Chasing Change (River's End Ranch Book 57) Page 2

  “Both of them are good guys.”

  “High praise, indeed.”

  On the other end, Jack grunted in agreement. The two of them—Jack and Archie—had met six years ago doing Endzone, one of Archie’s only action flicks. Jack—the famous heartthrob Jack Raven—was still doing sidekick roles back then, but had gone on to become one of Hollywood’s leading action stars. Every director knew that if you were making a movie with explosions, helicopters, and multiple shoot-outs, you wanted Jack Raven.

  Archie had gotten a kick out of watching his friend climb the charts and break barriers. He was playing a role as much as any of them were, but at least Jack knew that. After the years of theater and films and method acting, even Archie himself wasn’t quite sure who he was.

  And that was a little disturbing.

  “So did Wade hook you up with a guide, like you asked?”

  Jack’s question dragged Archie’s attention back to the ranch and what he had planned. “He did. I don’t know his name, but he assured me they had an employee who could shepherd me around, giving me the experience I need. A sort of jack-of-all-trades.”

  “Master of none?” Jack quipped.

  Archie snorted quietly. “For his sake, I hope he’s the master of everything. I need to learn these skills, and learn them fast.”

  Now it was Jack’s turn to laugh dismissively. “You and your method acting.”

  “To each his own.” They’d had this debate before. “My art requires me to become a different man every few months. Yours—”

  “—Requires me to wear black leather and look cool while walking away from explosions. I know, I know.” Jack finished for him, the laughter still in his voice. “But I’m playing the same character in each movie, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  What neither of them said—they didn’t have to—was that the character Jack played had become his identity, how the public knew him. Jack had confessed once last year that he still felt guilty about losing so much of himself…Jonathan Ravenwing had all but disappeared.

  Not quite, though. This time last year Jack’s older sister had gotten married and adopted two kids. The family lived here near the ranch, and Jack had visited as much as he’d been able to. He’d said it was the most times he’d seen his sister in years, but his niece and nephew were special to him, and he really liked his brother-in-law.

  And luckily, he’d known enough about the area to suggest the ranch to Archie when the two men met up at a party a few months ago. He’d even had Wade Weston’s number in his phone, and had assured Archie that River’s End Ranch would be exactly what he was looking for.

  Now, looking around the ranch, Archie could see that the website hadn’t lied; River’s End Ranch did seem perfect for his needs. Even if this employee Mr. Weston had found couldn’t help him, surely someone could, and he’d be ready to go back to work in two weeks with his signature style and aplomb, because he knew what he was doing.

  He sighed heavily. “I suppose I’d better go check in and see if someone can direct me to Mr. Weston’s office for our meeting.”

  Jack grunted softly in agreement. “And afterwards, you’ve got to head to the diner for lunch. No, wait, they call it a café or something. Doesn’t matter, there’s only the one place. The chef—I hope he’s working today—does amazing burgers. Amazing pretty-much-everything, come to think of it, but don’t tell him that.”

  Archie had unbuckled his seat belt and was rummaging around the passenger’s seat, getting his stuff together. “Sounds like you know the guy.” There were too many empty coffee cups in this car.

  “You can’t not know Bob if you’re eating there. Allison delivered his daughter Robertina in July.”

  Oh yeah, Jack’s sister was the local midwife.

  “Then I’ll tell him you sent me so he won’t spit in my food or something.”

  Jack laughed outright at that. “You know these artists. So fickle!”

  “Says you.” Archie shot back at his friend, and they both chuckled.

  “Have a good stay,” Jack said, “and keep in touch. Look me up when you’re back in town, and we’ll get together.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Archie said his goodbyes without thinking much about them, his mind already on the task ahead. Somewhere on this ranch was the man who would teach him what he needed to know to be successful.

