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“Well, of course I…no, actually I think you’re right.” Connor thought back to his mother’s legendary Washington dinner parties. Never once did he recall seing SpaghettiOs on the menu. “This is a first for me. When I think of you out there in the kitchen, slaving over a hot pan of SpaghettiOs just for me…well, it does my heart good.”
“You have quite an imagination, do you know that?” Maxie sat down on the arm of the sofa, her arms crossed over her chest. “I guess that’s a prerequisite for your job.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You don’t deal in facts. You deal in fabrication, anything to make a story more interesting.”
Connor shrugged, making a production out of stirring his SpaghettiOs. “If you say so. You’re quite defensive, do you know that? I think I understand why you never have visitors. Do you have any pepper to go with this?”
“Who on earth puts pepper on—” Maxie stood up, shaking her head. “Never mind. I’ll be right back.”
The instant Maxie left the room, Connor put his bowl of SpaghettiOs on the floor. Boo, who had been snoring beneath the coffee table, immediately sprang to life, gobbling down the major portion of Connor’s dinner.
“What a good boy,” Connor murmured. He took the bowl back just as Maxie walked into the room. “I decided it didn’t need pepper after all,” he apologized. “Thank you, that really hit the spot. Now that I know what I’ve been missing all these years, I will certainly add SpaghettiOs to my—”
“Oh, save it,” Maxie interrupted impatiently. “Boo has your dinner all over his face. I should have known you were a picky eater the moment I saw your jeans.”
Dumbfounded, Connor stared at her. “My jeans? What about my jeans?”
“They’re ironed,” she retorted. “You’re the first person I’ve ever met who irons a crease in their jeans.”
“I do not iron my jeans,” Connor said quite truthfully. His housekeeper did, albeit on his orders.
Maxie wrinkled her nose. “I’ll bet you starch your undershorts and wear little suspenders to keep your socks up.”
“Of course I don’t starch my undershorts. What do you take me for?” There was nothing Connor could say about the “little suspenders.” He owned several pairs for formal occasions. “Why am I the one being interrogated? I’m supposed to be asking you questions.”
“Ask away,” Maxie said. “Just don’t expect me to answer.”
They stared at one another while the silence lengthened. Her expression was defiant, his frustrated. Connor decided to go for his trump card.
“Two hundred fifty thousand dollars,” he said. “A quarter of a million just for letting me tape one little interview. I don’t know how much hay costs, but that’s got to cover your expenses for quite a while.”
There had been a time in her life when a quarter of a million dollars was practically chump change. Maxie had no trouble remaining unimpressed. “No thanks,” she said. “I can take care of my own money problems. I’d rather mortgage my land than sell my soul. Besides, why would you want to interview an obscure dairy farmer? You’d be a laughingstock.”
This time Connor was the one counting to ten. “I know who you are,” he said tightly. “You know I know who you are! Why keep playing this stupid game?”
“You’re right,” she said, twin spots of color burning high on her cheekbones. “It’s a stupid game and I don’t want to play any more. I’m going to get my jacket, then I’m driving you back to town. You can arrange to pick up your car tomorrow. Our discussion is over.”
Maxie left the room in an indignant huff. Connor’s thoughtful gaze followed her exit, then he stood up with a sigh and walked to the tiny coat closet and removed a metal hanger. He went outside and had the lock on his car open in less than two minutes. He walked back into the living room just as Maxie reappeared. She was wearing a denim jacket with sheepskin lining and had her cowboy hat planted firmly on her head once again.
“Where did you go?” she asked suspiciously.
“I thought I’d try opening the lock with a coat hanger,” he explained, holding the bent hanger up like a trophy. “It worked, can you believe it? The rain has stopped, too. I guess my luck is turning.”
“I’m happy for you,” Maxie said acidly. “Why didn’t you try to open the damn door before now?”
Connor grinned, his eyes lingering on her beautiful mouth. “Because I didn’t want to open the damn door until now.”
