Her Texas Rescue Doctor. Caro Carson

not sticking around here for a week of low-budget fringe films, and I’m not going out there to cut a stupid ribbon until I absolutely have to.”

      Grace knew better than to push the point. “Okay, we’ll chill out here in their van until they’re ready for you. Then you can go and shake hands like you’re Kate Middleton. They’ll love you, the studios will love you, and your agent will get you the best roles in the industry.”

      “Are little bluebirds going to start circling my head while I act like a princess? This is seriously stupid.” Sophia gestured toward Grace’s tote bag. “Check and see if that’s Deezee on the phone. He wants me. Tonight.”

      “He wants you? You mean...like...a booty call? He actually calls you to tell you when he wants...” Grace couldn’t finish the sentence.

      “You are so last decade. Booty just means butt. By the way, Deezee says the bubble butt is last decade, so I’m not going to get the surgery now.”

      Grace felt ill. She didn’t know Sophia had even considered having a plastic surgeon implant anything in her naturally perfect figure.

      “He can tell if a girl’s had implants during sex. He’s so impressed that I haven’t had any work done yet.”

      Grace wanted to stick her fingers in her ears and say not listening, just as she had when they were children and Sophia had explained the birds and bees to her. “I don’t want to hear about his sexual turn-ons.”

      “Then stop being obsessed with my phone calls. Get your own sex life. When’s the last time you got any?” She shoved Grace’s tote bag with the toe of her spike-heeled sandal. “Back when people still used the term booty call, I guess.”

      Grace had to look away. Her sister, of all people, ought to know that she had no social life. Managing all the little daily details for Sophia was a never-ending job. Sophia’s career dictated where they lived, who they saw, what they did—even what Grace wore. Her wardrobe consisted of dozens of outfits like the gray sweater and slacks she wore now. Years ago, she and her sister had figured out that wearing all black made Grace appear like a noticeable blot of darkness when she was caught in the background of a candid photo of Sophia, so Grace wore earth tones with a bit of heather, or sometimes gray with specks of beige and black. That was the best way to disappear into the background.

      Not that Grace was complaining. She loved her sister. She only wished her sister would go back to being her normal self. When they were a sisterly duo, she hadn’t minded living Sophia’s life. This new phase was making her question everything.

      She pretended the view outside the van was interesting, but the restored health clinic was only a normal-sized building in a normal suburb of a normal city. The ribbon-cutting ceremony was about to begin, so the men and women of Texas Rescue were taking their places.

      She’d bet those people were married and had children and rewarding jobs. Grace and Sophia had once had that kind of normalcy, back when their parents were still alive. How could Sophia go from seeing their parents’ loving marriage to jumping at the beck and call of a no-talent egomaniac like Deezee?

      Of the two of them, Sophia had always been the bigger sucker for true love and weddings and happily-ever-after. She’d put all that on hold for her acting career, until this winter with Deezee. Maybe this phase meant Sophia was lonely. Maybe Grace could help her find a better man. A normal man.

      Grace gestured out the window. “Check out these Texas Rescue guys. This looks like a casting call for an action movie—but they’re real. I bet not one of those guys has chin implants or hair extensions. Real firemen and real doctors and paramedics and, um, police-looking guys. Rangers? What do you think that uniform is?”

      “Like I care.” Sophia sat up straighter, ready to talk business. “Listen, Deezee is opening a new club tonight. He needs me there to help him get more press.”

      Grace looked away from the handsome men of the real world. If Sophia wanted to talk business, they’d talk business. “Deezee could have his people contact me with a little more notice next time, and maybe we’ll be able to schedule an appearance, if his career needs help.”

      Sophia’s expressive blue eyes narrowed angrily, but a fresh round of her club cough kept her from saying whatever retort she’d been about to deliver.

      Poor Sophia really did look tired. It was up to her personal assistant to help her look good for this photo op, so Grace dug in her tote bag and came up with her sister’s very expensive, very red lipstick, the one Grace ordered for her and always kept on hand. “Here. And spit out your gum. It looks tacky when you speak.”

      Sophia’s cough subsided. “Being with Deezee can do more for my career than this charity gig. Everyone will be in LA at the new club. No one is here. If you want me to stay visible in the industry, I need to be where everyone is. Duh.” Sophia plucked the lipstick out of Grace’s fingers.

      Grace dropped her hand to her lap. Couldn’t Sophia see that Deezee’s club would attract the celebrities who were famous only for their ability to shock the public? Actresses would get out of their limos in a way that let the paparazzi document whether or not they wore underwear. Stars who were claiming sobriety would arrive drunk.

      A man in a shirt and tie opened the door to the van. “Miss Jackson? Are you ready for your tour?”

      Sophia ignored him as she gave Grace orders. “Book me a flight. Get me back to LA now. I’m going to cut this crap short.”

      Grace closed her eyes, but it didn’t matter. She heard the man at the door suck in his breath.

      Surprise. She’s a little more crude in real life than she was in her award acceptance speech, isn’t she?

      Grace opened her eyes and looked at the man’s face. Yep. They’d just alienated another fan.

      For the past two years, Sophia had been so gracious in her interviews, so fun on her television appearances. She’d set a goal to be as well thought of as Audrey Hepburn someday, and she’d pursued her dream with unwavering perseverance until now. Audrey Hepburn wouldn’t have told a Texas Rescue volunteer that she wanted to cut this crap short.

      DJ Deezee Kalm would have, except he wouldn’t have used the word crap.

      Sophia replaced the cap on her lipstick and tossed it so that it landed on the bench seat next to Grace.

      “Your gum,” Grace reminded her gently, under her breath.

      “Get me a limo to the airport. This van blows.” Sophia tilted her head back, pursed her lips, and with a poof of air, spit her gum to land on the seat, as well.

      She got out of the van. Grace watched out the window as Sophia shook back her hair in the Texas sunlight, looking like a million dollars in a classic coat dress that cost eight thousand. Grace had secured it at no cost. The publicity Sophia could bring a designer was worth more than the price of the dress. For now.

      The adults applauded, the teenaged girls who crowded against the plastic barricades screamed and cheered, but Sophia didn’t walk over to her waiting fans. Grace wished she hadn’t suggested it. Maybe her sister would have done the obviously right thing if she hadn’t felt like Grace was ordering her to do it.

      Grace picked up the lipstick and returned it to the tote, then dug out a tissue and cleaned up the gum. What’s a personal assistant for, right?

      Not this. She’d been her sister’s support, not her sister’s servant. But her sister was no longer acting like her sister. Sophia was turning herself into something she was not, all in an attempt to make a man love her.

      Deezee didn’t love her—but Grace did. She’d dragged her from LA to Texas for her own good. Surely Sophia would come to her senses. Grace just had to find a way to keep her in Texas a little longer.

      She sighed and looked out the window again, at the group of handsome men who were all shaking her sister’s hand. What if, instead of a Hollywood bad boy, Sophia fell for one of these men? Maybe one of the doctors, someone who was caring