It Had to Be Fate (An It Had to Be Novel Book 3) (2 page)

Zane opened the door to the chopper that had ferried him from the Denver airport to Anderson Butte. Kip had filled him in some more on the little town during his flight and he’d been right, it was a beautiful place. Big lake, tall pines, and while still in the air he’d spotted colorful wooden buildings surrounding a big park with a whitewashed bandstand in the middle. Who knew Mayberry R.F.D. really existed?

He reached for his stuff in the backseat while the pilot tied down the chopper. Zane hitched his backpack onto one shoulder and grabbed his duffel and guitar case, ready for the longest week of his life in the sleepy little town.

His pilot, Sherriff Ryan Anderson, hadn’t said more than ten words to him on the flight. So it didn’t surprise him when Ryan just glanced Zane’s way before the man set out toward the main street.

Pushing his legs to move faster in order to keep up with the sheriff who was built like a pro football player, Zane said, “Nice town.”

“Yep.” Ryan stopped walking. “Not much here for someone used to your sort of fun, Mr. Steele.”

Ryan turned and continued down the raised wooden sidewalk.

Zane shook his head and caught up again. He couldn’t blow his brother’s cover by explaining that wild partying had never been a part of his past. “Call me Zane. And you won’t even know I’m here.”

Ryan sent him a sideways glance and a disbelieving grunt.

Drawing in a deep, pine-scented breath of air for patience, Zane ignored the skeptic beside him and studied the little town. There was a beauty shop, an ice cream store, a toy store guarded by two life-size brightly painted wooden soldiers, and a larger store with a carved sign outside advertising everything from groceries to cell phones and even hardware.

When they passed by a fifties-themed diner full of people, he reached up and pulled his cap lower. People strolled by them but didn’t stop. They waved and greeted Ryan but ignored Zane. Maybe they didn’t listen to his kind of music and had no idea who he was. Fine by him.

They turned into the parking lot of a surprisingly large hotel. As they neared the front, the glass doors slid open. What had appeared to be rustic lodging on the outside suddenly rivaled the finest hotels he’d ever stayed in around the world. It had gleaming wood floors, massive tables with big vases of flowers, and oversize, comfortable-looking leather couches and chairs that were all strategically set around flat-screen televisions and a big stone fireplace.

Something about the warmth of the wood and the aroma of leather sent a restful sense of comfort through him. The place felt so strangely familiar. Like when he’d finally arrive home to visit his mom after being on tour for months. He never felt that way when he walked into his hillside mansion in California.

He needed some peace and quiet to write songs anyway, so maybe staying a week or two in Anderson Butte wouldn’t be so bad after all.

The sheriff looked past the empty registration desk toward the massively tall windows that provided a breath-stealing view of the sparkling lake. “There she is.”

Zane assumed Ryan meant the Casey person he was supposed to ask for, so he dumped his things by the registration desk and followed him out the back door. They walked down the grassy hill toward the sandy shore and a big wooden dock. Jet Skis and speedboats bobbed alongside. At the end of the dock, a tall, thin, dark-haired women wrestled with a little boy who looked like he’d just rolled in a mud puddle.

As the kid laughed and tried to slip past her, she stuck out an arm and stopped him. “Nope. You’re not dragging all that mess inside, Ty.” The woman grabbed the child around the middle and swung him high in the air before she launched him off the end of the dock.

The boy, grinning wildly, tucked one knee up against his chest. Seeing the kid’s intention, the lady turned to run, but it was too late. A wall of lake water from a perfectly executed cannonball came crashing down on top of her.

The child crawled up a ladder and flopped a laughing, cleaner version of himself onto the dock. When he saw the soaking wet woman, his grin faded . . . but only slightly. “Sorry, Mom. I didn’t think it’d get you
that
wet.” His grin threatened to grow again, but the kid was smart enough to fight it.

Zane tamped back his own smile that wanted to bust free.

The sheriff hissed, “Lose the gleam in your eyes, Steele. My sister is a single mother. Not your type.”

Not his usual type, but something about the way the pretty woman stood with her hands on her hips and a “you are in so much trouble” look on her face reminded him of his fun childhood—the one before his dad had died.

The thought sent a zap of familiar pain to his chest. Not many were unlucky enough to lose both parents by age thirty-five.

The sheriff cupped his hands alongside his mouth and called out, “Good one, Ty!”

The soaking wet brunette shot the sheriff a death stare. But then she noticed Zane and her face slipped into a cool, neutral expression as she started toward them. “Hello, Mr. Steele. I see my brother here forgot to call me when you two landed.” She wiped her hand dry on the sheriff’s chest before she stuck it out. “Casey. Welcome to Anderson Butte. Let’s get you settled.”

