Heartsong (Singing to the Heart Book 2)

Gabriel McKenna is living the dream. A rising country music star he’s no stranger to fame, money, or beautiful women. Despite his bad boy image, he’s also got a heart of gold, and when his ten-year-old brother is orphaned, he wants to take him under his wing. But the judge on the case is less than impressed by Gabe’s reputation and awards custody to the grandfather Gabe knows firsthand is abusive.

Michaela Finn is no stranger to heartache. Years ago she was engaged to Gabe McKenna, but two days before their wedding he ran off to Nashville with a female talent scout. Now Gabe is back in her life with an insane plan. Marry him, so he can get custody of his younger brother. Michaela can’t bear to think of any child being hurt, but she’s just not sure her heart can carry a happy tune when Gabe is playing lead…

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Colton Gamblers Series

Gambling On A Secret, Book One

Gambling On A Heart, Book Two

Gambling On A Dream, Book Three

Singing to the Heart

Heartstrings

Heartsong

Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

A Singing to the Heart Novel

Sara Walter Ellwood

LYRICAL PRESS

Kensington Publishing Corp.

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Copyright © 2015 by Sara Walter Ellwood

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First Electronic Edition: January 2016

eISBN-13: 978-1-60183-492-8

eISBN-10: 1-60183-492-6

First Print Edition: January 2016

ISBN-13: 978-1-60183-493-5

ISBN-10: 1-60183-493-4

Printed in the United States of America

To my readers…

Before Gabe’s stage crew set off the final pyrotechnics, the crowd was cheering. The energy from sixty thousand fans hit Gabe McKenna, lifting him higher than any drug or drink ever could. Hell, this might’ve been better than sex.

Almost.

Gabe belted out the last words of his first number-one song and finished with a flourish on his electric guitar.

He bowed low, winked, and grinned at the hyperventilating, screaming girls in the front row. A redhead tossed him her panties. They landed on the stage by his feet along with other intimate garments, teddy bears, flowers, and scraps of paper with everything from
Will you marry me?
to phone numbers on them. He bounced back from the edge of the stage, his arm held high as he waved his tan Stetson in a farewell to another sold-out sports arena.

The tabloids called him “Country’s Rock Star,” and on nights like this, he believed it.

With one more look at his adoring fans, Gabe headed backstage. He handed his guitar to a crew member, while another, walking beside him, removed his wireless microphone and sound transmitter. After taking out his earpieces, he also handed them to the guy. His road band came off the stage behind him, and several of the members slapped him on his back, encouraging him to hurry. The party couldn’t begin until he got there.

His manager, Gary Russell, rushed over to him with a huge grin on his pointed, bony face. “By God, Gabe, if you keep up this momentum, you’ll own the
CMA
s in November.”

Gabe took the bottle of water and towel the older man offered him. He wiped the sweat from his face and chugged half of the water. Performing in the Midwest was hot business in early September.

“That’s the plan. I really want to be the next Entertainer of the Year.” He grinned at the lanky man in poor-fitting jeans and a black T-shirt. “Male Vocalist”--Gabe slanted his glance toward his manager--“and Song, Single, and Video of the Year wouldn’t upset me either.”

Gary laughed and took the towel from Gabe. “Hell, you might just be the darling of them all: the
CMT
s,
CMA
s, and
ACM
s. Maybe even the Grammys.”

“Wouldn’t mind having another one of those golden record players in my trophy cabinet.” But the competition for the Grammys was tough; beating his best friend, Seth Kendall, would be hard.

“I have to admit, it’s been a good year for me too.” Gary laughed again.

Gabe didn’t doubt the statement. Gary not only managed him but also Seth Kendall and his teenage daughter. Emily Kendall was burning up both the country and pop charts with her first few singles.

They turned down another hall. The noise from the crowd disbanding wasn’t as deafening down here. “You get the Billboard ranking of my album yet?”

Several fans and winners of local radio station contests gathered in the green room for a chance to meet him. He and Gary paused at the door. Two security guards waited to ensure no problems at the meet-and-greet.

Gary’s smile broadened, splitting his narrow face and nearly taking in his ears. “
One Night Rodeo
landed squarely in the top spot on the country and number two on the pop charts with over three hundred thousand copies sold the first week out. If you would’ve sold a few hundred more you would’ve unseated Emily Kendall’s reign on the pop chart.”

“Yes!” Gabe punched the air. He would have liked to hit number one on the pop chart, but he wasn’t a pop singer. His fans were as country as his Stetson and cowboy boots. It amazed him he crossed over at all, but as Gary kept telling him the genres were blending and blurring.

Hitting number one on the country chart was what mattered to him. This was the first time he had hit the top spot during release week. He hoped the feat proved to the doubters his career was anything but dead.

