Chapter Two
“If it walks like a skunk and smells like a skunk . . . plug your nose and head for the door.”
—Blu Johnson, life lesson #28
“And . . . cut.”
At the three-letter word, Calhoun Reynolds let the overdone smile fall from his lips and stepped from the circle of lights set up on the back porch. The Texas Dream Home film crew had been at the house since early that morning, capturing footage for the opening credits of the upcoming competition. They’d slapped makeup on him, traipsed through every inch of the seventy-year-old Craftsman where his grandparents had once lived, and asked more questions than he could have imagined. Yet he sensed they remained less than satisfied with what they’d gotten.
He wasn’t sure what else he could offer, though.
Of course, there was the fact that he was sitting on a farm no one knew about. They’d be all over that.
Single, eligible bachelor, with his own three-hundred-acre ranch? And renovating the original log house himself? They wouldn’t be able to resist. They’d likely even encourage him to strip down to his jeans and drive in a nail or two—just for the women viewers. No one had been shy about stroking his ego today, nor about how they’d love to play up his looks for the viewers.
“Hey, Cal.” His uncle Rodney stepped through the sliding back door, a practiced smile on his face, as his gaze sought out who might be in charge of the madness going on in the secluded backyard. This was the first Cal had seen of his uncle since the other man had left for a date the night before. “I didn’t realize filming started today.”
Rodney could be an exceptional liar when he wanted to be. His dark hair was freshly trimmed, plaid shirt tucked into his best jeans, and he’d even brought out his lucky boots. The ones he typically only wore when he wasn’t positive a date was a sure thing.
“They wanted to get a few shots before everything starts Monday morning,” Cal told him.
The cameraman had once again stepped behind his equipment, and as Rodney’s smile swung toward the glowing red light, Cal wouldn’t have been surprised to see his uncle whip out a cowboy hat and plop it on his head. He’d been looking forward to this.
“It’s all still hush-hush,” Cal reminded him. He turned his back to the lens. Though word had leaked out about the production company’s purchase of the two one-and-a-half-story bungalows over on Pear Street, it remained a secret just who had been selected to compete in this year’s competition. Or if any local company had. Texas Dream Home typically chose one team from the area where the houses were to be renovated, as well as one crew from another part of the state. Therefore, rumors had been running rampant.
“Not a problem for me,” Rodney assured him. “My lips are sealed.”
He zipped his finger across his lips as if to prove his words, while Cal took a step closer to catch a better look at his uncle’s eyes. Not bloodshot.
At least not yet.
“Any way I could get in on the action?” Rodney asked. Lack of subtlety was another of his charms.
“I think they’re—”
“Mr. Reynolds!” Patrick Whitaker, the show’s producer, caught sight of Rodney and made fast work of eating up the distance between him and them. He easily maneuvered Cal and Rodney so that anything said or done would be caught on tape, and thrust his hand out in greeting. A boom mic hovered above them. “We were hoping you’d show up today, sir. Good to see you again. Since you started We Nail It Contractors, we absolutely want to get you on screen. Can you stick around?”
“For however long you need me.”
Cal kept his features blank. He’d been so close to getting everyone out of the house.
“Will you be doing any of the work with Cal for the show?” Patrick asked.
“I’m pretty much out of the game these days,” Rodney informed the producer. “Cal and I still talk business and I jump in when needed, but I mostly prefer spending my time . . . giving back. I’m either giving to the horse races down in Selma—or I’m giving the ladies who’ve yet to have the pleasure of Rodney a firsthand chance.” Cal’s uncle gave a wink, and Patrick responded with the appropriate guffaw. “My nephew is perfect for the cameras, though, don’t you think?” Rodney slapped Cal on the back. “Boy’s got the Reynolds charm on his side. Not to mention the looks.”
Another round of laughter came from Patrick.
Rodney was right about the Reynolds charm, though. At least where it concerned Rodney. The man was in a league of his own. It was how he’d managed to get married three times.
The divorces, however, were another story.
But even with multiple exes, Rodney still had no problem reeling in the ladies. It was impressive, actually. There’d been a time when Cal had thought he wanted to be just like his uncle.
