When Lightning Strikes (25 page)

Simon had done his best to win them over, and he’d managed it
quite easily. He’d had them all laughing, gasping in astonishment, asking
questions and generally hanging on every word he said. When Matt seemed more
interested in becoming Simon’s friend than in pouting over losing her, Gail knew
his reaction to her marriage hadn’t been one of true regret. If she had her
guess, he’d been miffed to find that the girl he’d thought would always be
waiting for him had actually moved on—and that she hadn’t settled for someone
less famous, less attractive or less charismatic than he was. He’d been reacting
to the blow her defection had dealt his ego more than anything else, which meant
that even after she and Simon divorced there’d be no Matt and Gail.

After all the years she’d believed herself in love with him,
that was a little depressing. But she’d learned about her own commitment to
Matt, too. She doubted she would’ve wanted Simon so badly today if she’d really
been so enamored of Matt. He’d just made a good dream, given her someone to
think about while she was working too hard to date.

“He’s a lot of fun,” Gail said, and stood up to go to the
restroom, too. She didn’t want her friends to quiz her on how she felt about
Simon or ask pointed questions in his absence. She had too many conflicting
emotions at the moment, didn’t want to acknowledge that what she felt for Simon
seemed far more powerful than what she’d felt for Matt. That made her fear she
wouldn’t get over him quite so readily when the time came…

Simon was just walking out of the men’s room as she reached the
entrance to the ladies’.

“Great job,” she murmured. “They love you.”

“More important, are they convinced I care about you?”

“Completely! They bought every compliment you paid me.”

His smile disappeared. “But you didn’t.”

“I would’ve if I hadn’t known better. You’re a hell of an
actor.”

He took her arm. “Being an actor doesn’t mean I’m always
acting, Gail.”

Averting her gaze, she put her hand on the door. “But it
certainly comes in handy when you need to,” she said.

25

I
t came as a surprise in the middle of the
night. One minute Simon was lying next to Gail. The next they were awakened by
the sound of movement, a bright light and then a series of flashes from just
outside the window.

Cameras! Simon understood what was happening as soon as he
opened his eyes. He’d known staying in an empty house with no window coverings
would leave them vulnerable. But they’d had it so good since coming to Whiskey
Creek, he’d grown complacent.

“What’s going on?” Gail asked, sounding confused.

He rolled over to shield her. “Paparazzi.”

Fortunately, they were both dressed. They’d come home from the
restaurant, watched some television on Hulu and eventually fallen asleep. Simon
had wanted to strip off Gail’s clothes, to feel her skin against his while they
dozed off. But things weren’t the same after the restaurant. What she’d said
while they were talking outside the restrooms had set him back, made him realize
that she’d taken his remark—that he wasn’t capable of falling in love—to mean
that he’d never feel any fondness or concern for her, either.

“They’ve found us,” he said, and shuttled her into the
hall.

She hugged herself. It was chilly without blankets. “How?”

“Don’t know. Someone here in Whiskey Creek must’ve leaked the
information.”

“Or Ian. He’s the one who told your father where we are.”

“My father’s different. He may not be doing much acting
anymore. There aren’t too many good parts for men his age. But he’s still a
force to be reckoned with in Hollywood.”

“I figured that out.”

He pulled her up against him, to keep her warm. “I’m sure Ian
didn’t feel he could refuse. But…” Suddenly the obvious occurred to him. “That’s
it! I’ll bet you anything my father did this!”

“Why would he tell the paparazzi where you’re staying?”

“He doesn’t want this town to be an escape. He’d rather roust
me out, get me to head back home so I’ll make that damn movie.”

“You have quite the father.”

The images he dreaded came to mind, the ones that revealed Tex
as the selfish bastard he was, but Simon shoved them away. It helped that Gail
softened against him, as if she wasn’t opposed to letting him hold her. Somehow
that made him feel better because it convinced him he hadn’t lost everything
he’d gained earlier. “If you had any idea…”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” He hadn’t told a soul about what had happened. He
wasn’t going to break his silence.

“So what do we do?” she asked. “We could pull our mattress into
a bedroom, but the bedrooms have windows, too. And we don’t have a hammer and
nails to put up a blanket or a sheet.”

“You stay here. I’ll take care of it.”

She grabbed his hand. “You can’t go out there! You’re angry and
defensive. What if you get in a fight?”

“Whoever it is deserves to have my fist planted in his
face.”

“No!” She tugged him back. “You’d only reinjure your hand. And
we can’t risk a scene. There can be no more pictures or stories of you losing
your temper.”

He felt he should have the right to defend himself—and his
wife—which made it difficult to listen to reason. But he’d ignored Gail too
often when she worked for him. “Your suggestion is…”

“We call the police and let them handle it.”

