Back In The Saddle

But something about this man resurrected all that old...innocence, she supposed it was. She knew in her bones she was safe with him, that he was as honest and pure as the landscape that had wrapped itself around her soul from the moment she’d seen it.

“I bought a house here,” she said, “because I fell in love with the area fifteen years ago. The accident didn’t change that.”

“Was that before or after the first Transmutant movie?”

A laugh burst from her chest. “After. By several years. But oh, Lord, what I wouldn’t give to expunge those from my history.” She cocked her head. “So you’ve seen them?”

He smiled. “Only one, when I was a teenager. Although I’d apparently expunged it from mine,” he said, and she laughed again, then sighed.

“I was so young. Barely legal. But both Russell—”

“Russell?”

“Eames. My ex. The director?” Zach shrugged, and she smiled. “Anyway...he and my agent swore it was a good deal. And by the third release, it was a very good deal, money-wise.” A hawk fluttering overhead made her look up. “Although by rights I should’ve been pigeonholed as The Hot Chick and my career would’ve been over before I was twenty-five. Russell’s taking a chance on me beyond that, that I could do something different... I was extraordinarily fortunate.”

“No wonder you married him. If he had that much faith in you.”

A smile pushing at her mouth, Mallory looked out over the wooded ravine dropping off twenty feet from the path. “He really did.” Because that much, at least, was true. “And yes, I suppose that was a major reason why I did marry him. Even though everyone thought I was nuts, what with his being only a couple years younger than my father and all. But for a long time, Russ was everything to me. My champion, my protector, not to mention my acting coach...” She released a breath. “For that much, I’ll always owe him a great deal.”

“So what happened?”

She shrugged. And hedged. “Ultimately we couldn’t adjust to our new roles. As simple as that.” Her mouth twisted. “Russell’s new wife is even younger. Gorgeous. Ridiculously smart. Not in the industry. And Landon likes her. You know, now that I think of it, I think I hate her.”

“Can’t imagine why,” Zach said, and she snorted. Then her eyes met his. “It was a damn good run, you know? I had a career most people can only dream about, and God knows I never expected.” Half smiling, she squinted back at the forest. “And no matter what happens from here on out, nobody can take that away from me.”

After some moments, she heard Zach sigh. “I know what you mean. All the good stuff...it really is ours forever, isn’t it?”

“It really is,” she said softly.

“Do you miss it?”

Mallory met his gaze again. “Sometimes. All the insanity that goes with it?” She shrugged. “Not so much. And I don’t only mean what actually goes into making a film. That has its moments, sure. Magical ones, actually, when suddenly a scene comes together...” She smiled. “There’s a reason I kept doing it. Well, other than the fact that I had absolutely no skill for anything else. Aside from barrel racing, that is. But the world of movie-making...it can be hard. And weirdly far less real at times than the make-believe one up on the screen. Even so, I’ll admit to wishing the decision to quit had been mine.”

He leaned one hand against an apple tree trunk, glancing up into the tangled branches before facing her again.

“And now?”

Was it strange, that she understood exactly what he was asking? “It’s funny—at first I worried that after everything I’d worked for, I’d fade into oblivion. That it’d be as though I’d never existed. Then I found myself hoping people would lose interest, move on to the next thing. And yes, you do start to feel like a thing. A commodity. When that didn’t happen, I realized all I wanted was to be left alone to deal with my life in peace. But mostly for Landon to be left alone to live his.”

“That why you left him with his dad?”

There was no censure in his voice. At least none that she could hear. And certainly she saw nothing but compassion in those gentle blue eyes, so calm and steady behind his glasses. Then a short, dry laugh escaped his lips.

“Sorry, what was that I said about people getting up in your business—?”

“It’s okay. And actually it feels good to talk about it.”

“You sound surprised.”

“It’s not something I usually do. Only child and all that.”

“No friends?”

“Other than my mother? Not really, no.”

Still leaning on the tree trunk, Zach shoved his other hand in his pocket, his gaze tangling up with hers so hard she lost her breath. “So tell me about Landon. If you want to, I mean.”

At least, that’s what Mallory thought he’d said. Hard to tell through the buzzing between her ears. Jeebus. In a few short sentences, this stranger had offered more of himself, been more accepting of her, than Russell had over their entire relationship. She’d had no idea they even made men like that.

And hellz, yeah, you better believe she was going to take advantage of it.

“Leaving him behind was the hardest thing I’ve ever done,” she said over the lump in her throat. “But all the attention was really beginning to take its toll on the kid. Especially as he got older. The paparazzi never left us alone. Never. It was ridiculous—I have no idea what they thought they would see, what I’d do that would’ve been even remotely interesting, let alone fascinating. But wherever we went, there they were. No matter how much I tried to evade them.”

“That sucks.”

“You’re telling me. Even if Landon didn’t say anything, I could tell how hard it was on him.” A huge sigh pushed from her lungs. “What I said before, about only wanting him to feel normal? That’s all I’d ever wanted for him, even before all this. So his dad and I decided it would be best for him if I removed myself for a while.”

“Did you consider taking him with you instead?” he asked gently.

“Of course. But the kid’s life is there. Friends, activities...” She smiled. “His dad. Who can’t leave the scene. Or doesn’t think he can. And directors aren’t sexy from a gossip perspective. Seriously, how often do you see Steven Spielberg or Ron Howard’s picture on the front page of The National Enquirer? I was much more intriguing, in a let’s-all-pity-the-gimp kind of way. And I’m allowed to say that, being the gimp and all.”

