Love Finds You in Sun Valley, Idaho Page 2

  He didn’t like being put in this position. Not only did he have to wear layers of stiff clothing (some of which were now sticking to his wet calves), but he had to ensure the safety of six others in a very unsafe situation. Rafting was supposed to be a wild adventure. This was more like a controlled disaster.

  “I’m pushing us off, Bruce.”

  Bruce nodded his permission, though he really didn’t have much of a say. He hurried away to monitor filming around the bend.

  “All forward,” Tracen called, pulling sunglasses out of his breast pocket as the raft drifted into the sun. He only sneezed once before sliding the shades over his ears and, more importantly, his eyes.

  “God bless you,” the token female on their journey offered, glancing back. Then she turned more fully, as if to study his sunglasses.

  “Thanks,” Tracen muttered. He hoped she didn’t question the addition to his “costume.” He didn’t want to explain his sun sensitivity.

  The woman smiled at him, but it wasn’t the most reassuring of smiles. It was rather smug, as if she thought he was wearing the sunglasses so he could watch her without her knowing it—which wasn’t a bad idea. After all, he was responsible for her, but it bothered him that she didn’t ask, just assumed. Of course, she was from Hollywood, wasn’t she?

  A couple of actors in the front of the raft splashed each other. Tracen peered over his shoulder at the other rafting guides helping the crew still on shore. If they were the ones water-fighting, he would have joined right in.

  A light voice broke into his thoughts. “How gorgeous!” Emily Van Arsdale studied the mountains looming ahead.

  Jack Jamison—the only other actor Tracen recognized—studied Emily. “My thoughts exactly.” It was obvious he wasn’t thinking about nature.

  Tracen felt a pinch of pleasure when Emily ignored Jack’s attempt at flirting. She placed her hands behind her on the raft and leaned back, lifting her face to the sun and closing her eyes. Tracen found himself staring, just as Jack had.

  Tearing his gaze away, Tracen chided himself. Not only was he imitating Jack’s behavior, but he’d done so from behind his glasses, just as Emily’s smile said she’d expected him to. Tracen pulled at his tie. How had he gotten into this position again? To make it worse, he was sitting between two feuding lovers, if the scene he’d witnessed from the window of the restaurant was any indicator.

  He wouldn’t let himself get sucked in, though. He’d declined the lure of Hollywood before, and this wasn’t even an offer.

  Jack glanced at him. His smile had “gloat” written all over it. He addressed the bathing beauty across from him. “Emily, do you realize you are the only girl in the group?”

  Emily’s curls bounced as she turned her face away from Jack and began to row. “Good thing I’m a tomboy.”

  Jack continued to ogle. “I don’t see anything boyish about you.”

  Emily didn’t respond, and her discomfort drifted back toward Tracen. The roar of the river had never seemed so quiet. He racked his brain for something distracting to say while using his paddle like a rudder to direct them.

  “How did your character become the only female left behind after the fire at her wedding?” He’d been given the screenplay but hadn’t been able to get into it. He preferred non-fiction.

  Emily’s eyes lit up as she twisted in her seat to face him. They were the lightest blue he’d ever seen, surrounded by an outline of navy. He reminded himself to focus on her words. “A helicopter rescues the wedding party, but the groomsmen let the ladies be flown to safety first. I, naturally, refuse to leave my groom, so I stay behind with the men.”

  “Naturally.” Tracen heard the teasing drop in his voice.

  Emily played along, overdoing the drama. “The fire rages faster than we expect. The deserted raft is our only chance of escape. But through this miserable experience, I realize I’m not in love with my groom after all, but his best man. Isn’t that the most romantic thing you’ve ever heard?”

  “And realistic,” Tracen quipped.

  Emily’s giggle delighted. It wasn’t humoring or overly loud. Just real and contagious. Tracen smiled.

  Jack added on to Emily’s explanation. “I’m the best man.” Or maybe he was marking his territory.

  “Here we go, guys!” the Asian groomsman called from the bow. “The cameramen are filming. Act upset and depressed.”

  Tracen was new to the acting thing but figured he could simply act like himself. It was upsetting to feel responsible for the lives of six clueless rafters and depressing to be reminded his ex had left him.

