Until Then

15. Noah

FIFTEEN

Noah

Sweet Cream Ranch is a place straight out of the Old West. Forget the modern equipment and the updated farmhouse, and it would be wide pastures, arenas, and saloon-style buildings.

Like a toddler going to a museum, I press my forehead to the window, watching as sheds and barns and thick, round hay rolls fly past.

Each fence post is wrapped in Edison style bulbs, and only adds to the ethereal feel of being transported back to a different time.

“You have a bull.”

“Two,” Hayley says.

There’s still a nervous lilt to my Wildfire’s tone. I plan to rid her of it before the night’s over.

“This place is amazing.”

Her face softens. “It’s my safe place.”

I roll down the window and let the warm air, the smell of sweet hay and damp soil, fill my lungs. “I get why.”

“Well, here we go.” Hayley stops her car in front of the farmhouse.

Two levels, but sprawling. Complete with a wrap around porch, there are eaves and shutters and the same wrapped strands of lights around the front posts.

I slip out of the car, and go to Hayley’s side. She’s out before I can reach the door. When she blows out a breath and shakes out her palms, I place my hands on her shoulders.

“Not that I don’t enjoy unsettling you,” I say with a grin. “But try to relax. It’s going to be fine.”

“You don’t understand,” she says softly. “My family . . . they don’t care much for the whole Hollywood world.”

“Not many people do unless it’s kept safely behind their TV screen.”

“It’s . . . it’s more.” She casts a wary glance at the door.

“Miss Foster,” I put on my best Bayou boy accent. “I was raised in the throes of Southern hospitality. I swear to you, I’m not going to be a complete jerk. My Gram would kill me right after she disowned me.”

Hayley presses a palm to my chest, and I have to fight the urge to take it in mine. “Don’t take this wrong, because my mom and Nan are the best, truly, but I’m . . . getting defensive for you. I don’t want them to . . . only see the famous Noah.”

Me? She’s worried about them disapproving of me because of my job? I take a risk and cover her hand against my heart. “What Noah do you want me to play, then?”

“The real one I know.” Hayley hesitates, and I almost miss the next part (which would be a tragedy). “ My Noah.”

I slip my fingers through hers. “I won’t even mention the show.”

“No. I mean, my mom has already seen you in precarious positions.” She shakes her head. “You should be proud of your work, but having you here, with me, they might be a little standoffish, is all.”

“Don’t tell me they believe the same as prick-pickle and think I wouldn’t look twice at you.” Unbidden, I lean into her, enjoying the same little gasp she does whenever I draw too close. I lower my voice. “Trust me, Wildfire, I’m looking twice.”

“You can’t say stuff like that,” she whispers, a little breathless.

“Why not?”

“Because it makes all this sound too . . .”

“Real?” Then she’s beginning to catch on to my evil plan.

Hayley doesn’t answer. She clears her throat and uses her thumb to point at the house. “They don’t feel the same as Jasper. But they have their own reasons to be suspicious about men in the spotlight, and I’m afraid they might be a little cold toward you.”

Okay. Got to say, I’m intrigued more than nervous. “I can handle it.”

“I’m not sure anyone can handle the Foster ladies.” Hayley doesn’t release my hand and leads us up two wooden steps that groan under our weight.

When she opens the front door, we’re met with pandemonium.

“Hayley . . .”

“. . . we only met him for a minute, now this. . .”

“. . . your dress is stunning.”

“. . . I wanted to start the next season, but . . .”

“. . . never want to see that sorry excuse for a man again. Jed, Jack what was his name?”

The door closes at our backs and the throng of new bodies and voices pins me to the door while Hayley is absorbed into the chaos of women, men in dusty jeans and flannel shirts, even a few tweens and teens.

A girl near the narrow staircase bounces on her toes, dressed in a jean skirt and thick combat looking boots, practically shaking a stern, bearded cowboy half to death. “Daaaad, see! It’s him.”

The cowboy only grunts and adjusts the toothpick between his teeth.

Three feet away, Hayley’s mom is speaking to her daughter, her dark hair tied high on her head. “A warning might’ve been nice. All of a sudden my daughter’s face is blowing up online . . .”

The men look like they’ve had plenty of sun. Some sip coffee—probably extra bitter and extra black—and watch me like I’m a worm. The kids are pulling up video clips of Wicked Darlings —I wince when one is a particularly emotional scene where my character rants in a slew of colorful words.

Before I can catch another breath, someone yanks on my arm, forcing me to bend forward. I recognize her as Hayley’s grandmother who was at the rehearsal. Her long, peppered hair is braided around her head like a crown. Lines across her cheeks give up years of laughter, and sharp, blue eyes look at me over the rims of hot pink reading glasses.

“Ma’am,” I say through a crack in my voice.

