Sweet Texas Kiss (Sweet Texas Secrets) (7 page)

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“I live here.” Gavin closed the door behind him and tossed a few envelopes and catalogs onto the stack of mail. “Sorry if I frightened you.”

Merle trotted off into the kitchen, and soon she could hear him slurping water from his dish. What was going on? She’d thought that Gavin would probably still have a key, might have some things at the house he needed to pick up, but he couldn’t
live
here.

“Yeah, well, when you walk into someone’s house without knocking, it can be a surprise. You can’t live here.” She knew she sounded flustered instead of confident, and she tried to rein in her irritation enough to confront the situation calmly.

“And yet, I do live here. I moved in to help my dad when he was sick.” He casually sorted through the stack of mail. “Monday is garbage day, so we need to get the recycling ready.”

He left her standing there, mouth hanging open, alone in the spotless living room, and ambled to the kitchen. Merle trotted back in and circled the fluffy plaid dog bed in front of the fireplace three times before lying down and winding his tail around his body. This wasn’t happening, couldn’t be happening. Sure, she didn’t know what she was going to do with the house and probably wasn’t going to live there herself, but Gavin had no right to be here. She confronted him in the kitchen, where he was casually sipping a glass of ice water.

She balled her fists, careful to keep from shouting. “Look, I don’t know what you’re trying to pull, but your dad left me this house. You have to leave.”

He put the glass down onto the countertop, still casual and unconcerned in the face of her demand. “No.”

She resisted the urge to stomp her feet. “Yes! This is not your house. I am staying here until I have to go back to Nashville, and I’m sure as hell not going to be with you.”

“This is where I live, so I’m not leaving.” He was so calm, almost pleasant. It was infuriating.

“Pack a bag and go bunk with your brother, stay in a hotel, or sleep at your office. I don’t care, as long as you are out of here before dinner.” She pointed to the front door, then dropped her arm.

He wasn’t going anywhere.

“Speaking of dinner, I was planning on grilling steaks tonight. I have more than enough to share, and you can help with the sides.” He leaned against the counter, looking right at home and quite handsome for a big jerk who wasn’t playing fair.

“I’m not cooking any sides, and I’m not eating dinner with you tonight. Get out!” Her anger seemed to have no effect on him other than to make him even calmer, which was utterly infuriating.

He put his hands up. “There’s no need to yell. Obviously we have a situation here, and believe me, it’ll be easier to talk it out over some great food.” He turned bottles over on an ornate iron wine rack, perusing the labels, and pulled one out. “We’ll open this bottle of red, have some dinner, and figure everything out. It’s really the only solution.”

“You’re trespassing. I’ll call the cops.” She put her hands on her hips, hating the uncertainty in her tone.

“You will? Be my guest.” He edged around her to reach the pantry and emerged with a couple of potatoes. “Would you mind getting these in the oven before you call Sweet Ridge’s finest?”

Crap. Would she really have him arrested? With her luck, the responding officer would be someone they went to high school with, or someone who knew and loved his dad. Defeated, she realized that she would, in fact, be spending the night in the house with Gavin unless she went back to the hotel. If he wasn’t going to leave, she couldn’t make him. But she sure as hell wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of going back to the hotel.

“All right, fine. You can stay. But I don’t cook. I’m going to go take a shower and check my e-mail. Call me when it’s ready.” His amused laugh as she stormed out of the kitchen did not help.

He called after her, “Oh, and can you pick up those bags? Someone could trip.”

With a huff, she scooped up her bags, but only because she needed her clothes and toiletries. Otherwise she would leave them anywhere she damn well pleased. Nobody would tell her what to do in her own house. She pointed to a closed door. “Is this the master bedroom?”

“Yes, but you’ll need to stay in a guest room upstairs.” Gavin walked toward the stairs and waited for her, his casual demeanor gone.

“Well, this is my house, like I said, so I want to stay in the master bedroom.” She took a few steps toward the door, not sure if she should force the issue or relent and go upstairs.

Anger flashed briefly in his eyes, but he kept his voice soft and even. “That was my father’s room. I don’t even sleep in that bedroom yet, so you’re sure as hell not welcome to it. It’s completely empty, anyway.”

