Read Hot in Hellcat Canyon Online
Authors: Julie Anne Long
Hot in Hellcat Canyon (42 page)
J. T. was astounded.
A slow smile spread over his face. “
Daaaaamn
, Truck.”
The guy swiveled his head and grinned at him.
J. T. was a little worried about what might go down between Casey and Kayla now, though.
They drove in silence for a moment.
“McCord, I owe you an apology for—”
“I appreciate the gesture Truck, but it’s Britt you owe the apology to.”
“You’re right. I’ll apologize to her, too.”
J. T. nodded.
And to his surprise, once he was in town, Truck, without asking, took the turn up the road to Britt’s house.
And he idled the engine a few houses down from hers.
“How’d you . . .” J. T. began.
But probably everyone in town knew.
Truck smiled at him again, with something very like sympathy.
“Go get ’er, McCord.”
H
e saw the back of her first. She was watering the plants. And he just hung back and watched, and soaked up the scene. He noticed the coleus was gone, which meant she must have adopted it out, but now she had another patient, something with big, broad shiny green leaves that had some brown spots.
“You’re all doing
great
,” he heard her murmur.
His heart squeezed.
She put the watering can down and turned and gave a start when she saw him.
And then Britt’s heart, formerly charred and withered, sprang back to full blossoming glory.
J. T. was wearing, shockingly enough, jeans and a black T-shirt. And he was holding a tray covered in plastic wrap.
They stared at each other in silence.
“Hi,” she said. Her voice was awfully faint. More an exhale than a word.
“Hi,” he said. His voice was a little on the gruff side.
They didn’t say anything else for a time.
“I brought some chicken satay.” He settled it carefully on the little table on her porch.
“Oh,” she said. “Thanks.”
Apparently this conversation was going to be catered.
Her heart was jackhammering away in her chest, overjoyed at its resurrection.
“So . . .” He inhaled. He sounded nervous, too. “Got your message. The one out on the highway.”
Her face was hot now. “Okay.”
“That was a pretty brave thing for a chicken to do.”
She smiled tentatively. “I was sober when I did it, too.”
“By the way, I don’t really think you’re a chicken, Britt.”
“But you were right, J. T. About me running. About me . . . looking for an excuse to run.”
He nodded shortly. A tense little silence passed.
“Britt . . . what did you mean when you wrote, ‘I need you’?”
“What I meant was . . .” She drew in a breath. “I lied when I said I didn’t need you.” And then the words came in a rush. “I’m so sorry. I know it was a horrible thing to say and I was lashing out because I was hurt and my pride was hurt and . . .
everything
hurt. And I lied when I said I’d be just fine without you. I have never felt so happy, or safe, or cared for, than I have with you. And I have . . .” she swallowed. “Oh God, I have felt half dead without you. And not just because of the hangover.”
Light surged into his face, brilliant and joyous.
But then he went still again. Cautious.
“Britt, I’m going to talk for a while now. Do you want to sit down?”
She welcomed that suggestion. Her knees were weak anyway.
She sank onto her patio lounge chair.
He came up the steps slowly, as if he was afraid she might dart off, and he leaned against the now sturdily repaired railing.
She could hear him breathing in the still of the morning.
He seemed to be rallying his thoughts.
“When I was a kid back in Tennessee . . .” He cleared his throat. “When I was a kid back in Tennessee, I got through tough days because I could dream of better things. And I
got
those better things. And I learned I didn’t want everything that came my way. It took being really unhappy to learn what happiness is.”
He stopped to check the impact of this on Brit.
“Okay,” she said softly, encouragingly.
“I’m going to fly to L.A. tomorrow and read for that part unless my agent tells me that’s out of the question. It’s Hollywood. Anything can happen. If and when it finally shows up in the theaters, it could be a musical starring Neil Patrick Harris and the Muppets, for all we know. And even though I’ll be filming
The Rush
for a while come fall, and I don’t know whether I’ll get
this
part, there might very well be other movies. And I will go away for a few months and maybe kiss other women as part of what I do for a paycheck and people may say or print untrue things about me. I might even kiss another guy if the part is good enough. That’s my life. It’s a crazy life. But dreams are like that, surreal and fragmented and unpredictable. And being a part of that life . . . that might not be something you want. I wouldn’t blame you. But before you say anything . . .”
He paused a moment here.
He was a little blurry, and she swiped at her eyes. And she couldn’t speak if she tried.
“. . . I guess what I’m saying is that because of all of this I consider myself some authority on dreams. You’re smart, Britt, but you were wrong about one thing. The part with us? That’s not the dream. We’re the
real
part.
We’re
the only thing that matters. The other stuff is the hurricane. You and me, we’re the
eye
of the hurricane. And you know . . . you know how your lungs just know to breathe in and breathe out? It’s like that with us. I breathe in, you breathe out. I don’t know how else to say it. I need you, Britt. When we don’t fight it . . . you and I . . . we just
know
. We just work.”
He dropped his forehead into his hands briefly and then pushed his hair back, and sighed, and it tapered into a short, wondering laugh. “I am so in love with you.”
His voice broke ever so slightly.
She could hear him breathing.
Or maybe it was her breathing.
All she knew for certain was that she had to get to him. She stood very, very slowly.
She crossed the porch to him, and looped her arms around his neck and pressed her cheek against his cool, stubbly morning cheek and pressed her body against his, and his arms wrapped around her slowly, and then tightened.
“I
love
you,” he repeated fiercely. Claiming his right to that word for the first time. “And I will always do
everything
in my power to make sure you feel safe.”
