Torn (4 page)

There was one all-night grocery –– amazingly enough –– but by the time he was done for the day, he was usually too exhausted to buy groceries, haul them back to the hotel, and cook up something edible in his suite’s miniscule kitchenette. The thought of an actual, home-cooked –– and not by him! –– meal made his mouth water.

Plus there was the added bonus of not having to eat either alone or with a film crew. It would be nice to visit with non-Hollywood people. It didn’t take much for the L.A. scene to get old. He trusted the film crew, his fellow actors and enjoyed spending time with most of them. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. But what other options did he have out here in… What was the name of this town again? Oh, right. Black Creek.

His thoughts came back around to the young lifesaver in front of him. By the faint rosy hue on her smooth cheeks and the embarrassed look in her pretty eyes, he’d taken too long to respond. Oops. He opened his mouth, “I ––“

Chelsea noticed his flinch, saw him shake his head, and was surprised at how disappointed she felt. To hide it, she cut him off before he could refuse. “You’re probably busy. That’s cool. Maybe some other time.” She looked down at herself, remembering that she was still in costume. “I’d better go change,” she murmured, then turned to go. She stopped when she felt Tyler’s hand on her shoulder.

She couldn’t help but laugh. “Huh. Want to bet? You’re staying at the Sweet Grass Inn… Don’t tell me you actually
eat
there too.”

His grin turned sheepish, and he tugged his ear. “Yeah… I do actually.”

Chelsea clucked her tongue against the roof of her mouth in a way that somehow managed to convey both sympathy and amusement. “Esther Jones is a wonderful person and a great friend… But a cook?” She shook her head. Knowing how dire his eating situation was gave her courage; she placed a hand on his arm. “Tell you what. Consider this invitation open indefinitely.”

Tyler laughed. It was a rich sound that Chelsea somehow remembered… Felt its echo from long ago. Hearing it left such a feeling of warmth and satisfaction that she took a step back, as if doing so would somehow distance her from the emotion.

Chelsea blinked at his innocent choice of words, and Tyler’s smile widened. “How about in around three hours? It’ll give me time to change.”

Chelsea nodded. “Works for me. Oh, directions…” She looked around for a piece of paper or something to write on, and came up with one of the napkins from the lunch table. Tyler walked up next to her, and located a pen hidden between the nearly empty lox platter and cream cheese bowl.

She murmured her thanks, scribbled her address, phone number, and directions on the flimsy paper, and handed it to him. “It’s only a little way out of town, but not hard to find off Two-Eighty-Seven.”

Tyler looked at the napkin briefly, then tucked it into the pocket of his shirt. “See you in a bit,” he said, and walked away.

Chelsea hurried in the opposite direction to the dressing room. She couldn’t wait to get home and tell Jake the exciting news.

Chapter Two

A
s he took the left turn that merged him onto the two-lane highway, Tyler again debated whether joining Chelsea Morgan’s family for dinner was the wisest choice. Insofar as gaining knowledge of her in a home setting that could prove to be valuable as a resource while filming, the answer would be yes. Seeing what Chelsea was like with her family, her husband, would give him a resource to utilize as he played the role of her spouse.

On the other hand, hours had passed, and he still wasn’t able to erase the passionate feelings their shared kiss had invoked during the screen test. And that, in itself, was a novel experience for Ty Benson.

After leaving the set, he returned to his hotel room, showered and –– against his better judgment –– called his wife, thinking it would help him focus. To Tyler’s surprise, it was good to hear Jennifer’s voice. Or, at least it was until she remarked, in rather snide tones, how the press was bombarding her with questions about when she and Ty were going to start a family, start having babies. “It’s like, ‘Hello? I’m in the middle of solidifying my film career, and they want me barefoot and pregnant. As if!’” Tyler sighed, his hands unconsciously clenching tighter around the leather-wrapped steering wheel. A year ago, maybe two, he would have wondered the same thing. Now… Now he knew better.

