Page 2 of His Cruelest Moves

“Hey! Sorry to bother you,” the cowhand called, stomping in his direction. “Do you know if the electrician’s about?”

“They’ll all be on set.”

“Damn, the power’s gone out in my caravan. It’s freezing.”

That must have been the nasty, electrical-sounding bang Alex had heard a couple of hours ago.

“That’s a pain. Did you leave the heater on or something? These old rigs can have pretty dire electrics.”

The cowboy looked dubious.

“I might have. I was hoping it would be warm to come back to.”

“You’re lucky you didn’t come back to a pile of cinders then. Some of them are beyond dangerous where safety’s concerned.”

The actor squinted at him hopefully. “Are you an electrician?”

“No,” Alex laughed. “I’ve got an uncle who buys and sells this sort of rig second-hand. I used to work with him as a kid.”

The actor looked around him, pondering his next move: return to the set to hang around there in the cold, or sit in his freezing dark caravan. Alex took pity on him. Besides he was cute, and dressed up in that over-sized cowboy outfit, he had an almost clownish appeal.

“Do you want to come in and wait in mine? I was about to make a cup of tea, and the heater’s working.”

The cowboy looked at him for a moment. He had big soulful eyes, and a sort of vulnerable timorousness.

“Thanks, that’d be great,” he said, sounding dubious.

Alex stepped aside, holding the door open and the cowboy came inside. As they passed close to each other, Alex noted a light dusting of unshaven stubble across the cowboy’s pale jaw, so fine that even though he was dark-haired, he hadn’t noticed it before. He also caught a whiff of his natural odor, a subtle masculine scent that made Alex think of pine wood and damp earth. It caught him off guard, and for a moment he felt dizzy as if someone had walked over his grave. He realized he was just standing there, staring at the cowboy, who was also at a loss, standing in the center of the cramped space, not knowing what to do. Alex pulled the door shut and said:

“Uh, sit anywhere. I’ll put the kettle on. He eased past the cowboy toward the tiny kitchenette, as the latter turned, trying to decide whether to try and squeeze onto the bench beside the minuscule table, or sit on the bed, which occupied one end of the caravan—the only two seating options. They came face to face. Though they were about the same height, Alex was muscled and fit from a lifetime of martial arts, plus a couple of years older, whereas the cowboy was slim, lithe, pale-skinned, and dark-haired. Alex inhaled his scent again, and again felt that unexpected rush of… whatever it was, a… feeling of overwhelm… wash over him. Unable to meet his eyes, he focused on his lips. Framed in that slight, almost invisible dusting of beard and mustache on the pale oval of his face, his lips were full and red. They looked tantalizingly soft and kissable. My God! No wonder the guy was a film star!

“Ah, sit on the bed,” Alex gasped.

Thankfully the guy took a step back and sat on the caravan’s high bunk bed, breaking the moment. Alex turned, jabbing the button on the kettle, and tried to settle his thoughts. Nothing like this had happened to him since… forever? What was going on?

“Black tea? Chamomile? Mint? I, ah… think those are all the options.” His voice was unsteady. Get it under control.

“Black.”

The cowboy’s voice also sounded gruff, somehow changed from a moment ago. Alex found two plastic cups and dropped teabags into them. He needed to get it together.

“So, how’s the shoot going?”

“Good. Cold. I hate the cold.”

“I love it. I love the mountains.”

He didn’t recognize the actor from any movies he’d seen, so it might be rude to ask his name. What if he was mega-famous and expected everyone to know it? If he had a caravan, he must be. What to talk about? Then the actor asked him a question:

“Where are you from?”

“Barcelona. Sagrada Familia neighborhood,” he said, handing the guy a tea. “Careful, it’s hot. Sugar?”

“Cool, your Catalan is amazing. But where are you really from?”

Alex chuckled, everywhere except his eyes. That question! He resisted the urge to throw his tea in the guy’s face.

“I’m really from Sagrada Família. What actual part of ‘I was born and grew up in Catalonia’ did you miss?”