Emily McKay - The Hudson's - Luc, Jack and Charlotte

Tripp, the reporter, nodded. “She is. Did you know she was pregnant when you rescued her?”

Gwen shook her head. “We didn’t find out until we moved her back to the ranch. Luc stepped right up and helped the firemen with the rescue.”

“Really?” the reporter said, looking at Luc. “Never knew you were a horse lover.”

“You never asked,” Luc said in a deliberately cryptic voice and slid his arm around Gwen’s waist.

Tripp gave a knowing nod. “Trying to impress your lady.”

“It worked,” Gwen said, playing her role well. “But I was impressed before.”

“How did the two of you get involved?”

“We met at an industry function years ago and were reintroduced when Gwen made a trip to L.A. a few months ago. I wasn’t going to let her get away this time.”

“The commute is rough, though. How do you handle it?”

“I have access to a jet. I can get here just about anytime I want.”

“Any chance you’ll lure her back into the movies?” Gordon asked.

Luc immediately felt Gwen stiffen. “I’m a lot more interested in luring her down the aisle.”

“Have you set a date for the big day?” Tripp asked.

“We just got engaged,” Gwen chided, nestling against Luc and looking up at him with such adoration he could understand every one of her nominations. The woman was damn convincing. “We’ve waited a long time to find each other, and we want to enjoy every minute.” She paused a half beat. “Speaking of minutes, I have that appointment in town this afternoon,” she said. “So, you’ll have to excuse us. I really need to be going.”

The photographer began to click photographs at a machine-gun speed. Gwen rose on tiptoe and skimmed her lush lips over his cheek then slid her mouth next to his ear. “Please get rid of them,” she whispered, then nuzzled him again.

“That will be all,” he said to the reporter and photographer. “Gwen and I have other things we need to do.” He slid his hand down Gwen’s arm to catch her hand. “I know you appreciate getting this exclusive scoop.”

“More than you know, man. More than you know,” Tripp said and extended his hand. “Thanks for working with us. You won’t be sorry. And good luck with the horse, Gwen. What are you going to name her?”

“I hadn’t—”

“Pyrrha,” Luc said, looking at Gwen as she whipped around to meet his gaze.

“Pyrrha?” she echoed.

“Greek mythology. She was a queen.”

“A survivor of the great flood,” she said, her lips curving in a slow but genuine smile as she nodded. He felt a sizzle of connection resonate between them. “I like that.”

Luc heard the rapid-fire click of the camera and felt a surge of annoyance. The media had worn out their welcome. He shook hands with Tripp. “Have a safe trip back to L.A.,” he said and ushered everyone outdoors. He walked Gwen to the cabin.

“Did you manufacture the appointment to get rid of the reporters, or is it real?” he asked.

“It’s real,” she said over her shoulder as she climbed the stairs. “But I was ready for them to leave. In fact, it would have been fine with me if they’d never shown up in the first place.”

“You’ll be glad when you see the donations pouring in for your rescue operation,” he said, wishing he could get a look at her long, lean legs without the benefit of denim covering them.

He closed the door behind them, and she turned to face him. “Why do you care about my rescue operation?”

He shrugged. “It’s a good cause. If you and I are forced into this little charade, you may as well benefit from it.”

She sighed, her eyes full of misgivings. “I just wonder how many donors will be asking for their money back after our so-called engagement is over.”

“We don’t have to give the engagement a dramatic ending. Unlike your—” He broke off when he saw her gaze turn chilly.

“Comments like that are exactly why I hate dealing with the press. If they can’t twist it to suit their purposes, they’ll make something up. Trust me, you know nothing about the reason my marriage broke up.” She glanced at her watch. “I need to go. I don’t want to be late for the kids.”

“Kids,” he echoed.

She raised her hand. “None of your business. You’ve exploited me enough.”

Her accusation jabbed him. He shot out his hand to catch her arm and pulled her back toward him. “Have you forgotten why we’re doing this in the first place?”

She took a deep breath and bit her lip. “Nicki.”

“Yes, Nicki. Do you want the press to crucify her?”

She closed her eyes and shook her head. “No. The more I think about it, the more I agree with you. I just find the whole paparazzi thing vile.”

“So, it’s not personal,” he said in a wry voice.

“No,” she said. “It’s not personal. You’re actually—” She broke off and shrugged. “Maybe we should start over. Hi, I’m Gwen McCord. It’s nice to meet you.”

He closed his hand over hers. “My pleasure,” he said, playing along. “I’m Luc Hudson. You’re even more enchanting in person than on the big screen.”

She smiled. “Thank you. You’re more helpful than I would have expected one of the Hudsons to be. I realize neither of us is thrilled with our assignment, but starting now I’ll try not to make it more difficult than it already is. Who knows? By the end of this, we may even be friends.”

Nodding, he lifted her hand to his lips, seeing in her eyes a spark of surprise mixed with something else. “To friendship,” he said, but at that moment he decided they would be more than friends.

Whenever Gwen returned from working with the after-school program in drama therapy, she struggled with a clashing sense of satisfaction and grief. If things had turned out differently, her own child would be in preschool now. Peter had demanded, however, that she finish filming before her pregnancy was visible. He’d been unhappy when she’d told him she was pregnant, even going so far as to suggest that she get an abortion so it wouldn’t interrupt the shooting of his movie.

Gwen remembered that moment as if it had happened yesterday. That was when she’d no longer been able to deny that her relationship with Peter was crumbling.

Standing in the foyer of the cabin, she felt her keys slip through her trembling fingers to the floor. She glanced down at her shaking hands, spotting the engagement ring, and took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Food, she needed food. That was the reason she had the shakes, she told herself. She hadn’t eaten anything since morning.

The sound of Luc’s voice was muffled by the closed guest bedroom door. Relieved he wouldn’t see her in her current state, she picked up her keys, shrugged out of her jacket, hung it in the hall closet and went to the kitchen to scrounge up something to eat.

Soup, she decided, pulling a can from the shelves. And peanut butter and honey sandwiches. Not exactly gourmet, but it would fill her up. She would have to toast the bread because it was frozen.

Trying to think about anything except the baby she’d lost years ago, she heated the soup and made two sandwiches just in case Luc was desperate for nourishment.

Her mind flashed back to that day on the set when she’d fallen. The private emergency room, emergency surgery, Peter insisting on complete privacy and secrecy regarding the loss of her pregnancy. Waking up and feeling empty.

“Smells good,” Luc said just steps behind her.

His voice startled her, and she accidentally touched the hot pan with her fingers. Scalding pain singed her fingers, and she drew back, gasping. “Oh, no,” she said.

Luc swore under his breath. “Put your hand under the water,” he said, pulling her to the sink and plunging her hand under cool running water. “Damn, I didn’t mean to surprise you that much,” he said.