Unscripted Page 3

  “I was locked inside and couldn’t get out, so I had to improvise.” The doorknob lay in detached parts near her knees. “But now I have to fix the mess I made.”

  Unsure of her explanation, he squatted by her side to examine her handiwork. “Why didn’t you call for help?”

  “The recorded message on the phone gave me five options, none very useful.” As she spoke, she inserted the square peg into the pawl and aligned the screws with the hole.

  “So you took the doorknob apart?” He was impressed. “Where did you find the knife?”

  “I always carry it with me.”

  The pocketknife lay on the floor near his foot. He picked it up. “How did you smuggle it on the plane?”

  “It was in my checked suitcase. Are you always this nosy?”

  “Yes.” Her no-nonsense attitude reminded him of Claire. “Where did you learn to reassemble a doorknob?”

  “I live on an old ranch that needs constant repairs. If I waited for my husband to fix things, we’d still be pumping water and using an outhouse.”

  With those few words, she’d unleashed his curiosity. “You’re an interesting character.”

  “Really?” Soft laughter trickled through the word. “Somehow, that doesn’t sound like a compliment.” She extended her hand. “Knife, please.”

  “Why don’t you let me finish?” When she declined his help, he surrendered the knife. “How did you end up trapped inside?”

  “I’m not sure.” She used the blade as a screwdriver. “Do either Andy or Paul play practical jokes?”

  “Not Andy.” The senior writer had showed up on the set around six. After Martin wrapped up the scene, he’d requested Andy’s presence in his office. “If I’m not mistaken, he’s still in a meeting with Martin.”

  “I see.” She secured the last screw and smiled. “All done.”

  The chrome plate was in place, and it didn’t look like anyone had tampered with it.

  “Great job.” It was late, and like him, he suspected she hadn’t eaten yet. He stood, and she did the same. “Would you have dinner with me?”

  “Me?” A look of surprise registered on her face. “I appreciate the offer, but don’t you have a wife or a girlfriend waiting for you?”

  The reference to Claire soured his disposition, and he took a step back. He didn’t need to be reminded of his obligations toward his wife, not when his latest altercation with Bella was still fresh in his memory. To blurt out an invitation had been a mistake. She was a married woman he’d met hours earlier, not a longtime friend.

  “I’m not sure what I said to upset you.” Chewing on her upper lip, she turned her attention back to her pocketknife. “Maybe I should leave now.”

  Riley hadn’t known about his wife. That much was obvious. And since his character wasn’t married, Blythe didn’t wear his wedding ring at the studio. “Riley…” The last thing he wanted was to hurt her feelings over a misunderstanding. “I’m the one who should apologize. I’m married, but my wife is in a coma.”

  Her mouth opened and then closed without saying any of the platitudes he’d come to loathe, and it encouraged him to continue.

  “Most nights, I eat at the hospital, alone. Not sure I recall the last real meal I had. I thought…” Maybe loneliness had prompted him to send the invitation. He shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Not sure what I thought, but I didn’t mean to offend you or make it sound like a date.”

  “I understand.” A richer shade of green clouded her eyes. “If the offer is still good, I’d be happy to have dinner with you.”

  ***

  In the car, Blythe presented her with two options: a seafood restaurant or an Italian bistro.

  Without knowing if one place held more memories for him than the other, Riley hesitated. “You know the restaurants better than I do. You decide.”

  He glanced at her from the driver’s seat. “No preference?”

  Italian cuisine ranked higher on her list of preferences, but she hadn’t eaten all day, so she wasn’t picky. “No, not when I’m starving.”

  “Then we’ll go to the Italian bistro. It’s closer.”

  They spent the ride in comfortable silence, and by the time Blythe parked in front of Casa Grigia, her stomach rumbled in hunger.

  From the outside, the Italian bistro resembled a Victorian pub with its light-gray, stone façade, carved decorative border at the roofline, and crimson neon sign over the massive door.

  As soon as they entered the premises, the tantalizing aroma of herbs and spices tickled Riley’s nose. The hostess, who didn’t spare Blythe a second look, ushered them to the second floor. Square tables were randomly spaced around a fire grill, where patrons toasted thick slices of bread over an open flame. The place was packed with people of all ages. They were seated in a private alcove and presented with two menus. “A server will be with you shortly.”

  On the first page of the menu was the daily special. With its shrimp, bell peppers, onions, and mushrooms swimming in an arrabbiata sauce over a sea of whole-wheat penne, the picture was mouthwatering.

  A teenage girl in a red uniform approached and placed two glasses of water on the table. “My name is Lydia. May I offer you something else to drink before you order?”

  A wine list was wedged between the salt and pepper shakers, and Blythe grabbed it. “Would you share a bottle with me?”

  “Not tonight, thanks. Alcohol puts me to sleep, and I’m already too tired but feel free to indulge.” If he became intoxicated, she’d grab a cab to get back to her hotel.

  “I never drink alone.” He discarded the list on the corner of the table. “Are you ready to order?”

  “Yes.”

  Their server pulled a pen and a notepad from the front pocket of her uniform. “Ma’am?”

