Millionaire Cowboy Seeks Wife

Maybe he’d read one too many Louis L’Amour novels. Maybe it was genetic—his grandfather had lassoed the family’s Hollywood connections working with John Ford on Stagecoach. Maybe he was just a sentimental fool. Whatever the reason, he wanted a chance to make The Virginian, and to play that role, with a passion he hadn’t felt for anything else in his adult life.

It was a huge gamble, but if he wanted to win big, he had to bet big. Myron Greenberg had howled with rage and expanded his cursing vocabulary when Fitz had signed on for this relatively small Van Gelder film. But there was a lot more riding on this Montana location shoot than the filming itself. If he could pull this off, if he could prove to the studio heads that audiences would pay to see him on horseback, he could make his movie the way he wanted it made. Big, and bold, and packaged with the best a production could have.

All he had to do over the next few months was focus on Wolfe’s Range—act his heart out, promote it until he was ready to drop and then keep all available appendages crossed that it made a profit.

That, and keep his nose clean and his name out of the tabloids.

He settled on the sofa and glanced at Burke. “So, what’s the next step?”

“Word’s out you’ve been talking to Stone.” Burke squeezed into the compact dining booth and folded his legs under the miniature table. “Seems that brought another interested player out of the woodwork.”

“Funny how that works.” Fitz took a drag of his beer. “Give me the edited version.”

“Lila Clarkson likes the story.”

“The Lila Clarkson who produced Virtual Indemnity?”

Burke nodded. “That’s the one. She’s working with a hot new script doctor. Says he’s a whiz at punching up visuals and dialogue. Can make any project more marketable.”

“Doesn’t she have a first-look deal with Warner?”

“Yes. Yes, she does. But if the Warner execs like what they see, they’d come in on the financing.”

“Or they could tie it up for years.” Fitz set the bottle aside. “Hell, I might never get it back.”

“There’s always the other option.”

Fitz set his jaw to stubborn. “I’ve done everything on this I’m going to do.”

“Look, Fitz.” Burke spread his hands on the table’s surface. “You’re already doing everything an executive producer does, anyway. You’ve optioned the script. You’ve put up the initial financing. You’re trying to get some of the players in place. Hell, you did the whole Cannes scene last month.”

“Don’t remind me.”

There were few things Fitz hated more than Cannes. The tedious glitz, the shallow glam, the deals bubbling underneath it all like brewer’s yeast in a septic tank. He’d gone over early to set up his office, and he’d made his pitch to the international investors, mucking around in the filth along with the other beggars. It had taken a week for him to wash off the stink. But he’d do it all again, and more, if it meant he could make this film his way.

“It’s your deal,” said Burke. “Why not see it the rest of the way through? Why not take the credit?”

“I don’t need to see my name up on the screen more than once.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

“Burke.” Fitz shifted forward. “Can you honestly see me setting up and running a production company? I barely manage to do the one job I’ve got.”

Burke pushed his glasses higher on his nose. “Yes, you somehow manage to do as little as you possibly can. And brilliantly so, in my humble but expert opinion.”

“Besides,” said Fitz, ignoring Burke’s sarcasm, “I’m just not convinced I can do it up right. The way it needs to be done. And I want this done right. I want—”

He held out his hand, grasping for an eloquence worthy of the scenes and emotions in his head, but they slipped away yet again. All he had was his idea, his vision—and his faith in both.

And determination. He’d dredged up plenty of that, for once in his life. He curled his fingers into a fist and brought his hand down, slowly, firmly, on the sofa arm. “I want this done right.”

“Then do it,” said Burke. “You’ve already got everything you need. The name, the connections, the clout.”

He probably did. His mega-paychecks automatically translated to mega-power. But Hollywood loved to watch the mighty fall. He’d done plenty of tripping over the years, but so far he’d managed to keep his balance by keeping to his one small place in the shuffle.

He was an actor, plain and simple, not a hyphen director, a hyphen producer, or a hyphen screenwriter. He’d leave the hyphens to the people with the dual and triple ambitions. One ambition at a time was enough for Fitz Kelleran.

One ambition. To make one film. One perfect, classic version of a perfect, classic novel. To play the role of his lifetime, a part that would require all his talent and ability. He didn’t want to dilute that effort or diffuse his concentration, to ruin his vision at the very heart of its creation. “No,” he said.

“It isn’t the money.”

“No. Though a hell of a lot of it’s already tied up in this, with a nice, neat bow.”