Footsteps echoed on the wooden porch. The photographer was
coming around the house, probably looking for another way to see in.

“My phone’s charging in the kitchen,” she added.

“Mine’s in the living room. I’ll get it.”

“Wait.”

“Why?”

“Maybe we can create an opportunity here.”

She was always thinking. “Gail, whoever’s outside is
trespassing and invading our privacy. I want his ass kicked off the property.
Our wedding pictures haven’t come out in
People
yet,
which means he’ll have the first shots of us after our wedding. He’ll be able to
sell them for a fortune, and I’m not about to let some guy get rich out of
sneaking pictures of me in bed with my wife.”

“Maybe we can make a deal with whoever it is to release his
snapshots after that.”

She couldn’t convince him on this. He’d dealt with the
paparazzi for too many years. “Absolutely not. We can invite someone else to
take pictures when
we’re
ready. There’s no need to
let this asshole get away with what he’s doing.”

“Okay. You’re right. It’s just…if we give the press what they
want, they’ll be more likely to leave us alone.”

“You’re wrong,” he argued. “They’re insatiable.”

“They’re insatiable when they have some scandal to report. Our
marriage is news because it’s shocking and they think it’s another bad move on
your part. Once we prove otherwise and establish that you’re happy and living a
good life, they’ll lose interest. Then, as long as nothing changes, they’ll
leave us alone.”

He’d been hounded to the point that he had a hard time
believing this. “No…”

“Yes,” she insisted. “Their profits depend on showing the dirt
in people’s lives. If you give them nothing negative, they’ll have to look to
other actors, musicians, whatever, who might be screwing up.”

He could see her logic. It wasn’t until his marriage had
started to crumble that the paparazzi had become so unbearable. They wanted a
front-row seat at the destruction of Simon O’Neal. Now that he was pulling his
life back together there wouldn’t be so much to see or report. “Fine. We’ll
invite someone else out here, like I said. But this guy’s not the one.”

“Agreed.”

He dashed into the living room for his phone. But it turned out
to be an exercise in futility. By the time the cops arrived, the intrusive
photographer was gone.

Knowing the culprit could very easily come back, they packed up
and returned to Gail’s father’s.

* * *

“I thought I heard you two come in last night. What
happened? Air mattress pop?”

Martin DeMarco was in the kitchen brewing coffee. That meant it
was Joe who’d left earlier. It must have been his turn to open the station.
Simon had heard someone tramp down the stairs and head out. The noise had
awakened him from a deep sleep, but he felt rested despite the early hour and
the hours they’d been up in the middle of the night. No doubt it helped that he
was no longer dealing with a perpetual hangover.

“We got a little surprise,” he said.

Martin’s caterpillar-like eyebrows drew together. “A
skunk?”

Simon laughed. “In a manner of speaking.” He explained about
the photographer as Martin handed him a cup of coffee.

“Who do you think told the paparazzi where you were?”

Chances were they’d never know for sure. Simon had his guess,
but he didn’t want to say it was most likely his own father. He could hear the
protective note in Martin’s voice, knew he was a different kind of man. Martin
would do anything to shield his children. Just being married to Gail put Simon
under that same protection.

The stark contrast between Martin and Tex embarrassed Simon.
But Simon had been ashamed of his father for a long time. Maybe he’d always been
ashamed of him. The story of his own conception wasn’t exactly something he
could be proud of. The humiliation caused by his personal history had been
excruciating. It was so salacious that it was brought up again and again and
again in the media.

“We don’t know,” he said instead of admitting his
suspicions.

Martin took out a frying pan and turned on the gas stove. “I
can’t imagine anyone around here would give you away. The only person who could
provide your exact address would be the Realtor. And Kathy’s good as gold. Or—”
he seemed to realize she wasn’t the
only
one who
knew where they were “—maybe it was one of Gail’s friends.”

“I don’t think so.” Simon tried to recall the conversation
they’d had with Callie and Matt at dinner last night. They’d mentioned the
house, certainly. But when they parted, Matt had clapped him on the back and
told him how great it was to have dinner with him. Simon didn’t think Matt would
turn around and call the press. And Callie would never do anything to make Gail
unhappy. She was as protective as Gail’s own family. Maybe more so.

“You’re right. Those kids and Gail go way back,” Martin said.
“You can trust every last one of ’em.”

“Even Sophia?”

“Maybe not Sophia. Gail’s never been too fond of her.”

Smiling at Martin’s blatant honesty, Simon added a splash of
cream to his coffee. “She’s been quite friendly. She brought us an apple pie the
other night.”

“Really?” He sounded more interested than Simon would’ve
expected. “Did you bring the leftovers?”