In pushing for her rights, she’d forgotten to be sensitive about the room’s former occupant. For all she knew, there could be a hospital bed and all sorts of equipment littering the room, yet she would have barreled through simply to make a point. It sounded like Gavin was waiting to make it his own. He’d probably been thrown for a loop when, instead of redecorating, he found out he didn’t own his house after all.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think about that.” She kept her eyes trained on the stairs and walked up ahead of him, hauling her luggage and hoping he wouldn’t notice her struggle. She didn’t want his help, not that he offered.

He directed her to an empty guest room and continued walking past her, his footsteps heavy and swift against the gleaming hardwood floors. Cooper family pictures lined the walls in ornate frames, some of them obviously of relatives from many generations past. That was why Jack’s leaving it to her, possibly opening it up to being sold to strangers, made no sense. Gavin disappeared into the room at the end of the hallway and slammed the door behind him.

Macy stood motionless, still unsure whether she should unpack her things or return to the hotel. Things had gotten a little too real for her liking. It was one thing to snipe back and forth over his perceived slights, quite another for her to essentially disrespect his father’s memory. Staying in the house seemed like a good idea, the best way to get a feel for the place so she could decide what to do. But that was before she knew that Gavin would be here, as well.

Was she so determined to show Gavin he couldn’t push her around that she was willing to endure his angry presence until she went home? And what about when she left? Would she demand that he move out or leave him to occupy the house she owned? Not wanting to be caught standing in the doorway staring at his room if he came out, she closed the door behind her and dropped her bags on the queen-sized bed.

The plush comforter, ornate and meticulously clean tables and dresser, and tasteful window treatments were everything the Cooper family represented: wealth, style, and comfort. Though spotless hardwood floors dominated most of the house, this bedroom was carpeted in thick, ivory shag. Macy kicked off her shoes and let her feet sink into the luxurious carpet, relishing the temporary bliss. She heard him leave his room and pass her door as he headed downstairs. Dinner with Gavin could be torturous, or it could give them an opportunity to call a cease-fire, at least for the duration of her visit.

Nah, she should slip out and grab something to eat at a restaurant or hide out in her room until he went to sleep. Either choice was preferable to sharing a meal with him, alone in this house. On the other hand, she couldn’t let him see how uncomfortable he’d made her. She was well within her rights to be in the house, and letting him push her around wasn’t going to get her anywhere.

• • •

Gavin turned a beautiful strip steak over on the grill and smiled at Merle, who was rolling around on his back, clearly enjoying the evening and unconcerned about their houseguest. He could see Macy inside, poking around in the kitchen, surveying the refrigerator and opening cabinets. Torn between wanting her to get the hell out of the house and convincing her to let him buy it, he set the steaks on the oversized platter waiting on the side of the grill. He couldn’t stand around in the backyard, burning steaks and avoiding her all night. Best to go in and face the situation head-on. Merle seemed content to bask in the waning sun, so Gavin closed the lid on the grill and carried the platter to the back door that led into the kitchen. Macy’s head jerked up in surprise, the knife she was using to chop up vegetables for a salad nearly slipping from her grip.

“Careful. If we have to go to the emergency room, dinner will get cold.” He kicked the door closed behind him and set the platter on the counter. He reached around her to grab a couple of pot holders, brushing against her and tamping down the
zing
of energy that sparked between them. She ducked out of his reach as though burned. “Don’t worry,” he said as he slipped the oven mitts onto his hands and held them up in innocence. “I’m not going to try to kiss you or anything.”

“I know that,” she snapped, though the hint of a blush crept up her neck and into her cheeks.

“I’ll let you finish that.” He indicated her salad-in-progress. “And then dinner will be ready.”

He pulled baked potatoes from the oven and assembled condiments while she finished chopping up a cucumber and scraped the pieces into the salad bowl with the rest of the vegetables. Her determination to concentrate on her task instead of making eye contact or speaking to him gave him a chance to decide how to approach their evening together. He’d have to back off a little, try to rein in his irritation at having her in his home, if he expected to get anywhere. If he pushed her, she might reconsider letting him stay, and then where would he be?

