Heartsong (Singing to the Heart Book 2) (8 page)

“Fuck.” Gabe gritted through clenched teeth and moved away from the one-time hard rock-turned-country musician. “What the hell?”

The last thing he wanted was a party in his posh hotel suite. His flight to Texas was scheduled to leave at six in the morning. All he wanted to do right now was crash for a few hours and try not to think about the woman he couldn’t have.

Or the little boy Gabe loved with all of his heart.

Joel straightened, affronted. “A party, man. Remember? You used to have ’em all the time. What the hell’s going on with you? You might have lost someone you’re close to. But, damn, man, tonight’s show was downright painful. You were like a robot out there. But this goes beyond that. You haven’t been yourself for months. The guys and me decided to remind you of the good old days. Ever since Gary came on the scene, you’ve changed.”

“I think you should remember where we were headed before Gary took us on.” Gabe shook his head and forced his hands to stay relaxed at his sides. He owed his best friend, Seth Kendall, for talking Gary into taking him on. Gary’s rules were strict, but under his management, Gabe’s career was bigger than even he’d ever dreamed. “I can’t afford to trash hotel rooms anymore.” What was wrong with him? He wasn’t a wet blanket, but he sure was acting and feeling like one. Why didn’t everyone go the hell home?

Two of his other band members watched the confrontation happening in the entry of Gabe’s suite. A woman approached wearing a short, shimmery tank dress. The top plunged deep to show off her ample cleavage and the hem stopped short to show off her muscular legs from her ankle to just an inch or two below her pussy. Her long blond hair hung to her waist in sexy curls, and her blue eyes were smoky and mysterious. If the sexy black dress and red fuck-me heels weren’t enough to let him know she hoped for more than an autograph from him, the pouty smile was seductive enough to assure there was no mistaking what she desired.

“Hello, Gabe.” The blonde held out a bottle of Corona and sidled up closer to him.

“We met in Vegas a little over a year ago?” Gabe asked. He took the beer and forced a smile as he lifted the Corona and drank.

“I think we did more than just meet. Three days of the best sex of my life is what I remember.” Her pouty smile turned purely seductive and her eyes burned with open lust as she ran her hand over his chest.

He shivered, but it had nothing to do with desire and everything to do with revulsion.

“I loved your show tonight.” Her husky voice dripped sex.

Gabe lowered the beer as recognition hit him. “Lydia?”

She raised a brow and shifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “My favorite song is ‘One Night Rodeo.’ The video is so hot.”

Which was code for
I’d like to star in the X-rated version.

He had to get out of here. The last thing he needed was to get tangled up with Lydia Greenhow. He’d picked up the stripper after a show in Vegas. At the time, he’d thought she was a showgirl, which was bad but didn’t have quite the stigma a stripper had. Something the tabloids had reminded him of.

But hadn’t he been wishing for a willing woman? With her blond hair and blue eyes, he could almost pretend she was Michaela. Hell, wasn’t that what attracted him to her the last time they’d met? Maybe if he was drunk enough, he wouldn’t notice she could never match Michaela’s natural beauty. He would never be seen outside his hotel room with the woman, so the chance of the tabloids ever finding out was nonexistent.

He slipped his arm around the girl and moved her toward the couch. Leaning close, he sang the chorus of his latest single in her ear,

“The party’s over, you don’t have to go,

This cowboy’s not ready to go down,

So why don’t you stick around,

We’ll have ourselves a one night rodeo.”

She smiled and her hand slid down to cup his ass. “Hell, yeah.”

A member of his crew sat on the couch with a woman in his lap, but he got up and gave it up to his boss. Gabe winked his thanks and pulled Lydia across his lap. When she giggled, the shrillness went right through him, nearly ruining his determination to have fun--no matter how painful.

She put her hands on his shoulders, and his free hand landed on the curve of her hip. He turned his head and finished off the beer, watching her. “What are you doing in Cheyenne?”

“I grew up in a small town north of here.”

He lowered the empty bottle, remembering his last encounter with the woman. “Not working in Vegas anymore?”

She sipped her beer and her eyes slipped from his. “I had a baby six months ago. My mother wanted me to come home so she could help out with it. I plan to go back soon.”

