The Actress & the Hermit

Part One

by G. Lawrence

A former child star struggles to revive her career

This novella from a PG-rated anthology has been spiced up for Literotica but maintains its boundaries. There is a romance. This is part one of two. All characters involved in adult activities are over 18 years old.

* * * * * *

Chapter One

THE MOUNTAIN

"This was a waste of time," Casey griped, stuffing the screenplay in her briefcase.

"Only so much I can do with this drivel," Jab Reichmann responded, seemingly unfazed. Washed-up actresses were notorious for their short tempers. He expected no less from Casey Saunders.

As Casey headed for the door, Jab reluctantly rose from his plush couch. In his mid-forties, tall, lean, and good-looking, Jab could afford a casual attitude. His mountain chalet was a welcome retreat from Hollywood's mean streets. Except when he had dissatisfied clients.

"Dawn's Mission is a great book," Casey said. "Three weeks on the New York Times best seller list. I've spent everything to buy the movie rights. Even mortgaged my house. It's going to revive my career."

"It's not my fault you're too old for the role," Jab said. For a moment, it looked like Casey was going to throw the manuscript in his face. She relented.

On the porch, Casey looked down the wet driveway at her twelve-year-old Chrysler. The wind picked up, blowing snow flurries. Though blizzards rarely swept through the mountains around Big Bear, it wasn't an impossibility. Even Jab appeared concerned.

"Wait until morning. Could be a storm coming," he warned.

"My lawyers will show you a storm," Casey said, throwing her briefcase in the front seat.

"Good luck with that," Jab said, waving goodbye. He'd been sued before.

She drove down the hill toward the main road. Wherever that was. She would need a motel if she could find the town. There were no other cars, and very few houses. Just trees and a lot of snow. The maze of tiny winding lanes was hard to see, especially at night, but Casey had driven them several times before. She would not be trapped atop the mountain any longer than necessary.

Fighting the darkness, Casey's eyes filled with tears. She had once starred in a hit TV show. Made a dozen movies. Even been nominated for an Academy Award. But those days were long gone. It had been ten years since her agent found her a part beyond the occasional cameo. She was forty now, a single mother with two teenagers, running out of money.

Whatever happened to Casey Saunders? she wondered. Bad choices in roles. Bad choices in men. Bad choices with drugs. And the moment she got her life cleaned up, the offers stopped coming. What Hollywood wanted was the cute little muffin from Sassy's Mom, not the woman she grew into.

The lane became impossible to see. When the snowstorm turned into a white blanket, she turned this way and that, plowing along narrow tracts. She wasn't even sure which road she was on.

Suddenly, there was something up ahead. A deer! She hit the brakes, feeling the car swerve. There was ice under the tires. The car drifted. She desperately stepped on the brakes again, heard a slushy screech, and grabbed tight to the steering wheel as the car spun around in circles and hurtled off the road!

It was only a few seconds but felt like a lifetime. Bumping. Twisting. Screeching. A steep slope that went on forever. And then the car came to a grinding halt. It was too dark to see.

"Fucking hell!" Casey cursed, hoping she wasn't hurt. The car was tilted forward at a steep angle. The dashboard was dead. "Where's my cell phone?"

She groped the floor, finding it under her briefcase, but wasn't able to get a signal. The windows wouldn't roll down. The driver's door wouldn't open. The passenger door wouldn't open, either. It was getting cold. Very cold. Twenty minutes passed.

This is bad, Casey thought.

Casey wasn't one to give up. Not ever. But she considered finding a scrap of paper to write a final note to her children, just in case. Her car had gone off the road in a wilderness, during a storm. And no one knew where she was.

There was a knock on the driver window. Casey wiped the glass, seeing the blurry image of a bearded man. He wore a heavy hood and a thick gray jacket.

"Lady, you can't park here," the man said.

"Is that supposed to be funny? It's not! It's not fucking funny at all! Get me out of here!" Casey demanded.

The bearded face disappeared. A dog barked. Casey heard shuffling, mostly toward the rear. Then she heard a deep voice shout over the howling wind.

"Duck your head, missy!"

Glass shattered, pieces raining down toward the front seat. More glass shattered. The rear window was being battered out with a crowbar.

"Jesus loving Christ," Casey said, hunched over the steering wheel.

Once the rear window was completely smashed, she looked back to see the bearded man on the trunk of her car, reaching down from the steep angle.

"Okay, now crawl up here, nice and slow," he said.

"You broke my window, you goddamn son of a bitch," Casey answered.

"Fine with me if you'd rather stay."

Casey crawled into the backseat, took the man's hand, and found herself lifted from the car onto the trunk. The forest was white. A howling wind blew hard. For the first time, Casey saw how dangerously her car was perched among the dark trees. Both doors were wedged by broken limbs.

"You okay?" her rescuer asked.

"My car is wrecked."

"Not much of a car. We got to go up the hill easy."

"Why is that?"

"Go up easy or go down hard."

The mountainside was nearly vertical in places, slick with ice. Casey was led in slow, trudging steps to a ridge where she gingerly sat down. The man was breathing hard, struggling against the elements. A fierce-looking animal appeared on the trail.

"Is that a wolf?" Casey asked.

"That's my dog, Tonto. He don't hurt no one, 'cept trespassers."

The storm continued to worsen, reducing visibility to a few feet. When the trail became too rough, the bearded man picked Casey up, following the German Shepherd as if by instinct. Several times, large piles of snow dropped from tree branches. Casey was relieved when she finally saw an old log cabin emerge from the mist. It had a few windows, a stone chimney, and a covered porch. It looked like something from Little House on the Prairie

The interior was a far cry from Jab Reichmann's lavish chalet. There was a quaint kitchen to the right of the modest den. To the left, Casey saw a small bathroom and a hallway branching off to two bedrooms. An elk head hung over the stone fireplace. A bearskin rug lay on the floor. The only entertainment appeared to be a TV set below a shelf of DVDs.

"Where am I?" Casey asked, rushing to the fireplace where several logs were burning.

"No place you're supposed to be, that's for sure," the grouchy man said, helping Casey out of her coat. It was torn at the sleeves and shoulders, either from the crash or climbing out on the trunk.

