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  HOT HERO FOR HIRE

  The Hot For Hire Series

  New York Times & USA Today Bestseller

  CAT JOHNSON

  He’s a Hollywood bad boy. She’s a cowgirl with an attitude. Gasoline, meet fire.

  JAMEY

  I survived bouts with amateurs and pro fighters both in and out of the ring.

  I survived the sharks, the divas and the paparazzi in Hollywood.

  I survived the foster care system growing up in Chino.

  But there’s a good chance I won’t survive this month.

  What was I thinking signing a contract to play the lead in a western? A western! With horses!

  My sexy AF instructor could make the required riding lessons enjoyable, if she didn’t hate me on sight.

  As it stands, the damn woman might actually be trying to kill me . . . and yet here I am, back for another lesson.

  MAISIE

  Men are trouble. Good looking bad boys are extra trouble.

  That goes for my ex, and definitely for my new student, self-centered movie star Jamey Garret.

  The man’s messing with my head—I mean my herd.

  If I weren’t a single mom with dreams of something better, Mr. Heartthrob would be out of here.

  But for the amount he’s paying me to teach him to look as good on horseback as he does everywhere else, I can keep it professional for a month.

  The disruption he brings to my life is only temporary. I know as fast as he appeared, he will move on to the next woman in a long line, and good riddance.

  At least my head knows that. It’s the rest of my body I’m having trouble convincing.

  ONE

  JAMEY

  The cell phone in the holder on my dashboard let out a loud and obnoxious quack-quack-quack.

  Call me childish but I liked it.

  That the duck ringtone annoyed the hell out of most people was just a bonus.

  A picture of my agent Jerry flashed onto the cell’s screen.

  One of the necessary evils of Hollywood fame—agents. It wasn’t very long after I accidentally became a film star that I realized I needed one.

  Was Jerry good? What the hell did I know? But for now, he was mine.

  With one eye on the line of traffic in front of me to get through the gate, I swiped the screen to answer the call then put it on speaker. "Hey, Jerry. What's up?"

  "Where are you?"

  “About to pull onto the lot.” If the damn line ever moved. What the hell was the holdup?

  “I thought you were done filming Enemy Lines.”

  “We are. I just had to come in and do some voice stuff. We should be done with it today.” One more day on the sound stage then sweet freedom.

  No more long-ass days on the set. No traveling the country for a press tour. I’d actually have time off. All by myself.

  Or maybe not . . . I spotted a car pulled off the side of the road and the man leaning on the hood with a camera pointed directly at me.

  Thanks to the paparazzi I was never really by myself anymore.

  Real riveting action here—me sitting behind the wheel of my GMC Yukon waiting to move.

  I shook my head at the photographer’s stupidity. Or perhaps it was desperation. Who knew? Certainly not me. I was a novice in this crazy motion picture industry.

  Maybe my constant companions would take a break between my films too. Doubtful, but a guy could hope.

  “So I’ve got a couple of scripts here I want you to look at,” Jerry said.

  The line of high-priced vehicles in front of me moved forward. The collective cost of these showy rides was probably more than the gross national product of some smaller countries. Insane.

  I eased my foot off the brake pedal of the year-old Yukon and inched my way up, getting closer to the guard checking IDs. The vehicle had been my one and only big splurge after getting paid for my first major motion picture.

  “All right. Send them to me,” I said to Jerry about the scripts he had for me to read.

  As nice as a break between films would be, I wasn’t so new to this industry that I didn’t know the deal. The public forgot fast. I couldn’t let too long pass between releases.

  Considering what I did for a living was a helluva lot better than what I’d ever imagined when I’d been a kid, and I was getting paid insane amounts of money to do it, I wasn’t going to complain.

  “There’s one I’m particularly interested in,” Jerry said.

  “Okay. Send it over with the rest and I’ll read it.” I pulled up to the guardhouse and leaned out the open window. “Hey, Joe.”

  The old guy nodded. “Good morning, Mr. Garret.”

  “Have a good day.” With a wave I pulled through the gate and hit the accelerator.

  One glance at the clock on the dash told me that line of cars had put me behind schedule. If I didn’t haul ass, park and get inside fast, I’d be late.

  If there was one thing I’d learned—had drilled into me in the most painful way actually—it was that time was money. Studios didn’t like to waste either.

  “So there’s one script that’s another action film and then there’s something that’s really different that I love for you.”

  I braked as I waited for a large piece of set to be carried across the road by two almost equally as large workers.

  “Why can’t I do both?” I asked.

  “Because production on the one would overlap with the start of principal photography on the second.”

  “Okay. I’ll read them both and let you know.” It felt as if I’d said that at least once already during this conversation so why were we still talking about it?

  “Jamey, I really want you to keep an open mind on this. I strongly suggest you pass on another action film and choose the other one. I don’t want you getting pigeon-holed into one genre for the rest of your career.”

  The minutes were ticking by and I was far more concerned about pissing off the director of my current film than choosing my next one, but when Jerry had a bug up his ass about something, he didn’t let it go.