A warning bell sounded in his head. “I take it the father isn’t in the picture.”

She met his gaze again and shrugged. “He doesn’t know and I want to keep it that way.” She straddled his thighs and leaned in. After nipping his ear, she whispered, “I’m ready anytime you are for that rodeo, cowboy.”

He couldn’t remember much of those three days with her, only Gary’s outrage afterward when Gabe’s picture with the stripper hit the tabloids. “I can think of plenty to do with a woman as pretty as you.”

She ran her fingernail over his jaw line, then slid her hand down his chest and over his abs. When she settled her palm over his groin, she stroked him through his tight jeans. Leaning in, she nipped his earlobe, her breath warm on the side of his face. “I’m so hot for you. I have a sudden urge to play cowgirl.”

He tried to find desire in her caress, but the sensation wasn’t arousing. “In a minute. Let’s have another drink.”

Her long, fake lashes veiled her eyes but not her disappointment. “Sure, whatever you want.”

Gabe shifted her hand from his groin. Despite his original intentions when bringing her to the couch, he suddenly hoped she’d get bored and leave him alone, but he couldn’t bring himself to make her go. “Let’s have a drink.”

Someone handed her a margarita and Gabe another Corona. He took a long draw on the beer before setting it on the table beside his empty bottle.

A hard rock song blasted from the speakers, and she moved to the beat in his lap, sloshing her drink all over the silk couch and him in the process. After tossing back what was left of it, she wrapped her arms around his neck and the lap dance got a lot more provocative. Her dress slipped up to reveal a red lace thong. As she pressed herself into him, he found it perplexing that just a memory of Michaela had him so hard his cock ached, but this woman did nothing for him.

“I want to fuck you all night long,” she whispered in his ear, then kissed him square on the mouth, surprising him. Before he could push her away, someone opened the door. Hotel security rushed in.

The large white sign painted with black and red lettering situated by the gate of the Lazy M caused Gabe to stop the rental car and stare at it.
Auction of Household Goods, October 1, everything must go.

A sold plaque over the realtor sign gave him another pause. He’d decided to buy the ranch on a whim. Now, he wasn’t so sure the way he’d gone about it had been a good decision. Michaela and Loretta, hell, even Tom Fleming should have been told of his ideas. Reese had convinced him total anonymity was the best way. Reese discovered through his contacts in Texas that Lemont only wanted the land to keep it out of Gabe’s hands, then hoped to sell it to a development company. To prevent him from going after the ranch more seriously, Reese created a dummy feedlot corporation to buy it for Gabe. He outbid Lemont by nearly two million dollars. When the old man didn’t counter the bid, Gabe knew he’d been right about Lemont’s intentions. He planned to buy the place, but instead of the money going to Jesse, it would end up back in Lemont’s pockets. The retired judge and oilman lived like a wealthy man, but was he as rich as he pretended to be?

He intended to hire Michaela as the manager and leave Jesse in her care while he was on the road after the adoption. She’d have guardianship of Jesse and together they’d raise him. But first, he had to tell her what his ideas were, before she did something like move off the ranch. Reese had neglected to tell him until that morning about Micki’s repeated phone calls asking for the head of the corporation to contact her.

He hated that Reese had to come up with such a ruse to trick Lemont Finn into thinking he’d won even if he lost the ranch. Gabe’s father may have been an SOB at times, but he loved his land and animals. The last thing he’d ever want was the Lazy M in the hands of a feedlot corporation. Michaela would never work for a feedlot. They went against everything she believed in.

But would she stay if she knew he’d bought the ranch? She’d been furious with him when he’d announced his decision to go after Jesse himself. Closing his eyes, he sucked in a deep breath. For any of his ideas to work, she had to stay on the ranch. He should have told her about that part of his plan first, then brought up his hope of adopting Jesse. The little boy was her hot button, and he pushed it last night.

Bracing for the confrontation with Michaela, he shifted the rental Mercedes back into drive and turned down the gravel lane.

This morning he’d landed at the airport, then dropped his things off at the hotel in Brownwood; however, as he’d paced his room, the walls started closing in on him. He had to see Michaela and hoped she would hear him out before she jumped to conclusions that weren’t true.