She took a moment to look at her reluctant savior, a well-built man in his early forties, with a matted black beard that didn't quite match his light brown hair. A bad dye job? By every definition, he appeared to be a hermit, though one who enjoyed a comfortable living space. He put another log on the fire.

"I need to use your phone," Casey said.

"Ain't no phones here, lady."

"I need to find one. Let me use your car."

"Ain't got no car. Even if I did, roads are blocked. Didn't no one tell you about the blizzard?"

"Well, what can we do? Smoke signals? Messenger pigeon?"

"Had a bird once. Tonto ate it."

"I was making a joke."

"So was I."

"Can we get out of here in the morning?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. You injured? I got a medical kit."

Casey shook her arms, felt her legs, and stretched her back. All seemed well. Everything considered, she'd been lucky.

"I'm good," she concluded.

"It's late," the hermit said, pointing. "Guest room to the left. Strong lock on the door."

"You can bet I'll be using it," she said, stomping into the hallway.

Casey found the guest bedroom surprisingly clean, with old-fashioned country wall hangings and a thick woven rug on the floor. She locked the door and crawled into bed under quilted covers fully clothed, hearing the wind blow louder.

Her clothes still felt damp from the trek. Cold and uncomfortable. With the greatest reluctance, she undressed, keeping her bra and panties. Trees were crashing against the cabin. The walls rattled with the force of unbridled nature outside, causing weird noises and shadows. Casey huddled deeper under the covers, feeling alone and frightened. She had never been good about being alone. Finally, she could bear no more.

Wrapped in the quilt, Casey crept down the hall and pushed the other bedroom door open. By a dim light, she saw the room was more Spartan than the guestroom. A dark shadow on the floor moved. It was Tonto, lying at the foot of the bed. Luminous black eyes gazed at her when he raised his head, but there was no growling. Nevertheless, Casey put up a finger for silence.

"Who's there?" a voice from the darkness asked.

"Who do you think?" Casey answered.

"Lock on the door broken?"

"No. Locks fine."

"Then go back to bed."

"I'm scared," she explained, coming to the side of the bed.

There was no reaction at first. The hermit seemed to have no sympathy for her plight. And then she saw the covers reluctantly pull back for her. Casey climbed in, pulled the covers up, and waited to see what would happen. Her bedmate rolled over in the other direction.

"Don't touch nothin' that don't belong to you," he said, going back to sleep.

* * * * * *

The following morning, with her clothes still wet, Casey entered the den in her underwear wrapped in a wool blanket. Her clothes were just too grimy despite the risk, now laying on the guest bedroom floor. The den was empty, but a fire burned in the fireplace aided by a gas flame. Through the windows, she saw nothing but snow. She crossed to the kitchen, finding it deserted as well, but there was a coffee cup with "Guest" scrawled on the side in Magic Marker.

Where was the hermit? She's slept in his goddamn bed, huddled against his body for warmth but totally ignored, and now he was gone. Even the dog was gone.

Casey liked the kitchen's vintage decor, with a blue and white checkered floor and turquoise tiled countertops. It even had a pantry. She heated instant coffee in the microwave and took a seat. The speckled yellow table and vinyl chairs reminded her of her grandmother's house in North Hollywood, long since bulldozed for an apartment building. The kitchen was warm. After taking a look around to make sure she was alone, she draped the quilt over a chair, keeping her bra and panties.

After two eggs cooked sunny side up, Casey went back into the den. Admittedly, it had a rustic charm, with an oak desk and a bust of William Shakespeare. The shelf of DVDs held about a hundred old movies and TV shows. To her surprise, one of them was hers. The Old Mucker, starring Red Grange and Casey Saunders

God, wish I never made that one, she thought. It sucked. Hey, this is weird.

Casey set the DVD down to take another look at the elk's head mounted above the fireplace. On closer inspection, it wasn't an elk head at all. It was imitation hide, with a tag that read Made in Indonesia. She knelt to look at the bearskin rug, finding it was fake, too. Made in Vietnam. That fraud, she thought.

Suddenly, there was noise from the kitchen. Tonto entered the den, barking once.

"Jesus, it's the wolf," Casey said, a hand over her breasts and another covering her crotch. She felt naked despite her underwear. At least I still have a great body, she thought.

She was relieved when the hermit showed no interest, carrying more firewood. She rushed to grab the quilt from the kitchen, wrapping it around her shoulders. Her bare legs and panties still showed.

"How'd you sleep, missy?" he asked.

"Didn't touch nothing that wasn't mine. Who are you?" she asked.

"Name's Daniel Lawrence," he revealed, not offering to shake hands.

"Do you know who I am?"

"Don't much care."

"I'm Casey Saunders. The Casey Saunders."

Casey picked up the DVD and showed it to him. The hermit shrugged, taking off his gloves to warm his hands at the fire.

"Storm's gettin' worse. May be a few days before it clears," he said. Casey wasn't sure if he was talking to her or the dog.

"A few days? I can't wait that long," she protested.

"There's the door. Leave any time you want. Though you ain't exactly dressed for it. If you got family, better make out a will first."

"I have two kids."

"Two orphans."

"Can we at least get my overnight bag from the car? And my briefcase?"

"It's freezing cold out there," he objected.

"Look here, snowman. I'm a woman trapped in a cabin with a strange man and a wolf. The least you can do is find my female necessities."

"What do you think, boy?" Dan asked.

Tonto barked, and for a moment, Casey thought they were actually speaking to each other. She looked more carefully at the dog. He was brown and black, somewhat large, with a long nose, upright ears, and perceptive eyes. Tonto looked back as if aware he was being scrutinized.

"Okay, we'll give it a try," Dan agreed, going to a closet near the front door.

The closet was filled with heavy coats, boots, gloves, and hoods. Among the equipment he pulled out was a crowbar, a coil of rope, and a belt full of small tools.

"Suit up, kid. And put one of these earpieces on so we can hear each other in the wind," he instructed, holding up a pair of heavy overalls.

Casey was embarrassed. Other than the quilt, all she wore was her underwear.

"Where are your clothes?" he asked.

"Still wet from last night."

"There's a dryer in the laundry room."

"I didn't know."

