Phoenix Falling (13 page)

"A true master of flattery." She rolled onto him so that her legs bracketed his and her silky hair brushed his chest. "I like the idea of a week in bed."

"So do I." He stroked his hands down her back. She was beautifully fit, her muscles taut under creamy skin. "I've got two and a half weeks before I have to leave for Argentina for my next job."

"Damn." She gnawed her lower lip enchantingly. "I'm due in New York in two weeks, and I have to spend at least a few days vertical and doing business before I leave."

He felt a stab of disappointment. He'd hoped she would come to Argentina with him, because already he hated the fact that they would have to separate. He kissed her navel. "We'll just have to make the best of the time we have."

And they did.

* * *

Kenzie found that he'd pulled off the road, face sweating and pulse accelerated. Damnation, ever since Rainey filed for divorce, he'd tried not to think of those first glorious days, all pleasure and no pain.

Because remembering was all pain and no pleasure.

Chapter 9

Since they were shooting in remote areas, transportation for cast and crew was done with rugged four-wheel-drive vehicles rather than the plush cars used on most productions. Rainey didn't care—to a tired woman, the backseat of an SUV was plenty good enough for sprawling out and gathering strength.

The first requirement for a director was high energy, because the work was never done. After dinner each evening she watched the dailies that had been shot the day before, flown to Los Angeles for processing, then returned to New Mexico for viewing.

Watching dailies required intense concentration as she made notes on the scenes and takes that worked best. Her editor back in L. A., Eva Yañez, would rough out a preliminary cut as they went along, which would save time and money in post-production.

Before bedtime, she studied the next day's shooting schedule to decide if she wanted to go with the angles and shots she'd planned, or if her thinking had changed. It was essential to show up on the set completely prepared, because an indecisive director wasted time and undermined the confidence of cast and crew.

Her cell phone rang. She groaned. Not opening her eyes, she flipped the phone open. "Yes?"

It was Marcus Gordon. "How are things going, Raine?"

"Pretty well." Most of the calls she received increased her stress level, but talking to Marcus usually relaxed her. Now his imperturbable good sense soothed the disturbance in her psyche produced by Kenzie. "We're on schedule, and the film we're getting is first-rate. Greg Marino is doing a great job as director of cinematography. He's getting exactly the look I want—beautiful but desolate. A long, long way from Randall's idea of civilization."

"You must be doing something right, since the biggest part of your job is inspiring the rest of the crew to do their best work. How about Sharif?"

"Amazing. He has so much charisma that he'd blow anyone less than Kenzie off the screen."

"That good? I can't wait to see this movie. Speaking of which, I'm flying in tomorrow night for a couple of days."

Her eyes snapped open. "Is that necessary? An executive producer usually has better things to do than hang around a set."

"One of the conditions for getting the money was that I keep close tabs on what you're doing. Investors are a skittish lot, especially with a first-time director."

Especially with a first-time female director, though Marcus was too polite to say that. "I look forward to seeing you. Is Naomi coming?"

"Not this time, but she hopes to visit during the English location shooting."

Rainey finished the call, glad Val would be arriving in a few hours. It had taken several days for her to arrange a leave of absence, and Rainey's temporary assistant had a lot to learn. Val did also, but Rainey had infinite faith in her friend's organizational skills, and her ability to master a job quickly.

The phone ran again. "Hello?" This time it was Virginia Marlowe.

Rainey sat up guiltily. She and her grandmother had talked after Darrell Jackson examined her grandfather's medical files and decided that he might be able to repair the aneurysm, but Rainey had been so busy she'd forgotten that this was the day of the surgery. "Hello, Gram. How did the operation go?"

"Very well. They say your grandfather's prognosis is excellent."

Rainey was surprised at the amount of relief she felt. "That's wonderful!"

Virginia cleared her throat. "Our family doctor told me that Dr. Jackson managed a miracle. Thank you, Rainey. If not for you..."

She blinked, unable to remember another occasion when her grandmother had used her nickname. "The credit goes to Darrell and his willingness to attempt such a risky procedure. I just happened to know him."

"He told me how you met and how much time you spent with his mother before she died. You... you have a generous spirit, Rainey. Like Clementine."

The few times in the past that Rainey had been compared to her mother, the intent had not been flattering. "I owe you whatever help you might need. After all, you two raised me, and taught me a lot of things worth knowing, like the value of hard work and honesty." She hesitated. "People in my business are wildly overpaid. If you want a larger house, or a different car, or a cruise around the world, I'd love to give it to you."

"We don't need your money," Virginia said with her usual tartness. Her voice turned uncertain. "But maybe when you're through with this movie of yours, if you have time to stop in Baltimore for a visit, we... William and I would both like to see you."

Rainey swallowed hard. "I'll be there. It will be a couple of months or so, but I'd love to come under less stressful circumstances than the last trip."

She ended the call as her driver pulled up in front of the hotel. It was far too late for her to develop a daughterly relationship with her grandparents. But maybe they could become friends.

* * *

When his emotions were under control again, Kenzie resumed driving. His map showed that eventually this small dirt road would connect with a larger one leading back to the hotel. Not that he was in any hurry to return.