  The talking quieted. Tracen wondered if anyone would recognize him in the movie. The footage was being taken from quite a distance, so he could be any lanky extra.

  Tracen refused to glance at the camera. He had to appear natural. Well, what would he naturally be doing? He would be watching downriver. Shifting his gaze from the other actors, he focused straight ahead and jerked to attention.

  They were headed straight for a giant rock.

  “Hard left!” Tracen broke character, but that was better than breaking his neck. This part of the river was calm—if you stayed away from Bird Poop Island, as his employees called it. None of them had ever hit it before. Where was his head?

  “What?” called one of the guys up front.

  “Left side paddle hard!”

  Nobody else felt his panic. The river remained a ribbon of silk as far as they were aware.

  Jack shook his head in what looked like pity. “We’re not supposed to be rowing now, Rafter Boy.”

  Though his jaw shifted side to side—once for the name and once for the ignorance—Tracen remained focused on the danger ahead.

  Emily’s paddle dug deep underneath the surface, but everybody else stared at him in confusion. It was too late. The bow hit the rock, and the current that had appeared lazy hoisted the entire raft up on top of the boulder. There wasn’t anything to do except pray the raft didn’t capsize. He snatched Emily’s wrist just in case.

  The paddleboat plunged back into the river, the middle sucked down the deepest, folding the raft like a taco. Tracen lost his breath at contact with the freezing waves, as if his lungs were filled with dry ice. Too late he saw Jack’s head coming toward his. He tried to brace himself, but the impact on his skull was the only thing he experienced for what seemed like eternity—even numbing the chill from the river.

  Of course it happened in the fraction of a second, but that’s all it took for him to lose his grip on Emily. Water rose around his neck and gurgled into his mouth and up his nostrils. A scream sounded from a distance, but he had brief comfort from the knowledge that it was too low to be a female voice.

  The raft slipped sideways, roiling in the whitewater, spitting them out like the shells from sunflower seeds. He grasped futilely for Emily again before he too went flying. He couldn’t reach her now, but she seemed better off without him.

  Emily was on her feet, on the side of the raft as if she were a log roller. While the raft continued its rotation, she ripped off the fluff from her skirt in one smooth motion and dove past him with another. If he hadn’t seen it happen before he was submerged, he wouldn’t have believed it.

  Had the vicious slap of the water messed with his mind? Or maybe because he’d lost his glasses, it had all been a trick of the sunlight. Twisting underwater, he let out air from his frigid lungs and scissored his legs to propel himself back to the surface. He broke free, gasped, then felt the sneezing attack.

  Between sneezes he thrashed around, looking for Wonder Woman through watery eyes. Even if she’d gotten rid of her skirt, she would still have trouble making it to land through the current. The river carried him past the camera crew before he was even able to start swimming. But where should he go? Who needed him?

  Not Emily Van Arsdale. Tracen blinked to make sure he was really seeing her on the shore, wringing water from her hair, the under layer of her skirt clinging to her legs. Tracen took off swimming toward
her before realizing that another actor might need help.

  Yep. Jack clung to another rock downstream. Hopefully he hadn’t been thrown into it. But if he had…Tracen shook the thought away. Yeah, he wanted the guy to learn to respect the river. But he didn’t want anybody to have to learn the hard way—the way he had.

  Chapter Three

  “Absolutely brilliant!” Bruce raved over her performance. “If only you had swum back with your skirt in hand. But I guess you’ll be wearing this number for the rest of the filming, anyway.”

  Emily huddled in a towel and looked down at what was left of her dress. She hadn’t planned to rip her dress apart, but the rafting guide’s fear had seeped into her, causing her reaction. And she was lucky she hadn’t been tossed from the side of the raft the way everybody else seemed to be. Sometimes her body surprised her with what it could do.

  The other surprise was Jack. The tough guy wasn’t so tough after all. The rafting guide—Tracer? Taylor? What was his name?—had to swim out and save him. She hoped the meal of humble pie would fill Jack up enough to keep him from salivating over her.