"We don't have time for that now. You need to get dressed," he insisted, helping her into sweatpants and a heavy parka. He barely seemed to notice her attractive figure, tugging and tying drawstrings without interest. The last thing Dan did was attach a cable to their belts with clips.

"Can you hear me?" he asked over the transmitter.

"Yeah, I hear you. Is all this stuff really necessary?"

"It's kinda rough out there, so stay close and don't unhook the rope."

He opened the door, led her to a sheltered porch, and then pushed the outer door open. Casey gasped. The forest was buried in a thick fog.

"How in the hell are we going to find my car?" Casey asked in astonishment.

"Tonto knows the way," Dan answered.

"Is he some sort of super dog?"

"There are those who think so. Are you ready?"

Tonto plunged into the snow with Dan following, keeping Casey close. There must be a trail, Casey decided, though she couldn't see one. Or much else.

The walk only took fifteen minutes but felt longer. The snow was slippery in spots, and deep in others. Tall trees were everywhere, some of the branches dipping in their path.

"Almost there," Dan said.

"How can you tell?"

"We're at the edge of the cliff."

"The cliff!" Casey shouted.

When the steady stream of flurries opened for the barest second, Casey saw a valley in the distance. Hardly twenty feet away, the hillside gave way to--nothing.

"That cliff's a thousand feet high! I almost died last night," Casey exclaimed.

"Just like your last movie," Dan remarked.

"Oh, so the snowman is a critic now, too?" Casey replied, glad to find the grim hermit had a sense of humor.

They reached the car, trapped between trees while teetering on the edge of the abyss. Dan reached the trunk, braced himself against a fallen log, and used the crowbar to pop the trunk open. It was murky enough that he needed a flashlight to find her overnight bag.

"Here goes," he said, throwing the bag up on the trail.

Then Dan was surprised. As he backed away, Casey suddenly pushed forward, closed the trunk, and started to climb on the back of the car. Dan stopped her.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he asked.

"I need my briefcase. It's on the floor of the front seat," she answered, pointing toward the broken rear window.

"Are you insane?"

"Please, everything I own is in that briefcase," she pleaded.

"Care to explain that?"

"Please, please. If I lose that briefcase, I'll be ruined."

Dan huffed impatiently and dragged Casey a few yards up the hill, attached her belt to a tree, and slowly worked his way back down. One end of the rope stayed hooked to his belt, the other was tied around a pine tree. The wind blew up, obscuring Casey's view, but it looked like Dan had crawled through the broken rear window.

Tonto barked, then barked again more urgently. Casey stood on her toes, struggling against the restraints. Had the car tipped forward? The rope was tightly stretched. And then the car suddenly disappeared.

"Oh my God. Oh my God!" Casey screamed, hearing the wreck crash down the mountainside.

She tried to get free of the tree but couldn't find a way to unhook the belt. The dog rushed to the edge of the cliff, barking into the wind. Then the wind died down. For a moment, there was silence.

Something flew through the air, landing on a snow-covered embankment. It was her briefcase. The dog was hunched down, jaws clenched, pulling on the rope. All four feet dug in, muscles straining. Tonto lurched back, and lurched back again. Casey sensed the animal's raw power. And then Dan appeared, crawling over the edge. He tugged on the belt around his waist, freeing it from the pine tree, and slowly staggered up to the hill.

"I thought you were dead," Casey said.

"Kilimanjaro was tougher than that. But I wouldn't want to do it again," Dan replied, out of breath.

Dan clipped his rope back to Casey's belt, looping the end through the handle of the dearly earned briefcase. The walk back didn't take long, and Casey was overjoyed to see the cabin, smoke rising from the chimney. They rushed inside, shedding the heavy outfits. The sweatpants were soaked, the hooded sweater caked in ice. She dumped them next to the fireplace, once again in her underwear, huddling near the fire.

"That briefcase better be full of diamonds," Dan said.

"It's a screenplay. Based on Dawn's Mission," Casey explained, pulling a blanket around her while standing before the fire. When Dan didn't pay attention, she felt confused. And a little offended. What's wrong with this guy? she wondered. I'm almost naked and owe him big time. Why doesn't he want to fuck me?

"Anyone ever tell you turkey day is in November?" Dan commented.

"Dawn's Mission is a best seller!"

"For those who like trashy melodramas."

It wasn't the first time Casey had heard that.

"I spent my last dime on the movie rights," she mumbled.

"Maybe I should have let you go over the cliff," Dan said, almost smiling. Casey noticed a quiet sparkle in his sad blue eyes.

"Dibs on the shower," she announced, rushing off.

A few minutes later, Casey stepped into the quaint stall. The plumbing was old but in good condition. And, like the kitchen, the bathroom had a charming décor, with lots of colorful tilework and old-fashioned fixtures. It made her wonder if Dan was a handyman, able to fix things in the neighborhood to earn a little money. He apparently lived comfortably enough and did not seem to have many needs.

There was a movement in the bathroom, a black shadow on the other side of the shower curtain. Feeling naked and vulnerable, Casey clutched a hand over her heart, the other holding the curtain closed. The towel was hanging on the wall, beyond reach. The shadow stopped moving, but the image was still there. Casey could take it no longer.

"Listen here, you pervert son of a bitch--" she said, poking her head through the curtains.

But it wasn't Dan. It was Tonto, sitting on the floor looking up at her.

* * * * * *

"May we help you?" the police officer at the reception counter asked.

Before him stood an attractive eighteen-year-old, slim with long brunette hair down to her shoulders, and a thirteen-year-old boy with short blond hair and big green eyes. They were comfortably but not expensively dressed. An older woman escorted them, possibly in her sixties, with curly white hair and red cheeks.

"Our mother is missing," the young brunette said.

Though the winter evening was temperate, as the suburbs of Encino tended to be, there had been rain earlier in the day. The police officers were in shirtsleeves, hanging out at the front desk on a quiet night. The officers got out their notebooks and activated the computer, looking concerned.

"How long has she been missing?" Sergeant Mike Rogers asked.

"Two days," the boy said, concerned but not scared. Probably no angry boyfriends involved, the officers thought.

"Your names?" Sergeant Mike inquired, his fingers over the computer keyboard. Next to him, the young female officer was ready to fill out the standard form.