Casey’s hand was soft, long, and delicate. But he’d seen her throw the little boy who must have weighed at least fifty pounds into the water with ease. She was no shrinking violet.

The wet shirt clinging to her curves made her even more intriguing. “Nice to meet you, Casey. Please call me Zane.”

Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly before she nodded.

She was no fan.

The dripping wet kid, Ty, joined them and his eyes grew wide with recognition. Just as Ty was about to say something, Casey sent him a look that silently shouted “Don’t you dare,” so the kid snapped his mouth closed.

He wanted to give Ty a souvenir. Zane patted his pockets looking for a guitar pick or something.

Casey said, “Ty, you know the rules. Go inside and change out of those wet things. Then finish your chores, please.”

Ty looked up at the sheriff for help, but when he got nothing but a shrug, Ty gave up and slowly walked up the hill to the hotel.

Casey said, “My children are used to celebrities and know not to bother them, Mr. Steele. They’ll stay out of your way. Now let’s get you checked in.” She tilted her head toward the door Ty had just passed through. “Bye, Ryan.”

The sheriff lifted a hand and walked away.

“It’s Zane.” He followed her tall, curvy form into the lobby. “And I like kids, Casey. You don’t have to keep them away from me.”

Casey stopped walking and whirled around. He
really
liked that she was almost eye to eye with his six-foot-two frame.

Crossing her arms, she said, “No offense, Mr. Steele, but your recent behavior isn’t the kind I’d like my children to emulate. Kip is an old family friend. That’s the only reason I agreed to let you stay here.” She circled around the reception desk and punched computer keys a little too loudly. “Just let me make up your keycard and then I’ll have one of the staff show you to your room.”

Damn his brother. Nick’s reputation had tainted her opinion, and complicated his chances of getting to know a gorgeous woman. One who showed zero interest in
him
.

Her lack of interest piqued his even more. He’d never been attracted to women who fell at his feet just because of who he was. It made him want to try even harder to show Casey he wasn’t the man she’d assumed he was.

Maybe his stay in Anderson Butte would be . . . fun.

C
asey reached for the radio at her waistband to summon a staff member to show Mr. Steele to his room before she remembered no one else was around.

She’d sent Toby off in the pontoon boat with the real estate tycoon and his family for a picnic lunch out in Sunset Cove and Mike was getting parts for a Jet Ski down south. Jeannie was busy cleaning rooms. She could ask Dax, but hauling luggage wasn’t in his job description. She’d just have to do it herself. “On second thought, why don’t I just show you to your room, Mr. Steele?” She reached for his duffel but he scooped it up before she could grab it.

“I’ve got it, thanks.” The rocker grinned at her. “And it’s Zane.”

She didn’t want to be on a first-name basis with the guy. But, on the other hand, she didn’t want to be rude. Maybe she’d just avoid using his name at all. “Right this way, please.”

She set out toward the elevators and he fell in step beside her. He juggled his duffel under an arm, freeing a hand so he could move ahead of her and press the button. The doors instantly spread wide. She waited for him to enter first, but he stood with his back against the side to hold the doors open. “After you, Casey.”

So the man had
some
manners. Maybe he was just a jerk when he was drunk, like in the news clip she’d seen. “Thank you.”

She stepped inside and then handed him his keycard. “You’re staying in the presidential suite on the top floor. No one else has access to that level from the elevator without a special key. Just slide yours into the slot right there below the ‘P’ and it will take you directly into your suite.”

He did as she instructed and the elevator took off. “Pretty slick for a hotel in a town this small. And I’d swear I’ve been in your lobby before. It felt so . . . familiar.”

Casey tried but couldn’t quite hold back her grin. That had been her idea. To emulate the lobby of one of the most exclusive boutique hotels in Europe. “Then you’ve stayed at Chateau Blanc in Switzerland?”

He frowned. “Maybe. Who knows? The hotels all become one big blur when I’m on tour. Just a place to lay my head before the next show.”

When the doors opened into their finest suite, she exited first. “And I imagine all the pretty woman involved are just blurs too, huh?” She probably shouldn’t have said that about the women, but the man was so disconcerting. He seemed perfectly nice, but she’d seen the reports on TV with her own two eyes that he wasn’t. According to the press, he was a shameless womanizer.

His only response was a single raised brow before laying his duffel down and dropping the guitar case on the couch. Then he rummaged in his backpack for something.

