Bad Boy Brody(12)

The director was in her forties, had sandy-colored hair, alert blue eyes, and the same attitude I felt from Gayle. She was no-nonsense and whip-smart—at least that was her reputation. She seemed it in person too.

She shook my hand, a slight grin tugging at her mouth as if she thought I was being funny. “We’ve met before, Brody. Have you forgotten?”

Did I sleep with her?

No. I would’ve remembered. Then I did. “The audition! Yes.”

“Before that as well.”

Maybe I had slept with her.

She said, “You hit on me at a premiere party.”

I stilled.

Not good. Not good at all.

“Shit.” I held up my hands. “I’m sorry. I—”

She laughed. “Don’t worry. It didn’t go further than that. I knew I’d want you on one of my movies one day.” She caught my hand in a surprisingly strong grip and leaned in close before she murmured in my ear so no one could hear. “But if you weren’t such a damned gifted actor, I would’ve taken you up on that weekend offer.”

Great.

Fuck.

I used to be professional . . . at some point. “I’ll take that as a compliment then.”

She leaned back, her eyes twinkling in amusement. “You should, and we should get down to business. We have the table read scheduled for today. Kara will be arriving shortly.”

Matthew was rolling up the sleeve of his shirt. Khaki shorts. Loafer sandals. A slightly pink buttoned-down shirt. He looked like the epitome of every Harvard jackass.

“Did you sleep well, Brody?”

Once I passed out. “Yes, I did. You?”

He hesitated before clipping his head in a nod. “Of course. This mountain air tends to calm me. Always has.”

Interest stirred in me. “You lived here when you were a kid?”

“No.” He began scanning the room. “When I was a teenager, and even then, it was only for a few years. When Karen . . . when Karen died, we mostly all moved away.”

Mostly?

The image of that girl running away flashed in my mind again.

I’d been sitting on the second floor patio last night, toasting Kyle, when a flash of movement had drawn my attention as it streaked across the field in front of me. It was only after I watched her run to the fence that I realized a horse was there. I was starting to wonder if the girl was a ghost. Maybe Kyle was messing with me, making me see shit lately.

“Who’s the ‘we’?”

He stopped scanning, freezing a moment before looking back at me. His eyes were clearer than before. “What?”

“You said ‘we mostly.’ Who else was here?”

He held my gaze steady, unblinking. He kept it tight to the vest, more so than others, but I knew this guy was close to shitting his pants.

An unnatural smile broke over his face, giving him a plastic look. “My siblings and I. Peter kept the house, but we all moved back to Livingston and then to L.A. later.”

Not Dad. Peter. That was interesting. “How old were you when . . . it happened?” It. What did they say when they referred to their stepmother’s murder?

Matthew waited a beat. “I was sixteen when Karen was murdered.” His Adam’s apple moved up and down as he swallowed. He coughed, clearing his throat. “The twins were fourteen then. And—” He stopped himself.

I found myself leaning toward him. He was about to say something else, maybe add someone else to the equation. That girl? There was a story there. She was someone to him, someone to this place.

I didn’t think I was seeing a ghost.

Or hell, maybe I was. I’d already gotten called out for hitting on my director. I was pretty sure I’d been wasted at that party. Play along? Keep my trap shut? Make sure I didn’t land myself in another heap of trouble.

Looking over, I saw Gayle watching us as she ignored Abby and a girl from the crew who were talking next to her.

As if knowing what I was thinking, she moved her head from side to side. It was so slow the girls with her didn’t notice, but I did. And I knew what she was saying.

Yep. Got it.

Keep my fucking mouth shut.

So, I smiled and said the most generic thing I could think of, “How about that weather you guys have here, huh?”





Morgan



One week later



I was stretched out on my back on top of Shiloh.

The sun beat down on us, but there was a slight breeze that broke up the heat. The sky was bright blue with cotton-candy-like clouds.

Shiloh’s head was bent so she could graze. Her mane was half my pillow, the bottom of her neck the other. My feet were crossed over each other, resting on top of her back end as the rest of the horses were around us.

This was a favorite pastime of mine.

I slept while Shiloh ate, and if I weren’t sleeping, I’d let my mind wander as I watched the clouds.

Yes, I was usually content if I was with Shiloh or Shoal, but sometimes I got bored. Those were the days I’d venture to the neighbors’ house seven miles away, or even farther down to see what was going on in the local small town. The trip there and back would usually take a few days. There were other times when I’d lay high above the highway. I could feel the breeze against my hair and skin and watch the birds fly below me. Every once in a while, tourists would come along, see the eagles or a bear or even a moose. They’d stop and take pictures, their excited shouts ricocheting up to me. They never saw me. They never looked high enough, and if they had, I would pull back beyond their eyesight.