“And your boy’s happier?”

“I think—hope—he’s at least more...at peace. And honestly? I’m still questioning whether I made the right choice. But it was the only one I felt I could. I’d do anything for that kid. Anything. I’m sure you know what that’s like.”

His lips barely curved. “All too well.”

Mallory smiled back, then released another sigh. “At least Landon knows it’s not permanent, that it’s kind of like when I’d go on location and he’d stay behind, or only come visit from time to time. As much as he remembers that. If all goes well, the sharks will move on to other feeding grounds and I’ll be able to return undetected. In the meantime we talk at least once a day, if not more. I haven’t abandoned my child. Even if it sometimes feels like I have.”

At that, she saw something new in his expression. Almost...annoyance, if she had to name it. Not that she was surprised. No matter how many knots she twisted herself into trying to explain, she doubted few people would understand. Then he reached up and twisted a Gala apple off a nearby tree, holding it out. “Want one? I can’t guarantee it won’t be mealy, this time of year, but—”

So she’d gotten the wrong end of the stick, maybe? “No, thanks, got a whole bowlful inside. And the ones we’ve eaten so far have been perfect. Tart and sweet at the same time.”

“Like memories,” Zach said quietly, frowning at the apple for a moment before taking a bite.

“I suppose so, yes.”

Not looking at her, he chewed for a moment, then nodded, wiping a trickle of juice on his sleeve. “You’re right.” He waved the apple at her. “Perfect.”

“Then please take some home with you, there’s no way we’ll ever eat them all.”

“I might do that. Thanks.” He took another bite, then said, “I should probably go.”

“Ah.”

Zach frowned. “What?”

“We talk about why I left my son behind and two minutes later you suddenly need to leave?”

“No,” he said slowly, “it occurred to me we’ve left my rambunctious boys with your mother, who’s probably more than ready to be rescued by now.”

“Really?”

The frown deepened. “You don’t seriously think I’m judging you?”

“I think it’d be weird if you weren’t.”

“Call me weird, then. Mallory...nobody can truly know what they’d do in someone else’s shoes, but it’s obvious you didn’t make that decision lightly. Or that you were only thinking of yourself. You’re only doing the best you can. Same as every other parent in the world. And something else—whether Landon fully understands it or not right now, you’ve set an example of how the best choice isn’t always the easiest. In fact, it rarely is.”

It was several moments before she could speak. “Wow.”

He shrugged. “Something I remember my parents drumming into us. Just thought I’d share.”

Mallory smiled. “My daddy used to say the same thing, actually. So...thanks. But please don’t feel you have to leave on my mother’s account. When she’s had her fill of little boys—” she wagged her phone “—she’ll let me know. Trust me, that woman is in hog heaven right now. And your boys probably are, too. That woman has grandmothering down to a fine art.”

Chuckling, Zach slid down against the tree’s trunk to sit in a patch of mottled sunlight—sending a shudder of silly pleasure through her. She had nothing to offer this man—other than apples and cookies, maybe—and yet he was still here. How long had it been since someone other than her son had wanted to be with her for her own sake? Warmed her right down to her unfeeling toes, it did.

Zach smiled—and oh, my, did he have a nice smile—when Benny appeared, wagging his tail. “Hey, guy...” He ruffled the dog’s head. “Good nap?” Benny sniffed the apple, actually shook his head, then lay down in the dirt at Zach’s feet as he nodded toward the dog runs.

“I seem to remember the previous owners raised purebred Labs. I think Granville may have even gotten one for his daughter. Hey—maybe you should think of fostering, yourself. You certainly have the space for it.”

Mallory stared at the runs, imagining. “Wouldn’t that mean a full-time commitment?”

“Not necessarily. And God knows the local shelter would be grateful for anything you could do. It’s no-kill, so they get overcrowded from time to time.”

“Let me...think about it.”

“Fair enough.” Zach took another bite of apple, rubbing the dog’s rump with the toe of his boot as he chewed, then threw the core into the ravine as her phone pinged—a text from Mama.

“She’s asking if we’d like to join them.”

One side of Zach’s mouth lifted. “Her way of saying she’s reached her limit?”

“Not that she’d ever admit that.”

Chuckling, Zach pushed himself to his feet, brushing off his butt as he walked toward her. “Yeah, it’s all fun and games until somebody slugs somebody. My own mother regularly threatened to put us up for sale. Unfortunately for her, we knew it was a hollow threat.”

They started back toward the house, Zach’s stride comfortably matching her wheelchair’s pace. And right then, in this perfect setting with this incredibly sweet man walking beside her, Mallory felt almost...whole.

A moment to cherish, for sure.

* * *

Zach had just buckled the boys into their car seats when Dorelle came scurrying out to the truck, an enormous plastic container clutched to her chest.

“Cookies,” she said, a little breathlessly, practically shoving the container into his hands.

“For the entire town?”

“I might’ve gotten a little carried away.”

Zach smiled. “Well, thank you. My mother used to bake up a storm until my father had a heart attack—”

“Oh, no—”

“It’s okay, it was some time ago now, and he’s doing great. But things like cookies are pretty much off-limits. And no sense in tempting the poor man, she says. Anyway, there’s a whole bunch of us who have no problem with cookies, so these won’t go to waste, believe me.”

She beamed. “I’m so glad. Enjoy—”

“Can I ask you something?”

The question had popped out completely without his brain’s permission. Except if it hadn’t, it would’ve bugged him like an invisible thorn that hurts like hell even though you can’t see it.

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