  She watched as both men stumbled up the bank. The rafting guide had already rid himself of the tuxedo jacket, vest, and tie, and now he pulled at the buttons on his shirt. Jack merely fell to the ground panting.

  The guide’s shirt was halfway down his broad shoulders when a sneezing fit doubled him over. Another rafting guide—a thicker man who didn’t appear to be a fan of shaving—ripped a pair of sunglasses off his head and handed them to her guide. Immediately the sneezing stopped.

  “What’s that all about?” Emily wondered from a distance.

  A female rafter with a long braid and no makeup chuckled. She reminded Emily a little of her mom. “Tracen has sensitive eyes. It’s actually called the Achoo Syndrome.”

  “Achoo?” Emily echoed. So maybe he hadn’t put the glasses on to check her out inconspicuously after all. “As in the sound you make when you sneeze?”

  The woman with the braid nodded. “Well, it stands for some technical term, I think, but yeah, the name sounds like a sneeze. Isn’t that adorable?”

  It was. A macho Sun Valley outdoorsman who couldn’t control his own reaction to the sun. “Yep, he is.”

  The woman lifted a bushy brow. “I meant the name of the syndrome, not the man.”

  Emily grinned at her misunderstanding. “Oh.”

  “Tracen is adorable too. But he wouldn’t be interested in you.”

  Emily paused in surprise. It had been awhile since she’d heard words like that. In fact, since she’d become well known for playing the role of Wonder Woman in last summer’s blockbuster, every guy she met seemed a little too interested in her. What would make this guy different? She opened her mouth to ask but was interrupted by Bruce’s assistant.

  “Miss Van Arsdale, we’ve got a ride for you back to the restaurant. We’ll continue shooting after lunch.”

  Thank goodness for food. And warmth. Weren’t those basic needs for life? And here she was, a famous actress, without either. Yet Braid Lady’s words held her back. Emily turned to ask for an explanation, only to find the woman headed down the hill to help out the very man she wanted to talk about.

  She hesitated, waiting to see their interaction. Maybe Braid Lady and Rafter Boy were a couple. But Braid Lady hadn’t seemed defensive, and she was obviously older. She patted Rafter Boy on the back—not a romantic touch, but…

  “Thanks, honey,” Rafter Boy said.

  Maybe he went for older women. The two did have a common lifestyle. It made sense. Whereas an actress from L.A. and a smalltown outdoorsman did not. So it shouldn’t bother her. But then why was she still staring?

  Rafter Boy was shirtless now, that’s why. And he seemed much more comfortable with this state of dress. Most males would be, with ripped abs like those. Emily squinted at his stomach. She saw shadowing between muscles in his six-pack, but there was also a lighter line along his right ribs. Could it be a birthmark? Or a scar of some kind? He became more interesting every minute.

  “Miss Van Arsdale?” the assistant called again.

  Stomach growling, Emily trotted up the hill to a Suburban. She planned to ignore the craft table with its array of junk food and order a real meal. But back at the restaurant, she hunted for Charlene first. She had to share her rafting experience—and she might have to ask about Rafter Boy too. Why couldn’t she remember his name?

  Char found her first. “Why are you all wet, girl?”

  Emily rolled her eyes as her friend rubbed at her with the towel as if she were a child. She stepped out of the damp gown and into her favorite floral halter dress. “Nothing major. We capsized the raft, that’s all.”

  Char shrieked. “Did Tracen have to save you?”

  Tracen. Tray-sun. He was allergic to the sun, lived in Sun Valley, and had the word sun in his name. She could remember that. “Not me. He had to save Jack.”

  Charlene gasped. “You’re kidding! Oh, I’m selling that story to the tabloids!”

  “Char!”

  “Just kidding. I wouldn’t accept money from those rags. I’ll merely let the story leak out accidentally.”

  Emily laughed. If it were gossip about anybody else she’d argue, but Jack liked publicity. “Come have lunch with me.”

  Charlene started organizing her makeup cases. “Already ate. The pulled pork is awesome.”

  Emily felt her stomach complain again. She was hungry but not excited about sitting with the other actors. Maybe she could join the rafting guides. Hmm…

  Char snapped her fingers in front of Emily’s face. “Did you hear me say the pulled pork is awesome?”