"I'm Samantha Saunders. This is my brother, Adam," Samantha introduced.

"Is this your grandmother?" Officer Brenda Costa asked.

"No, this is Martha, our housekeeper," Samantha answered.

"Your mother's name?" Sergeant Mike asked.

"Casey Saunders," Samantha said.

"Casey Saunders, the actress?" Officer Brenda asked in surprise.

"She hasn't acted much recently," Samantha confessed.

The officers glanced at each other and stopped writing.

"I wouldn't worry, miss. Your mother is probably just... out with a friend and forgot to call," Sergeant Mike advised.

"She was at Jab's house. He's no friend of my mom's," Adam said.

"The boy is right," Martha added. "Mr. Reichmann said Miss Saunders left his house in Mountain Glow two days ago. In a snowstorm."

"The roads get blocked up there sometimes," Sergeant Mike said. "She's probably snug and warm in a motel."

"If you don't hear from her in a few days, get back to us," Officer Brenda suggested.

"You're sure she's okay?" Adam asked.

"We'll check with the rangers. Make some calls," Officer Brenda promised.

"The highway patrol will put out a bulletin," Sergeant Mike added.

"Thank you for helping," Samantha gratefully said.

"Yeah, thanks," Adam added.

The moment the children and their housekeeper left, the officers put their notebooks away.

"Snug and warm? In a dive with a bottle, you mean," Mike said. "Probably banging some poor slob who didn't make it home to his wife."

"Poor kids. Has-beens like Casey Saunders will do anything for publicity," Brenda bemoaned. "It's always the children who get hurt."

* * * * * *

Casey woke up late, seeing the storm still blowing outside her window. Dan was gone. It was the third night they'd shared his bed. She in her underwear. He hadn't complained. Nor had he shown any interest. Casey wondered if he was being a gentleman or just didn't find her attractive. No, Casey thought, that's not possible. He must be gay.

After finding a heavy blue robe in the closet, she entered the den. There was a fire in the fireplace. The oak desk was cleared for her use. Dan had left her a tray of fresh baked oatmeal cookies next to the bust of Shakespeare. She found her coffee cup in the kitchen, heated it in the microwave, and wandered around the cabin wearing wool socks, finding no one. After a while, the robe was too warm. She dropped it over a chair.

Where does that guy keep going? she wondered.

The screenplay started by Jab but never finished lay on the desk. She flipped through the pages, sometimes referencing her well-worn copy of Dawn's Mission, and finally started making notes on a yellow pad. A red wool blanket helped keep her feet warm.

Early in the evening, Dan and Tonto returned through the front door. Dan shook out his coat before hanging it on a peg. Casey didn't think they looked very cold for having been out all day. Could they have been working in a nearby shed or garage? Maybe Dan was a carpenter? Or a plumber? Casey ran to the kitchen draped in the blanket, made more coffee, and met Dan before the fire.

"I guess I should thank you for saving my life. With all this drama, I forgot my manners," she humbly said, giving him the cup.

"That's okay. I just don't like dead actresses littering my mountain."

"I am able to show appreciation, you know."

"Don't want none, missy. Just hoping to get my privacy back. Find enough food?"

"More than enough. You've got the best-stocked pantry I've ever seen. Which is kind of weird for a hermit."

"Living in the mountains don't mean I don't like having good meals. Did you have a real dinner tonight?"

"Yes. I had the lasagna."

"Good. Don't want no skinny actresses getting faint from starving themselves."

"You think I look thin?"

"Thin as a bone. If I caught ya in the wild, I'd hafta throw ya back."

"You really know how to flatter a woman."

"Ain't no flattery. Wouldn't do that. You sleep good."

Dan turned back toward the front door, taking his coat.

"Where the hell are you going?"

"Full moon. Got chores to do. Come on, Tonto."

Before Casey realized it, Dan and Tonto had disappeared into the cold night.

* * * * * *

The next morning, Casey awoke in the queen-size bed alone. Unmolested. The snowman hadn't even made a move on her even though all she'd worn were her panties and a t-shirt. What's wrong with me? she wondered. Am I too old for him?

Had the storm not been so bad, she would have tried looking for a town. Or a house with a phone. She looked over her wardrobe. Her overnight bag didn't have much. She hadn't expected to spend two days at Reichman's chalet failing to fix her screenplay. And she didn't feel like washing her bra in Dan's kitchen sink. She looked out the hall into the living room and saw the cabin was empty.

What the hell, she thought. He's already seen me in my underwear. She put on her skimpy pink panties, wrapped a blanket over her shoulders, and ventured from the bedroom.

There was a note in the kitchen. Help yourself. Casey sighed and dug through the refrigerator, finding bacon and eggs. She made enough for two, hoping Dan would be back for breakfast. She didn't like being alone.

Suddenly, Tonto entered from the den, followed by Dan.

"Morning, kid," Dan said, sounding upbeat.

Though Dan seemed in a good mood, Casey was insulted that he wasn't paying her more attention. Wearing nothing but skimpy panties and a blanket.

"Day three, Mr. Lawrence. How long will I be here?"

"Weather may break tomorrow. Or the next. Hard to tell."

"Where have you been? You keep disappearing."

"Got to earn a living."

"How do you do that?"

"I ... hunt elk."

"Elk? You shoot elk?"

"Wouldn't say I exactly shoot them."

"I didn't even know these mountains had elk."

"Pretty elusive, that's for sure."

Dan sat at the kitchen table, took a moment to smell the bacon and eggs, and dug in.

"Yes, thank you for making breakfast, Casey," she sarcastically remarked.

"Thanks for cooking my own food?"

"I made the effort."

"I pity your kids."

"I can cook!" she defended.

"Who does the cooking at home? Your maid?"

"My housekeeper. Her name is Martha," Casey conceded.

Casey fetched him coffee, muffins, and orange juice. Dan shared scraps with Tonto. She let the blanket slide to the side, showing her butt. If the snowman noticed, he didn't react.

"Where's your dishwasher?" Casey asked.

"Don't got one. Wastes too much water," Dan replied. He pointed to a rack near the sink and a drying towel.

