Second Time Around (2 page)

The tape mercifully came to an end. Dudley shut off the machine as the lawyer returned to his desk. “Here are the keys to your mother’s house. It, and the contents, are yours to do with as you please. She was a nice woman, your mother. An interesting woman who knew her own mind. I liked her very much.”

Good for you.

Vanessa stood to leave and Dudley followed. Once in the parking lot, he asked, “Where to?”

“My mother’s house. I want this done with. Over.”

He opened her car door. “Hasn’t this got you thinking, Vanessa? Don’t you wonder how your life would have been dif—?”

Vanessa shook her head vehemently. “I will not deal with ‘if onlys.’ I won’t.”

Malibu, California

Lane Holloway sat on her deck overlooking the Pacific, sipping a hazelnut mocha. Joggers teased the edge of the waves as they sped past, flipping up sand behind them. Seagulls dive-bombed fish and crustaceans in the shallows. In her lap was a script—
the
script for
the
movie that would finally win her an Oscar. Although she knew it wasn’t a sure thing, she had a feeling about it. Her agent concurred. This was one of those special parts that would test her mettle as an actress and provide her with a vehicle to either shine or flop. It was up to her.

Her agent currently was negotiating the price. She was happy to let him deal with such things. What was a few million one way or the other? Just give her the chance to do it. She’d earn their money back. She was box-office gold.

The French doors to the deck opened behind her, and her personal assistant and old high-school chum, Brandy Lopez, came out. “You’re up early,” Brandy said, putting away her keys.

“You know I don’t sleep well alone.”

Brandy set her notebook on the table. “Can I get you another mocha?”

“I’m fine. But help yourself.”

She disappeared inside. Lane book-marked the page in the script and tried to turn her thoughts to the other to-dos of the day. Brandy liked to keep busy, and Lane was glad to oblige. She was in awe of people who actually liked to serve others. Lane much preferred being the serve-ee.

Brandy returned with her mocha and took a seat across the table. Lane waited for her to ready her notebook and pen as she did every weekday morning. But this time Brandy just sat there grinning.

“Uh-oh. What’s that smile for?” Lane asked.

“I have a present for you.”

“You’ve got to quit doing that, Brand. You’re constantly buying me—”

“Trinkets. Hey, who knows you better than me? Besides, they’re just little things. Nothing big. Nothing expensive. You know that.”

“I do like that raspberry tea you found.”

“See? I know what you like and I like to get it for you. It gives me pleasure, and if you don’t let me do it, I’ll pout. And you don’t want to see me pout, do you?”

Lane laughed. No indeed, she did not want to witness a Brandy-pout. Her friend, not attractive to begin with, turned positively menacing when her brows dipped and her lip popped into prominence. Brandy had perfected pouting since their high-school days. “So, what did you get me this time?”

With a flourish, Brandy pulled an envelope from the inside of her notebook. “For you.”

There was nothing on the envelope but Lane’s name written in Brandy’s cursive. It was not sealed. Inside she found a ticket. “What’s this?”

“It’s a lottery ticket. But not just any lottery. A Time Lottery ticket.”

The ticket had a printed number on it, the Time Travel Corporation—the TTC—logo, and a space where Brandy had written Lane’s name.

“See?” Brandy said, pointing at the ticket. “It’s yours and yours alone. You can’t give it to anyone else. I bought it for you.

Lane set the ticket on the table between them. “But the Time Lottery is for people who want to go back into their lives and relive something, change a choice they made. I’m very content with my life here. There’s nothing I want to change.”

Brandy crossed her arms.

“There isn’t.”

Brandy’s glare was second only to her pout in the negative effect it had on her looks.

Lane stood and moved to the railing that overlooked the Malibu beach. “You seem to forget that I’m living the American dream. I’m a movie star. I’ve kissed the hunks of my day: Johnny Depp, Mel Gibson, Brad Pitt…”

“You are the envy of hot-blooded women everywhere.”

“Exactly.”

“Unfortunately, your off-screen romances haven’t been so successful.”

“I got rid of Klaus.”

Brandy shuddered. “Yuck. Good riddance.”

Lane crossed her arms and looked toward the horizon. “It’s hard to find true love when you’re famous.”

“Au contraire,
Laney-girl. Enter the Time Lottery.” Brandy joined her at the railing and ran a hand over the back of her shoulders. “I’m just looking after you. I know it’s ironic that plain ol’ Brandy found herself a wonderful husband and has four great kids, while Lane, the movie-star stunner has nada. I’ve asked God to explain, but He’s keeping mum.”

Actually, Lane had come to the conclusion that God was keeping score, and since she’d already received a myriad of blessings, He wasn’t about to give her more.

Brandy left her side to stick her finger in the soil of a potted geranium nearby. “Forget loser-Klaus; I thought you might like to explore what would have happened if you hadn’t dumped Joseph.”

Joseph Brannerman was two men ago. “I think you liked Joseph more than I did.”

Brandy moved on to check the ferns. “These need water… I liked him only because he was perfect for you.”

“So you’ve said. Repeatedly.”

Brandy turned her attention away from the plants. “So I
know
as fact. You’re way too picky. Good men don’t grow on trees. Take my Randy.”

“I thought you wanted me to take Joseph.”

She joined Lane back at the railing, her voice low. “Promise you won’t tell?”

“Sure.”

“I also bought a ticket for myself.”

