Honey Moon (17 page)

"The way I remember it, you're around sixteen."

Another sob squeezed through the narrow passageway in her throat. "I'm eighteen. Eighteen years, o—one month and two weeks."

"I guess I hadn't realized. In a way that kind of makes it worse, doesn't it?

Somebody who's eighteen should act more like a woman and less like a kid who has to be turned over somebody's knee."

Her voice broke. "I don't th—think I'm ever going to be a woman. I'm—I'm going to be caught in this kid's body forever."

"There's nothing wrong with your body. It's your mind that needs to grow up."

She crumpled forward, her arms squeezed between her chest and her legs, her body shivering. Self-hatred consumed her. She couldn't stand being herself anymore.

The brush of his fingers against her spine was so light that at first she didn't realize he was touching her. And then his hand opened and settled over the center of her back. The storehouse of emotions that she had locked away for so many years broke free. The feelings of abandonment, the loneliness, the need for love that was like an unmelting cone of ice at the center of her heart.

She twisted around and threw herself against his chest. Her arms wrapped around his neck, and she buried her face in his shirt collar. She could feel him stiffen and knew he hadn't meant to let her into his arms—nobody ever wanted her in their arms—but she couldn't help herself. She just took possession.

"I'm everything you said," she whispered into his shirt collar. "I'm hateful and selfish and a mean-tempered bitch."

"People change their ways all the time."

"You—you really think I should apologize, don't you?"

He held her awkwardly, neither pushing her away nor embracing her. "Let's just say I think you've reached a crossroads. You might not realize it now, but later on you'll look back at this moment and

you'll know that you were forced to make a decision that affected how you were going to live the rest

of your life."

She was quiet, pressing her cheek against his shoulder and thinking about what he had said. She'd gotten two people fired and insulted nearly everyone on the show. It was a lot to make up for.

Her breath caught on a small hiccup. "This is the real MOS, isn't it, Dash?"

There was a moment of silence.

"I guess it is, at that," he replied.

10

When she emerged from the barn, she found that the shooting schedule had been mysteriously rearranged while she was inside, and instead of filming her scenes with Dash, they were shooting a scene with Blake and Eleanor.

Everyone was unnaturally busy, and nobody would meet her eyes, but she saw by their smug expressions that they all knew exactly what had happened inside.

The sons of bitches had probably pressed their ears right up to the barn door.

Her eyes narrowed and her lips tightened. She wasn't going to let anybody laugh at her. She'd take care

of all of them. She'd—

"I wouldn't advise it," Dash said softly at her side.

She looked up at him, eyes shadowed by the brim of his hat, mouth set in a firm line. She waited for the familiar resentment to bubble up inside of her, but she felt a peculiar sense of peace instead. Someone had finally drawn a line in the sand and told her she couldn't cross it.

"I suggest you make yourself an appointment to see Ross before you leave today. There are a few people you need to get un-fired."

She didn't really believe he'd hold her down and let everybody take a whack at her, but she wasn't going to take a chance, and she nodded.

"And don't even think about whining to anyone from the network about what happened today. It's between you and me."

A small spark of spirit returned to her. "For your information, I didn't have any intention of whining to anybody."

The corner of his mouth twitched. "Good. You might have more brains than I've been giving you credit for." He touched the brim of his hat with his thumb and began to walk away.

She watched him for several seconds. Her shoulders drooped. By tomorrow, he wouldn't even speak to her. It would be just like always.

His steps slowed and then halted. He turned back to her, studying her for a moment before he spoke. "I know you like horses. If you want to drive out to my ranch some weekend, I'll show you a few I've got."

Her heart swelled in her chest until it seemed to fill every space. "Really?"

He nodded and once again began to walk toward his motor home.

"When?" She took several quick steps after him.

"Well..."

"This weekend? Would Saturday be all right? I mean, Saturday's good for me, and if it's good for you ..."

He stuck his thumb in the pocket of his jeans and looked as if he regretted his invitation.

Please,
she prayed.
Please don't take it back.