"I didn't realize living in the mountains was so primitive," Casey teased.

"Got to say, the food weren't bad," Dan said, getting up. "Got fish in the freezer if you want to defrost some for dinner. Don't wait. Tonto and I may be back late."

"You're leaving again? Where? Is there a town nearby?"

"There's a village about three miles off, but in this weather it may as well be three hundred."

"Where are you going? I can go with you," Casey offered.

"No place for girls," he grunted.

No place for girls? Casey fumed. She stood up as if to put the dishes in the sink and shockingly let the blanket fall to the floor. Dan looked up as Casey used one hand to cover her bare breasts, another to cover her crotch, for the panties were too thin to disguise her reddish bush. She crouched in a classic ENF pose.

"Oops," Casey uttered, making no attempt to pick the blanket up.

As the moment lingered, Casey grew red-faced. She was standing before him virtually naked. Totally vulnerable. Dan grinned. Casey thought it a nice grin, amused and not pervy. He got up and draped the blanket back over her shoulders.

"You're very pretty," he complimented. And then he was out the front door into the snow followed by Tonto.

* * * * * *

Chapter Two

THE BATCAVE

Casey washed the dishes and went back into the den, putting on the green oversize sweatpants and sweater Dan had provided. A thin fleece blanket helped keep out the occasional chill. Then she sat down at the desk and took out Dawn's Mission. The work was frustrating. The script wasn't capturing the spirit of her heroine, or her desperate challenges. It was dry and dead. Hours went by.

"This is getting ridiculous," she mumbled, fumbling through a drawer. It was well-stocked with pencils, pens, paperclips, and erasers. There was also an old cell phone, but it wouldn't turn on, let alone get a signal.

Casey was bored, and it didn't help that Jab's screenplay was particularly terrible. He really had no clue what the characters were about, or what made them intriguing. And it was clear he didn't care. She poked around the room, turned on the TV set, and found an old DVD. It was Batman, a series made back in the 1960s. She remembered watching reruns with her father when she was a little girl. Before he ran off with his secretary.

It was a familiar story. Millionaire Bruce Wayne and his youthful ward, Dick Grayson, were hanging out in Wayne Manor when their elderly butler, Alfred, informs them there is a phone call. Bruce and Dick rush to the library where Commissioner Gordon informs them of the latest threat to Gotham City. The Joker. Penguin. The Riddler. Or Casey's favorite, Catwoman.

"To the bat poles!" Bruce declares. There is a bust of William Shakespeare on his desk. Dick pulls back the head, turns a secret switch, and a bookcase slides aside, revealing two poles leading down to the basement. One pole is marked Batman, the other Robin.

Casey stopped the video. The bust of Shakespeare on the TV show looked exactly like the one on Dan's desk. Exactly. A sticker read, "Property of Greenway Productions."

"You've got to be kidding me," she said.

She went to the desk and pushed Will's head. It tipped back. There was a switch. When she turned the switch, the bookcase in Dan's den suddenly slid open. There was a pole.

"Fuck! You've really got to be kidding me!" Casey exclaimed.

She went to the opening, looked down into the dark shaft, and caught her breath. Dispensing with the clumsy blanket, she grabbed the pole with both hands and slid, landing on a thick pad fifteen feet below.

The shaft opened into a state-of-the-art office three times the size of the entire cabin, lushly carpeted, well-lit and heated to a comfortable temperature. Huge windows looked out on a broad valley through gusts of snow flurries. Casey saw computer monitors, chalkboards, and framed movie posters hanging on the walls. Shelves were filled with books and manuscripts.

There was a fancy bathroom to the left with a giant tub. To her right, a circular ramp went down to a lower level. She moved cautiously, not sure what to expect. Which was just as well. Nothing would have prepared her for what she found.

"What the hell is this?" she said.

The lower room was a solarium. She found potted plants, ferns, a pond with a waterfall, steampunk artifacts, and a strange man sitting in a steaming hot tub. No, not a strange man. It was Dan. Casey noticed Tonto suddenly appear from behind a bamboo screen.

"Have you no respect?" Dan said, covering himself with his hands in the bubbling water.

The man was nude, smoking a slender cigar while editing a manuscript. A fake beard lay on the deck next to him. He was actually quite good-looking, with shaggy brown hair, blue eyes, and a square jaw.

"Who the hell are you?" Casey asked.

"Hand me my robe," Dan requested.

"Explain first," Casey insisted.

"I really need my robe," he countered.

"You can answer my question first or go naked," Casey dared, enjoying having him in her power.

Dan started to get up. Six feet tall with long arms and a broad chest, she felt a sudden urge. Good pecks, a trim waist, and not too much hair. He was reasonably but not absurdly endowed. As for giving him the robe, Casey needed to think about it, remembering how she'd been embarrassed over the last three days. But this wasn't the time for revenge. She handed him the robe.

Dan made several more notes on his manuscript, snuffed out the cigar in a marble ashtray, and brought Casey back up to the brightly lit office. Casey took a swivel chair while he got dressed in blue sweats and a sweater.

"Would you like anything?" Dan asked, opening a cabinet. Casey saw a teapot, a coffeemaker, and a full bar. A really full bar. Whiskey. Bourbon. Vodka. Gin. And enough mixers to satisfy a nightclub.

"Not at the moment. What is all this?"

"It's my office."

"You're some kind of writer?"

"Yes."

"You said you're an elk hunter."

"Not exactly."

Dan showed her the manuscript he'd been working on. The title was, The Elk Hunters: Under the Lost Moon.

"It's the 4th in the series, due in April," Dan explained.

"You make money doing this?"

"Tonto and I aren't complaining. Are we, boy?"

Tonto wagged his tail.

"But that tiny cabin?"

"Tonto and I mostly work down here, when we're not entertaining has-been actresses."

"So, you do know who I am."

"Seen all your movies. Even the bad ones."

"I've never heard of Daniel Lawrence."

"I publish under a pen name. Joshua Chamberlain."

"Fantasies. Thrillers. That sort of stuff? You've won some awards."

"A few."

"One of your books was made into a movie."

"More than one."

Casey looked around the large office, recognizing the movie posters. They were based on Dan's books. Autographed by the directors, actors, and crew. Several of the young actresses had left scandalous remarks.