  “All right. I’ll consider it. What’s the genre of this other one anyway?” I asked.

  Finally the giant backdrop was across the road and my way was clear. Relieved, I punched the accelerator.

  “It’s a western about a—”

  I didn’t hear whatever Jerry said next because a horse was suddenly in front of the nose of my vehicle.

  A huge horse rearing up on its hind legs, its front hooves flailing as a woman held on to the rope.

  “Shit!” Slamming on the brakes, I stopped the SUV with a screech just in time before I plowed into the animal. Luckily years in the ring had honed my reflexes.

  The horse’s feet slammed down onto the ground barely missing my hood and the woman by mere inches.

  Its eyes wide, the whites showing its panic, it reared up again as the woman held on, trying to control the animal.

  It towered over her. The damn thing had to outweigh her by a thousand pounds but she stood her ground, her blonde ponytail swinging behind her with the effort it took to hold on to the animal.

  “Ho! Ho, Stardust.” Somehow calm—a hell of a lot calmer than I’d be in that position—she commanded the horse with a loud, firm voice.

  This time, all four hooves remained on the ground, although the horse was still a ball of motion, dancing around in front of my vehicle.

  I watched, white knuckled as I clutched the steering wheel and my foot on the brake remained all the way down to the floor.

  Now that the horse wasn’t a threat to her life, the woman turned her attention to me, her eyes as wide as the horse’s had been as she glared daggers at me from beneath the brim of her ball cap.

  I couldn’t hear her
but I could read her lips well enough to know she was definitely cussing me out.

  “Watch where you’re going! You could have killed us both!”

  I definitely heard that part as she raised her voice to a level I couldn’t miss.

  And I’d thought I had been watching where I was going. I didn’t know exactly what happened. One second the road was clear and the next, there they were.

  They must have been crossing right behind the set so I didn’t see them coming.

  Maybe I was distracted by Jerry dropping the bombshell that he wanted me, a city dweller, to do a western. Or maybe I didn’t see the horse and handler because I was in a rush to get to the sound stage.

  Either way, it was my fault. There was nothing to do except apologize.

  I cringed and called back, “Sorry.”

  She shook her head, her sour expression telling me my apology was not accepted as she tugged on the horse’s rope and moved across the road.

  One more hate filled glance and she was gone, and I was seriously late.

  “Jamey? What’s going on?”

  And shit, Jerry was still talking. Why was he still talking? “Look, Jerry. I’m late. Can I call you later?”

  “Sure. I’ll send the western over to you today.”

  “Fine.” I said it to make him happy and end this eternal conversation.

  I would read the script as promised, but it was going to take some real convincing on Jerry’s part to get me to sign it. I had serious doubts about me on horseback.

  Besides that, today’s interaction with animals of the equine variety had been enough to last me a long while. I wasn’t keen on a repeat encounter anytime soon.

  I’m sure the cute but angry handler would agree.

  TWO

  MAISIE

  “Maisie!”

  Crap. If there was one thing I knew, it was that tone in my father’s voice.

  I’d heard it enough times over the course of my twenty-eight years. I knew with certainty my father was annoyed. And I strongly suspected who or what had caused his foul mood.

  Charlie.

  I loved him, but good Lord sometimes the boy tried my patience—just like his daddy.

  God only knew what the ten-year old had gotten into now.

  Even here on the land my family owned he somehow managed to get himself into all sorts of mischief. I couldn’t even begin to guess what it was this time, but I was about to find out.

  Turning, I saw my father striding toward me, determination powering every step.

  “Yes, Daddy?” I used my sweetest tone. The one I’d perfected years ago to get whatever I wanted from my father.

  It was never hard to sweet-talk my old man. I had always been daddy’s little girl—and since Mom had died, I was his only girl.

  A deep frown furrowed his sun-browned brow above the blue eyes that looked so much like my own. “Do you know what your boy’s done this time?”

  If I’d known, I would have already taken care of whatever trouble Charlie had caused just to avoid this confrontation.

  I smothered a sigh of frustration. “No. What did he do?”

  “He blockaded Mrs. Winters inside her house.”

  “What?” I asked, not comprehending what he was saying.

  “Charlie stole a load of hay bales out of our barn and stacked them in front of her front and back doors so she can’t get out of her own damn house.”

  The laugh escaped me before I could stop it. I couldn’t help it. If anyone deserved to be pranked, it was nosy old lady Winters.

  My father’s sandy brows drew low. “It’s not funny. First, to get the load over there he must’ve taken the truck in the middle of the night because that hay wasn’t over there before she went to bed last night.”

  Picturing Charlie sneaking out, dressed in all black like a ninja, and trying to fire up the pick-up without making any noise began to bring about a bubble of laughter I couldn’t control.

  I pressed a hand over my mouth, which only deepened my father’s frown.