“Maybe we can talk you into stopping by the house,” Patrick went on. “Swing a hammer to show where Cal gets his skill. We like the episodes to be about family as much as the renovations, and I know the viewers would love seeing you two together.”
Cal remained silent. He didn’t point out that his skill had actually started as a kid. Back when his grandfather had been alive. Nor that neither he nor his competition would have much in the way of family on camera. Rodney would be it for him. And Cal planned to do his best to limit the amount of time that attention would be pointed his uncle’s way.
“Sounds good to me.” Rodney put an arm around Cal. “I’d do anything for this one.”
Cal kept his own arms at his sides, but he did fire a winning smile at the camera. Rodney was mugging for the potential viewers, he knew, but Cal didn’t doubt the sentiment. They’d lived together in his grandparents’ house for thirteen years now, Rodney having once provided Cal both a roof over his head and a job in his business, and in that span of time, any pretense with the other had fallen away. Cal could have moved out years ago, but he liked being surrounded with childhood memories. He also liked his grandmother knowing that her house still had life in it.
Plus, Rodney needed him here. Rodney wasn’t someone who handled being on his own well. Nor was he someone who handled the business side of things well. Which was why Cal had taken over the company several years back. They’d made a gentleman’s agreement. Cal would purchase Rodney’s remaining portion for a single dollar bill—while also providing Rodney a salary for life. It had been a win for both of them.
And though his uncle had practically run the company into the ground, since taking ownership, Cal had made it his mission to turn We Nail It into what it was today. Which was a thriving business that stayed so busy both in and around Red Oak Falls that he certainly had no time to be filming a reality show. Nor had he applied to be on one. Yet when Texas Dream Home had come calling, he’d found himself signing on the dotted line.
“We start filming at the houses on Monday,” Patrick was saying to Rodney now, his words cutting into Cal’s thoughts. “We’ll interview you here today, but let’s also plan on talking to you at the jobsite before the week is over.”
“I’m in,” Rodney confirmed. He shook the man’s hand. “Just tell me when and where.”
And not to be drunk, Cal thought. His uncle had a problem that was fast becoming harder to hide.
Patrick and his uncle moved away from the porch as they continued to talk, and Cal returned to his thoughts. He still couldn’t believe he’d agreed to do the show. The last thing he’d ever imagined for himself was being the “star” of a television show. That had been his ex’s so-called dream. Therefore, when Texas Dream Home had sought him out, he’d refused. Even when Rodney had pointed out the obvious. That if Cal truly wanted to be the best in the business, it wouldn’t do to shun an opportunity like this.
And it was a heck of an opportunity. Cal could admit that. We Nail It was already the most well-known construction company within a one-hundred-mile radius, and they’d been voted Red Oak Falls’ Best in Biz three years running. But if they were to be on TV . . .
If Cal was on TV, even his father would have to take notice.
Still, Cal declined. He had too many irons in the fire to take on the additional role of reality-television personality. Not to mention, Cal didn’t make decisions based upon his father.
Ever.
But then the executive producer had played his trump card. Jill.
And everything had begun to look different.
Unbeknownst to Jill, Cal would be his ex’s competition. And he swore, nothing could have gotten him interested faster. Because, dammit, he might have been the one to walk away from their twenty-four-hour marriage, but she’d been the one to throw down the gauntlet. And then she’d had the nerve to sashay back into town six years later and open a competing business.
Texas Dream Home had been aware of all those facts, though how, Cal hadn’t bothered to ask. They’d even waved around the knowledge that Jill had refused to speak to him in the five years she’d been home. They felt they had a gold mine on their hands by pitting two exes together for this year’s competition, and they’d made it clear they would do whatever it took to sign Cal.
Shamefully, it hadn’t taken all that much. A chance to finally put Jill in her place?
Done.
Bluebonnet Construction would have to concede that they simply couldn’t compete in the same arena. Construction was his game. And the fact that Jill would be spitting nails when she found out she would be going up against him? Icing on the cake.
He did feel a tiny bit bad about his part in it, though. Keeping this from her did make him a bit of an ass.