"Can you help me with Dawn's Mission?" she asked.

"Lassie, I'm not a miracle worker," Dan said, using a fake Scottish accent.

Casey laughed. "No, seriously. I would be so grateful," she pressed.

"Not too grateful, I hope."

"Are you gay?" she dared to ask.

"Let's just say I'm shy and leave it at that."

"This book is important to me."

"Let's see what you've got," Dan agreed with a sigh.

Back in the upstairs kitchen, they took seats at the table. The wind outside was still ferocious. Dan glanced at the screenplay, shaking his head. Casey was holding the novel.

"Coffee?" he asked.

"Please."

Dan went through the cupboards, finding a Columbian ground that was nicer than the instant he usually had, plugging in the coffeemaker. It would take a few minutes.

"You told me there's no phone," Casey said.

"Never had no phone. I use email."

"Can we email my kids?"

"The blizzard blew the antenna down."

"Samantha and Adam are going to be worried. They have no one else."

"What happened to their father?"

"Last I heard, Sam's father was shooting swimwear models in Denmark. When they aren't whoring themselves out. Adam's father is in Thailand. Hopefully in jail."

"We can hike into town once the storm clears."

"There's nothing but snow outside."

"Tonto knows the way. Ain't got lost yet."

"You don't really say 'ain't' do you?"

"I reckon not."

"What's with Tonto? Is he some kind of super pet?"

"Ever hear of Rex the Wonder Dog?"

"Of course. My kids loved that show. Is Tonto Rex?"

"Rex's real name is King. Tonto was King's stunt double. Tonto did all the work; King got all the credit. And when the show went off the air, Tonto was out of a job, so I adopted him."

"Can he carry a message to town?"

"Too risky, but there is something we can try."

"Please, whatever it takes."

"It won't be easy, and you'll need to help."

* * * * * *

An hour later, Casey was in the downstairs office sitting at the computer. The internet screen was up but showing no signal. She looked out the windows, seeing snow and a few trees. Then there was movement. Dan, dressed as warmly as possible, pushed a ladder up against the side of the cabin. Tonto appeared outside the window, alert, looking at Casey, then back at Dan as he began to climb.

Casey remembered Dan's admonition. Make it quick. She kept her fingers poised over the keyboard, looking out the window. She couldn't hear anything; the wind was too strong.

The screen flickered, went dark, and flickered again. Suddenly, Tonto jumped up against the glass, barking. The monitor screen showed a signal. Casey typed quickly.

AM OKAY. WORKING ON MISSION. STAY OUT OF TROUBLE.

She saw the message had gone through seconds before the signal was lost. Something fell past the window. It looked like Dan. Casey rushed to look, seeing something in a snowbank with Tonto hovering over it. And then the thing moved.

"Thank God," she whispered, letting out her breath.

Casey rushed to the backdoor of the solarium, holding it open as Dan and Tonto entered. Dan was rubbing his back. Casey gave him a heartfelt hug, and Tonto a thankful pat on the head.

"Are you okay? Didn't fall off the mountain?" she questioned.

"Not this time. Your message?"

"Email went through. I can't thank you enough."

"No need for that."

After brushing Tonto down and giving him a bone, Dan stripped off the heavy outfit, keeping his boxer shorts, and climbed into the hot tub. Casey thought him a fine-looking man, for a hermit, with the broad shoulders of a quarterback. There was a long scar on his lower back near the spine. He pressed a hand against it when he sat.

"You keep in shape," Casey observed.

"Chopping firewood will do that. Do you drink wine?"

"On occasion," Casey hedged. Actually, she drank a lot of wine.

Dan pointed to a cabinet containing forty or more bottles. She picked one at random, found two glasses, and did the pouring. Then she stripped off everything but a tank top and panties to climb into the hot tub.

"Play football in college?" she asked.

"Never made it to college. After 9/11, I dropped out of high school and joined the Marines. Got my GED, though."

"Did you serve overseas?"

"Afghanistan. Iraq. Until I got wounded. The Marines offered me a desk job or an honorable discharge, so I came home."

"Wounded?"

"I wasn't the only one."

"So, not much of an education. Did your folks have money?"

"Not a dime. Dad was a high school English teacher. Mom cooked in the school cafeteria."

"What did you do? After the Marines?"

"I met a charming young woman at a job fair. Her father ran a magazine and asked if I'd review articles being submitted by veterans. Most weren't very good, so I started editing them and writing my own. They were rough, at first, but I caught on."

"So it would seem. Ever had a bestseller?"

"A few."

"How many books have you written?"

"Fourteen."

"Fourteen! How come I've barely heard of you?"

"How many books do you read every year?"

"Usually? None."

"That might be a reason."

"How many have been made into movies?"

"Eight, not counting the Star Forest miniseries."

"Eight! That's more than Tom Clancy."

"Tom's books are more sophisticated. A lot of technology. My characters roam through primitive lands, encounter strange creatures, and make love every chance they get. No spies, submarines, or crazy politicians. Well, there is the occasional witch doctor."

"I was in a submarine movie once. It sank."

Casey was glad to see Dan smile at her joke. Something about him was ... intriguing.

"What's with this book?" he asked.

"Dawn's Mission is a bestseller. I was able to buy the movie rights, but it took everything I have. I even mortgaged my house. It's my comeback role."

"As Bess?"

"Yes, of course. She's a great character."

It took Dan a moment to consider that. Whatever he wanted to say, he didn't.

"Still want help?" he asked.

After Dan made broiled steaks for dinner, with baked potatoes and cheese-covered broccoli, they adjourned to the spacious downstairs office. Casey had been surprised to learn there was a circular stairwell behind the laundry room, making the pole unnecessary. She used the pole anyway, finding it fun. Dan spread the screenplay out on a long counter, shuffling the pages while Casey looked at the movie posters.

"I assume you want the basics from the book in the film?" Dan asked.

"Bess Nightingale begins as a Kansas farm girl, taking care of her sick father," Casey explained. "When her father dies, and Bess catches her boyfriend cheating on her with her best friend, she sells the farm and goes to France, becoming a nurse."

"In the middle of World War I."

