Текст книги "Mama Sees Stars"

Автор книги: Deborah Sharp

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

Perched on the top rail of the horse corral, I watched across the way as Jeb and one of his ranch hands worked about two dozen head of cattle. Jeb’s cow dog gave a couple of yips, helping to drive the animals toward their pen.

It was late morning. After breakfast, my sisters and I had separated, as they had errands to finish in town. When Mama and I arrived at the movie location, she’d vanished into the hair and make-up trailer. She was probably regaling the stylists right now with her beauty tips.

Now, Jeb leaned into the small herd from the saddle of his bay gelding. He and the horse seemed as one. The animal pivoted and side-stepped, pushing against the cows and easing off as needed. It was like a dance, where all the partners knew their steps. In one fluid motion, Jeb turned and flicked his cow whip over the rump of one recalcitrant steer.

My heart thrummed, keeping time with the hoof beats. Damn if that man wasn’t a beautiful sight in the saddle.

Finally, the dog barked and snapped at the heels of the straggler. The cow trotted to catch up with the rest of the herd. The ranch hand swung shut the gate as the last animal entered the enclosure, the dog still in pursuit.

Jeb spun and galloped toward me, stopping his horse inches from the fence where I sat. He grinned, and saluted me with an index finger to the brim of his cowboy hat. His white teeth gleamed in his sun-browned face. A smear of dirt, or maybe dried manure, crossed his angled cheekbone.

“I see you’re still riding that sorry nag,’’ I said. “How old is poor Cheyenne now, about a hundred and ten?’’

He lifted the whip and pointed it at me, a smile belying the menacing gesture. “You should know better than to poke fun at a cowman’s horse. He’s twenty, and he can run circles around horses half his age.’’

He turned the horse in a couple of tight circles to demonstrate. I jumped off the rail to give the hardworking horse a pat on the neck.

“So Cheyenne’s just like you, huh? Twice as good as cowpokes half your age?’’

Jeb laughed. “Yep, I'm just like that Toby Keith song.” He started the verse. I chimed in, singing about how he might not be the man he once was, but he’s still as good once as he ever was.

We grinned at each other. Were we remembering the past? Or were we anticipating the future? Maybe it was neither. Maybe we both just liked that barroom song.

Suddenly, I noticed Jeb’s eyes had strayed from mine. He stared over my shoulder, his grin now a frown. I turned to see where he was looking. There was a man in the distance, crouched down low by the gate of the cattle pen.

“Hey, what the hell are you doing?’’ Jeb’s shout was sharp, angry.

The man rose. It was Greg Tilton, seemingly noticing us for the first time. The glare of the setting sun made it difficult to see his expression.

“That’s a bad place to be, buddy.’’ Jeb’s voice was still raised to carry, but I could tell he was aiming for friendly. “Cattle can be unpredictable.’’

Tilton gave us a cheerful wave. Then he looped his thumbs in his waistband and ambled away, whistling.

“Weird Hollywood people.’’ Shaking his head, Jeb turned his attention back to me. “Now, where were we?’’

“I believe you two were doing a Dogpatch version of a duet.’’ The voice came from behind us. It held a slight accent, and a blizzard’s worth of ice.

I felt the color drain from my face. Jeb must have noticed my stricken look.

Ignoring Carlos, he tipped his hat to me. “Looks like you and Miamuh here have some business to discuss.’’ Then he turned the reins on Cheyenne, and nudged the horse with his heels.

As Jeb galloped off, silence stretched out between Carlos and me. Then, both of us started to say something at the same time.

“Jeb and I are just friends …’’

“… I can’t believe the way you …’’

I quickly motioned him to speak. “You go.’’

“I can’t believe the way you act when that cowboy is around. Yesterday, you were cuddled up to him at lunch; now he’s back, and the two of you are flirting out here. It looks to me like you never really got over him.’’ He leaned against the fence, avoiding my eyes.

“You know that’s not true.’’