“So, didn’t want to mention you’re the new guy when we met the other night?”

I swallow. Years of living close to my own fiery grandma left me with a heady respect for women over sixty-five and a bit of trepidation. “Sorry, ma’am. We, uh, weren’t sure where we stood until tonight.”

She narrows her eyes. “You have plans to mess with my granddaughter, boy?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Mistreat her?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Exploit her.”

Who does she think I am? I shake my head. “Not at all, ma’am.”

The woman narrows her eyes. “You going to sleep with her, boy?”

“ Nan ! Oh, my gosh, please, I beg of you, stop.” Hayley looks ready to dissolve into the floor.

Her grandmother doesn’t budge, doesn’t look back at her granddaughter. “Well? You plan on getting her where you want, then walking away when you’re done?”

I’m pretty sure Hayley’s soul just exited her body because she practically crumbles onto the stairs to hide her face in her hands.

I swallow and look her grandmother in the eyes. “I plan to stay as long as your granddaughter will have me, Ms. Foster.”

The teenage girl squeals, someone clicks their tongue, but Nan, here, studies me for another long, terrible moment.

At long last, she pats one side of my face, then takes hold of my arm. “Good. Well, we all were just about to have ice cream and some pie. So come on, then. You can help with the dishes and tell me all about yourself.”

“Nan, we just had ice cream.”

“I don’t care. I want to know the boy, and I’m easier to stomach when I have pie in front of me. Now come on.”

Hayley watches with a bit of horrified stun as I’m dragged through the huddle of other bodies into a large, white and blue kitchen.

Most of the men are uncles or employees of the ranch. Justin speaks maybe a total of two words at a time, and I’ve since learned he’s known Hayley since she was a toddler. His daughter, Adaline, had to have her phone taken away and a long lecture about keeping mine and Hayley’s business private.

Milton is Hayley’s uncle, so is Greg. Both help run the ranch, but live in the city and have day jobs.

They came after the report that their niece was coming home with a guy from the TV. Again. Stupid Jasper must’ve done a number on this household. They have more aversions to people in my industry than the conspiracy theorists convinced all entertainment is government propaganda.

But the Foster house took a solid twenty to thirty minutes over pie and ice cream to start looking at me like I’m human, not some criminal about to rob them blind.

“I thought you were tatted up, kid.” Greg says, using his fork to point at me. “I know I’ve seen your face somewhere, and it wasn’t that show.”

“He’s a twin,” Adaline bursts out. Her cheeks flush when I look at her, and she never meets my gaze.

“I am,” I say. “You like hard rock?”

Greg arches a brow, then slowly, a smile curves on his face. “You’re in that band”—he snaps his fingers at Milton— “we just heard that song. What was it? We liked it.”

“ Come Down ,” Milton said.

I smirk. It’s one of Rees’s favorites of Perfectly Broken’s new singles too. “My brother is the bassist for them.”

Greg smacks the table. “That’s it. Saw the billboard. They’re playing in L.A. right before Christmas. Suzi asked if we wanted tickets since I went down the rabbit hole of their backlist.”

I chuckle and lean back in my seat. Hayley fiddles with her hands under the table. Without a thought, I reach over and rest a palm on top until they go still.

“Two famous idiots in one family.” Milton whistles. “Bet your mom doesn’t know how to keep her privacy.”

“Uncle Milton,” Hayley says with a warning.

“It’s all right,” I whisper. “Uh, my mom passed when I was a kid, but my dad learned to never check Google.”

“Oh.” Milton clears his throat. “Sorry about your mom, kid.”

I wave it away. The last thing we’re going to talk about is my mom on the first night. The question does bring up one of my own—no one has mentioned Hayley’s dad. Not once.

Not even her.

Seems like a question for later, once we’re alone.

“So, this TV show you’re in,” Alice—Nan—begins, “it’s pretty big? Val loves it, I’m told.”

Hayley’s mom takes another bite of pie, face flushed, and doesn’t look at me when she speaks. “Well, I can’t watch it anymore. Not if Hayley’s dating the man. I won’t be able to look him in the eye.”

I laugh a little nervously. “I can, uh, tell you what episodes to avoid. Maybe I’m biased, but we have some epic writers, so it’s worth watching.”

A tween boy—Milton’s son—snorts and rolls his eyes. “It’s won three best book to screen adaptations, and he’s been nominated for a best lead in a dramatic series.”

The kid can’t be more than fifteen, but he’s over here spouting facts about the world of television like he designed it.

“I didn’t know that,” Hayley whispers.

I smile to hide the warmth in my face. “Well, I’ve only been nominated. They don’t talk about second place, do they?”

