A Man of His Word Page 5

  “Are they still there?” he growled softly.

  She dragged her gaze from his to peer around his shoulder. “Yes.”

  “Guess we’d better do a retake.”

  With a small smile he bent her backward over his arm.

  Chapter 4

  W hen Sydney came up for air, her coherent first thought was that Reece Henderson had chosen the wrong profession. If he performed like this on stage or film, he’d walk away with a fistful of Oscars and Emmys.

  The second, far-more-disconcerting thought was that she’d forgotten he was acting about halfway through their bone-rattling kiss.

  The crunch of car tires on gravel brought her thumping back to earth. She pushed out of Reece’s arms, shaken to the toes of her scuffed boots, just in time to see a silver and maroon utility vehicle with the Chavez Ranch logo on the door pull out of the parking lot. Blowing a shaky breath, she turned back to her co-conspirator.

  “That was quite a performance, Mr. Henderson. Let’s hope it doesn’t get back to your wife.”

  “I’m not married.”

  “Engaged? Not that I’m really interested, you understand, but I already have something of a reputation in this town. It would be nice to know what I’m adding to it.”

  He shoved a hand through his closely trimmed black hair. Sydney felt a little dart of wholly feminine satisfaction at the red that singed his cheeks. She wasn’t the only one who’d put more than she planned into the kiss…or taken more out of it.

  “No fiancée, no significant other, not even a dog,” he replied shortly. “My job keeps me on the road too much for anything that requires a commitment.”

  Was that a warning? Sydney wondered. Well, she didn’t need it. She didn’t require anything from Reece Henderson except his cooperation for her documentary.

  “Well, that’s a relief,” she replied dryly. “I don’t think I’ve got room on my chest for another scarlet A.”

  His deliberate glance at the portion of her anatomy under discussion had Sydney battling the absurd urge to cross her arms. She never wore a bra…one, because she wasn’t well-enough endowed to require support and two, because she didn’t like any unnecessary constriction when she was working. Right now, though, she would gladly have traded a little constriction for the shield of a Maidenform. The tingling at the center of her breasts told her she was showing the effects of that stunning kiss. That, and the way Reece’s gaze lingered on her chest.

  How embarrassing! And ridiculous! She hadn’t allowed any man to fluster her like this since—

  Since Jamie.

  The memory of her idiocy that long-ago summer acted like a bucket of cold water, fizzling out the shivery feeling left by Reece’s mouth and hands and appraising glance. She slanted her head, studying his square chin and faintly disapproving eyes.

  “When you stepped into the fray tonight and hinted at something more than a casual acquaintance between us, you obviously wanted to send Jamie Chavez a message. Just out of curiosity, why does it matter to you what either he or his wife thinks?”

  His jaw squared. “Maybe I don’t like to see a wife humiliated by her husband’s interest in another woman.”

  The barb was directed at her as much as at Jamie. Sydney stiffened, but bit back a sharp reply. She refused to defend herself to him…or anyone else…again.

  “And maybe it’s because I’ve got a job to do here,” he continued. “I made several trips to Chalo Canyon earlier this year to lay the groundwork and gain the cooperation of the locals, including the Chavez family.”

  “Sebastian Chavez being the most important and influential of those locals?”

  “Exactly. Until he learned about your plans to film the ruins, he was willing to work with me to address the worries of the other ranchers and farmers and businessmen. Since then, he’s become a major—”

  “Pain in the butt?” Sydney supplied with syrupy sweetness.

  “A major opponent of any delay.”

  “Then he doesn’t have anything to worry about, does he? I’m as anxious to complete my project as you are yours. Speaking of which, are we still on schedule for 9:24 tomorrow?”

  “Nine twenty-three,” he corrected with a disconcerting glint in his blue eyes.

  Good Lord! Was that a glimmer of amusement? The idea that Reece Henderson could laugh at himself threw Sydney almost as much as his kiss had. What a contradictory man he was, all disapproving and square-jawed one moment, almost human and too damned attractive for her peace of mind the next.

