Chapter 8

Eight

Harlowe

“Ican’t believe Harlowe Watts is sitting in my kitchen.” The woman with tightly permed, unnaturally black hair swatted her husband with a dish towel. “Can you, Gerry?”

Gerry grunted, but his wife wasn’t dissuaded by his lack of an answer. She leaned against the countertop and shook her head as she stared at me. “I just can’t believe it.”

The woman wasn’t what I would have thought was my target demographic, but the celebrity magazines jammed in the magazine rack by the Laz-E-Boy recliner closest to the kitchen told me that Brenda followed Hollywood gossip closer than I did. I curled a hand around the glass of iced tea sweating on the plastic place mat and eyed the plate of buttery cinnamon crumbs that had been a wedge of coffee cake before I’d devoured it.

The house carried the mingled scents of a freshly baked cake and lemon furniture polish, which was an improvement over the aroma of manure and fertilizer that lingered outside the farmhouse.

“Thanks again for letting us use your phone.” I cut my gaze to Roc, who’d made the calls to my dad and my manager. “I’m sure we’ll be out of your hair as soon as…”

“We can find a way to get to the nearest airport,” he finished for me.

What?I mouthed. How were we supposed to get to an airport without a functioning plane?

“They’ve booked another plane to get us the rest of the way to the shoot, but by the time they send a driver to get us and take us there, the plane won’t be available.” Roc kept his voice low as if Gerry and Brenda weren’t openly listening and hanging on every word. At least, Brenda was. Gerry seemed almost bored by our arrival, once he’d determined that we weren’t aliens or government agents.

“You need a ride?” Brenda smacked her husband with the red-striped towel again. “We’ve got a truck we don’t ever use anymore, don’t we, Gerry?”

Gerry jerked his head up, as if he’d just that moment realized his wife was talking to him, which was probably the case. “What truck?”

Brenda released a long-suffering sigh. “The red one. You don’t mind if these two borrow it, do you?”

“Borrow it?”

Gerry seemed to be several steps behind the conversation as he rubbed his head and struggled to catch up.

“I’m sure they’ll bring it back.” Brenda beamed at me. “After all, this is Harlowe Watts. I’m sure a big star like her doesn’t have any need to keep your ratty old truck.”

“Ratty?” Now Gerry straightened. “Just ‘cause it needs some new paint—”

“It runs fine even though it don’t look like much.” Brenda walked toward the screen door and snatched a set of keys from a hook on the wall. She shot a look at her husband before he could voice his protest, then she smiled at me. “You keep it as long as you need it, hon.”

Roc stood and took the keys, which made Brenda’s eyes widen for a beat. It was obvious they didn’t get many orcs around here. At least, not part-orcs who dressed in expensive suits.

“We’ll get it back to you as soon as we can.” I took a final sip of tea and stood. “You have my word.”

Brenda flapped a hand at me, her eyes misting as she yanked me toward her into a fierce hug.

“Let the poor girl go before you smother her,” Gerry said under his breath. Then he strode to the screen door and jerked his head toward the barn that sat across from the house. “Come on. I’ll show you the truck.”

I followed behind Roc once I’d dislodged myself from Brenda’s grasp. “Don’t we need to check on the pilots?”

“I’ll fetch them,” Gerry said before Roc could respond, proving that he had selective hearing when it came to listening to his wife. “Unless you need to take them with you now.”

Roc grunted his version of a no as he grabbed my rolling suitcase from where he’d left it outside the kitchen door. “We need to get to the replacement flight, but the private jet company is sending a repair crew here and equipment so they can tow the plane.”

Gerry made a rough noise on the back of his throat. “That should be great for my field.”

“They’ll reimburse you,” I said quickly before Roc could say something, which, from the dark expression on his face, wasn’t going to be as gracious. “I promise that you’ll be well compensated.”

Gerry grumbled and nodded as he led us across the gravel driveway to a barn built from wood that had warped and silvered over the years. He pulled open the door, which complained with a loud squeak, to reveal a truck that had probably been red at some point in its long life. Now it was rusted and battered with only glimpses of paint clinging to its exterior.

“She’s got enough gas to get you to town.” He slapped the front hood, and I held my breath that it wouldn’t collapse from the impact. “Take a right out of the farm and go straight until you hit the traffic light.”

“Then what?” Roc asked as he walked around the truck with one eyebrow cocked so high it threatened to vanish within his hairline.

“Then you’re there.” Gerry looked at him like he’d asked the most absurd question in the world. “The town’s got the only traffic light around.”

I hoped that the one-light town had a gas station and cell service. “Thanks again. We’ll get your truck back to you in one piece.”

Roc emitted a guttural sound that told me I might be making promises about the truck he couldn’t keep, but he didn’t say anything as he put my suitcase in the flat bed and opened the passenger door for me.

“I guess I ought to thank you.” Gerry cleared his throat. “Brenda will be talking about nothing but meeting you for years, which means she won’t have as much time to nag me.”

“Don’t mention it.” I managed to give the surly old man a smile as Roc closed the door and made his way around the front of the truck, got inside, and turned the key in the ignition. I held my breath as the truck spluttered and coughed before the engine caught.

Gerry stepped back as we rolled from the barn and bumped down the uneven gravel drive, turning right onto the paved road. I peered into the side view mirror and saw Brenda hanging from the kitchen door and waving. I rolled down my window and waved back then rolled the window up and looked over at Roc.

He had both hands on the steering wheel and his profile was stern as he kept his gaze on the road. Suddenly, I was overcome with the urge to laugh, and I slapped a hand over my mouth to muffle the giggles that bubbled up in my throat.

“What?” He turned toward me as I collapsed in a fit of laughter.

“You.” I waved a hand at him. “This.” I circled my hand to encompass the interior of the musty truck. “They don’t fit.”

He watched me laugh, his own lips twitching at the corners. “You don’t think I look like a truck kind of guy?”

Roc’s chic, black suit and his effortless bad-boy vibe did not mesh at all with the country vibe of a truck that was probably older than me. “Not even a little bit. You’re way too hot and badass for a rusted truck.”

As soon as the words had spilled from my lips, I regretted them. Please, please, please don’t pick up on—

“You think I’m hot?”

So much for hoping he wouldn’t pick up on that. I tried to laugh it off. “Come on, Roc. You know you’re hot. Don’t you notice the way women look at you?”

“Women stare at me because I’m part orc.”

Did he really think that was why he attracted attention? Sure, maybe some people were surprised, but it wasn’t like monsters were a total surprise anymore. Not all of them mingled with humans, but orcs were not unheard of in LA. I suspected most women who gawked at Roc were reacting to the fact that he was a genuinely handsome orc who radiated raw sex appeal. “I’ve got news for you. That’s not why they’re staring.”

He looked at me like I’d sprouted a nose from my forehead. “I don’t fit in with the human world.”

My laughter died away as I watched him tighten his hands on the steering wheel. “Is that why you disappeared? You think you don’t fit in?”

“It is not what I think. It’s the truth.”

“The only thing I know to be true is that you stopped coming around, and my dad thought he’d done something wrong.” My throat squeezed as I remembered asking about Roc when I was younger. “I thought you were staying away because you didn’t like us anymore.”

He swung his head to me. “You didn’t do anything wrong, and my feelings for your family have never changed.”

My heart pounded as I met his eyes, and the question popped out before I could think better of it. “What about your feelings for me?”

“What?” He blinked a few times before glancing back to the road and slamming on the brakes so hard we both lurched forward. I braced my hand on the dashboard and looked up. We’d reached the stop light.