Payback (6 page)

Chapter 6

Uncompromising Memories

I woke up with a
dull band of pain across my head but, unlike the blistering pain from the previous night, I could tolerate this.  I was numbingly cold, famished, and confused.  Looking around, I finally realized that I was in my new abode—the tack room. Up on my elbow, I had to close my eyes when my head began to swim. I waited until it reached equilibrium, and then I had another look.  On the nightstand was a glass of water, a brown bottle of pills, and a note with Caden’s handwriting that simply said, “Take one when you wake up and then come to the house.” 

I pushed myself up and realized that the bed had been made with the clean sheets that he had brought over the day before, or at least I thought it was the day before. I wasn’t sure how long I had been
asleep. After ingesting the large horse pill, which was some type of migraine medicine, I stood up, only to discover that my attire had changed. I had on a T-shirt and a pair of men’s sweatpants, and I was freezing. 

The
thin blue jacket I put on did little to warm me. Tugging on my designer boots, I walked outside to see the sun just coming up over the eastern edge of the mountains in ribbons of pink, yellow, and aqua blue. I also saw the vapor of my breath and felt a slice of white-cold wind cross my face. There had been no fresh snow, and what had been on the ground had iced over. Looking towards the meadow, I could barely make out Caden on his horse, riding towards a cluster of cows that was grazing on the winter grass that poked through the lingering piles of snow. 

Once in
the house, I saw that it was six o’clock.  Now in a warm environment, it registered that I needed to use the restroom. I found one off a side hall of the main floor next to a very pretty bedroom with sliding doors leading to a small deck on the east side of the house. It took me a long and very painful time in the shower trying to lift my arms and shoulders to get clean. After toweling off, I opened a few drawers and found toiletries obviously meant for guests.  There were a dozen new toothbrushes, several small tubes of toothpaste, combs in plastic wrap, and packets of various things like makeup remover, antiseptic wipes, and even a small sewing kit. It was so like Caden to do this.  He was a man’s man, but there was a tenderness inside that made him think about others.  He always wanted to make sure that friends, family, and guests were comfortable and had what they needed.  Everyone except me.  I went out to the kitchen and looked around, pulling out drawers and opening cabinets to get the lay of the land. I began cooking his favorite breakfast, French toast, one sunny-side egg, two rashers of bacon, with a side of fruit.  I had just finished when he appeared at the side door, stomping his feet to get the snow off. 

Taking
off his broad-rimmed Stetson, he entered the little mudroom to the side of the kitchen, hung up his jacket and put his hat on a peg before entering the eating area off the kitchen. Glancing around, his eyes finally settled on me.

“You look like shit,” he said bluntly.

“I took a shower.”

“You still look like shit.”

I frowned and gestured for him to sit. “I know it’s late, but I don’t have an alarm to wake me. I made you French toast.”

A smile almost curled up
, and then he frowned.  “From now on, just make me eggs, oatmeal, fruit, and whole wheat toast. You can fry bacon or sausage on weekends.”

“You don’t like French toast anymore?”

“Nope.”

“I can take it off the plate
and give you something else.” My voice was filled with anxiety from my pathetic desire to please him.

“I’ll eat it today. You’ll find some maple syrup in the refrigerator
, along with some orange juice.”

“Coffee?” I asked.

“Yeah, with—”

“Just milk.”

He nodded.

“Do you want it at the breakfast bar, the kitchen table
, or formal dining table?”  It seemed a little crazy to ask since the kitchen was open to the breakfast bar, informal dining area, and the formal dining area, all within twenty feet of the kitchen. 

The entire north side of the house consisted of French doors that faced t
he spectacular view of the mile-long meadow. Beyond the meadow were trees and the jagged mountains which rose up like gods in both Montana and Canada. The house sat on a rise, which meant that the meadow was a good thirty feet lower than the main floor of the house. Below the redwood deck that covered the entire north side of the main floor was a basement, with doors that also led outside to a cement patio. The deck probably offered shade during the summer for the patio.               

On the west side of the home was the kitchen,
which was modern and beautiful but not huge.  It could easily accommodate three people cooking at the same time but a fourth would be asking for multiple injuries. The sink was in the peninsula that housed the breakfast bar. It was placed so that the cook could look out through the sea of French doors at the view while cleaning the vegetables. Next to the double sets of French doors was an informal, round, pine table that could sit six people. The next area over was a formal dining area and a staircase leading down to the lower level of the house.  he formal table was made from a solid, three-inch slab of polished redwood, with ten redwood and leather chairs. Above it was a large, three-tier chandelier crafted from rustic iron, hand-carved mahogany, and amber mica that fit perfectly with the rustic aspect of the cabin.  From the dining area to the east wall of the house was the living room, which boasted a beautiful rock fireplace with a wide, solid pine mantelpiece that climbed the corner of the room up to the top of the fourteen-foot ceiling.

The furniture was
from the craftsman era, upholstered in beautiful coral and green fabrics, along with a deep brown leather sofa with a chaise lounge at one end. As usual, his taste was impeccable and sophisticated compared to my eclectic need to buy whatever triggered my emotions. My home never seemed to achieve the luxurious-but-homey feel of Caden’s houses. He once told me that he had designers, but I discovered later that he was instrumental in choosing most of the furnishings for his home.

There were no window coverings on the French doors
, but then the nearest neighbor was over a mile and a half away. It was doubtful that many people crossed onto Caden’s twelve-plus square miles of property, and if they did, they were probably met by rifles, like me.

“I’ll sit at the breakfast table for breakfast and at the dinner table for dinner.” He said it as if I should already know, but I said nothing in return, making a mental note of it. 

