Just One Wish Part 10

"All right then, Annika Truman. How did you get on the set today?"

My name sounded strange coming from his mouth. He wasn't on television acting this out. He sat in front of me, staring at me with eyes that could strike a girl mute. I brushed the sensation aside and told him the whole story. From the part where I'd promised Jeremy I could give him two wishes, to the point where I put the snake in the prop box.

Steve shook his head slowly. "You brought a snake into a place with horses?"

"I wouldn't have done that if I'd known they were using those flowers for your scene. I'm really sorry about all the screaming, and the people colliding in the fishpond, and the horse trampling your little village-"

From behind me I heard the Polynesian guard chuckle. Steve glared at him.

"Did they find the snake?" I asked. "His aquarium is in the makeup trailer."

Crew cut said, "Yeah, one of the stagehands has him. I'll let them know." He took out a walkie talkie and said something into it.

"Look, Annika," Steve said, and the sound of my name on his lips distracted me for several more moments. "I'm really sorry about your brother-"

"Jeremy, his name is Jeremy."

"I'm really sorry about Jeremy-"

"Do you want to see a picture of him?" Before he could answer, I took the photo from my pocket. Steve's expression grew reluctant; he was already refusing me with his eyes. So I took the picture to the security guards first. They had no qualms about looking at Jeremy's photo.

"That was Jeremy at Halloween," I said. "He insisted on being Robin Hood. We had to search all over the place to find him boots that looked enough like the ones on the show."

Crew-cut took the picture. "He's a fine-looking kid." He nodded approvingly and pa.s.sed the picture to the other guard.

The Polynesian guard pulled his wallet from his pocket. "Let me donate some money for him."

I took the photo from his hands. "That's okay. I didn't come here to ask for money."

Crew-cut had his wallet out too. He pressed a twenty-dollar bill in my hand. "I'm sure the medical bills are adding up."

Steve walked across the trailer to join us. "I already offered her money. I'm not completely heartless, you know." He took the picture from my hand. "Why are sick kids always so cute? Why couldn't just once, one of them look like a little troll who I wouldn't feel guilty saying no to?"

I took a step closer to Steve, one hand across my chest, pleading. "Please come see him. It would mean so much to Jeremy. I promised him his wish would come true. I made made him believe. If he believes his wish came true, he'll believe he can make it through the surgery." him believe. If he believes his wish came true, he'll believe he can make it through the surgery."

He handed the photo back to me and shook his head. "I would if I could, but the rest of my week is already booked. I'm supposed to meet someone at five tonight. I've got to work tomorrow, I have an awards ceremony tomorrow night I'm presenting at, and somewhere in the week I've got to go over the next script."

"Henderson is only four hours away-probably three and a half if you drive as fast as I do. If we left now and drove straight through, you could make it back in time-"

"To be exhausted to the point where I'm incoherent for tomorrow's shoot."

"You can sleep while I drive," I offered, but I could tell from his expression he wasn't even considering the possibility of coming with me. My throat felt tight, and it was suddenly hard to talk, but I did. I voiced my darkest worry, the one I'd pushed away every other time it had surfaced. I brought it out in the open, raw and painful, to show Steve.

"Jeremy might not make it through surgery; he's six years old, and he might be gone forever after Friday morning. The thing he wanted most in the whole world was for you to come and visit him. I'm sorry I barged in your life this way, but I thought if I could talk to you, if you understood. . . ." I kept my gaze on his, searching for a sign that he might relent. "I need you to grant him just one wish."

He shut his eyes, almost as if to shut out my gaze.

"I don't know how much time I have left with Jeremy," I went on. "And I gave up my time with him yesterday to drive here and talk to you. Couldn't you take a half a day out of your schedule to see him?"

Our eyes connected, and for a moment he didn't say anything. I didn't breathe, as though this would somehow help my case. Then he looked away from me. "I can give your brother a call before surgery. I can sign a picture. I'll even give him one of my arrows, but I don't have the time to go see him."

I had thought for sure I could persuade him to come with me. Even the security guards, who had started out acting as though they could cheerfully snap my limbs off, had been moved. But not Steve Raleigh.

I felt sharp p.r.i.c.ks of disappointment needling my heart. They would have turned into tears for most people, but in me they turned into stabs of anger. Still, I kept my voice even. "The real Robin Hood would have come with me."

Steve crossed his arms. "Yeah, well maybe that's because the real Robin Hood didn't have to spend all his time promoting his show. He also didn't have to meet with fencing, sparring, and archery instructors, and he didn't have to work out at the gym for two hours a day in case someone wanted to shoot a scene without his shirt on."

I knew it wouldn't do any good to make Steve mad at me when he could still charge me with trespa.s.sing, but at that point I just wanted to hurt him. "You're nothing like Robin Hood. In fact, if you lived in the Middle Ages you'd be the type who hangs around at King John's court so everyone would know how famous and important you are. You don't care about helping people at all."

