Never Say Never (6 page)

I spend way too much time doing my makeup and have to rush like a mad woman to throw hay into each horse’s stall.

“I’ll let you all out as soon as I’m home,” I promise and quickly dish up their oats. I crush Phoenix’s medication and mix it in applesauce before dumping it in her bowl. I run up the gravel drive, trade my cowboy boots for heels, and speed off. I call Lori on the way, feeling only a little bit bad for waking her up. I need details on Aiden. She reads me stats and fills me in on his new movie that he’s filming in a small town outside of Billings. He’s been there for a few weeks, apparently, and I’d been too distracted to take notice.

My nerves start to die as I pull into the parking lot of Lily’s Café. Last year, I’d have given an arm and a leg to have the chance to just look into Aiden Shepherd’s eyes. Now I’m about to be sitting down with him, one on one, and asking him questions. With everything that’s changed, it doesn’t seem important anymore, and I find myself trying hard to care about Hollywood and movies and people who make a shit ton of money by playing a part.
Playing
.

I park my Jeep and get out, doing a quick check in the mirror. I haven’t worn this much makeup in months. I haven’t had the drive to put effort into my appearance. I have natural beauty—according to Mom, that is. I push the straps of Lori’s black leather purse onto my shoulder. I might as well call this bag mine now; I’ve had it long enough. She probably doesn’t miss it. She owns more handbags and purses than anyone I know.

I slow when I get to the glass door, trying to look inside and locate Aiden before going in. He’s sitting at a table in the back, reading with his head down. A man in a black suit stands near the table. Really, he has a bodyguard with him in Billings?

I notice the group of high-school-aged girls gathered at a table next to him, heads together, giggling as they steal looks and snap selfies with him in the background. Oh. The bodyguard makes sense. He wasn’t worried about being mugged; he was worried about the fangirls.

I pull my shoulders back and open the door. A little bell chimes, and Aiden looks up. His eyes meet mine, and my breath catches in my chest, the air leaving me. I can’t breathe. He’s gorgeous, just like I imagined. Strong jaw, defined cheeks, dark hair falling messily in his face in a way that could only look that sexy on him. But I am hit with how real he looks too. The book he’s holding has a bent cover. Crumbs speckle the table in front of him, and a cup of coffee is pushed to the side. Faint purple circles hang under his brown eyes.

The door shuts behind me and the bell chimes again. Everything hits me at once. The chatter of the packed Café. The smell of coffee. The air from the vent above me, blowing my hair back.

And his eyes, locked with mine.

I need to move, need to pick one foot up and put it in front of the other. But I can’t seem to, and when I finally scoot my stupid foot forward, the heel of my shoe catches on the rug. I stumble but don’t fall. Blood rushes to my cheeks. Way to go, Haley. What a good first impression.

I push my hair out of my eyes and look back up. Aiden is standing, lips parted ever so slightly as he looks at me with one hand out. Is he going to come help me?

I cast my eyes down and see him sink back into his seat. Okay…this is awkward. Should I order a drink first? No, that would be even weirder to just stand in line with my back to him. I mean, it’s not like I can pretend I didn’t see him. We shared that…that…I don’t know, really. A moment?

He looks back at his book and I cross the room, heels clicking softly on the dull hardwood floor. The bodyguard stiffens when he sees me. He sidesteps in front of Aiden. I reach into my purse to pull out my work ID badge.

“Hi,” I start. “I’m here for the interview.”

“You’re Parker?” the bodyguard asks. His voice is as gruff as his stubble-covered face.

“Haley Parker,” I say and show him my ID. He raises an eyebrow, looks me over, and steps aside. Aiden puts his book on the table and looks up at me.

Something flutters through me as our eyes meet again. My throat goes dry and I don’t know what to say. Turning and running seems like a good idea right now. My nerves aren’t coming from meeting my celebrity crush. They’re coming from the way Aiden is looking at me. It’s like he’s seeing me—the real me—and I’m naked in front of the crowd. His eyebrows push together, and for a brief second I see the same look in his chocolate eyes.

