Chapter 3

          Alex Matthews had heard all the rumors. How this unknown little writer had been in a three-year coma, how the sound of his voice had pulled her back from death’s door. How the first word out of her mouth had been Troy MacAllister’s name.
          The entire thing sounded too weird to be true.
         The prospect of actually meeting this Kayla Farrell made him nervous. He hated being nervous. It was bad for his image, not to mention his ulcer.
          "You don’t have an ulcer." Alex’s longtime co-star, Alicia Huntington, chuckled as she tossed an icy bottle of water in his direction. "And you never get nervous. You just don’t like sick people, and I can’t blame you there. But I have it on good authority," she confided with a sly grin, "that she’s quite lovely, despite being stuck in a wheelchair."
          That should have helped settle his nerves--which he did have, despite Alicia’s glib claims to the contrary. But somehow it only made things worse. How was he supposed to treat someone who was confined to a wheelchair? Especially someone who, by all accounts, had a tremendous hero-worship fixation on his stage character!
          What if she tried to gush on him, as so many eager fans did, believing that the character equalled the man? He could deflect normal people--but this situation was anything but normal.
          Across the room, Jeremiah Jamieson scowled at everyone, and munched impatiently on a handful of salted cashews. He considered visitors a regrettable but necessary irritant, and rarely bothered making them feel welcome. But he, too, had heard rumors. Including the ones about Kayla Farrell’s husband and little kid dying in the crash that had nearly killed her. He’d been through some rough times in his own life, so he could respect anyone who’d risen above adversity--even if he did consider them a flaming nuisance.
          Her agent had mentioned, in passing, that she particularly liked cashews and Mountain Dew. Okay, fine. She was going to be here for one whole week, per her contract, to watch the filming. So he’d unbent enough to have those two special items shipped in with their latest supplies. He could do that much for a cripple.
          She’d damned well better appreciate it.
          "When are they going to arrive? We’re missing a whole afternoon of filming here!" Paul Summers raked a nervous hand through his slightly long chestnut-brown hair, spun away from the narrow window, and paced across the room. He was one of the industry’s finest directors--but his hyperactive jitters, Jamieson reflected with an inner sigh, could drive a saint to drink. "We’re going to go over our budget if we can’t make up this time, Jerry!"
          Alicia tossed him a bottle, too, which he caught by reflex. Then he thrust it aside with a grimace of distaste. "You know I hate this shit, Allie! Give me a good old-fashioned Pepsi any day. Come on, Jerry, how much longer do we have to wait?"
          "There’s the chopper now." Jamieson glanced up as a deep thrumming penetrated the prefab shed, and coffee mugs began to vibrate on the counter. "Time to go pamper another creative genius. Let’s get it over with."
          Alicia held back for a moment as director and producer preceded her through the door. "You okay, Alex?" she urged, laying a supportive hand on her co-star’s muscular arm. "I’ve never seen you so wired about meeting a writer before. So what if she’s in a wheelchair? She’ll be gone in a week, then life can get back to normal. And I doubt if she’ll hamper our schedule much while she’s here," she pointed out with a wry grin. "She simply can’t go that many places!"
          That was true enough, Alex conceded, though his mouth still puckered in an anxious scowl.
          Per her imaginative script, most of the movie was being filmed in the exotic tropical Fiji Islands. She’d envisioned the locale, so she’d simply have to deal with the consequences. The set engineers had enthusiastically whomped up a series of long ramps for her wheelchair. But her range would be limited to the main campsite and a few isolated spots that wouldn’t interfere with filming.
          "Come on, Mac," Alicia grinned, settling into her own character’s skin with enviable ease. "She’s here to see you. Let’s make her week a memorable one."
          Despite what the tabloids liked to claim, she had not been the cause of his traumatic divorce. But during the aftermath, she and Alex had shared a brief, intense affair. And unlike so many fickle Hollywood liaisons, they’d parted even closer friends than before. So she felt totally comfortable reaching up to kiss him, then tugging on the unruly lock of ebony hair that always fell across his forehead. "Move it, partner!"
          Mariah Conners’ energetic, slightly acerbic character was oddly reassuring to his jangling nerves. "Yes, ma’am," he drawled, in the sultry low voice that had won him countless awards and millions of lovelorn hearts. Grinning, he politely followed her through the door--then stopped dead in his tracks.
