The Wedding Audition Page 3

  Not that she gave a rat’s patootie about her appearance today. She’d been engaged only a few hours ago, ready to pledge her life to another man. In love. Sorta.

  The touch of this guy’s hands—sun-warmed and hard-working—shot an unexpected jolt through her. A damn unwelcome jolt. She didn’t like what it said about her that she could be attracted to someone else the day before her wedding.

  Her called-off wedding.

  Besides, Heath Lambert wasn’t at all her type with his suspicious expression and dark eyes that held too many secrets for an apple grower. But he was attractive enough, other than being the dangerous type.

  Her therapist called them self-destruct guys, meaning women who let themselves get involved with them would self-destruct in a matter of months. Something all of Atlanta knew too since her sessions had been part of the show. Did therapy really count if it wasn’t private? The counselor hadn’t liked that question when she’d raised it, steering the conversation back to her. Annamae had plenty of vices, but thankfully, swooning over bad boys wasn’t one of them.

  Not before, anyway, and she couldn’t afford to change that pattern now.

  “Smith.” His hand fell away as he looked her over. “That a local name?”

  “Actually, yes. My grandmother is in the retirement center complex behind your orchard and I moved to town to be closer to her.” It was sort of the truth. A little of the truth.

  Annamae had considered herself a Jessup as soon as her mother married her stepfather. But in Beulah, she’d been using her birth father’s last name even though he’d never married her mom. She prayed with a new hair color and a few other changes to her appearance, the town in general wouldn’t recognize her from the show, not that they knew about her connection to Granny Smith.

  Granny Smith?

  She frowned, looking at the apple orchard.

  “How did you find out about the carriage house over there?” He tipped his head toward a clump of buildings to the right of the main house.

  “The man who runs the service station across from the Sleep Tight Motor Lodge gave me directions. Gus Fields.” She perched a hand on her hip. “So is it for rent or not?”

  He gave a clipped nod. “This way. But fair warning, it’s nothing fancy.”

  “I’m not picky.” Which technically wasn’t true. She didn’t like her food mixed on her plate. She always slept with three pillows at night. And apparently she was very choosy about marriage.

  Maybe she needed to stop playing the good girl role if she was going to figure out who she really was during this trip.

  She followed Heath up the driveway toward the buildings he’d indicated. They passed a tiny brick structure that might have been a pump house or a smokehouse where she spotted a lounging calico cat on the roof. A weathered gray barn even bigger than the main house loomed to her left. Behind that she spied a two-story carriage house with antique doors that swung open on hinges instead of lifting up like a traditional garage. Like everything else on Lambert’s property, the carriage house needed a new coat of paint and some refurbishing, but she could tell at a glance the place had potential. For the first time since she’d decided to come to Beulah, she wondered if life in her self-imposed lay-low time in rural Alabama might hold a few pleasant surprises.

  He unlocked a side entrance and pushed open a squeaking door. A gray cat darted out like a startled ghost. She wouldn’t have expected a cranky man living alone to be a keeper of so many cats. “I haven’t decided if I’m going to rent it out although I hear the past few owners have.”

  Disappointment stung. Bad. She really wanted this place, with an intensity that surprised her. It was rural in a way she’d never experienced before, making her want to take a deep breath for the first time in ages. No feelings of a tight-chested, impending asthma attack. She liked knowing there were no cameras lurking nearby. That she could turn a cartwheel out on the lawn and it wouldn’t ever be captured on film. Plus, in spite of her decidedly grouchy host, the place had the potential to be charming.

  Although he didn’t turn on a light switch, Annamae liked what she saw in the shadowy interior. Somebody had done a nice job of converting the space, paying careful attention to maintaining the character of the exterior stone walls while still creating a functional living area. A lot better than anything else this town had to offer. Beulah wasn’t much of a condo town and she was still working off cash for now so buying a place was out of the question.

  Renting for a month or two until interest in her too public breakup died down meant she’d either be sharing a moth-eaten old home with a nosy widow or convincing Heath Lambert to let her stay here. Amid all this remote privacy. With his security system to ensure no one found her.

