Chapter 7
Chapter
Seven
“Long ago, the High Fae had been our overlords—not gods. And they certainly hadn’t been kind.”
— SARAH J. MAAS, A COURT OF THORNS AND ROSES
I spent the day shooting scenes, going over last-minute rewrites, getting re-measured for a few costumes, and fending off flirtatious remarks from my co-star Luke, as well as “well-meaning” recommendations for an exercise and fasting app he used. I was this close to using Elena’s patented banish him spell when the director called cut and released us for the day.
I should have been exhausted and over peopling for the day, but instead I was energized thanks to thinking about two equally delicious things: cake and Maverick.
He’d promised to pick me up at 7:00 p.m. in the same spot where he’d dropped me off this morning. I’d given Eric and my security team a heads-up about my travel arrangements, headed off their objections (while they headed off to do a background check), and then hustled outside, hoping that I was not about to be stood up.
Maverick turned out to be a man of his word.
Despite his timely arrival, he’d swapped his truck and brought someone else along. So, no, this was very much not a date. Not that we’d agreed that it was. I had no business being even the teensiest bit disappointed.
I concentrated on his vehicle instead.
First of all, the new truck was enormous. ENORMOUS. It also wasn’t a...truck?
Maybe trucks were different in the South? This one looked like the mechanic had dropped a black Volkswagen bug onto four oversized wheels. I would need a ladder to get up there, not to mention the climbing skills of a monkey.
Secondly, the bonus passenger was a shaggy-haired man-creature leaning against a person-sized monster wheel. He sported an All-Purpose Animal Services polo shirt, a flannel shirt, and an overgrown brown beard dense enough for a half-dozen bats to roost in. I was not prepared to ride next to the wild man of the woods. This was not shaping up to be the romantic truck ride of my dreams.
But then I looked past the weird-ass truck/car and the semi-feral bonus passenger, and there was Maverick.
He grinned at me, big and wide, which had me smiling back at him. It was impossible not to smile, because Maverick gave big, heated, happy smiles. Tonight’s smile was wide and uncontained. He did not hold anything back. I’d let my glamour relax some, but I let it go further, keeping just enough to make me look one-hundred-percent human. It felt so good to slip the mask off, like taking off a pair of gorgeous heels that cost a fortune and looked beautiful but that also made your feet cramp and threaten mutiny.
I wiggled my fingers at him.
Gah. Was I fifteen?
He tipped his hat with a finger and returned my wave.
By Bigfoot’s footprint, I felt like I’d been transported back to my high school years. My stomach quivered in happy anticipation.
I had no idea what the wild man’s TV-viewing habits were. Would he recognize me? He might watch all the things or none. Be a big Buffy fan or into documentaries on the French Revolution. It wasn’t possible to get a read on him, so I sucked in a calming breath, hitched up my crocheted tote bag, and headed for the truck.
As I got close, Maverick strode forward to meet me, lightly slapping the other man on the shoulder to get his attention. But the wild man didn’t look up. He was focused on the screen of an iPad, disproving my barbarian cave beast theory.
A home renovation played on the screen, though, so my identity seemed safe.
“Hey there.” Maverick’s green-and-gold hazel eyes warmed up as he took me in. He sounded tired, his voice hoarser and rougher, as if he’d spent the day doing hard things. “You left your mirror and your cup in my truck this morning. I cleaned them up, and they’re inside the Love Tank.” He jerked his thumb at the Volkswagen/truck monstrosity behind him and reached for my bag, adding, “Let me get this for you.”
“Thanks.” I let him take the bag. It wasn’t that I couldn’t carry my own stuff, but it made me feel cared for. Plus, he looked really cute holding a flower-covered bag.
After a long day with Luke and the other actors and colossal ego monsters on set, Maverick felt refreshingly different. He was genuine and thoughtful. Not scripted and rehearsed. Honest.
He nudged the wild man. “This is Ranger, my brother.”
Was he a werewolf, too? He certainly had the hair for it.
I held out my hand. “Nice to meet you, Ranger.”
Ranger didn’t look up as he wrapped an enormous paw around my hand for the briefest handshake in human history. “Pleased to meet you. Maverick mentioned that you had some trouble up on the mountain.”
Since he addressed this comment to his iPad, I was not sure what the appropriate response would be. Maverick caught my eyes and rolled his, indicating that his brother was a fixer-upper and would require significant work.
