A Real Live Hero Read online

  He finished his beer, irritated with himself and the dumb questions. He signaled for a fresh beer and realized someone else had taken up the stool beside him. His senses went crazy and he knew without turning that Delainey had plopped herself next to him as if they were buds. “What the hell are you doing?” he asked, point-blank. “Dealing with you once a day is plenty. This is my private time.”

  She looked as if she was trying to be brave, but there was something fragile about her put-on confidence that he couldn’t help notice. It didn’t lessen his animosity, but it did pique his curiosity. By all accounts she’d accomplished her goal. She’d managed to maneuver him into agreeing to something he had no interest in doing, but the expression on her face was anything but triumphant. “Is this your victory celebration?” he asked sourly as he tipped his beer. “Come to rub it in my face?”

  “Get over yourself, Trace. I didn’t know you’d be here. I just needed something to wind down. Jet lag is killing me but...I couldn’t sleep.”

  “Hotel bed not as soft as yours at home?”

  “I’m not staying in a hotel. I’m staying at my father’s place,” she answered quietly, lifting her chin as she shrugged. “All the hotels were booked.”

  Oh, that was sweet justice, he thought. “Guess you forgot about moose season,” he said, openly enjoying her unfortunate circumstance. “That sucks. You and your old man were never on good terms. How’s that going for you?”

  “It’s ungentlemanlike to gloat,” she said, looking away. “It’s going as well as you can expect.”

  At that he did chuckle and earned a black look, but he didn’t care. Served her right. She couldn’t come around disrupting people’s lives without consequence. “Well, at least your old man cares enough for you to give you a place to bed down. If it were me, you’d be sleeping in a snowbank.”

  “Do you have to be so mean?” she asked, her eyes suddenly glittering. “Are you going to be this nasty and cruel the entire time I’m here?”

  “I’m not the one who started this,” he reminded her. “I don’t recall being nice and civil as one of the stipulations of your little deal. Or was that in the fine print?”

  Delainey grabbed her beer and swiveled off the chair, but as she started to stalk away, she seemed to think better of it and stopped to say, “We broke up eight years ago, Trace. Don’t you think it’s time to let it go? Grow up, for Christ’s sake. So, I managed to talk you into taking a job that will benefit you in the long run as well as do something great for that little department you work for. Sue me. But just remember, as you’re sitting there throwing stones at my expense, you weren’t completely innocent. You had a choice, too. Don’t make me the bad guy just because I took the choice that was right for me.”

  Trace watched her melt into the crowd, and he was tempted to run after her if only to tell her she was full of crap. She was wrong, he told himself. And plainly she’d rewritten history to suit her purposes.

  What the hell was she talking about? Choices? The only choice she’d given him was whether or not to keep the CD collection they’d amassed together.

  She hadn’t been interested in choices; her mind had been made up and he’d been left behind.

  Screw this.

  He flicked a few bucks onto the bar and left in disgust.

  And he was supposed to work with her every day of production until they wrapped?

  God help him. He might just pitch her over a cliff if given the opportunity.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  DELAINEY OPENED HER EYES after a fitful night’s rest on an old lumpy mattress that had definitely seen better days and wondered what she’d done to deserve such adversity in her life. Milky morning light filtered in through the thick window covering, and she rubbed the grit from her eyeballs. Today, she would fax the signed contract paperwork to the network and then she’d start the process of getting her skeleton crew up here to start shooting. The hardest part would be finding a hotel for them to hole up in for the duration of the shoot. Her mind was already picking at the challenges ahead, even sluggish as she was without her morning espresso to jolt herself alert.

  She knew her father was likely long gone, having woken up at the crack of dawn to take the boat out, so at least she would be spared the awkward and uncomfortable recap of last night’s reunion. But she could do nothing about the memory.