“I don’t know anything. Are we together? Or would you rather be with him? Say the word, and I’m gone. I’m not desperate. I don’t want to force myself on someone who doesn’t want to be with me.’’

The ground was solid, but I felt unsteady. I grabbed his arm. “You can’t seriously believe I don’t want to be with you.’’

He pulled away, arms folded tightly over his chest. “That’s the way it looks. Or, maybe you want to be with me; but you want to be with him, too.’’

“You’re overreacting. I’ve known Jeb forever. I won’t deny there’s history. But it’s ancient. I’ve told you that, Carlos. Why won’t you believe me?’’

He reached out to me, brushed some hair from my eyes. A shiver of desire ran up my backbone. That’s love, isn’t it?

“I want to believe you, Mace. But I’m not blind. I see the way you look at each other.’’

I wasn’t sure what to say to that. Hadn’t I just been watching Jeb, thinking he looked purely gorgeous? But admiring the way he sat his horse and worked his cattle wasn’t the same as wanting him, was it? It wasn’t the same thing as being in love.

Thinking, I dug at a rock in the dirt with the toe of my boot. Carlos stroked my hair. My whole body went hot at his touch, and my heart melted with tender feelings for him. That was love. Now, I was sure.

And I was just about to tell Carlos so, when Jeb whistled, and yelled for his dog.

“Here, Nip. C’mon boy.’’

I glanced over, watching Nip squeeze under the bottom rail of the cow pen and lope toward his master. The dog’s tongue lolled from his mouth like he was smiling with the pure pleasure of his work. The sight of Nip looking so happy brought a grin to my face, too.

Carlos let the strand of hair he’d been caressing slip from his fingers. “I think that smile on your face is my answer.’’

Jamming his hands into his pockets, he turned to go.

“I was looking at the dog, Carlos,’’ I called after him. “Nip was grinning, so I was, too.’’

He didn’t look back.

“The dog’s name is right out of the book A Land Remembered. Every cowman in middle Florida names his dog Nip or Tuck.’’ I raised my voice. “Don’t you think that’s funny?’’

Head down, Carlos didn’t laugh, and he didn’t answer. He just kept walking.

_____

Hurricane-force winds roared. Sabal palms thrashed. Jesse, rain-soaked and desperate, struggled to make her way across a pasture in the raging storm.

Mopping water from her eyes, she stared at the whipping branches of a downed oak. The frilly hem of a child’s white dress peeked out, barely visible under the massive tree. With each step forward, the wind buffeted Jesse a half-step back.

Closer now, she stumbled to the ground and crawled the final distance. Her hand went out to touch the white hem. Lightning flashed, revealing the emotions contorting Jesse’s face: fear, grief, and an ice-cold rage. Lifting her face to the sky, she let out an anguished scream.

“And … Cut!’’ Paul Watkins said. “Nice, nice work, Jesse.’’

Unconsciously, I’d been holding my breath. I exhaled, slowly. Mama, standing beside me, heaved a deep sigh.

“My stars and garters! Jesse absolutely nailed that scene.’’

“Whew!’’ I said to Mama.

I knew it was make-believe. A fire hose sprayed “rain’’ from a 5,000-gallon tanker truck. Generator-powered wind fans with six-foot blades whipped up the tempest of the “hurricane.’’ A control box triggered movie lamps to produce dramatic “lightning’’ strikes.

And the small child, crushed by the storm-felled tree? That was a stunt dummy, outfitted in a white dress.

Yet, Jesse’s emotions seemed so real, I was caught up in the story. The scene had her searching for her character’s little sister, lost in a hurricane. My mind went back to the day my little sister, Marty, narrowly escaped the venomous bite of a rattlesnake. Watching Jesse, I felt the same clutch of fear in my stomach that I’d felt that day: What if I couldn’t save my sister?

I remembered how Jesse had quizzed me about feelings, and said she used them in her acting. I could understand the terror on her face when she saw her “sister’’ crumpled and broken, and the grief when she realized she was dead.

