Chapter 3
Aura
The stink of questionably cleaned motel room clings to me even after my shower, but there’s nothing more I can do about it, so I carefully walk down the rusty stairs of the motel.
There’s no way I’m going to survive living in this place for three weeks.
A huge yawn catches me by surprise and leaves my mouth gaping in what I’m sure would make an unflattering picture.
I reflexively reach up to block it from prying lenses before it hits me.
There is not a single camera out there waiting to catch me at my worst.
I drop my arm to my side, and a strange feeling of lightness fills me.
I glance around the pothole-ridden parking lot and then across the street at the vast green field speckled with a rainbow of flowers budding under the warm spring sunshine.
For the first time in a long time, there’s nobody watching.
The smile doesn’t leave my face even as I’m trying to remember which car is mine. Key fob, right. I slip the fob out of my pocket, and the gray sedan lights up with a chirp when I hit the unlock button.
Sliding behind the wheel still feels strange.
I never drive myself in LA anymore. It’s not just that traffic is a nightmare.
It’s that I’m usually busy doing something in the back seat.
Talking to my agent, assistant, or a member of my PR team, reviewing a script, touching up my makeup.
Every minute counts in Hollywood. Or at least it used to, before my career was ground to a fine powder.
GPS takes me from the main highway that’s still nowhere near as busy as any road in LA onto a much smaller one that transports me into another dimension.
It’s almost as if I’ve driven straight back onto the set of Paisley Creek.
But as I make my way along the quiet main road, I start to notice the differences.
Living in Hollywood for the last ten years has really skewed my view of reality.
Some of the houses are cute and well-kept, with fresh paint and neat gardens, while some have peeling paint and cluttered lawns.
But I drive slowly and take in every inch of the town that’s going to be my home for several months.
That oppressive weight squeezes my chest, and I have to concentrate on slowing down my breathing before the anxiety can rise up and take over.
The possibility of not pulling this off lurks in the back of my brain.
But I can’t give in to it. I’ve got six weeks before the crew rolls in.
Six weeks to find someone to teach me to ride, so I don’t get outed as the fraud that I am.
The houses have given way to storefronts, so I pull over behind a dusty red pickup truck and put the car in park. My fingers tighten on the steering wheel, and I squeeze my eyes shut to try to rein in the panic. I count down from ten, taking steady breaths until the trembling eases.
Okay, I got this. I glance around after I step out of the car.
There’s a pharmacy across the street, a bank on the corner, and a cute little bookstore to my right, but I picked the perfect spot without even trying—right in front of a coffee shop called Love Grind.
Looks like I stumbled upon the solution to my rumbling stomach.
And I might be able to get some info on my target while I’m here.
A string of little brass bells announces my arrival as I push through the glass door, and the woman behind the counter beams at me. Her smile is warm and genuine, two things I’m not that accustomed to anymore.
“Well, hello there,” she calls across the room.
I tug the bill of my hat down lower and walk directly to the counter, trying to avoid the notice of the other few patrons of the little café.
The warm smell of coffee wraps around me like a hug, and I’m pretty sure the barista would do the same if she stepped out from behind her station. I’m kind of glad to have the barrier between us.
“What can I get for you today, love?” she asks, wiping her hands down the front of her yellow apron. The nametag pinned to it reads Leonora.
“Umm.” I squint up at the menu chalked onto the board behind her.
She leans in closer. “Might be easier to read it if you took those sunglasses off.”
I pull back. “I’m good. I’ll just have a regular coffee.” I’m starting to think this was a terrible idea. How did I think this was going to work? Someone is going to recognize me and this entire plan will shatter like a light bulb hitting concrete.
She tilts her head to the side, studying me from behind her purple cat’s-eye glasses. “Are you sure about that? How about a maple cream latte? It’s our specialty.”
Sounds delicious, but I can almost hear Conrad, my personal trainer, telling me exactly how many calories the drink contains, but he’s not here. Why not go for it?
“Sure.”
“Excellent. And I’ve got a deal if you add on a breakfast sandwich or a sweet treat for later. How about one of my bacon, egg, and cheddar sandwiches on a biscuit? I make them right here.”