  “There she is,” Brenda had announced, smiling as Delainey had opened the front door and walked in. Delainey had forced a tight smile when Brenda added, “I was going to tell you that moose season is upon us and every hotel would be filled to capacity with tourists, but you ran out of here so quickly I didn’t get the chance. But we knew you’d figure it out soon enough when you couldn’t find a room.”

  “Yes, well, here I am,” Delainey said, her cheeks burning. Her father sat in his recliner, wordlessly watching her with a hard expression, and Delainey had fought the urge to say something terribly immature. “Is the room still available?” she managed to ask with some semblance of civility.

  “House hasn’t changed,” her father answered gruffly.

  “A simple yes would suffice,” she mumbled, moving past him and pulling her luggage behind her.

  “Seems to me that you’re hell-bent on changing who you are and where you came from,” he remarked, and Brenda shushed him.

  “Now, Harlan, give the girl a chance to get settled. Can’t you tell she’s nearly dead on her feet?” Brenda shook her head, chuckling at her husband’s gruff attitude, and Delainey thought the woman was insane for finding anything about Harlan Clarke appealing. He was mean, ill-tempered and rude on his best days. Was it any wonder her mother had been miserable? “Don’t pay him no mind. He’s happy to have you home for a few days.”

  Delainey held back a snort while Harlan shot his wife a dark look. Yeah, right. He was clicking his heels with joy. “I’ll do my best to find suitable accommodations as soon as possible,” she said, finished with the conversation. “Good night.”

  Unfortunately, the walls were incredibly thin and Delainey caught their conversation even as she closed the door behind her.

  “Now, why’d you go and say something like that, you old poop? That wasn’t nice at all.” Brenda had admonished her husband with open disapproval. “She’s never going to come around again if you don’t start being nicer.”

  “I don’t care what she does,” Harlan said, and the recliner squeaked as if he were adjusting his position. “And that woman ain’t my daughter. I don’t recognize that woman at all. She’s a stranger.”

  “Something tells me that she was a stranger before she got all fancied up. You two have a lot to talk about.”

  “Like hell we do.”

  “Oh, Harlan. Now you’re just being stubborn. You need your children right now.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it, Brenda. Leave it be.”

  Delainey frowned. What was Brenda talking about? Was her father sick? Delainey sat on the bed, extreme fatigue pulling at her. Wouldn’t Thad have called her if their father were sick? Of course he would’ve. Perhaps Brenda had a penchant for the dramatic and there was nothing truly wrong with the old goat. An odd pang of worry pierced Delainey’s chest, even as she tried to dispel it with reason and logic. Everything was fine and she was exhausted. Delainey fell back on the bed and closed her eyes, so tired that she thought she could sleep the minute her eyelids fluttered shut.

  But that’s not what happened. In fact, she’d been so tired, she actually couldn’t sleep. Nervous energy kept her from finding sleep, and before she knew it she was heading to the Rusty Anchor for a nightcap.

  And that had turned out equally fabulous, she wanted to groan as she rolled to her side and put her face into the pillow. She’d known that Trace wasn’t going to be warm and welcoming, but she hadn’t expected him to be so damn mean. Had she really mes
sed him up so badly that now he hated women? Or maybe it was just her?

  Delainey rose from the bed on stiff limbs and made her way to the bathroom to shower. The questions in her head had no answers; there was no point in spending so much time wondering about the whys and what-fors. Trace hated her and he was going to make the next few weeks as miserable as humanly possible. Deal with it and move on. She’d handled difficult people before without breaking a sweat. She would just have to treat Trace as she would a hostile, pain-in-the-ass star—smile and nod, then at the end of the day, enjoy a really big glass of wine.

  Delainey drew a deep breath, moderately comforted by her plan. But even as she armed herself with the details, her insides trembled and she felt a little sick to her stomach. She didn’t want Trace to hate her. Truthfully, sometimes private memories of Trace and his love were the ones that insulated her against the worst moments in her career. She knew he didn’t love her any more, but there was a time...a sudden lump rose in her throat. Ugh. Why was she doing this to herself? Masochistic, that’s what this was. What good would come of wallowing in the past?