"Well—This weekend isn't real good for me, but I guess next Saturday would be okay."

"That's great!" She could feel her grin stretching like Silly Putty over her face.

"Next Saturday'd be just great."

"All right then. Let's make it around noon."

"Noon. Oh, that's great. Noon'll be fine."

Her heart floated like a baby's bath toy. It continued to float right through the rest of the day, allowing her to ignore the crew members' smirks and the satisfaction in Liz's eyes. Despite the blow to her pride, she was surprised at how good it felt not being bad any longer.

That evening she cornered Ross in his office and asked him to rehire Melanie and Jack. He agreed with alacrity, and before she left the studio, she called both of them and apologized. Neither of them forced

her to grovel, which made her feel even worse than she had before.

The next week dragged on forever as she waited for Saturday and her visit to the ranch. She bent over backward trying to be nice to everybody, and although most of the crew continued to keep her at a distance, a few of them began to warm up to her.

On Saturday she drove down a narrow dirt road in the rugged mountains north of Malibu and caught her first glimpse of Dash Coogan's ranch. It was tucked neatly into the hills amidst chaparral, oaks, and sycamore. A pair of red-tailed hawks circled in the sky overhead.

She pulled over to the side. The clock on the Trans Am's dash read 10:38 and she wasn't due at the ranch until noon. She flipped down the visor and studied her reflection, trying to decide if the lipstick she'd put on looked silly with her dog's dish haircut. It did. But then, everything looked silly with the haircut, so what difference did it make?

The clock read 10:40.

What if he had forgotten? Her palms were sweating, and she wiped them on her jeans. She tried to tell herself that he wouldn't forget something so important.

Their day together was going to be everything she had dreamed about. He would show her around the place. They'd talk about horses, go riding, stop and talk some more. Maybe his housekeeper would have packed a picnic lunch.

They'd spread a blanket next to a creek and share a few secrets. He'd smile at her just like he smiled at Janie and—

She pressed her eyes shut. She was getting too old for this kind of childish fantasy. She should be daydreaming about sex, instead. But whenever she did that, she imagined herself making love with Eric Dillon and that got her excited and upset all at the same time. Still, daydreaming about Dash Coogan treating her like Dash Jones treated his daughter Janie wasn't any better.

The clock read 10:43. One hour and seventeen minutes to go.

The hell with it. She turned the key in the ignition and pulled out on the road.

She would just pretend she'd gotten the time mixed up.

The ranch house was a rambling one-story stone-and-cypress structure with green shutters at the windows and a front door painted charcoal gray.

Considering the fact that Dash was a star, the place was relatively modest, probably the reason the IRS hadn't made him sell it. She got out of the Trans Am and walked up the steps to the front door. As she pushed the bell, she lectured herself about mature behavior. If she didn't want people to treat her as if she were fourteen, she shouldn't act that way. She needed to develop the gift of restraint. And she had to stop wearing her heart on her sleeve all the time.

She pushed the bell again. There were no signs of life. Her nervousness took a quantum leap into full anxiety, and she leaned on the bell. He couldn't have forgotten. This was too important. He—

The door swung open.

He had obviously just gotten out of bed. He wore only a pair of khaki pants, and he hadn't shaved. The wiry strands of his hair lay flat on one side of his head and stuck out on the other as if a herd of cattle had run a stampede right through it. Above all, he didn't look happy.

"You're early."

She swallowed hard. "Am I?"

"I said noon."

"Did you?"

"Yeah."

She didn't know what to do. "Do you want me to go for a walk or something?"

"As a matter of fact, I'd appreciate it."

"Dash?" A woman's voice called out from inside the house.

A look of displeasure came over his face. There was something familiar about the low husky tones of that female voice. Honey bit down on her lip. It was none of her business.

"Dash?" the woman called out again. "Where's your coffeepot?"

Honey's mouth gaped in outrage. "Dusty!"

Lisa Harper's familiar blond head appeared behind his shoulder. "Honey, is that you?"