  Emily blinked. “Oh, yeah. Thanks. Let’s do dinner later.”

  “Sure thing, girl.”

  Emily headed up the basement stairs to her car. She was starving but needed a sweatshirt to comfortably enjoy her meal. The sunshine peeked through the trees, leaving a checkerboard of light. Now she was warm. Now she wasn’t. She wondered what it would be like for the rafting guide to walk through the trees like this without his sunglasses. He’d sneeze every other step.

  “Wonder Woman!” A raving fan interrupted her thoughts. “I knew I would see you here. Nobody else believed me.”

  Emily slowed her pace as a chubby middle-school-aged boy joined her. Her fans came in all shapes and sizes.

  “Hi.” She smiled kindly before clicking the unlock button on her rental remote and grabbing her mom’s bright sweatshirt.

  The kid frowned at her. “You look different.”

  She looked normal. But, for a celebrity, normal was boring.

  “I like different.” He grinned now, his pudgy face reminding her of the Pillsbury Dough Boy. “I’m kind of different too.”

  That he was. She held out a hand. “You can call me Emily, instead of Wonder Woman. I left my red boots at home.”

  A fleshy hand grasped hers hesitantly. “Emily Van Arsdale, I know. You were a great Wonder Woman. I love Wonder Woman. I love all comic book heroes. In fact, I’m named after a character in a comic book.”

  Emily turned back toward the restaurant. The kid strolled with her. What might his comic book name be? Peter Parker? Clark Kent?

  “My name is Jor-El.”

  What was it with names of Sun Valley residents? She couldn’t even remember what the rafting guide was named, so how was she supposed to remember Jor-El?

  They stood at the door now. Emily swung it wide, and Jor-El followed her in.

  “I can see you don’t recognize my name,” he continued in a scholarly fashion. “It’s the name of Superman’s father.”

  So that’s where it came from. “Well, it was nice to meet you, Jor-El. I’m going to have lunch now. I hope you come see Whitewater Wedding when it’s in the theaters.”

  “You bet I will, Emily. Emily? That sounds weird. I’ve always thought of you as Emily Van Arsdale. I can’t believe I’m talking to Emily Van Arsdale. Can I get your autograph? Nobody is going to b
elieve me if I don’t.” The kid stuffed his hands in his pockets, probably looking for something for her to sign.

  Emily sniffed the air and got distracted by the spicy scent of barbecued meat. “I’ll leave an autograph for you at the front desk when I’m done eating. Is that a deal?” She still hadn’t gotten used to being a celebrity. Rarely could she walk down a sidewalk anonymously anymore.

  Jor-El nodded so hard his double chin jiggled.

  Without another word, she turned toward the trembling hostess waiting to seat her. Goodness, she wasn’t a real superhero. Only human. It was always astonishing to her the nervousness she caused in others. And what else could she say to Jor-El? “See you later” wouldn’t work, because he’d actually expect to see her later.

  The hostess led her toward the table with the other actors. Catching the woman’s arm, she conferred quietly. “I’d rather sit by myself, if you don’t mind. I’m exhausted and need some peace and quiet.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The woman jerked her head back and forth looking for an empty table. “How about outside?”

  Emily sighed, grateful it hadn’t been a big deal. “Sure.”

  The tittering of excited patrons followed her advancement across the room. She nodded pleasantly as she passed. Maybe she had grown up in Idaho, but nothing was the same anymore. They stepped onto the weathered deck.

  “Will this work?”

  “Perfect.” Emily sank down onto the bench and swung her legs underneath the table, hoping she didn’t just give herself a splinter in the butt. She gazed out over the river, then caught sight of the cute guide rinsing off a raft.

  The hostess followed the direction of her gaze. “Did you meet Tracen?”

  Tracen. “Yes.” She smiled to herself at the thought of how much better the man had gotten acquainted with Jack than her.

  Tracen turned then and headed up the hill. Emily had to admit her curiosity was piqued. “How long has he worked here?”

  The hostess didn’t seem too eager to get back to her other customers. “Practically all his life. That’s how he got the scar on his torso.”