He let out a slow breath, and his eyes grew hard. "You don't know anything about me." He swept his hand around the trailer as proof of what he said. "I spend more time being Robin Hood than Robin Hood did, and I bet I could outshoot him too."

"I bet you couldn't even outshoot me."

"Yeah, well, you'd lose that bet."

I took a step toward him. "Are you willing to wager on that? We'll have a shooting match. If I win, you're mine for the next"-I decided to add a cushion of time-"eleven hours. If you win, I'll never bother you again, and I'll promise not to call the tabloids and tell them how awful you are."

"How awful I am-because I won't drop everything and drive to Nevada with a stranger? You think the tabloids would buy that story?"

I shrugged and smiled. "I'm a pretty teenage girl with a sick little brother. A whole room full of people saw you order the security guards to hold me captive in your trailer."

Steve's gaze ran over me, sizing me up. "What are you, some sort of teenage mercenary?"

"I can cry on demand in front of news cameras," I lied, and held out my hand to shake his. "Do we have a wager?"

He looked up at the ceiling and then back at me, his frustration evident. "And when I win you promise you won't beg, stalk, or attempt to blackmail me anymore?"

"Right."

He shook my hand.

And it was foolish, I know, but I couldn't help the tingling sensation that I felt where he touched me. I thought: Steve Raleigh is holding my hand.

Chapter 11

We set up the target behind the trailers, then Steve and I stood about sixty feet away. Steve nocked an arrow and drew the bowstring without looking at me. The muscles in his arms flexed, and his eyes narrowed in on the target, examining it. He held the arrow in position for a moment, then let it fly. I knew it was a good shot even before it hit the target, just inside the bull's-eye.

It would be hard to beat him but not impossible.

He handed me the bow and an arrow. "I'm sorry, Annika."

"Don't apologize until you know what you're sorry for." I nocked the arrow onto the string. Steve's bow was bigger than mine, and I hoped that wouldn't throw me off. I held the bow steady and judged the distance. I'd made thousands of shots, made more bull's-eyes than I could count, but none ever mattered as much as this one. I could hit the mark if the nervousness didn't make my hand shake.

This is for Jeremy, I told myself. It has to be good.

I released the arrow, willing it to fly straight. It was almost a prayer, but not quite.

The arrow sang as it flew through the air. It hit, dead center in the bull's-eye.

I smiled and handed Steve back his bow. "Now you know what you're sorry for. You're sorry you have to drive to Nevada with a stranger."

He stared at the target openmouthed and then turned to me. "How did you do that?"

"I'm president of my high school archery club." I shrugged and gave him a smirk of my own. "Well, you didn't think I watched your show because of the sophisticated drama, did you?"

The guards walked up, simultaneously shaking their heads. "That was some fine shooting," Crew-cut said.

"Thanks." I smiled over at Steve. "And I've changed my mind about your shirt. It might be lucky after all."

Steve waved a hand in my direction. "She's president of her high school archery club! She never got around to mentioning that fact."

"Must be a good club if she can beat you," Crew-cut said. "How many hours do you practice a week?"

Steve crossed his arms and gave the guard a dark look. "I don't want to talk about it."

I shrugged again. "If it's any consolation, I'm sure you could beat me at fencing."

His dark look turned on me. "You want a rematch, then?"

"No. We made a bet, and I won. Do you want to take your car or my minivan? Although I probably should warn you there may be doves and rabbits inside. I'm not sure whether Madison's managed to get rid of those or not."

Steve ran his fingers through his hair, then held his hands out to me as though showing me something. "I can't go. I've got things I need to do here. I've got scenes to shoot tomorrow, and the awards ceremony is a very big deal. A producer I need to talk to will be there-"

"You promised." I put my hands on my hips. "Do you keep your word or not?"

"I can't just leave with you. I don't know anything about you. Do your parents even know you're here doing this?"

I sent him a slow grin. "I guess those are things you should have thought about before you promised to come with me."

Steve looked heavenward for a moment, then back at me. "Fine. You have me for eleven hours and only eleven hours. Less, if it doesn't take that long. I will talk to your little brother, and I will leave. I won't chat with your friends, pose for pictures, or give an exclusive to your hometown newspaper. I'm there and I'm gone. Understood?" He walked back to his trailer, gripping the bow. I followed after him, pulling out my cell phone to check the time. It was a little after three-thirty.

"Fine. I don't care about the other stuff. But, um, can you bring your costume? Because you'll need to dress as Robin Hood."

He glanced over at me, his jaw muscles tight. "You want me to pull up to your house wearing a blond wig, a tunic, and green tights?"

"Jeremy is in first grade. He doesn't realize you're an actor. He thinks you're really Robin Hood."

"This just keeps getting better." Steve swung the trailer door open. I followed him.

The first thing Steve did when we got inside was phone his personal a.s.sistant and explain the situation to him. He came to the trailer right away. Steve introduced him as Ron Bosco, and called him Ron while they talked, but it was clear from the moment he stepped inside that everyone else called him Mr. Bosco. The man was all seriousness. In fact, he may have been a calculator in a former life. I got the sense that his entire existence consisted of rows and columns of numbers.

