Who Wants to Be a Sex Goddess? (28 page)

“Not at all,” said Mac. “I figured out the same thing. Remember when I broke my leg from that
Inferno
fall?”

Andy nodded. For several months they had worried that Mac would never work as a stuntwoman again.

“Scared the shit out of me. I can tell you. I was afraid to go up again. Went to a hypnotist to get me through it. Didn't work. She said I wasn't a good subject. I could never get far enough under for it to do any good. You probably inherited it.”

“But you went back up,” said Andy, momentarily distracted.

“Sheer guts, not hypnotism.” Mac paused in her story, her eyes drifting to someplace faraway. Then she was back. “Anyway. I figured out immediately what Katherine was up to. I decided to leave and maybe report it to some authority or another. But in the meantime, I'd met Hank, and thought what the hell, it could wait. So I took everything and went over the wall. Had a wonderful time.”

“Had?”

“Well, this latest development sort of changes everything, doesn't it?”

W
hen Dillon awoke, the day had turned to dusk. He was stretched out on a leather couch, a blanket over him. His knee was throbbing. He felt disoriented and sluggish, but gradually he remembered the fight, the trip to this house, Andy's aunt and the man named Hank.

His knee.
They'd bashed the butt of a rifle into it. Panic rose up through the fog and he sat up. His head swam and his stomach turned over. He blinked, took in a few slow breaths, then pushed the blanket away. The ice pack that Mac Houston had placed on his knee fell to the side. He scooped it up and seeing that it had a screw top placed it on the floor beside the couch. He dropped his feet to the floor, gingerly touched his knee. It was swollen. But was that all? He had to know.

Cautiously, he stood up, resting his weight on his good leg and bracing his hand on the arm of the couch. He shifted his weight onto his injured knee. Nausea rolled through him as pain shot up his thigh, but when it passed, he was still standing. He shuffled to the side, past the coffee table. With a supreme effort of will he let go of the couch, tottered on his feet until he found his balance. Took a minute step. And was still standing.

He heard voices from another room and the sounds of chopping, and became aware of an aroma that made his stomach growl. He took another step, gritting his teeth. And another, until sweat beaded his forehead and trickled down the inside of his arms. Another step. And another.

 

“Ah, you're back,” said Mac, looking toward the door. “Come on in.” She turned back to the stove and tipped a cutting board full of carrots into a cast-iron pan.

Andy turned around, expecting to see Hank. Dillon stood in the doorway, looking like a waif in Hank's large jeans and bulky sweater. Even the socks swallowed his feet. He was pale, looking as if he'd barely returned from the grave, and totally yummy.

He swayed and Andy started forward. Mac stepped in front of her to reach for the potatoes and gave her a look.
Don't baby him.
And she knew Mac was right. Dillon would hate being seen as weak.

He walked slowly to the table and eased himself into a chair.

“You want some water? Coffee?” asked Andy, trying not to look concerned. “How are you feeling?” She had to ask. He looked so awful.

“Okay,” he said. “And yeah, I'd like some water. Please.”

Andy got down a glass and filled it from the spring water dispenser. She set it down on the table, lingering over Dillon's shoulder just to feel him, alive, warm, solid. She longed to put her arms around him. Make sure he was okay. This slightly dopey, quiet, injured Dillon was unsettling. She wanted him back in his satirical, bad boy angry self.

“Hank should be back soon,” said Mac. “He went into the nearest town to get you some clothes that fit. And some shoes.” She grinned at him. “Since we didn't have time to pick yours up on the way back.”

Andy moved away and concentrated on stirring the stew. “I told Mac about what we found out. Do you think Talbot's still inside the retreat? Do you think we can get in touch with him?”

Dillon put down his glass. “I can't think at all at the moment.” He rubbed his hand across his eyes.

“You don't have to think until after dinner,” said Mac. “Hank is also stopping by the police station to leave a message for your friend.”

Dillon attempted to get up.

“Don't worry. He knows how to be discreet. And he's well known in these parts. After dinner is soon enough to worry about what to do next.”

