“I told them no thanks. I was busy filming a movie.” His words were laced with pain, as if it hurt even to speak them. “They told me they were already aware that I’d found my birth family in Bloomington. They thought it would make an interesting story, so they were hiring a private investigator to find the answers. With or without my help.”
“Ugh.” Ashley dug her elbows into her knees. “How’d they find out?”
“I hid it for a long time, but you can’t be in this business without enemies. I fired my last agent—he could’ve leaked it. Just to appear important. I may never know.” Resignation made his tone lifeless. “That’s what I tried to tell your dad. If there’s a secret, they’ll find out.”
“And your coming to Bloomington would’ve made a tip from your old agent seem plausible?”
“Maybe.” He grew pensive sounding. “Maybe it’s coincidence, or maybe it’s all part of God’s plan. Sometimes I can’t tell one from the other.”
Ashley’s mind raced. “Okay, but if someone’s onto the story, then does it really matter? We might as well meet, right?”
“Or maybe the other way around. Maybe since they’re onto the story, I’d be better off to distance myself. That way they’re less likely to go public with your names and identities. There are laws protecting private citizens from their type of scrutiny. But once you connect yourselves to me, you’ll be placing yourselves in the public eye. Willingly.” His tone faded. “Anything’s possible then.”
Ashley thought about Katy, about the accident he’d referred to. “What about Katy? Have you talked to her?”
“Not lately.” Emotion layered his words. “I keep telling myself if I love her . . . if I really love her, then it’s my duty to let her go. She doesn’t want this . . . this crazy life I lead.”
For the first time since the call had gone through, Ashley felt anger join in the mix of feelings tugging at her heart. “Katy’s crazy about you, Dayne. You can’t let strangers determine how you’ll care for a person. She’s miserable without you.”
“I don’t know.” Dayne’s sigh sounded like a huge weight was on his shoulders. “I have a lot of thinking to do.”
She felt him close the door on the subject, so she moved on. “Katy tells me you’ve gotten back to God.”
“I have. I feel Him in everything I’m doing these days.” His voice lightened again. “That’s why I wonder about the magazine article. Maybe it is God’s plan, His way of letting me know there’s no way to avoid the publicity. Like you said, I might as well get to know my brother and sisters.”
“And your nieces and nephews.” New tears nipped at the corners of her eyes. “There won’t be a Baxter gathering from here on out where you’re not missed.” She struggled to maintain her voice. “All of us know we have an older brother.” An idea hit her. “They give you a break for Fourth of July, right?”
“Usually. A long weekend at least.” He hesitated. “Why?”
“We have a family picnic every year.” Ashley closed her eyes. God . . . don’t let him be scared off. “You should come.”
“Hmm.” He was silent for a while. “What was it like? Growing up in the Baxter family?”
His question released a flood of emotion in her. The guy on the other end of the phone was the baby her mother had held, the son she had never wanted to give up. He was the big brother who had never been given the chance to give her a ride to school or scrutinize her boyfriends, the one they’d never had at the dinner table or at Christmas morning, the one whose graduation and milestones had been missed.
All because her grandparents had refused to let her mother keep him.
“Dayne . . .” Ashley’s chin quivered, and she opened her eyes. A hole in the clouds had opened, and through it she could see the blue sky beyond. That’s what this was. A hole in the clouds that had kept Dayne from knowing them all these years. A hole that she prayed Dayne would climb through before things changed and the chance disappeared forever. She swallowed a sob, but when she spoke her voice was strained. “It was . . . wonderful. Mom and Dad, they’re the best people I know. The best parents.”
“I figured.” She couldn’t tell if Dayne was moved, but his tone spoke volumes. “My parents were nice too. They’ve been dead a long time.”
Ashley’s cheeks were wet. She brushed her hand across them and wiped her tears on her legs. “I’m sorry.” This was the part she knew nothing about. “Tell me about them.”
“They were missionaries. I grew up in a boarding school in Indonesia.” He let loose a soft chuckle. “Until recently I hated them for it. Thought they chose God over me.”
