“I can’t,” Lissa said, probably too quickly.
“OK. I know it’s an imposition, but—”
“It isn’t an imposition.”
“How about if I tell her to give you a call and you can work out the details? Maybe just meet for a drink or—”
“I’m not in L.A., Em. I’m, ah, I’m in Montana.”
“Montana? What, on location, you mean? Oh, that’s exciting! Who’s making a movie in Montana?”
Lissa chewed on her bottom lip. What if Emily wanted details? The movie’s name. The director. The actors.
“Lissa? Did I lose you? I said—”
“I heard you. Look, I can’t tell you very much except that—that I have a new job. I’m executive chef at a—at a famous ranch.”
Not a lie. Not exactly. What was she if not executive chef? And surely the Triple G was famous. In Clarke’s Falls, anyway.
“Oh, wow!” Emily voice rose with excitement. “I just watched something on TV about those Montana resorts. Very la-di-da, right? Hot tubs. Fire pits. The rich and the famous everywhere you turn.”
Lissa sank down on a chair at the worktable. Did dreams of hot tubs and fire pits run in the Wilde DNA?
“What a perfect description of this place,” she said, looking up as Brutus trotted into the kitchen and headed toward her.
He had something in his massive jaws.
What was it? A toy? A bone? What in hell… It wasn’t a thing, it was a creature.
She shot to her feet. “Emily. I have to go.”
“Wait! What’s the name of this place? Did they ever feature it on ‘Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous’?”
Oh, God! The thing was alive. It was wiggling.
“I don’t mean ‘Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous.’ I don’t think that’s on anymore, is it? But we used to watch it like crazy. Remember?”
The thing—a squirrel? A rat? A chipmunk?—had a long, swishing tail.
“We used to watch it when our nanny—which nanny was that?—when she thought we were watching the evening news.” Emily laughed. “I mean, we were, what? Ten, eleven and twelve? Would we really have watched the news instead of drooling over all those movie stars?”
That was what Brutus was doing. Drooling. Tail thumping, what seemed to be his late-day snack clamped between his teeth, he sat down in front of her, his dark eyes filled with joy.
“Em. Really. This isn’t a good time!”
“What? You have a soufflé in the oven?”
No. A giant dog has something in its maw.
“A soufflé! Exactly.”
“Well, have fun. And good luck with that new—”
“Thanks. Bye.”
Lissa slapped her phone to silence. “Nick? Nick?” Her voice rose to a shriek as she bolted from the room, skidded through the dining room and into the hall—
“Hey,” Nick said.