But when Hank came back a half hour later, he had nothing but disturbing news.

“The whole patrol, including your Mr. Grayson, is holed up at the retreat. I guess all hell's broken loose. They've locked down the entire establishment, since two people have gone missing. I guess that would be you. And since communications are blocked, they can't get a message to him. They're waiting until one of their boys comes out.” He placed a bag and a shoe box on the table in front of Dillon, shrugged out of his jacket, and tossed it onto a peg by the back door. “Best I could do under the circumstances.”

“Thanks,” said Dillon. “I owe you.”

Hank grunted. “Better look at them first.” He pulled a bottle of red wine out of another bag and began rummaging in a kitchen drawer. “Where's the damn cork screw,” he muttered.

Mac leaned over him and lifted it out of the jumble of utensils inside. He smiled, patted her on the butt, and went to work on the wine bottle.

Andy stared. Men had lost vital parts for less. But Mac seemed to enjoy having her butt patted by Hank. Wonders never ceased.

She hadn't gotten a chance to really look at the man Mac had been living with for the last three weeks. Now she gave him a good once-over.

The blond hair was shot with silver. He was older than she'd thought at first. But pretty damn buff for a big guy. Not so bulky as he'd seemed in the woods, but definitely substantial. His eyes were a greenish blue that sparkled continuously beneath bushy dark eyebrows.

She looked up to see Mac watching her. They exchanged mutually approving looks. Not bad, being stuck in the woods with a couple of body beautifuls. Andy was beginning to see romantic comedy here, with no stunts more dangerous than falling out of bed.

Too bad the bad guys were still out there.

Mac dished up the stew, and Hank passed around the wine, bypassing Dillon's place. “Sorry, man, but you're dopey enough for one night.”

And strangely enough, Dillon smiled at him.

“Definitely a keeper,” whispered Mac as she passed Andy a basket of homemade bread.

He
was
a keeper, but it probably wouldn't be her doing the keeping. Once they saw this through, they'd go back to their separate lives. It was all in a day's work for him. He'd have another, probably more exciting assignment, and she'd become a dim memory. If he remembered her at all.

Maybe it wasn't just actors she couldn't keep. Maybe there was something wrong with her. She shook the thought away. There were more important things at stake here than her deplorable love life.

The stew was delicious and Andy was ravenous. It worried her that Dillon didn't eat much, but she reminded herself that he was hopped up on painkillers, which tended to kill your appetite as well as the pain.

After dinner, Hank went out to the living room to build a fire. They were pretty high up in the mountains, and the air was definitely colder here than it had been down at Terra Bliss. Dillon followed him out and Andy and Mac were left in the kitchen.

“You're going to do his dishes?” asked Andy, astounded.

Mac made a face. “I can load a state-of-the-art dishwasher, hon, just watch.” She pressed a panel, it slid to the side, and the double racks of a dishwasher rolled out. “This is my idea of roughing it,” said Mac and began putting bowls and silverware into the plastic slots.

“Whew,” said Andy. “Works for me. Hank lives here?”

“Year-round. Except for winters in the Yucatan.”

“And he got rich on nature pictures?”

“Don't know. Didn't ask.”

Andy nodded. She wondered if Mac would feel as bereft as she did, when it was time for them to head back to L.A. She, too, knew better than to ask. It occurred to her that she wasn't the only one in her family with a bumpy road to romance. Galena had never remarried. Hardly ever dated. Lucian was one of those men your mother warned you about. And Liz just worked. Just like Andy. Just like Mac. God, they really did need to get lives.

After the food was put away in a built-in, sub-zero refrigerator, Andy and Mac went out to join Hank and Dillon.

The fire was roaring. There was no sign of the two men.

“Out on the porch. Hank's one bad habit. A pipe. Part of the mountain man image.”

Andy sat down on the couch and Mac pulled out a decanter of brandy. Hank came in a few minutes later. “Heard a loon,” he said as he passed by and lumbered down the hall.

“Night shoot,” said Mac. “Can't get away from them.”

