Saving Necessity

  Saving Necessity

  A Necessity, Texas Novella

  Margo Bond Collins

  Saving Necessity

  A Contemporary Western Romance

  Copyright © 2017 by Margo Bond Collins

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval systems, without prior written permission of the author except where permitted by law.

  Published by Bathory Gate Press

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  * * *

  About Saving Necessity

  When ranch hand Zeke MacAllan steps in to save movie star Sophie Daniels from a fire, his heroics focus the whole world’s attention on Necessity, Texas. Now Sophie wants him to help her save her career—but in the process, he puts his heart in danger.

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Necessity, Texas Books

  Other Contemporary Romances by Margo Bond Collins

  Chapter One

  “Come on. When will you ever get another chance to get this close to a real-life movie star?” Colton Edwards pleaded, holding the screen door open but remaining outside on the porch.

  Zeke MacAllan shook his head at Colton, his lifelong friend—and, more importantly in this context, the newly appointed Fire Marshal for all of Stephenson County.

  Granted, no one else had been willing to take the job.

  “Man,” Zeke replied, “I’ve got one day off. Why would I want to spend it watching a film crew taking pictures of people who are too dang prettified to ever even get close to a cow pretending to do the job I’ll really be doing tomorrow?” With a shake of his head, he gestured Colton inside the tiny cabin he’d recently moved into when he’d agreed to act as lead ranch hand for Colton’s cousin Tor.

  Colton’s dismissive snort showed what he thought of his friend’s argument. “This from the guy who spends every spare moment lazing around with his boots kicked up on the coffee table, watching that giant-screen TV Tor gave you?”

  “That TV came with the house. And I work outside all day, every day. Coming home to some down time is not the same as lazing around.”

  “Dude,” Colton snickered. “‘Netflix and chill’ is not something you’re supposed to do alone.” His voice took on nasal quality they both associated with their fifth-grade elementary school teacher. “It means getting a chick over here to watch the movie and then … not watching it.”

  “I know what it means. And you are not funny.”

  “You say you know what it means, but how long has it been since you’ve done it?”

  “Shut up. Fine. I’ll go look at the movie stars.”

  Colton’s good-natured ribbing erupted into laughter, and Zeke grabbed his straw cowboy hat off the hook inside the door.

  Colton always had been able to talk him into the stupidest shit, and even though he knew this was likely to be a wasted day, he had to admit—if only to himself—that the chance to get a glimpse of Sophie Daniels on the set appealed to him.

  She was his favorite actress, after all. He’d seen all her movies.

  Along with about a hundred million other guys.

  But, maybe today, he’d get to be one of the ones who met her.

  Maybe he’d even get her autograph.

  He could dream, anyway.

  * * *

  “So what is it you’re supposed to be doing here?” Zeke asked Colton a half hour later, when they stood outside The Chargrill, under the scant shade offered by the awning in the midday sun.

  Across the street, the film crew had set up outside Maryann’s, the only other restaurant in town, unless you counted the Dairy Queen up by the I-20 cut off.

  “I’m not real clear on that myself,” Colton admitted. “Some town ordinance requires any movie crew working in Necessity to have a Fire Marshal on the set when they film. I’m supposed to head over there in about fifteen minutes.”

  Maryann, the owner of the café, had just pushed open the glass door leading into her restaurant. She carried two straight-backed chairs looped over her arms, and Zeke hastened to take them from the short, round old woman he had known for as long as he could remember. “These for Colton and the crew?” he asked.

  “Of course not,” she replied, her tone cranky, but the twinkle in her faded blue eyes giving away how much she enjoyed the game. “I brought these here chairs so’s I could sit out here and wait to see somebody famous.”

  “Who’s the other chair for, Miz Maryann?” Zeke knew she was waiting for him to ask as she lined the two chairs up on the sidewalk and took a seat in one of them.

  “Why, that’s for when I get me one of them movie star boyfriends.” She slapped the seat of the extra chair with a wild cackle, inviting the two men to join in her laughter.

  Zeke reached out and took her hand. “And he will be lucky to have you,” he said, dropping a light kiss on the back of Maryann’s hand.

  The café owner laughed harder and patted the seat again, this time invitingly. “Just for that, Zeke MacAllan, you can sit right down here next to me.”

  “What about me?” Colton asked.

  “Until the film crew’s ready for you, you can go ahead and bring a few more chairs out here. I closed down the café today for everybody except employees. Oh,” she added as more people begin drifting up on the sidewalk, “and The Chargrill’s employees. And the people who have to be here officially, of course, like Colton. And maybe a few regulars.”

  In other words, Zeke reflected, pretty much the entire town of Necessity had been invited to come gawk at the film crew from the sidewalk in front of Maryann’s Café.

  Pretty quickly, the atmosphere turned festive. Filming had shut down the entire downtown—it was only one street, after all—and as many people as could get away from their day jobs had turned up for the most exciting event in Necessity in a good, long while.

