Crazy in Love (15 page)

Thank the Lord for wireless.

An hour later though, there was nothing good on T.V. and his phone offered nothing new. It was the same old trash, the same hyper-tech monotony.

Would Rachael be getting ready for her date? Would she be curling her hair and wearing those sexy knee-high boots? Would there be a fire in the hearth and the mouth-watering aroma of dinner in the air? If he was there, they could walk hand in hand down the street and find a quiet restaurant to grab a glass of wine.

God, what he wouldn’t trade for one more night with that woman.

But she was about to go out with someone else.
His stomach soured at the thought.

Deep down I know you deserve better.

I want you to be happy.

“Knock, knock!” Rita hollered through the door adjoining her room to his. “Cole! You awake!”

“If I wasn’t before, I am now.” He rolled off the bed and opened the door.

She looked worried, the vein in her forehead protruding more than he’d ever seen it. She wore heels with jeans, a cherry-red sweater and matching lipstick. “The showroom manager called,” she said. “Scratchy and the Buccaneers were scheduled to play tonight, but Scratchy came down with something.”

“Is it a rash?” Cole smirked, and when Rita didn’t laugh, he said, “You know, scratchy? With a rash?”

“Please, Cole, can you be serious for a minute?”

Rachael would’ve laughed at his pathetic joke.

Damn it, why did everything revolve around Rachael? Every thought that streamed through his head, every thing he did or heard…it all started and ended with her. He’d known from the moment they slept together on the hard floor of the inn that something in his chest had softened.

He’d dismissed the feeling at first, but now…he’d never felt this way before. No one had ever stuck with him the way she had. He wanted to be the one holding her hand on the way to dinner. He longed to be the one curled up in bed with her at night, and not just for the sex, though that was slammin’ too. He wanted to hold her until morning. Wake to the sweet smell of her hair.

“They sold out the showroom and need an act for tonight.” Lucy punched him in the shoulder, jarring him. “You’re it.”

His brows pulled together. “Aren’t Scratchy’s fans going to be irritated that they paid for him and got me instead?”

“Are you kidding? Scratchy and the Buccaneers were huge in the eighties, but they’re washed up. Their fans will probably thank their lucky stars to be getting out of that show.” She turned off the television and sat on the edge of his bed. “Besides, Harrah’s is offering to refund the pre-ordered tickets. Any open seats will be sold at the door tonight. They won’t lose money, the fans won’t be angry, and you get a bonus show.”

Suddenly, Cole knew what he had to do.

He pulled a notebook out of one of the boxes his crew had brought in. “Since they’re not my normal crowd, do you think I could play a few new songs?”

Her expression soured. “New songs?”

“I wrote a couple on the way over.”

She shook her head. “We haven’t had time to prep the band.”

He flipped through the notebook, stopped on the page with the chords and lyrics and handed it over. “We don’t need to prep anyone. It’ll be nothing but me, a barstool, and my favorite guitar.”

She glanced over his notes. “Cole, I think those few days in the boondocks have gone to your head. You’re a rock and roll performer, not a country musician.”

“I know that, but I think there’s a way to mix both. The rock will be in my voice, deep and raspy over the notes, and the guitar will soften things. It’ll take away the smoke and mirrors, the fireworks and killer drum solos and give the crowd something personal.”

“Personal,” she repeated, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “Can’t believe you’re throwing this at me now.”

“This is going to happen,” he said. “I can’t keep singing songs that aren’t mine. I’ve been keeping the fans arm’s length away and they know it. They’re so desperate to feel something personal from me that they’ll believe anything they read in the gossip magazines.”

“It’s not right for you.” She handed the notebook back. “It won’t work.”

“It will work,” he demanded. “Whether you continue to manage my career or not, this is going to happen. If something doesn’t change, I’m not going to have much of a career to manage anyway.”

She paused, measuring him with a pissed-off glare.

“Okay, Cole,” she said finally, breaking the stand-off between them. “The way I figure it, you don’t have anything to lose.”

“Thanks Rita. I think.”

