Truman sniffed and gave me a watery smile. “No, that’s okay. I don’t want him to worry. They’re happy tears, but he will still cluck around me like a mother hen.”
I scrambled for a safe topic of conversation to help get us past this odd encounter. “How are things going with the rebuild? I drove by and saw the new windows are in. What a difference it makes.”
His smile widened. “It’s amazing. I think Sam’s crew is scared to disappoint him, so they’re working extra hard to impress him since they know his personal connection to the project.”
That was an understatement. Sam Rigby had taken every chance he had to make it clear to the people of Aster Valley that Truman Sweet was not to be messed with. He’d also encouraged Craig and Patrick Stanner to set the record straight about what had happened years ago with Truman’s grandpa’s sled.
According to Tiller and Mikey, the result was… anticlimactic. Apparently, way fewer people in town cared or even remembered why the resort closed. And since it was reopening soon, the excitement for the new celebrity ownership eclipsed any of the negative feelings remaining from the past.
“Well, good luck with it, and let me know if you need help at any point. I’m sure Sam has it well under control.”
Truman sighed. “He’s working too hard. That movie crew is scheduled to arrive next week, so he also has crews working at the chalets and over on the mountain where the old slope-side restaurant is. I guess the movie people paid extra to have that building up and running with working bathrooms and everything so the crew and craft services people would have a place to be. I don’t understand why they couldn’t just bring in trailers. Don’t actors usually have trailers on a movie set?”
I couldn’t hold back a laugh. “The set isn’t usually halfway up a ski mountain. It was probably cheaper for them to pay for updates to the building, but I think Tiller negotiated to share the expense since he’s going to reopen the restaurant anyway.”
I’d spent way too much time this week in political discussions between the newly installed head of the county council and the production assistant from the movie crew to want to discuss that damned movie tonight. I’d left Los Angeles for a reason, and it was to get away from the bullshit surrounding celebrities and their overblown sense of entitlement.
So far, I’d discovered Tiller Raine and Gentry Waites were two exceptions to the rule, but in general, I found celebrities—actors especially—to be toxic and spoiled. And discovering how easy it had been for them to bribe their way out of any and all legal trouble back in LA, I’d been doubly glad to leave there.
But now here I was having to deal with Hollywood nonsense again anyway. In tiny Aster Valley, Colorado.
I couldn’t wait until this film shoot was done and the cast and crew fucked back off to California so the rest of us could go back to normal. Between the extra work of dealing with the upcoming production security needs and the locals losing their shit over some hotshot actor coming into town, I was seriously reconsidering accepting the promotion to temporary sheriff. But it was only for two years, and then the position would be up for re-election.
I could do anything for two years, and it would give me a chance to meet plenty of the locals and settle in. After that… well, I could simply take it one day at a time.
Sam leaned over to say something to the DJ before heading over to find Truman. He reached out a hand to shake and clapped me on the shoulder. “Glad you could make it. I’m surprised Mikey didn’t try to introduce you to every single gay man here already.”
I let out a laugh and shook my head. “Not Mikey. Pim. I think he tried auctioning me off to the highest bidder. Even offered all-you-can-eat pancake specials at the diner for anyone willing to show me a good time tonight.”
Truman giggled and tucked his head against Sam’s shoulder to try and hide his laughter. Sam wrapped his arm around Truman’s shoulders and pressed a kiss into his curls.
“Go on and laugh,” I told him. “I explained my idea of a hot date tonight was reading the new M.P. Blackfoot mystery out on the new sectional sofa I got for my screened-in porch. Heaven.”
Truman’s eyes lit up. “I’ll have to look and see if they have it at the library. I’m volunteering on Tuesday, so I can check then.”
“I heard they may have found a new permanent librarian,” I said, remembering the county council meeting where it was discussed for an abnormally long time. “She comes from over in Salt Lake, I think.”