Hot Winter Nights

“Not exactly,” she said. “I do hair and makeup.”

“Well, that’s not right. You’re too gorgeous not to be a movie star.”

She just smiled and turned to watch the cowboy. She could’ve told him she was an actress. It was the truth. She just wasn’t acting in this particular film. But she’d played a few bit parts here and there, and soon enough she would make the transition from struggling wannabe to an honest-to-goodness, card-carrying member of the Screen Actors Guild. But lately, probably because of how tired she was, how tired everyone was, she wasn’t quite as thrilled as she had been about her long-held dream.

The action had died down. The cowboy and the horse seemed to have reached an understanding, and the crowd started to thin.

Clint Landers.

Huh. For some reason she thought the name suited him. He was still talking to the animal in a hushed tone, and she stepped closer, wishing she could hear his voice again.

“Ma’am?”

She stopped and turned.

The bearded man had left, but the younger one, who was about her age, stood there, hat in hand. “My name is Brady.” He had a great smile. “Sorry about sounding like a starstruck hayseed.”

“I’m Lila,” she said, but didn’t extend her hand. It was too darn cold. Instead, she hugged herself tighter. “You paid me a compliment. I should have thanked you.”

“Ah, no worries. You must hear stuff like that all the time.”

She did, but she wasn’t about to admit it, so she just smiled. After six years of trying to make it in this brutal business, she’d made peace with comments like his. But she had done nothing to earn her looks, and lucky for her, she’d been raised to believe praise was reserved for merit.

“Are you staying in town?” Brady asked.

“No. Most of us are camped out here.” She spotted Erin and waved to get her attention. “I’m sorry, Brady, I’m actually working. Would you excuse me, please?”

“Sure.” His smile faded as he stumbled back a step.

Erin walked up. “Are you an extra?” she asked him, and he nodded. “The director needs you on the set.”

“Yes, ma’am. Bye, Lila. I hope to see you around,” he said and jogged off.

“Yet another heart you’ve broken,” Erin muttered, watching him for a moment. “He’s cute.”

“Yes. But the guy with the horse? Holy cow.” Lila ignored her friend and watched Clint lead the horse toward the corrals. “I wonder if he’s married?”

“Clint?” Erin gave her a long look. “Why, Lila Loveridge, I’m shocked. Are you interested in that cowboy?”

Lila frowned at her. “You know him?”

“Not really. I signed for some stock he’s delivering. Seems like a nice guy. I was about to go thank him for saving our asses. Want to come with?” Erin’s grin died as she looked past her. “What the hell is he doing?”

Lila saw right away that she meant Baxter, the new investor’s nephew, with whom the crew was supposed to play nice. He was headed toward the corrals with a scowl on his pasty face. Another annoying person with an ego issue. He and Penelope would make a good—

Penelope.

Lila glanced toward the trailer. She’d completely forgotten about her. Tough. Erin was already on the move, and Lila wasn’t going to miss this.

“I’m gonna kill him,” Erin muttered, walking fast and glaring ahead as Baxter approached Clint.

“Please do. For everyone’s sake.”

Baxter was of average height, had a pudgy build and apparently lacked enough sense to stay out of the much taller man’s face.

“Look, pal, if you can’t control your animals, we’ll find a supplier who can.” Baxter’s loud warning reached everyone within a five-yard radius, which was clearly his intention.

Clint barely spared him a glance before turning back to stroke the horse’s neck, as if he’d never been interrupted. Without a word, he unlatched the corral gate.

“Baxter,” Erin yelled. “Stop. Now.”

Lila bit back a smile. He was no match for Erin, and he knew it. In fact, Baxter was afraid of her. And he got no sympathy whatsoever from Lila. In the week since he’d joined the crew, he’d hit on her so many times, it had gone from annoying to creepy.

Baxter shot them a nervous look, then took in the group of curious bystanders. He squared his shoulders and again faced Clint, who was basically ignoring everything around him while he got the horse safely inside the empty corral.

“I’m so tempted to let the jerk get his lights punched out,” Erin said in a low voice as they approached the two men. “It was Todd’s fault the horse got loose, so cool it, Baxter. The animal doesn’t even belong to Mr. Landers.” Erin stopped, and Lila almost rammed into her.

Up close, Clint Landers was even better looking. Beard stubble darkened his square jaw and almost hid the dimple in his chin. His bottom lip was considerably fuller than his upper one, which appealed to Lila in a big way. She worked with a lot of smoking hot guys, but she couldn’t recall the last time one of them made her feel all tingly inside.

“We’re damn lucky he was there,” Erin was saying. The smile she’d given Clint vanished as she switched her focus to Baxter. “We owe him our thanks, and an apology from you.”

Baxter’s pale face flamed.

Erin wouldn’t give an inch. Her glare narrowed meaningfully. Advising everyone to play nice excluded her and Jason.

“Hey, it was an honest mistake,” Clint said, making sure the gate was latched before pulling off a leather work glove and extending his hand to Baxter. “No harm done.”

Baxter hesitated, clearly unwilling to give in. But it was equally clear that he had no choice. What an idiot.

He made sure everyone watching caught his condescending smirk before he stuck out his hand. Clint clasped it and gave Baxter a couple of firm pumps. Baxter looked as though he was about to choke. If his face had been red before, now it was turning scarlet.

Clint pumped his hand a couple more times. “No hard feelings...pal,” he said with a big smile and released Baxter’s hand.

He immediately flexed it, while subtly trying to draw in some air.

“I don’t think anything’s broken,” Erin said with a straight face.

Lila pressed her lips together and quickly turned her head. And met Clint Landers’s eyes. They were brown. Light brown with gold flecks. And he had thick dark lashes that took nothing away from his rugged good looks.

The man was positively dreamy.

She needed a little air herself. But she managed to give him a smile without hyperventilating.

“Clint Landers,” he said in the same deep, velvety tone he’d used with the stallion.

“Lila Loveridge.” She stared down at his extended, bone-crushing hand. “Um, I don’t think so.”

“Come on,” he said, amusement curving his mouth in a slow smile. “Live dangerously.”