Mr. Bosco eyed me over, clearly displeased, then stepped into the kitchenette with Steve and gave him a hushed lecture about why this was a bad idea. Steve kept saying, "I know, I know, but I made a promise. I'll come back as soon as I can."

Mr. Bosco opened his laptop and insisted on checking the internet to see if it would be faster to take a plane to Las Vegas and drive to Henderson, which it wasn't. And besides, Steve didn't want to have to deal with the crowds at the airport. Mr. Bosco then checked into renting a charter plane, which was even more complicated and expensive, but he couldn't get a hold of anyone at the company he wanted, and wasn't sure when they'd return his message. Still, he thought the best idea was to charter a plane tomorrow after work and try to fit it in before the awards ceremony.

Steve vetoed that idea since they hadn't been able to get a hold of the plane company, and besides he thought that would be cutting things too close. He didn't want to be late for the awards ceremony.

I responded to this by obsessively looking at the clock and biting all of my fingernails off. Mr. Bosco wasted a half an hour trying to save Steve time. Finally Steve walked away from the computer and said it would be simpler to just drive there right now.

When Mr. Bosco had resigned himself to the fact that he couldn't talk Steve out of going with me, he eyed me over again, this time with a sour expression, then had me sign a nondisclosure form. I'm serious. He had the paperwork in his briefcase. It basically said I would never talk to any tabloids or reporters about anything Steve said or did in my presence. I also could not sue him for any reason.

How paranoid do you have to be to carry those sorts of papers around?

Steve called the wardrobe department and asked them to bring him a new Robin Hood costume. I also asked them to bring my clothes over, since I'd shoved them into a corner of the wardrobe trailer when I'd changed into a medieval dress.

Steve went into the back room to pack a travel bag and change into regular clothes, but before he left, he told me to wait in the living room. "Ron will keep you company," he said.

In a voice I wasn't supposed to hear, he said to Ron, "Don't let her get into trouble, and whatever you do, don't make any bets with her-especially ones involving archery or Rock, Paper, Scissors."

A lady from wardrobe came over with Steve's costume but reported that someone had found my clothes earlier, figured they were Esme's, and sent them out with the other dirty laundry to be dry-cleaned. She said she'd have them mailed to my house when they came back.

To tell you the truth, I didn't mind wearing Steve's clothes. I sort of liked his lucky poker shirt.

Before we left-and by this time it was almost fourthirty-Mr. Bosco gave Steve a wad of cash. Television stars apparently don't go to the ATM themselves; that is the sort of thing their personal a.s.sistants do for them. The money was for gas and food. I felt bad Steve had to pay for anything, but my purse was with Madison, and Steve had already rejected my offer to drive him to Nevada in my minivan. His exact words were, "I've got to meet Karli at five, and I'm not pulling up to the restaurant in a minivan with two teenage girls and an a.s.sortment of wildlife."

He had tried to call Karli to cancel, but she didn't pick up her cell phone, and he didn't want to stand her up. He told me he'd just stop by the restaurant and tell her he couldn't stay.

I tried to give him the money the security guards had given me to pay for the gas, but he had looked at me incredulously, like I'd insulted him. "I'm not taking your money. Not now. Not ever."

During Mr. Bosco's investigation of flight times, I'd called Madison and told her she could head home because I'd be traveling with Steve. It wasn't that I really wanted to spend time with Mr. I-must-have-a-nondisclosure-form-before-you-can-hang-out-with-me. I just thought it would be too easy for him to break his promise if I wasn't there in the car with him.

Madison was all concerned about me going off on a four-hour car trip with a stranger, although mostly she was concerned I wouldn't be able to find my way home. I had to a.s.sure her that Steve's BlackBerry had GPS and he'd already programmed my address into it.

"Call me every once in a while so I know where you are," she'd said, and then added, "Oh, wait, I have your cell phone charger in my car. Is your battery about to run out? Does Steve have a phone?"

"We'll be fine," I told her. But after I hung up with her, I turned off my cell phone to conserve the battery.

As it turned out, we didn't actually take Steve's car. Steve, like most of the cast, had a driver that chauffeured him to the set, so he borrowed one of the studio's cars, a beige BMW. Apparently this is one of the perks of being a star: You can borrow expensive vehicles on a moment's notice.

At first Steve didn't say anything as we drove. I figured he was ticked off about having to do this favor for me, so I listened to the radio and didn't say anything either. We were nearly in Beverly Hills before Steve told me again that he'd make his meeting with Karli as short as possible.

"I thought you and Karli broke up," I said.

"We did. I'm mostly picking up some books she borrowed."

I turned in my seat and looked at him. "Really? What sort of books?"

He glanced at me. "Are you surprised I read?"

"No, I'm surprised she does."

He sent me a questioning gaze.