Gary’s management of him deserved all the credit. “Thanks, Gary.”

“Yeah, well, just don’t party too hard tonight. We have to be in Omaha at seven AM to do that radio interview.”

“We’ll behave.” Gabe flashed another grin.

Hard to believe that only seven years ago his day job was punching cattle on a ranch in central Texas and he was spending his weekend nights singing in honky-tonks.

Back then Michaela Finn had been the most important thing in his life.

Would he ever forget the way her blue eyes darkened to sapphire when they made love?

Gary cuffed him on the shoulder, dislodging her memory and the ache thinking about her always brought. They headed into the green room to meet his fans.

This was what he lived for now, had dreamed about doing since he first saw a Garth Brooks concert as a kid, and he wouldn’t ever want another life.

Then why did he look for her in every crowd, hoping she’d be there?

* * * *

Micki Finn hated crowds almost as much as she despised Gabriel McKenna. She looked at the woman next to her, obviously a groupie, as were the rest of the frenzied females. All waiting outside the backdoor of the sports center along a cordoned-off path to Gabe’s tour buses.

The redhead beside her was trying for that naturally tussled look with her hair, but the spray glue holding it in place ruined the effect. Compared to some of the other women and girls gathered, Red was overdressed in her skintight, barely there tank dress. Micki’s faded jeans and T-shirt made her regular nun material.

Security held the throng back and the crowd became louder when the doors of the arena opened. Red bounced, her extremely large breasts nearly dislodged from the flimsy constraints of the tank top. She pushed past a pair of women old enough to be Gabe’s mother. The yellow ribbon appeared ahead of the redhead, and Micki followed her, shoving her way around Red to get to the line. Women yelled obscenities and scowled, but Micki ignored them and focused on the man heading toward the waiting bus.

She hated the way her heart skipped a beat before it galloped off like a horse out of the pen after a pistol shot. He was surrounded by men, but he outshined them all. His smile was cowboy handsome as he winked and tipped his hat at the groping women.

Gabe stopped along the line and signed autographs, but when some of the groupies became too daring and grabbed at his black T-shirt or lower, he withdrew to the center of the security guards.

A tan Stetson sat over a shock of raven hair that brushed his collar. Micki wasn’t ready for the sudden desire to run her fingers through the black silk. She fisted her hands until her nails bit into her palms.

The entourage drew closer under the harsh lights, which brightened the area to almost daylight intensity. Micki ducked under the yellow ribbon.

“Hey!” called the security guards and the women behind her at the same time.

She ignored both and got the response she wanted. Gabe stopped and pushed the Stetson back over his high forehead. He peered at her for a beat before dark brows rose over golden-brown eyes, set in a broad, angular face suggesting some Native American genetics. His full lips twisted into a smirk. “I’ll be damned. Never figured you’d become one of my groupies.” When a security guard grabbed her upper arm, Gabe said, “It’s okay, Chuck. I don’t think Miz Finn means me any harm.”

Micki shook off the big man’s grasp then adjusted her own hat. Gabe’s blatant gaze traveled over her scuffed cowboy boots all the way to the Stetson on her head. When he met her gaze again, the heat flowing over her had nothing to do with the temperature of the early September night, her hatred of him, or her anger. She shouldn’t have been affected at all, considering the reasons she’d driven half the night and all day to confront him.

Taking a deep breath to steady the nest of hornets in her stomach, she squared her shoulders. “We need to talk.”

A minute later, Gabe and a lanky man holding an incensed conversation on a Bluetooth ushered her onto the first bus. They left the security folks to deal with the crowd of jealous women jeering behind them. When they entered the common area of the bus, the seven members of Gabe’s band looked up from the couch and restaurant-like booth. They all held longneck bottles of beer and two of them held cigarettes, the smoke of which clung to the cool, conditioned air and made her throat burn.

A burly man she recognized as Gabe’s lead guitarist stood and smiled at her. He went to the refrigerator, pulled out a beer, and raised a brow at Gabe. “Not your usual type. I like.”

After he returned to the couch, Gabe reached into the fridge then pulled out two Budweisers. He handed her one of the longnecks. “This is Michaela Finn.” Using his unopened bottle, he pointed to the men and the lone woman, going clockwise. The lead guitarist was first. “Brian, Chris, Jessica, her husband Caleb, Joel, Robby, Kenny. My band. And the man on the phone is my manager, Gary Russell.”

Gary nodded his head once and grunted, then turned away and sat beside Robby at the table. He booted up a laptop as he lit a cigarette. Gabe got another beer out and set it on the table beside Gary. No word of thanks, no acknowledgment came from the man now tapping on keys and talking on the phone at the same time. No doubt, Gary would be dead from a coronary by the time he was seventy.