He swung around a curve, and slammed on his brakes as a screaming horse reared up in front of him. The vehicle slewed sideways and shuddered to a halt as the horse's rider crashed to the ground in the middle of the road. Swearing, Kenzie leaped from the SUV, hoping to God he hadn't hit the fellow.

The man lying motionless on the road had silver hair and a face weathered by decades in the open air. For a horrible moment Kenzie feared he was dead. Then the old man coughed and his eyes flickered open.

Kenzie knelt and looked for signs of injury. "Are you hurt?"

"Don't... don't think so." The rider pushed himself cautiously to a sitting position, waving off Kenzie's attempt to make him lie still. "Not the first time a horse tossed me, and if I'm lucky it won't be the last."

"I'm sorry. I should have been driving more carefully." Kenzie stood and helped the man up, then retrieved his fallen hat.

"My fault. Only a fool rides in the middle of a road with his mind wanderin'." Carefully he settled the battered hat on his head. "You aren't from around here."

"I'm British originally. These days, my official home is in California." Kenzie scanned the countryside. "Your horse seems to have vanished. Can I give you a lift?"

"Wouldn't mind if you did. My horse will get home before I do, but it's a long walk for an old man. My name's Grady." He offered his hand.

"Mine is Scott."

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Scott." Grady might be an old man, but he had a powerful grip. And, pleasantly, he didn't seem to recognize Kenzie.

They climbed into the SUV and Kenzie set off, following his passenger's directions. A couple of miles along, Grady directed him to turn left onto a primitive road that led under a sturdy archway built of weathered timber. Across the top, the name
Cibola
had been shaped from wooden letters.

Kenzie searched his memory as he drove through the arch. "Didn't the Spaniards explore this area searching for the legendary Seven Cities of Cibola?"

"Yep, that's the tale. The Cities of Gold. The conquistadors hoped to find the kind of wealth they'd looted from the Aztecs. They never found what they were lookin' for, but I did. That's why I named my place Cibola. Forty-seven years we've lived here."

Kenzie crested a small hill, then halted to admire the valley below. Carpeted with grass and wildflowers, it lay serene and lovely as a Chinese landscape painting. On the opposite side of the valley, a sprawling adobe house nestled into a hillside among a scattering of outbuildings.

To the left light glinted from the surface of what looked like a small lake. Above, jagged mountains loomed against a sky of breathtaking blue. "What incredible beauty. Do you own this whole valley?"

"Yep. Not the best spot for ranchin', but there's not a prettier place on God's green earth." Grady sighed. "We're going to have to sell up soon."

Guessing the other man wouldn't have mentioned the subject if he hadn't felt the need to talk, Kenzie asked, "Why do you have to leave?"

"Too much work, not enough money. Had to take out a mortgage when my wife was ill a few years back. When we sell and pay that off, there should be enough left to buy a little place down in Chama. It'll be a lot easier life." He frowned at Kenzie. "Don't know why I'm tellin' you all this."

"Some subjects are easier to tell a stranger than a friend."

"True, and you're a deep listener."

"Listening is a large part of my job." A good actor had to be a good observer. Even as Kenzie sympathized with the old rancher's plight, he was taking mental notes of what dignified despair looked like.

He put the vehicle in gear and slowly crossed the valley on the rutted drive. As they pulled up in front of the adobe house, a pleasantly round woman with snowy hair and tanned skin came out to greet them, accompanied by a dog with some border collie in its family tree. "Glad to see you back, Jim. Figured it was a bad sign when Diablo showed up alone." She couldn't quite conceal the relief in her voice.

Grady climbed stiffly from the SUV. "Luckily, Mr. Scott was there when Diablo and I parted company. Mr. Scott, my wife, Alma, and my dog, Hambone."

As Hambone trotted forward, tongue lolling, Alma studied Kenzie, her eyes narrowed. He probably looked familiar, but she couldn't quite place him. "Thanks for bringing my wanderer home, Mr. Scott."

"That was the least I could do when it was my vehicle that startled Diablo." Her face suggested Indian and Hispanic blood. Like the house, she belonged in this place. His gaze moved across the adobe and its surroundings. "Your home is very lovely, Mrs. Grady. It could be on the cover of a book about New Mexico."

She smiled. "Spoken like a tourist. The house may be picturesque, but to me it's a run-down old place that needs one repair after another. I'd trade it for a nice new double-wide trailer with good plumbing and heating and not much to clean."

Wondering if she was saying that to prepare herself to leave her longtime home, he said, "Please don't shatter my illusions. Like all tourists, I like to think that now and then I find something authentic."

"Oh, Cibola is authentic enough. Not convenient, but authentic." She hesitated, then asked shyly, "Would you join us for supper? The food's simple, but... authentic."

"I'd be delighted." He liked the Gradys, and dining here would keep him away from the hotel—and the shadow of Rainey's presence—a while longer.

Grady ruffled Hambone's ears. "How about I show you around while Alma finishes cookin'?"

It was another offer Kenzie had no desire to refuse. Just as people interested him, so did their settings, and the Gradys fit this ranch the way well-worn tools fit a hand.

Hambone at their heels, they visited the stables, where Diablo was placidly eating dinner. A small gelding was the only other occupant of the dozen stalls. Grady produced a sugar cube for the gelding. "When the kids were growin' up we had half a dozen horses. I hope we'll be able to take these two along when we move. Like us, they're too old to leam new tricks."