Lane played the
aghast
emotion to perfection. “Have you been holding out on me all these years? Was there a Romeo in your past you want to explore more deeply?”

“Randy is Romeo enough for me. But I have always wondered what would have happened if I hadn’t followed you out to Hollywood—if I’d stayed in Minnesota.”

Lane put away her teasing. “You’d go back to Dawson?”

“Maybe I could have helped my mom more.”

Lane put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. Brandy’s mother had been an abusive alcoholic, and leaving her had been the hardest—yet best—thing her friend had ever done. They watched the tide a few minutes. Then Lane turned around and swept a hand to encompass her home. “Enough of this talk. I’d be stupid to go back. Look at what I have: this home, one in Montana, an apartment in New York…” She spotted the script on the table. “And what about my acting? That script will win me an Academy Award. I know it.”

Brandy shook her head.

“Don’t shake your head. It’s a good part. It will let me explore new sides to my—”

Brandy snickered. “That’s one way to put it. Your backside, front side… yes, sirree, the world will see all sides of Lane Holloway.”

“Nudity doesn’t have the stigma it once had. All the big actresses are doing it.”

“Well, alrighty then.”

Lane had discussed it with her agent, and they’d decided the nudity was a necessary risk. Besides, she was in good shape for nearly thirty-five. She had nothing to hide. And much to gain.

“Have you gotten around to reading that book I want you to make into a movie?” Brandy asked.

“I started it.” She hadn’t.

“Baloney. It’s probably still sitting on your bedside table.” She took a step toward the French doors leading inside.

“No,” Lane said, stopping her. “I haven’t. But I will.”

Brandy pointed at her. “Making a movie out of that book may not win you an Oscar, but it would be a good vehicle for you. Great parts all around. A gripping, life-changing story. The young mother Merry loses her son and husband in a plane crash and comes to realize that her selfish discontent caused them to be on the plane in the first—”

Lane raised a hand, stopping her. “I’ll read it. I promise.”

“Yes, yes, so you say.” Brandy returned to her seat at the table and opened her notebook, readying for the daily errands. “As far as winning the Time Lottery? Never fear, Laney-girl. The chances of either one of us winning are slim. After the success of last year’s drawing, I’m sure they’ll sell a ton of tickets. So don’t worry about it. I just thought it would be fun to think about.”

Lane acquiesced and gave her a hug from behind. “And I thank you for your continued thoughtfulness.” And it
would
make her think.

If only…

Kansas City

Alexander MacMillan opened his front door, only to have Cheryl Nickolby burst past him, slam the door shut, and press herself against it like a woman on the run. “Phew! I made it!”

He crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. “What are you doing?”

She relaxed her stance, smoothed her brown pants and sweater, then yanked him close with such force that he expelled a puff of air. After a hello kiss that left him even more breathless, she stepped back and answered his question. “I’m only following your directions. You’ve stressed the need for discretion and emphasized the necessity to never, ever, ever let anyone from the media know that you, the Time Lottery Czar, are dating me, mistress of the first lottery and doctor extraordinaire.” She clapped her hands to her chest dramatically. “Heaven forbid the world know we have the hots for each other.”

Mac looked behind him, checking for six-year-old ears. “We care about each other.”

“Same thing.” She breezed past him. “Now, where’s the real man in my life? Andrew? Olly olly oxen free!”

Andrew came running from upstairs, jumped from the third step, and barreled into her, wrapping his arms around her waist.

“Whoa, bud! Nice to see you, too.”

He let her loose. “I made the garlic bread, but I spilled spaghetti sauce on my shirt, so I had to change.”

“If you were making the bread, how did you spill sauce—?”

Mac rumpled his son’s hair. “Long story. Let’s eat.”

During dinner, Mac found himself watching Cheryl as she teased Andrew and told them about her new job at a local hospital. For her to leave Boulder, Colorado, and move to Kansas City to be near the two of them still left him stunned. Actually, everything about Cheryl left him stunned. She was a stunning woman. For Mac to have found two women in his lifetime, first Holly, and now Cheryl…

The women were two ends of a spectrum. Where dear Holly had been ten years younger than he, petite, dark-haired, sweet, and domestic, Cheryl was ten years older—nearly forty-eight—tall, blond, vivacious, and a brilliant surgeon. It didn’t make sense that such diverse women would fit into his life. Fit with him. And yet they did. Each in their time.

Ha. Time. The unrelenting taskmaster.

And yet… the whole Time Lottery phenomenon still astounded him. For the winners to be able to go back in time, into their own lives and change something, explore their Alternate Reality—their Alternity—was miracle enough. But to be offered the option to stay there and live out that new choice or come back to this one was mind-boggling. Mac was beyond glad that Cheryl had chosen to come back to the present. To be here. In his life.

Actually, as incentive to take the job as the public relations liaison for the TTC, Mac had been offered a chance to go back into
his
life, to the time before Holly was murdered by an intruder, to change her death to life. In spite of the temptation, he’d refused. To go back and live a life with Holly in his Alternity would be to leave their son here, alone. It was something he could not do.

“Can I be excused?” Andrew asked.

“May
I. And yes, you may.”

Mac and Cheryl sat in silence until voices from the family-room TV drifted into the kitchen. Then Cheryl put a hand on Mac’s. “I saw you deep in thought. About what?”

He smiled and kissed her hand.

She got out of her chair, and he gladly made room on his lap. “I’m finding this secrecy very hard, you know. I’m not a secretive person. What you see is what you get.”