“You’re having a little too much fun with this.”
“Maybe you could have some fun too if you play your cards right. Gwen McCord was damn hot. Didn’t she make the sexiest females list of some magazine years ago?”
Several magazines. Luc recalled one particularly memorable shot of her from one of her movies where she was dressed in a man’s unbuttoned shirt and nothing else. The photograph had exposed a generous amount of creamy cleavage, hinted at dusky nipples beneath and revealed shapely legs that went on forever. The tip of her tongue touching her upper lip and long bangs covering one of her eyes was the stuff to fuel the fantasies of millions of men young and old. Luc pushed the arousing image from his mind. “The only way Gwen is hot right now is how furious she is with me and the Hudsons.”
“Oh, she’s lost her looks already?”
“No,” Luc said in exasperation. “She’s still beautiful, but she’s angry that she’s been forced into this engagement.”
“She ought to be grateful we got her crazy sister in rehab so quickly,” Max said.
“She is. She just doesn’t want to be dragged into the public eye again.” Opening the closet door, he found it mostly empty. Relief oozed through him. Thank God. He could stuff the knickknacks and lacy crap in there.
“You think she’ll go along with it?” his brother asked.
“She doesn’t have a choice. That’s why she’s so pissed,” Luc said. “Her frustration isn’t important as long as she cooperates.”
“I’ve heard that take-no-prisoners tone from you before,” Max said. “I don’t know whether to feel sorry for you or her.”
“I don’t need any pity,” Luc said, glancing at the pink walls and grinding his teeth. “I can take care of myself.”
After Gwen mucked out the stalls and fed the horses, she returned to the house, still bothered, but under control. She temporarily left her boots at the front door and made her way toward her bedroom. The smell of something delicious wafted from the kitchen. The door to the room where Luc Hudson would be sleeping was open. When she glanced inside, she nearly got whiplash.
Luc sat in the blue chair working on his laptop, but the curtains were gone, along with all the pillows, the collection of figurines and porcelain jewelry boxes and every picture on the wall. A dark comforter she suspected he’d found in the hall linen closet covered the bed. The windows were bare.
She stepped inside. “Where are—”
“In the closet,” he said before she could finish. He stood. “I did some temporary redecorating. I’ll put it all back before I leave. Although the furnishings were—” he paused a half beat “—lovely, they were distracting. I have to be able to concentrate on my work.”
She glanced at the bare windows and nodded. “Okay,” she said. He would be waking up at the crack of dawn, but that wasn’t her problem. “No problem. “What do I sme—”
“My chef prepared a couple of meals before I left,” Luc said. “When I told her I was leaving for Montana, she was convinced I was going to be stuck in the wilderness in a blizzard.” He glanced outside the window at the falling snow. “She was half-right. Are you hungry?”
Her instinct was to say no. After all, she didn’t want him here. He was uninvited and he was interrupting the peaceful world she’d worked so hard to build for herself. Her stomach rumbled silently, and Gwen decided it didn’t have to mean anything if she ate some of his food. Otherwise she would be facing her own cooking, which left a lot to be desired.
“A little,” she conceded.
“You’re welcome to it,” he said. “Roast chicken and some vegetables. And homemade bread,” he added in a warning tone. “No woman in L.A. will touch bread.”
Homemade bread. Gwen tried to conceal her excitement as her feet moved of their own accord to the kitchen. “I’m not in L.A.,” she said, hearing him follow her. She saw a box with handles on the counter. “They let you bring that on the plane?” she asked.
“I chartered a jet,” he said.
“Oh, right,” Gwen said, remembering the occasional times when she’d also flown on a chartered flight. Those days were over since she’d left her film career behind. She rarely regretted the loss of the perks from her glamorous career. One exception was the service of a chef. Cooking had never been her forte.
She glanced inside the box and inhaled the scent of fresh bread. Heaven. She reluctantly met Luc’s gaze. “You’re sure you don’t mind sharing?”
“Not at all,” he said, amusement tugging at his sensual mouth. “I would have never dreamed you’d be so enthusiastic about carbs.”
She shouldn’t like him. He was powerful, oozed confidence and probably always got his way. She couldn’t help smiling in commiseration. “One of the top-ten wonderful things about leaving Hollywood is being able to indulge myself with forbidden foods more often. Thank you,” she said and took a bite of the fresh bread.
He pulled some containers from the refrigerator. “I noticed your refrigerator’s bare except for frozen dinners. Where’s your staff?”
“My uncle, who owns the ranch, offered to share his housekeeper with me, but I don’t want to cause any extra expense during the transition phase,” she said and put the food on a plate, then placed it into the microwave.
“So my chef wasn’t far off the mark,” he said, resting his hands on his hips.
“My focus right now is getting up to speed on managing the rescue operations of the ranch. I eventually want to add a summer camp for disadvantaged children. Cooking for myself isn’t a big priority. If you’re concerned about food, you can always stay in town. There’s a diner and fast-food restaurant, a motel and—”
He shook his head. “You and I have to be together in order to sell the story.”
The microwave alarm dinged and Gwen removed the food. Her mouth watered in anticipation. Just as she pulled a knife and fork from a drawer, her cell phone rang. Glancing at the Caller ID, she immediately picked up. “Hello?”
“Gwen, this is Robert Williams with the fire department. We have a report of a mare stuck in an icy pond on the McAllister property. If we can get her out alive, do you want to rescue her?”
The image of the trapped horse flashed through her mind, and her heart tightened. “She doesn’t belong to any of the ranchers who live close by?”
“No. They’re pretty sure she’s wild.”
“Wow,” Gwen said, adrenaline rushing through her veins. “Yes. I’ll call Dennis and the vet and bring over the trailer. Thanks.” She pushed the off button and speed-dialed Dennis, the operations manager for the entire ranch, but it went straight to voice mail. “Darn,” she muttered, remembering that Dennis had taken his wife into town to celebrate their anniversary. He’d probably turned off his cell.
“What’s wrong?” Luc asked.
“I