“Do the first set my way and nail it, and you can perform these two songs at the end of the show. I’ll instruct the showroom manager to dim the lights and focus the spotlight on you. Don’t choke,” she said, pointing into his chest. “You’re hot as hades and you can perform one hell of a show, but you’ve got a ton to prove when it comes to your singing, especially after Houston and the first show at StoneMill. Without the band backing you up, your tone, pitch,
everything
, has got to be spot-on. You better get tears, Turner.”

“Don’t worry,” Cole said, as lyrics ran though his head. “This will be like nothing they’ve ever seen.”

* * *

Blue Lake had gone from quiet, peaceful town to three-ring circus in less than twelve hours. Cole had been right. The media had descended on the town like a plague of locusts. They took pictures of everything—meaningless things like the antique lampposts and wine barrels lining the sidewalks—and interviewed everyone, whether or not they’d even seen Cole around town. Three blacked-out Lincolns parked across the street from the inn—they’d showed up at dawn and hadn’t moved since—and the moment Rachael stepped outside, the windows rolled down and huge camera lenses popped out.

She sighed, tightened the scarf around her neck and waited for Joey. He told her he’d pick her up at eight sharp.

It was five after.

As his lifted red pickup truck came into view and circled in front of the inn, the sound of pictures snapping hit her ears. Was the media really so desperate for one shred of information about Cole? He’d already left. There was nothing going on. And she was probably the least interesting woman on the planet. 

She reached for the handle but didn’t get far. Joey had hopped out the truck and ran around to open her door.

Always the gentleman.

More pictures clicked from the direction of the Lincolns. Joey nodded and waved, smiling politely as if they were here to see him.

He wore a flannel shirt popped at the collar and rolled up at the sleeves, and a pair of loose jeans with cowboy boots. She’d seen him in the same outfit—different colors, of course—for years. He was a firefighter by day and a country boy by night. It was one of the things that had first attracted her to him. She’d always liked the strength of his profession mixed with his laid-back country feel.

Tonight, his dark hair was parted down the side and slicked back, and he wore much too much cologne.

“Let me get that,” he said, smiling, swinging the door wide. “Step up and grab the handle to jump in.”

“Okay.” As she did what he said, his hands found her hips. “Oh!” She repressed a flinch and a backhand smack.

Although Rachael couldn’t hear the clicks of the cameras, she could feel the heat from the lenses boring into her back.

“I’ll help you up,” he said.

Sure you would.

He gave her a boost, shut the door, and then strode around the hood to get in. They drove down the street, turning after the Candy Shoppe, and down a gentle slope in the road leading to the residential part of Blue Lake.

“That was crazy back there,” he said, breaking the silence in the cab. “All those people wanting to dish up gossip. You think it’ll chill out soon?”

“I hope so.” She blew out an exasperated breath.

“Reporters have been to the station,” he said. “Asking about you and Cole.”

“They have?”

Nodding, he turned the radio up and then tapped the steering wheel as the cab heated with tension. Rachael craned around to stare behind them. The Lincolns hadn’t followed. They must not have been interesting enough.

“Where are we going?” she asked finally.

“It’s a surprise.” Grinning, he turned toward her. “Do you like surprises?”

“Only the good ones.”

She’d had a few this weekend. The biggest surprise was six-feet-six with rippling cords of muscle and melting-honey eyes. He’d made her heart dance and her legs quiver, despite her best efforts to resist him.

Joey turned left and drove behind the small shops lining Main Street. When the road ended at the highway, he made a right and followed the gentle bends in the road to the edge of the town. A small ranch house set apart from the others on the street came into view: white siding, blue shutters, white picket fence and a bright red barn in back.

“Do the Sutherlands still live here?” she asked.

Jan and Ox Sutherland owned the place when Rachael was in high school, and their daughters, Tiffany and Tierra, used to throw massive parties in the barn. If she thought back, her first kegger had been there sophomore year.

“Tiffany moved in after her parents passed. I asked if it’d be all right if I brought you out here, and she said no problem. Actually,” he corrected, pulling into the drive alongside the house, “she said it was one of the most romantic things she’d ever heard.”