“You know you could get more if you needed it.” Burke stared down at his hands. “Kruppman says he’s got a buyer who’ll take the Thousand Oaks place as is. And it would be one less distraction, a distraction you don’t need right now.”

Fitz sank back against the stiff cushion. The reminder of his financial adviser’s pressure to dump Gramps’s ranch had him feeling mulish again. “My grandfather’s ranch is not for sale.”

“It’s your ranch, now.”

Fitz shrugged, acknowledging the slip.

Burke shrugged, too, and stood. “Do you want me to set up a meet with Lila?”

“Let me think about it.”

“Don’t take too long to make up your mind. She wants to move on this.”

“If she’s really interested, she’ll still be interested when I’m ready to discuss the deal.”

“All right.” Burke slipped his sunglasses out of their case. “If that’s all for tonight, then, I’m heading back to town.”

“Thought I’d head in myself.” Fitz stood and stretched. “Maybe pick up a few groceries.”

“Are you cooking tonight?” Burke tried unsuccessfully to downplay his interest, but Fitz knew his cooking was one reason Burke tolerated his abuse.

“Yep. Want some?”

“Sure.” Burke started out the door ahead of him. “What are you making?”

“Montana grub.”

Burke halted at the bottom of the trailer steps and turned to face him. “Grub?”

“Buffalo steak. Venison stew.” Fitz locked the door behind them. “We’ll see what the locals have that’s fresh.”

Burke paled a bit beneath his California tan. “You’re kidding, right?”

“About my dinner?” Fitz shoved his hands into his pockets and led the way to Burke’s rental car. “Never.”

IT WAS JUST PAST NOON the following day when Ellie staggered up the house’s back steps behind Jody. She was dragging with fatigue, her caffeine overload nudging her closer to cranky than alert.

Her eyes narrowed to slits at a series of hoots and whistles from the direction of the outbuildings. “You go on in,” she told her daughter. “Think I’ll check out the cause of all that ruckus.”

Jody grinned. “Must be the day for it.”

“For what?”

“For checking things out.” Jody sneaked a peek through the screen door and then leaned toward Ellie. “Like the way Mr. Hammond was checking you out.”

“What? Who, Wayne?”

“Yep.” Jody fluttered her eyelashes. “Mr. Wayne ‘Anything I Can Do for You, Anytime’ Hammond.”

Ellie’s cheeks stung with what was working up to be a champion blush. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Mom.” Jody reached into her pocket and pulled out some change. “Here’s a dollar. Buy a clue.”

Ellie hid her hands behind her back. Wayne Hammond? No. It couldn’t be. The very idea was… mortifying, to say the least. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Well, one of us better figure out what I’m talking about,” said Jody, “or this conversation’s going nowhere fast.”

Ellie pulled the stern parental routine. “This conversation has nowhere to go.”

Jody tugged at the screen door. “All I’m saying is, it’s, like, totally obvious Wayne Hammond has the hots for you.”

“Jody?” Jenna called from deep inside the house. “Ellie? You coming in for lunch or not?”

“Coming!” Jody stepped inside and held the door. “Mom?”

Ellie shook her head and backed away. “I’ve got things to do.”

“Okay.” The door slammed shut, and Jody grinned through the screen. “We’ll talk about this later.”

“God.” Ellie turned and fled from the porch.

Wayne Hammond. Wayne Hammond. She groaned as she swung down the gravel road. Probably looking at her and thinking it would be a fine and sensible thing to tear down some nice long stretches of fence between his ranch and hers. Well, hell, he could look and think all he wanted. She was done with giving folks around here reason to think she was marrying for a place to call her own.

She slowed her pace, tripped up by needle-sharp guilt. She’d loved Tom Harrison, surely she had—she’d matched him leap for leap through a carefree, rollicking courtship. He’d been six years older, the wandering prodigal son returned to aid his ailing father, a dashing college graduate with big ideas he’d developed working on bigger ranches. She’d been fresh out of high school and reluctant to leave the only home she’d ever known. So unsure of her footing, so quick to tumble in over her head. And when the daydreams had faded, they’d settled down in comfort and contentment and had made their beautiful daughter.

Maybe neither of them had been built for a deeper passion.

Nothing wrong with that, she thought with a hitch of a shoulder. It was the safe and sensible way to go about living a life and sharing a love. Passion could suck a person into a world of pain.

Or so she imagined.

But oh, just once in her life—just for a moment or two, nothing too risky—just once she’d like to know what it felt like. Just once she’d like to be swept up in something dark and reckless and intensely, wickedly thrilling.

