The Rancher and the Rock Star (20 page)

“N . . . no. I’m scared. I’m sad for her.”

“I’ll call her, honey, don’t worry.”

“No! She’ll be upset if she knows I called. I don’t know why I did. Just, you said . . .”

“Yes, I did, and I meant it. Listen, you go and climb into bed with her, and hug her as tight as you can. Sleep with her all night if you need to. And you tell her everything will be okay. Promise her that, okay? Because it will be.”

“I . . . I know.”

“Does Dawson know about this?”

“Yeah, I told him. I don’t think Mom wants anyone else to know, though.”

“Your mom’s brave, and she likes to take care of everything. I won’t tell her you called.”

“Thanks.” She sounded calmer.

“I’ll be there in ten days for our party, okay? You call me again if you need me. I can be your dad as much as I’m Dawson’s. You mean a lot to me—I don’t like that you’re sad.”

“You mean a lot to me, too.” There was a longer pause, a short sniff, and then a sigh. “And to Mom.”

He hung up the phone and returned to Spark in a daze. What the hell had he gotten himself into? Why the hell did he have to wait ten more days until he could get back to it?

“E
D?
I
T’S
G
RAY.”

“Goddess? This is a surprise! How’s the spy business?”

Gray laughed into the phone at the crusty old warmth, familiar and comforting. “Great, great. Full of spies.”

“What can I do you for?”

“Kim called me last night and said Abby sold Gucci. I’m worried about her, Ed. I realize you don’t know me that well, but please believe I’ve come to care about her and Kim very much. Tell me how bad things are for her—she puts on a brave face when I’m around. Is she all right?”

The extra-long moment of silence told Gray almost all he needed to know. “She struggles,” Ed said at last. “Syl and I do the best we can to help her, but, first of all, she don’t take help easily. Second, we’re too old to have much to give her.”

“You’re like parents to her, Ed, don’t kid yourself.” Gray sighed and let his brain click furiously. “Can you do a little James Bonding for me yourself? I know she doesn’t like help, but we can’t let her lose Gucci. That animal is part of her sanity.”

It was true, she wouldn’t want his help. But she’d said she’d trust him to do right by her. She’d just have to make good on that promise.

“Do I get to wear a fake mustache?” Ed interrupted Gray’s thoughts.

“You’re nothing but funny, Ethel, you know that, don’t you?” Relief overwhelmed him.

“I don’t know why I like you enough to trust you with Abby, but something about you . . . What is it you want me to do?”

“Find out where Gucci went and how much the new owners want to buy him back. I know it means being sneaky with Abby, but she’ll stop us otherwise.”

“I can be sneaky. How do I get hold of you?”

Gray gave him his number, told him about his schedule, and thanked him—profusely.

“Ain’t nothin’ to thank me for. Somebody’s got to watch out for that girl. Sometimes I think she’d have fought the Alamo without asking Davy Crockett.”

Gray’s throat tightened, then he swallowed away the emotion. “Ed, I don’t know why the hell you like me, either.”

“Got a soft spot for James Bond. Besides . . .” he said, hesitating, “. . . the only other time I’ve seen a girl look at a man the way Abby looks at you was the first time I met Sylvia.”

Chapter Twenty

N
OTHING COULD DRAIN
a body as quickly as oppressive Minnesota heat. Abby shuffled along the winding, wooded park path just above Kennison Falls, hoping to find any relief from the unrelenting sun. The past two days were a nightmarish blur. Yesterday had been the worst since Jack and Will’s death, her still-swollen eyes bearing the testament. Selfishly, angrily, she believed that, if not for Kim, she’d have given up a functioning well for the rest of her life if it could have meant not loading Gucci onto that trailer.

It hadn’t made things any easier to have Ed and Sylvia there, serene as gurus, promising her everything would be all right. She was breathing, as were her children—no, as was her
child
; when had they both become hers?—so she supposed everything
would
be all right. But she didn’t want it to be. She definitely didn’t want anyone to tell her it would be.