  They would start tomorrow.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Archie paced on the front porch of the main house, the quaint name for the hotel on the ranch. It had apparently been the ranch house a few generations ago, but when the whole place had been turned into a tourist destination, the house became the main part of the hotel, and the “bunk house”—the building with the rest of the rooms—had been added on. In fact, there was even another building being built to house all the actors and staff for Pickman’s latest show, but that would probably end up as a guest hotel later too.

  It was in this very building where Archie had met with Steven and Wade Weston yesterday, and had found out that the man he thought would be teaching him was actually a woman. That had come as a little bit of a surprise; Archie was expecting to be taught all sorts of hard-core wilderness survival techniques, and although he logically knew a woman could teach that just as well as a man, he’d surprised himself with his prejudices.

  Oh well. Live and learn.

  She—Caitlin Quinn—was supposed to meet him here at 9am. He was a few minutes early, because he’d gotten up at seven to don his disguise and make sure he had a hearty breakfast at the diner. Jack had been right; Bob’s breakfast omelet had been amazing.

  Now all he had to do was wait.

  “Mr. Smith?”

  It took a moment to remember that he was “Mr. Smith” but when he did, he whirled to see who’d called him. Walking across the gravel lot towards him was a fit-looking young woman in boots, jeans and a red t-shirt with the ranch’s logo. She had a baseball cap covering her hair, but when she pulled it off as she got closer, he could see that it was short and dark and full enough to bounce out from around her head. Her skin was darker than his, with a definite Halle Berry or Tyra Banks vibe going on. And she was…

  Well, she looked strong and competent and capable, with those long legs and strong stride, but more than that, she was beautiful. Like, catch-his-breath beautiful, and that was with her still wearing those mirrored aviator sunglasses. Her wide mouth and fit build made her look like she was ready for all sorts of fun, and that was a beauty a woman couldn’t just buy in a bottle. Archie had seen his share of Hollywood starlets—had dated a few too—but this woman was just so striking, he couldn’t look away.

  “Mr. Smith?” she prompted again, stomping to a stop in front of the porch. The hand holding that cap came to rest on one hip, and her body language seemed to scream impatience.

  And Archie knew body language.

  He cleared his throat and tried not to stare. “I’m Mr. Smith.”

  Her lips pulled into a sarcastic smirk. “Sure you are. I’m Cait Quinn.”

  Apparently his disguise hadn’t worked. Did she know who he was already? Archie stepped down off the porch and offered his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Quinn.”

  When she took his hand, he felt something warm and tingly race up his arm. He tried to ignore it, instead focusing on her firm grip and strong arm.

  “Call me Cait,” she said, dropping his hand and stepping back. “I’m a Quinn from Quinn Valley—not one of the real Quinns, of course, but a few generations back—and everyone there is ‘Mr. Quinn’ or ‘Ms. Quinn’, you know?”

  He blinked, wondering if she expected an answer. When she just waited expectantly, he cocked his head to one side, confused.

  “I really don’t.”

  To his surprise, she smiled at his confusion, all traces of the impatient frustration gone. Her teeth were bright against her skin, and there was a slight gap between the front two. That too-wide smile made her infinitely more approachable, and Ar
chie relaxed a little.

  “Sorry, I forgot you’re not from around here, Mr. Smith,” she said in almost a teasing tone. “Quinn Valley was settled by a family named Quinn, and there’s five kids born in each generation—convenient, huh? So one kid inherits the ranch, and everyone else can either hang around town or wander off into the world, making their own way. My great-great-grandfather stuck around town, so I’m a Quinn. Like fifty percent of the town’s population is named Quinn—you can’t swing a cat without hitting a Quinn.”

  “Ah.” Archie nodded sagely, wondering if this was an American colloquialism he’d never heard before, or something unique to this intriguing young woman. “I’d hate to see your phone book.”

  This time she actually laughed; she tilted her head back and the sun caught the long line of her neck as she smiled. Archie found himself swallowing hard.

  Working with Cait Quinn was either going to make him the best of the best, or was going to wreck him hard.

  “Okay, Mr. Smith,” she said once she’d taken a few deep breaths, “let’s get moving.”