Hank came back loaded down with equipment.

Mac stood up. “I'm the bag girl.”

Hank handed her one of the camera bags; then he nodded in the direction of the porch. “I think our young agent out there could use some TLC about now. From the look of those scars on his leg, he's been through the wars, and is probably feeling pretty piss-poor ineffectual right about now.”

“That's your department, Andy,” said Mac, hoisting the camera bag to her shoulder.

“I…What should I say? I haven't seen him like this before. And he's not ineffectual. He saved my butt, more than once.”

“So go for it.”

“But I don't know how to, you know…”

“Oh, for heaven's sake, Andy. It doesn't take a four-thousand-dollar goddess camp to know how to treat a man. Make him feel needed.” Mac shoved her toward the back door. “We'll be gone for hours maybe. The spare room is yours and Dillon's. I assume you're sleeping together. Just don't hurt his knee.”

“Come on, woman,” said Hank and hustled Mac toward the door, shaking his head as he followed her out.

Andy waited until she was sure they were gone, then went to the door. She could see Dillon sitting on the porch rail, looking out at the night. She opened the screen and stepped outside.

The woods rose around them in soaring shadows. Above the trees, stars sprinkled the vast sky, but Dillon just kept looking out into the dark.

Andy shivered. “There's a big, warm fire inside.”

“Hmm.”

She moved toward him, stopped when she was close enough that the side of her arm touched his. She could feel him shivering.

“You're cold.”

“I'm fine.”

“Thanks for coming to my rescue today.”

“For all the good it did.”

“It did. I mean, you had no way of knowing I didn't smash down into the rocks when I fell. I wasn't sure of it, either. I would have been toast if you hadn't called out to me.”

“I broke your concentration. And gave him his chance to push you over.”

Andy hoisted one hip to the rail and pulled herself up to sit beside him. “Bullshit. He didn't push me. I slipped. How's that for a trained stuntwoman?”

“You slipped?”

Andy laughed ruefully. “Yep. It was a miracle that I didn't land headfirst on the boulders below.”

Dillon shuddered. “Let's not think about the might-have-beens. It doesn't do any good, one way or the other.” There was bitterness in his voice.

Andy felt out of her element. Her asset was action, not talking. “I couldn't have handled those guys without you.”

“You don't know that.”

“Of course I know that. I'm a stuntwoman.
Stunt,”
she repeated, suddenly exasperated. “It's all tricks and smoke and harnesses.”

Dillon finally turned to face her. “Now who's talking bullshit.”

“It's not bullshit. I mean, I'm trained in martial arts, and weaponry. I can even ride bulls and jump from flaming buildings—as long as I'm harnessed and wearing asbestos. But I've never had to use any of those skills in reality.”

He gave her a half smile. Then flicked her chin. “Well, they worked pretty well today.”

“So did you, in spite of what that asshole did to your knee.”

“Yeah. My Achilles' heel. I envy you your skills. I used to have them—some of them. Now I can't even go through airport security without setting off the metal detectors.”

Andy tightened her lips. It was awful, but the idea of bells going off as Dillon walked down the concourse dressed in a Hawaiian shirt and Bermuda shorts popped into her mind, and she couldn't stop the laugh that bubbled out. “I'm sorry. That was cruel, but you have to admit, it's pretty bizarre.”

He chuckled, not quite a laugh. “Yeah, I guess it is. But it sure puts a limit on the kinds of assignments I can take.”

“That's why you were here?”
Sort of like being relegated to car chases,
thought Andy.

He nodded.

“And that makes you angry?”

He shrugged and she moved closer. “I was at first. But it's a risk you take. I'm disappointed, but I'm alive.”

“For which I'm very grateful.”

He smiled at her then and shifted to put his arm around her. “I grew up on superhero movies. I didn't know about stunt people when I was younger. I just watched the actors become real heroes, and I wanted to be like them. To save the world.”

“And do your own tricks.”

“And do my own tricks.”

“So now what?”

“More rounds of physical therapy, try to get back into shape, see if I can still be of use in some way.”