"Yes, she's very idealistic. Caring for her father gave her good skills."

"She sails for Cherbourg. Her ship is sunk by a German submarine," Dan noted. "She's rescued from a desert island where she had been marooned with four lustful sailors. Then she spends time in Paris singing in nightclubs and drinking champagne. Where she is seduced by a young British soldier from a noble family, who is soon killed."

"Yes. It's very tragic," Casey agreed.

"Then Bess gets sent to the front, where she's mired in blood, mud, bad food, lack of supplies, misogynistic officers, and threatened by an enemy attack."

"Lots of action. People like that."

"You've got a problem with Bess," Dan finally dared to say. "She's nineteen. How old are you?"

"Hollywood doesn't care about age. It's drama. The story."

"CGI?"

"I'm not that old."

"If you say so. Who wrote this trash? Did he bother reading the book?"

"Jab Reichmann."

"You asked a hack science fiction writer to do a screenplay about a World War I nurse?"

"They say he's good. And affordable."

"All Jab wants to do is blow stuff up and get out quick."

"You know him?"

"We've met. Look, your characters have no character. There's no setup for the dramatic scenes. And this may surprise you, but there were no laser cannons in World War I."

"Jab said we shouldn't get anal about technicalities."

"Won't a good old-fashioned artillery bombardment do as well?"

"What about Bess's radiation burns?"

"You're not helping. How about if we start over? From page one."

"What should we do with Jab's version?"

"If Tonto was still a puppy, we'd use it in his litter box."

"I know this isn't good. Not yet. But it can be. I see this movie. I hear the characters. I know what they feel. Especially Bess. Come on, snowman, let's do this."

"It can't be done overnight."

"We have a raging storm outside. Were you planning on going anywhere?"

* * * * * *

Over the next week, Casey was amazed by her involuntary host. Despite the occasional gruff remark, he could be very genial. And one of the hardest workers she'd ever seen, sometimes going twelve hours at a stretch on nothing but coffee or a beer. She worked just as hard.

Dan was not oblivious to the ambitious woman seeking to reclaim her former lifestyle. She had a nice figure. The curly red hair she'd worn as Sassy had turned long and auburn during her movie career. Now it was medium length and golden brown. Her green eyes displayed an intelligence she wasn't known for. Whether Casey Saunders was famous or infamous was something Dan didn't dwell on.

"No, Bess wouldn't say that," Casey said, pacing his office and waving her hands. "She sees the best in people, not the worst."

"She's not dumb, either," Dan replied. "She may start out naïve, but her character needs to grow. She's a fierce young woman when she confronts the Germans. She didn't get that way baking cookies."

"I know you're right, but we can't lose her essence," Casey countered.

"She's not losing in this scene. She's gaining."

The debate went on. Dan liked her passion. Casey liked that he knew what he was talking about. He had an insight into characters that went beyond primitive forest hunters.

Following another long session, they retired to the solarium with cheese, crackers, and a bottle of red wine. The storm outside was gradually withering. Both relaxed in the hot tub. Dan wore sports trunks and a t-shirt. Casey preferred her panties and bra. The panties weren't hiding much after being soaked in the bubbly water.

"We've done so much in such a short time. It's amazing," she gushed.

"There are still a few challenges," Dan warned.

"I'm hot," Casey announced.

"You are certainly attractive," he agreed.

"No, I mean the solarium is hot. When's the last time you had a woman visitor?"

"I was married once. A long time ago."

"Bad divorce?"

"She died."

"I'm sorry. So? No interest in women?"

"I try not to think about it."

Casey moved to the side of the tub, unhooked her bra, and tossed it on the carpeted floor. Her panties followed. She settled back in the water, sipping the wine. She tried to read Dan's reaction. He had certainly seen her strip, but wasn't saying anything.

"How can you not think about sex? The characters in your books think about sex all the time. They go at it like rabbits," she asked.

"That's where romance belongs. In books. I don't let myself have those feelings anymore."

"But you did once?"

"That was in another life."

Casey climbed halfway out of the hot tub, reaching for the wine bottle on the floor, with her backside to Dan. She wiggled, lingered, and spread her thighs, letting him see everything. Dan tried not to stare, keeping his eyes down. Mostly.

"For someone who didn't graduate high school, you sure know a lot about world history," she remarked, settling back down. Her boobs were displayed nicely, extra visible each time she raised her glass.

"I read."

"How much?"

"At least an hour a day, every day."

"That takes discipline."

"Linda graduated from USC with a graduate degree in French literature. Her father is a man of letters. I needed to hold my ground with them."

"Never had kids?"

"No. What about your kids?"

"What about them?"

"I don't hear you talk about them."

"My private life is private, which I learned the hard way. I don't talk about my kids."

"I'm not a reporter."

Casey sighed and took a gulp of the wine. It was quite good.

"Samantha is eighteen now. A senior at the Academy of Arts and Sciences. She's really great. Bright. Level-headed. Applying for colleges. Everything I never was. Adam is thirteen. He's a good kid, but a bit of a smart aleck. Okay grades. Better if he didn't play so many video games. I wish I had the funds for better schools."

"You had a good career. What happened to the money?"

"Bad parents, bad managers, bad lawyers, and good drugs. Which you know if you've read the gossip columns."

"I don't believe everything I read. It sounds like your kids are doing well. That's what's important."

"Dawn's Mission will be wrapped up in a few days."

"Thank God for that."

"Am I such a nuisance?"

Dan sipped his wine without answering. Casey grew impatient.

"Well, we have another long day tomorrow," she announced, boldly standing up.

She was totally nude, the water running down her trim body. The breasts were large but not sagging, turned up at the nipples. Her waist wasn't thin, but certainly not thick, curving in above the wide hips. There was a landing patch of reddish pubic hair, everything below fully visible. She stretched, raised her arms high in the air, and turned around, allowing a full view of her round butt.

"What do you think?" she asked. "Not bad for a forty-year-old with two teenage kids."

"My only expertise is fiction," Dan said. "But there's no moonlight in the world that wouldn't do you proud."

* * * * * *

Dan was sleeping when the door crept open. Casey entered wearing a T-shirt and climbed into his bed. Tonto whined.