Martin was probably joking, but with him it wasn’t easy to
tell. “No, but we will,” Simon promised.

Gail’s father dropped bread in the toaster and cracked some
eggs in the pan. Then he motioned to a chair halfway around the table. “The
Gold Country Gazette
’s right there if you want to
read the paper.”

Now that he wasn’t likely to see some terrible picture of
himself doing Lord knew what, Simon thought he might. “This is local?” he asked
as he retrieved it.

“It is. A weekly. They’d probably love to interview you. Maybe
you’ll be interested now the news is out that you’re here. They always do a big
spread on Matt Stinson.”

“Well, I have to outdo Matt.”

Gail’s father actually grinned at this. “What do you have
planned for today?”

Simon replied over the sizzle of eggs. “I thought I’d head over
to the hardware store, see if they have the tools I’m going to need to do some
remodeling. Then I’ve got to be at the house. Our furniture is due to arrive
sometime after ten but before noon.”

“What’s Gail going to do?”

The comforting smells of a home-cooked breakfast rose to
Simon’s nostrils as he leafed through the paper. Sure enough, there was a big
picture of Matt, along with an update on his knee. “When I got out of bed, she
mumbled something about needing time on the computer to take care of a few
details at Big Hit. It’ll be easier for her to do that here, so she’ll drive me
and then come back.”

“I can take you if you like.”

Simon lowered the paper. “You don’t mind stopping by the
hardware store?”

“Not at all. I’ve got a few things I should pick up
myself.”

“Okay. Then I’ll call her when the furniture arrives. She’ll
want some input on how we arrange it.”

“Input?”
Martin said dryly.

Simon was starting to like Gail’s father. “Euphemistically
speaking.”

“If that means she’ll need to tell you exactly where to put
every single piece, then you’ve got the right idea.”

Simon chuckled. “As far as I’m concerned, that’s her
prerogative. I’m not feeling any burning need to place the sofa.” He trusted
Gail enough to let her make much more important decisions, and he liked
that.

Martin flipped the eggs. “I’m glad you two are staying here in
town for a while, but I’m surprised she’s willing to take so much time off
work.”

Simon set the small paper aside. “We were just married. Some
people would call that a honeymoon.”

“A three-month honeymoon? Maybe in your world, but not in
Gail’s. She loves the PR business. And she’s done a damn fine job with that
company of hers.”

Setting his coffee on its saucer, Simon leaned back. Martin was
so proud of his daughter. And he had every reason to be. “That’s true.”

When the toast popped up, Simon got to his feet. He was
planning to put some in for himself, but Martin waved for him to sit down again.
“I’ve got it.”

A couple of minutes later, Gail’s father sat a plate of three
eggs, over easy, and two pieces of toast in front of him.

“Probably not as good as you’re used to eating,” he said, “but
at least you won’t go hungry.”

Actually, the food tasted better than any Simon had eaten in a
long time. But he knew the difference wasn’t in the cooking. This meal told him
that Martin was willing to give him a chance. All Simon had to do was prove he
deserved it.

* * *

Gail paused on the landing near Simon’s father’s room.
She knew Simon wouldn’t approve of her coming to the B and B. In fact, he’d be
angry if he learned. But she wasn’t about to let anyone get in the way of what
they were hoping to accomplish. Even his father.

Especially
his father.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped up to number six, the room
number Sally at the front desk had given her, and knocked.

There was no response. Had Tex left town? She doubted they’d be
that lucky. More likely he’d gotten up early and gone to the coffee shop or Just
Like Mom’s.

She knocked again—and this time she heard movement.

“Later, for God’s sake!” he yelled, and something—a pillow?—hit
the door, making it rattle. “What kind of place is this?”

Tex thought she was one of the maids. Briefly, she was tempted
to leave it that way and scoot. Clearly, he was in no mood to be bothered. She
didn’t want to tangle with him, and she didn’t want him to disturb the other
guests, but she had something to say and she doubted she’d get another
opportunity to say it—not without Simon around.

Calling on all her nerve, she rapped at the door again. “Mr.
O’Neal? Could I talk to you, please?”

Silence met her request. Then he said, “Who is it?”

His voice had lost its gruff edge. The question held curiosity
instead.

“Gail DeMarco, er, O’Neal.” She wasn’t sure whether or not to
use Simon’s name. It would bring her quite a bit of clout, especially where her
business was concerned. But knowing it was only borrowed for a couple of years
made her feel like a cheat. And there didn’t seem to be much point here in
Whiskey Creek. “Your daughter-in-law.”

“You don’t say.” A creak suggested he was getting up. She heard
the bolt slide back, then the door opened and Tex peered out at her with
red-rimmed eyes. “You’re here alone? Where’s Simon?”