“I know you don’t want me at the table with you, but may I eat at the breakfast bar while you’re eating?”

“I’d prefer if you didn’t. In fact, I’d prefer if you’d keep your contact with me to a minimum. You’re a constant reminder to me of the crap I left behind in Hollywood.”

“Yeah, that’s me, just a piece of crap on the sole of your shoe. I’m sorry.  But if you’d
loan me the money
to fix my car, and another three hundred for gas, I’d be out of your life as soon as the car is fixed.”

“We work for our money up here and knowing that you’ve blown through what would be a small fortune to others doesn’t give me much incentive to be your bank.”

“But ten thousand dollars to you is like ten bucks to anyone else.  It won’t even make a dent in your lifestyle.”

“That’s not my fault.  I took my parents
’ money and my own and invested wisely. You, on the other hand, bought a Porsche when you should have bought a Focus.”

“That’s not fair! I used
some of my money to pay off my parents’ debt, hospital bills, and buy my mom a small house to live in after Daddy died. The Porsche was my only present to myself.”

“And still, here we are;
you’re broke and you want me to bankroll you.  I’m sorry. You can stay and work off your debt or you can find yourself another sugar daddy. I tell you what, I’ll give you one free phone call. Maybe you can call Gordon and ask him to lend you the money.”

That hurt. Gordon Washington was the dynamite that
blew our relationship into tiny irreparable pieces. “You know, Caden, Gordon may have been a prick, but he was never downright cruel to me.”

I’d struck a blow. I knew this because the plate with the food went flying off the table, crashing into the stools at the breakfast bar. His chair scraped along the wood floor before falling over
, as he stood up and stomped out of the dining room. I guess comparing him to Gordon wasn’t going to win me brownie points.  But then, I was beyond scoring brownie points with Caden.

As I picked up the pieces of the beautiful Denby plate, I thought about Gordon-the-manipulator, the name I gave him when I finally opened my eyes and saw who Gordon really was. 

Gordon Washington was handsome, but not “Caden handsome.”  He’d fall more into the “Aaron Eckhart handsome,” with looks that weren’t as symmetrical or dark as Caden’s.  Gordon had beautiful, wavy hair that was dishwater blond in the winter and honey blond in the summer. He had a wicked smile that was a real panty-pleaser, but I didn’t even notice it when I first met him because I was already down the rabbit hole with my feelings for Caden.

On the last day of our shoot on
Rowhouse,
I watched as the cast and crew partied on the set with champagne and a buffet that had more seafood on it than was in the Pacific Ocean. Our director, Robert Jenkins, loved lobster, which is why we ended up with an homage to seafood on the last day. Some of the women in the cast had changed into party dresses, while I stood in my standard jeans and plain T-shirt watching them all have a good time. A band had been hired, and Caden was making a point to dance with each of the women from the cast and crew. Although I had been warned that these parties could go on all night, especially since we wrapped at eight, I thought I could sneak out the side door after an hour. I grabbed my purse and said a quiet good bye to my friend, Tina, and then started for the door.

A loud voice echoed as the band stopped in the middle of a song. “You’re not leaving
, are you?”

My entire body jolted to a stop. I turned and saw that the entire party had come to a standstill and was watching me. Caden st
rolled towards me.  Considering the last time we had a conversation it ended with Caden exiting in anger, I was leery of his approach.

“You can’t leave. I haven’t had my dance with you,” he announced.

I could have served as a stop sign, I was that red. “My fast dancing tends to evoke visions of someone having a seizure. You don’t want to fast dance with me, but thanks.” I then addressed everyone else. “Thank you so much for a wonderful—”

He interrupted me.  “Okay, if not a fast dance, then
, band—” he turned to the leader of the band across the sound stage, “give us a slow song.  Something from Elvis.”

The band switched gears
, as everyone continued to stare at us. Caden gave me no choice.  He smiled warmly as he firmly grabbed my hand and tugged me to where the dancing was taking place.  Sounds of
Can’t Help Falling in Love
started playing, and I knew I was in trouble. Had this occurred in my living room, away from hundreds of watchful eyes, it would have been my most romantic dream—Caden Kelly holding me in his arms and dancing to this song.  Now it was my own personal circle of hell.

He pulled me in close enough that I could smell him; it was a mixture of sweat from dancing all night and his
own woodsy, masculine smell, which was rather pleasant.  In fact, I would grow to love that smell and frequently stop to sniff his clothes just to be reminded of our intimacy. We started dancing around the floor, but I was so nervous I wasn’t concentrating on what I was doing. 

He whispered down to me, “Are you really trying to lead?”

An audible gasp came out of my mouth. “Sorry. I used to take ballroom dancing, and we never had enough men in the class. I always had to play lead.”

“I have that problem too,” he teased. “I tell
you what, you just relax. You’re safe in my arms, and I promise not to make you look stupid in front of anyone. We’ll go slow and steady.”

“How do
you know that I’m scared?”

“You’re trembling.”

“Oh.”

I took a deep breath and made my muscles relax. My body automatically curved along the
muscles of his body so that our moves were so fluid that I didn’t have to think where to step next. He was a trained dancer. I don’t mean trained dancer as in Gene Kelly, but he had been trained for the movies on how to dance properly and, like most things, he did it well. After a minute, I noticed that more people were dancing next to us and chatting away. We were no longer the center of the universe…thank God. The song isn’t that long, but I have to admit that when it ended and he dipped me back—our faces only a romantic few inches apart—I didn’t want to go. But I’d made such a big scene about leaving, I felt that I should.

“Thank you, Caden,” I managed
, as he righted me. “I also want to thank you for starring in the film. You went beyond what I had imagined and made the movie something more than I had written.  You’re a real artist.”