Three Marie Ferrarella Romances Box Set One (16 page)

“Insecurity? You? The cocky journalist who goes where angels fear to tread? The lady who beat John Bowman out of a hundred dollars at poker?” Nick threw back his head and laughed. His hairdresser stared daggers at him before combing down a lock of hair that had fallen into his eyes. “You’re the last person in the world who should feel insecure—about anything,” he told her firmly, reaching out and squeezing her hand.

She smiled back at him, telling herself that she was being foolish. But the nagging little voice stayed with her until late that evening, while she was working on her article. Only then did it fade away. She realized that she needed her work, needed her identity, in order to show up phantom fears for what they were—baseless apparitions.

“Not bad.” Bowman nodded on the second day of shooting. “Considering you’re a rank amateur, that really wasn’t half bad.”

“Heady praise from a hard taskmaster,” Nick told her dryly.

“None of your lip, Rutledge,” Bowman snapped. “Let’s take it from the top!”

Cameras began to roll again.

Shane’s presence on the set was required for only three days’ shooting. This included reshooting the one scene that the actress she was replacing had already completed. When it was all over, Shane was a little sorry that it had ended so quickly. Nick was right. It was fun, despite all the hassles, the makeup, which made her itch, and the uncomfortable positions she had to assume while waiting for her next scene. It was hard work, but enjoyable.

“There’ll always be a part for you in one of my pictures,” Nick told her as they drove to the reservation the following Wednesday.

“Have I become part of your entourage?” she asked glibly, smiling, allowing herself to pretend for just a moment that there could be a “happily ever after” for them. “I heard that you tend to keep a lot of the people who work with you.”

“You may add new meaning to the word ‘keep.’ “

She knew he had meant the words as a joke, but they cut nonetheless. Even within this whirlwind of emotion and passion she was experiencing, she knew that she couldn’t give up everything for Nick. They both would be miserable eventually if she were just Mrs. Nick Rutledge, submerged within his lifestyle.

She caught him looking at her intently when she made no response to his comment, and she wondered if he knew what she was thinking. He seemed so tremendously intuitive about things that concerned her.

They rode the rest of the way with Nick making pleasant small talk. For once Shane was glad to lose herself in meaningless conversation.

Chapter Eleven

Everyone was waiting for Nick.

“Got a full house again,” Shane whispered as he parted from her in back of the room. She watched him as he went to the front of the class. The sounds of chattering voices melted away in his presence.

This time she found a place to sit on the floor and flipped open her notebook. She knew that Nick wasn’t keen on her writing about this aspect of his life, but it was too good an opportunity to pass up. She wanted her article to do more than just join the ranks of the others that had gone before it, listing sweet, love-struck platitudes about his wonderful eyes and fantastic profile. She wanted readers to see why this man was special— not because he could swing from a masthead and save the “fair heroine,” but because he was a man who cared and gave of himself.

Shane felt her heart bursting with love and despair at the same time.

“You hold them in the palm of your hand,” she commented after the class was over.

“That he does.”

They both looked up to see Anne entering the room. She looked very pleased. “The elders said yes,” she told Shane without any preamble. Shane had nearly forgotten that Nick had stipulated they get the council of elders’ permission before she mentioned anything about the reservation. She thought about her notes and felt a pang of remorse. In her eagerness for a good article, she had been as guilty of ignoring the tribe’s privacy as Nick’s fans had been at Aspen. Shane hoped that Nick did not notice the fact that she flushed. Damn her complexion anyway.

“That’s wonderful,” she said quickly, jotting a few things down for their benefit. She had already taken all the notes she needed during Nick’s lecture. “This will really work out well for everyone in the long run,” she promised.

“Not to mention our little writer, here,” Nick said affectionately. “Well, I’ll see you next week, Anne.”

Anne nodded. “For your final class.”

Shane looked from the slender Indian woman to Nick. “It’s over?”

“Afraid so. I can only get the filming done here for so long. We have to go back to the studio to do most of the interior shots,” he explained.

