“Ren, I know you never believed her. I’m not an idiot. I know that somebody probably threatened you with something and that’s why you felt like you had no choice. That part’s done. And we were kids. I don’t blame you anymore for not knowing what the fuck to do.”
We’re standing close now, close enough for my body to start responding to her. Jesus, I just can’t help it. She smells like cherries and vanilla. Plus she’s not wearing a bra. I shift from my weight casually, trying to relieve the rising pressure in my pants.
Ren notices and a knowing smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. It’s like we’re both hit with the same memory at the exact same second. It seems like the moment just happened.
“Didn’t know the Savages were telepathic.”
“We’re not. You’re just transparent.”
“What am I thinking about, Ren?”
Her smile fades. She hugs her arms around herself and looks sadly at the corpse-free cemetery. “It wasn’t so much their threat to me. It was the threat to you. Lita said she would sick the dogs of the press on both of us and there would be nowhere to hide from the scandal she would invent. She also said she could make criminal charges stick because she’d somehow uncovered the fact that you were over eighteen.”
“I could have handled Lita.” My voice is sharper than I meant it to be.
“Maybe,” she whispers. Then she shakes her head miserably. “But maybe I couldn’t. I guess that’s my biggest regret. That I never had the strength of character to really say fuck you to Lita and to every ridiculous expectation attached to this last name. Remember when you told me I’m just a shell of who I once was?”
“Ren, I didn’t mean-“
“Well, you were right.” She nods and looks me in the eye. “And you were wrong. I’m not tough or courageous. But then, I never was.”
The wind picks up. A falcon flies right over our heads, its dark shadow briefly washing over us. The cameras keep rolling.
“I’m not asking for your sympathy, Oscar. And I don’t expect it. Just know that you were once everything to me. You were everything to me for a long time, far longer than I’ve ever been able to admit.” She looks down and her voice drops to a whisper. “That’s all.”
“That’s all,” I echo. She nods tiredly and starts to walk away. I grab her arm and pull her back a little roughly. “That’s not all, dammit. I didn’t come back here for vindication.”
There’s a flash of something her dark eyes. She looks down to where my hand is fastened to her arm. Ren tilts her head up proudly and challenges me. “Then why did you come back?”
I release her arm and stuff my hands back into my pockets where they can’t get into any more trouble. “I came back because once I knew you, Loren Savage. The two months I spent with you were the best ones of my life. I could see clear into your heart and I loved you with all of mine. I came back not because I want to fuck things up for you or because I want my day in the stupid spotlight. I came back because I just want you in my life again. However I can get you.”
She takes a step back and studies me. I’ve surprised her. We’ve surprised each other. Maybe we’re not too far removed from the kids we were after all.
Ren presses her lips together and glances back at the house. “You know,” she says. “It’ll be lunch hour soon. Spence is likely to be back anytime now from delivering a restored Thunderbird to the next county. The girls and young Mr. Alden are always happy to see anything edible. And even Monty sits down at a table now and again.” She pauses, bites a corner of her lip and looks nearly bashful. “I was thinking about making some barbecued chicken wings.”
“I’ll help you,” I tell her because it was my offer the last time we had this conversation.
The day we met.
She grins. “You can cook?”
“No. Teach me.”
“All right, Oz. I will.”
On the short walk back to the big house I don’t even try to touch her. For now it’s enough just to walk beside her.
For now.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
REN
Cate Camp was wrong about Gary. He has apparently decided to take his time about showing up. Maybe once Oscar returned that was the end of the Born Savages emergency and he just didn’t feel like hauling his cookies out of Los Angeles. After all, chilling on the coast is probably more pleasant than sweltering in the desert. Whatever the reason, I think I can safely say that nobody has been yearning for his arrival.
Regardless, this morning we have word that apparently he’s on his way. We are told to expect him within the hour. Cate Camp is tearing around here like a bleached lunatic. The camera crew fuss with their equipment and glance fearfully at the sky, as if they are expecting the lumpy form of Gary Vogel to descend directly on their heads like a turkey vulture. Everywhere, from the brothel to the church, there is the frantic drumbeat of ‘Gary is coming!’ I hope Atlantis Star can handle it.
Oz is outside with the boys. There shouldn’t be anything sexy about a man carrying a shovel full of horseshit but somehow he makes it look good.
Not that I’m looking.
Ever since he unexpectedly returned three weeks ago, everything has changed.
Oz is a friend now. Nothing more, nothing less. He helps in the kitchen, cooperates with the crew and joins me on twilight walks around the perimeter, pointing out creatures and rock formations of interest. We steer clear of any subject heavier than the dangers of rattlesnakes. To the rest of the family, even Monty, he is down right sociable.
Life has been quiet. Life has been pleasant.
Maybe that’s Gary’s problem. Quiet living makes for boring television.
But Oz and I have been getting along so well. It certainly makes no sense to consider spoiling our new friendship by running my hot tongue over the sweaty ridges of his six pack and then dipping lower to nip at that that delectable happy trail until I get to…
“Ren!”
“What!”
Brigitte manages to startle me so badly I drop a wine glass. It shatters all over the terra cotta and I curse as I gather the shards into a pile. Brigitte watches me.
“You’re jumpy,” she observes.
“You’re smart,” I mutter.
Bree pointedly looks out the window, sees the shirtless, magnificent Oz out there helping Spence repair a fence post. She grins.
“Nice view.”
“It’s all right.”
“It’s all right,” she mocks. “You missed that piece of glass by the fridge.” She puts her hands on her hips and bites her lip. “I suppose our visitor will be here any minute. Are you worried?”
“Are you?”
“I don’t know.” Bree snaps her fingers and addresses a quiet corner of the room. “What do you think, Rash? Do we have any reason to worry? Is Gary going to shut down production because we’re not interesting enough? Put that camera down for a minute and tell us what you know.”
“Not allowed to socialize with the talent,” he answers but there’s a smile in his voice.
Brigitte bats her eyelashes. “I do love being called ‘the talent’. Say it again please.”
“Industry term,” Rash laughs. “You are all ‘the talent.’”
Brigitte starts to say something but then stops and returns to the window. I hear it too. It’s a low buzzing that grows closer and breaks into a rhythmic chopping sound.
“That’s him,” Rash says cheerfully.
I join Bree at the window and see a growing black dot in the brilliant blue sky.