  It was meant to be.

  She followed her silent host through the rooms in the dark, her eyes adjusting to the low light filtering in through closed blinds and shutters the longer they remained indoors. When they returned to the living area, she couldn’t stand the quiet any longer.

  “I don’t know why you wouldn’t want to rent it. I wouldn’t ask you to make any changes to the property.” Annamae figured money would smooth the way, especially since the whole place looked like it hadn’t seen an influx of funds in a long time. “I can pay cash for the first month, last month and security.”

  No easy feat considering she’d just left her job as a reality show actress and applying for a new job would reveal her identity to the locals and defeat the whole purpose of hiding out. She waited for the surly owner to answer her, but he only stared back at her, scowling.

  “Mr. Lambert? How much?”

  “I haven’t decided what to charge.” He picked up a corner of one of the dusty furniture coverings and peered underneath it as if he had no idea what he’d find.

  “Whatever number you’re thinking of, add two or three hundred more.” She waved her pink leather wallet ever so slightly for emphasis. “I’m not opposed to paying extra security if it will make your decision easier.”

  And faster. Memories of Lysol and a vibrating bed ensured she’d pay this man whatever her wallet contained. She could already see herself at home here, opening the blinds and napping in the sunshine in a way that she never could at home. Open blinds only invited long-range zoom lenses.

  His dark eyes lingered on her in the shadowy room, making her wonder if she should have found a real estate agent to escort her around town for safety purposes more than anything. She wasn’t as vulnerable as she looked since she traveled with a few specially made safety devices given to her by one of the show’s security guards, but those gizmos would only help so much against a man of Heath’s size. In a remote area far from town.

  She didn’t think Bagel would be much help if he’d been cowed by a tiger-striped cat missing part of his ear.

  Just when she was about to dig in her purse for her can of mace, Heath’s intense scrutiny of her person ended and he reached for the door.

  “I’d have to do a background check on you if you’re serious about moving in.” He held the door for her as she walked past him into the bright sunlight of midafternoon. “Would that present a problem?”

  She nearly tripped over her own feet, before walking again, her feet clicking along pecans littering the walkway.

  “Background check? Uhm, I have a vaccination record for my dog. Straight from the E-z Mobile Vet Clinic right outside of Walgreens. Good people get their pets vaccinated.” She cast a sideways glance hoping to distract him since he was clearly a fan of animals. “Your cats are vaccinated. Right?”

  Who knew what he’d find out about Anna Smith, a name that might be shared by hundreds? She couldn’t give him her real name. Then all of Beulah would know about the embarrassing, heartless way she’d dumped Atlanta’s most beloved player.

  “Yes, my cats are vaccinated, spayed and neutered – unlike your dog, by the way.” He pointed out as Bagel lifted a leg and showed off his boy skills as he watered a tree. Heath halted near the big barn on their wa
y back toward her car. “And yes, I need the background check. I’d never give somebody keys to the gate out front without making sure there’s not a criminal record or bad credit report.”

  He studied her closely, as if he could see past the good girl exterior to her terribly wayward character beneath.

  “Sure. No problem.” She would brazen it out and see what happened. Maybe Anna Smith would come up clean. Or better still, maybe her would-be landlord was just bluffing to see if she gave anything away. What backwoods Alabama farmer did background checks anyway?

  Liking this theory tremendously, she stuffed her wallet back in her purse and fished for a pen instead. She would fill out whatever paperwork he produced.

  His beeper went off before she could flick her Bic in his face. He reached for the device attached to his belt, which she decided didn’t look quite like a beeper after all.

  “There’s somebody at my gate.” Frowning, he pressed a button that must have been wired to the same intercom system she’d used when she arrived. “Yes?”

  “Mr. Lambert? This is Gus from down at the service station. Did a young lady happen to stop by yet today? She was looking for a place to rent.”

  A bad feeling tickled her spine as Heath glanced her way.