Gabe knocked on the screen door and peered into the cottage. No doubt his antics from two nights ago would be a hot topic on the gossip show blaring from the living room TV.

He’d missed his flight yesterday morning. After spending hours talking to the hotel manager, he finally convinced the guy not to press charges for the damages done to the suite by writing him a whopping check to cover the cost of fixing the room and another for the manger to add to his bank account.

Then he’d spent the afternoon begging Gary not to dump him and the band. Gary Russell had taken a chance on Gabe when he’d signed him, but his conditions were straightforward and strict--no hotel trashing. Gary didn’t care about the women Gabe paraded in and out of his bedroom as long as he didn’t do something stupid--like getting caught kissing a stripper. Again.

Although Gabe was furious over the damage done and at his band for arranging the party Saturday night, he was more concerned about how the tabloid media would spin Lydia Greenhow’s lip lock on him. Gary had seen a picture someone had taken of the kiss on the Internet, and soon after that the connection was made to a photo taken of him with the same Vegas stripper fifteen months ago.

Reese was more than ten kinds of mad at Gabe. But, then, he was as disappointed in himself. None of this was going to help his custody battle with Lemont.

He rapped on the rickety old door again. This time Loretta heard him and called out a slurred, “C’mon in.”

Gabe opened the door and entered the darkened living room just as the picture of the stripper kissing him flashed on the TV.

Loretta hit a button on the remote, mercifully muting the report about his rock star antics. She didn’t turn to look at him when she said, “Looks like you had quite a Saturday night.”

He removed his hat and glanced at it before hanging it on a peg by the door beside a few other old hats. “You could say that.”

“Was that before or after you called and upset Micki?”

“After. I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean to anger her. But she drives me crazy.” He moved into the living room and sat on the couch. The brown corduroy was worn smooth on the arms and fronts of the cushions, but it was clean. His mother had made the mauve and sage-green crocheted afghan folded in the corner of the sofa. He took a deep breath and brushed his fingers over the soft wool before leaning over his legs and clasping his hands together, unable to meet the older woman’s eyes. The need to tell her about his purchase of the ranch caused his heart to pound. But first he needed to speak to Michaela.

Loretta let out a strangled chuckle. “She always did.”

He chose to let that particular bit of truth slip by without commenting. “How’re things going around here?”

“As good as can be expected all things considered. We miss Jesse.”

“Have you talked to him?”

“No. Have you?”

He nodded, remembering the brief call from a week ago. “Yeah. But Lemont caught him and forced him to hang up.”

She hissed and shook her head. “The jerk.”

Not wanting to trouble her further, he peered around the small room, hoping to think of something else to talk about. Knickknacks crowded the top of the TV cabinet. On the shelves between the windows were the buckles and trophies Michaela--and before her, Loretta--had won as barrel racers. Empty cardboard boxes sat in the corner, and his heart sank. “You’re moving?”

Loretta looked down at her crooked fingers splayed out over her faded housedress. She curled them into loose fists and nodded. “I don’t know. Micki’s trying to find a place in town.”

“Why would she do that?” Damn, now what did he say? He needed to find Michaela. Standing, he went to the front window and looked out over the driveway toward the barn. A cloudy haze muted the late morning sun.

Michaela was coming out of the second turn around a barrel she had set up in the corral. She headed for the third and leaned sharply in the saddle as the horse took the turn at a full gallop, horse and rider working together as one beautiful, connected being.

He glanced over his shoulder. “Michaela’s training?”

Loretta whirled her wheelchair over to sit beside him. He dropped the lace curtain and met her troubled blue eyes.

“She says she rides to keep her horse in shape, in case she decides to sell him. I know she’d never part with Beau. I think she’s got it in her head to go back out on the circuit. She wants to use any of the winnings she might get to pay for some fancy surgery the doc thinks will stop the pain in my face.” She averted her eyes to her knobby hands. “I wish she’d not worry so much about me. She should’ve never quit racing to begin with. I could’ve gone to a nursing home, then she wouldn’t have to be burdened with me.”