Her Leading Man Read Online Free Page B

couldn’t have too many friends, especially if
one were Christina Mayhew and didn’t make friends easily. She didn’t want Gran to
drive Martin away.
    The restaurant’s host, who appeared to be slightly gaga over the
intrusion of the Peerless Studio folks into his small
oven - like world, fairly groveled before Christina and
Martin. Having met Gran before, he stood clear of her lest, Christina
assumed, Gran swing her cane at him.
    “ Right this way, Mr. Taf ft, Miss
Mayhew, Mrs. Mayhew,” he said in what he probably
thought was a
suave voice but which sounded affected to Christina. “I have a delightful
corner table for you.”
    Delightful, in this instance, was rather an
overstatement, Christina noted. She didn’t care, though. Frankly, she’d been
surprised to find any accommodations at all in this
revolting desert. That the Desert Palm Resort aspired to airs and graces
above its st ation was a plus. The place would never do
more than aspire, in her considered opinion, but at
least it was comfortable . Except for the heat. And there
wasn’t anything anyone could do about the heat.
    The waiter, after mentally negotiating with himself for a minute, took
the safe route and held Christina’s chair for her. Martin did the same for
Gran. Christina figured the poor waiter feared Gran would bop him one if he tried
to assist her. And she might have. Gran was unpredictable sometimes,
especially if she’d already pegged someone as contemptible. Anyone she could intimidate was
contemptible in her eyes.
    With a soft sigh, Christina wondered if she’d be like Gran someday.
She was already too darned opinionated and mouthy; she’d been told so over
and over again by various people, from teachers to young men who hardly knew her.
Men didn’t appreciate women with ideas of their own. Which meant she’d
probably never have a man in her life—although both Gran and Christina’s
mother had managed to snag one somehow.
    The notion of having to rope in a husband brought to her mind the last
picture she had acted in, a cowboy epic in which the starring role had been
played by a
real cowboy. He’d roped and tied a steer on celluloid in no time at all, and his
performance had been an astonishing thing to watch. She shook her head as she laid her
napkin in her lap. Sometimes her mind wandered down most unproductive
paths.
    When she glanced up again, she saw Martin Taft looking at her, a
quizzical smile on his face. Her heart hitched again. Darn it, why should
her heart, which had always been a reliable organ, be giving her trouble now? She
was too young to have heart troubles.
    “ Everything all right, Christina?” he asked.
    He had lovely eyes. Soft and brown, but with fire and a good deal of
steel in them. They were framed by lush dark lashes and gently arched over
by deep brown
eyebrows. And his features were even and pleasant. He wasn’t exactly gorgeous
in the mold of a Pablo Orozco, but he was ever so much more agreeable in
appearance than Orozco, and was very good-looking. Better looking than most of
the men Christina came across, in school or at work
    “ Everything’s fine, thank you, Martin.”
    “ Heh!” barked Gran .
    Both Martin and Christina turned their heads to look at her. She
shared her best, most militant and eagle-eyed glare with them. “This place is
a pit. It’s as if the fires of hell are burning day and night. When will anyone
invent a way to cool air indoors, is what I want to know?”
    “ I think they’re working on it,
Gr an,” Christina said, feeling a little
deflated.
    “ Balderdash!”
    “ And the overhead electrical fan does help to
a degree.” Just once, Christina’d like to be able to
have a
conversation with someone on a movie set without her grandmother
running interference.
    She knew even as she thought it that she’d just been a victim of
illogical thinking. Her grandmother came with her because Christina had no
other protection. And as much as Christina prided herself on her own