“Hi,” I finally croak out. He waves his hand at the seat in front of him. “I’m Haley Parker from the Yellowstone River Times.”

“Hi, Haley Parker from the Yellowstone River Times,” he says back with a slight smile. Holy crap, that British accent. I set my purse on the chair next to me, and my sweater slips off my shoulder, exposing the burn scars. I panic, yanking it back up so fast my hand slips off and my knuckles whack the edge of the table. Pain sears through my fingers, and embarrassment burns on my face. “Suddenly get a chill?” he asks.

“Something like that,” I mumble, wishing I could shrivel up and crawl out of here.

He leans forward, head tipped to the side. “You’ve got something,” he starts and reaches out. His fingers brush my hair, running through the length. “Right here.” He pulls a piece of hay loose and holds it out.

“Oh.” I snatch it from him. Seriously? Oh my God, no. I shove the hay into my purse. “Sorry.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You don’t have to be sorry, but now I’m curious. Why do you have straw in your hair?”

“It’s hay,” I automatically correct. “And I fed my horses right before I came here. I won’t lie; my boss set this up super last minute. I didn’t know about it until like two hours ago.” Why were the words spilling from my mouth so easily?

“You have horses?” he asks, seeming interested.

“I do. Four right now.”

“Right now?”

I smile, my racing heart settling back into my chest. “I, uh, rescue and retrain horses.” Or I did. Mom did.

“You don’t sound too sure about that,” he laughs.

I flick my eyes down.
You will not cry, you will not cry
. “It’s been a weird couple of months,” I offer as an explanation. “But yes, I do rescue horses. I have two permanent residents at my barn and two that will eventually get new homes. I hope, at least.”

“Interesting. How do you rescue horses? Are there that many that need saving?”

“More than you’d think.”

“So do people drop them off like an animal shelter?”

I shake my head. “We—
I
—usually go get them and bring them home. Reports come in about abused or neglected horses. I like taking in the worst cases, the ones others gave up on.”

“Why would you do that?”

I fold my hands in my lap. “I think every life is worth saving. It’s easy to give up when no one is fighting for you. When you have no one, when nobody cares about you or loves you, why keep going? That’s what I give these horses. Hope, someone who knows they are worth it. I give them a second chance.”

He looks at me, and I see sadness in his eyes, like my words are hitting him too close to home. “Doesn’t that get depressing?”

“Yes,” I say honestly. “And not everyone makes it. But I give them a chance, and everyone deserves a chance.”

“You speak of them like people,” he says softly. We’re still looking at each other, his dark eyes locked with mine.

“Sometimes I think they are better than people.”

He leans toward me. “You’re probably right.”

“I am.”

He slides his hand forward on the table, still looking into my eyes. A few seconds pass and we stay just like that. He pulls his hand back and smiles. “So you’re a pretty good rider then, right?”

“I’d say so. I’ve been riding since I was two.”

“Damn. That’s impressive.”

I shrug. “I guess. It’s just been my life. Yours is acting, mine is horses.”

“Horses, but you’re a journalist.”

His words are like a sucker punch to the gut. I tip my head down, breaking eye contact. “Yeah. Things didn’t quite work out like I thought.”

“That tends to happen,” he said quietly. I flick my eyes up. What does he know about things not working out? He is one of the hottest actors in Hollywood right now, is filming an adaptation of a book that spent weeks on the
New York Times
Bestsellers list, and makes more from one episode of
Shadowland
than I will in ten years. And he’s only twenty-four. “So, what’s the worst you’ve seen? Who was your most hopeless horse?”

The worst? The worst I’ve seen was Phoenix, her mane ablaze as she was led out of the burning barn by my mother. My scars tingle and I can smell the smoke, feel the fire melting my flesh off my body. Tears fill my eyes, and I don’t know what to do. My hand goes to the patch of scar tissue on my shoulder. “It’s hard to pick one,” I finally say as I blink back the tears. I grind my teeth and let out a breath before putting on a fake smile and looking at him again. “I’m supposed to be interviewing you, and here you are, asking me questions.”