  Move on, Delainey—there’s work to be done.

  * * *

  “TRACE, I KNOW YOU weren’t keen to do this project, but once you get started, I think you’ll enjoy—”

  “Peter, don’t try and sell me on this project. It’s a waste of your breath and my time. You and I both know why I’m doing this, and it’s pretty much extortion no matter how you try and pretty it up.”

  “That’s harsh, Trace.” Peter glowered but didn’t deny it. “You’ve got no head for administration, son. Times are tough. Call it what you will, but if an outside entity such as Hollywood comes waving dollar bills under our nose, by damn we’re going to do what we can to make it happen. You think I like cutting programs? Well, I don’t. But when I see a relatively easy way to make the budget expand rather than constrict, I take it.”

  “Yeah, well, I was strong-armed into taking this gig, and I don’t feel right about it.”

  “You have the right to your feelings,” Peter said. “Even if they’re wrong.”

  Trace did a double take. “What do you mean by that?”

  Peter sighed. “You’re a good man and an even better tracker, but you’re stubborn as the day is long and sometimes when you dig your heels in about something you’re as immobile as an ass pulling against the lead. Why don’t you tell me what your beef is with that pretty producer? She seems real nice.”

  He snorted. “Delainey Clarke is like the first freeze across the water. It might look solid but it’s deceiving, and if you trust it with your weight, you’re liable to crash through the thin surface and drown. She’s not trustworthy and she’s not a nice person. Don’t let her pretty face trick you.”

  “You two have history?”

  Trace didn’t want to admit it, but he figured if Cindy Sutton remembered his past with Delainey, chances were someone else was going to remember, too, so it was best to just let it out. “Yeah, we’ve got history. Plenty of it. We were together. I even asked her to marry me—eight years ago before she took off for California and left her boot prints on the backs of every single person in this town she stepped on to get out.”

  “Guess that was before my time here,” Peter said. “Eight years is a long time. Maybe she’s changed. Seems harsh to hold her to decisions she made when she was practically a kid.”

  “She wasn’t a kid when she split.”

  “You forget, anyone ten years or more younger than me I consider a kid. That includes you.”

  “Trust me when I say that Delainey Clarke hasn’t changed. She’s just as manipulative and cutthroat as she was when she left. Take my advice and steer clear.”

  “Maybe I’m old-fashioned, but I think you could be a little nicer to the lady. I don’t know your history, but you’re going to be working with her. Don’t you think things will go a lot more smoothly if you’re not constantly sniping at one another?”

  “Hey, nowhere in the contract did it state I had to be nice.”

  “No, but I expected more from you,” Peter said, surprising Trace. Peter was, generally speaking, pretty easygoing, but he was taking a firm line on this issue. Somehow Trace’s attitude toward Delainey struck against some inner chivalrous code that Trace never knew Peter adhered to. “And frankly, your behavior doesn’t reflect well on the department. I’m not saying you have to be buddies, but you need to be professional. That’s all I’m asking.”

  “You’re serious about this?”

  “Why would I joke about something so important?”

  Trace realized Peter truly wasn’t joking, and he shook his head at the ridiculousness of the situation. He was being ordered to be nice to the woman who’d trashed his heart at the worst possible time in his life, and yet he was the one being difficult. Hell’s bells... But what could he do? Peter was his boss, and for whatever reasons Peter wasn’t letting up the pressure. Trace threw his hands up. “Fine, I’ll be civil and professional. Should I put that in writing?” he asked caustically.

  “No, your word should do. She’ll be here today to debrief us on the shooting schedule. You’ll get to put your acting skills to the test. I’d better see a reformed man.”

  “I’m not an actor,” he growled.

  “Well, you’d better learn a few tricks, because otherwise...”