Oh yeah. A date in a barn. If he handed her a bouquet of oats, she was really going to swoon.

“I’ve got some interesting memories here,” she said instead.

He met her gaze. “Me too.”

As he parked in front of the red-paneled barn, he turned off the truck, rolled down the windows and cranked up the radio. A country song blared from the speakers: Carrie Underwood’s
Someday When I Stop Loving You
. One of her favorites. Rachael let herself out and met Joey at the front of the truck. He smiled and grabbed her hand. His skin was cool, his touch firm. There was no spark. No
za-zing
!

Maybe that would come with time…

He led her into the barn where a table and chairs had been set up in the center. Dinner had already been served—steak, from the peppery aroma filling the air. Tealights in mason jars lined the dirt floor. Music from the truck drifted into the barn, creating a very warm, cozy, romantic vibe plucked straight from The Bachelor.

Okay, so she’d been wrong. Barns
could
be romantic.

Still, if he handed her oats or hay, she’d bolt.

He pulled out her chair—did he always do the gentlemanly thing?—and sat across from her, draping a plaid napkin over his lap.

“I hear Cole Turner left town last night,” he said nonchalantly.

Rachael’s heart thudded at the mention of his name. “Uh-huh.”

“Did something happen with him at the inn?”

“No,” she said too quickly. “Why would you think that?”

“Because I thought he was supposed to leave this morning. Wonder why he checked out early?”

He must not have read the online article.

“Oh.”
Why was she so jumpy?
“He wanted to get an early start on the next part of his tour, I guess.”

He eyed her curiously. Disbelievingly.

“Can we talk about something else?” Her palms itched. Must’ve been pieces of hay in the air. “Something not related to Cole Turner?”

“Sure,” he said, shooting her a bright smile. “You look gorgeous tonight.”

She cut off a large bite of steak and shoved it into her mouth. “Ffanks,” she mumbled. “Didjou cook mphis?”

He nodded, pleased. “I love to cook.”

Good-looking. Great cook. Hard-working fireman too, she bet.

“Tell me…” She swallowed hard. “…why didn’t you marry Kiki-what’s-her-face? You guys dated for years.”

“Three, to be exact,” Joey said between bites. “Kiki is great and I’ve got nothing but nice things to say about her, but…” He leaned over the table. “Rachael, I have to be straight with you.”

Oh boy, here it comes.

“I’ve wanted to bring you here for years,” he said, reaching across the table to hold her hand.

“Here?”
To the Sutherlands’ barn?
“Why?”

“Don’t you remember what happened here?” When she stared, confused, he continued on. “Sophomore year. Right before you hooked up with Trent from Moose Valley. Tierra had a party, we both had too much to drink and—“

She sucked in a tight breath. “We kissed.”

She’d completely forgotten about that.

“It was magic,” he went on. “But then you dated Trent for years, and I finally moved on. By the time you broke up with him, I was knee deep in a relationship with Yvette. Do you remember her?”

“She was blonde right? And used to work at SawMill Market?” She nodded. “I remember.”

“When things ended between us, I looked you up and you’d moved on with someone else.” He poured her a glass of wine. “You were never single and if you were, the timing was off with me.”

“I know it.” She drank heartily. “I felt the same way. Like I was always waiting for things to click between us. For things to feel
right
.”

He nodded slowly. “We’re both here now.”

“We are.”

“And we’re both available.”

Since Cole had left town she’d never felt more available or more single.

She was alone, and that had always been fine. Sure, she’d wanted a husband and children, but that was a dream on the horizon. As a deep longing hollowed her middle, Rachael knew she didn’t want to be alone anymore. She didn’t want those things in the distant future. She wanted them sooner rather than later.

A deep, sultry voice oozed from the speakers of the truck and hit Rachael’s ears. She’d never heard the song before, but she would have recognized the voice anywhere.

Cole.

Her chest warmed and tingled at the sound of his voice, and every single moment she spent with him came flooding back through her mind like a movie reel.

“Rachael?” Joey knelt in front of her. When had he moved around the table? “Are you okay? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”