“Right, sorry. You’re interesting, Haley Parker.” He laughs, and oh my God, he looks adorable when he does. He pushes his hair back, revealing a crooked scar that runs from behind his left eye all the way to his scalp, disappearing into his hair. I thought that was added for characterization in
Shadowland
. It is real?

“Right.” He leans back and stretches his arms. I can’t help but steal a glance at his muscles before I get out my digital voice recorder. I flick it on and set it on the table. Then things turn professional. “I’m sure you’ve heard all about the movie I’m working on.”

“The Last Ride,” I say without missing a beat.
Thank you, Lori
. “It’s the first movie you’ve done outside your normal genre. Are you enjoying it?”

“It’s been a great experience,” he says with no hesitation. “I’m lucky to have the chance to expand my acting.”

We go through ten minutes of standard questions. His answers are practiced to the point of being fake. I try to stick to the list Weebly sent me, but my mind keeps drifting and my eyes wander over him, wondering what other scars from the show were actually real. He’s confident in his acting skills and comes off as cocky in his interview. It won’t be hard to alter this just a bit to make him look good. Lucky for him, I’m a fan.

“What happened?” he asks suddenly, interrupting me. His eyes leave my face and land on my shoulder. I turn the recorder off and stare at him incredulously. “You touched your arm when I asked about the worst case.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I mumble, my voice hollow. Just who does he think he is? You don’t ask questions like that, famous or not. He thinks he’s entitled to anything he wants, even when it’s the truth from a stranger.

He tips his head. “It looked painful.”

I just shake my head, feeling tears well up in my eyes. He had seen the ugly, nasty scars. “It was,” I whisper. I gather my things. “Thank you for your time, Aiden. I should go,” I say with a tight voice.

“Hey,” he says and reaches out, his fingers landing on top of my hand. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” And there he is, back to a normal human being. “Can I buy you a drink to make up for it?”

I nod, knowing if I open my mouth I might cry. He gets up without asking me what I want and goes to the counter. There’s a line three-people deep; he sidesteps and goes to the front. Really?

I tip my head up to blink away the tears.
Mom, you’d be laughing if I could tell you how awkward this was. And you’d probably slip in a lecture on me not having any expectations from an actor.
I smile at the memory of Mom’s laughter, of the way she threw her head back and embraced her loud, crazy laugh.

I turn back to Aiden. He’s at the front of the line, posing for a picture next to the person he cut right in front of. Must be nice. I run my hands through my hair and find two more pieces of hay that I quickly pull out and hide in my purse.

I’m composed once again by the time Aiden sits back across from me. He slides a drink across the table.

“Thank you,” I say and wrap my fingers around the white cardboard cup. “What is it?”

“Coffee with a couple of shots of Bailey’s. You look like you could use it.”

I push my eyebrows together. “Thanks?” I bring the cup to my lips and take a sip. Damn. There is no liquor in my coffee. Just French vanilla creamer. “Liar.”

He smiles. “I know.”

I find myself smiling too. “Is it sad I was hoping there was really booze in this?”

“Well, according to my therapist…” he starts and laughs as he rakes his fingers through his hair. He has another scar on the inside of his arm along his wrist. In the show, he got that scar from a knife fight. There is no way it’s a real scar too. “Really, though,” he continues, and his eyes drop to my cleavage. In his defense, I had put on my most padded push-up bra and tightened the straps to give the girls the best lift. They were popped up high, saying hello to the world. “You do look like you could use a drink. Go out with me tonight.”

It wasn’t a question. He didn’t ask me to go out with him. He was telling me that I was. Our gazes lock, and he gives that smug half smile that gets his character in
Shadowland
out of trouble. I almost fall for it. Almost.