Chapter 2

Chapter Two

JORDAN

“I’m sorry, Micah,” Jordan said for the thirtieth time that day. He couldn’t help himself; he had the energy of a limp noodle, and his brother had taken on most of the work that Jordan would normally do.

“Stop saying that and get back into bed.”

Jordan hovered in the doorway. He had things to do; this company was him and Micah, not something Micah should be carrying on his own. This flu had knocked Jordan to the ground, but he wasn’t surprised; the last year had been hard, manic, awful… no wonder he was ill.

“I’m bored in bed.” And yes, he was aware he was whining, but he’d had enough, and the hotel bed was like rock, hard and unyielding. Tomorrow they were moving to Crooked Tree, and he hoped to hell the beds were bigger and softer and he could get decent sleep.

“There’s nothing for you to do.”

“What about Debbie? Is she flying out today or tomorrow?”

Debbie Stevens, female lead, was another of the actors who’d made their careers in made-for-TV movies. She was to act opposite him in this classic Christmas romance of the down-on- her-luck single mom to his small-town cop, on a ranch in the snow, with horses, a couple of kittens, maybe a puppy, all set in Montana. The script actually made sense, but when it was summarized like that, it sounded so cliché.

Who was he kidding, everything he did was cliché; he wasn’t called the King of Christmas for nothing. Jordan had done eight of these Christmas movies now, and he was damn good at them. He privately loved romance with all its familiar storylines.

Micah sighed his best put-upon sigh. “Debbie is already in Missoula. The driver is picking her up from the hotel at 0700 for script read-through. As are Jim, Stefanie, and the new intern, Shawna, not to mention the rest of the crew who’re a couple of hours out. So, we’re set.”

“What about the girl playing the daughter?” He couldn’t remember her name, his head full of scrambled thoughts.

“Emma, her name is Emma, and she is coming in with her mom tomorrow, her tutor the day after.”

“And the?—”

“Jordan, seriously. Get some sleep. I’ll come find you if I need you.”

“Micah—”

Micah huffed, which stopped Jordan talking, then stood and they had a face-off. It would have been comical had Jordan not felt like shit. “Look, little brother,” Micah began in that brotherly way he had of getting under Jordan’s skin.

They were born twenty-two minutes apart, so Micah was only a little older, but it was his go-to insult. He hadn’t finished.

“I’m in charge out here. You’re the actor, and I’m the one who makes the acting happen. Now go to bed.”

“Did you see anything from Ivory? Has he updated his blog?”

“I checked. There’s nothing more on there about Dad.”

“What if he tracks us down, it’s not a secret where we’re filming?”

“Go to bed.”

“Micah, I’m being serious?—”

“So am I. No one will find out about you, or make up shit about Dad, least of all a talentless hack like Ivory.”

For a second, Jordan was being swayed, but the familiar fear still held him. Living with fear seemed to be his permanent problem. “Are we doing the right thing?” he asked, defeat edging his voice.

Micah’s stern expression shifted a little, and for a moment it showed vulnerability. “Yes.”

“All of our money, though. What if we fuck this up? What if the movie is shit because I fuck up?”

Something about what he said or possibly how pathetic he looked made Micah pull him in for a close hug. “You won’t fuck this up, I won’t fuck this up. Please, go back to bed because otherwise I’ll call 911 and tell them you collapsed. And by the way, you’re gross. You need a freaking shower.”

“Fuck you,” Jordan managed, the effect ruined when his chest tightened and he was headed for another coughing fit.

He made it back to his room and into the bathroom before the coughing began. Drinking water helped; getting into the shower and washing away a night of restless sleep helped further. Then he settled into the other bed in his room, where the sheets were clean and cool. He pulled open his laptop. A few keystrokes and he had called up his go-to work in progress, the kind of film he’d love to make.

Where a man fell in love with a man, in a real gay romance, and the movie was shown to mainstream audiences, and there was no hate, only acceptance.

Micah teased him, but his twin had his back for them to make the film in their five year plan. They’d probably generate no income from it; maybe they’d need to crowdfund.