A boarding school? “Oh, Dayne . . .” He’d grown up in a boarding school and missed out on the Baxters? “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. I get it better now.” His voice told her he was pulling back, distancing himself. “Hey, Ashley, I have to go.” The background commotion level rose a little. “Break’s over.”
She looked at her mother’s tombstone. “I’m glad you met her.”
Dayne hesitated but only for a moment. “Our . . . Elizabeth?”
“Yes.” She stood and moved closer to the marker. “She wanted to know you more than anything.”
“Me too.”
Panic swirled in Ashley’s veins. He was going to hang up, and the moment would be over. She needed permission to move ahead, to tell the others. “Please, Dayne . . . can I tell Kari and Brooke and Erin and Luke about you? Can they . . . I don’t know, can they call you? Maybe introduce themselves that way?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve missed so much. Maybe it’s better if I just move on. That way no one’ll get hurt by my crazy life.”
She wanted to reach through the phone line and hug him. “No matter what happened on the pathway to this moment, you’re part of our family, Dayne. Please . . . let us have a place in your life. Join us on the Fourth.” She blinked the wetness from her eyes. “Come just once. Then you’ll see.”
“I want to.” He waited, and when he spoke again there was agony in his voice. “You have no idea how much I want to.”
A carload of people was entering the cemetery, their voices breaking the serenity of the moment. Ashley concentrated on the conversation. She didn’t want to push him, but she had to make him understand how important this was—to her, to her siblings, to her father. She stared at the marker. How important it was to their mother. She held her breath. “So . . . will you come?”
“I’ll get back to you, okay?” The background noise grew louder. “I need time.”
“Okay. Thanks, Dayne. I’m glad . . . I’m glad I called.”
“Me too.”
As they hung up, Ashley returned to the bench. Not once during the call had she remembered exactly who she was talking to. Dayne Matthews. The Dayne Matthews. She hadn’t remembered because his fame, his celebrity, his public persona no longer mattered. Dayne Matthews might’ve looked like he had it all. Huge blockbuster films, the most recognizable face in Hollywood, and the millions of dollars that must’ve come with that.
His adoptive parents had been loving people, no doubt. But Dayne had been lonely as a child, and now, from what the tone of his voice told her, he was even lonelier as an adult. Ashley tried to picture him, hiring the private investigator and figuring out not only that his birth parents were still together but that they’d raised an entire family. That he had full-blooded siblings he’d lost a lifetime with.
Ashley felt the sadness of it heavy in her soul. She stood and looked one last time at her mother’s tombstone. She wouldn’t give up on Dayne Matthews. Her mother would’ve spent another ten years trying to help him find a place in their family. Ashley took a few steps back. If that’s what it took, she would do the same.
As she turned around, as she made her way through the cemetery to the parking lot, she did something she’d never knowingly done before. She prayed for Dayne Matthews—Hollywood movie star, America’s heartthrob, her parents’ firstborn son.
Her brother.
>
Streaky pinks and pale blues lined the Los Angeles sky in the waning twilight that Thursday of the following week. Dressed in rugged hiking boots, khaki shorts, and a white T-shirt, Dayne climbed a few steps, then anchored himself on the narrow dirt path that wound its way up from the San Fernando Valley floor along the craggy edges of the Santa Monica Mountains.
He wiped a fine layer of sweat and trail dust off his forehead. “Ellie—” he held out his hand to the pretty blonde a few steps behind him—“I can’t do this.”
She was dressed much like him, the boots and shorts and T-shirt. But she wore a straw hat and carried a backpack. “I know.” Her eyes grew teary, and she hesitated. Tentatively, she slid her fingers between his, and together they stared at the panoramic view. Her voice was faint, heavy with sorrow. “Me either.”
Dayne searched the valley floor below him, the city spread out like a vibrant tapestry, alive and in motion, a sharp contrast to the quiet of the mountains. He gritted his teeth. “The pretending is killing me.” He turned to her, and slowly—with the subtleness of the whistling evening breeze through the canyon—he drew her close against his chest.
