Sawyer sighed. “It sounds like Mitch Reynolds will probably buy the place and turn it into a hellhole. One of those golf-course communities for retirees.”
“That would be a shame.” Although Sawyer’s mother was an urbanite to her core, she understood how much the ranch meant to him, Jace, and Cash and the importance of preserving Grandpa Dalton’s way of life. Tough to do when your neighbor is a gated community of tract homes.
“Yep. Nothing we can do about it.” He turned up the air-conditioner. The loft felt like a furnace today.
“Let me talk to your father about it. But I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
Yep, they were all sorry. It was the end of an era.
Chapter 14
After getting off the phone with his mother, he decided to deliver the news about the photo to Gina in person. It was a flimsy excuse to go over to her cabin, but he managed to convince himself that a phone conversation wouldn’t cut it. Even if it was getting late. He walked over, telling himself he needed the exercise. The truth was he didn’t want Cash to see his Range Rover in Gina’s driveway.
She answered the door in a pair of denim shorts and a tank top, no bra. It was all he could do not to pick her up and carry her to the bedroom.
“What’s up?” She swung her arm across the threshold of the cabin, inviting him to come in. The TV was playing in the background and Sawyer wondered if she was watching the FoodFlicks Network.
He peeked around the corner. Not FoodFlicks, aLaw & Orderrerun.
“I talked to my friend about the photograph of you and Danny on the beach. He says he’s ninety-nine percent sure it’s a fake.”
“I didn’t need him to tell me that. I know it’s a fake because I’ve never been on a beach with Danny Clay in my life.”
“We’ve established that. This is so you can go to the press with proof.” Except there was no proof without an expert’s written assertion that the picture was phony. “The problem is we need the original photo to establish it’s a fake. You wouldn’t happen to know where the photo originated?”
Gina shook her head. He followed her into the living room where she turned off the TV.
“I first saw the photograph on TMZ’s website. It was after I got frantic calls from both my agent and manager. Neither of them knows where it came from and they just assumed that someone shot the picture and sold it to the tabloids. The problem with that theory is there was no photo to take because we were never there. Not together, anyway. Which leaves me with only one conclusion: Someone with a computer and some skill with Photoshop cooked it up.”
Yep, that was apparent. But who? The only way to discover the culprit was to trace the photo to its originator.
“We need to find out how TMZ got its hands on the picture or if TMZ was even the first publication to print it,” Sawyer said.
“Well, you’re the newsman—how do we do that?”
Sawyer might be a newsman, but he didn’t truck with Harvey Levin or any of the other reporters at TMZ. And even if he did, the likelihood of them giving up their source was next to nil. He sure the hell wouldn’t do it. “Let me see what I can do.” He’d have to reach out to friends who might have a connection with someone high up at TMZ. But if his mother couldn’t find the original photo, he doubted he’d have any better luck.
“Thank you.” She brushed his arm with her hand. “I appreciate all you’ve done.” She sat on the sofa and tucked her legs under her butt.
“You’re welcome.” Sawyer purposely took one of the leather chairs. He didn’t want her to think he’d come here for sex, because he hadn’t.
They sat for a while, saying nothing, comfortable in each other’s presence. The cabin had lost its musty odor, which had been replaced by a combination of Gina’s fragrance—something floral but not overbearing—and fresh bread.
It smelled like a home.
“You want ice cream?” She unfolded her legs and perched at the edge of the sofa. “I’m playing around with that machine I bought and a couple of new flavors.”
Hell yeah, he wanted ice cream. He got up and wandered into the kitchen. There were ingredients, mixing bowls, and assorted other cooking utensils spread across the counter. It was evident that Gina DeRose was used to people cleaning up after her.
She opened the freezer, pulled out a plastic tub, and dished him up enough ice cream to feed an entire bunkhouse of cowboys.
She caught him sniffing the bowl. “It’s blackberry. The ones you saw me picking the other day.”
He remembered. When he and Angie were kids, they used to pick and gorge on the berries until they stained their hands and face blue.
Sawyer dipped his spoon in the bowl and took a lick. It was creamy. Something between frozen custard and gelato. “Good,” he said as he filled his mouth with another bite.
She served herself half a bowl. When she saw him comparing portions, she said, “This is my second helping of the night. Besides”—she eyed him up and down—“you have more places to put it.”