  “Where to?”

  “I thought we’d start with the UTVs. Just spend a few hours driving you around, get you used to them, before we sign you out one of your own.”

  “That sounds fine.” He needed to get comfortable driving one, because he did all his own stunts. But having never ridden in one, it made sense to start small. “Are you—”

  And that’s when she pulled off her glasses, and Archie lost his train of thought.

  Because Cait’s eyes were two different colors. It wasn’t really obvious; her right eye was brown, and her left was dark blue. But to him, someone who made a living studying faces and mannerisms so he could copy them, it was as if someone were holding a neon flashing arrow over her head.

  Cait Quinn had complete heterochromia of the iris.

  Just like him.

  Cait hooked her sunglasses to the neckline of her shirt while she waited for “Mr. Smith” to finish whatever he’d planned on asking her. When he just stared at her, she mentally shrugged, dismissing the worry. In her years here on the ranch, she’d run into men who’d been intimidated by her, or doubted her abilities, but at least “Mr. Smith” wasn’t like that.

  She snorted to herself as she turned and gestured for him to follow her towards the vehicle barn. She’d bet every cent in her savings account that his name wasn’t James Smith, and it wasn’t just a feeling.

  No, the man looked…familiar to her. She watched out of the corner of her eye as they crossed the ranch’s open area. He was well-built—really well-built, like he’d purposefully bulked up. Maybe he was a Navy Seal or Green Beret on a secret mission or something…that level of “well-built”. But the thick beard he wore, which covered most of his cheeks and chin and even upper lip, made it hard to get a good look at his face. Luckily, he kept the thing well-maintained…she liked beards on men, but wasn’t into the whole “mountain man” look.

  Actually, yeah. That was kinda the vibe she was getting from him. Loner. Capable. Mountain man. With his brown hair poking out from under his cap, and the few shoots of grey in his beard, he looked like a man who could tackle her mountain with her.

  But he’d come to her for lessons.

  Huh.

  Cait smiled slightly, glad to know she had his respect. It wasn’t every day she had a good-looking guy confident in her. If only she could figure out why he looked so familiar!

  When they reached the vehicle barn, she waved to Tristan and Elf, and headed for her favorite of the three UTVs. “Hop on in,” she called out to Mr. Smith.

  Once he was seated, she showed him how to buckle up, just like in a car. “Okay, so this thing runs like a car, basically. Don’t ask me to pop the hood and look at the engine—that’s not my expertise—but we’re going to drive it like a regular car.”

  He pointed to the steering wheel and two pedals. “Those look familiar.”

  “Yep.”

  She ran through a spiel on the various buttons and levers, and was pleased to see him nodding along.

  “So, these things are called Utility Task or Terrain Vehicles,” she said as she popped it into drive and headed across the ranch at a sedate pace. “Also known as a Side-By-Side or a ROV—Recreational Off-Road Vehicle.”

  “What’s the difference between this and an ATV?” he called out, gripping the webbing which constituted a door of sorts on the passenger side.

  “You’re not wearing a helmet,” she quipped with a smile. “ATV are the things you straddle, with four wheels. These are like mini-cars, and allow two people to sit side-by-side—hence the name.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder as they headed towards the base of the mountain. “All of ours have a second row of seats and a cargo bed, and you’re buckled in with a roll bar and actual protection in case we flip and tumble down the mountain. On an ATV, you have to hope you’re thrown clear and your helmet works.”

  His grip had turned white-knuckled, and he was staring at her in what looked like horror. “Is that a concern? Flipping and tumbling down the mountain?”

  “On an ATV? Sure.” She smirked. “But I’m not going to take you on a wussy ATV trail.” She braked at the bottom of her favorite trail. “We’re going up there.”

  If she hadn’t been looking at him, she would’ve missed the way his throat moved with his gulp. Part of her was busy admiring that throat; part of her was smirking at how nervous she’d made him; and part of her was ticked off he’d lied about his identity, even if she couldn’t place him.