But then, genetics and all, he couldn’t help but be an ass.
He had a sudden vision of his ex completely livid, her eyes snapping with heat, and her body coiled and ready to snap. The girl had a temper. And he’d always loved it.
Cal groaned at the unbidden thought. Surely that hadn’t played into his agreeing to be on the show. Just to get her mad? To see it directed at him?
What in the hell was wrong with him? Would making her finally speak to him again—winning the unspoken battle she’d declared between them—give him a sense of power? Or would it prove him a complete moron for putting himself in her line of fire to begin with? Because the fact remained that he’d never been able to resist her particular brand of fire. And he suspected it would engulf him just as fiercely today.
What an idiot.
He turned and slipped inside the house. There were still hours of daylight left. His uncle could entertain the crew however long he wanted, but it was time for Cal to get to work. And to quit thinking about Jill.
“Two breakfast specials, half a grapefruit on the side, and . . . uh”—the waitress’s too-wide smile faltered as she stared unblinking at the third plate in her hands—“one . . . uhmmm”—her hands shook as she clearly fought to regain her thoughts—“one veggie omelet,” she finished in a rush of relief. She quickly distributed the plates, her smile once again too bright.
“Thanks, Harley.” Jill touched the back of the younger girl’s hand. Harley had been doing her best to ignore the cameras scattered around the local diner, but her best hadn’t quite been doing it for her today. The abrupt appearance of the production crew had overwhelmed the girl.
“I’ll be back with your . . .” Harley froze again as the overhead mic dipped closer.
“Coffee,” Jill whispered, and Harley’s gaze shot to hers.
She blinked. “Coffee. Yes. I’ll be right back with refills.”
She spun on her heels and was gone a second later. Jill knew Harley would be okay. She’d worked for Bluebonnet Construction over the last two summers, and though she sometimes let her nerves get the better of her, she always managed to pull it together. She’d started college the previous fall, and Jill had already seen her confidence begin to climb.
Picking up her fork, Jill eyed the plate of bacon, eggs, and hash browns in front of her. Should she have chosen something lighter since this was being filmed?
“How long do we have to sit here pretending to eat?” Heather asked under her breath. Both she and Trenton peered across the table at Jill, each holding her own fork the same as Jill, and Jill felt a momentary pang of guilt.
“He didn’t say,” she murmured. They were looking to her for direction because the night before, the Texas Dream crew had gathered them together and “explained the situation.”
Yes, Bluebonnet Construction had been chosen to compete on the show, and yes, they wanted all three of the owners available for filming, and most definitely for the renovations. They were looking forward to seeing them working together as a team. But the majority of the attention would be focused on Jill. She’d come across best during the screen test.
“I’m sorry,” she said again. She’d been apologizing since last night. “I didn’t want it this way.” She’d even tried to talk the producers out of it.
“We’re fine with it.” This came from Trenton. She looked from Heather to Jill, nodding as she did. “Seriously. Whatever it takes to get the job done. Plus, you were amazing in the clip they showed us. I didn’t know you had it in you.”
Jill had been a little amazed herself. She hadn’t lost all the things she’d once learned.
“We can’t control how they want to set up the show,” Heather chimed in. “All we can do is manage the outcome.” She flashed deep dimples before poking a bite of omelet into her mouth. “Which means our business name splashed all over and our phone ringing off the hook,” she said around the egg whites.
Jill could get behind that.
And the fact was, as soon as it had become public knowledge that homes in the area had been purchased for the show, the number of calls had already increased. No one knew that Bluebonnet had been picked to compete, but people did love to speculate. Not to mention, the entire town had been abuzz with excitement not only at the prospect of their little town being “put on the map,” but that one of their own might be the star of a national television show. This alone had upped the chatter among everyone.
Because of all the extra excitement, Jill and her foster sisters had brought in Aunt Blu to man the phone, allowing them to keep moving forward with scheduled work. A handful of the calls had been people merely hoping to get their own fifteen minutes of fame—if it turned out that Bluebonnet would indeed be on the show—but the largest percentage had been legit business inquiries. Many people hadn’t even been aware that Bluebonnet did renovations until an article about all the local construction companies had run in last week’s newspaper.