  “Yeah? You gonna fire me?”

  “Don’t make me go there. I want to think positive. You start thinking of the Junior Search and Rescue program if nothing else works. I know how you love those kids and the program. If nothing else matters to you but that...then know that the success of this project is resting on your ability to play nice.”

  Great. Thanks for setting me up for failure.

  Time to practice that fake smile.

  And with impeccable timing, just as Trace was exaggerating his “nice” face, Delainey walked in looking like a winter Barbie doll with her Ugg boots, skinny jeans, sweater and scarf wound around her neck, and Trace couldn’t help but stare just a little because the woman knew how to turn heads. Too skinny. Too fake. Too Hollywood.

  Remember that.

  CHAPTER NINE

  DELAINEY WALKED INTO the conference room, determined to keep her head held high, but when she saw Trace her nerves trembled and her resolve faltered. Why did he have to be so handsome? After all these years, couldn’t time have stomped on his good looks a little? It would’ve been far easier to hold the memories at bay if she’d returned to Alaska and found Trace looking nothing like she remembered. But of course, that wasn’t the case. If anything, the man had become even more handsome—which didn’t seem fair—and even though there wasn’t a hint of warmth in those eyes, a woman could still drown in their depths if she weren’t careful.

  “Gentlemen,” she announced with a smile as she entered the room. “I appreciate you meeting with me this early to go over the production schedule. If, while we’re going over the schedule, you see something that concerns you, please let me know and I’ll make a note. We want this production to go as smoothly as possible for everyone, and I want you to feel your input is important.”

  “This is going to be a new experience for us all,” Peter said cheerfully. “And to be honest, I’ve always been curious about the movie business. Seems like a whole different world. It’s not often we get a glimpse of what happens behind the wall. Right, Trace?”

  “Personally, a world full of fakes and liars doesn’t interest me,” Trace muttered, and before Delainey could say anything Peter shot Trace a warning look. Trace got the message but didn’t take back his sarcastic comment, not that Delainey expected him to. Trace was as intractable as a brick wall. “Let’s get this show on the road,” Trace said brusquely. “I’ve got more on my plate than going over your production schedule. Some of us are less than thrilled over this sudden de
tour in the norm.”

  “Of course,” Delainey said, forcing a smile at the difficult man. Trace and her father could write a book on how to alienate people. “If you’ll turn to page one in the production schedule packet, you’ll see a breakdown of the typical shooting day. Now, it will be very important that we all stay on track so that we can stay on budget. It is very easy to lose daylight hours and start spinning into overtime. Nobody wants that to happen. Least of all me. The sooner we get our shots, the sooner we’ll be done for the day.”

  “Wait a minute...” Trace started, a frown building on his forehead. “This is a full eight-hour day. What the hell are we going to do for eight hours in front of a camera?”

  “Actually, eight hours is fairly conservative. It’s likely we will have several ten-hour days. Filming, particularly on location, has certain challenges. We can’t always stick to the schedule as it is planned. However, I would like to try.”

  “And how am I supposed to actually do my job, if a camera is stuck in my face all day?”

  Delainey smiled. “Don’t worry about the cameras. Just go about your day like you normally would.”

  “That’s a contradiction. Most days I don’t even keep my cell phone on. And now I have to have a camera crew in my face? I don’t know. This whole idea sounds stupid.”

  Peter cleared his throat and the two shared a look. After a tense moment, Trace finally backed down with a glower, saying, “I think this will be the most boring show ever aired, but it’s your dime. As long as the check clears for the program, I guess that’s all that matters.”

  “Great. Now back to the schedule. If you’ll turn your attention to the second page, you’ll see that we have a reenactment scheduled. Part of the reason that you attracted the attention of my boss is because you saved that little girl. So I think it would be great if we could start off the series with a reenactment of you finding her. Of course we will hire actors to play the governor and his daughter, but I think that would be a really great way to garner interest in the pilot.”