In the space of a few seconds, the atmosphere between them changed. What had been impersonal suddenly became quite personal. The air in the small living room seemed to change as well, becoming thicker and oxygen-sparse. Maxie was having trouble breathing. She stared at the boyish tangle of damp hair across his forehead and had the inexplicable urge to smooth it back. He looked like a mischievous child standing there with his dancing brown eyes and that stupid hanger in his hand. Her gaze dropped lower, to the snug jeans slung low on his narrow hips. A whisper of pure sensuality reared its dangerous head, sending a prickle of goose bumps over her skin.
“I want you to go now,” she said hoarsely.
Connor nodded thoughtfully. “You’re going to make this a struggle, aren’t you?”
“I’m going to make it impossible. No interview, not now, not ever.”
“I wasn’t talking about the interview, pretty girl.” He touched the tip of her nose with his finger. “You’re enchanting, Maxie Calhoon. Prickly…but enchanting.”
Maxie opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again. Her brain was stalled in neutral.
“I’m staying at the motel in Oakley for a couple of days,” Connor said. “If you change your mind about the interview—”
“I won’t.”
“Here.” He moved closer to her, then smiled as she nearly jumped out of her boots. “I just wanted to give your hanger back,” he explained, as if talking to a three-year-old. “I’ll leave it on the sofa here, all right?”
“Fine. Go away.”
Connor walked to the door, then paused. “You are Glitter Baby, aren’t you?” he said without turning to look at her. “Just admit that much.”
Strangely, Maxie’s eyes filled with tears. No matter how far she ran, her alter ego still haunted her. She would never be judged for her own merits; she would always be Glitter Baby.
“I’m no one special,” she said in a choked voice. “No one at all.”
Connor hesitated, then walked outside, shutting the door quietly behind him.
Connor called Morris as soon as he returned to his motel room.
“I found her,” he said without preamble.
His assistant’s voice was groggy with sleep. “Do you have any idea what time…what did you say?”
“I found her.”
“I hope this isn’t a dream,” Morris said fervently. “Texas doesn’t agree with me. They grow mosquitoes here the size of cocker spaniels. I want to go back to Los Angeles. I miss the smog.”
“Don’t get too excited. She was less than enthusiastic about the interview.”
“Less than enthusiastic? What does that mean?”
“It means she told me I was sneaky, opportunistic and underhanded. Oh, yeah…and oily.”
“Oily? That’s really low. What about the money you offered?”
“She turned it down. I was surprised, because she obviously needs some quick cash. She was talking about mortgaging her house to get through the winter.”
“Damn. There’s got to be something else we can do.”
“I’ll give it another shot tomorrow, but I’m not hopeful.”
“What’s she like?” Morris ventured. “Was it a letdown meeting her? There’s no way she could be as gorgeous in person as she is in a photograph.”
“She’s actually quite amazing,” Connor said quietly. “And no photograph could possibly do her justice.”
Morris whimpered. “You dog. You have all the luck. I mean…you actually met her! Glitter Baby. What I wouldn’t give to spend just one night with—”
“It’s late and I’m beat,” Connor said abruptly. For whatever reason, he didn’t care to hear Morris fantasize about Maxie Calhoon. “I’ll try my luck tomorrow and let you know what happens.”
“Try your luck? You mean you’re actually going to make a move on her?”
“Hell, Morris, get a grip. I meant I would talk to her about the interview. No wonder the woman disappeared. She was probably trying to get away from men like you. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Connor hung up, then for reasons he couldn’t fully explain to himself, pulled out his portfolio of Glitter Baby’s photographs. He spread the pictures on his bed like an erotic quilt, studying them with intense new eyes. No man with a pulse could claim immunity to Glitter Baby’s magnetic appeal. But suddenly Connor was seeing someone else, a living, breathing soul with fears and human frailties, who was even more appealing. He knew what her husky velvet voice sounded like, and how it cracked when she got emotional. He knew how her hips moved when she walked and how her violet eyes darkened to blue fire when she lost her temper. Now she was something more than a heartbreakingly beautiful face and elegant body. She was a lady who could dress like a cowboy and look like an angel. She didn’t seek admiration, attention or approval. She loved SpaghettiOs and animals and her independence. She drove a truck, for Pete’s sake. As far as Connor knew, there wasn’t another woman of his acquaintance who drove a truck. Jags, Corvettes, Mercedes…but not a single truck. The more he knew about Maxie, the more intriguing she became. What had made her turn her back on a hugely successful career? Even more fascinating was the quiet new life she had created for herself. Obviously finances were a concern, but she seemed unwilling to lean on her former fame to ease the burden.
