The Ugly Duckling (Excerpt)

Atlas of the Bushveld

We were filming just outside the lodge's fence, about a mile from the chalets in the veld, when something caught my attention.

"Incoming," I warned Pagliani.

Atlas and Toby got loose from their enclosure and headed toward us at a lazy trot.

This was the scene where the truck broke down, and Arielle and her beau were stuck in the middle of nowhere. Classic romance novel style, except that it really happened.

One moment we were alone, and the next, the young lion arrived among us with Toby at his heel.

Two of the camera crew screamed and ran into the camper van we used for the equipment, one of the lighting technicians jumped onto the back of the truck and almost fell off the other side, but the animals walked straight up to me.

Only a few of us had been around them at the boma at night, and even some of those were careful.

Thabisho stood watching us with a tranquilizer gun he brought just in case some of the wildlife took an interest in our activities.

"Hi, Big Guy," I greeted, and purring, he rubbed his head against my side and pushed me straight into Dean's solid frame, who reached out to steady me.

I rubbed his scruffy head.

"You can't be here, buddy; we're busy filming."

He made little huffing noises, enjoying the attention.

Toby discovered someone's water bottle, bit through the plastic, and managed to lap up most of it.

"Come on; you're scaring the humans."

I carefully stepped away from him and walked over to the cooler, hoping some sandwiches remained after lunch or sausage.

"Can he eat the sausage?" I asked Thabisho, who made no effort to take the animals away, letting me deal with them.

"Yes."

I grabbed some sausage and a few sandwiches.

"Come, Toby. Come, Atlas," I called, making little whistling noises as I had seen Thabisho do and leading them to trees some distance from the camper.

Carefully giving each of them their food as Dean brought over four water bottles and a shallow plastic container which he filled with water and put on the ground.

"Stay, and don't be... naughty now," I mimicked Thabisho.

To my utter surprise, they drank, made themselves comfortable in the shade, and stayed as we returned to the camper. Atlas lay there, mouth open from the heat, but didn't budge.

"Amazing job," Thabisho said as if I had performed a miracle.

"Can we continue filming?" Pagliani asked, the only person that hadn't reacted to the animals.

"Yes, sir."

"Will your pets stay?" He asked.

"Hope so."

"Then you were in the middle of telling your beau why you would never bury yourself in the countryside. Places, action..."

My eyes met with Dean's, and we struggled not to laugh. The only person who seemed to upset Pagliani was Druscilla, and not having her around for the day was a relief.

"It's kind of scary to see them run like that, despite Atlas' foot," Dean said, watching them keep pace with us that afternoon as we returned to camp.

"Yes, outrunning either of them would be a feat, and I can't run to save my life."

"I think one should only run if you are being chased, anyway."

I glanced at him.

"You're mocking me," I said, leisurely taking in his buff body.

"I do mixed martial arts; I do not jog," he said, holding up his hand as if swearing on a stack of bibles, and I grinned.

"Why don't I believe you?" I said.

"Why would I lie?"

"To make me feel better?"

"Nope, allergic to running. Cycling or swimming, that's my jam."

"Cycling hurts my buttocks," I said, crinkling my nose.

"Only until you get used to it."

Jeanette had helped me eat healthier foods that work with my body type since we arrived, she'd been studying nutrition for years, and I learned a lot from her. We'd been doing light exercises in the morning to help with blood flow and cardio, but nothing major.

Harris didn't want me losing weight and messing with the film's continuity, but he wanted me healthy and comfortable.

"What are you doing this afternoon?" Dean asked.

"Jeanette's mother and Barry's mom invited me to cook with them. A rare privilege, I hear."

"Their restaurant gets a lot of traffic over the weekends despite being in the middle of nowhere."

"Their food is excellent."

I may not have been my mother's best student, but I had a love of good food and a very well-developed palate.

"Did they invite you because of your mom and sister?" he asked, and I glanced at him.

It never occurred to me, and I hoped that was not the reason.

"Doubt it. Apparently, I have Atlas and Toby's approval and thus must be nice."

I laughed, and that devastating smirk dimpled his cheek, sending a snake of heat through my body.

"Well, they don't like Druscilla, and she doesn't like them; that seems to prove their theory," he said, tongue in cheek.

"Yet she's always the center of attention, isn't she?" It was another thing my brain struggled to understand. Most people, if you asked, didn't really like her, but they were still attracted to her company.

"Druscilla's not always the way she's around you, defensive, jealous, and territorial. She can be nice, but you seem to bring out the worst in her, and vice versa. Some people can't be friends, and I am not defending her; I'm just saying."

"You're entitled to your opinion. The lady has no issues with your existence and admires your aesthetic."

"Perhaps she fears Dean might be into you?" Michelle speculated from the seat behind me, and I had almost forgotten she was there.

"If he were real man, he love bun, not flatbread," Gianni called out from the back of the van. Apparently, everyone was listening to our conversation.

Would Druscilla learn about the discussion?

Did I care? Shockingly, I didn't.

"As long as Dean knows Mercedes is the marriage before sex and babies type, not the love 'em and leave 'em type," Michelle needled.

"Thanks, Michelle. I could have told you that about Mercedes within minutes of meeting her," he said, smirking as her head popped around the chair.

"Some people see a woman of honor as a challenge."

There was something behind that statement, an old hurt.

"Such a woman raised me, and I would never impugn a woman's moral character," the thunder in those hypnotic eyes, the frown tugging at that sexy brow, and the tightness of that chiseled jaw warned the camerawoman she was on thin ice.

Michell held up her hands in surrender.

"Don't forget, dear Dean, Harris chucked his daughter under the bus for Mercedes and rarely takes such a liking to people," Michelle warned, glancing at Pagliani, who sat with AirPods plugged into his ears, listening to something on his phone.

"Why do you seem to bring out the protective instinct in most people? Do they realize you can defend yourself?" Dean asked.

Could I? I wasn't so sure.

(Version 2)