What I didn’t understand was the dark place Jesse went to pull up that chilling flash of rage.

A crowd milled about base camp. I hurried over to find out what was going on, peering over the head of a vertically challenged woman from the wardrobe department.

Johnny Jaybird stood in the middle of the huddle, immaculately dressed in pressed trousers, a navy blazer, and crisp white dress shirt. He looked like he’d just stepped out of a men’s store along Palm Beach’s ritzy Worth Avenue. Preening, he basked in the attention of cast and crew, bobbing his head toward each corner of the crowd. His smile seemed genuine, absent the arrogant smirk I’d seen on the set the first day.

Getting shot must have agreed with him. Or maybe it was surviving getting shot.

Greg Tilton stood beside the bench seat of a folding table on the fringes of the crowd, watching Johnny. He had what looked like a sandwich wrapped in tin foil in his hand, and a smirk on his face. His fellow cast and crew members seemed to give him a wide berth. It appeared he was alone in his own world despite being surrounded by people.

Paul Watkins stepped from the crowd to approach his first assistant director. Smiling warmly, he clasped Johnny Jaybird’s small hand in a two-fisted shake. “How you feeling, Jonathan? Did you get the flowers we sent to the hospital?’’

Johnny bobbed in deference. “They were beautiful, Paul. Much too extravagant, though.’’

“No cost is too great, buddy.’’ Paul put a tentative hand on the younger man’s back. “We’re just glad you’re okay. Right, everybody?’’

The crowd murmured in assent.

“You going to be up to working again, bud? I have plans for you to shoot some more action scenes. I was absolutely right about your talent in that area. I’ve been doing this long enough to know a budding genius when I see one.’’

Paul’s assessment seemed a bit excessive to me, but Johnny stretched his neck upward, as if letting the director’s praise rain down upon his head.

Paul, the affectionate smile still plastered on his face, seemed like he was going to continue on with the appreciation fest. But Barbara sidled up through the crowd to whisper something in his ear. His face immediately turned serious. She crooked her arm through his and whisked him away.

“Gotta go,’’ he called over his shoulder. “It’s always something, isn’t it? Good to have you back, buddy!’’

I had to wonder where Paul’s solicitous attitude was coming from. It wasn’t as if he’d shown a lot of concern for Johnny Jaybird before. Did he want something from the young assistant director? And if he did, what was it?

I worked my way to the inner circle of the crowd, intent on getting those questions answered. When there was a pause in the well-wishing, I smiled at Johnny. He gave me what seemed like a genuine grin in return. I was encouraged. “How’s the wound?’’

“I was lucky.’’

“You sure were,’’ I agreed. “Listen, I’ve been wondering about something.’’

He raised his eyebrows, offered an inquisitive head bob.

“Where was the director that morning you shot the horse scene? I thought he was supposed to be in charge?’’

The arrogant mask fell back over his face. “The inner workings of film-making can be extremely complicated. You’re the animal wrangler, right? Maybe you should just stick to animals.’’

Someone in the crowd snorted a laugh. I was actually amused, too. He was such a ridiculous snob, it was funny. But Mama had found her way to my side, and she failed to see the humor. She pulled herself up to her full height, which was almost equal to Johnny’s.

“My daughter is no dummy, Mister. Mace was valedictorian of her college class at University of Central Florida.’’

He leveled a cool look at my defender. “Isn’t that the school that has a special program to study Disney World? Never been there. I did graduate work at the American Film Institute. Maybe you’ve heard of it?’’

He sneered, waiting for Mama to answer. She held her tongue, surprisingly.

“Before that, I was at Princeton,’’ he added.

Mama crooked her wrist, fancy style: “Well, la-di-da-da. You know, I dated a boy from Princeton once. He had an impressive diploma, but no common sense. Couldn’t find his own butt with his hands in his back pockets.’’

A chuckle made its way around the crowd.

“Princeton doesn’t mean you’re any smarter than my middle girl, Mace.’’