None of those adjectives could be applied in any stretch of her imagination to a relationship with Wayne Hammond, but that was probably a good thing. At least she’d keep her wits about her if he started sniffing around.

She set her chin and picked up her pace. She was doing okay these days taking care of herself and her own. Better than okay, once the extra money from this film started rolling in. She had plans—expanding the herd, replacing some of the equipment with new. Adding to Jody’s college fund, sending Jenna off on one of those cruises she was always talking about.

Maybe her dreams weren’t as audacious as Tom’s, but perhaps she had a better chance of making them come true. And she didn’t need a man to help her do it.

Another round of laughter sailed in on the languid afternoon breeze. Ellie pinpointed its source—the sand arena down along the creek. She hiked the short distance from the calving barn to the stables, and then skirted the low-slung building and headed for the open area beneath a row of cottonwoods.

One of the temporary hires trudged up the path, lugging an armful of bridles and saddle blankets. He nodded politely. “Hey, Ellie.”

“Hey, Nudge.” She tilted her head at the arena. “What’s all the excitement?”

“Fitz is giving ol’ Noodle a try.”

“Noodle?”

“Yeah. You gotta see this, Ellie. It’s quite a show. He already put Pete through his paces. It was something, I’m telling you.”

She snorted. “Pete could make anybody look good.” She tucked her hands in her back pockets and kicked at some loose gravel. “So, why’s he trying Noodle?”

“That gal with the clipboard liked Noodle’s looks. And Fitz said he didn’t want Pete.” Nudge rolled a wad of tobacco from one side of his jaw to the other. “It’s okay to let them check out the stock, right?”

“Yeah, it’s okay. Anything they want, within reason.” Ellie sighed. “But there’s nothing wrong with Pete. He’s a good pick for this job. The director liked him well enough.”

“Oh, Fitz liked him well enough, too,” said Nudge with a shrug, “but he said he was hoping for something a little more quick on the draw.”

“Pete’s okay.”

“Pete’s pokey, Ellie. Everybody knows that.”

“Yeah, but he won’t shy, and he won’t throw some Hollywood dude on his million-dollar ass.”

“I don’t think Fitz is worried about that.”

“I’m sure he’s not.” She rubbed at a tight spot on the back of her neck. “That’s why I get to do it for him.”

“I don’t think you’re gonna have to.” He nodded toward the arena. “Go take a look.”

“I just might.”

“Okay, then.” Nudge lifted the bridles. “Better go get these cleaned off and hung up before the spit dries on ’em.”

By the time Ellie claimed a viewing spot among the crowd hanging on the arena rails, Fitz was switching mounts again, pulling a saddle off Noodle. Brady Cutter, the ranch’s bowlegged stable hand and farrier, was standing to one side, smoothing a blanket over Hannibal, her oversize sorrel gelding.

Not Hannibal. Not my boy.

CHAPTER FOUR

ELLIE TENSED, READY TO CALL out and put a stop to the proceedings, but she bit her lip.

Why not Hannibal? Sure, he was a little green and more than a little headstrong, but if Fitz knew anything at all about horses, it’d only take a minute or two for him to figure it out. And if Fitz didn’t know as much about horses as he claimed, it would only take Hannibal a minute or two to figure that out—and then Fitz would be getting an education, fast and hard, down on the ground.

She watched Fitz sling the saddle over Hannibal’s broad back and then step aside to take the reins while Brady fussed over the cinch. The actor stood just to one side of the horse’s head, a serious and solemn look on his face, but whatever he was murmuring to Hannibal must have been amusing enough to have Brady throw his head back with a bark of a laugh.

And then Fitz stepped up into the saddle with the ease of a lifetime of practice and wrapped those long legs around Hannibal’s ribs, and the horse began to move. A leisurely walk, a smooth slide into a slow jog, a sudden turn to the center of the arena followed by a stiff-legged stop.

Ellie’s chest squeezed in suspended panic as she waited for the big horse to shimmy or break. But through the next few minutes of shifting gaits and motionless pauses, though she studied the way the actor’s boots rested in the stirrups and the way his fingers curled around the reins, she couldn’t fault his style. Heck, she couldn’t even catch half the cues he was giving. The gelding had never looked so good with someone on his back.

“Whoo-ee,” said Nudge, clambering up beside her. “Will you look at that?”

“I’m lookin’,” called Milo from another side of the arena. “Not believin’, but lookin’.”

