giddily and clamped his hand between hers. “Do you realize they could really make it into a movie?”

  “Don’t forget, you’re my date to the premiere.”

  Though the odds of such a thing happening were slim, she indulged her imagination for just a moment.

  “I’m serious.” He abruptly sobered. “I wouldn’t want to go with anyone else.”

  She didn’t want him to go with anyone else, either, but saying so would be acknowledging feelings she wasn’t ready to deal with just yet.

  “Have your people contact my people,” she said in a teasing tone to keep the mood light.

  His arm circled her waist. “None of this would have happened without your help.”

  “Yes, it would have. You’re pretty determined.”

  “And you’re an excellent coach.” He drew her close until their bodies were flush like the other night in the honky-tonk. “We make a good team. And we’ll celebrate in style when I fly out to sign my contract.”

  “That’s right.”