As Johnny narrowed his eyes at Mama, and she crossed her arms over her chest, I settled in for what I hoped would be a good show. But the crowd started stirring. A wave of whispers rippled from one end to the other. People moved aside, making way. Toby shuffled his feet and kept his eyes on the ground as he trailed behind Greg Tilton. Tilton stepped up smartly, front and center. A hush grew. Soon, there was silence.

Toby, head down, looked like he’d rather be anywhere but at the center of that crowd. A loud whisper came from the rear: “Better duck. It’s Toby Take Aim.’’

“He’s got some nerve,’’ said someone else, not even bothering to whisper.

Some shushes circled around the crowd, but then another voice chimed in. “Yeah, Toby could have killed him.’’

Tilton held up his hands, cleared his throat. The crowd stilled.

“Listen up!’’ He sounded competent, take-charge. Just like in the movie where he was an anti-terrorism task force leader. “Toby has something he wants to say.’’

He nudged the young star forward. When Toby’s voice came out, it was barely audible. I was right next to him, and I couldn’t make out a word. Tilton poked him hard in the back.

“Speak up. Be a man.’’

“I’m sorry I shot you.’’ His voice grew louder, and he raised his eyes to meet Johnny’s. “I didn’t know the ammunition was live. I thought it was the prop gun, loaded with blanks.’’

Johnny waved a hand. “I know you didn’t mean for me to get hurt. Apology accepted.’’

I didn’t like Johnny much, but I thought the fact he didn’t make Toby grovel made him look like a gentleman. The assistant director took three steps toward the young star, coming so close that Toby backed away. He grabbed at Toby’s wrist, and forced the teen’s hand close to his side.

“You can feel the bandages, right there. That’s where the bullet entered and exited.’’

Toby, face reddening, tried to pull his hand away. Johnny Jaybird held it in place with an odd mixture of intensity and intimacy.

“All our actions have consequences.’’ Johnny stared, trying to catch Toby’s eyes. The young star dropped his gaze to the ground. “The doctors say it’s healing pretty well, but it’ll leave a scar. Guess I’ll never have a career as an Armani underwear model.’’

Toby’s head snapped up. Glaring, he snatched his hand away. Did I remember reading something in People that Toby got his start modeling underwear?

“Not cool, dude!’’ the young star said.

“I’m not making fun of you, Toby. You stepped up and admitted what you did. I just wish you’d be as forthcoming about everything in your life.’’

Toby’s face was scarlet—whether from anger or embarrassment, I couldn’t tell. He turned and stomped into the woods. Johnny followed him more slowly, holding his side and walking gingerly. Everyone watched them go.

“Cue the ominous music,’’ some wisecracker said, and several people laughed.

I glanced toward Tilton, who had returned to the picnic table. He was unwrapping half of his sandwich, but his eyes were fixed on the retreating figures of Toby and Johnny. His expression was hard to read. Was he interested? Amused? Did he like being a troublemaker?

“I’m going to talk to Tilton,’’ I said to Mama.

She automatically reached in her pocket and offered me her Apricot Ice. “And smooth some of those snarls out of your hair, honey. That rain has left you looking like my little dog, Teensy, before the groomer gets a hold of her.’’

“I’m not trying to get a date, Mama.’’

“Oh, I can see that, darlin.’’’

I stalked away, leaving Mama standing there with the lipstick tube in her outstretched hand. She might have followed me, but Sal was coming into the camp at the same time. She Apricot Iced her own lips, and ran to meet her husband.

Tilton was still staring off in the direction Toby and Johnny Jaybird took. He didn’t seem to notice my presence.

“What’s up with those two?’’ I asked him.

He turned to me, a blank look on this face. He put down the sandwich. I nodded in the direction the two men had taken.

“Jonathan’s obsessed with trying to get young Toby to be honest; to get in touch with who he really is. We’re all waiting to see how long it’s going to take.’’

“For what?’’ I asked.