Of course, if he was going to be in a gay movie, he’d probably have to admit to the world at large that Jordan Darby, confirmed heterosexual lead for eight separate romances, was, in fact, gay.

He worked on the manuscript for a while, hesitating at the edits in the lead-up to the sex scene. He’d already scripted an angry kiss—in the rain, of course. But the connection between the two leads he had in his head wasn’t there. He wasn’t feeling the love.

Was that because he hadn’t experienced love?

Lust? Well, he’d had a bucketful of that. Careful, controlled lust in private with guys who had reasons to keep their mouths shut. Not real lust, then, because lust wasn’t something you controlled; lust was fire and need and life.

What he’d had was getting off. Simple as that. Twenty-nine, turning thirty in a month, and he had never connected romantically with anyone.

As a headache began to form behind his eyes, Jordan closed his laptop, lay down, and snuggled under the covers.

Too hot.

He removed the covers.

Too cold.

With a muttered curse, he pulled the covers up to his neck, then pushed one leg out from under them.

Better.

He needed to sleep. The last decent sleep he’d had was yesterday in Sheriff Carter’s car.

Shame heated his face. He couldn’t believe he’d done that, fallen asleep, probably snoring and drooling all over Sexy Cop’s car. He’d just been so tired, exhausted even, and then the flu had hit him and turned into something worse, and he couldn’t stay awake. But Ryan hadn’t complained; he’d left him in the car, and it had been Micah who had woken him up and led him to the rental car they’d hired to take him back to the hotel.

Jordan didn’t see Ryan before he left, and that was a shame. He might not see him again, apart from a couple of review visits, and there was something about the sheriff that meant Jordan could not look away.

He was big—six four or five—and his hair had this floppy, don’t-care kind of appeal. His dark gaze had kept flicking to Jordan as a small frown creased his forehead. Jordan liked to think, with his drug-addled, sleepy brain, that Ryan had been checking him out. And for a few moments, he actually contemplated doing something about it by working out which team big Sheriff Sexy played for. Because he was everything Jordan liked, not to mention the man also loved cakes. Which meant under that uniform, despite the muscles, there may be a softness to him. In Jordan’s mind, there was nothing better than lying in bed, head on a soft belly, feeling the strength under there. Particularly when his lover could pick him up, maybe lift him and arrange him just so, before fucking him into tomorrow.

There was also Ryan’s hands. Jordan hadn’t been able to stop looking at them: big, strong, and capable, and the muffin had looked so tiny as he held it.

All that on top of pills for his chest infection and lack of sleep, which made him tired and loopy.

Finally, when his cock actually made a valiant effort to rise at the thought of Ryan holding him still, he cursed at life and turned onto his front. He nestled into the pillow, moved his leg out from where it had tangled as he turned, then closed his eyes.

He was not fucking about on his doorstep. Especially not after nearly being hit by a car after the Cinderella movie and having a journalist waiting for him to make a mistake.

Jordan had a company to build, a commitment to his brother, to Angie, and to the staff they had back at the office; the whole team that supported this new venture.

He just couldn’t afford to be openly out there, not right now.

With that decision made, and ignoring the warning tightness in his head, he slept.

When Jordan arrived at Crooked Tree, he landed slap-bang in the middle of chaos.

Despite his nagging headache, the chaos made him smile.

This was bedlam he understood: trucks unloading equipment, people buzzing around with clipboards and notepads, others huddled in groups, some talking into radios.

“Jordan!” He turned at Angie’s voice. “Jay gave us his office. Come on.”

Jordan followed Angie from the parking lot over the bridge and up to Jay’s office. It seemed like a lifetime since the meeting followed by the embarrassment of falling asleep in the car, but it had been less than forty-eight hours. At least he felt marginally better; the knot of pain in his chest had eased a little and his head felt clearer. He was still ill, but by the time they started filming in a few days, he’d be awake enough to pass for human.

“Do I need to move some scenes around on the schedule?” Angie asked, leaning on the side of the desk.

“Just give me a couple more days.”