They ate dinner in awkward near-silence at the kitchen table, peppering the meal with no more than the occasional request for a condiment or comment about the food. Macy steadfastly refused to look at him more than was absolutely necessary, keeping her eyes trained on her meal, so Gavin took the opportunity to watch her. She hadn’t changed much since they were teenagers. She still had the same beautiful blond hair, worn loose in no particular style. Her face was still pretty, but some of the bright-eyed enthusiasm had been replaced by the grief of her loss, worn like a mask. They hadn’t kept in touch, so he didn’t know how she coped, but he could guess that it was much like he had in the beginning: operating on little sleep, eating nothing but unhealthy convenience foods, if anything, and only going to work because his staff and patients depended on him. Gavin would’ve given almost anything to make the pain go away.

Tori had been his best friend, but they weren’t able to spend much time together after she became famous. He’d been gutted by the loss, but at least he wasn’t used to having her around every day. Macy had to have taken it even worse. Her professional life had been upended, daily routines shattered, and with an uncertain future, she was surely miserable. Still, if she’d only been more responsible, Tori would be alive. Part of him wondered if he’d ever forgive her, even knowing that she suffered enough having to live with the consequences of her actions.

Finally, his curiosity about how long Macy would be in town and whether or not he’d be forced to move won out over his ruminations. He couldn’t make a plan until he knew hers. “So, how long are you planning on staying in Sweet Ridge? Surely, you have a concert coming up or have to be back at your show or something, right?”

She swallowed the bite she’d been chewing and dabbed at her lips with a cloth napkin embroidered with an elaborate letter
C
. “I’m actually not sure when I’m going back to Nashville. We’re on a brief break for the summer before the new season starts, so this is perfect timing.”

“I’d think you’d use the time between seasons to record or book your tours.”

Macy looked away, letting her gaze fall on the salt and pepper shakers in the middle of the table. “I don’t go on tour anymore.”

“Never?” True, he wouldn’t be first in line for a ticket or anything, but he never thought she’d given up performing altogether. Come to think of it, he hadn’t heard any solo Macy Young songs on the radio.

“Not since Tori died. I haven’t recorded anything, I don’t go on tour, and I don’t sing. I never sing.” She put her fork and knife down on the plate.

“Because you feel guilty?”

She flinched at his words, and he felt a prick of regret, but the truth was that her actions led to the death of his best friend and her partner. Perhaps she should feel a little guilty.

“Because I can’t. I haven’t been able to sing since she’s been gone, and as much as it hurts, I’m okay with it. It feels fair.”

“But what about on your show?”
America’s Next Country Star
was Grayson’s guilty pleasure not his, but Gavin couldn’t imagine they’d have a star as big as her and not have her sing.

“None of the judges sing. We judge the contestants and give our opinions. We don’t perform.”

“That show’s only a couple of years old. What about the years after Tori died? Did you just not work at all?” Why he cared about her career or financial affairs was a mystery, but how could she have just … quit? Maybe all her rowdy and unprofessional behavior had caught up to her. Even as careful as he’d been to limit his exposure to her, Macy Young was famous enough that news of her bad behavior occasionally seeped onto his radar. He knew she’d been in minor altercations at bars and clubs, thrown out after screaming matches with strangers, and he’d read that she trashed a hotel room or two and was a no-show for performances. Things must have gotten worse than that.

“You know, if you want to know what I did after Tori died, why don’t you just read a tabloid? I was headline news on every celebrity gossip site for a while there.” She cut her steak with more vigor than was necessary. “I ruined everything, and I didn’t care. Didn’t even know that my own mother had passed away until my boyfriend told me, since I couldn’t be bothered to answer my phone most of the time.”

“You have a boyfriend? What do you think he’d say about you staying in the house with me?” He speared a chunk of cucumber in his salad. “Not that I care, of course.”

“He’s not my boyfriend any more, hasn’t been for a while. I wasn’t exactly lovable. Turns out being a hot mess isn’t such a turn-on for most guys. Happy?” Challenge flashed in her eyes, daring him to take another dig at her.