          Allie had been wrong. Kayla Farrell couldn’t be considered attractive by anyone’s standards. She was breathtakingly gorgeous! Shoulder-length reddish gold hair swirled around an appealingly fresh buttermilk complexion. Vivid sapphire-blue eyes caught the sunlight and reflected back an intense delight he’d forgotten to feel years ago. And her lush mouth, soft and unpainted, curved into an eager smile as she spied him standing in the doorway...
          He felt like he’d been gut-punched. With an anvil.
          "Jesus H. Christ!" he whispered, awed. "That’s our psychotic creative genius?"
          Allie’s elbow connected sharply with his lean ribs. "Nix it, ace," she warned in a fierce undertone. "If half the rumors can be believed, she’s been through hell. This movie’s going to put us on top of the food chain. So you behave yourself!"
          "I’m a fucking angel!" The words escaped him before he could bite them back. Alicia blinked up at him in surprise, then threw her head back in a lusty, genuine laugh.
          Kayla would always remember that first golden glimpse of Alex Matthews, looking like a little kid caught in the cookie jar, while his normally-sober partner roared with laughter.
          A keen pang of disappointment lanced through her heart. Of course she hadn’t really expected them to act like their TV roles--yet somehow she had, anyway. Foolish of her.
          She knew their screen characters intimately. She knew what they’d say, how they’d say it, how they’d react to any given situation. But these two glorious, larger-than-life people were strangers to her. Suddenly she felt very shy and awkward.
          Alicia stepped forward first, and warmly clasped Kayla’s hand. "Welcome to paradise!" she smiled, instinctively liking what she saw in the younger woman’s crystal-blue eyes. "Or as we call it, The Madhouse. I see you’ve already met Jerry and Paul. Don’t worry, their bite isn’t nearly as deep as they like to pretend."
          Alicia’s grip was strong but somehow compassionate. Kayla felt her tensed nerves relax slightly. "It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Huntington," she smiled, and meant every word. Troy MacAllister had brought her back to life. Alicia’s character, Mariah Conners, had given her courage and strength through those first long months, when she’d been struggling to accept her tragic new circumstances.
          Alicia heard the sincerity in her voice, and remembered the rumors. Sometime soon, they’d have to cozy up for a nice long chat. But in the meantime...
          "Allie, please," she urged, waving aside propriety with an easy smile. "A film set’s no place for formality. And your name is Kayla, how unusual! Celtic, right?"
          Pleased surprise lit Kayla’s blue eyes. "A modern variation of Kaelyn, which dates back to the twelfth century," she nodded. "Caitlin is the more popular form, but... No, don’t even get me started," she suddenly laughed, raising both hands in a warding gesture. "Ancient Celtic history and mythology are passions of mine. I could go on for hours!"
          "So can Allie. She takes great pleasure in boring us senseless with little gems about her illustrious ancestors." Alex aimed a disgruntled mock-scowl at his effervescent co-star, then stepped forward with a beaming smile pasted on his face. "It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Kayla Farrell. Welcome to Paradise Island!" And he forced himself to clasp her outstretched hand.
          Heat exploded in his palm, and seared all the way up his arm and shoulder. Startled, he took a hasty step back. Whatever he’d expected, her skin was vibrant and warm from the overhead noon sun. He became aware of a fierce thudding in his belly--one that had nothing to do with the dreaded wheelchair, and everything to do with the heavy anvil still gut-punching him.
          Alicia’s eyebrows rose slightly as hot color flooded Kayla’s cheeks. So the sparks were already flying, how interesting! "Now you’ll have to watch out for this one," she interjected, slyly canting her head in Alex’s direction. "Thinks he’s too good for the likes of us, and he’ll lead your poor heart on a merry chase if you give him a moment’s notice."
          Kayla glanced up at her in surprise. An oblique warning? To guard herself, or to not poach on another woman’s territory?
          Oh, nonsense, she was still just nervous, and imagining things. Like the way her hand had suddenly begun sizzling when she’d touched Alex Matthews’. That had to be her overactive imagination!
          She covertly flexed her fingers, then rubbed them against her cool linen slacks. "I make it a point never to fall in love with leading men," she grinned, schooling her features into a mocking facade. "They never measure up to their screen characters."
          "Ouch, I’m wounded!" Reflexively Alex drew Troy MacAllister’s charming personality around him like a familiar shield. ‘Mac’ could get away with saying anything, and possessed an easy confidence that Alex, for all his fame and popularity, had never mastered. He often drew on his character’s extensive repartee (bless the show’s excellent screenwriters!) to get through difficult moments like this, when he had no idea what to say or do.