Except maybe Gray. An unstoppable tear escaped the corner of one eye, and she brushed it away, hugging her Minolta into her stomach. He didn’t know about Gucci. How could she tell him she’d sold her best friend to strangers for a pump and three hundred feet of pipe? Him, for whom purchasing several hundred dollars’ worth of shavings had been equivalent to buying a new shirt? She missed him, but she didn’t want to miss him. Just like she didn’t want to miss Gucci. Or Will. Or Jack. Sometimes surviving life was simply too difficult.

“Mrs. Stadtler?”

Abby jumped, staring at the enormous lens on the Nikon in the hands of the man who’d spoken. When she stopped being envious, she remembered to be angry and stared into the steady, hazel eyes of Gray’s nemesis.

“Mr. St. Vincent.” Her voice frosted the hot air. “What are you doing in town? Gray isn’t here.”

“I know. I went to his come-back concert. I’m happy to report it was triumphant. Could we talk for just a few minutes?”

“I’m pretty sure that isn’t a good idea.”

“I disagree. Respectfully, of course.” His sandy mustache lifted in an easy smile that held no threat. “I have important information for Gray, but I have to get him to listen. You could help.”

Abby glanced over her shoulder as if she expected Gray to appear and catch her cheating. “It’s disloyal for me to even talk to you. After that picture you took, and after betraying his mother, why should I trust you?”

Elliott took his camera from around his neck, offered it to Abby and then held out his hand for hers. Confused but fascinated, she complied. “It’s common knowledge I took the photo,” he said. “But I never sold or sent it to anyone. The file got stolen, and it’s taken weeks to figure out who did it and how. As for Laura, I never went to see her.” He held the old Minolta to his eye, looked at the settings, and nodded with appreciation.

“So, who
do
you think took it? Or sold it? Or both?” Abby stroked the beautiful Nikon and examined its lens, as Elliott had hers. It was like holding a Stradivarius.

“I’ll tell you, if you’ll please hear me out. Is it all right to call you Abby? I’m Elliott.”

Something in his sincerity told her he wasn’t out to hurt her. Still, she respected Gray too much to be gullible. “Elliott,” she consented. “I’ll listen, but I won’t promise to believe.”

“Fair enough.” He slipped a hand roughly through his hair, looking something other than collected for the first time. “Every day, I download all my picture files to a secure online storage site. Since they’re sometimes sensitive, I rarely leave them on my camera. If I lost it, you see . . .” A half-smile finished his sentence. “I never have lost it, and I never leave it out of my sight. It’s like a third limb. But someone got into that online site at least three times.”

“And you think you know who.”

“Chris Boyle.”

“Gray’s manager?” The allegation appalled her. She wasn’t smitten with Chris, but Gray talked about him as if he was God, responsible for every bit of his success. The idea of Chris Boyle backstabbing his star seemed preposterous.

“His very controlling manager.”

“Isn’t controlling things part of his job?”

“Not to the point of using sabotage as a marketing tool. Here’s the honest truth. Chris is worried. Gray is still crazy-popular with people who’ve followed him all along, but he isn’t gaining new fans like he once was. If he stops making money, Chris stops making money. His reputation lives or dies with Gray’s.”

“So he does things that hurt Gray’s career. That makes no sense.”

“Chris Boyle is on a weird, misguided mission. For the past two months he’s drawn attention to all the negative things that have happened and spun them to generate interest and sympathy. He’s sensationalizing Gray, making him look like a victim. The old idea that even negative attention is good attention.

“I’d forgotten that two months ago, I left my computer with Chris for one night when I wasn’t going home. He has an assistant who’s a techno genius. I’m sure they hacked the access codes to my storage site, because it was after that my pictures started appearing in public.”

“Of course they did.” Disgusted, Abby tried handing his camera back, but he waved for her to keep it. “That’s the stuff of movies, not real life.”