He searched her eyes, and his breathing grew faster. “When all I want to do is . . .” The air between them changed, and he lost sight of everything but her eyes.
“But . . .” She eased one hand around his waist, the other up alongside his face. Her tone held a hint of panic, the sense that no matter what she said she was too far gone to stop herself. “It’s impossible . . . you’re in love with her. Everyone thinks so.”
“No, Ellie.” He put his hands on her shoulders, then moved one to the small of her back. He brought his lips to hers and kissed her, the sort of kiss that was intended to unlock the door to her heart. He pulled back just enough to get lost in her eyes once more. “I’m in love with you.”
A small cry came from her, but it was a cry of passion and longing and fading resolve.
Before she could speak, he kissed her again. This time the kiss was long and involved, the passion between them building and growing until, from fifty yards below, from the place where the road met the trailhead, there came the sudden piercing sound of squealing tires.
The noise made them jerk apart. Dayne stared, lips parted, down the trail. “What in the—?”
“It’s her.” Ellie took three steps back, her chest heaving. “Where can we go?”
A booming voice came from a few feet behind them. “Cut! Got it!” The director clapped. “That was perfect! Beautiful!” He stomped down the hillside to a spot between Dayne and Randi Wells. He patted both their backs at the same time, his entire face taken up with a grin. “The lighting, the passion, the kiss. People are going to talk about that scene for years.”
Dayne’s cheeks felt hot. There was a time when doing scenes like this one meant nothing to him. Another day at the office. But now he had to wonder. What would his missionary friend Bob Asher think about the love scenes he had to perform in this movie? No, there was nothing over the top. Nothing on a bed or in a shower. But still . . .
“Ah, really?” Randi gave the director a mock disappointed look. “You mean we don’t get to do another ten takes?” She brushed her knuckles against Dayne’s cheek. “I was sorta hoping one of us would mess up.”
“I like your attitude, Randi.” The director winked at her. “Don’t worry. We have lots more of this still to come.” He shook his head. “I mean, the two of you are red-hot together.” He gave Dayne another pat as he walked off. “It’s working, folks,” he announced to the twenty-plus cameramen and crew gathered around the hillside. His voice was more cheerful than it had been since filming began. He rubbed his palms together as he headed back to his assistant. “We’ve got ourselves a hit here. I can feel it.”
When he was out of earshot, Randi closed the distance between them. She lowered her chin and looked up, giving Dayne the flirty, cutesy look America loved. “You know what?”
He crossed his arms, protecting his space, and found a brotherly smile for her. Randi was easy to work with. She wasn’t seductive like other actresses. They’d been filming for several days now, and so far she’d respected his wishes about keeping things on a friendship basis. But still she could be blunt. He had a feeling this was one of those times. “What?”
She tilted her head, her gaze as direct as it had been a minute earlier when the cameras were rolling. “You’re still the best kisser in Hollywood, Dayne.” She gave his cheek a light pinch. “With or without your Bible.” She shrugged. “Makes my job easy.”
Before he could respond, she flashed him a grin, turned, and headed toward the director. Her spunky walk and the way she flipped her hair showed all the attitude she was famous for.
He watched her go, then faced the valley floor again. The compliment settled like wet cement in his gut. The old Dayne would’ve felt smug about the reputation, glad that an A-list actress thought of him that way. Instead he felt dirty and cheap, unable to find the real thing and left only to act out love on the silver screen.
The director stood a little higher on the hill and waved for everyone’s attention. “Listen, we have one more scene to shoot before the sun sets. Let’s get moving, people. Places!” He motioned to a few of the assistants, and they immediately sprang into action. “Let’s go. Let’s get it done.”
The next hour passed quickly, and just about everything met the director’s high standards on only a handful of takes. “Amazing.” He took his glasses off and waved them at the group. “You people are amazing.”
