ANOTHER SUNNY DAY (22 page)

Sunny had heard hype before and knew the rules of the game. She had seen the effect of publicity, both good and bad, on a performer's career. It was wise to use any press coverage you got to your best advantage, she knew, and that was obviously what Dillon was doing now. More power to him, she thought, as long as it had nothing to do with her. But now that he was claiming the lion's share of Mack's time and attention, she couldn't help but feel that he was, however inadvertently, stepping on her toes. It was odd that their paths had never crossed, but if they ever did, she was certain she wouldn't be taken in by his sterling reputation. Considering the circumstances, it would be easy for her to dislike him.

"Hey, sweetie, did I tell you how terrific you look today?" Mack interrupted her thoughts as his admiring appraisal took in all the details of her curvaceous figure, displayed to its best advantage beneath a sparkling dark red beaded pantsuit. "That outfit should look stunning in front of the camera. I have high hopes that this commercial will give your career a real boost:' He didn't tell her that she had not been the company's first choice and that it had taken quite a bit of persuasion to talk them into using her for the part.

"Is this the only outfit I will be wearing for this commercial? You never have told me exactly who this job is for. Am I modeling the clothes or the boots?"

"Uh . . ." He stalled, looking pointedly at his watch. "If we don't hurry, we're going to be late. I'm sure they'll want to touch up your makeup, even though you did a fine job by yourself," he hastened to add.

It wasn't until they were inside the studio and the makeup man had finished with her makeup and the hairdresser had rearranged her hair that Sunny was again able to question Mack about the product. She stood in the middle of the sound stage, surrounded by an extremely realistic reproduction of a western town that looked like it could have come directly from an old
Bonanza
set, while the production crew adjusted the lights and camera angles.

"Isn't there a script of some sort that I could look at now? Don't I have any lines to say?" she asked.

"You only have one line, and I knew, being the trouper you are, that it wouldn't take you but a minute to learn it." Mack looked around the room nervously. He was hoping that with this many people here and the attractiveness of the fat salary, she wouldn't cause too big a scene when she found out what was really expected of her.

"So are you going to tell me, or do I have to guess what my line is?" She couldn't imagine why Mack was acting so strangely. Something was making him very fidgety and flustered, and every time she tried to look at him, his eyes shifted away, refusing to meet hers.

"I suppose now would be a good time. Are you ready?"

"Come on, Mack. I want to do a good job, and if you don't hurry up, I won't have a chance to get into my part."

"All you have to say is 'Whether you spend just a few minutes in the saddle like I do, or whether you spend all day on the range, you'll always be comfortable where it counts on a cushioned Lariat saddler!'" Cringing, he waited for her reaction.

"Excuse me." She turned and smiled with deceptive calm at the crew, "But I need to have a quick word or two with my manager." Aggressively she moved across the stage, pushing Mack in front of her until she had him backed into a corner where they could have a semiprivate conversation.

"Did I hear the word saddle? Because if I did, you're in a lot of trouble."

"Now, Sunny, take it easy." He spoke softly, trying to pacify her without alarming the commercial's producers. "This won't take but a minute. And think of how profitable it will be to both your pocket book and your career."

"But a saddle commercial? How could you do that to me! You told me this was going to be a western wear commercial. Naturally I assumed the product would be worn by me and not some dumb animal!" She fumed, trying to restrain the full force of her wrath.

"It won't be so bad. They're really very nice saddles and—"

"Don't feed me a line of bull, Mack. I'm not so stupid that I don't know that where there are saddles, there are horses, and you know what happens every time I'm around a horse!" she accused hotly.

"Come on, Sunny," Mack pleaded. "You need this job. It's only one line, and being the old pro that you are, they'll be able to wrap it in just a couple of takes. They told me the horse would be very tame, so there's no reason for you to be afraid."

"I'm not afraid," she quickly but unconvincingly denied. "It's just that I've never met a horse I didn't hate. They're mean, vicious, devious creatures. I've never been able to put much trust in an animal that weighs almost a half-ton and has a brain the size of a golf ball."

"Don't let your fans hear you say that. A lot of horse lovers out there buy records and concert tickets. Country-and-western music and horses go together like peanut butter and jelly," Mack reminded her before muttering, "It's too bad your sister couldn't take your place now, like she did on that trail ride several years ago."

"Not a chance! you couldn't pry her away from that husband of hers with a crowbar. Believe me, I've tried to get her to visit me on my tours. "

"Then you'll have to do it yourself. Really, it won't be so bad. It'll all be over before you've even have time to think about it."

"I'm not going to forget this, Mack. You owe me one for not just walking out of here right now and finding myself a new manager."

They returned to center stage, and Sunny felt her nerves tighten almost painfully as she watched a groom lead a beautiful but very large palomino toward her. She had grown up around horses but she had never liked them, and they seemed, in turn, to sense this and react negatively to her.

"Do I actually have to sit on the horse?" she asked the director, forcing the words around the heavy lump in her throat.

"I'm afraid so, Miss Day. You see, we don't believe the commercial would be very effective if we put the saddle on anything besides a horse." The man answered patiently but with a touch of sarcasm.

Too upset to be insulted, Sunny forced herself to stand next to the horse, preparing to mount.

"He's very well trained. You have nothing to worry about," the groom tried to reassure her. But even as he spoke, the horse's tail lashed around, slapping Sunny across the face.

"Make-up!" the director shouted. "She's lost an eyelash."

Almost hysterically Sunny wondered if he was talking about her or the horse. Her face stung, and nothing would convince her that the horse hadn't done it on purpose.