“For Toby to admit to himself that he’s gay.’’

I lifted my jaw from the ground. “Gay? Does Jesse know about that?’’

He gave me a knowing smirk, and bent his head toward the edge of the crowd. Jesse had just arrived, accepting praise and compliments on her performance as she made her way toward her trailer.

“Why don’t you ask her?’’

A few minutes later, I was doing just that. The adoring crowd was dispersing. Someone had handed Jesse a cold soda from craft services. “Got a minute?’’ I asked.

“Hi, Mace. What’d you think?’’

For a moment I wasn’t sure if she was referring to Toby and Johnny. Of course, she meant her scene. “You nailed it! Really outstanding. I believed every word you said.’’

Her face lit up. I guess even when you’re famous, you never get tired of hearing you’ve done a good job.

I quickly caught her up about the strange encounter between Toby and the assistant director. “I thought you and Toby were a couple, Jesse. I saw the way he looked at you after the incident in the parking lot. He told you he loved you.’’

She sipped at the soda, shrugged. “Toby’s confused about his sexuality. It happens.’’

“But, I thought that day you two came out of your trailer …” I was going to say he didn’t seem the least bit confused then, strutting as he zipped his jeans. She interrupted me.

“There’s real life and then there’s Hollywood, Mace. We’re all about fantasy and make-believe.’’

She took a long swallow of soda. And then she was silent, seemingly examining the nutritional rundown on the back of the can. I watched her, trying to figure out what she was thinking. Her face was blank. Finally, she raised her eyes to mine.

“Toby’s mistake is thinking I can save him. I am nobody’s savior.’’

“I wonder if Jesse would give me some notes on my character’s motivation. Do you think I should ask her, Mace?’’

I was half-listening to Mama’s dissertation on everything Jesse had done right in playing her big scene as the terrified, bereaved older sister. Of course, I was far more interested in some of the other roles she’d been playing: Toby’s sexual conquest; a sworn enemy of Norman; supplicant to Norman’s ex-wife and business partner, Barbara.

Mama nudged me in the arm. “Well, do you, Mace?’’

“Do I what?’’

“Think that Mama should go bother one of Hollywood’s most famous young actresses for tips on how to read her one line,’’ Maddie said.

Mama sniffed. “It’s actually two sentences, Maddie.’’

“That’s right. And Rosie’s part is essential to the plot.’’ Sal looked adoringly at Mama.

“I stand corrected,’’ Maddie said.

My sisters had finished their business in town. They met up with Mama, Sal, and me under some shade trees in base camp. We hid from the late afternoon sun, as we waited out one of the many delays on the set. Now that I knew a little bit about filmmaking, I realized it was amazing that any movies ever made it to the theater. Hurry up and wait.

Marty suddenly clutched my hand. “Don’t look now. Carlos is headed this way.’’

Everyone except me immediately shifted or turned in their chairs to watch him approach. Subtle.

“Sal, I need a word.’’ He nodded, unsmiling, at the rest of us.

“No problem.’’ Sal started to rise, when I saw Mama place a restraining hand on his tree-trunk-sized thigh.

“Carlos, honey, why don’t you have a seat and rest a bit. You look like something the dog dragged up from under the porch.’’

He offered Mama a weak grin. “That bad, huh?’’

I thought he looked gorgeous, if a bit tired. I wanted to smooth the frown line from his brow, and kiss the tension off his lips. I resisted an urge to reach over and straighten his hair. Whenever he was deep in thought, he scratched at each side of his head near the temples. It left his thick hair sticking out in peaks over his ears.

I interlaced my fingers on my lap so I wouldn’t be tempted. I was still angry about the way he’d left me standing at the horse corral, calling after him like a desperate, needy girlfriend.

Marty slid over on a bench seat, patting a space for Carlos. “Mama just means you look tired. You’ve been working so hard. Why don’t you take a break?’’

Marty looked up at him with that sweet, imploring way she has; the way I don’t have.

He glanced at me, raised his eyebrows in a question.