Shane shook her head as they left. “Don’t you ever get tired of being so noble?” she asked. Nick opened the car door for her, and she slid in, wishing the car didn’t have bucket seats. She wanted to curl up next to him. Next week might not be just the end of his class. It might mark the end of their relationship as well. He hadn’t mentioned marriage since that time in the lodge. Perhaps he was having second thoughts on the subject as well. She didn’t doubt that all the problems of a bi-coastal marriage were becoming more evident to him as well.

“Yes, I get tired of being noble,” he said, taking hold of the wheel. “Let’s go to my place and I’ll do something shamelessly un-noble. I’ll make love to you from the minute we enter the house until first call tomorrow.”

“Trying out for Superman next?” she asked drolly.

“No, vixen, just trying to satiate my enormous appetite when it comes to you.” His gray eyes made love to her, and she felt warm all over. “So far, all I’ve managed to do is whet it.”

“I thought you had that big scene coming up tomorrow,” Shane said, remembering something she had overheard earlier that day.

“I do.”

“Shouldn’t you be studying your lines, then?”

“I should. But I don’t always do what I should— and I’d rather study your lines,” he added with a leer.

She knew she should decline, knew that the longer she allowed herself to wander through this wondrous world of make-believe, the harder it would be for her when the final break came, but she just couldn’t help herself. She wanted to be with him every moment she could.

“I suppose I might ask you some more questions for the article,” she said slowly. Dusk was descending all around them, and Shane stared straight ahead as Nick flipped on the headlights. It was a lonely, isolated area, and no other cars passed them along the way. Lonely. The word sounded horribly foreboding.

“Good, I’ve already told Scottie to set another place for dinner.”

“You knew I was coming all the time!” she accused.

“How could you resist me? Hey, hey, don’t hit the driver,” he cautioned. “Unless you want to run us off the road and leave us stranded here all night.”

She could think of worse things, but let her hand drop back in her lap.

Any plans they might have formed for the evening ahead were set forcibly aside when they arrived at Nick’s house.

“Now what?” Nick asked as he opened Shane’s door for her.

She was going to miss all his gallantry. She was going to miss
him
. “What’s the matter?” she asked, suddenly realizing that Nick was frowning hard.

“Our director.” He gestured toward Bowman’s beloved 1958 Corvette, which was parked at an angle in the driveway. “Never did learn how to drive,” Nick commented, shaking his head. “I wonder what he wants.”

When Nick walked through the huge white double doors, the director almost sprang at him.

“What were you doing, hiding behind the door?” Nick wanted to know, shutting it behind Shane.

“I’ve been waiting for you!” the director said accusingly. “Why don’t you keep decent hours, like normal people?”

“There’s nothing indecent about five-thirty, John. What’s the matter, somebody steal the film?”

“Don’t get smart, Rutledge. Here.” The older man shoved a stack of pages into Nick’s hands.

“What’s this?”

“Tomorrow’s scene.”

“But I have tomorrow’s scene,” Nick reminded him.

“You thought you had tomorrow’s scene,” Bowman corrected. “I had that idiot of a screenwriter rework it. Now it sounds like something!” he said triumphantly. “Oh, hello, McCallister,” he said, as if noticing her for the first time. Curtly, he nodded in her direction. Shane forced a quicksilver smile to her lips, which faded the next moment.

“Well, get to it. You’re on call at eight sharp. Be there!” he warned, despite the fact that Nick prided himself on never being late for anything, much less a call.

Bowman barked something as he departed, and slammed the door behind him. Nick looked up from the pages he was thumbing through. “That man will never win the Miss Congeniality award.”

“Wrong sex,” Shane pointed out.

“Wrong temperament,” Nick corrected. “The other part can be overlooked.” He dropped the pages on the marble-top table that stood against the wall in the foyer. “On to dinner.”

Shane stood her ground. “Nope,” she informed him, picking up the script and handing it back to Nick. “You study. I’ll go home and have room service take care of my needs.”

“I didn’t know room service provided that kind of service,” he said archly, accepting the script from her nonetheless.

“Food, Nick, food. Where’s Scottie?” she asked, looking around the large, stone-tiled area. “He can drive me to the hotel. I’ve got lots to keep me busy tonight,” she assured Nick, patting her notebook.