Aunt Blu had reassured each and every one of them that Bluebonnet Construction was more than capable. She’d then sent photos of some of the more recent work the company had done, as well as the full renovation on the farm’s original homestead—where Heather still lived. All three of them had moved into the three-bedroom cottage upon first returning to town, and as a way of paying Aunt Blu back, they’d given the place a major overhaul.
That renovation, in fact, had led to the creation of Bluebonnet Construction. They’d started the company in honor of Big Gerry, as well as Aunt Blu’s three young daughters, all of whom had been killed in a car wreck with her husband.
Along with providing manual labor, each of them filled a specific role in the business. Jill handled schedules and personnel. She made sure the jobs got done. Heather was the spokesperson. She was hard to ruffle, so she worked directly with potential clients and spent time publicly promoting the company. While Trenton preferred to deal more behind the scenes. Trenton took care of the finances, but mostly, she just wanted to get her hands dirty and build things. She was their workhorse.
Though no new contracts had been signed of yet, the phone calls had gone well, and all they had to do at this point, it seemed, was to not screw up the upcoming six weeks. Do that, and a booming construction business would soon be theirs. And surely they could manage that.
Six weeks, one renovation? They wouldn’t even have to split their time between other jobs thanks to some stealthy rescheduling on Jill’s part. This would be a piece of cake.
“Ms. Sadler.” The nearest cameraman got her attention. He’d poked his head out from behind his camera, a big guy with a thick copper-colored beard and eyes the same kind of see-through blue as Heather’s. “We’re going to need you three to actually have a conversation we can use on tape.”
He looked mildly uncomfortable at having to make the request, but off to the side of the room, Patrick Whitaker nodded with an encouraging smile.
“Like we talked about last night,” Patrick said.
Right. Like they’d talked about last night. Jill glanced around at the faces of the patrons packed into the café, noting that no one seemed to be eating, even though everyone had food on their tables. Last night Patrick had given an overview of how the next few weeks would go, while letting them know the crew would be looking to her to take charge during most takes. To keep things rolling smoothly.
She put her fork back down. She couldn’t eat when so much was at stake.
Patrick had promised that by the time the episodes finished airing, the entire country would not only be begging for Bluebonnet Construction to renovate their homes, but they’d have fallen in love with the three of them, as well.
Only, Jill didn’t want them to love her. Her heart pounded at the thought. Then she mentally corrected herself . . . she didn’t want to want to be loved.
But she sure had at one point in her life.
“Can you do that, Jill?” Patrick asked. He’d come a step closer, concern dimming his smile, but his gaze never left hers. Patrick was the complete opposite of the camera guy. Smaller in stature, sharply dressed. His eyes missed nothing.
“We can do that,” Jill assured him. Only, her heart thudded so hard she wasn’t sure she could say anything more than the four words she’d just uttered. All she could think about was how she’d once poured everything she had into making it in Hollywood.
There had been few people from Red Oak Falls to ever make it “big” outside of the small community—one person went on to be a senator several decades ago, another had a music career, and a third had been hired by NASA—and none of them had returned to live in their hometown once finding their rightful place in the world. After Jill’s birth mother had died, Jill had promised herself that she’d be the fourth to make it onto that list. Only, she’d do it by going into acting. As, apparently, had been her father’s career of choice.
Janet Sadler had never come off a name for the man who’d gotten her pregnant, but from the first time Jill had asked, Janet had claimed him to be a Hollywood star. Janet had spent a few months in LA the summer after her senior year of high school, and Jill had been born nine months later.
“Aren’t you excited to finally get a firsthand look at the house we’ll be working on?”
Jill stared across to the other side of the table, hearing Heather’s words, but none of them made sense.
“I’ve driven by both houses every day for a week,” Trenton added. Her gaze pinned Jill’s as if trying to impart an urgent message. “Just hoping I could catch sight of anything.”
“As has everyone in town.” Heather chuckled. The sound came out slightly forced, but not so much that anyone who didn’t know her well would notice. “Pear Street hasn’t seen that much excitement since Bobby Gatlin decided to streak down the middle of the road for Halloween three years ago.”
