A Baby by Chance (18 page)

Because it wasn’t just sex drawing them together. Simple sex left you feeling empty—sated but empty. What they had shared had left him wanting more—and not just sex. It wasn’t just the baby drawing them close, either, as Madison would have them believe. A baby only went so far toward bringing people together.

The attraction he and Madison had for each other was something special.

Something people spent a lifetime looking for.

Chance wasn’t giving that up, and he wasn’t going to let
her
give it up, either.

Meantime, the clock was ticking and time was running out. Another three weeks or so and Madison would be headed right back to Dallas.

He couldn’t let that happen before he had done everything he could to win her heart.

CHAPTER SEVEN

“F
IRST AND FOREMOST
,” Kit said to Madison when she called early Monday morning from Dallas, “have you gotten Chance Cartwright to agree to appear at the trade shows when the Ranchero is introduced?”

Madison, who’d been up for hours preparing for the film crew currently en route from town to the ranch, cast a glance at Chance, who was supervising the moving of all of his horses to pastures away from the house. The horses weren’t needed for today’s shooting schedule, and although Chance hadn’t come right out and said as much, Madison could tell he was relieved to have them out of harm’s way.

She turned from the sight of the Lost Springs boys, who’d been promised they could watch Chance’s first day of commercial filming provided they were quiet and well-behaved. “I haven’t brought it up,” Madison told Kit finally.

“We know you’re going to have trouble getting him to agree to it,” Kit said.

“And then some,” Madison muttered. “But don’t worry. I’ll figure out a way.” Somehow.

“Well, you better get to it as quickly as you can because you’re running out of time. The public relations people at AMV are putting together a schedule of events for Chance and the new pickup truck as we speak, and they’re going to want to get his verbal okay and start making travel reservations by the end of the week.”

“All right. I’ll take care of it,” Madison promised. She didn’t know how, with her and Chance barely speaking to each other, but she would.

Kit went on to discuss several other matters of importance, then said, “As you know, Shawna Somersby was sent up to assist you.”

“She arrived last night with the rest of the crew, didn’t she?”

“Right. She’s still a little overeager,” Kit cautioned.

Meaning, Madison thought, Shawna’s lack of experience had caused a few problems in Dallas.

“But I’ve been working with her here and she should be a lot of help as a runner. And I’ll be here, handling things on this end.”

“Thanks, Kit. And thanks for sending Shawna up to help out, too.” With all she was going to have to juggle, Madison needed someone at her beck and call. It would help to have Shawna there.

“No problem.”

No sooner had Madison hung up with Kit than a convoy of trucks, vans and cars rolled in, kicking up clouds of dust on the gravel lane leading to the ranch house. A tractor trailer truck, bearing every color and variety of the new Ranchero pickup, brought up the rear. Madison grabbed her clipboard, cell phone and pen and strode out to meet them. It was early morning, but the day already looked to be a blistering one.

Chance intercepted Madison in the yard. “Overdoing it a tad, aren’t they?” he observed dryly, inclining his head at the number of vehicles jockeying for parking spaces along the lane while the catering truck quickly set up in the shade. Technicians piled out onto the grass, looking eager to get started, while Ed Connelly and Ursula Rodriguez, who were both going to be on hand during the entire shoot, tumbled out of a big red Suburban and conferred briefly in the shade.

“It can seem a little overwhelming, I know,” Madison soothed, knowing this was just the beginning. The confusion was bound to get a lot worse before they finished.

“And then some,” Chance muttered unhappily, glancing at the damage being done to the neatly manicured grass around the ranch house. He looked her straight in the eye. “When you said a commercial, I figured one camera, a couple of trucks, a few people, not this onslaught.”

Madison clutched her clipboard to her chest as a long black limousine drove through the crush. “I’m sorry I didn’t make that clear.”

Chance took off his hat and rubbed the perspiration from his brow. “Anything else you forgot to tell me?”

Actually, yes, Madison wanted to say. But now was not the time to tell him he was also expected to do several months of trade shows promoting the Ranchero. Her conscience prickling, she looked past Chance and saw Vince Smith, the director, coming toward them. Breathing a sigh of relief and hoping she would feel better once they got going, she said, “There’s Vince now.” He looked as eager to get started as the rest of them.

