kids got home...
“She’s in that house because it’s the nicest one on the ranch.” As it should be, since, as Bryant said, it had been his.
He’d built it himself when he and his mother had decided it was time for him to have a place of his own. He’d moved back into the big house only after his mother had passed. The year before he’d married Kaylee—another city girl.
And the biggest mistake of his life.
“And be a little more respectful, would you?” he continued, because Bryant had a way of putting him out of sorts like none other. “You don’t go around referring to a successful television producer and star as a hot babe. Next thing you know, Justin will be calling her that to her face.”
His son adored Bryant—a lifetime cowboy if ever there was one—which mostly pleased Spencer no end. Justin was one of them.
He was also young. Impressionable. Had an overabundance of energy. And no mother.
“Point taken,” Bryant said. And then turned a wicked grin on him. “But just between me and you...she’s hot.”
He didn’t agree. “If you like that type of woman, maybe,” he allowed so Bryant wouldn’t think he was holding out on him. And start thinking he had something for auburn-haired model types.
Although...her hair was almost as long as Tabitha’s. Perhaps the woman could give him a hint about the morning tangles...
With an eye on meeting his goal of a winceless morning for his little girl, he figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask.
“You like that type of woman.” Bryant’s words dropped to the floor of the truck with such force Spencer could have sworn he felt it.
He wasn’t going to validate them with an answer.
“All kidding aside, Spence, we both know what type of woman gets to you. I’m only saying that if you keep it light, joke about it, she’s not going to do a number on you.”
Though he’d cooperated because Spencer had asked him to do so, Bryant had been against him signing the contract with Family Secrets from the beginning. Was this why?
He gave his best friend a quick once-over.
“No worries, bro,” he said, feeling easy again. He sat back and put the pedal to the floor as they crossed miles of empty California desert. “Glamorous women might be tempting, but Kaylee cured me of ever...and I mean ever...wanting to be with one again.”
He spoke with total confidence. The second his wife had left her dust behind her as she’d driven off the farm—leaving him with full custody of their two-year-old twins—he’d been cured of any attraction he might have had.
Glancing at Bryant one more time, he grinned.
It was good to know that he had a friend—more like brother—who had his back.
“JUSTIN! JUSSSTIIIIN! YOU come out of there right now.”
In the middle of spooning a batch of chocolate chip cookie dough onto a tray in one of the kitchens on her newly staged set, Natasha froze.
Her staff, including Angela, had all been dismissed to other tasks. At the moment, “staff” meant a handful of techies, two camera operators and her stage manager/right hand/assistant. All of whom—except for Angela, who’d driven back to Palm Desert—had been sent off to town to squeeze in what R & R they could before working almost around the clock for the next few days.
Filming the show on location was taking more out of all of them than they had expected. She had to make sure they enjoyed their lives, too.
Losing employees was not something she took lightly.
The Family Secrets crew were her family. And...
“Justin, I mean it. Come out now.”
The first command had come in the form of a stern whisper. The second in a more stern, loud whisper. The identity of the commander was a mystery.
Whoever Justin was, or wherever he was, remained unknown to her, as well.
But she had a theory.
She’d heard that Spencer Longfellow had a couple of children. And the whisperer was definitely of the child variety.
From what she’d understood—and she’d been pretty clear about gaining complete understanding on this point—the Longfellow children were the only human minors on the ranch. She’d have chosen to film elsewhere if that were not the case. And had almost chosen to move on down the road when she’d heard about the rancher’s kids.
While she had nothing against children, Natasha needed to be able to work undisturbed. And to have her contestants and staff able to do the same. A lot was at stake for the winner of the show. Her show offered external economic value to the winner, and to contestants as well, and it was paramount that she provide a fair competition environment.
Filming on location was already going to create certain levels of stress and inconvenience, and they couldn’t have added interruptions from little ones.
“Justinnn. I’m telling you.” The voice was just above a whisper now. And closer. “Daddy said to stay out of this barn. Period.”
Other than the voice, she heard nothing. No movement. Shuffling. Breathing. Or any other indication of life. Hair tied back, she wiped a hand on the full-body apron covering her jeans and black Lycra pullover. Thought about calling the children out, giving them a warning and sending them on their way.
A mental flash followed right on the heels of that thought. A picture of her mother all alone. She shook it away.
Hoping that if she ignored the interlopers, they’d mind their father and vacate the barn, she continued to scoop spoonfuls of batter from bowl to pan. She had a system. One pan’s worth of cookies was cooling on foil, one pan was baking, and she needed to have the third ready to go in the oven when the others came out. Efficient.
Technically, she was checking out the kitchens. Testing the equipment. Making certain that everything was in place, worked and was fully stocked so that each contestant had an equally fair chance.
Normally that meant something simple. Prepared by someone on staff. And it had been that day, as well. For the first six kitchens. The last two hadn’t been ready—some last-minute electrical hookups—and she’d sent her staff on to enjoy their free afternoon and evening.
That was technically the situation. And all true.
But also true was that today she’d needed comfort. And was taking it in the form of chocolate chip cookies.
With one eye on the timer and the rest of her attention on the bowl, Natasha figured she’d finish panning her cookie dough with about ten seconds to spare. More foil was laid out, ready for the cookies coming out. She could see it in her peripheral vision.
Except...something was wrong with the symmetry.
She