Jill continued to say nothing. It was as if her throat had been glued shut.
Patrick circled his index finger in the air, telling her to get to it. And for crying out loud, what was her actual problem? She’d had acting classes for years. She could do this.
But mixed in with the hope for the company’s growth—of not wanting to once again have hope for anything more for herself—was also flat-out terror. Because if anyone could screw up this kind of hand-gifted opportunity, Jill knew it would be her.
Trenton’s gaze narrowed. “How many times have you been by the houses this week, Jill?”
Under the table, one of them kicked her.
The kick did the trick. Jill jerked, glanced around the room once more, then stared straight at the redheaded cameraman. He’d pulled out from behind the eyepiece again and was giving her a poor-thing look. His lips tugged down at the corners, and that alone was enough to tick Jill off. She didn’t want pity. Least of all from some stranger who thought she didn’t have the guts to play a role on camera. Or to pull it off like the pro she’d once wanted to be.
So with a determination she hadn’t managed to dredge up in years, she shoved her emotions aside and mentally cracked her knuckles. She not only could do this, she would do it. She had to, because this opportunity wasn’t only about her. If she screwed this one up, she’d be taking Heather and Trenton down with her.
She returned her attention to the table, and as if she were no longer inhabiting her own body, all nerves simply vanished. Her facial muscles eased, and she gave a teasing shrug. “This week?” She let out a snippet of laughter, recalling from her training what would translate best on screen. “Probably only a hundred times or so during this week. But if you’re talking about last week . . .”
Her words seemed to ease the tension at the table, and the three of them spent the next several minutes discussing potential design ideas for the hundred-year-old houses they had yet to see the interiors of. They also chatted with patrons of the diner after Patrick sent them over. Texas Dream Home had a script in place for how they wanted the next few days to go, starting today with “breakfast with the locals.” They’d drive to the houses next, where both teams would meet, and then they’d finally get a firsthand look at the condition of the homes.
Design plans and pulling permits would be the priority over the next two days, and on Wednesday, the show’s regular hosts, Bob and Debra Raines, would arrive to film the “official” meeting of the teams. Bob and Debra wouldn’t return after that until renovations were complete, at which point they’d choose the winner and gift the deeds to the city.
As Jill listened to Bonnie Beckman talk about how she’d taken her Pomeranian for a walk down Pear Street just last week, and how her precious Winston had made it known to her that the Cadillac House would be the home to choose, Jill let herself wonder about their competition.
It would be an all-male team, but that was all she knew. Men versus women was how they were billing it.
She’d been hoping to find out more the previous evening. At least what part of Texas the others were coming from. But Patrick had held firm. Teams would meet for the first time in front of the houses today. That way, neither could gain an advantage.
She supposed that made sense.
However, Patrick’s gaze had drifted away from hers more times than not during that part of the conversation, and Jill had been thinking about that ever since. She didn’t like entering into situations with only partial details, nor did she deal well with being “handled.” And though nothing up until now had indicated there was anything off about the setup of the show, she couldn’t help but feel she was missing a key part of the picture.
She couldn’t help but consider calling a stop to everything, and just walking away.
“So that’s when I knew,” Bonnie was saying now, her eyes round as she clutched her black patent leather purse in her lap, and Jill realized that she’d missed a huge chunk of the other woman’s story.
“What did you know?” Heather asked, her tone as awestruck as Bonnie’s.
“That it was my Winsti who brought Texas Dream Home to town in the first place. And that allowed them to choose you.” She placed a hand over her heart. “Because you didn’t just build me a retreat earlier this year, you built the best vacation home for my baby that any sweet puppy dog could ever ask for.”
Jill stared at the other woman. And she ignored the boom mic hovering over them.
Bonnie’s dog had communicated to the producers of Texas Dream Home by telepathy, telling them not only to come to Red Oak Falls, but to choose Bluebonnet Construction to be on the show? And the backyard shed Bluebonnet had built for her had been a . . . vacation home? For the dog?
None of those things was the vision Jill would have chosen to start viewers off with.
