Women who weren’t Maura.
Still grumbling, Jefferson flipped through the stack of papers on his desk, and made a few scattered notes. He was buying up an independent film company, thinking of branching King Studios out into documentaries. But it was a stretch to say his mind was focused on that particular task at the moment.
No, like it or not, he was still thinking about her.
But why? After all, it wasn’t as if either of them had wanted or counted on a relationship. They’d had some good times together, capped by one amazing night of mind-blowing sex. So why was he so disgusted at her casual goodbye the next morning? It wasn’t as if he’d been planning to stay anyway.
It had to be ego, pure and simple.
His had taken a slap and that was something he wasn’t used to. How had Maura slipped under his well-honed defenses to leave such an indelible image on his mind?
“Doesn’t matter,” he said aloud, hearing the determination in not only the words but his tone. The memories would fade, eventually. But that wasn’t much comfort in the middle of the night when he woke up with dreams of her raging through his mind.
But a man couldn’t be held responsible for what his unconscious mind dredged up, could he? He pushed away from his desk and walked to the window overlooking Beverly Hills and Hollywood. The streets were jammed with cars and in the distance he could see the stalled traffic on the freeway. Smog hung low over the scene, a hazy brown blanket covering a city with millions of people all hurrying through their lives. And for just a moment, he let himself imagine the cool green fields of Ireland. The warm welcome of the pub.
The narrow road to Maura’s farmhouse.
Irritated with himself and the memories that were still far too vivid, he scrubbed both hands over his face and turned away from the window. He didn’t have time to waste indulging in thoughts of a woman who’d no doubt already moved on.
His phone rang and he grabbed at it with the eagerness of a drowning man reaching for a life preserver. “What is it, Joan?”
His assistant said, “Mr. King, Harry Robinson’s on line three for you. He says they’re having problems on location.”
Harry was directing the Irish epic shooting at Maura’s farmhouse. Frowning, Jefferson said, “Thanks, Joan. Put him through.”
The line clicked over and he asked, “What seems to be the problem, Harry?”
The other man’s voice was sharp and filled with both static and disgust. “The problem is, nothing’s going right over here. It’s a nightmare.”
“What? What happened?”
“What hasn’t?” Harry countered. “That inn you told me about? Suddenly it has no vacancies. The local caterer’s prices have gone up three times in the last week and the coffee’s always cold. The guy at the pub even insists he’s run out of beer whenever we walk in.”
Jefferson turned around and stared blankly out at the city view again. His own reflection stared back at him from the sun-drenched glass. He looked just as confused as he felt. “Run out of beer? How is it possible for a pub to run out of beer?”
“Tell me about it.”
That mild swell of irritation he’d felt earlier began to bubble and churn inside him. “That doesn’t sound like Craic to me.”
“Yeah, well, it doesn’t exactly match the description you gave me of the place, either.” In an aside to someone else, Harry said, “Well, move the trough out of the shot. No? Fine. I’ll be there in a minute.” Then he refocused. “That’s an example of what we’re dealing with. There’s a feed trough I want to move and Ms. Donohue refuses to cooperate.”
Jefferson tugged at the tie that felt as if it was strangling him. “Go on.”
“Yesterday,” Harry told him, “the owner of the market told us he wouldn’t be selling to us at all and we could just go into the city for whatever we needed.”
“He can’t do that.”
“Seems he can. I don’t have to tell you that West-port’s a much longer drive and it’s eating up time we don’t have.”
“I know.” What the hell was going on?
“Oh, and the market guy said that if I spoke to you I should tell you, and I quote, ‘There’ll be no peace for you here until someone does his duty,’ end quote. Do you have any idea what he was talking about?”
“No.” Duty? What someone? What duty? What the hell had happened in Ireland to turn an entire village against his film crew? The citizens of Craic had been nothing but excited about the prospect a few months ago. What could possibly have changed?
“What about Maura?” he asked suddenly. “Hasn’t she been able to help with any of this?”
“Help?” Harry laughed. “That woman would as soon as shoot us as look at us.”
“Maura?” Jefferson was stunned now and even more in the dark than he had been before. All right, she hadn’t been as thrilled with the prospect of a film crew being on her land as her friends and neighbors had been. But she’d signed the contract in good faith and he knew she had been prepared for all of the confusion and disruption. Her own sister was in the movie, so if nothing else, that should have garnered her cooperation. So what had changed?
“Yes, Maura,” Harry snapped. “She lets her sheep run wild through shots, her dog chews everything it can get its paws on—”
“She’s got a dog?” When did she get a dog?
“She says it’s a dog. I say it’s part pony. The thing’s huge and clumsy. Always knocking things over. Then as if that wasn’t enough, one of the cameramen was chased by Ms. Donohue’s damn bull.”
All right, something was definitely wrong. Whatever else he could say or think about Maura, she was nothing if not meticulous about caring for her animals and the farm itself. She’d shown him the bull, and had warned him away even though the animal was an old one. “How’d the bull get out?”
“Damned if I know. One minute we’re shooting the scene, the next minute, Davy Simpson’s nearly flattened under the damn bull. Good thing Davy’s fast on his feet.”
“What is going on over there?” Frustration spiked with temper and twisted into an ugly knot inside him.
His mind raced with possibilities and none of them were flattering to the woman who’d signed his contract. Was she after more money? Was she trying to back out of the whole deal?
Too damn bad to either of those scenarios, he told himself. He had her signature on a legal document and he wasn’t about to let her off any hook, nor was he going to be extorted for more money. Whatever she was up to, it seemed she’d gotten the whole village to back her play. What other reason would they have for acting as they were?
Well, it wasn’t going to work.
Jefferson King didn’t bow to pressure and he sure as hell didn’t walk away from trouble.
“That’s what I’d like to know,” Harry muttered and the words were almost lost in the static of a bad connection. “The way you talked about this place, I thought it would be an easy shoot.”
“It should’ve been,” Jefferson insisted. “Everything was agreed on and besides, we’ve got a signed contract allowing you access to Maura’s farm.”
“Yeah, the production assistant tried to remind her of that the other day. Got the door slammed in his face.”
“She can’t do that,” Jefferson told him.
“Uh-huh. I know that. You know that. I don’t think she does. Or if she does, she doesn’t