Connor wondered if he would have had the courage to set off alone, leaving everything and everyone he had ever known. Even when he had been forced to quit football, his godfather had been right there for him, handing him a cushy job with a sweet paycheck. Truth be told, Connor had been spoiled rotten from day one, an only child who had always had whatever he wanted almost before he asked for it. He couldn’t think of a time in his life when he’d waited for anything, much less worked for it. Football had been physically taxing, but he’d never considered it work. It had always been a game, and a game he was damn good at playing.
Connor shook his head, disturbed by the troubling stroll down memory lane. Where had all this damned introspection come from? Just because his life was easy didn’t mean it lacked meaning. He’d done meaningful shows before. He’d interviewed a Nobel Prize winner once, a fellow who had managed to clone a goat. Surely that was worthwhile? Then there was the exposé on a certain television evangelist who had sticky fingers and a roving eye. That was public service by anyone’s definition.
So why did he suddenly feel inadequate? What was it about Maxie Calhoon that prompted him to question his own values?
Again he let his gaze feast on the photographs on his bed. She was by far the most physically appealing woman on God’s green earth. And yet…it had been the unexpected things that had touched him, the small surprises. The faint dusting of freckles on her sunburnt nose. The crooked little rows of vegetables in her rabbit-occupied garden. He’d set out to find the phenomenon known as Glitter Baby and instead met Maxie Calhoon, bless her feisty little soul.
Morris had been right. Connor was incredibly lucky.
The following morning, Maxie padded around her house in her pajamas, crouching like a commando and peering through each and every window. As far as she could see, she was alone. Still, she was nursing a bad case of the jitters. If one person could find her, other people could as well. Not to mention the fact that Connor Garrett could come back any time he pleased.
Sometime during the sleepless night, paranoia had moved in. Strangely enough, Maxie had never felt paranoid when she was modeling. Crowds, reporters, autograph seekers…they were all part of the charade. It was all make-believe.
Her life now was anything but a game. Every second was precious, every second mattered. She had responsibilities to take care of now, the most pressing of which were several cows who badly needed to be milked. Boo needed to be fed and the dishes from last night were still in the sink. At noon she was expected at the bank to sign the final papers on her mortgage. She told herself she couldn’t afford to be distracted by what was probably a minor inconvenience, no matter how attractive that minor inconvenience had been.
Bolstered by her personal pep talk, she changed into her overalls and milked the cows, shared a hearty breakfast of scrambled eggs and cinnamon toast with Boo, then attacked the dirty dishes. She was feeling much more optimistic when the time for her appointment at the bank neared, and the sky still had not fallen in. Obviously she’d been overreacting. Life was good, and was going to get much better once she had expenses for the long Wyoming winter covered.
She exchanged her overalls for khaki pants and a black knit top, tugged a comb through her hair and left for the bank. It was a lovely day, the gold sunlight of autumn gilding the aspen and pine forests. Maxie slipped a Garth Brooks recording into the cassette deck and sang along at the top of her voice. Oh, if only her A-list former “friends” could see her now.
Oakley’s bank was like every other establishment in town, small and personal. Maxie knew all three tellers, and smiled a friendly hello before poking her head into the bank manager’s office.
“I’m here to sign my life away, Mr. Beasley,” she said cheerfully. “Just hand me a pen and stand back.”
Mr. Beasley wasn’t smiling. He motioned for Maxie to sit in the chair opposite his desk. “There’s been a problem,” he said bluntly. “As I told you when you first filled out your papers, we run a last-minute credit check on anyone signing a mortgage loan. A lien has been placed on your property, Maxie. It’s for quite a sizeable sum, almost ten thousand dollars.”
Maxie blinked at him, stupefied. “What are you talking about? I have no debts whatsoever. I don’t even possess a credit card.”
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