A Man of His Word. Merline Lovelace

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      An image of the leggy, tousle-haired brunette in lacy black bikini briefs flashed into his mind for an instant. Resolutely Reece pushed it out. What she wore or didn’t wear under her fatigues was none of his business. His only concern was the safety of her and her crew during their filming around the dam site.

      The same couldn’t be said for everyone else in town. The imminent arrival of the filmmaker and her crew had dominated the conversation at the café and the town’s only bar for weeks. Everyone had an opinion about why she’d come back, and most were only too willing to voice it. Clearly ready for another discourse on the prodigal’s return, Lula flapped a hand at Reece.

      “Go on, go on, eat that steak while it’s still sizzlin’. I’m just keepin’ you company while I’m wait-in’ for them Hollywood people. Did you know that boy with the Scott woman has rings through every part of him that moves, and a few that don’t?”

      Reece sawed into his steak, not particularly interested in a discussion of Zack Tyree’s body parts. It took more than a disinterested grunt, however, to discourage the garrulous Lula.

      “Martha says she sneaked a peek at him when she went in to change the bed linens this morning. Couldn’t hardly miss him, really. He was prowling around buck naked, wearin’ nothing but them rings.”

      Thankfully, the sound of the door opening sent his hostess swiveling around. A grin beamed across her broad face.

      “Hey, Jamie! You’re lookin’ good, boy, as always.”

      Tanned, golden-haired Jamie Chavez ushered his wife into the café and guided her across the room to Reece’s table.

      “Hey, Lula. You’re lookin’ beautiful, as always.” His smile shifted to include her customer. “How’s the spill going, Henderson?”

      Reece got to his feet, taking the hand Chavez offered in a firm grip.

      “It’s going,” he replied easily. “Another hundred and fifty feet to river level. Nice to see you again, Mrs. Chavez.”

      The rail-thin redhead at Jamie’s side smiled. “Please, call me Arlene. After all the hours you’ve spent out at the ranch, briefing Jamie and my father-in-law on the dam project, I think we can dispense with formalities.”

      She was even thinner than Reece remembered from his last visit. Her feathery auburn hair framed sunken cheekbones and hollowed eyes. Skillful makeup softened the stark angles of her face, and her natural elegance drew attention away from her gauntness, but Reece glimpsed the same desperate unhappiness in her shadowed eyes as he’d seen in his mother’s not long ago.

      Both women had learned to live with the fact that the man they loved had cheated on them. His mother found out about her husband’s infidelity after his death. Jamie’s transgression occurred during his engagement to Arlene, if the tales of ten years ago held any truth. Now that long-buried embarrassment had come back to haunt her.

      Reece had to admit the green-eyed brunette he’d walked up a canyon wall this morning could certainly give this woman something to worry about. Sympathy for the worried wife tugged at him as Lula heaved herself to her feet.

      “Did you two come in for dinner? I’ve got some prime rib-eye in the cooler that was wearin’ the Chavez brand not too long ago. I laid in an extra supply for those Hollywood folks, but they said they’d eat light when they got back tonight, whatever ‘light’ means,” she grumbled.

      “Probably tofu and soybean salad,” Jamie teased.

      “Ha!” Lula hitched her apron on her ample hips. “If they’re expectin’ tofu and such, they’re sure as hell not gonna find it at the Lone Eagle Café.”

      “Where are they?” Jamie asked casually.

      Too casually, Reece thought. Arlene evidently thought so, too. She threw her husband a sharp glance.

      “Well, they loaded up two vans and took off just after one,” Lula told him. “Said they’d be back after the light went, though, so I expect them anytime. If they aren’t gonna eat those steaks, I gotta do something with them. What do you say I throw two on the grill for you and the missus?”

      Arlene shook her head. “No, thanks. We just stopped by to—”

      “Sure,” her husband interrupted genially. “Why not? Bring out two more of those beers, too.”

      “But, Jamie…”

      “We don’t have to get back to the ranch right away, darling. Mind if we join you, Henderson?”

      Reece shrugged. “Of course not. Please, be my guest.”

      A tight-lipped Arlene slid into the chair he held out for her. She didn’t want a steak. That much was obvious. From the nervous glances she darted at the front door every time it opened, it was also obvious she didn’t want to be sitting at the Lone Eagle Café when the Hollywood folks, as Lula termed them, returned.

      Reece reminded himself that neither Jamie Chavez, his wife, nor the woman who’d almost come between them were any of his business, but that didn’t kill the little stab of pity he felt for Arlene when the door swung open twenty minutes later and Sydney trooped in with her crew.

      They were certainly a colorful bunch, from the kid with the green hair and the be-ringed nostrils to the statuesque, ebony-skinned six-footer who toted camera bags over each shoulder and sported a turquoise T-shirt with Through a Lens Lightly emblazoned in glittering gold across her magnificent chest. The guy with the earphones draped around his neck like stethoscopes was obviously the soundman. The mousy little female beside him had to be the gofer no crew could operate without, Reece’s included.

      But it was the writer-director who drew every eye in the café. Reece’s included.

      She was laughing at something one of her crew had said. The sound flowed across the room like rich, hot fudge. Her hair looked like chocolate fudge, too, shining and thick and brushed free of the dust and scraggly tangles that had snarled it this morning.

      She still wore her boots and baggy fatigue pants. This time, however, she’d paired them with a short-sleeved black top in some clingy material that showed every line and curve of her upper body. The erotic image Reece had conjured up of her earlier popped instantly into his mind. To his disgust, he couldn’t quash the startlingly erotic picture as easily as he had before.

      He wasn’t the only one whose thoughts had focused on Sydney. Arlene Chavez sat with both hands folded into fists in her lap, her lips white at the corners as she took in the director’s laughing vitality. Her husband, too, had his eyes locked on the striking brunette.

      “Well, well, little Syd’s all grown-up.”

      Jamie’s murmur was almost lost in the boisterous group’s arrival. Reece caught it, though. So did Arlene. Her gaze wrenched away from the newcomers, and her face filled with such anguish that Reece’s heart contracted.

      Dammit! Couldn’t Chavez see his wife’s pain and insecurity?

      Evidently not. The man’s eyes lit with a gleam that was part predatory and wholly admiring. Tossing his paper napkin onto the table, Jamie rose and strolled forward to intercept the group.

      “Sydney?”

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