Reluctantly, Nick called Scottie and asked him to take Shane to the Cosmopolitan.

Shane spent a productive night, revising some of her notes and writing furiously into the wee hours. Forgotten, a half-eaten, stale sandwich sat next to her. Every so often, she’d recall its existence and take a bite, not even conscious of what she was consuming. A smile spread to her face. It was shaping up quite nicely, she told herself, biting down on limp lettuce. The soda she washed it down with had long since gone flat. Shane didn’t notice. Nothing mattered except the flow of the words onto paper.

Feeling extremely satisfied, she laid the article to rest at 2:00 A.M.

At five she rose again, almost as if in a dream. Nick had gotten her used to waking up early. She stretched, feeling the emptiness of the place next to her. Oh, yes, she was in her hotel room, she reminded herself. Nick had certainly gotten her used to quite a bit more than just getting up early. How quickly life can change directions, she thought, padding across the carpeted floor to the bathroom.

She stood, contemplating her dry toothbrush. How quickly was she going to get used to not having him around? Not very fast, she told herself with a heavy sigh. That might take her years to accomplish, she thought, squeezing the last drop of striped paste onto the bristles. She had to remember to pick up some more today. She spread her lips wide as she brushed vigorously. Mustn’t offend him during the last few days they had together.

An hour and a half later found Shane shivering on the set. She was one of the first persons to arrive.

“Really getting to like this stuff, aren’t you?” Bowman asked. He didn’t seem surprised to find her there. He didn’t even wait to hear her answer, as he began bellowing orders that made an army of power packs and electrical generators appear, marring the beautiful Colorado countryside. Shane tried to get out of the way of the cables that were snaking their way along, every which way she turned. She found it safest to follow in Bowman’s tracks.

“It is kind of exciting,” she admitted to the back of Bowman’s head, watching the long, thin hands motion impatiently for a cameraman to come closer, “seeing the disconnected bits and pieces of film make a story.”

Bowman jerked his head in her direction. “They don’t always do that, you know. Sometimes all you come up with is a God-awful mess. Takes an overall vision.”

Shane assumed he meant his vision, and kept still. She let him talk, welcoming the backdrop of sound while she scanned the area for Nick’s familiar form. He was to film the chase sequence this morning, she had discovered. The script girl had allowed her to read the newly written pages over her shoulder. There was also a new love scene with Adrienne Avery. Shane had already decided not to stay around for that.

“Hi.”

Just the sound of Nick’s voice did wonderful things to her, she thought as she turned to face him. He held aloft a brown bag, then gave it to her.

“Peace offering. For letting me study my lines— for making me study my lines,” he corrected.

Puzzled, she opened the heavy bag. “Pistachio nuts!” she exclaimed, looking back up. “Where did you—?”

“Had Scottie comb the local grocery stores. That’s a composite of about twenty packages. They don’t pack very many in those little cellophane bags,” he commented, shedding his sheepskin jacket and handing it to her. “Save me some,” he ordered, leaving to mount the snow-white stallion that was being used in the chase sequence.

Shane grinned, holding the jacket close to her. How like him to be so thoughtful. They had discovered a mutual passion for pistachios while at the skiing lodge. Nick had remembered that—even though his mind was filled with the millions of details of getting a part just right on the screen.

Scottie brought a chair for her, and she sank down gratefully, hanging Nick’s jacket on the back as she watched him ride closer and closer, chasing Miles Donovan, who played the heavy. Every woman’s hero, she thought with pride and a touch of sadness as her fingers became redder and redder, shelling one pistachio after another.

“Hey, they’re almost all gone,” Nick said, pretending to complain as he squatted next to her chair, his broadsword clanking on the ground.

Shane looked sheepishly down at the bag. There was hardly anything left except for the opened shells. “I’ll make it up to you,” she promised with a wink.

“See that you do,” he ordered, slipping his jacket over his shoulders. A sudden cold breeze rustled the high grass and made Shane shiver despite the warm ermine jacket. She curled her fingers so as not to get any of the red stain on the fur pile. “I have an idea. You can come to the costume party with me this Saturday.”