She made a mental note to beg Patrick not to make too big a deal of this.
“We’ll be sure to mention that to the parade committee,” Heather assured Bonnie. A parade had been in the works for a week now, even though until that morning no one had known who the featured guests would be. “Winston will need to be recognized.”
Bonnie beamed at Heather’s words—while Jill wanted to reach across the table and strangle her foster sister.
There was no way the producers wouldn’t follow up if Bonnie and her dog made it into the parade. And if that happened, Jill could already imagine what their next career rut would be. That of building doggie vacation homes for the rich and eccentric.
But at least if the crew checked out the retreat, they’d have to agree that Winston’s vacation home was one of a kind. A cushy bed, a mirror to groom himself in, window seats on either end of the rafters so he could watch outdoor activity. But the crowning glory was the two-chair “throne,” where Winston and Bonnie could watch “their shows” together. Bonnie’s husband wasn’t a fan of the daytime dramas that Winston preferred, thus the real reason for the “vacation home.”
Harley appeared at their table then, a decanter of coffee in one hand and to-go cups in the other. This was the third time she’d shown back up since the cameras had started rolling, and finally, the smile gracing the younger girl’s lips was that of a confident young woman. “One for the road, ladies?”
“Please.” Trenton was the first to answer.
Jill glanced at Patrick, knowing he must have sent Harley over to communicate that things at the diner would soon be wrapping up, and as she did, the cameraman nearest to Patrick began to move. He slid out from behind the producer, repositioning his lens to point toward the café’s front door, just as a swooshing sound came from behind Jill. The smell of morning dew and sunshine filtered in to mingle with that of freshly brewed coffee, and as Trenton’s outstretched hand closed around her to-go cup, her gaze snagged over Jill’s head.
Her jaw stiffened for a split second before she quickly averted her gaze. She brought it back to Harley and forced a bright smile. “Thank you.” Trenton’s voice was pitched too high.
“What?” Jill mouthed, but Trenton ignored the question.
Heather had caught the interaction, though, and her gaze followed the path Trenton’s had taken. And then her jaw stiffened.
And with nothing more than that to go on . . . Jill instinctively knew.
Pressure settled in her chest as whispers immediately started around her, and she didn’t have to look to confirm that her ex had just walked in.
“What do you give her, five seconds?”
“My money’s on three.”
“There’s a camera on her. I say she breaks a record. I’m going for two minutes.”
Jill stared across the table, seeing nothing but the blurred edges of her anger. They were betting on how quickly she would depart from the building now that Cal had entered.
And she so wanted to get up and leave.
But instead, she sat there. Because dang it, Cal was a jerk. And she refused to give him the pleasure of a victory today. It wasn’t enough that he corralled all the business in town for his own, that he had every last person eating out of his hands thanks to that stupid “Reynolds charm” that he and his uncle were so proud of, or that he’d lied straight to her face when he’d talked her into marrying him.
He had to one-up her on this, too?
Oh hell no. This was their opportunity. She’d keep the attention on them if she had to strip naked in the middle of the room and climb on top of the—
Trenton’s gaze lasered to hers as if reading her thoughts. Trenton and Heather knew Jill had a bit of a hair trigger when her ire was up. Heck, the entire town knew it, though she had done an excellent job of reining it in over the last five years.
But Cal had a way of making that hair trigger exponentially worse.
“Just don’t look,” Heather muttered behind her coffee cup.
“Trust me. I don’t intend to.” But she didn’t miss when the cameraman moved closer to Cal. She barely kept herself from crushing her own to-go cup in her hand. “Why is he even here?” she gritted out. “And what in the world is he doing over there?”
“Just sitting at the counter.” Trenton watched through her lashes. “Greeting Loretta.”
And no doubt Loretta was greeting him. Probably after losing the top two buttons of her top. She and Cal had a long-term on-again, off-again thing—which was off at the moment since he was dating Marci—but from everything Jill had heard, Loretta was determined to turn it back on.
Of course, Marci sang a different tune. She was busy running around town, telling anyone who would listen, that she would be the one to finally snag the youngest Reynolds.