"Tonto, go play," Casey whispered.

Tonto was leaving the room as Dan woke up.

"Storm's over, if you haven't noticed," Dan said.

"Looking for a little thunder and lightning, snowman," Casey breathlessly replied.

"Then what are you doing here?"

"Getting what I want. I always get what I want."

"I thought you'd changed your ways."

"You like me. I can tell. And I haven't had a fling in years."

"A fling?"

"Come on, don't be so serious."

Casey squeezed closer, brushing her hair back. The room was dark enough that Dan's expression was hard to see.

"What if I don't want a fling?" Dan asked.

"No one is making any rules. How about if we just cuddle? No harm in that, is there?" Casey suggested.

"No, no harm in cuddling," Dan agreed.

The bed was warm, and before long, Casey made sure it got a lot warmer. Nudging his neck with her nose. A soft kiss on the chin. A gentle glide of fingers across his lips. Though Dan wasn't giving any encouragement, she wasn't fooled. Her hand trickled through his chest hair, slid down his firm belly, and found a stiffening reaction. When she took hold, he didn't shake her off.

"Thank God," she whispered. "You had me worried."

"I haven't done this in a long time," he quietly answered. "To say I'm out of practice is an understatement."

"To be honest, it's been awhile for me, too," Casey confessed, climbing on top of him. "I may have a reputation for sleeping with anyone who can help my career, but that was ages ago. And I never thought of myself as a slut."

"I would never call you that. Every woman has a right to seek affirmation in her own way."

"Is that what this is? Affirmation?"

"You're scared. Almost broke. With two kids you love above anything else. And trapped in a cabin with a man you barely know. A man who might be the solution to your problems. You're possessed by hope, trepidation, and lust."

"Wow, you really overthink these things, don't you?" she responded with a laugh.

"I write fantasy. I don't live in fantasy."

"Am I going to get what I need here?" she asked.

"We are both going to get what we need," he assured her.

With manly dominance, Dan rolled them over, pinning Casey underneath. She felt his strength. His power. The quiet understated man was nevertheless a man, more passionate than she had imagined. He kissed her breasts, snuggled her neck, gave her a determined kiss, and then reached down into her womanhood to see if she was ready. She was more than ready. Casey couldn't remember ever being so wet. Most of her encounters, she'd merely gone through the motions. This was different. She felt desired. Wanted, for herself, not for who men thought she was. Or had been. She knew Dan didn't care about any of that. There was a purity about him that left her breathless.

"Oh, God, please let this be real," she begged.

Dan mounted her, with authority, slowly sliding in. Casey was gasping. She couldn't believe how good it felt. Like perfection. He began to stroke, pacing his motions. Clearly thinking more of her than himself. He seemed to know how to find her center, and when he did, she exploded. The orgasm was overwhelming. Like nothing she'd felt since she was a young desperate woman with no clue what love could be. And yet he persisted. Her arms were clutched around his body, her nails digging into his flesh. He worked that much harder, bringing her to another climax as she felt his release burst into her.

"Fuck," she whispered as he rolled off. "How in the fucking hell did you do that?"

"I read a lot," he answered.

* * * * * *

There was a big breakfast the next morning. Scrambled eggs, sausages, and waffles.

"No regrets about last night?" Casey asked at the kitchen table.

"As long as it's not habit forming," Dan gruffly replied.

"I know I've got a reputation, but I haven't been like that in years. Regardless of what the tabloids say."

"Not holding your past against you, if that's your worry."

"I like you, snowman. More than anyone I've met in a long time. There are worse things than being close to someone."

There was an uncomfortable silence. Casey decided to change the subject.

"The screenplay's good. Real good. It has character now."

"The fans should like it," Dan agreed.

"It's more than that. I think it says something. Something important. You've added an honesty that wasn't there before."

"Sometimes you just have to look a little deeper."

"Or have deeper feelings than you're willing to admit?"

"You still need a producer," he warned.

"My odds are better now," she hopefully said.

"Weather's clearing up. Thought we'd go into town."

"When?"

"Head out about noon."

"This is all so sudden."

"You've been here for twelve days. The world probably thinks you're dead."

"I was."

"You have two teenage kids."

"Okay, maybe being dead is just an aspiration."

"You're going to do fine," he assured her.

"I've got my comeback right here," she said, clutching Dawn's Mission. "Thanks to you."

The clouds were almost gone, revealing a blue sky. Casey and Dan followed Tonto through the forest until reaching a small village at a mountain crossroad. It had been a long, confusing hike. All of the trees looked alike, and the trail was still streaked with snow.

"This is Blackrock," Dan said, pointing at a gas station, country store, and a rundown motel. The street was deserted. "That's Ray Lum's garage. He'll drag your car up the cliff when the snow melts. The store doubles as a bookshop. It has a café."

"It would be nice to get lunch," Casey hinted.

They entered the old-fashioned store, finding a little bit of everything. Groceries. Tools. Brooms. Books. Casey saw an older man watching TV dressed like a lumberjack. Tonto went to visit the store's cat.

"Hey, Doc. Who's the skirt?" Mark the Bookseller asked.

"I'm no skirt, jackass. I'm Casey Saunders," she answered.

"Heard you were dead. Heroin or something," Mark said.

"I'm not dead. And I sued over that heroin story."

"Casey, this is Mr. Mark Sailor. He owns the store. And he's the mayor."

"Mayor?" Casey wondered.

"Population twenty-four. We're a regular metropolis," Mark said. "Bagel and a cup of coffee?"

"Sounds good. What about you, Dan?" Casey said.

There was no answer. She turned to see Dan and Tonto were gone. Her overnight bag sat next to the door.

"Hey, where'd they go?" Casey asked.

"Who?"

"Dan."

"Don't know who you're talking about, little lady."

"Daniel Lawrence. Dan and his dog."

"Folks up here are pretty peculiar about their privacy. Want a ride to the bus station?"

"Is there an airport?"

"Got a bus that will take you to the airport."

Four hours later, Casey was one of eight passengers on a small plane flying west, holding her briefcase in her lap. She looked out the window at the snow-covered mountains and sighed.

* * * * * *

Casey has her screenplay, but is that all she wants? The story concludes in Part 2.