  “I’ll have the daily special with…” Riley glanced at the menu for the list of side dishes available with the meal. “With a garden salad, please.”

  Blythe ordered the same before handing both their menus back to Lydia who promptly retreated.

  As Riley took a sip from her glass of water, her gaze roamed across the room. “This is a nice restaurant, but I’m a bit surprised to see this many people on a Monday night.”

  The ghost of a smile fleeted across Blythe’s face. “I’m hoping it means the food is good.”

  “You’ve never been here?” After he chose the Italian bistro, he’d looked like he knew exactly where he was heading, so she assumed he’d eaten here in the past.

  “No. The restaurant opened in January, and…” He shrugged. “Never had the chance.”

  If the food tasted as delicious as it smelled, the place was bound to become popular in no time. “May I ask a personal question?”

  His shirt tautened against his chest as he reached for his glass of water. “Sure.”

  “Is there any resemblance between you and Carson?”

  “Carson?” Twirling his glass between his hands, he let out a long breath, and she hoped she hadn’t offended him with her question. “According to many people, we’re both intimidating, but that’s probably where the resemblance stops.”

  With his chiseled face, blond hair, and tall, muscular physique, he did look intimidating, so she understood why people would get that impression. “My daughter would probably say you’re like a big teddy bear. Tough outside and pretty soft in—” She winced in painful embarrassment. “Tell me I didn’t say that aloud?”

  His laughter filled the air between them. “You were talking about Carson, right?”

  “Yeah…Carson…” Flustered by the number of wrong things that had passed her mouth that day, she wanted to hide under the table. “Anything else you’d like to tell me about Carson?”

  “He’s a fun character to play. Have you met any of the other actors of Wild Rescue?”

  “No.” But she was curious about them. “Are they similar to their characters?”

  “Let’s see—”

  “Excuse me.” Lydia had sneaked up on them
with two salads and placed them on the table. “Enjoy.”

  One at a time, Blythe set the black olives on the side of his plate, and Riley couldn’t help but smile at the undertaking. Her daughter, had she eaten the same salad, would have given the small fruits a similar treatment.

  “I’m not too fond of olives, and if Dylan Stanko was sitting beside me, he’d steal them from my plate.”

  “Are you good friends with him?”

  His fork stilled in midair. “Yes, but to be honest, I don’t socialize much outside work.” He resumed his task of eradicating his salad of the unwanted fruits, not that she could see many olives left among the lettuce. “Dylan is a nice guy. Practical. Diligent. I can tell you he’s not acting when he plays Roch. His fictional life mirrors his real life, down to the devoted wife, the three kids, and the family dog. Working with him is a privilege.”

  For the few hours she’d known him, Blythe hadn’t given her the impression of being someone who conveyed hollow praises. “What about Nick Jensen?”

  “Nick?” He took a bite of his salad. “Nick is a nice and generous guy. He attracts girlfriends at the same rate Luke does on the show, but he makes the mistake of marrying most of them.” A pang of regret or disapproval crept into his voice. “You’ll want to avoid the word alimony in his presence.”

  “I see.” She hadn’t pictured the dashing actor with a string of ex-wives clawing at his wallet, and to her knowledge, none of those women ever made the tabloids. That the actor managed to keep his tumultuous private life out of the limelight was astonishing. “Is his British accent real?”

  Blythe shook his head. “He grew up in Montreal and speaks both English and French without any accent.”

  “What about Isabella Neuville?”

  “Her?” A low growl rumbled up his throat. “Unlike sweet Vivian, Bella is cunning, but she’s also a great actress. Please, let’s not talk about her. I’d rather not lose my appetite.”

  To hear that Isabella’s reputation didn’t match her beautiful face stunned Riley. The actress must have done something to earn Blythe’s mistrust, and Riley was curious to know what but afraid she might alienate him by asking, so she didn’t pursue the subject. Instead, she switched the conversation to the stuntmen strike and how it affected his schedule.

  Chapter Four

  All her life Riley had dreamed of writing television scripts, but after two overwhelming days at Arctica Studio, she was glad to fly home. She had so much to share with Ollie, and she needed a few quiet days to absorb all she’d learned and experienced.

  As the sun dipped behind the mountains, her plane began its descent over the regional airport near Sparrowsnest. By the time she arrived home, darkness would have claimed the sky.

  The aircraft bounced on the lone airstrip. Not the smoothest landing, but it beat driving more than 1,300 kilometers to get from Winnipeg to Sparrowsnest. She unbuckled her seatbelt and waited her turn to exit.

  At the sight of her husband waiting outside the security gate near the baggage carousel, butterflies fluttered in her stomach. She hurried into his arms, and he kissed her like she’d been gone forever. After nearly twenty years, Ollie still managed to take her breath away. “I missed you.”

  “Me too. How’s your arm?”

  That he remembered the incident she’d casually mentioned the first night she’d called him didn’t surprise her. In the best of times, he showed no patience for preventable accidents. “It’s blue, purple, and painful, but I’ll survive.” As she stroked his stubbly chin, she noticed his disheveled brown hair and the uncharacteristic dark circles under darker brown eyes. “You look tired.”

