Melting the Ice (35 page)

Hours later, as he sat on the plane on his way back to St. Louis, Trevor had the plan formulated. The media were constantly hounding him for an exposé on his life and career. After all, there weren’t many athletes who played multiple sports. At least not many who played them well. He’d been closed off to the idea of it for a lot of reasons.

He leaned back in his seat and smiled.

Now, it was Haven’s turn to shine. And he was just the person to make it happen.

 • • • 

HAVEN TRIED TO MUSTER UP ENOUGH SALIVA TO SWALLOW as she pressed the button to return the phone call she’d missed from her boss.

She knew what was on the other end of that phone call.

Her ass was going to be fired, less than six weeks after she’d gotten the job of a lifetime.

It would have been better if she could have resigned. It would have looked better on her resumé, but then again, what did she care? Her career in journalism was over anyway, right?

Never quit. Whatever you do, Haven, never give up on anything until you’re sure you’ve given it everything you have.

Her father’s words rang in her ears, guilt squeezing her stomach until nausea caused her fingers to pause on the call button of her phone.

It was too late to beg to keep her job. She’d already passed up multiple travel assignments, content to do the local ones, then sit in her apartment in New York, dwelling on how much she missed home, her mom.

Her dad.

This wasn’t the right career for her. She’d made a mistake accepting this job. She wasn’t cut out for the rigors of sports news—the travel, the insane schedule, the arrogant athletes.

What was she thinking? Her father hadn’t even been gone a year yet.

She couldn’t do it.

Be brave, Haven. You can do anything, be anything you want to be. Just be happy.

Tears pricked her eyes and she swiped them away as she replayed every conversation they’d had those last few weeks over and over in her head.

Be happy.

She didn’t know how to be happy without hearing her father’s laugh, seeing his smiling face, being able to pick up the phone and talk to him every day.

Who was she going to go to when she needed advice?

She loved her mother, and in the ways of relationships and men and things like that, she had always gone to her mom.

But her dad—he’d been her buddy. She’d learned about sports from her father, had sat next to him and watched football, baseball, hockey, and every other sport imaginable. He’d taught her balls and strikes in baseball and the difference between a post pattern and a shovel pass in football. They’d driven up to St. Louis together and taken in hockey games, and she’d never been more thrilled than to see the players blasting that puck across the ice.

She’d learned to love sports because of her dad.

She’d gone after this job because of him.

And now she was going to be fired because after his death she hadn’t had the energy to do this job she’d wanted for years. For that, she had only herself to blame.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” she said, then pushed the call button on her phone.

“Haven. I’ve been waiting for you to call.”

She cringed as the loud and very no-nonsense voice of her boss, Chandler Adams, came on the line.

“Hi, Chandler. Sorry. I got tied up.”

“Well, untie yourself. I have a job for you.”

“A . . . job?” He wasn’t firing her?

“Yeah. You know Trevor Shay, right?”

“Trevor . . . yes, I know him.”

“Great. We’re going to do his bio. A whole feature on the life of Trevor Shay. Personal and professional. We’ve been after him for years to do this, and he’s finally agreed. And he’s asked for you.”

“For me?”

“Yeah. Says you two go way back, to college.”

“Uh . . . yes. I knew him in college.”

“Then it’s a damn good thing we hired you, Haven. Pack a bag. You’ll meet him at his place in St. Louis to get everything set up. Narrative and background first, then we’ll get camera work involved later.”

Was she in some alternate universe? She hadn’t been fired. In fact, she’d just been assigned a profile of one of the biggest stars in the sports world right now.

“Okay. Sure. Thanks, Chandler.”

“No problem. I’ll email you the specs on what we’re looking for from you on this, Haven. This assignment’s going to take awhile, so clear your calendar.”

“Consider it done.”

When she hung up, she sat back and stared out the window of her very tiny apartment, stunned that she hadn’t been kicked out the door. She stared at the boxes in her apartment, already half packed. She’d been mentally prepared, set in her mind that she was going to head back to Oklahoma to be near her mother, her roots.

Where memories of her dad were.

