LITMIR.BIZ

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said something to her brother, and then did a one-eighty and hightailed it back to the trailer. Before stepping inside she glanced in Wyatt’s direction. To see if he was watching? Their eyes met again and for all he was worth, he couldn’t, wouldn’t stop looking at her. Then she was gone, the trailer door slamming shut behind her.

      “Crap,” he muttered, climbing down from his horse. He planted his feet on solid ground and held the reins in his hand, trying to decide what to do. He’d worked hard to put Brooke out of his mind, and now here she was infiltrating, invading and trying her best to take up space again.

      He was so busy being in his own head, he didn’t notice Dylan McKay until he was standing right in front of him. “Hello, I’m Dylan. I understand you’re taking over for Johnny Wilde today?”

      “Yes,” Wyatt said, distracted. He got it together enough to refocus and pay the star some attention. “Wyatt Brandt.”

      Dylan put out his hand. “Nice meeting you.”

      “Same here.”

      They shook hands. “I understand you think the river’s too fast to do the crossing scene today?”

      “That’s right. I told the director we should wait. I know the area, and that current is only going to get stronger as the day progresses. It’s not safe for the animals. Clouds are starting to gather and those breezes are gonna turn ugly in a few hours. The winds will only complicate things. Sorry, I know it’s not the news you hoped to hear.”

      “No need to apologize. We can shoot around it. Keeping the animals and crew safe is a priority. I just wanted to hear it from you.”

      “Sure thing.”

      “So, you’re from around here?”

      “I’ve lived in Texas all my life. I own Blue Horizon Ranch some twenty-five miles from here.”

      “Horses?”

      “Cattle, but we have a string of Arabians and cutting horses on the ranch, too.”

      They spoke about horses and Texas for a while, and Wyatt came away thinking that Dylan McKay wasn’t a stereotypical prima donna celebrity. It was on the tip of his tongue during the conversation to ask him about Brooke. But that didn’t happen. Dylan had been called away. Just as well. Wyatt had come to the conclusion that he needed to speak to Brooke himself.

      Sure, she’d lied to him about who she was.

      But he’d left her alone in a hotel room after a wild night of sex, without much of an explanation.

      He marched over to the honey wagon with a clear vision of what needed saying, but as he came close to knocking on the trailer door, his mind began to blur. Visions of Brooke slapping his face a good one flashed in his head. She might call security to toss him off the property.

      He’d like to see them try.

      But his hand clenched into a fist and he rapped on the door regardless. Things needed saying. It was as simple as that.

      The door opened, and he was shell-shocked when a pretty, pregnant redhead stood facing him. “Hi, can I help you?”

      “Uh, sure. I wanted to speak with Brooke. I’m Wyatt Brandt.”

      “Okay, Wyatt. Let me see if Brooke is available. What can I tell her this is about?”

      Hell, the wagon wasn’t that big. Brooke was probably hearing this whole conversation. “Just mention my name. Tell her I hope she’ll see me.”

      “I’ll see him, Emma.” Brooke said, her voice stony. And then she appeared in the doorway. She wasn’t happy about seeing him, yet her beautiful brown eyes widened a bit when she looked at him, turning his brain to mush. The words he wanted to say fled him faster than a jackrabbit running from a hound.

      “Hello, Brooke.”

      “Wyatt.”

      Emma gave them both a curious glance. “You know, I just remembered I have an errand to run.”

      Out here? There wasn’t a town for miles.

      “You don’t have to leave, Emma. This won’t take long,” Brooke told her.

      “No, no. I’ve really got to, to, uh...talk to Dylan. He’s waiting on me to meet him down by the river.”

      Emma ducked her head and scooted down the steps quickly, giving them privacy.

      Brooke’s curvy body blocked the doorway. “I’m not inviting you in.”

      “There’s no need for that. I just wanted to say...” Brooke’s arms were folded and any minute now, she’d be tapping her foot, schoolteacher style. “Listen, I have some explaining to do. But so do you. You lied to me.”

      “About what?”

      “About your name. You faked your identity.”

      “I have my reasons for that. But you skipped out...and oh, never mind.”

      “Can we talk?”

      “I thought that’s what we’re doing.”

      “No, I mean really talk. I feel badly about how I had to leave you that morning. I do, and I want to make it up to you.”

      If body language had anything to do with it, she’d surely refuse him, but something stopped her. Instead, she seemed to be considering it. “What did you have in mind?”

      “Come out to the ranch and have dinner with me. We can talk there, uninterrupted.” Well, that depended on two little rascals and their sleep schedule, but he couldn’t offer her anything more right now. His sense of honor was at stake. He didn’t usually treat women the way he’d treated Brooke, and he wanted to make amends. “I can pick you up later and take you to the ranch.”

      “No. I don’t think so,” she said, and he felt the disappointment all the way to his toes. “I’ll drive out. Just give me directions...easy directions, or I may not find it,” she said.

      She was agreeing? Why was he so damn happy about that?

      “Great. It’s about half an hour’s drive from here and it’s practically a straight run. I’ll write down the directions. But I’d be happy to pick you up.”

      “No, I’ll drive to you,” she said, in a tone that meant business.

      He got it. She wanted to be able to leave at a moment’s notice. He didn’t care. At least the nagging thoughts plaguing his mind would be put to rest after he explained the whole one-night-stand business.

      The trick was trying to sort it all out in his own head first.

      * * *

      With her windows rolled down and a light drizzle dotting her windshield, Brooke was actually enjoying the ride. The muggy Texas day had given way to an evening of fresh scents and cooler temperatures. Her windshield wipers clicked on and off and her driving arm was hit with an occasional raindrop as she steered over remote terrain toward Wyatt Brandt’s ranch.

      If it weren’t for the baby she was carrying, she wouldn’t be making this drive, but the opportunity to tell Wyatt the truth presented itself today when he shown up on the set of The Price of Glory. Seeing pigs fly would’ve shocked her less than having Wyatt Brandt appear at the river.

      But as luck or bad karma would have it—she wasn’t sure which—Wyatt had come out of nowhere again, her not-so-miraculous cowboy. Talking to him had become inevitable. She certainly couldn’t speak with him on Dylan’s set; there were too many opportunities to trigger gossip and speculation. And at Zane’s home, there’d be too many eyes and ears around to have a private conversation, namely her brother’s and Emma’s.

      Country music filled the silence of the road. Brooke sang along with Reba to keep her mind off what she was about to do. The words of “Cowgirls Don’t Cry” poured out of her as she traveled

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