Chapter 18
Ismeralda
That heart-stopping kiss replays in my brain as we head back to the cabin after the trail ride. Wowza! The man can kiss. Now that I’ve felt the touch of his lips, there’s probably no going back. Returning to client/bodyguard status is going to be impossible when all I can think about is kissing him again.
I take a quick shower, then I scurry back to hide out in my room while Gabe takes his turn. We both avoid making eye contact as we grapple with our feelings. Thankfully food is an excellent distraction, although the walk over to the mess hall is silent because the elephant in the room still hangs between us.
Is he as attracted to me as I am to him?
Today must be unlucky incident day. During the buffet lunch, a man from Indiana starts a small fire in the mess hall when he knocks over one of the Sternos used to keep the cowboy beans warm. The flame lights the stack of napkins nearby and nearly sets the entire buffet line on fire. Quick-thinking Jethro grabs a fire extinguisher and puts out the blaze but ruins most of the food offerings.
Luckily Gabe and I had already eaten and had the full plethora of items to choose from, all of them delicious. I am especially fond of the greenhorn stew but kept those thoughts to myself. Those who were in line when the fire happened have to eat the leftover cowboy chili from last night’s dinner.
“Too bad about the buffet line fire,” Gabe comments as we stroll back to our cabin; clearly the topic is something to talk about other than that kiss. “Frankly, I’m relieved it wasn’t me who started it.”
I bark out a laugh at Gabe’s unexpected honesty. “Oh Gabriel!” I chuckle. “You strike me as a suave and debonair James Bond, not a bumbling Barney Fife.” My fascination with old TV shows rears its head again . Who’s a klutz on a more modern TV show? Sheldon Cooper? Phil Dunphy?
Gabe’s chest swells at the James Bond comment. “Really? My driving was very James Bond, wasn’t it?” he teases while I roll my eyes. His lips tip into a frown. “Although my miscue with Charles W. Paddington and his Montblanc pen was more like Barney,” he says, with a grimace.
I giggle, remembering that incident well. “You were on high alert. Who brings their own pen to a book signing?” I reassure him by patting his arm, which feels like steel under my fingertips. The zap of attraction singes my hand.
He snorts. “How about the runaway horse from this morning? I’m given the most docile mount in the herd and she spooks at a rabbit,” he grumbles.
“Again, misfortunate. It could have happened to any of us.”
Gabe stops walking and takes both my hands in his. “Thanks for trying to make me feel better, Izzie.” Our eyes lock and he leans forward slowly, giving me ample opportunity to stop him, but I don’t.
Just as his lips brush against mine, someone shouts, “There they are!”
We spring apart as a group thunders over to us. One lady holds up her phone. “The Celebrity Detection app never lets you down!” she shouts with glee.
Gabe groans while we exchange frustrated glances. Either Bernie and Bernice figured out where we went and reported it or someone here on site is part of the network. Our days of anonymity are over.
Even though I’ve bumped into a few fans at the ranch, they were nothing like this. This group is pushy, invading our personal space without any regard. Cell phone cameras snap in our face, and one lady is even recording a video.
These people are obnoxious! Are they any of my two-million followers or are they just celebrity spotters intent on boosting their own social media by posting photos of stars caught wearing their everyday jeans as they purchase a gallon of milk? I work my butt off coming up with unique and interesting topics, then post video after video of makeup and skin care tips and techniques in order to keep my followers happy, but maybe I need to rethink my priorities if I have fans like these.
“Kiss again! I need to capture that for the network!” she shouts, then points to her face. “Loved your tip about the halo eyeshadow technique! I’ve perfected it.”
I grimace. She’s used a heavy hand rather than a light application as my video suggested.
“Are you two now dating?” a man yells.
“Who’s the hunky guy, Ismeralda?” someone else asks. “Is he a stunt man?”
The situation feels like paparazzi on steroids as they surround us like a pack of hungry wolves. Why did I think this celebrity lifestyle was fun and glamorous? Hovering behind Gabe’s large body, I clamp my lips shut and try to weather the onslaught.
Holding up his hand, Gabe says, “No comment.” He steers me away from the group, keeping me sheltered behind him. He hustles us off down the path to our cabin, while the group continues to snap photos and throw out questions.
The photos and videos won’t show much since his body is blocking most of me. A wayward thought as to whether my makeup looks good zaps through my brain, but I cut it off. Why should I care? They’re invading my privacy, and who worries about looking like a Hollywood star at a dude ranch?
Me. The answer hits me like a ton of bricks. I’ve fallen into the celebrity image trap. Suddenly all my accoutrements seem like burdens.
The three hundred pounds of luggage required to keep up my image...
The endless time I spend perfecting my makeup videos and the hours and stress devoted to posting them on schedule...
The fancy black stretch limo when an SUV would have been much more practical for this cross-country trip...
We’re both a little breathless from our hasty retreat from the rowdy invaders when we arrive at the cabin.
“Let’s pack and get out of here. They aren’t going to leave us alone. Plus, since we’re pretty sure the stalker is using that darn app, now we know they know where you’re hiding.”
My heart rate accelerates. Gabe’s right. If these new crazed fans know our every move, the stalker will know them as well. The activities at the ranch had taken my mind off the stalker completely. Will I get another threatening email in my inbox?
“We’ll leave after dark to try to get them off our tail,” Gabe says.
Darn! I was looking forward to tonight’s campfire and tomorrow night’s hoedown, but he’s right. Those vultures won’t leave us alone now that they’ve found us.
“Okay,” I say with a resigned shrug. “I’ll be in my room packing.” As I head off down the hall, I turn back around. “And if you want to trade the limo for an SUV, that’s fine with me.”
His eyes go wide. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. My true fans don’t need a Hollywood-worthy entrance at the book signing, and I sure don’t want to satisfy those vultures!” I say, then disappear inside my room.
Maybe I need to rethink my career.