Temptation Ridge (Virgin River #6)(88)

“Does that mean going back to L.A.?” he asked.

“Maybe not. Actors and directors are often on location when deals are being set up. Conference calls work just fine. This is the kind of script that, done well, could be everything. But if a couple of things slip through the cracks or the right cast can’t come together for the production, could be just another mildly entertaining film.”

“Aren’t a lot of scripts like that?”

“Not really, no. You know what most of them are going to turn out to be from the get-go. This one really does have great potential. But I think the thing that appeals to me the most—I could play myself.”

“As in—yourself?” he asked.

“An unfancy woman who lives in the country and isn’t crazy about a lot of Hollywood flash. I think the script flirts with being autobiographical. It’s about a writer who hates Hollywood and lives on a nonworking farm with animals who are pets—dogs, horses, goats. Because she’s gifted, an actor comes to her asking her to write a script that will make his career before it’s too late—he’s no longer young. They have nothing and everything in common and the relationship is complex while they hammer out a script together—sometimes hilarious, sometimes very sentimental and touching. Passionate in places. Lots of emotion. And no backless gowns or jewelry.”

“You’re thinking about it,” he said.

“I can’t help myself. I’ve always seen myself in roles like this, with the right people involved, but they rarely presented themselves. It’s a life-transition film, like On Golden Pond with slightly younger lead actors.”

“Making a comeback?” he asked. “A starlet returning to the big screen?”

She shot him a look of horror. She reined in her horse. “All right, let’s get something straight. I’m not an aging starlet and I wouldn’t consider it a comeback. I’m an actor and to me this is serious work. A challenge I’m up to. In my business the opportunities that are truly good are rare. But I’m no aging starlet, Walt. I work for a living. And the job isn’t easy. But the rewards, if you do the job well, can be good. Not the least of which is pride.”

“You’ll have to cut me some slack,” he said. “I don’t know much about your business. I didn’t say you were an aging starlet.”

“You thought it,” she said.

“You can’t prove that.”

She let out her breath. Slowly, as if deciding on something. She eased up on the reins.

“Hmm. Sounds like you’d like to do it,” he ventured.

She was quiet for a moment. Then she said, “Like the main character, I wouldn’t like being away from here.” She looked at him. “I wouldn’t like being away from you, either, and don’t let that go to your head.”

That brought a small smile to his lips. And then he laughed. “Well, I’ll be.”

“Inflated your ego, did I?”

“Not that,” he said. “I had a moment of déjà vu. I don’t know how much you know about the military, Muriel, but each special training program or promotion or new assignment incurs another commitment. To go from captain to major gives the army four more years of you. Go to flight school, sign up for four more years.”

“I see. Your déjà vu?”

“The first twenty years were a no-brainer. I already had eight and owed four more when I met Peg. When I hit my twenty and could retire on a colonel’s pension, Vanni was eleven and Tom wasn’t even a twinkle in my eye. I had the potential to go further and, like your script, it could all fall apart at any moment if the right players weren’t on board. Or I could go all the way. Not only that, my assignments were getting more complicated—the Pentagon, war zones, attaché to diplomatic service abroad. Every time I reached one of those forks, I’d sit down with Peg. I’d tell her what was involved, tried to be frank about the sacrifices that not only I but the whole family would have to make, and I’d always wrap it up by saying, ‘I can stop right now and be happy. If you ask me to say no, I will.’”

Muriel was gloomily quiet. She wasn’t giving him that kind of choice. Even though she liked her life right now, she’d decide for herself.

“Now, Peg, she was a very independent woman, but in some ways she was dependent on me. Naturally. As a partner, a father to her children, a provider—she needed me. And I needed her. In the end she would always say—you have to fulfill every ambition you have, go where you can do the most good, and we’ll stand behind you while you do. And she never once made me regret it. Sometimes it was damn hard on her.”

Muriel chewed on that for a moment. “She must have been a remarkable woman.”

“She was,” Walt said easily. He reached over to her and grabbed her hand. “So are you, Muriel. A remarkable woman. It’s my turn to say it. You have to fulfill every ambition. I wouldn’t like being away from you, either. But I’ll be right here, rooting for you every step of the way. Proudly.”

She looked at him with absolute love, though neither of them had uttered such a binding word. Her eyes glistened and she had to purse her lips to keep them from trembling. Men had said wonderful things to her over the years, lavish compliments about her beauty and wit, but never anything like this. She blinked. She took a deep breath. Then she said, “Stop it. I don’t cry. Not unless the director says, ‘Cry.’”