          Maybe he should keep ‘Mac’ firmly in place until this Kayla Farrell left again. After all, she’d come here to see MacAllister and Conners spin out their magic for the silver screen. Chances were, she wouldn’t like Alex Matthews any more than he’d like her. So it was probably safer to let ‘Mac’ deal with her. She’d be more comfortable around his alter-ego than she ever would be around him, anyway.
          Alicia noticed the distinctive change in his personality, but wisely kept her silence. Alex was an exceptional actor, and one of the finest men she knew. How ironic that someone with his boundless talent could suffer from acute insecurity off-screen! He often assumed Mac’s charismatic persona to help him through those vulnerable moments. She prayed that using his character as a crutch wasn’t hurting him more than it helped.
          If only he could find someone who’d believe in what he kept safely hidden behind that protective shell! Then he might gain the confidence to stand firmly on his own, without an imaginary character’s support.
          Paul was anxiously hurrying Brigit up the long ramp. There was another one, she thought, who needed a steady, calming influence in his life. Far too excitable, always wringing his hands and chewing Rolaids to keep his ulcer at bay. This movie was going to make them all millionaires--and give him a premature heart attack.
          Brigit pushed loose tendrils of hair away from her freckled face, and stared around with an awed expression. "Kayla, it’s just like you wrote!" she breathed, laying an excited hand on Kayla’s shoulder. "Oh, darlin,’ it’s perfect!"
          Kayla laughed, and curled affectionate fingers around Brigit’s. "This is my best friend, Brigit Flannagan," she explained. "She’s the one who brought me out of that coma. I don’t know how I’d get by without her!"
          "You’re a nurse?" Alex offered Brigit a charming smile. "Why do I always get the ugly prehistoric battle-axes? I can’t imagine a pretty little thing like you in a starched uniform!"
          Sweet Jesus, Hollywood superstar Alex Matthews was flirting with her! A bright flush colored Brigit’s fair cheeks, and her agile mind stalled into neutral.
          Allie gracefully rescued her, before she could stammer something inane. "You look so self-sufficient, Kayla. Surely you don’t need constant attendance!"
          Kayla was feeling rather starstruck herself, and only hard-earned rigid control kept her from babbling like a total fool. She felt a quick surge of gratitude for Allie’s perception. "I can move my legs fairly well, but they won’t hold me yet. So I need help getting in and out of my chair sometimes," she confided. "Plus Brigit works me over every day, trying to regenerate the nerves that were damaged in the crash."
          Allie’s arched eyebrows drew together in a puzzled frown. "I didn’t think nerves could regenerate."
        Kayla lifted one shoulder in a rueful apology. "Strictly speaking, they don’t. But with proper stimulation, they can sometimes reroute themselves, forge new pathways between points A and B. It’s already happening somewhat." And she carefully elevated one foot to demonstrate. "Every day, every therapy session, brings us a little closer."
          Some subtle nuance in her voice made Alex peer at her more closely. "And if you succeed?"
         The look she turned on him was so riveting, so full of fierce passion, that his breath caught in his throat. "When I succeed, then I’ll be able to walk down that beach, just like you can." And no one will ever be nervous around me again!
          Paul was hovering impatiently just behind Brigit, wringing his hands. The moment he sensed a break in the conversation, he angled in with a beaming smile. "It’s a real pleasure to have you here on location," he gushed, lying with expert ease. "And I know you’ll want to take some time and get settled. But Allie, please, we need to get that forest scene re-shot! The day’s already half gone!"
          Alicia chuckled, and laid a reassuring hand on Kayla’s shoulder. "Paul’s a slave driver," she teased. "Schedules, timing charts, endless facts and figures. We couldn’t survive without him, and that’s a fact.
          "Darling, go take two more antacids, and wash them down with a gallon of Pepsi. You can shoot the preliminary scenes with my double while I help Kayla and Brigit unpack. I ’ll be ready in an hour," she promised.
          She swept past with regal grace, and left him sputtering about blown budgets.
          Alex watched them move away, and felt the anvil twist in his gut. "Three gorgeous redheads on the same island," he murmured, ignoring his director’s frantic demands. "If they ever decide to gang up on us, Paul, we’re dead men! God help us all!"