“I wish, Abby. I believe Chris took a calculated risk by stealing and selling the Jillian Harper picture. The public got its shock, and then he circulated the story that his boy was framed. The question he put in people’s minds pushed Gray’s current record from number fifteen to number five in a week.”

“That can’t be true. Maybe you’re just a jerk trying to deflect suspicion from yourself?” She sighed, confused and worn out.

“All of us in the entertainment business are some level of jerk. Gray is when he has to be. Chris is more than one. But Gray and I, and his guitarist, Spark, we’re also closet nice guys. Gray’s been looking for a way out of the closet for a while now. When I saw him with you and your kids? He was all the way out and a long way from the door.”

All she could do was stare. He could be handing her the biggest line since “I am not a crook,” but his words exhilarated her. Terrified her. Pleased her. “How do you think I can help?” The question tumbled out unplanned.

“With a sting. Bait Chris by feeding him a picture—one you, not I, took. If he gets it with the right message attached, I think he’ll pass it to the press. But I can’t have anything to do with it. Nobody would believe I didn’t send it to the papers myself and lie. It has to be you.”

“I absolutely will not!”

“Think about it, Abby. You wouldn’t have to say a word. Either nothing at all would happen, or the picture will appear and we’ll all know who sent it.”

The pall of intense disloyalty shrouded her like the hot, humid air. How could she possibly know whether Elliott was telling the truth? “I can’t decide something like this that quickly.”

“I don’t expect you to. Talk to Gray first; tell him the idea. If he’d go along, it would be even better. Whatever happens, I owe you one just for hearing me out.”

“You know what? Yes, you do.” She scowled at him, frustrated that he’d put her in such a position. She didn’t want to be part of a world like this.

“What are you taking pictures of?”

The change of subject threw off her thoughts. “I . . . don’t know. I never know until I see one to take.”

“Perfect answer. You’re not shooting digital. I’m impressed as hell. I miss film work.”

“Black-and-white.”

“Best of all. Having trouble with the weird light in the woods here?”

“I always do.”

His words were a trap. She hadn’t discussed photography with anyone for so long. Elliott was offering her mental flowers and chocolate. Wooing her. “That’s one of the things I’m experimenting with. I thought the shadows would give me a challenge.”

“Believe it or not, I do more than take celebrity pictures. Here, look at that patch of wild strawberry over there. See the crazy contrast? Why don’t you play with my camera a little?”

She followed him along the path without anywhere near enough caution. At least she hadn’t thought about Gucci in fifteen minutes, and for that alone she had to thank him. What harm could come from considering what he’d said? She hadn’t agreed to anything. She wouldn’t until Gray got home . . . uh, back. Got back. She shook her head to clear it.

Nine days and counting.

O
NE NIGHT AND
counting.

Abby turned off the car in her driveway and pressed the heels of her hands into her eye sockets. Only a week left of work and no new job. When she looked up again, slashes of sunlight streaked the horizon, but thick clouds filled the overhead sky and six o’clock looked like nine. Ed’s
Farmer’s Almanac
had accurately predicted the hot, stormy summer. She turned at the soft pat on her shoulder and smiled at her daughter.

“We’ll get through it, Mom.”

Her beautiful Kim—so naturally wise in the ways of caregiving. Abby grabbed her into a hug. “Have I told you how much I love you? For being my rock the past two weeks?”

Kim smiled. Outside the car, Abby drew a lungful of sweet, rain-laden air and tried to figure out why things didn’t feel quite right—aside from today’s lack of success. Two job interviews had yielded no promising results. She couldn’t afford to miss paychecks.

The world just felt . . . off. To start with, Gray hadn’t called for the first time since leaving. And her dog was not there to greet her. “Where’s Roscoe, do you suppose?”

Kim shrugged.

Whatever she’d expected upon entering the kitchen, it wasn’t the heavenly smell of garlic and roasting meat bubbling on the stove and live guitar music from the living room. And, at last, Roscoe raced into view, toenails clicking on the kitchen flooring. The music stopped. Five seconds later, the most beautiful man in the world stood in the archway.