  “Actually, I’d rather you not spread the word that I have a place, Gus. I haven’t decided if I want to rent it out.” He paused, staring at her, and for a moment Annamae thought she was off the hook. But then he clicked the talk button on the radio device. “And the woman is here now.”

  A chorus of other voices could be heard behind Gus when he came over the intercom again. Oh God. She’d been careful. So careful.

  “Well damnation, Mr. Lambert, your guest is a bon-a-fide celebrity.” He stretched the phrase out into exaggerated syllables.

  Apparently not careful enough. How long before her parents showed up? She felt sick to her stomach.

  Gus continued while Heath scowled, “Do you mind if I bring a few friends around to meet the Acting Up star who just dumped her baseball playin’ fiancé on the radio, no less? I brought along some folks who are long-time fans of Annamae Jessup and her TV show.”

  Heath didn’t bother to answer. He shook his head and clipped the intercom radio back on his belt.

  “Anna Smith was it?” His hard eyes glittered with passing judgment. “I think you’d better take your fans and be on your way, Ms. Jessup.”

  “They’re not my fans.” She gulped. Swallowed. Hoped he didn’t throw her to the dogs. That is, the lovely people gathered at his front entrance. If they snagged a photo of her, it would be all over the Internet before she could sneeze out gone viral. “I mean, there’s been some mistake.”

  “I’m sure. But I prefer my privacy.” He turned on his heel and stalked back toward her car.

  Panicking, she wondered how to salvage this mess. How she could convince Heath she would be a quiet, excellent tenant. Maybe a tactical retreat was in order. She could go find her grandmother and think about a Plan B. Because she was determined to stay here, in this fortress of an apple orchard. She would live off stolen fruit and a handful of shelled pecans if she had to. No one would get inside those gates. She felt at peace here—for at least a little while—in a way she couldn’t remember feeling in a long time.

  “Maybe you could think about it overnight,” she suggested, stopping short as they neared her convertible VW Bug. “Oh, look at them!”

  Bagel lay on the hood of the VW convertible Bug. Beside him, the half-eared cat lounged, tail swishing like a whip while it glared out at the world with hooded eyes. Bagel’s tail thumped the hood as he spied her, his ears standing up straight.

  Without a word, Heath strode over to his cat and plucked it from the hood, sending it off toward the smokehouse with a nudge.

  “Goodbye, Ms. Smith-Jessup.” He leaned against a huge rusty plow and propped an elbow on the machinery, waiting for her to leave.

  She chewed her lip.

  “Isn’t there a back way out of here?” She peered around the property, noticing the road she’d driven in on continued in two different directions behind the house. “I’d love to… er… protect your privacy by causing as little disturbance as possible.”

  “Won’t your fans be disappointed?” He glowered at her.

  He excelled at glowering. Annamae thought he would make a convincing TV villain. Female fans would swoon over him, even if he was the opposite of hero-material Boone Sullivan in every way.

  “They’re mistaken, remember?” She picked up Bagel and snuggled her new pet before settling him back onto the front seat of her car. “I’d appreciate it if you’d let your friends know the next time you see them.”

  He growled out a frustrated breath. “I’ve got a camera on a back gate.” He pointed toward the road that led left. “Head that way and when I see you reach the gate, I’ll open it. Briefly. I suggest you drive out as fast as possible.”

  Definite villain material. She smiled brightly, calling on all her good girl charm, honed on camera for so long she hardly knew who she was underneath the act.

  “Of course.” She scribbled down the number for a prepaid cell phone on a piece of paper and handed it to him. “Please let me know if you change your mind about the rental. I’m going to visit my grandmother, but I’d love to hear from you anytime.”

  And while he was thinking, she would be figuring out how to work her way into that carriage house.

  He took the paper and shoved it in the pocket of his jeans.

  “Off to grandmother’s house.” His lips stretched in a way that was more snarl than smile. “I hear the woods are full of wolves, Red. Be careful.”