Now she had to change her focus.

Why had she agreed to do this? This wasn’t what she wanted to do anymore.

Was it?

She sat on the bed.

Follow your dreams, Haven.

She still heard his voice so clearly in her head. Maybe he was trying to tell her something. She didn’t know if this was her dream anymore, but she’d agreed to take this job.

With Trevor Shay, of all people. She hadn’t seen Trevor since her dad’s funeral. She wondered how he’d react knowing it was her doing this assignment.

He’d probably ignore her, just like he had in college.

No, wait. He’d specifically asked for
her
. He’d agreed to the interviews, so this time, she wouldn’t allow him to pretend she didn’t exist.

She got up and went to her closet to grab her suitcase.

Her and Trevor Shay. God, she’d had such a crush on him in college, back when she was tutoring him. All those nights they’d spent shoulder to shoulder, when she’d done her best to try and convince him to focus on his books when all she’d really wanted was for him to notice her as a woman.

He’d been more interested in trying to finagle a way to get her to do his homework.

Now she was going to be in the driver’s seat.

She stared out over the boxes, debating whether to unpack them.

She’d leave them, see how this assignment went. If it didn’t work out, if it didn’t light the fire under her after a few days, she’d call Chandler and tell him she was out.

But she’d give it a try. For her dad.

HOPE IGNITES

LOGAN M
C
CORMACK HAD TO HAVE BEEN DRUNK OR out of his goddamned mind to have agreed to let a movie crew film on his ranch.

Why he thought it had been a good idea was beyond him. But Martha, the ranch cook and house manager, was starstruck, and when she’d heard who the lead actress was—some name Logan had already forgotten, alongside some freakin’ heartthrob-of-the-month as her costar, Martha gone all melty and told him it would be good for business.

Plus, the production company had offered a buttload of cash, and he wasn’t the type to turn down extra money. Since they’d be filming on the east side of the property, which was mostly hills and grassland and nowhere near their cattle operation, they’d be out of the way. At the time it had seemed like a good idea.

They’d come in a week ago, a convoy of semis and trailers and black SUVs. Logan had been working the fence property and had seen them driving in. Hell, it had looked like some Hollywood parade. The whole town had shown up at the gates to the ranch to witness it. He’d gotten all the gossip when Martha had served up dinner. She’d talked it up nonstop, her voice more animated than he’d heard in a long time.

“I’m pretty sure Desiree Jenkins and Colt Stevens are on our property as we speak,” Martha had said as she’d put the salad on the table. “Are you going to go check it out, Logan?”

“Why would I want to do that?” he’d asked, way more interested in eating than he was in the goings-on at the east property.

“You rented them the land. It’s your responsibility to make sure they’re settled in.”

He’d said no, and Martha had argued. And when Martha argued about something, it was best you just do whatever she wanted, because she wasn’t the type to let a topic die.

“I’ll go see about it in a few days.” That few days had turned into a week, and Martha had been nearly apoplectic that he hadn’t checked it out yet. Which could affect his dinner, since Martha in a snit meant she could take to her room with some kind of mystery ailment and he’d end up eating baloney sandwiches instead of a hot meal.

So after he was done with his work the next day, he climbed into his truck and drove over to the site. Crews had already finished building the set for . . . whatever movie it was they were filming. Some post-apocalyptic futuristic something or another, supposedly set on another planet. The sparse vegetation, scrub, and hills of the east property would work just fine for it, he supposed. He’d signed the contracts and deposited the check, but hadn’t bothered to pay attention to the name of the film. He wasn’t much of a moviegoer. To go to the movies meant heading into town, and he’d rather sit on the porch and have a beer at night. He liked the quiet. If he wanted to see a movie, he had a television and one of those subscription accounts. That was good enough for him.

Martha was right. It already looked like they’d built a small town on some of the flatlands out there. He parked his truck on the rise, popped open the beer he’d shoved in his cooler, and leaned against the hood of his truck to watch the hustle of people moving back and forth. Trailers had been set up as living areas, though these trailers looked way more expensive than anything Logan could afford. They were more like big houses on wheels. Probably what the stars lived in while they shot the movie.