“Hey, Ellie,” Jake shouted from his perch next to Chico, “Whad’ya think?”

“I think I’d better get back to work,” she answered.

Her comment cleared the hired hands off the rails faster than the dinner gong. Soon only a few film crew members remained with her to watch the rest of the show.

There wasn’t much left to watch. Fitz took Hannibal over a couple of low jumps and let him stretch his legs in another set of loping circuits, but soon he reined the horse into the center of the arena, where Brady waited with a halter and lead.

Will ambled over from behind the stables and headed toward Ellie. He waited for her to climb down, and then handed her half a sandwich and a bright red mug full of lemonade. “Heard Hannibal finally found himself a match.”

“Hmph.” Ellie bit into the sandwich and ripped off a satisfying chunk. “Probably having an off day,” she muttered as she chewed.

“Maybe he liked the signals he was getting.” Will turned his back to the arena, resting his elbows on the rail behind him. “Sounds like Fitz knows how to give ’em.”

“Maybe.” Ellie started to take another bite, but hesitated with the sandwich halfway to her mouth. “I wonder what Tom would have done about this, whether he would have put a stop to it. I mean, that crazy actor could have had a fall and broken his leg, and then where would we be? Maybe I should have done something. Tom would have, don’t you think?”

“I don’t spend too much of my time wondering what Tom would have thought or done about this or that. He’s not here, Ellie. You are. And you did the right thing. No broken leg today.” Will glanced over his shoulder. “That crazy actor could still break something, though. There’ll be plenty of chances.”

“Yeah.” She took a smaller bite as the first one tossed around in her stomach. “That’s what’s been keeping me up nights.”

Will gazed up into the cottonwood trees, squinting at the glare of the sun where it peeked through the fluttering, shimmering leaves. “You don’t like him much, do you, little girl?”

“Who?”

“Fitz.”

She shrugged and took a sip of lemonade. “What’s not to like?”

“Nothing much. Maybe that’s the problem.” Will shot her one of his painfully neutral looks and then climbed over the rail and dropped into the arena.

FITZ SWUNG DOWN from the big horse and rubbed a hand along its neck. “I’ve got a few minutes to kill,” he told Brady. “I’ll take him in, if that’s okay.”

“Sure.” Brady handed him the tack. “I’ll set his things out by his stall.”

As Fitz looped the halter around Hannibal’s neck, he noted Ms. Pointy Nose watching him like a hawk from her perch on the rail as her sidekick made his way across the arena. He’d been pushing his luck, waiting for the two of them to be occupied elsewhere so he could take a closer look at their stock.

He stood his ground as the ranch foreman approached. “Afternoon, Will.”

“Afternoon.” Will lifted his elbows and arched his back a bit with a groan. “Is that all the later it is?”

Fitz smiled. “Heard you had an early morning.”

“Yep. Too early for these creaky bones.” Will glanced at the stable entry. “Brady comin’ back out?”

“Nope.” Fitz slowly ran his hand down Hannibal’s face, tracing the thin white blaze. “I’m going to take him in.”

“Mind if I tag along?”

Fitz glanced over Will’s shoulder at Ellie. “Figured you might.”

Trish jogged out of the stable and into the arena. “Fitz! Burke’s looking for you. Nora’s here, and Mitch wants to get some publicity shots of the two of you. And Van Gelder’s got some rewrites for tomorrow’s scene.”

Rewrites. Damn. He tightened his grip on the lead as he guided Hannibal past her. “I’ll head back in a while.”

Trish hesitated before ducking into the breezeway behind the men. “How’s it going?” she asked.

“Fine,” Fitz said. “If I get the okay from the people in charge, I’d like to work with Hannibal here.”

Trish frowned. “He certainly is…big.”

“With a big, easy way of moving.” Fitz poked the lead through a ring on the wall near Hannibal’s stall and glanced at Will. “Maybe I could work with him whenever I had some free time. Off the set.”

Trish looked from Will to Fitz and back again, her pen hovering over one of her little note papers.

“I s’pose he could be made available on that basis.” Will bent down, pulled a hoof pick out of Hannibal’s bucket of brushes and handed it to Fitz. “He’s sort of Ellie’s boy. She likes to keep him close to home.”

Fitz pressed his shoulder against one of the horse’s hind legs and pulled his foot off the packed-dirt floor. From beneath Hannibal’s belly, he could see Trish shift impatiently from one foot to the other, waiting for information she could process and file.

“So, are we going to use the horse or not?” she asked.