  Good thing her work would keep her occupied from dawn to dusk for the next two weeks. The last thing she needed at this critical juncture was distraction. This project meant too much to her emotionally and financially to jeopardize it with even a mild flirtation.

  “I want to position my crew on the east rim just after dawn,” she said crisply. “We’ll probably shoot most of the day and into the evening, if the light holds. Any problems with that?”

  “No. Just check in with me when you leave the area.”

  Nodding, she swung around to head back to the café. She’d better remind Zack to curtail his night-owl TV watching or it would take a stick of dynamite to roust him before dawn tomorrow.

  “Sydney…”

  “Yes?”

  He hesitated, then curled that wicked, wonderful mouth into a real-live smile.

  “Steer clear of falling rocks.”

  “I will.”

  She’d steer clear of falling rocks and former lovers and too-handsome engineers. In fact, she swore silently as she reached for the café’s screened door, she’d go out of her way to avoid any and all possible distractions until she finished the shoot and shook the dust of Chalo Canyon from her heels forever.

  Unfortunately, avoiding distractions and interruptions was easier planned than done.

  The predawn sky still wore a mantle of darkness sprinkled with stars when Sydney walked out of her room, laden with one of Tish’s camera bags and a backpack filled with water bottles. She’d taken only a step toward the parked van when bright headlights stabbed through the quiet of the sleeping town.

  Sydney glanced curiously at the vehicle as it pulled into the motel parking lot. She caught a brief glimpse of the silver Diamond-C logo on its side door before the utility vehicle squealed to a stop a few yards away. Her stomach knotted when she saw that the man at the wheel wasn’t Jamie Chavez, but his father.

  Okay, girl, she told herself bracingly. You knew this confrontation had to come sooner or later.

  Yeah, herself answered, but we were hoping for later.

  Come on! Get a grip here. You’re not the same easy mark you were the last time you faced Sebastian Chavez.

  At nineteen, she’d been shamed to her core by Jamie’s father. At twenty-nine, Sydney had cradled her own father’s hand while he died a slow, agonizing death. The experience put all else in perspective. For that reason she was able to greet Jamie’s father with a calm nod.

  “Hello, Sebastian.”

  He slammed the door of the utility, a tall man made aristocratic by fine-boned Hispanic features and rigidly erect carriage. The old man never bent, Jamie had once told Sydney with laughing chagrin. He’d break in two before he yielded so much as an inch of his land or his pride.

  Or his son.

  Even in the darkness, Sydney could see the disdain in his black eyes. The predawn breeze ruffled his silvery hair as he stared at her coldly.

  “You’ve come back.”

  Sydney confirmed the obvious with a little nod of her head. “Yes.”

  “You’re not welcome in Chalo Canyon.”

  “I didn’t expect a welcome, Sebastian. Not from you.”

  Nor had she expected the virulent letters he’d written her financial backers when he learned of her proposed documentary. Chavez had done everything in his power to destroy her credibility, her reputation, and her project. Such hatred…or was it reawakened fear that she would take his son from him? Sydney had no patience with or sympathy f
or either.

  “Did you drive into town this early just to make sure I knew I wasn’t welcome?”

  His head went back. Regal, scornful, he stared down his nose, taking in her ball cap, her ponytail, the worn navy blue sweatshirt she’d pulled on over her tank top to ward off the early-morning chill.

  “I drove into town to tell you to stay away from my son.”

  Sydney tossed the backpack through the open rear doors of the van. It landed with a clunk beside neatly stowed boxes of equipment. She took considerably more care with Tish’s camera bag. Only when it was properly stored and buffered on all sides did she face her old nemesis.

  For a moment she toyed with the idea of telling Sebastian that his precious son had killed any feeling she’d had for him when he’d stood back and let his father rip into her that awful, mortifying night. She would cut off her right arm before she’d put herself in such a vulnerable position with Jamie or any other man again, but her pride wouldn’t allow her to give Sebastian the satisfaction of knowing he’d gotten to her like that.

  “I don’t suppose it’s occurred to you that both Jamie and I are past the age of allowing you to dictate our behavior?”