"It's me all right," she replied through clenched teeth.

Lisa's eyes widened in baby-blue innocence. "Oops."

"She's sleeping with
you
, too?" Honey exclaimed, glaring at Dash.

"How about you go take that walk now?" he replied.

She ignored him and glared at Lisa. "You certainly do spread your favors around."

"Comparison shopping," Lisa replied sweetly. "And just between the two of us, the old cowboy leaves Eric Dillon way back at the starter's gate."

"I think that's just about enough," Dash said. "Honey, if one word of this gets to those writers, your butt is going to become public property. Do you hear me?"

"Yeah, I hear you," Honey replied sullenly.

Lisa, who was always looking for ways to expand Dusty's role, grinned at Honey behind Dash's back, obviously hoping she'd talk her head off.

"I'll go take that walk now," Honey said, before he could order her to leave. She fled down the walk, barely breathing until she heard the front door close behind her.

Later, as she stood over by the paddock admiring three of Dash's horses and breathing in the tang of eucalyptus overlaid with the faint scent of manure, she heard Lisa drive away. Envy gnawed at her as she thought of Lisa and Dash, Lisa and Eric—Lisa, who knew all the secrets of womanhood that were still mysteries to her.

Not long after, Dash appeared wearing a long-sleeved plaid shirt with a pair of jeans and worn cowboy boots. Beneath his Stetson, the sides of his hair were still damp from his shower. He extended one of the two mugs of coffee he carried toward her. After she took it, he put a foot up on the fence rail and gazed out at the horses.

She put a foot up, too.

"I'm sorry," she finally said. She was beginning to discover that it was less work to apologize than to defend herself when she was wrong. "I knew I wasn't supposed to show up until noon."

He sipped his coffee from the white ceramic mug. "I figured you did."

That was all. He didn't give her any big lectures or say anything more about it.

Instead, he pointed toward the animals in the paddock.

"Those two are quarter horses, and the other's an Arabian. I'm boarding them for friends."

"They're not yours?"

"I wish they were, but I was forced to sell mine off."

"The IRS?"

"Yep."

"Scum suckers."

"You got that right."

"We were audited once, right before Uncle Earl died. Sometimes I think that's what killed him. Nobody except serial killers should have to deal with the IRS.

It ended up that I had to handle most of it."

"How old were you?"

"Fourteen. But I was always good in math."

"There's a lot more than math involved when you're up against the IRS."

"I'm smart about people. That helps."

He shook his head and chuckled. "I've got to tell you, Honey, that in all my life I can't ever remember meeting anybody—male or female—who was a worse judge of character than you are."

She bristled. "That's a terrible thing to say. And it's not true."

"It's true all right. The most competent people on the crew are the ones you give the most trouble to, and it's not just the crew, either. You only seem to attach yourself to people with character faults a mile wide. The best people are the ones you turn your back on."

"Like who?" she inquired indignantly.

"Well, Liz for one. She's smart and she's got integrity. She also liked you right from the beginning, although I have no idea why."

"That's ridiculous. Liz Castleberry is the queen of the bitches. And she hates my guts. It seems to me that all you've proved is that I'm a better judge of character than you are."

He snorted.

Honey pressed her point. "I'll give you a perfect example of how vindictive she is. Last week I got back to my trailer and I found a package from her. There was a note with it that said she was sorry she'd missed my birthday, and she hoped I'd like her present even though it was late."

"That doesn't sound too vindictive to me."

"That's what I thought until I opened the present. You'll never guess what was inside."

"A hand grenade?"

"A
dress.
"

"Imagine that. You should take her to court."

"No. Listen. Not just any dress, but this frilly little yellow thing with a ruffle.

And these stupid-looking shoes. And
pearls.
"

"Pearls? Well, now."

"Don't you see? She was making fun of me."

"I'm having a little trouble following you here, Honey."

"It looked like something a Barbie doll would wear, not a person like me. If I put an outfit like that on, everybody would fall on the floor laughing. It was so