“I love you, too, J. T. So much,” she whispered in his ear. “I’m not going anywhere, unless you want me to come with you. I can do crazy, I can do quiet. Knowing us, it’ll be both. But Hellcat Canyon is
our
home.”
His shoulders moved in a huge, satisfied sigh. He held on to her tight, and she held on to him.
And she breathed in and he breathed out.
T
hey had been kissing passionately for five or ten minutes when
Taking Care of Business
erupted from J. T.’s phone.
“Gotta take this,” he told her apologetically. He kept one arm looped around her as he answered the call. “Hey Al.”
“Rebecca’s dropped out of the running. So that’s the end of that,” Al said briskly.
J. T. quickly pressed the phone to his chest and whispered, “Rebecca’s dropped out.” He’d told Britt about his truck. She’d told him about the toast video, because he miraculously hadn’t heard about it yet, and it actually made him blush.
But Al was still talking. J. T. raised the phone back to his ear.
“But it seems the producers saw that toast video from Nicasio’s wedding. It’s closing in on five million hits, you romantic son of a bitch. And they realize that you’re catnip to millions of women. They want you to fly in and read with Tara Gonzales instead. So it’s all about you, now, and they just have to cast the other lead. Check your e-mail for your flight numbers and boarding passes. We’ll have a car pick you up in about four hours.”
Tara Gonzales. Another big star, a fine actress, a smoldering brunette with a body like sin. She would be amazing in that role, too. She had a husband and three adorable kids and no history whatsoever with J. T.
J. T. smiled slowly. “Sounds great, Al.”
“I’ll take you to lunch while we’re there.”
“Natch,” J. T. said, and ended the call.
He stared at Britt in utter bemusement.
“Your expression says you have some amazing news,” Britt prompted.
“So . . . like I said, Rebecca dropped out. But because of that video of the toast, and all the publicity around it, they want me to test with Tara Gonzales tomorrow. The part is mine. Now it’s all about me.”
She gave a short, amazed laugh. “Tara Gonzales? That troll?” she teased. “Actually, I love her.”
“So does her husband.” He kissed her.
“Wanna come with me? We’d be back in a couple of days,” he murmured, when they came up for air.
She touched his face. “You go do this. It’d leave Sherrie and Glenn in the lurch if I do. Next time. I promise. I’ll be fine, J. T., I swear. I’ll miss you, but I can’t wait to see you in this movie. And to buy a dress at Kayla’s boutique for the premiere.”
He studied her face as if to ascertain the absolute truth of this. Checking to see if she was, indeed, okay.
She loved him. She knew
he
loved
her
.
She knew pretty much what she’d just signed up for.
And she did trust him, and that was the honest-to-God truth.
But J. T.’s expression was a little somber. He was pensive about something.
“What do you want to do for four hours?” Britt asked him.
And then his eyes took on a portentous gleam. Some kind of lightbulb had just clicked on in his head.
She was pretty sure she knew the answer. She hoped, anyway.
But it was his turn to surprise her. “I think we should go for a hike.”
O
nce or twice a week, when they could get away alone, Glenn and Sherrie took a long hike in the cool of the evening, if it did cool down in the evening, which was no guarantee.
Their favorite hike was Full Moon Falls, because they could stop by the Eternity Oak to admire their initials. Glenn had carved them there with absolute unswerving conviction when the two of them were still in high school.
The scar was old and bold, and the tree, they liked to think, bore it proudly.
They stopped before it like a shrine.
And then Sherrie gasped. “Oh, my goodness. Look, honey. Brand-new initials up there on that branch. You can see they’ve just been carved. It’s a little raw.”
They moved in for a closer look.
BEL + JTM
2016
“Well, I’ll . . . be . . . damned,” she breathed. “That’s our Britt and John Tennessee McCord.”
Glenn whistled long and low. “Hooo-ly
smokes
.”
Sherrie stood on her toes and touched the newly carved initials gently, as if they were delicate and alive.
John Tennessee McCord had done it neatly and precisely, but then, he had carpentry skills.
“Glenn, you know how I always get goose bumps when something feels right?” Sherrie held out her arm to show him that she was covered in them.
“Sure. Like I got when I first laid eyes on you.”
She was the only one who knew how romantic and tenderhearted her husband was. He was forever saying things like that to her.
She smiled and looped her arm in his, and they moved on up the trail.
“You think Britt and J. T. will have a Hellcat Canyon wedding pretty soon?” she asked.
“Hope so. With that whole Hollywood crowd, sure would be good for business.”
Romantic and tenderhearted and
practical
.
“That right there, Glenn. What you said.
That’s
why I love you.”
L
ater that night, from his gate at the Sacramento airport, J. T. texted a photo to Franco Francone.
For once, it wasn’t his Emmy.
Instead, when Franco clicked it open, he saw Britt and J. T. standing right beneath their freshly carved initials on the Eternity Oak. J. T.’s arms were wrapped around her and her head was leaning back against his chest. They were wearing huge smiles.
She really loves me.
is what it said.
Franco, who was never going to tell J. T. that he was the one who’d recorded and posted that wedding toast video on YouTube, texted back
Good.
USA Today
bestselling author JULIE ANNE LONG originally set out to be a rock star when she grew up (and she has the guitars and fringed clothing stuffed in the back of her closet to prove it), but writing was always her first love. Since hanging up her guitar for the computer keyboard, her books frequently top reader and critic polls and have been nominated for numerous awards, including the RITA®,
Romantic Times
Reviewer’s Choice, and the Quill, and reviewers have been known to use words like “dazzling,” “brilliant,” and “impossible to put down” when describing them. Julie lives in Northern California.
Visit Julie at
www.julieannelong.com
or
www.facebook.com/AuthorJulieAnneLong
.
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