don’t deal in facts. You deal in fabrication, anything to make a story more interesting.”
Connor shrugged, making a production out of stirring his SpaghettiOs. “If you say so. You’re quite defensive, do you know that? I think I understand why you never have visitors. Do you have any pepper to go with this?”
“Who on earth puts pepper on—” Maxie stood up, shaking her head. “Never mind. I’ll be right back.”
The instant Maxie left the room, Connor put his bowl of SpaghettiOs on the floor. Boo, who had been snoring beneath the coffee table, immediately sprang to life, gobbling down the major portion of Connor’s dinner.
“What a good boy,” Connor murmured. He took the bowl back just as Maxie walked into the room. “I decided it didn’t need pepper after all,” he apologized. “Thank you, that really hit the spot. Now that I know what I’ve been missing all these years, I will certainly add SpaghettiOs to my—”
“Oh, save it,” Maxie interrupted impatiently. “Boo has your dinner all over his face. I should have known you were a picky eater the moment I saw your jeans.”
Dumbfounded, Connor stared at her. “My jeans? What about my jeans?”
“They’re ironed,” she retorted. “You’re the first person I’ve ever met who irons a crease in their jeans.”
“I do not iron my jeans,” Connor said quite truthfully. His housekeeper did, albeit on his orders.
Maxie wrinkled her nose. “I’ll bet you starch your undershorts and wear little suspenders to keep your socks up.”
“Of course I don’t starch my undershorts. What do you take me for?” There was nothing Connor could say about the “little suspenders.” He owned several pairs for formal occasions. “Why am I the one being interrogated? I’m supposed to be asking you questions.”
“Ask away,” Maxie said. “Just don’t expect me to answer.”
They stared at one another while the silence lengthened. Her expression was defiant, his frustrated. Connor decided to go for his trump card.
“Two hundred fifty thousand dollars,” he said. “A quarter of a million just for letting me tape one little interview. I don’t know how much hay costs, but that’s got to cover your expenses for quite a while.”
There had been a time in her life when a quarter of a million dollars was practically chump change. Maxie had no trouble remaining unimpressed. “No thanks,” she said. “I can take care of my own money problems. I’d rather mortgage my land than sell my soul. Besides, why would you want to interview an obscure dairy farmer? You’d be a laughingstock.”
This time Connor was the one counting to ten. “I know who you are,” he said tightly. “You know I know who you are! Why keep playing this stupid game?”
“You’re right,” she said, twin spots of color burning high on her cheekbones. “It’s a stupid game and I don’t want to play any more. I’m going to get my jacket, then I’m driving you back to town. You can arrange to pick up your car tomorrow. Our discussion is over.”
Maxie left the room in an indignant huff. Connor’s thoughtful gaze followed her exit, then he stood up with a sigh and walked to the tiny coat closet and removed a metal hanger. He went outside and had the lock on his car open in less than two minutes. He walked back into the living room just as Maxie reappeared. She was wearing a denim jacket with sheepskin lining and had her cowboy hat planted firmly on her head once again.
“Where did you go?” she asked suspiciously.
“I thought I’d try opening the lock with a coat hanger,” he explained, holding the bent hanger up like a trophy. “It worked, can you believe it? The rain has stopped, too. I guess my luck is turning.”
“I’m happy for you,” Maxie said acidly. “Why didn’t you try to open the damn door before now?”
Connor grinned, his eyes lingering on her beautiful mouth. “Because I didn’t want to open the damn door until now.”
In the space of a few seconds, the atmosphere between them changed. What had been impersonal suddenly became quite personal. The air in the small living room seemed to change as well, becoming thicker and oxygen-sparse. Maxie was having trouble breathing. She stared at the boyish tangle of damp hair across his forehead and had the inexplicable urge to smooth it back. He looked like a mischievous child standing there with his dancing brown eyes and that stupid hanger in his hand. Her gaze dropped lower, to the snug jeans slung low on his narrow hips. A whisper of pure sensuality reared its dangerous head, sending a prickle of goose bumps over her skin.
“I want you to go now,” she said hoarsely.
Connor nodded thoughtfully. “You’re going to make this a struggle, aren’t you?”
“I’m going to make it impossible. No interview, not now, not ever.”
“I wasn’t talking about the interview, pretty girl.” He touched the tip of her nose with his finger. “You’re enchanting, Maxie Calhoon. Prickly…but enchanting.”
Maxie opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again. Her brain was stalled in neutral.
“I’m staying at the motel in Oakley for a couple of days,” Connor said. “If you change your mind about the interview—”
“I won’t.”
“Here.” He moved closer to her, then smiled as she nearly jumped out of her boots. “I just wanted to give your hanger back,” he explained, as if talking to a three-year-old. “I’ll leave it on the sofa here, all right?”
“Fine. Go away.”
Connor walked to the door, then paused. “You are Glitter Baby, aren’t you?” he said without turning to look at her. “Just admit that much.”
Strangely, Maxie’s eyes filled with tears. No matter how far she ran, her alter ego still haunted her. She would never be judged for her own merits; she would always be Glitter Baby.
“I’m no one special,” she said in a choked voice. “No one at all.”
Connor hesitated, then walked outside, shutting the door quietly behind him.
Connor called Morris as soon as he returned to his motel room.
“I found her,” he said without preamble.
His assistant’s voice was groggy with sleep. “Do you have any idea what time…what did you say?”
“I found her.”
“I hope this isn’t a dream,” Morris said fervently. “Texas doesn’t agree with me. They grow mosquitoes here the size of cocker spaniels. I want to go back to Los Angeles. I miss the smog.”
“Don’t get too excited. She was less than enthusiastic about the interview.”
“Less than enthusiastic? What does that mean?”
“It means she told me I was sneaky, opportunistic and underhanded. Oh, yeah…and oily.”
“Oily? That’s really low. What about the money you offered?”
“She turned it down. I was surprised, because she obviously needs some quick cash. She was talking about mortgaging her house to get through the winter.”
“Damn. There’s got to be something else we can do.”
“I’ll give it another shot tomorrow, but I’m not hopeful.”
“What’s she like?” Morris ventured. “Was it a letdown meeting her? There’s no way she could be as gorgeous in person as she is in a photograph.”
“She’s actually quite amazing,” Connor said quietly. “And no photograph could possibly do