  “Maisie! This is serious. Not only could he have been seriously hurt if he hit a ditch in the dark and flipped, that hay is worth money. And so is my time. Now I have to go over there and move those bales because Charlie’s at school and not here to clean up his own mess. But let me tell you, when he gets home—”

  Resigned, I knew what I had to do. He was my son and his discipline fell to me. “I’ll handle it when he gets home.”

  My father let out a humph. “Hell, we’re lucky she called me and not the sheriff or he’d be in real trouble.”

  “How did she know it was our bales anyway?” I frowned. Just because we were the closest farm didn’t mean it was our hay or our doing.

  “That’s your fault.” Daddy scowled. “We’re the only ones in the county using pink baling twine.”

  I controlled the twitch of my lips for fear of pissing my father off further.

  “It was a good price,” I defended.

  That was the truth, but in reality I’d just thought it was pretty. Given a choice, why not add a little color to my life?

  Okay, maybe I shouldn’t have bought quite so much. But bidding on the bulk lot of baling twine seemed to make financial sense during the heat of the auction.

  Even if we did have to lay out a hunk of money for it upfront right then and there, and store it all in the loft, it was a great price and we wouldn’t run out for years.

  He should really be grateful to me for scoring such a great deal. He wasn’t.

  We’d been baling hay with pink twine for four years now, much to my father’s chagrin, as evidenced by his grumbling now.

  I tried and failed to stifle a smile. He shot me an unhappy glare and I could see he was genuinely upset.

  This might be my home, but technically the farm was his and his alone. Charlie and I lived here by his good graces. I needed to make this right.

  “I promise, I’ll handle it all, Dad. And I’ll go get the hay.”

  He pulled his mouth to one side. “I’ll help. It’ll get done faster if we both load the truck. Besides, there’s something I want to discuss with you.”

  Uh, oh. What kind of discussion took more than a few sentences? Usually conversations with my father were brief and to the point.

  Fence is down in the north field.

  Looks like rain.

  We need more toilet paper next time you’re at the store.

  “What is it?” I glanced in his direction as we walked, trying to guess his mood and what this could be about, but the man was good at being closed-mouthed. Too bad my son the chatterbox hadn’t inherited that trait from his grandfather.

  “Later, after we’re done getting the hay.” He waved away my question, then said, “So how’d yesterday go on the movie lot?”

  I would have been grateful to get back to small talk that didn’t involve my son’s bad behavior, but talking about yesterday was bound to raise my blood pressure and my annoyance level just as much.

  “It was fine. Stardust performed like a champ on camera, but we both almost got run over by some dickhead who was speeding and not paying attention. Those entitled people in Hollywood . . . ” I shook my head, disgusted at them all and the excessive lives they lived.

  “The horse all right?” he asked.

  I raised a brow and glared at my father. “Yes, the horse is all right. And so is your daughter, by the way.”

  “I can see you’re all right. You wouldn’t be doing so much complaining if you were feeling poorly.” He shot me a sideways glance and chuckled when he saw my scowl. “You know, jobs like that don’t come along all that often nowadays and the studios pay a bunch, so you should be grateful to be there at all.”

  “Oh, I am.” Grateful I wouldn’t have to be there again anytime soon.

  It took barely a minute to get from the Holtz land to the Winters’ place since my father drove the truck across the property rather than take the main road.

  When the house came into sight, I
had to cover my mouth to keep from laughing out loud, but I couldn’t control the smile.

  “Stop.” My father’s growled command had me biting my lip in renewed effort to fight my grin, but it was no use.

  The two entrances to the little white house, completely barricaded by neatly stacked bales of hay, might be the funniest thing I’d seen in years—and that included watching Charlie’s biological father step in a hot steaming pile of manure while wearing his good boots.

  My father sighed as he threw the truck into reverse and backed up to the towering stack by the front door. “Wish that boy would show this much gumption around our place.”

  On that, I had to agree. Ten-year old boys would rather be doing a hundred other things besides chores—unless, apparently, it was a middle of the night secret mission to mess with the neighbor.

  As I got out of the truck, the sound of a window on the second floor sliding open had me looking up.

  “About time you got here!”

  I lifted a brow seriously doubting the old lady had anywhere to be this early in the morning on a weekday.

  Feeling snarky, I said, “Don’t worry, Mrs. Winters. We’ll have you out of there in time for Bingo.”

  Bingo didn’t start until seven tonight. I’d bet anybody anything that would be the first time the old lady would actually leave the house today.

  It wasn’t as if Charlie’s little stunt had inconvenienced her morning. She had no stock to feed. Not even a pet dog or cat. She lived alone and spent her days being a busybody.

  My father cut a gaze in my direction. “Maisie . . .”

  I knew what he was saying without hearing the words and he was right. I was being disrespectful to my elders, but I couldn’t help it.

  “Her spying window isn’t blocked so she shouldn’t be complaining,” I said low so only he would hear.

  “We’ll get this moved right quick, Mrs. Winters,” my father shouted toward the house, ignoring my grumbled insult.

  “It wouldn’t be here in the first place if that boy had a proper home with a mother and a father. He needs a good beating.”