  His nostrils flared. “You almost sabotaged his marriage to Arlene once. I won’t let you do so again.”

  From what Sydney had seen of Jamie’s marriage last night, it was coming apart at the seams without any help from her.

  “Fine. You’ve delivered your warning. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a crew to round up.”

  He leaned forward, his lean body quivering. “Don’t try to drive through my land to get to the canyon. In case you’ve forgotten, we shoot trespassers in these parts.”

  Sydney drew back, shaken and, she was ashamed to admit, just a bit frightened by his intensity. Good God, had her silly infatuation spawned such hatred?

  Her prickly pride gave way to a need to make peace. If anything, her father’s death had taught her that life was too short, too precious, to squander on unhappiness or despair.

  “I didn’t come back to make trouble,” she said quietly. “Only to make a documentary.”

  That didn’t appear to appease him. Sydney tried again, her voice gentle.

  “I won’t drive through your lands, Sebastian. It took some doing, but I got permission to access the restricted area behind the dam. I’ll shoot the emergence sequence from across the canyon with telephoto lenses.”

  His mouth twisted. “I know about your permits. I wouldn’t…”

  The sudden bang of the café’s screen door cut off his bitter words. A still-sleepy Zack joined them, his arms loaded with paper bags.

  “Geez, Syd, you won’t believe what Lula packed for our lunch. I told her to go light, just sandwiches and stuff, but she must have sliced up a side of beef for these— Oh.” He blinked at the figure in the shadows. “Hey, dude, how’re ya anyway?”

  Sydney bit her lip at the sight of the sloppy, slouchy Zack of the green hair and pierced extremities jumbling brown bags to offer Sebastian a high five. The older man looked the younger up and down, curled his lip, spun on one heel and strode back to his vehicle.

  Zack blinked in surprise. “Like, what crawled up his pants?”

  “Never mind. Just load the lunches, will you? I’ll roust Tish and the others. I want to get moving.”

  What she wanted was to get her crew in place. To position her cameras and lose herself in the past once again. She ached to feel that secret, soaring thrill as the mystical village slowly emerged from its decade-long sleep. She needed to feel it, needed to share the magic with her father a final time. Her heart thumping in anticipation, she strode back to the open doorways of the rooms beside hers.

  Statuesque, six-foot Tish strolled out first, her ebony skin a dark shadow in the predawn. Slightly overweight and fastidious to the point of prissiness, Albert followed a moment later.

  “Let’s get this show on the road!” Sydney urged. “If our senior engineer’s calculations are correct, we need to be in place by seven and have the cameras rolling by eight. Tish, are you ready? Albert? Katie?”

  It took another ten minutes to locate the infrared lens Tish had stashed under her bed for safekeeping and five more for Katie and Albert to load the sound console. They wouldn’t synthesize sound tracks today, only record them, but Albert preferred to hear the input coming in over the four wireless mikes as he got it, which meant loading up every piece of his equipment every day.

  Sydney didn’t spare a thought to the physical labor it took to haul the equipment in and out of the motel. With a single camera lens costing upward of five to six thousand dollars, no professional would leave his gear sitting in a van all night, even in a sleepy little town like Chalo Canyon.

  Faint streaks of purplish pink hazed the horizon by the time she had both crew and equipment loaded and ready to roll.

  “Tish, you ride with me, and we’ll talk about settings on the way to the canyon. Zack, you’ve got the keys to the van?”

  “Got ’em.” Her assistant ambled to the rented vehicle, his battery-operated Nike shoes flashing. “We’ll be right behind you. Just don’t drive off any more cliffs, dude-ess.”

  They made it to the barriers Reece’s crew had erected across the canyon rim road just as the eastern sky had begun to glow a reddish gold. In a fever of impatience now, Sydney hustled her crew out of the vehicles and loaded them up for the trek to the vantage point she’d scouted out. As she edged her way around the narrow curve where she’d gone over the cliff, she shot a fond glance toward the piñon where she’d spent the previous night. Once beyond the narrow neck, her boots ate up the dirt track.