“On it. Oh, and Debbie arrived. We’ve put her in the first cabin. She brought her kids with her, but no sign of the husband. Word is that things have gone south there.” She indicated her clipboard. “Micah is down at the cabins with the allocations. You’re with Micah and me, okay?”

Jordan half smiled. He could stand to be around his brother, but he had something to add to the arrangement.

“We could actually fit another crew member in our cabin,” Jordan said and turned to look at the stunning photographs on the wall. Some of them he recognized from the Crooked Tree website, the same site that spoke of stunning views, the Blackfoot River, and a hundred other things that made this place perfect.

“No, we can’t. There’s only three rooms.” Angie sounded confused. “Me, you, and Micah. Three people, three rooms.”

Without turning, Jordan shrugged. “Angie, you and I both know that as soon as he thinks I am asleep that he’ll be heading into your room for the night. No sense in wasting a room.”

He heard the sharp inhalation of breath and turned to face her. He was happy for Micah, and he loved Angie. She’d been his PA since the moment he got his first contract with Hallmark. And she and Micah were meant for each other.

“I….” She stopped, evidently lost for words.

“Just give in already. You’re good together, and I think it’s wonderful.”

“You do?”

She looked surprised. Why was she startled? “Of course, I do. You’re so happy together.”

“Just…”

“Just what?”

“Jordan, you and Micah been taking this new company so seriously, and you have so much pressure, both of you, that we thought… it hasn’t been long.”

“I know. It was the wrap party for the last Hallmark film, right? Autumn Fall ?”

“Did Micah tell you?”

“Nope, I have eyes. Come here.” He held out his hands and stepped closer, and she walked into a hug. They hugged often. Jordan was tactile, loved to hug. “Do me a favor and go public.”

“I don’t want anyone to think I am the executive assistant because I’m sleeping with one of the bosses,” she admitted against his chest.

“We’re not your bosses, you own part of Darby Films, and hell, everyone loves you.”

She hesitated and worried her lower lip with her teeth. “It doesn’t seem fair though.”

“In what way?” Although he had the feeling he knew exactly what was going on behind her eyes. She was doing that whole worrying about Jordan thing.

“You don’t get to have a boyfriend on set.”

And there it was.

He sighed. “Angie, that’s not an issue you need to worry about. I might need to have secrets, but you don’t.”

At that, Angie gripped him hard. She knew what he had to hide and why he did it, and she said the same thing every time.

“You could come out, then go behind the camera if people don’t like it. You’d still have us.”

Jordan considered that he and Micah had sunk every penny of their inheritance into Darby Films, and he smiled to himself. He would be happy in the shadows a little while longer, being able to act, and having hook ups on the side. This company was important to him, and his five year plan was in place and starting already. When Darby Films was finally riding the high of success, he could reveal bits of himself a little at a time, and everything would be okay. No one would run articles about the irony of a gay man playing straight leads, or any of the other shit he could imagine happening.

The door opened and Micah walked in, stomping his boots free of snow, his breathing labored.

There was complete silence.

Micah looked from Angie to Jordan and back again. “What happened?”

Angie eased herself from Jordan’s hold and crossed straight to him, cradling his face, holding him tight, and kissing him deeply.

All Jordan could do was chuckle at his brother’s startled stare over the kiss. One secret down.

Then she left.

“Jordan—”

“The wrap party for Autumn Fall , two beers back at her room. Yes, she’s perfect for you, and yes, I’m very happy for you.”

Micah’s face fell and he crossed his arms over his chest. “Okay, so you know. Is that okay?”

“I love Angie. Like I said, she’s perfect for you,” Jordan reassured. “Hurry up and make me an uncle. Just remind her, in case it isn’t obvious, that twins run in our family.”

Micah blanched. “I got a ring,” he whispered, as if Angie was in the room and could hear him.

So, then it was Jordan’s turn to pull Micah in for a hug. They didn’t need words; the hug was everything. It was ‘I love you, brother’ and ‘I’m happy for you’ all wrapped in one embrace.

“Back at it, then,” Micah said, and they parted with some manly backslaps. “We have to consider snow.”

“What about snow?”

“Backup in case it all melts.”