“Well,” he said. “I’ve definitely just learned the meaning of
sight for sore eyes
.”

Her heart skittered and slipped in her chest like Roscoe on the linoleum. Gray’s robin’s-egg eyes glistened with enjoyment over his surprise, and she couldn’t take him in fast enough. Kim screeched with joy and launched herself across the room. The world righted itself. All she saw was how his thousand-dollar jeans rode his hips like paint on a master’s canvas, and how a form-fitted, navy-blue T-shirt hugged his pecs and biceps the way she longed to do. He didn’t take his eyes off her until Kim threw her arms around his waist in a bear hug.

“I’m so glad you’re back!” she cried.

There was something gratifying in the unabashed greeting, so different from the anxious disbelief the first time Kim had seen Gray. He gave her a squeeze and smooched her crown.

“Hey, Kimmy. It’s nice to see you, too.” He pushed her to arm’s-length and peered up and down at her, giving a wink. “I think you’ve grown.”

“Very funny.”

He let her go, and Abby’s heartbeat zigzagged. “I wondered why you didn’t call. How did you get here so early?”

They remained across the room from each other, and even though Abby wanted to run to him just as Kim had done the anticipation was somehow more exciting.

“They cancelled tomorrow morning’s flight. No way in hell . . . sorry.” He glanced at Kim. “No way in heck was I waiting until Saturday. That’s our birthday. We finished the last concert, I ignored Chris’s temper tantrum, and David Graham rebooked his flight when nobody was looking.”

“You know, David is one of my very favorite people.”

“I’m going to go change,” Kim said. “I’ve been helping at church all day, and I’m gross.”

“Dinner’s in forty minutes,” Gray told her.

“Okay.”

“I think I’m in love.” Abby closed her eyes. “A man waiting with dinner ready?”

When she looked again, Gray was craning his neck to make sure Kim was gone. He turned back, and they moved at the same instant, meeting in the middle of the kitchen.

“Abby, Abby,” he murmured as his embrace swallowed her. Every sadness of the past two weeks evaporated like a ghost in a bad dream. “Does it make me certifiable that I missed you like a lost hand?”

“If it does, I’m headed to the padded room right along with you.”

His mouth covered hers with a kiss as familiar as if she’d always known it. Its soft insistence and sweet succulence nourished her like vital nutrients.

“So,” she said against his cheek when they peeled apart. “You’ve been having fun?”

He dropped a kiss on her neck, another behind her ear. “Not until now.”

“You’re smooth, Mr. Graham.”

He arched back and looked her up and down. “You and I need to talk.”

“About . . . ?”

“This. Us.” He gripped her upper arms. “I’m old, Abby. I’ve been through so much junk in my life that I know whatever you and I are developing is not normal. Not for me.”

Abby’s heart thumped so crazily she was certain it had divided in two and fought itself—one half praying Gray would say something white knight-ish and happily-ever-after-like, the other half scared to death. She was struggling to stay afloat these days, but she wouldn’t give up that struggle or the things she’d worked so hard to build. The struggle was not Gray’s. She couldn’t—she wouldn’t—foist it on him or let him feel sorry for her.

“You’re right,” she agreed. “What’s happening is not simple.”

“Maybe it could be.” He stroked her cheek.

She put a finger against his lips. “It’s never been simple for one second.”

“Do I need to tell you two to get a room?”

Abby jumped. Gray landed a full two steps away from her in a quarter of a second. She’d forgotten about Dawson, and the boy rolled his eyes, laughing. Wasn’t this completely backward, she thought, as he sauntered to the refrigerator.

“Give it up, Dad, it’s no secret you kissed her a long time ago.”

If Abby hadn’t been thoroughly mortified, she would have laughed at the look of panic on Gray’s face. “Does Kim know this secret too?” She eked out the question, and Dawson gave a genuine shrug.

“How should I know? Why would we talk about our parents kissing? Dude, no thanks. Just remember, I not only don’t want to talk about it, I don’t want to see it.”