  “What’s the name of this flick, again?” Zeke asked.

  “Ten-Gallon Texas,” Colton answered absently. Zeke could tell his friend was loathe to leave the impromptu party in order to attend to his duties as Fire Marshal—not least of all because Maryann’s pretty granddaughter had shown up.

  “You gotta go on over there and get to work,” Zeke said, chortling at Colton’s clear reluctance. “What if there’s a fire and you aren’t there to save Sophie Daniels? It would be a national catastrophe.”

  “Some friend you are,” Colton said—but he was laughing too. “Sure you don’t want to come over with me? I can get you a behind-the-scenes look.”

  “No, I’m comfortable right here.” Zeke had just finished speaking when a black sedan pulled up in front of The Chargrill and Sophie Daniels herself stepped out, her thick, chestnut-colored hair blowing in the slight breeze in a way that made Zeke’s breath catch.

  “On second thought,” he said, unable to take his eyes off the movie star, “I believe I will join you, after all.”

  Chapter Two

  Sophie Daniels adjusted her sunglasses to cover more of her face and did her best to ignore the small crowd that had gathered on the far side of the security perimeter. She didn’t see any flashbulbs going off, but that didn’t mean there weren’t members of the paparazzi mixed into the cro
wd. Her best bet was to ignore them all and get to work.

  Of course, that would be easier if the director—Milo Migliore—weren’t such an unmitigated ass. They had done the first part of the filming in Dallas, and other than the heat (what kind of hell stayed almost 100 degrees well into September?), it had gone fairly well. Milo was a bit too convinced of his own artistic superiority, though, especially given the fact that this movie wasn’t likely to end up winning any awards. Sophie hoped Milo would be satisfied with one or two takes of each scene, though.

  Sometimes, though, she wished she could have retakes of the scenes in her own life. Honestly, that would be more useful at the moment than any second or third takes for this movie.

  Of course, most of her life would end up on the cutting room floor, if that were the case. Especially her latest, overly publicized breakup with British rock star Niall Adamson.

  Speaking of unmitigated asses.

  What on Earth ever compelled me to think I should date a musician?

  Heaving a sigh, she moved toward the door of the Podunk restaurant that Milo had decided had “the right atmosphere.” Sophie would’ve preferred it to have just the right lighting, or enough space for all the equipment, or any number of other elements that made the filming easier—but that wasn’t her call.

  It’s really time for me to direct my own film.

  Or maybe produce.

  Brushing aside the vague sense of dissatisfaction she seemed to carry with her everywhere these days, she reached out her hand to open the door—only to be beaten to it by a man standing behind her.

  She jumped and squeaked in surprise. She wasn’t used to losing track of her surroundings that much. For all she knew, he could’ve been a member of the paparazzi—not that they were likely to get past the security perimeter, even on a small, public set like this.

  But when she turned around, she came face-to-face with what looked like a real, live, authentic cowboy. Two of them, in fact. The one holding the door open wore a straw cowboy hat, and he was actually tipping it forward just a bit with his other hand. Startled, she swept her glance over him. Plaid shirt, worn blue jeans, dusty brown cowboy boots.

  When she looked at his face again, she found him grinning at her, a bright sparkle in his light blue eyes.

  He is pretty enough to be one of my costars.

  Blinking herself out of her surprise, she said, “Thanks,” and swept inside.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the cowboy finish tipping his hat as he said, “Ma’am.”

  Ma’am? When did I become old enough to be a ma’am?

  She realized as she moved toward the rest of the crew that she had completely ignored the beautiful cowboy’s friend.

  Well, chalk up another point toward being a snobby bitch.

  Niall’s parting words still shook her, though she didn’t like to think of that horrible, public scene.

  At that moment, Milo finished his conference with the director of photography, who hurried off to see the lighting guys. Milo turned, catching sight of her, and then the cowboys behind her.

  Here we go.

  “Who are you?” he demanded, his anger thickening his accent as he waved his arms around. “You are not allowed in here. You must go.”

  Sophie strolled over to one of the restaurant’s booths and sat down to watch the show.

  The other cowboy—the one who had not opened the door for her—responded by waving the pass he wore on a lanyard around his neck. “Fire Marshal,” he answered laconically before jerking his thumb toward his friend. “Assistant Fire Marshal. Required to be here by city ordinance.”

  City ordinance? More like wide-spot-in-the-road ordinance.

  Milo huffed, but he relented, waving one arm imperiously toward some tables and chairs that had been shoved out of the way. “You stay out of the way.”

  The two cowboys strolled over and took seats, watching with avid interest.

  Sophie moved out of the way and flipped through her script, rehearsing her lines silently while Milo got the first scene of the morning with her costar, Lyle Dunbar.

  But for the first time in ages, she couldn’t concentrate on memorizing what she needed to say in the next scene. She could feel the cowboy’s gaze on her—and despite her usual experience with fans who stared too much, it wasn’t in some creepy way.