“We have snow. Lots of snow. We chose here because of the snow,” Jordan said.

“Contingency in case it melts.”

“Shit? Will it melt overnight?”

“I don’t know.”

“If it does, then I want real snow, not that fake shit that gave me a reaction last year.” He leaned back on the desk, suddenly tired.

“It wasn’t the snow you had a reaction to; it was the amount of coffee you were drinking.”

“I was playing a character with a rod up his ass,” Jordan defended. “I was bored with acting a boring character, and I needed coffee.”

Angie stepped back in. Snow swirled in with her, and Jordan looked at Micah, with a nod to the white stuff.

“Okay, no snow machine,” Micah conceded.

“I need to talk tax breaks,” Angie said.

“I need a good cup of coffee,” Micah said.

Jordan scrubbed his eyes. Setting up Darby Films was a step into the great unknown, and if he’d known how much he’d have to consider, then maybe he would have thought twice about starting this up. Yes, he had Micah on one side and Angie on the other, but he was an actor—what did he know about location scouting or permits or tax breaks? For a moment, it all felt like too much.

“Tax breaks?” he asked her weakly, tired and lacking caffeine. “Statewide for filming? I thought we’d gone through that.”

“We have some hoops to jump through. I need signatures from both of you.”

Micah signed immediately and passed it back, and to be honest, so did Jordan. Angie had a stake in the success of Darby Films as much as they did, even if it was for a smaller amount of principal invested, it was as important to her. Particularly if she was going to be marrying Micah soon.

“I have a couple of things on my list,” she said.

“What?” He couldn’t help the worried tone or the instant anxiety. Sue him—he was still ill.

“We need to sign off on more public liability courtesy of our friendly sheriff, and also one of the cabins has no heating, but Jay is on that and we’ll be up and running by tomorrow. Meanwhile we’re doubling up.”

He recalled the day they chose Crooked Tree over another place, one that had way more accommodation than they needed.

They’d looked at both on the laptop. The other ranch, on the Big Sky Blue website, was indeed mostly blue. Lots of freaking shades of the color—water, sky, accommodation painted in sapphire-and-gray stripes. The only thing that wasn’t blue was the grass. Still, Big Sky Blue had been sprawling, with promised quiet corners, stunning views, and real-life cowboys.

Jordan had always had a thing for cowboys. And cops. And doctors. As long as they were big and handsy, he could go for any of them.

There’d been the usual pictures of horses, saddles, fields, the sapphire ranch house. And he could have worked with the color. Maybe they could have renamed the movie, called it Blue Christmas or something, although that would have inferred the plot was miserable.

Then there had been Crooked Tree with its less colorful website, relying instead on a simple gallery of photos with few words and dropdowns for all kinds of things. There was a restaurant there, Branches, that had some good write-ups, and so many cowboys, and horses, and trail rides. Still, from the photos it looked less accessible than the other one, more in a valley than flat land, but it did have a bridge over the water, which fitted the fight scene in the second act.

Crooked Tree was rugged and extended up onto the mountain; Big Sky was flat, backing toward the mountains. One had the river, the other, rolling pastures. They discovered there had been some drama at Crooked Tree a while back, which Micah pointed out might be good for marketing.

But when it had come to the bottom line, Angie was honest. “Crooked Tree is cheaper.”

He just hoped that going for cheaper didn’t mean problems. Cheaper was better on paper, but this was the first movie they were doing on their own, without Hallmark behind them, and without network support. He didn’t want to live to regret it.

“You won’t know if you don’t try,” Mom had told him, with her usual wisdom.

Of course, it wasn’t Mom laying everything on the line here.

Nope, it was just him, Micah, and their five-year plan.

Year one: make a movie and sell it for a television audience, make a small profit or at least break even. Years two and three: much the same, but with three movies in the year and a bigger profit. Year four was three movies again, but with one of them focusing on a gay couple. And year five? That was to be the year that Jordan Darby came out of the closet, with a solid company behind him, and made a movie where he could be one of the gay leads, and it would sell, and he would leave a mark on this world he could be proud of.

Just a modest target, then.