* * *

L
OOKING SMART
and professional in a white linen pantsuit and expensive low-heeled shoes, Madison threaded through the grips and technicians and made her way to Chance’s side. She had her sunglasses perched on top of her head and a clipboard clutched against the lusciously soft swell of her breasts. Just watching the graceful, fluid way she moved made the blood pool in the lower half of his body. Never mind the enticing, pouty curve of her lips, just begging to be kissed, Chance thought, or the windblown disarray of her hair, begging to be coaxed into place by his fingertips. As she stopped just short of him it was all he could do not to haul her into his arms and kiss her soundly until she forgot all about business and thought only about being with him again in the way they were meant to be together.

Oblivious to the sensual direction of his thoughts, Madison was all business as she began to speak. “We’re going to start with the hayloft scene and try to get that done this morning.”

Chance knew what he wanted to do in a loft with Madison. It wasn’t film a commercial with twenty-five people looking on.

Struggling to contain his spiraling emotions, half from temper, half desire, Chance glanced at the boys from Lost Springs. They were lined up at the catering truck, enjoying the free treats Madison and her boss had generously allowed them. At least someone was having a good time today, he thought disparagingly. With effort, he reminded himself what his work here would mean to the kids at the ranch. It was a lot of money he was earning, and it was all for them. That being the case, he figured he could find a way to deal with it.

Chance looked at Madison. Damned if she wasn’t the prettiest woman he’d ever seen. And, at the moment, the bossiest. “Refresh my memory.”

“We went over this yesterday,” Madison reminded him.

Chance tried his best to recall what she had said about the loft. Something about the horses, and taking care of them. Oh, yeah. He brightened as it all came flooding back. “I’m supposed to pitch hay out of the top of the barn and into the bed of my pickup, which will be parked below.”

Madison smiled and drew such a deep breath her breasts rose—and fell—seductively. “Right.” Her smile widened at his newfound cooperation. She gazed at him as if she’d just discovered something wonderful. “It shouldn’t take more than the morning,” Madison reassured him enthusiastically.

Chance started to nod, feeling a little besotted just looking into her eyes, then stopped as her words sunk in. “What do you mean the morning?” he demanded impatiently. No one had said anything about him having to do this in slow motion. “The commercial is only going to last thirty seconds,” he reminded her brusquely. “With all the action scenes you have planned, the shot of me tossing hay out of the barn won’t take more than a second or two.”

“But it has to be precisely the right shot.”

Chance shrugged, unable to see what all the tension and hysteria were about as grips and technicians ran here and there while Vince shouted directions to one and all. If he ran his horse ranch the way the director ran the set, they’d never get anything done. “So set it up right in the first place. And then we’ll only have to do it once,” Chance advised.

Madison’s lips compressed. Her green eyes glowed with new temper as she slapped her clipboard against her side. Clearly, she did not want his advice about this. “You just do your job, Chance. I’ll do mine.”

“Right.”

To Chance’s frustration, despite all the people running to and fro, it was noon before they had the cameras and lighting set up and the pickup truck positioned below the loft doors of the hay barn. His frustration level mounting—there were so many things he’d rather be doing than standing around cooling his heels while Vince and the set designer tried to decide if he wanted the hay bales two inches to the right or two inches to the left—Chance said, “About ready to get started here?”

Madison took his arm and steered him over to a canvas chair set up in front of a trailer. “Another fifteen minutes. But you’re right.” She signaled for a young woman with a large carrying case similar to a fishing tackle box. “It is time to get you made up.”

Chance cringed at the orangey-looking cup of goop and sponge the makeup person held out. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Without a thin layer of pancake and powder, you’ll look like Casper the Ghost on film,” Madison said.

“Which isn’t exactly the look we’re going for,” Ursula said, coming up to join them. She looked at Madison. “We’re doing this first shot without the shirt, right?”

Chance cringed as a very thin layer of goop was smeared across his face and neck.

“Cartwright’s jeans need to be more worn,” Vince shouted over his shoulder.

