The Spiral Path (59 page)

"I shudder when I think of how many
exploited children there are living on the streets," Naomi said softly.
"Don't get me started, or I'll be ranting."

The older woman's comment triggered a
hunch. "There probably was a real James Mackenzie who was a boy
hustler," Val said. "Maybe Nigel Stone genuinely believes that boy
grew up to be Kenzie. But street life is hazardous, especially for someone who
got into it so young. It's a long shot, but I'd look for a death certificate
for the real James Mackenzie."

Marcus whistled softly. "If we
could find that, it would certainly close Stone down. Great ideas, Val. Now you
get back to your vacation and put this out of your mind. I think we're going to
spike Stone's guns without any damage to Kenzie or to Rainey's movie."

Val sighed. "You really think I can
put this out of my mind?"

"Call for daily updates,"
Naomi replied. "Trust us, Val. In a week or two, this will be ancient,
discredited history."

Val hung up, praying that the Gordons
were right. The movie might survive unscathed, but would Rainey's husband?

Chunk!
Chunk! Chunk!
Gradually the banging sounds penetrated
Rainey's fogged mind enough to draw her from sleep to hazy wakefulness. She lay
with her eyes closed as she pieced together where she was and how she'd gotten
here. A pity she couldn't convince herself it was all a bad dream, but she was
definitely in New Mexico. With two kittens purring on the patchwork
quilt beside her, so it wasn't all bad.

The sounds and timing of the
chunking
noise varied somewhat, but overall were pretty regular. The world's largest
woodpecker?

Aching in every muscle, she hauled
herself out of the deep, comfortable mattress and headed to the bathroom,
kittens ricocheting off her ankles. Good grief, was it really two in the
afternoon? "Jet lag" was too gentle a term. "Jet victim"
came closer.

A quick shower revived her some, though
she was still bone-weary from accumulated fatigue. After dressing in khaki
shorts and a jade green tank top, she made her way to the kitchen, accompanied
by kittens who earnestly assured her that they hadn't eaten in days, possibly
weeks, and were now hovering on the brink of starvation.

A search of the cupboards produced a bag
of cat food, and the knowledge that Alma Grady had stocked the kitchen well.
There were plenty of staples and a good selection of perishables in the fridge.
Leaving the kittens diving into their food, Rainey poured herself a glass of
orange juice and wandered outside to find the woodpecker.

The ranch had a number of outbuildings,
including a barn and a bunkhouse. All were thick-walled adobe, like the main
house. In a paddock behind the barn were two horses. She wondered if the Gradys
would mind if she or Kenzie rode them occasionally. It would be heaven to get
up into those hills on horseback.

On the far side of the bunkhouse, she
discovered the source of the noise. Kenzie was chopping wood. Quite a lot of
wood. The sun was hot, and he'd peeled off his shirt, showing the powerful,
crisply defined muscles of his back and arms as he swung the ax. The sight of
him weakened her knees with yearning that was as much emotional as physical.

It seemed like forever since their last
night together. She wanted to walk into his arms and kiss the salty sheen of
his skin, hoping that the sweet intimacy of sex could heal the searing wounds
of his past, and salve her own bruised and exhausted spirit.

Yet desire was overlaid by a horrific
image of a helpless child being molested by a sweaty, panting pervert. Knowing
where he'd learned to be such a wonderful lover made her almost vomit the
orange juice she'd drunk.

Keeping her voice light, she said,
"Stockpiling firewood for winter?"

Chunk!
The
ax swung wickedly through the air, and a half round of wood split into two
kindling-sized pieces. He tossed them on the pile stacked against the
bunkhouse. "This is about the only kind of ranch work a city boy can do
without training."

There were blisters on his hands. He may
have figured out the way to swing an ax, but his palms weren't hardened for
this kind of work. Of course, firewood wasn't the point. Channeling his rage
into productive violence was.

"You chose well when you bought
this place, Kenzie." She looked across the valley. "It's beautiful.
Serene. A place to be sane."

"Maybe. Let's hope none of the
gossip reporters will leave the city and hunt us down here." He set another
length of log into chopping position. "They'd have a bad effect on the
sanity."

She peered in the window of the
bunkhouse, and saw a siz-room with four single beds and wide-planked floors. A
door led into another room beyond. "This will make a nice guesthouse."

Chunk!
"I
don't plan on having any guests."

Did he regret allowing her to stay here?
He was avoiding eye contact, and the vulnerability he'd revealed on the flight
to New Mexico had vanished behind an impenetrable shell. The trouble with
loving an actor is that you never had the least idea what he was thinking if he
chose to shut you out.

"Have you had any breakfast? Or I
guess lunch would be more appropriate." Assuming his shrug meant no, she
continued, "How about I scare us up an omelet? I can't remember my last
meal."

He hesitated. "I suppose I should
eat."

"An omelet won't take long. If you
want to shower, the food will be done by the time you're finished."

He retrieved his shirt from the stacked
logs where he'd left it and rubbed it over his sweaty face. "That sounds
good."

Side by side but not really together,
they returned to the house. She told herself it would take time for him to
recover enough to relax with her again. She'd have a week before she had to be
back in Los Angeles to start postproduction.

But in her gut, she knew a week would
not be enough.

CHAPTER 35

R
ainey
savored the scent of frying onions as she tossed chopped pepper in the pan. How
long had it been since she'd done any real cooking? No child could be raised by
Virginia Marlowe without learning her way around a kitchen. Rainey had enjoyed
cooking, despite her grandmother's critical comments when the sugar and butter
weren't being creamed together properly, or some other sin. They'd even shared
some fairly companionable moments when working together for a holiday dinner.

But movie stars didn't have a lot of
time for cooking. Kenzie had a housekeeper who cooked like a dream, while
Rainey used a personal chef who would drop wonderful, healthy meals by the
house with precise instructions for reheating. She hadn't made anything more
complicated than cappuccino in years.