Fitz finished cleaning the hoof and straightened. He looked to Will to make it official. The foreman tipped his hat back to scratch at his head. “I s’pose we should check with Ellie first.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Trish said. As she scrawled a note across her clipboard, she glanced at Fitz. “Burke said he’d meet you at Nora’s trailer.”

“Got it.” Fitz unleashed his do-me-a-favor smile. “Oh, and Trish?”

“Huh?” She blinked once, twice, and then she stilled.

He kicked it up a notch. “I’d appreciate it if you’d call him on your phone, let him know I’ll be there in twenty.”

“Oh. Okay.” She backed out of the breezeway, into the sunlight.

“Thanks, Trish.”

“Uh…sure.” She tripped over a dip in the ground. “Anytime.”

Will glanced at Fitz as he tugged a curry comb through Hannibal’s long mane. “Wonder if someone’ll want this trimmed up a bit.”

“We’ll find out the first time the wind blows all that hair up into my face and ruins a shot.”

“Must be something, a face like that.” Will tossed the comb into the bucket and moved out of Fitz’s way as he bent to check a front hoof. “Using a smile to get pretty young things to do what you want.”

“It’s something, all right.” Fitz stood and rested an arm across Hannibal’s back. “It’s also a target for every camera in zoom-lens range and for boozed-up jokers in late-night bars.”

Will grunted. “Gets in the way sometimes, I imagine.”

“Sometimes. And sometimes people forget there might be something going on behind the smile, too.”

“Seems a clever fellow could take advantage of that.”

“Seems so, doesn’t it?” Fitz traded the hoof pick for a brush. “So, this is Ellie’s horse.”

“His dam was Ellie’s. She handpicked his sire, was there at the foaling. She’s the one who lead broke him.” Will gave him a friendly slap on the hindquarters. “Rides him, too, every now and then. But he’s a mighty big boy. Last time she took him out she told me she felt like a no-see-em up on his back.”

“A no-see-em?”

“One of those little gnats you swallow before you know they’re there.”

“A no-see-em.” Fitz smiled and shook his head. There was something seriously twisted about the way his gaze kept settling on the pointy little woman with the big brown eyes. She wasn’t much of a looker, and he usually didn’t do much looking unless a woman was.

She had a way about her, though, that prickled like a case of poison oak. Hot and tingly, and begging to be scratched, even though he knew he shouldn’t. “I have a hard time imagining Ellie Harrison fading into the woodwork, even if she is a bit of a gnat herself.”

Will chuckled. “She’s always been on the small side. But she does tend to make her presence known.”

Fitz worked the brush along the horse’s hide. “Do you think she’ll loan out Hannibal for the duration?”

“She wants things to go well.”

“But she won’t be happy about it.”

Will shoved his hands in his pockets. “I don’t know that Ellie puts all that much stock in happiness as an end product.”

Fitz’s brushing stilled. “Tough life, huh?”

“Don’t s’pose life is meant to be easy. Just lived.” Will stepped aside as Fitz swung under Hannibal’s neck. “I’m thinkin’ you’ve lived part of yours around horses.”

Fitz grinned at Will’s matter-of-fact change of subject and mosey into an interview. “S’pose I did, yes.”

“Ranch work?”

“Some. More than I cared for, at the time.” Fitz started in on Hannibal’s thick tail. It needed some trimming, too. He’d check with Ellie before he hunted up a razor. “My grandfather was raised on a ranch not too far from here, as a matter of fact. Big Hole country.”

“Imagine that.”

“I’m trying to imagine it, now that I’m here. Nice country, from what I’ve seen. Wouldn’t mind seeing more.” Fitz gave up on doing anything more than a basic job on that tangle of a tail. He dropped the comb into the bucket and opened the stall door to lead Hannibal inside. “Gramps saved up enough to buy himself a ranch in Southern California. I spent most of my summers there. Most of the year, sometimes.”

“It’s a good life.”

“It can be. If it’s what you want.”

Fitz stood in Hannibal’s stall for a moment, feeling the warmth radiating off his big body. He inhaled the blend of manure and wood shavings and horse, and listened to the snuffles of that big sorrel nose at it poked through the hay net hanging in the corner. He soaked up the simple, earthy atmosphere, waiting for the high he knew would come, riding it like a hit from a drug. He knew what to do around horses, how to work with them and tend to their needs. He knew who he was when he was on a ranch and understood his place in the simple scheme of things. This life, this place was real, unlike the make-believe and special effects that filled most of his days and nights.