“I think the boots need to go,” the wardrobe lady said, shaking her head at Chance’s scuffed and serviceable brown boots. “They’re not individual enough. Maybe something two-toned or—”

“The clothes are mine,” Chance interjected gruffly, not about to be made over into something he wasn’t. “This is what I’m wearing. What I always wear. And the shirt stays on.”

To his chagrin, Madison merely gave him a cool look that seemed to say, “We’ll see.”

“Let’s just get started,” Madison told Vince as the two of them exchanged understanding looks that said they, at least, were of one mind. “Do a few preliminary shots and see what we come up with. Then we’ll make changes.”

“Sounds good to me,” Ed Connelly said, coming to join the group.

Chance leaped up. He was beginning to see how hard this was going to be. He didn’t like it. Not one bit. He strode to the barn, headed into the shady interior, which was a good ten degrees cooler than the sunny barnyard, and climbed to the loft. For the next hour, he tossed bales of hay into the bed of the truck. The instructions he received were relentless.

“Smile more!”

“Not that much!”

“How about taking off the shirt? At least undo a few buttons.”

“Could you make it look a little more physically demanding?”

Figuring the more he cooperated with them, the sooner it would all be over, Chance did his best to follow directions. But when they started replacing the first pickup truck with another color, and then a third, he lost all patience.

Wordlessly, he climbed down from the loft.

Madison met him inside the barn.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded, for once looking every bit as hot and tired and irritable as he felt.

Chance took her elbow and steered her aside. “This is ridiculous.”

Madison didn’t think so. “It’s advertising.” She sounded as if she were speaking to someone with limited intelligence. “It has to be perfect.”

Chance clenched his jaw and struggled to hold on to his soaring temper. “At this rate, we’ll never get done,” he pointed out succinctly.

New color swept into Madison’s cheeks. “I warned you it would take several weeks of shooting.”

He’d thought they would have time to spend together. Not this. All work and no play with way too many people around. “You didn’t tell me I’d be tossing hay out of the barn for hours on end!”

“It’ll go easier once you get the hang of it.”

Chance didn’t think so. In fact, he was not cut out for this at all. “Maybe you need an actor here to play my part.” Maybe he could just get money for Lost Springs by letting them use his land and his horses.

Ursula joined them. Chance wasn’t surprised to see that the AMV executive looked every bit as unhappy as he felt. “An actor won’t do it, Mr. Cartwright,” Ursula told him, looking sleek and polished in her Armani pantsuit despite the increasing humidity. “We want you in these commercials. So unless you want to be in breach of contract—”

Madison held up her hand, effectively silencing Ursula. She turned to Chance. Sweat had broken out on her brow, above her upper lip, on her neck. She looked pale but determined as she slipped off her linen jacket and reached for a bottle of water. “You’re getting paid handsomely for this, Chance.” Madison took a long sip of water, wiped her forehead with the back of her arm. “The money you turn over to the boys’ ranch will mean a lot to them. Try to remember that,” she told him stonily.

He was trying. Unfortunately, it didn’t make it any easier, and he was too honest to pretend otherwise. “I don’t have the patience for this,” he told her frankly. Even if he did admire hers.

Madison patted his arm reassuringly. “It’ll come.”

Like heck it would, Chance thought as Vince joined them. Vince gestured at the sheen of perspiration on Chance’s face. “Nice touch. I like it.” He looked Chance up and down in an insultingly thorough manner, then turned to Madison for her reaction.

“I think we should do some close-ups and play that up, too,” Madison said, in complete agreement with Vince.

So now what, he was supposed to sweat on command, too? Chance wondered as he saw Madison wipe her forehead with the back of her hand yet again.

He was about to suggest she sit down when the color left Madison’s face. Chance saw her sway. He rushed forward and barely had time to catch her before she collapsed.

* * *

“Y
OU FAINTED
.”

Madison moaned. A glance around showed her to be sprawled on the sofa in Chance’s living room. Someone had put a cold, damp cloth across her forehead and another on the back of her neck. She felt about as dizzy and miserable as it was possible to feel.