  Red? She patted her polka dot crimson head scarf self-consciously, a move that made him smile for real. Forgetting all about her effort to charm him, she hit the gas and drove off, away from Heath Lambert and all his surly smugness.

  She would convince him to rent that place to her, one way or another. She’d dealt with tougher wolves than him surviving in her father’s world.

  *

  Wynn ignored his ringing phone a few hours after his unwanted guest’s departure. It had been easy enough to track her identity online as soon as he’d typed in Annamae… the search suggestions practically begged him to search for Annamae Jessup, who’d just made headlines back in Atlanta by jilting one of baseball’s best athletes. Why did a TV personality have to show up in the town he’d studied backward and forward to ensure a quiet, anonymous existence?

  Not exactly what he was looking for when he’d moved here a year ago after his investigation of a street gang had exploded. After his identity was compromised, U.S. Marshalls had encouraged him to get out of the city and into a safe house until the trial to protect his testimony, but Wynn refused to soak off the system long term. Bad enough he had to take an enforced leave from the city’s police force. He would go stir crazy in a tiny hotel room for months on end. This seemed a stronger cover and wiser hideout.

  Until now.

  He might not have a choice if his enemies saw his picture in a newspaper thanks to Annamae’s presence in Alabama. He used a different name now, but he hadn’t done much to change his appearance besides shave off a beard since Beulah was so small. Remote.

  The trial started in three weeks. Surely he could weather that time here. But a part of him had begun to wonder if he’d been foolish to let Annamae leave. At least on his property, he could keep an eye on her. Because what if he’d somehow compromised her safety?

  The thought chilled him.

  Plus, if she truly wanted privacy—a fact underscored by the way she’d sneaked out the back gate—he could provide that here. Annamae Jessup could all but disappear on this property, surrounded by fences and cameras to keep out unwanted guests. If she remained in Beulah somewhere else, she’d only serve as a beacon for national media interest. And that would not be good for anyone.

  He had enough supplies within the confines of his fenced orchards that he could probably remain locked
inside the perimeter until the U.S. Marshals Service arrived via helicopter to take him back home. Back to Miami where his testimony could ensure key members of a particularly vicious street gang would live out their days behind bars.

  He couldn’t let Atlanta’s runaway heiress jeopardize everything he’d worked so hard to accomplish. He’d have to find her and help her be as invisible to the world as he’d become—at least for three more weeks.

  *

  “Beulah Retirement Community”

  The sign tilted to the side, half-buried in kudzu less than a mile from Heath Lambert’s farmhouse. She was finally here. At Grandma’s house.

  Gulp.

  Nerves tap danced overtime in her stomach. Surely that was just because of the whole debacle of her wedding and the worst hide out attempt. Ever.

  Heath had helped her slip out a back gate, but she’d still felt like spiders were crawling all over her, her skin burning with the sense of being watched. She’d checked her rearview mirror compulsively, but only saw normal traffic. She was just being paranoid. This wasn’t Atlanta.

  Annamae stepped out of her car and walked up the flagstone path to the three-story Victorian that looked like new construction despite the old-fashioned appeal. By all accounts her grandmother—Hazel Mae Smith—lived here at the retirement center, referred to as the old folks’ home by the gas station attendant earlier. He’d apologized if that sounded politically incorrect to a big city girl but around here they didn’t believe changing words changed reality.

  Did she really want to meet Hazel Mae, a woman Annamae’s mother hadn’t bothered to call in twenty-some years and labeled dead? When confronted after her slip up, Delilah Jessup had written off the rift with Hazel Mae as “old baggage” as if that somehow alleviated the need for Annamae to concern herself with her grandmother’s presence in the world. But as far as Annamae could see, wasn’t that all the more reason to fix the problem? What old baggage could possibly prove important enough to keep Annamae from seeing her only living grandparent for that long?

  Sure Annamae had wanted to write off her own parents a time or two when their public disputes turned their lives into a media circus, but she’d always hung on to the philosophy that family was worth the extra effort.