Several minutes later they were ready to try again. This time the horse shifted away from her just as she slipped her boot into the stirrup. A telltale ripping sound told her that her pants were just a little too tight for such a high step.

'Take five! Someone show Miss Day where she can wait while wardrobe fixes her costume." The director could not hide his obvious disgust over delays for what should have been a simple filming.

Sunny was beyond embarrassment. She just wanted this to be over, soon. The next time she tried to mount she stood on a small platform and the groom led the horse next to it so that all she had to do was step over and straddle the saddle.

She was instructed to start from the corner and trot into the "town," pull the horse to a stop, then recite her line. It didn't take long to discover that Sunny and the horse did not move in unison.

The director decided that surely even Sunny could look graceful if they let the horse walk instead of trot into the scene. Everything was going smoothly as Sunny managed to stop the horse without visible effort, and she was halfway through her line when a light exploded. Apparently it was a normal occurrence, because the only ones who reacted badly was Sunny . . . and the horse.

His shiny body shook as if he had been shot. With a fearful snort he reared at the unexpected noise. Even though
Sunny's muscles had been tense, she had not been sitting tight in the saddle. As the horse rose to an almost vertical position, she grabbed for the saddle, but it was too late. Her satiny pants slid against the horsehide like rain on a window pane. She landed with an inglorious thud on the thin layer of dirt that was supposed to look like a road but was actually a not very effective cushion covering the hard concrete floor. The horse bolted, knocking over several more lights as he frantically tried to escape. The director and crewmen rushed over to assess the damage to the equipment, while the groom raced after the horse.

No one even appeared to notice Sunny still sitting on the ground. Large, hot tears traced paths through the dust on her cheeks. Even Mack seemed to have disappeared. As feeling began to return to her numbed buttocks, she struggled into a standing position, trying not to let her weak knees fold beneath her. Glancing around at the confusion, she turned and in a jerky half-run stumbled off the sound stage and out the first exit she could find. She barely heard the director's angry voice announcing a break for lunch.

As she tried to make her way down the hall, she was aware of curious stares. When someone grabbed her and tried to stop her long enough to take a picture, she pulled away and ducked into the next door she saw. She didn't notice the PRIVATE—DO NOT ENTER sign or realize that someone from the inside was opening the door at the same time until she rushed through the opening and immediately collided with the room's sole occupant.

She hit him so hard that for a minute the room spun around her and she reached out for support. Startled, the man pushed the door shut and grabbed her unsteady form at the same time.
Sunny's arms wrapped around his trim waist, and she leaned with unconscious abandon against the hard, muscular wall of his body. Shaking so violently that her teeth rattled, she couldn't stop the flow of tears that spotted the sky blue western-cut shirt he wore.

Silently he held her, comforting her unknown ailment by gently massaging her back. Her soft, full curves molded against his corresponding masculine counterparts. Her breasts were crushed against a broad chest, from which issued a steady, reassuring heartbeat that vibrated through her, inducing her own to slow to a more normal pace. She could feel the slight pressure of a large belt buckle pressed against her stomach, and the strong, sinewy support of his long legs next to hers. Gradually she began to calm down enough to realize that she didn't know where she was or what was happening to her . . . and with whom.

Sniffling slightly, her cheeks flushed from the accident and the awkwardness of this situation, she hesitantly leaned back to see with whose body she had grown so familiar. Her gaze traveled up the row of pearlized snaps to where dark curly hair peeked out the shirt's open V neck, then to the darkly tanned column of his throat and over the firm line of his chin. Her eyes lingered for just a moment longer than necessary on the sexy fullness of his mouth before moving on to the light blue eyes that were watching her with curiosity and interest.

As she recognized the face she had seen so often in the fan magazines, her own eyes widened in surprise.

"You!" she gasped, pushing away from him with a suddenness that almost caused her to fall back down on her already bruised behind.

CHAPTER TWO

"You remember me?" Dillon Landry asked incredulously. "It's been almost six years, and we met so briefly back in Houston. I can't believe a great star like you would even have noticed
a nobody like me."

Sunny was momentarily stunned by his reaction. The truth was that she didn't remember meeting him, and certainly people change in six years. But after seeing him now, she couldn't understand how she could ever have forgotten it. She studied the excited expression that lit his incredibly blue eyes and searched for any signs of sarcasm or teasing, but she found only sincere adoration. "You know who I am?" she asked, even though it was evident that he did. His greeting had taken some of the bitter wind from her sails. It was very difficult to dislike a person who so obviously liked her.

"Of course I do. I would recognize you anywhere. I'm one of your biggest fans. Your CDs are the ones I take with me on my tour bus to listen to when I want to hear good music. You have no idea how many hours I've spent with your voice," he answered warmly, then added, "I've always thought that you've got it all—talent, beauty and style. If I can be half as good a performer as you are, then I'll be one happy man."

As he finished his passionate impromptu speech, Sunny, to the dismay of both, burst into tears. Now it was Dillon's turn to stare at her strangely. As with most men, nothing could soften his heart into mush faster than tears, especially those shed by a person he greatly admired. Mixed feelings washed over him as he guided her to the small couch. Sitting next to her he tried to decide how to handle this situation and what he had said to set her off again.

"Sunny, I'm sorry," he crooned in that low vibrant voice that drove his female fans wild, "If I said something to hurt your feelings, I didn't mean it that way. You've been my idol for years—ever since I was a teenager."

This revelation only made her cry harder. Even though she realized that her raw nerves were overreacting to the earlier strain she had been under, this man's gentle words, instead of calming her, were only bringing up painful reminders of all the things that were wrong with her life now. She knew she must take a few deep breaths, regain her composure and lie to this man about how wonderfully the world was treating her.