An SUV came up the road, dust flying behind it. A couple of burly guys wearing all black and sporting dark sunglasses rolled out of the vehicle.

“This is a closed set.”

Unruffled, Logan stared at them. “Okay.”

“You aren’t supposed to be on this property.”

“I own this property.”

One of the guys in black frowned at him. “You’re the property owner?”

“Yeah.”

“Got ID?”

Logan let out a short laugh. “I’m not about to show you my ID Like I said, I own this land and you’re renting it.”

“We’ll still need to see an ID,” burly guy number two said.

Logan folded his arms. “Yeah? You can kiss my ass.”

His attention turned to a slight woman—a girl, really, running up the hill. She wore jogging clothes, tight pants that just went past her knees and a sleeveless top that hugged her slender body. She had dark hair pulled back in a braid. The guys suddenly stepped in front of Logan as if he was going to pull a gun on the woman.

When she reached them, she stopped, drawing in several deep breaths.

“What’s up, Carl?”

“Saw this guy parked up here and came to check it out. He says he’s the property owner but he won’t show ID to prove it.”

She finally straightened and stretched her back. “Is that right? And are you the property owner?”

“So it says on the ranch deed.”

She walked over and held out her hand. “I’m Des.”

Logan shook her hand. “Logan McCormack.”

“Nice ranch, Logan.”

“Thanks.”

“Have you been down to watch filming yet?”

“Why would I want to do that?”

She quirked a smile. “I don’t know. I thought maybe you’d find it interesting.”

“Are you working on the film crew, Des?”

Her lips curled into a smirk. “You could say that.”

One of the big guys stepped forward. “Miss Jenkins?”

“It’s okay, Carl. You and Duke can take off.”

Carl shook his head. “Not a good idea.”

She shot him a look. “And I said I’m fine.”

With another serious death glare, the guy named Carl and the other guy got into the SUV and drove back down the hill.

“Are those your bodyguards?”

She laughed. “No. Well, sometimes.”

“So you must be the star of the show.”

She shrugged. “Well, I’m the lead. I don’t know about star.”

“What are you doing out here?”

“Taking a break. And getting some exercise.”

“Not really a gym on site for you to work out in, is there?”

“No. This is better. You must love it here.”

“It’s home.”

She leaned against the front of his truck, grabbed his beer from his hand, took a long swallow, and handed it back to him. “Thanks.”

“I don’t recall offering it to you.”

She turned to her side. “You’re not very friendly, are you, Logan?”

“I try not to be.”

“Yeah? And why’s that?”

“It keeps people away.”

“Oh, so you don’t like people.”

“I didn’t say that.”

She laughed, and he liked the gravelly, raspy, sexy sound of it. Which he shouldn’t.

“Do you have any more of those?” she asked, eyeing his beer.

“I might.”

When she cocked a brow, he added, “Front passenger floor of the truck. Help yourself.”

She went around and grabbed a beer, bringing him another one, too. “Yours looked about empty.” She popped the top and took a long swallow.

“You sure you’re old enough to be drinking those?”

There went that laugh again. “I’m sure.” She gave him a sideways glance. “Are you old enough to be drinking them?”

“Funny.” He took a long swallow.

She leaned next to him, against the truck, and looked out over the valley.

“Just how big is this ranch, Logan?”

“It’s pretty big.”

She shot him a look. “Pretend I’m smart and just tell me.”

“It’s a little over a hundred thousand acres.”

“Holy shit. That’s a lot. No wonder you could afford to lend us a small piece of the pie.”

“I didn’t lend it. I’m renting it to your movie-making company. Which means I make money. Working a ranch is costly business.”

“I’m sure it is. Though honestly, I wouldn’t know.”

He took another swallow of beer as he studied her. “City girl?”

“A little of that, and a little country. I’ve been around. Never lived on a ranch, though.”

“Where are you from?”

“Just about everywhere.”

“Military?”

She tilted her head and looked up at him. “What makes you think that?”