I knew all about difficult family members, so I shot Maverick a commiserating smile as I addressed Ranger’s last observation. “Yes. I got lost, and then I had some stick-shift issues. Your brother has been nice enough to help me out.”
“I’m sure he wasn’t expecting hardship pay,” Ranger muttered under his breath. “So, you write?”
“I do.”
“You wrote the screenplay for this TV series?”
“Ummm...yeah?” Upon closer inspection, Ranger’s resemblance to the wild man of the woods was even stronger. His hands were big and strong, sun-bronzed, and covered with dozens of tiny nicks and scars. He had a thick mane of hair with odd curls that sprang out in random directions. I wondered if I could share my hair products with him. He looked much more werewolf-like than his brother. Still, although his hair was a wild halo around his head and broad shoulders, it was clean and well-conditioned. It was also much lighter than Maverick’s dark brown, streaked with a warm honey color.
The sliver of his face that I could see was manly and square, too rough-hewn to be pretty or cute; nevertheless, there was a definite resemblance between the two brothers. They were roughly the same height, although Ranger was stockier and more muscled than the leaner, more chiseled Maverick.
“What happens in the episode you’re shooting?” Ranger still did not look at me.
“Ranger!” Maverick sounded as if he were losing patience with his brother’s unsociability.
“Well, we’re shooting a series about a supernatural murder investigator. She’s come to Smoky Spirits to check out a mysterious death, but it’s challenging because she can see ghosts but won’t admit it.”
“And does she fall in love with a ghost?”
“ Out ,” I said gleefully. Luke’s cinematic stock was lower than low and although the producers had brought him back for the season we were shooting, he was headed for an exorcism. “Her love interest from the last season is a handsome but klutzy Civil War ghost, but she drops him for a local werewolf.”
“Well, that’s unexpected.” Ranger chuckled, lifting his chin. This gave me a fuller view of his face. He had the same nose and chin as Maverick, but his eyes were rounder and bigger, framed by ridiculously lush, dark eyelashes.
I continued explaining the details of my script. “But she doesn’t know that werewolves exist, so she’s in denial about some important things.”
“And her werewolf is certain she could never love a beast,” he guessed.
“It’s a popular trope.” I looked at Maverick. Good humor lit up his face, and I had to bite back my own smile. What did he think about my being Team Werewolf?
I was wondering how much longer we’d be exchanging social chitchat when Maverick’s brother lifted his eyes and looked at me. Actually, he pinned me with his stare, and he did not look happy.
He knew who I was.
My stomach pitched, the contents churning wildly. He knew that I knew that he knew who I was. He just hadn’t decided what to do with his knowledge yet.
His stare was hard, irked, and entirely mistrustful.
He was not a fan, and he was not starstruck. He’d likely known who I was before I’d reached the truck, and maybe even before then. The quiver in my stomach was not pleasant.
“Remind me of your name?” Ranger asked flatly.
“I told you. She’s Suzette. Let’s get going.” Maverick opened the cab door and gestured for Ranger to sit behind the driver’s seat. I’d have his eyes boring into the back of my head for the duration of our drive.
Ranger shot me a narrow look, tucked his iPad under a flannel-covered arm, and climbed up. I guess he was willing to take direction from his brother. I swallowed hard and tried to act happy as Maverick guided me around the truck (sweet but unnecessary) and opened the passenger-side door (also sweet but unnecessary).
Ranger leaned forward before his brother could climb in. “Can you check the chipmunks in the back? I’m concerned that we didn’t use enough tie-downs.”
“Sure.” Maverick nodded shortly, his attention focused on helping me clamber up into the cab. This I did need help with. It was also an excellent excuse to enjoy his hands on my waist and arm.
I would be fantasizing about his helpfulness later.
Unfortunately, his chipmunk checking left me shut in the cab with Ranger. Lovely. Still, I’d survived the hostile comments of internet fandom. I had this, right?
“I can—” I started, but he waved a hand, cutting me off.
“I don’t know why you didn’t share the truth with Maverick. But I haven’t seen my brother this positive in a long time. Mind you, positive is not the same as happy. He’s real good at making the best of a poor situation. I will give you this warning, though.” Ranger paused, waiting for me to turn around and face him.
Joderrrr! I was in so much trouble.
“He’s got five brothers and a sister, and all of us love him to the moon and back. We’ve got his back, and we won’t sit back and let you play with him. So, either you fess up and tell him who you are, and do it real soon, or I will out you.”