I shrugged. “It’s a free country.’’

I immediately felt a pinch on my thigh hard enough to leave a bruise: Maddie.

Mama said, “Ignore my middle daughter, Carlos. She was raised by wolves.’’

“Sorry. Do have a seat,’’ I mumbled. “We’d love to have you join us.’’

“Don’t mind if I do.’’ Ignoring the frost I tried to put in my voice, he squeezed in next to Marty, sitting across from me. “Where’s your good friend, Jeb?’’

I could feel my blood pressure rising. “I tried to explain, Carlos. I recall you stomping away and refusing to listen, as usual.’’

A worried look passed between my sisters and Mama. Even Sal looked concerned.

“Jeb Ennis?’’ Maddie snorted. “That broken-down, no-account, ex-rodeo cowboy? He doesn’t have a pot to piss in. I saw him getting coffee this morning; probably after a drunk last night. His looks are going, too.’’

“No, they’re not, honey. Jeb is still one fine-looking man.’’ Mama winced a bit, and I knew from her glare that Marty must have kicked her. “You’re right about the pot, though. I heard Jeb lost everything he owned, again.’’

“Well, he still has his cattle dog, right Mace?’’

I narrowed my eyes at Carlos. What kind of game was he playing? Did he want to get a rise out of me? Was he trying a lame joke in an attempt to make up? I couldn’t tell. He had his cop face on. So, instead of saying the wrong thing, I said nothing.

“Mace, the man asked you a question!’’ Mama swatted my folded hands. “I didn’t teach you to ignore people when they speak to you.’’

I jerked out of her reach. “Stop slapping on me, Mama. I’m a grown woman!’’

“Then start acting like one!’’

“Ring, ring … Kettle, it’s the pot.’’ I offered her a pretend phone. “Who’s the one simpering around the set, pretending to be a movie star? Who’s the one playing dress-up, like she’s in her second childhood?”

Sal slammed one of his bear-paw-sized hands on the table. “Enough, Mace! Don’t talk like that about your mudder. She earned a speaking part, and she’s good. She’s going to steal the whole movie!’’

He beamed with pride at Mama, who planted a kiss on his cheek. “At least I know how to keep my man happy, don’t I, Sally?’’

Sal nodded, grinning like a fat man at an all-you-can-eat buffet.

I heard Marty’s quiet voice. “Mace can’t help it if she doesn’t express her feelings well. Not everybody wears their heart on their sleeve.’’ She looked pointedly at Mama, and then turned to my estranged boyfriend. “She cares so much about you, Carlos. We’ve never seen her like this with anyone she’s ever dated.’’

“That’s right,’’ Mama chimed in. “Mace loves you.’’

My cheeks burned. I must have been blushing, which was totally embarrassing. I didn’t dare raise my eyes to see Carlos’s reaction to my family trying to patch up our romance. But I was listening to every word; including the next ones, when Maddie managed to put her foot in it.

“She was crazy about Jeb Ennis, of course. But Mace only thought that was love.’’ Maddie leaned to grab at both shins. “Ouch!’’

“Jeb is history, Maddie. I was a kid. I tried to tell Carlos that, but he didn’t want to listen. Now, if y’all are through dissecting my sorry love life, I need to go check on the horses.’’

I propelled myself away from the table, fighting the urge to look over my shoulder to see if Carlos would come after me. I could almost feel my skin scorching where five pairs of eyes were aimed at my back. I was debating whether to swallow my pride and return to get Carlos, when I saw Greg Tilton watching me from another table, a plastic-wrapped sandwich in his hand. Maybe he lacked the Hollywood obsession with calories, because I’d already seen him eating lunch, and this was his second extra sandwich of the day. Dropping it on the table, he fell into step beside me.

“Hey, want some company?’’

“Not really.’’

A look of surprise flitted across his face. “I thought we could talk about what’s been happening around here. Somebody mentioned you’re really smart. They say you’re some kind of super amateur detective when it comes to solving murders.’’