  Every time she glanced up at him, he was watching her.

  In all fairness, so was his friend. But his friend’s stare didn’t send a frisson of excitement sliding down her spine.

  Given her track record, of course, it was probably for the best that she had decided not to date again for a good long while after Niall.

  Anyway, she reminded herself, it didn’t matter how pretty he was. She had no intention of ever going out with someone as woefully unworldly as that beautiful cowboy must be.

  No, their lives were worlds apart—and they would stay that way, too.

  Chapter Three

  “Whoa,” Colton breathed. “Never in a million years would I have thought Sophie Daniels could be as pretty in real life as she is in the movies.”

  Zeke gave his friend a puzzled glanced. “Why wouldn’t she be?”

  “They can do all kinds of things with computers these days, you know.”

  Zeke snorted and shook his head, uncertain if his friend was entirely serious—or where to start discussing all the problems with Colton’s ideas about women in the movies if he was. Instead, he turned back to watch the filming. Zeke wasn’t surprised that the leading lady was stunning—though the ugly brown dress she wore looked like some Hollywood type’s idea of frontier clothing. No, what he hadn’t expected was to find the process of filmmaking so fascinating. He had to admit, though, he couldn’t see why the director had chosen to film the same scene five times. As far as Zeke could tell, any of the takes would’ve been fine to use in the movie.

  Guess that’s why I’m a ranch hand and he’s a big-time director.

  All in all, it was turning out to be a pretty good way to spend his day off, despite his initial reservations.

  Colton leaned in to whisper to Zeke. “I’m going to run across the street to Maryann’s and get me a Dr. Pepper. You want one?”

  “Sure.” Zeke didn’t take his eyes off Sophie Daniels when he answered, and Colton snickered.

  “Okay. I’ll be back in a minute. You’re the acting Fire Marshal while I’m gone.”

  Zeke waved him off with a nod, certain that nothing would happen in the five minutes the actual Fire Marshal was gone. Anyway, Zeke was a volunteer fireman for the only fire brigade in the county—the same qualifications Colton had before taking up his new position and going off to Austin for two weeks for some kind of specialized training. Surely Zeke could handle anything that might come up.

  The director called out something about coming back in five and setting up the next shot in the upstairs loft. Zeke was beginning to figure out some of the film crew’s lingo, but pretty much everything he knew about making movies came from…well, movies and television—and didn’t entirely match what he was seeing now.

  For one thing, the time it took to shoot one scene astounded him—especially since it apparently had to be done over and over again.

  Sophie and the actor she was playing opposite in this role—Zeke couldn’t remember his name, but had seen the man in several movies—moved over to stand under the open stairway leading up to the loft. Normally, Zeke would’ve taken out his cell phone at that point and either texted or maybe taken a picture, depending on how intrusive he was feeling.

  However, the guard who had allowed them inside the film crew’s perimeter had impressed upon them the prohibition against taking photographs of any of the film or crew, and then made them sign some kind of non-disclosure agreement.

  The whole thing seemed like a giant joke, really. Not that Zeke didn’t understand the need for privacy, of course. God knew he wouldn’t want anyone following him around with a
camera 24/7. But it also seemed like maybe that was something these folks should’ve considered when they decided to become movie stars.

  Anyway, it all added up to Zeke having little to do other than watch everyone around him. And listen, too—Sophie and her costar were speaking quietly, but the odd acoustics of the room meant that their quiet voices under the staircase bounced right back over to Zeke.

  “Adamson leaving you alone these days?” Sophie’s costar asked her. She nodded and murmured something affirmative, and he leaned in and leered at her. “Good. Do you think he would take me next?”

  Sophie burst out laughing, and Zeke was torn between his surprise at the revelation that the other actor was gay and at how delighted that laugh sounded. He would not have said that her on-screen laughter sounded artificial—not until he heard a genuine laugh from her.

  “I wish he would,” Sophie said. “Maybe that would take the tabloid pressure off me.”

  An odd, creaking sound caught Zeke’s attention, but he couldn’t pinpoint exactly where it was coming from, and within seconds, it had disappeared, so Zeke went back to his shameless eavesdropping.

  “So, what you think?” The actor—Lyle Dunbar, Zeke suddenly remembered—struck an exaggerated pose. “Do you think Adamson will have me?”

  “Maybe. But believe me, you don’t want him.” She looked thoughtful for a minute, as if she were about to tell him some secret, but then stopped. Zeke had to wonder if any of what he had read about the rock star’s abusive behavior had been true. Not that he knew much about the situation—just what he had seen on Internet headlines. Suddenly he felt guilty for listening to their conversation. It was rude, and his grandmother would have whooped him good for it.

  But as Zeke began to stand up, planning to move to another part of the restaurant, Lyle said to Sophie, “I’m going to go grab a bottle of water. Want one?”