His wife was in Greece, also working on a film, and it was the first time in nearly three weeks that they’d talked. He laughed with her over the Vivian Cray drama –– knowing she’d enjoy that bit of news; Jennifer and Vivian did
not
get along. He also told her about the new cast member, that he’d been invited to dinner with her family tonight. He ignored the familiar, derisive tinge to her laughter, her sarcastic comment about how bored he must be out there in the sticks to have set himself up for such an auspicious event –– chalked it up to stress and exhaustion. He knew firsthand how grueling a film schedule could be. It hadn’t been the longest, or most interesting, or most intimate conversation they’d shared, but when he hung up, Tyler felt more like himself. More in control. And less compelled by the character he’d signed on to portray.

The rented, four-wheel drive pickup turned into the Morgan drive easily despite the deep snowdrifts and came to a stop in front of the oversized two-car garage. Immediately, two big dogs rushed from the house, barking, and when he looked up, he could see Chelsea Morgan framed in the doorway before she walked towards him, her breath misted on the frigid air, her boots softly crunched through the pristine white snow.

For a long moment, he just sat there, engine running, and took in the scene before him with a very surreal sense of disbelief. The home, covered in snow, complete with acreage ––if the long driveway from the road was any indication –– with its fireplace releasing aromatic wisps of pine smoke into the air, was the exact picture of the home he’d always wanted to create for his family.

When he’d brought it up to Jennifer, she’d laughed until she saw he was serious. Then she’d laughed harder. “And my Dolce & Gabbana would go so well out there in the sticks. You’re crazy, Ty, if you think that I’m going to move to some god-forsaken outback in Montana. Hollywood would forget me in a blink.”

“Iya, come! Kemah! Down!”

The sharp commands brought Tyler back to the present as Iya, presumably the slim white and black creature from the way the dog ran back to Chelsea, barked once more, then settled down. The Bernese Mountain dog he surmised, familiar with the large breed, must be Kemah. This one stayed next to the door of his truck, and kept barking until Chelsea reached the truck and pulled the enormous dog aside with an exasperated roll of her eyes.

“Honestly, Kemah!” she exclaimed as Tyler opened the door and stepped down from the truck. Chelsea looked up and smiled at him. “Thanks for coming, Tyler.”

“I’m sorry I’m late. I had to make a stop.” He reached into his truck and picked up the rather large bouquet of pale peach roses that lay across the passenger seat. He held them out to Chelsea. “For the lady of the house.”

A smile lit from within. He must have gone to Manhattan, or even Bozeman; she knew their local florist didn’t carry this color rose. She blushed with pleasure. It tinted the cocoa of her skin beneath the overhead light from the deck. Her gaze lifted from the flowers back to him.

“Well, come inside, no need to stand out here and freeze.” Chelsea started back to the house and Tyler fell in step beside her. He held the door open for her and laughed as Iya and Kemah scrambled past their owner –– nearly knocking her over –– in their haste to get in where it was warm.

“Your dogs are gorgeous,” he observed, watching as the dark, tri-colored Bernese ran over to a dish of water on the floor.

“Yeah, but their manners are atrocious.” Chelsea looked warmly at the dog. “Can you believe we found Kemah in an animal shelter? Whoever got rid of her was a fool. Just like the hunters who abandoned our Iya four years ago.”

“Iya?” He assumed she referred to the other canine, but seeing a white and orange and brown longhaired feline strut by, he wasn’t sure.

“The Pointer.”

Iya heard her name and trotted over, gave Tyler the once-over with her brown eyes before returning to circle three times over her dog bed and dropping down onto it with a contented sigh.

“They’re both so amazing with the girls. I don’t know how they put up with them. I keep telling Faye and Grace that if I were a dog, I would have bit them a long time ago. But Iya and Kemah just take it in stride.”

Tyler heard footsteps behind him and turned just as Chelsea said, “Jake, honey, look what Tyler brought for me.”

Chelsea’s husband eyed the flowers in his wife’s hand and arched a dark blonde, amused brow. “They’re nice.”

Chelsea rolled her eyes. “I’m gonna find a vase.” She started to walk away, then seemed to remember that her husband and Tyler hadn’t been introduced. “Tyler, this is my husband, Jake. Jake, Tyler.”