High-pitched laughter trilled through the room, followed by a deep rumble that could only come from Calhoun Reynolds, and . . . dammit . . . Jill couldn’t help it. She turned. Because he should not be in—
He was staring at her.
He sat on a stool at the far end of the counter, his dark hair slightly mussed by the spring winds, and the scruff of his beard shadowing his face in a way that only accentuated the strong line of his jaw. Loretta batted her eyelashes at him while he carried on a seemingly normal conversation . . . but the deep-brown depths Jill had done her best to avoid since returning to Red Oak Falls were focused on her.
The camera covering Jill moved in tighter.
“Let’s just go,” Trenton whispered behind Jill.
But instead of taking the advice of her youngest foster sister, Jill took in the rest of the dining room. Because she was stubborn like that. Her eyes roamed over women, men, even all the babies who would normally have already been dropped off at day care by that time of day. And she noted that every last one of them was looking from her to Cal.
And she knew that every last one of them was fully aware that she and Cal didn’t speak. Ever.
That she and Cal had once run off to Vegas to get married.
And that Cal had returned—alone—after only one day.
With cameras now positioned on both her and her ex, the crowd seemed to be hovering on the edge, waiting to see what would happen next. As if wondering if Cal’s appearance in the café was by chance—or if her past with him would somehow be worked into the show.
And then Jill’s stomach sank. She faced the lens that was now practically in her face, imagining she could see through the layers of glass to the blue eyes on the opposite side. Then she slowly turned her head to seek out Patrick. But as had happened the night before, the producer’s gaze didn’t quite meet her own. And Jill finally had a full understanding of the situation.
Texas Dream Home hadn’t merely wanted Bluebonnet Construction for the novelty of them being an all-female crew. Or because they were foster sisters who’d been thrown together in the worst of circumstances. They’d also unearthed Jill’s marriage. As well as her quickie divorce. And they were looking for drama.
She turned an accusing stare on Cal. What a sellout. That was why the focus of the show would be on her. Had he made them pay him to show up at the diner today?
Or maybe he had done it for free. Because he was such a “good guy.”
And just what was he supposed to do now that he was there?
The bastard. He’d been out to ruin her since she’d come back home. The two of them might never speak, yet somehow, he was always there. Putting in bids on every renovation job Bluebonnet tried to get. Charming the ever-loving pants off anyone who so much as considered giving them their business.
So what was his plan now? To pop up wherever she happened to be for the next six weeks, simply to keep her off balance?
Or would he take it a step further? Was he there to make her lose her temper?
She pressed her lips together at that thought. If they’d brought him in to make her lose her temper, that meant the producers were also aware of her past anger issues. And that they intended to exploit them.
A low growl began in the back of her throat. What would they do next? Have Cal show up on the set?
Her stomach pitched. This whole thing was nothing but a joke to them.
Just as it had been in Hollywood, little was as it seemed. Everything was about taking. Using. It was “what can you do for me?” She’d known something had been off about the setup for the show. She should have listened to her gut. If it walks like a skunk and smells like a skunk . . .
She glared at Cal. And he definitely had a stench about him.
His returning look gave nothing away, his features masked with stoicism. But at that point, she wasn’t looking for anything from him. The show clearly knew the facts. And for the sake of entertaining television, they couldn’t pass up the opportunity to work juicy gossip like her and Cal’s past into the episodes. She wouldn’t pass it up, either, if she were producing the show. Especially when that juiciness was all twisted up with another local contractor—
Her mouth went dry before she could finish the thought. Surely they hadn’t . . .
She jerked her gaze back to Patrick, but this time, the man didn’t even pretend she was still in the same room. He’d turned his back to her.
They had.
Bile rose to the back of her throat.
She fought the urge to put her hands over her mouth, clenching them in her lap instead. Damn him. He had no right. Cal wasn’t just a plant to get under her skin. He was their competition.
She stood then, without another word or a backward glance to anyone, and she walked straight out of the building. Except, she didn’t quite make it out as poised as she would have liked. Because right before slipping into the bright morning sunshine, she kicked the crap out of two empty chairs.