  That’s what made her decision for her.

  “This is an extreme hiking trail, but I’ve made sure it’s clear for us this morning. Four miles straight up and around the mountain, then we’ll cross over and hope we can find our way home.”

  He opened his mouth, a look of concern on his face, but she interrupted whatever he’d been about to say.

  “Hang on!” she yelled as she floored the accelerator and they headed straight up the mountain.

  He screamed.

  What followed was twenty minutes of pure joy for Cait. She cut the wheel hard again and again to avoid the heavy trees, hitting as many rocks as she could reach, completely confident in the UTV’s ability to handle anything she could throw at it. After all, she’d been up and down this trail more times than she could count, and knew exactly when to slow down or speed up for a long stretch. Not every part of the trail was upwards, but the horizontal parts that snaked through the trees around the mountain were just as fun.

  He screamed repeatedly.

  It was hard not to laugh from sheer fun, especially in the face of his hopeless fear. He’d played a trick on her with that stupid fake name, so she was playing a trick on him.

  “Huh….” she mused as if to herself, slowing the UTV slightly. “This baby’s never made that noise before.”

  Beside her, Mr. Smith groaned.

  She hid her grin. “I wonder where we are, exactly?” she said as she took a hard right by her favorite boulder.

  “You’re kidding me,” he muttered under his breath, his hands still gripped tight on the webbing.

  “Whoops!” she called as she revved up another incline. “Hold on to that door! Gotta make sure it doesn’t fall off!” It was one of her father’s favorite sayings to her mother, and she smiled hugely at the memory.

  In fact, she was outright laughing by the time they made it to the little meadow three-quarters of the way up the mountain. It was one of her favorite spots, and the wild ride she’d taken to get here—plus his reaction—had made it even better.

  She pulled the UTV into park and tugged her hat off, running her hand through her hair and making sure it wasn’t too dirty after that ride. Thank goodness for the windshield to keep at least some of the dust off!

  Still smiling, she turned to him, and was surprised to see “Mr. Smith” staring at her, mouth agape. She twitched her eyebrows, inviting him to say something.

  “Wha—?” He worked his mouth a f
ew more times. “Blimey! I thought we were done for!”

  It was that “Blimey” which clued her in. With a start, she knew who this guy was. Carefully, she placed the UTV in park, and unbuckled her seatbelt.

  This man had looked familiar to her, but she hadn’t been able to place him with his beard and wide shoulders. The last movie she’d seen him in, he’d played a skinny concert pianist with autism performing at the Met. Before that, he’d been a wizened old cowboy who’d stayed on his ranch despite the threat of starvation when the river had run dry.

  The man sitting beside her was one of the world’s best method actors, famous for becoming his roles to such a degree he’d nabbed three Best Actors and two Best Supporting Actor.

  And here he was, playing another role with her.

  With her hands carefully holding the steering wheel, she cleared her throat. “We’re way up here on top of the mountain, and you need me to get down. How about telling me why you’re really here at River’s End Ranch… Mr. St. John?”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Archie winced when he heard his name and pinched the bridge of his nose. The movement dislodged the colored contact covering his left eye, but he blinked to shift it back into place.

  As soon as that “blimey” had left his lips, he’d known he’d tipped his hand. In his first Oscar-nominated role, a contract he’d signed while still living in Sheffield, he’d played a London street sweeper who dreamed of opening his own restaurant. The role had been easy for him; his great-grandfather had been a chimney sweep in Portsmouth…Only years of practice and diction lessons had removed the Yorkshire from Archie’s accent, and then he’d gone and screwed it up by shouting out Mum’s favorite word.

  He sighed.

  “You are Archibald St. John, aren't you?” she asked in that same accusing tone.

  Archie lowered his hand from his eyes and shrugged sheepishly. “My friends call me Archie.”

  She narrowed her lovely, slightly mismatched eyes. “Not James?” Her tone said she wasn't charmed by knowing who he really was.