My aching stomach is begging me to say yes, but there are limits. I do have to eat something though, so I scan the menu. “I’ll take one of the egg white and veggie wraps, please.”
“Good, good.” She calls the order out through the open window into the kitchen area and a guy in full chef garb starts pulling things out of the stainless steel fridge.
“Listen, I’m looking for someone. Any chance you can tell me how to get to Hollow Hills Ranch?”
“Hollow Hills. There have been a few visitors interested in Hollow Hills lately.”
The bell tinkles again, and I flinch even as Leonora calls out a friendly greeting to the new customer. I shift on my feet. The more people in here, the better the chance of losing my cover.
“Mmm. Well, I’m particularly looking for Quinton Holloway. Any chance you might know where I could find him?”
“I might be able to help you with that.” A masculine voice behind me has my fingers twitching.
Why do men think they have the answer to all of life’s problems? “I don’t remember asking you. Do you always feel like you need to chime in on other people’s conversations, or is it just when women are talking?” I roll my eyes at Leonora without turning around.
Her mouth pops open and her eyes dart over my shoulder. Then a tiny smile twitches the corners of her lips up, and a prickle of unease creeps up the back of my neck.
I spin around slowly to see a tall, lanky man standing behind me.
He’s maybe a little younger than me, in his early twenties, and he’s wearing faded denim, a black T-shirt with a some sort of logo on the chest, and a tan cowboy hat.
Unfortunately, he’s not just any old cowboy.
I did some serious research before I even landed in Canada, and I’d recognize that handsome face anywhere.
Quinton Holloway, the man I’d hoped would teach me to ride.
And he’s even hotter in person than he looked in the picture on the ranch website.
An unwelcome pang of attraction sends a flush of warmth through me.
Unfortunately, now that I’ve mouthed off to him, I’m worried he won’t be so receptive to my request. Fuck.
But the look on his face is clear, even shadowed by the brim of his hat. He’s amused, which only irritates me further, but I’m an actress. I might not be able to salvage my career, but I can definitely salvage this situation.
I flash my brightest smile, infusing as much apology into my words as I can. “I’m so sorry. It’s just—”
“You’re used to men hitting on you in coffee shops?” he asks.
“Yes, exactly.”
“What can I help you with, Miss…?” He trails off, giving me an expectant look.
I don’t take the bait. “Let me buy you a coffee to make up for that shitty first impression. Then I’d love to chat if you have time.”
He shakes his head, running a hand through the scruff on his chin. Nerves flutter around in my stomach. “No way. I’ll buy you a coffee and we can chat. My mom would be ashamed of me if I let a lady and visitor to our town buy me a meal.”
I stick my hands in the pocket of my oversized hoodie to hide my fidgety fingers. “Don’t worry about it. I got this.”
He takes a couple of steps closer, and I shift until my ass is bumping up against the counter. “I mean it. If you want to have that conversation, let me buy your meal. We can sit down, share a drink, and have a chat. I insist.”
I hold back my sigh. I don’t like being obligated to anyone. Nine out of ten times, they’re going to hold it over your head later, at least in my experience. But I guess we’ll have to see. It’s not like I don’t have anything to offer him.
“Fine.” I move to the side so he can step up to the counter and order.
He pays with actual cash and drops some of those giant Canadian coins into the glass tip jar on the counter.
Leonora thanks him. “Why don’t you two go sit down and hash out your business. I’ll bring your food and drinks over when they’re ready.”
“Sounds good,” Quinton says, then turns to me, holding out an arm as if we’re about to walk the red carpet together.
“I’m good.” It’s not like I’m teetering on the super high heels my stylist loves to put me in. Much as I love Lin, I’m not so fond of her sadistic fashion tendencies.
I scan the restaurant, choosing a table nestled into the shadowy back corner. I’m going to have to do the big identity reveal for him, but there’s no need to expose myself any further than I have to.
Quinton trails after me, folding his tall frame into the narrow booth, then taking off his hat and settling his elbows on the table.
“Not that I’m complaining about sharing a meal with a beautiful lady, but why exactly are you looking for me?
Actually, where are my manners? We should introduce ourselves first, before we start doing business.
” He reaches across the table holding out his hand.
“I’m Quint Holloway. Pleasure to meet you. ”