He had me at “smart.’’

“I’m not much in the mood for talking,’’ I said, “but you can tag along with me to the corral.’’

As we made our way through the woods, Tilton must have caught on to my black mood. I was pleasantly surprised that he didn’t yammer at me, or insist I turn my frown upside down to a smile. I hate when people say that. I saw him watching a cardinal as it flitted from branch to branch. “Pretty redbird, huh?’’

“ ‘Cardinalis cardinalis,’ ’’ Greg answered.

You could have knocked me over with a cardinalis feather. He gave me his patented movie-star smirk.

“I was quite the birdwatcher when I was a kid,’’ he said. “Guess that makes me a dork.’’

“Not at all,’’ I said. “I wish more people were aware of the natural world around them.’’

“When I was a boy, I used to escape to the woods for hours. I felt safe there.’’

“Me, too.’’ I raised my head to take in the green canopy of trees above us. “Still do.’’

We were silent for a while, just standing together on the path, enjoying the sights and sounds of the woods. Something small scurried through the undergrowth, and we both turned to follow the noise. It was probably a squirrel, or maybe a snake. He spotted a hawk in a tall pine, and pointed it out to me without a word. I showed him the resurrection ferns growing on an oak’s branches, green and lush now after yesterday’s rain. It felt good, companionable, to share my love of nature with somebody who appreciated the outdoors like I did.

I was scanning the ground, still searching for any little critters moving through the brush, when I realized Tilton had gone motionless beside me. He wasn’t checking out the trees or the undergrowth or the birds anymore. He was checking out me.

“You know, the way that dappled sunlight hits your face is really stunning. And you have this serene expression as you look at the woods. You’re a beautiful woman, Mace. It makes you even more desirable that you don’t seem to realize it.’’

Uh-oh.

I started to protest that he shouldn’t get the wrong idea, that I was involved with somebody, but he put a finger to my lips.

“Shhhh, don’t speak.’’’ He’d lowered the tone of his voice into the seduction register. “Just accept the compliment.’’

I felt like Sandra Bullock in a plain-Jane role, at the moment the dashing hero shows an interest.

He rubbed his finger suggestively over my lips. That sandwich must have been tuna fish, because I could smell it on his hand. I jerked back my head, and shook it with force. “No.’’

“No?’’ He raised his brows, surprised. Then his face contorted with anger, and he grabbed my wrist. “I know you’re attracted to me. What’s your problem?’’

An image of Carlos’s face appeared in my mind. “For one thing, I’m seeing somebody. For another, I’m not attracted to you.’’

He gave a snort of laughter at the very idea of that. “Yeah, right. Anyway, I’m not asking you to marry me. Wouldn’t you like to be able to say you got it on with the great Greg Tilton?’’

He still had a bruising grip on my wrist. He pulled my hand to the fly of his jeans, forcing me to stroke him through the fabric. Apparently, he was ready. But I was far from willing.

I struck as fast as a Florida panther, using my free hand to grab his ear. I twisted it, hard. At the same time, I brought my knee up with a solid shot to his groin. Dropping my wrist, he doubled over. He clutched one hand to his ear. The other cupped his crotch, as he gasped for breath.

He stepped backward, stumbled over a marlberry shrub, and landed on the ground. “Bitch!’’ His face was crimson, either from groin pain or rage.

“You asked for it.’’

“Nobody treats Greg Tilton like that, especially not some country mouse from Hicksville, Florida.’’

“Well, I guess you’re wrong about that, because this country mouse just kicked Greg Tilton’s ass.’’

Grimacing, he tried to get up. I put my boot to his shoulder and sat him back down.

“Touch me again,’’ I said, “and I’ll knock your teeth down your throat just to watch you spit ’em out, single-file.’’

What happened wasn’t funny. Still, I was grinning as I walked away because of the last sight I’d had of him. The “great Greg Tilton’’ was sprawled on his ass, smack dab in a patch of poison ivy.