Keeping his amazement that Chelsea’s husband looked like he belonged at a Benson family reunion to himself, Tyler held out his right hand. “That’s a sweet instrument you got there.”

Jake Morgan shifted the vintage Golden Höfner archtop guitar into his left hand before clasping the taller man’s hand. “Yeah, she’s a beauty. Good to meet you, Tyler.”

“You too.”

Jake cocked his head in a manner that clearly suggested he was sizing the other man up. “Do you play?”

“God, no” Tyler looked over the guitar again, as one would a fine sculpture. “Though I received one similar to yours a few years back as a gift. To this day, I don’t know why. When it comes to music, I’m strictly a listener.”

A smile tipped up one half of Jake’s mouth. He glanced over at his wife who was rummaging through cupboards for a vase in the kitchen behind them. “Chelsea calls her the ‘Other Woman’”.

Both men smiled in the indulgent way men do when a woman’s thoughts entertain them. Jake Morgan’s lopsided grin widened, became mischievous. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” he added.

“Good lord. You have?” Tyler’s brow furrowed slightly, and he tilted his head to watch Chelsea as she set the flowers on the counter. “Is that a good thing?”

The grin faded and Jake looked over his shoulder to see his spouse stand on tiptoe and pluck a white Fiesta vase from the back of a cupboard. He shrugged, a casual movement that barely lifted his broad shoulders. “Well, Chels told me about her screen test success… and you’re here, aren’t you.”

The gleam of Tyler’s smile hardened as he wondered what Chelsea’s husband meant by the cryptic tone under his comment. “Looks like.”

“At any rate, Chelsea’s been floating on air since she got back to the house. I like seeing her so excited about something.” Jake paused, his blue gaze iced as he eyed the other man. “I’m not overly thrilled about you kissing my woman, mind you, but I can understand it being part of the role.” He picked up the guitar again, then turned and walked into the kitchen. “Can I get you a beer? Pop? Water?” he called as he neared the refrigerator.

Direct and to the point, Tyler mused as he struggled to keep his surprise from showing. He could certainly respect that. The strange tension in him relaxed. Tyler called out, “Beer is good,” as Chelsea hurried past him with the flowers and set them on the dining room table.

She smiled when she turned back to face him. “Are you cold or can I take your coat?”

Tyler started to comply by shrugging out of his thick, black wool jacket, but as he started to hand it over to Chelsea, a young girl with long, fawn-colored hair, bounded down the hall and barreled into the heavy fabric. She bounced off the material and landed on her bottom with an
Oof
!, and tipped her head back and cocked it to one side as she stared at him much like her father had done.

Tyler bent down on one knee, draped the coat across a denim-clad thigh. Eye-level, he forced himself not to smile as she took his measure. His patience was rewarded when she arched a brow in distinct replication of her mother as she eyed him up and down. “I’m Faye, who are you?”

Another, smaller girl followed her and nearly tripped over the first. “This is Grace. She’s my baby sister,” Faye declared. “She’s three and I’m six. How old are you?”

Enraptured, Tyler barely noticed Chelsea slipping his coat from his grasp as he looked over to Grace, who studied him with large, almond-shaped eyes. He smiled at the little pixie then returned his attention to the older child. “I’m Ty,” he said. “I’m forty.”

The six-year-old’s hazel-amber eyes widened. “Wow, you’re like…
old
!” She looked at her mother, flipping a lock of silky hair over her shoulder. “Momma, is Ty as old as you?”

Chelsea’s right eyebrow hooked up on her face as she scrutinized her oldest daughter with a faux-stern look. “I’m ten years younger, Miss Thing. You tell me.”

Faye scrunched up her nose and frowned, concentrating.

“Remember to count backwards,” Chelsea murmured as she gracefully dropped to squat beside her eldest.

Muttering, Faye looked at her hands, folding down a finger for each year from the ten splayed digits as she took her mother’s advice. Suddenly, her teeth flashed in triumph. “No. He isn’t. You’re thirty.”