The Gentleman Rancher. Cathy Gillen Thacker
ketchup and mayo on the counter. “I can’t help feeling the way I do.” He straightened and shut the door.
“Yes,” Paige countered, stepping past him to get the lettuce, tomato and cheese, “but you can certainly help saying it.”
Jeremy harrumphed at Taylor. “You were the most talented student in our class.”
Taylor flipped the burgers. “Grades aren’t everything, Carrigan.”
He lounged against the counter opposite her, arms folded across his chest. “You had a way with patients.”
Trying not to think what his steady appraisal and deep voice did to her, Taylor appraised him right back. “There are many professions that require good people skills.”
Cynicism lifted one corner of his mouth. “You shouldn’t have quit just because your parents expected you to be a doctor.”
With effort, Taylor tamped down her rising temper. “I quit because I wanted to write.”
“You could write and still be a doctor.”
Taylor looked at Paige. “Make him shut up or I’m going to deck him.”
Paige layered sliced tomatoes on the platter, next to the lettuce and onions. “You heard the woman.” She sent Jeremy a debilitating look. “Shut. Up.”
Jeremy moved so he could see around Paige. “Go ahead and punch me,” he dared Taylor. “I’m just saying what has to be said.”
“No.” Taylor closed the distance between them in three quick strides. She tapped his chest. “You’re saying what you feel. Your emotions have nothing to do with what I want or need.”
“Probably not,” he acknowledged. “I just think it’s a shame. The world needs more doctors like you—”
Paige put two fingers between her teeth and whistled loud enough to stop traffic on Times Square. “Enough!” She waved her arms like a referee breaking up a fight. “Both of you—apologize—now!”
“For what?” Jeremy and Taylor said in unison.
Rolling her eyes, Paige touched her fingers to her forehead. “I give up. I’m going to the guesthouse.”
“Don’t you want your burger?” Taylor slid the sizzling meat onto an open bun.
“Don’t mind if I do.” In stormy silence, Paige added condiments to her sandwich and a handful of chips. She took her plate and bottle of beer with her, calling over her shoulder, “Good night!”
Silence fell.
Taylor added the works to her burger, too. “I think I’ll eat in my room.”
Jeremy clamped a hand on her shoulder, delaying her exit with a sincere look. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. Again.”
His apology seemed genuine enough, Taylor noted grudgingly. She set her plate on the kitchen table, next to her beverage, and took a seat. She spread her napkin over her lap. “The real question is, are you going to bring it up again?”
“No.” Jeremy garnished his burger, then sat at the other end of the table. He sat down and dug in. “Especially since it’s obvious I’d be wasting my breath.”
They ate in silence for several minutes.
Aware she had waited years for the chance to go toe-to-toe with him over this very subject, she said, “It’s not as if I never sold a book, you know. I’m a published novelist and a screenwriter.” She didn’t know why she felt she had to keep saying that. If she’d been a doctor, she wouldn’t have been forced to defend the value of her profession. Of course, if she’d been a doctor, people wouldn’t have questioned the value of her job.
He polished off one burger, got up to get another. “Got any copies of your book with you?”
Her defenses snapped back into place. “No.”
He grabbed another handful of chips, too. “I’d like to read it.”
Was this a trick? Another way to continue his crusade to get her back into medicine? It didn’t appear so. More like a way to assuage his guilt. She didn’t need penance from him, either. She made no effort to hide her irritation. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Why don’t you want me to?” he asked, even more curious. He kicked back in his chair and polished off his beer. “I thought all authors wanted to have their stuff read. Isn’t that the point of being a novelist? To be popular? To have your voice heard and all that?”
Maybe for some. She wrote because she had to, because she had something to say, stories to tell that wouldn’t get out of her head until they were written down. Taylor’d been a storyteller as far back as she could remember, always drifting off into daydreams and conjuring up movies in her head. It was a heaven-sent gift that was as much a part of her as her straight black hair, and just as impossible to explain.
She sighed and looked Jeremy in the eye. “The only reason I would want you to read my book is because you enjoy that type of story. Since I can’t really see you ever picking up a chick lit novel by anyone else—to read for pleasure—then the answer is a resounding no. Do not do me any favors!”
Merriment crept into his dark brown eyes. “I could broaden my horizons.”
Taylor snorted and kicked back in her chair, too. “I’m not saying you don’t need to do that.”
“But?” Electricity sparked between them.
She shook her head, aware her heart was racing. “Not at my expense.”
His handsome features tightened into a mock-reproving look. “You’re awfully prickly.”
“You’re awfully pushy,” she retorted.
“And moody.”
“Keep it up, I dare you.”
His grin broadened. “So what’s really going on with your life?”
Taylor jumped up to clear the table. “What do you mean?”
His movements as lazy as hers were restless, he got up to help. “You told Paige you drove eighteen hours straight to get here, when you could have taken a flight and had your Jeep shipped back to—where was it you said you’d been living?”
“Chesapeake, Virginia.” Taylor slid dishes into the dishwasher, straightened, all attitude once again. “What’s your point?”
“My point is,” he explained, his voice as silky-smooth as hers was blunt and impatient, “that you told Paige the move back home could have been done for you, at movie studio expense, if you had been willing to wait another few weeks for it all to be arranged, by their business affairs office. Instead, you got in your car and drove all the way here, on very little notice.”
He was far too observant for comfort. Worse, he’d always seen things that no one else noticed. She tilted her chin at him. “So?”
Jeremy stared at her with a steely resolve that matched her own. “The last time you took off in your Jeep—that I know of anyway—and drove that long and that hard, was the day you quit med school.” He paused, his gaze roaming the contours of her face, lingering on her lips, before slowly returning to her eyes. “So what’s happening in your life that Paige and I don’t know about?” he asked, even more softly. “What are you running from this time?”
Chapter Two
“And Last But Not Least,” Anchor Mandy Stone read the teleprompter with a salacious smile, “up and coming novelist-turned-screenwriter Taylor O’Quinn set tongues to wagging when she skipped the wrap party for Sail Away. Insiders were not surprised. Dozens of rewrites for the troubled pic have left everyone feeling frustrated and unhappy—including the film’s two leads, Zak and Zoe Townsend.”
(Cut