  Albert was huffing and Zack complaining loudly by the time they reached the point opposite the sunken village. Quiet, mousy Kate went right to work, unpacking sound equipment, spare batteries, videotapes.

  Zack flopped down on the ground, arms and legs spread. “Why did I ever throw my lot in with a documentarian?” he grumbled. “I could, like, go to work for Disney and just sit on my butt all day drawing cartoons.

  Sydney paid no attention to his grousing. She’d worked with every person on this crew before and knew their strengths and weaknesses. Tish and Albert ranked right up there among the best in the business. Zack… Well, Zack was Zack.

  “Okay,” she said briskly, “let’s go over the shooting script.” She knew it almost by heart, but another review wouldn’t hurt.

  “We’ll start with a few wide angles. Tish, as soon as you’ve got enough light, pan the canyon. I want to convey a sense of its size and scope. I’m also looking for contrasts—dark shadows on red sandstone, the round arch of the cave against the flat cliff face.”

  “You want contrasts, you’ll get contrasts,” Tish said confidently, tucking her copy of the shoot script into the pocket of her twill vest. With the loving care of a mother handling a newborn infant, she lifted a long, sausagelike lens out of its case.

  “Albert, get me morning sounds. Lots of them. Birds, squirrels, the breeze in the trees. Lazy, sleepy, just coming to life. Let’s try for a sense of the world greeting the dawn.”

  “What you want is your Brigadoon coming awake after its hundred-year sleep.”

  “Exactly. That’s the mood I’m after. A slow awakening. A gentle rebirth. The village slowly emerging from the waters into the sun.”

  Excitement pulsed along Sydney’s nerves, tripping little bursts of energy. This was what she did best. This was what she thrived on. Most people outside the film community thought a documentary simply recorded events as they unfolded. Few realized that a skilled director shaped and shaded the recording to put his or her own artistic interpretation on the footage.

  “The next sequence will be the actual emergence. I want a wide-angle shot of the cliff face on camera one, medium close-ups of the village as it clears the water on camera two. As soon as we spot the tower, we’ll go maximum zoom. I want to see the stones, the bricks, the empty windows, as they clear the water.”

  “Got
it,” Tish said calmly.

  “Albert, can you drop one of the mikes to catch some water sounds? Waves lapping against rock, maybe, or a trickle of water running down stone? I know we planned to catch that later, but it would help set the mood…”

  The soundman edged to the canyon rim and peered into the dimness below. “How far down is it to the water?”

  “More than two hundred feet by now.”

  “We can try a fishing expedition, but I’m not guaranteeing anything,” he said dubiously. “Katie, get that extra roll of cable, will you?”

  While her crew set up, Sydney went about her own tasks with a sort of schizophrenic precision. The director in her consulted with Tish on camera placement, studied the light meters that recorded the glow of dawn, listened to the faint whistle of wind magnified through Albert’s earphones. All the while her heart pounded and her anxious eyes watched the water level on the opposite cliff face.

  Gnawing on her lower lip, she paced the rim. The water inched lower and lower. The sky behind her lightened to purple. The sun rose in a majestic golden ball, painting the cliffs across the shrunken reservoir a rosy pink. The water shaded to gray, then green.

  “I’m panning the canyon now,” Tish advised, her hand sure and steady on the tripod’s handle.

  Sydney crowded as close to the camera operator as she could without jostling either her or the equipment. Closing one eye, she followed the camera’s tiny video screen as Tish moved it in a slow sweep.

  A lump formed right in the middle of her throat. The vast panorama of Chalo Canyon waking to the dawn was magnificent, even framed in a one-inch screen. Light washed down the sandstone cliffs, painting them a rich umber. The same morning sunshine outlined the sharp stone projections and threw the recesses behind them into even starker shadow. Above the cliffs, the sky blued. Below, the waters retreated.

  The sun rose higher, clearing the mountains behind them. With agonizing slowness, the shadows on the cliffs across the canyon separated. Distinct, black streaks appeared on the wall of stone.