It was a zone, Dayne figured. One of those times when everything about his acting culminated in a mix of professionalism and intensity. He understood why it was happening this way. He had to put his energy somewhere after all.
His intensity came from his bottled-up feelings. He longed for Katy Hart, and there was nothing he could do about it. As long as he kept making films—and he was obligated to do so—his fame would increase, and the things about his life that made their relationship impossible would only get worse.
And that wasn’t all. The phone conversation with Ashley Baxter Blake was on his mind also—every day, every hour. A week had passed since they talked, and still he was no closer to a decision. Fourth of July in Bloomington sounded better than the Bahamas, but what would be the point? With the paparazzi already sniffing out information about his adoption, he’d only be giving them license to delve into the Baxters’ lives.
He walked to the food table and downed a paper cup full of water.
“Hey.” Randi came up alongside him and did the same. Her eyes held a teasing look as she jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow. “Don’t hold the kissing comment against me, okay?” She gave him a side hug and leaned her head on his shoulder. “It’s meant the world being around you these last two weeks.” Sincerity replaced the flirtatiousness in her expression. “I mean it.”
“Thanks.” He returned the hug and moved to get more water. “No harm taken.”
“Good.” She sipped her water and gave him a side glance. “Heard from Miss Indiana lately?”
“No.” He wadded his cup into a ball and tossed it in a nearby trash can. Missing her was almost a physical hurt. “We have a lot to figure out.”
Randi nodded, thoughtful. She gestured toward the camera crew and the handful of tabloid photographers that had been granted permission to attend the shoot. “All this, you mean?”
His short laugh was almost bitter. “Yeah. She struggles with it.”
“We all do.” Randi leaned against the table. “The tabloids drove the first wedges between my husband and me, and they’ll keep driving until we wave the white flag and announce our divorce. It’s like they’re driving all of us wherever they want to take us.” She tilted her face, and the wind played in her hair. “We’re just along for the ride.”
Before Dayne could respond, the director broke free from a group of crew members and came to them. “Good news.” He had a pencil behind his ear, his trademark. “We’l
l be shooting some technical shots, working on some of the background stuff for the next few days.” He grinned. “The two of you are off until Tuesday.”
“Bummer.” She elbowed Dayne again and grinned at him. “I was looking forward to another day of on-screen kisses.”
“You’re a bad girl, Randi.” The director waved a finger at her, his eyes dancing. “That’s why I love working with you.” He winked at Dayne. “Maybe you two can get together and practice.”
“Exactly.” Randi raised her eyebrows at Dayne, but the suggestive look in her eyes didn’t last long. “Just kidding.” She glanced at the director. “Dayne’s a good boy these days.” She leaned up and kissed his cheek. She seemed more sincere than she’d been all day. “Nothing wrong with that.”
“Making up for lost time.” Dayne kept his tone light. Randi was doing her best to understand him, his newfound faith, his lack of interest in anything intimate with her. He could cut her some slack here.
The break ended, and half an hour later they wrapped up for the evening. Dayne had driven his Escalade, wanting to avoid the caravan of trailers and studio vehicles. He took a shortcut near Calabasas and out to the Ventura Freeway and finally through Malibu Canyon.
Every mile he found himself asking the same questions. Where was Katy tonight, and what was she doing? What was she feeling? Was she making plans to move on, or was she miserable without him? The way he was without her. And what about the Baxters? He’d talked to his dad the other day, and neither of them had mentioned Dayne’s conversation with Ashley. Did that mean Ashley hadn’t told him? Or that the family was going to let the matter go, let Dayne keep his distance if that was really what he wanted?
He pushed a button on his dashboard, and the sunroof on his SUV slid open. A gust of fresh air filled the vehicle. He leaned back in his seat and stared at the winding road ahead of him. He knew Malibu Canyon better than any other road around Los Angeles, every straightaway and curve, every rocky outcropping where each time it rained the hillside would spill onto the pavement and close the road for a day or two. The canyon was deep and narrow, and on the other side the mountains were untouched by developers.