  “I didn’t sleep much the two days you were gone.” He released her and turned toward the conveyor belt. “Let’s get your luggage first, and then I’ll tell you everything in the truck.”

  Ollie didn’t lose much sleep unless there was a surge in the intensity or in the number of fires he investigated. As tragic scenarios entered her mind, the butterflies metamorphosed into wasps.

  After he retrieved her suitcase from the carousel, they walked hand in hand to his black truck. “I’m not allowed to say anything, Ken, but we have a firebug on our hands.”

  No one else called her Ken, and the nickname meant more to her than all the sweethearts, honeys, or darlings of the world. “How many fires did he start?”

  “We suspect four, including the one from last night.” He placed her suitcase in the truck bed and secured it with a bungee cord. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but the children’s section in the library is a mass of ashes.”

  Appalled, she gasped and recoiled against the side of the truck. The children’s books were her favorite, and as a librarian, she’d spent years building a decent collection. All for nothing. “What about the other sections?”

  Ollie’s loving arms pulled her into a tender embrace. “Some water damage, but Molly believes she’ll be able to restore most of the books.”

  A good friend of hers, Molly, had taken over the librarian job when Riley quit. “That’s a small consolation.” Growing more exhausted by the minute, she leaned her head against his shoulder. “Do the police have a suspect?”

  “No. Not even a profile.” He led her to the passenger side where she collapsed in the leather seat. “Carl and Jeff were injured when a row of bookshelves tumbled down. They’re in the hospital, flirting with the nurses.”

  The mental picture of two strapping firefighters in skimpy hospital gowns drew a smile on her lips. “Poor nurses. I take it they’ll be fine?”

  “Yes. Ken…” From the passenger doorway, he pressed his hand on her thigh, and his expression grew even more sober. “I suited up last night.”

  It took a few seconds for the meaning to sink in. “You donned a firefighter suit?”

  “I was at the scene. The guys were shorthanded.” His broad shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath. “Duty called. I answered.”

  Throttling her fears, she placed her hand over his and intertwined their fingers together. “How did it feel to be back in the heat of the action?”

  The pun, though unintentional, alleviated the tension that had risen between them.

  “It felt hot,” he joked. “And it reminded me why I gave it up.”

  The circumstances of the moment had pushed him into action but to hear he hadn’t intended to go back was a relief. “Will you remain on call until Carl and Jeff are released?”

  “Not if I can help it. The department is trying to expand its volunteer program. They want me to run training sessions two nights a week.”

  “Which nights?” Before she left the studio, Martin had summoned her to his office and offered her a contract for the rest of the season. She’d been excited and called Ollie during her cab ride to the airport. For the next three months she would fly to Winnipeg every Monday morning and fly out every Wednesday night. The rest of the week, she’d work from home and spend her evenings with her husband, or so she’d envisioned.

  “I get to choose, and I was thinking of Monday and Tuesday nights. Would that be compatible with your new work schedule, Madame Writer?”

  ***

  The nurses’ station on Claire’s hospital floor was unmanned.

  At night, there was only one nurse on duty, and she was too busy running from one room to the next to stay at the station more than five minutes at a time.

  According to the notice taped on the wall in front of the elevators, anyone visiting patients outside regular hours was required to sign in at the nurses’ station. A red logbook titled Sign-In lay on the corner of the counter. To comply with the rules, Blythe added his name and signature to the short but familiar list of nightly visitors before walking into Claire’s private room.

  A fresh bouquet of purple and white tulips stood in a plain glass vase on the window’s ledge. The flowers were his wife’s and mother-in-law’s favorite.

  “Hello, darling.” Blythe reached under the blanket for Claire’s hand and brought it to his lips
. It was soft and smelled of honeysuckle. “I see your mom came and gave you a hand massage.” As dedicated as the nurses on the floor were, they didn’t have time to pamper the patients. “The flowers she brought you are beautiful.”

  His wife’s eyes remained closed with not even a flicker of change to the serene expression on her face.

  “I miss you so much.”

  “Good evening, Mr. Huxley.”

  Startled by the familiar voice, he looked over his shoulder. “Becky?” The white dress that the nurse wore offered a lovely contrast to her dark skin and even darker hair. “Aren’t you off on Wednesdays?” By now, he’d memorized all the staff members’ names and their schedules.

  “Megan called in sick.” A soft giggle escaped Becky’s throat. “Her daughter is visiting.”

  “I take it she owes you one?”

  “A big one.” Becky noted Claire’s vital signs before replacing the IV bag. “You’ve been coming late this week. Is the stuntmen strike they talk about on the news disrupting the filming?”

  “Yes.” Confusion over the new schedule had led to dozens of extra takes, stretching their workdays into late nights. “It’s going to be a heck of a week.”

  ***

  A constant ringing roused Riley from dreamland. Hazy images lingered at the edge of her consciousness as she blindly reached for the handset she kept on the night table near her bed. “Hello?”

  “Mom, you’ll never guess what.”

  Riley peeked through one eyelid at the alarm clock and stifled a groan. College students weren’t supposed to be perky at 6 a.m. “Your last final exam has been canceled, and you’re ready to come home for the summer.”

  “Not exactly. Is Dad there?”