A few chuckles break another layer of tension around the table. I’m asked about my life in Louisiana, then about Rees and my friends and family in Las Vegas. Hayley’s mom is particularly drawn in by the outreach program when her cousin mentions how some kids from his school have joined in.

The highlight of my night is when Hayley jumps in, bragging about the community outreach and how the afterschool programs help kids find their passions.

“So, how long has this been going on?” Justin finally speaks multiple words, but keeps his sharp eyes on me.

Hayley pales. “Um, we’ve known each other for almost a year.”

“A year!” Adeline looks ready to pass out. “You never said anything.”

“Not your business, sweetheart,” Justin says briskly.

Hayley shifts in her seat. No mistake, she can’t stomach lying to people. A bit of guilt tugs at my chest.

The last thing I wanted to do was cause an uproar in her life. One simple sentence, one gentle kiss, all to squash that idiot of an ex, feels as though I’ve upended her existence.

I’ll take the heat for it, but it’s better to let them in on the truth.

Until Alice scoots out her chair and flicks Justin’s hand with a dish towel. “All right, I think Noah’s endured enough of our hounding for a night.” She starts gathering plates. “You two help clean up, and we’ll leave you be.”

Hayley practically leaps out of her chair, desperate to be free of everyone. I gather some dishes and follow her into the kitchen.

Alone, she leans over the sink, shoulders shaking.

Well, crap.

“Listen, Hayley.” Gingerly, I place the dessert plates on the counter. “I’m sorry about all this, I really didn’t?—”

She snorts, interrupting me. Her shoulders tremble again. Brow furrowed, I step to her side. She has a hand over her mouth, tears squeezing from the corners of her eyes, but she’s . . . laughing.

I smile. “What’s so funny?”

She breaks. Hayley folds onto the counter, her forehead resting on top of her wrists, and laughs.

I can’t help it, and do the same.

When she finally catches her breath, she spins around, wiping at her eyes. “I’m sorry, it’s . . . it’s not even funny, but . . . your face the entire time”—she lets out another rough gasp—“you need to brush up on your acting skills, Pretty Boy. You looked ready to puke or cry the second anyone asked you a question.”

“I did not.”

“You did. My mom even sent me a text to save you while I still could.”

We share another laugh. Hayley sighs and presses her palm to my heart again—quickly becoming my favorite sort of touch. “You survived the interrogation.”

“Barely.”

She smiles. “No one has done that, you know.”

“Meaning?”

Hayley slowly unravels the knot behind her head, raking out her long tresses with a sigh of relief. “I mean, guys I’ve dated in the past, well, they always find a reason to skip the family gatherings. Always had an excuse to do things off the ranch.”

“How?” I lean my back against the edge of the countertop. “You were engaged to the troll?—”

“I’m a fan of your Jasper nicknames, by the way.”

“Good, they’ll keep coming. But seriously, how did you get by without having your fiancé at the table?”

She pops one shoulder. “I don’t know. He never tried to get close to my family. Now, looking back, I can see he tried to keep me closer to him and his crowd.”

“How did you even meet this guy?”

“Like I said, the ranch has been struggling. For some extra income we leased out our pastures to the studio he works for to choreograph riding scenes and to train horses they needed for their movies. One of the days, Jasper came with some of the crew.”

“Ah. Is that where the whole we-hate-actors thing started.”

“It’s not actors,” Hayley says. “There have been some experiences with cruelty from people in the industry, and it’s made them leery. Jasper didn’t help.” She pauses and looks at me like she’s seeing someone new. “They took right to you.”

I look at the patterns on the linoleum floor. “They seem like really good people, Wildfire.”

“They are.” There’s a gentleness in her voice when she speaks about her family. Hayley dries her hands in the sink after I load the final plate in the dishwasher. “Well,” she says. “I’m going to change. Then, if you want, I can show you around a bit.”

“I would love that.”

She smiles and heads for the back door. “I actually have my own house. There are four different houses across the fifty acres. I’m on acre two by the first pasture.”

We walk down a gravel path, shoulder to shoulder, and pause at a little red house with white windowsills. It’s quaint and a single level. The flowers in the pots are vibrant and this plot of land has a big tree in the front yard with a tire swing.

“I’ll be just a minute.” Hayley pauses at the door. “You can come in if you’d like.”

I place my hands in my pants pockets and smile. “I think I’ll wait for you right here. I’m in my ranch heaven right now.”

She rolls her eyes. “That’s right, you’re a wannabe cowboy.”

“Correction, I am a cowboy.”

“Right.” She laughs and turns inside. “Be out in a second, John Wayne.”

I watch her go inside. Once she’s out of sight, I press a fist to my chest, as though it might slow the ever-increasing thud of my pulse.

I can’t stop the rush, but much the same as last year, I’m almost convinced I’m plummeting headfirst into this woman's blaze.

And I have no desire to stop.