“Mr. Steele, none of the staff, especially me, will expect tips. It’s all included in your room fees. Let me show you the rest of the suite.”

He finally found what he was looking for and held it out to her. “You said earlier your children knew not to bother the celebrities. How many do you have?”

She looked down at the autographed CD in her hand. “You saw Ty earlier. And my other son’s name is Caleb.”

He reached into his backpack and pulled out a different signed CD. “Then here’s one for Caleb too.”

Now she just felt like a jerk. “Thank you. They’re very big fans of yours.”

“And you’re not. But I love a challenge.” He grinned.

The sexy gleam in his eyes left no doubt he wanted to be more than just her friend.

He was an incredibly handsome guy—tall, lean, fit, with piercing green eyes and thick, golden blond hair. Normally just her type. But the worst possible example on earth for her boys. She needed to make it clear that nothing was going to happen between them.

“Well, I hate to disappoint a guest, but you’re in for a big fail there. I’m not falling for your cute smile and the charming Zane Steele act. You’d have better chances with any other woman in Anderson Butte.” She threw in a “Take that!” chin lift for good measure.

He didn’t seem fazed at all by her biting words. Instead he leaned closer and whispered, “You finally called me Zane. I must be growing on you. But if you’re in a relationship just say the word.”

She wanted to throw her arms up in exasperation, but wouldn’t give the man the pleasure of knowing he’d rattled her. “No, I’m single, but I have other guests to tend to, so may I please show you all the amenities of the suite now?”

The infuriating man nodded as he chuckled at her, like he knew he was throwing her off her game.

She thrust her shoulders back and headed toward the sliding glass doors. “Out here you have your own private rooftop pool and hot tub. There’s a steam room in the cabana as well as a minibar.”

Zane pretended to listen as Casey rattled off all the suite’s amenities. He enjoyed watching the way she moved—like a ballerina, graceful and light on her feet—about as much as he appreciated the cadence of her unique, low, sexy voice. Her stiff shoulders belied the politeness she forced while giving him a spiel she’d probably given a thousand times before.

Something about Casey hit him so hard in the chest that he wanted to know more.

After she’d shown him around the room, she thrust a piece of paper his way. “Normally we send this preference sheet out in advance, so we’d have any special requests on hand. Is there anything you need immediately, or any dietary restriction our chef needs to know about?”

What he needed was to find a way to crack through Casey’s hard shell.

Handing the paper back he said, “No. I’m not picky. I’ll eat whatever the chef makes.”

Casey blinked at him in confusion. “There isn’t a certain brand of water you prefer, or liquor you’d like us to stock?”

“Nope. What time is dinner served?”

“It’s whenever you’d like.” She held the paper out again. “On the back there’s a place to tell Dax, our chef, when you’d like your meals. He’ll be happy to accommodate your schedule.”

Zane accepted the pen she held out, then moved to the couch and laid the paper on the coffee table. His phone vibrated in his pocket, so he quickly scribbled his answer and then handed the paper back. After glancing at the screen he said, “If you’ll excuse me, I have to take this.”

He answered the phone with, “Hang on a second, Kip.”

Zane headed for the sliding glass door that led to the pool outside, then he stopped in his tracks. He turned and said, “Actually, Casey, I really hate brussels sprouts.”

“Doesn’t everyone?” Her lips tilted ever so slightly along with his before she waved and then walked back into the elevator.

Pleased he’d gotten a smile out of her, even if it was just a little one, he lifted the phone to his ear. “Sorry, Kip. What have you guys figured out?”

“Still working on it. But your brother is being a jerk. He told your lawyers that you’d just gotten your IDs mixed up and that the extra money in his accounts came directly from you. He’s refusing to go to rehab. He says it’s your fault he’s in this mess.”

Since they were kids, Nick’s problems were always Zane’s fault. Nick was living, mocking proof that their mom’s words—that family is all that matters—were more a wish than a reality. “Can I speak to him?”

“Yeah. Hang on. I just stepped outside. He’s in the holding room waiting for your lawyers to come back now.”

Zane sank into a lounge chair beside the pool. How he wished he’d never promised his mother he’d look out for Nick. If it were up to him he’d let them throw Nick’s ungrateful hide in jail until he straightened himself out.

Nick answered with, “Dude. Come on. If this had been you, your lackeys would have had you out in under an hour. Tell them to fix this.”

“They love to make examples of celebrities in Los Angeles. You’re not getting out of this one, Nick.”

His brother’s voice rose ten decibels. “I’m the only family you have left, and you’re refusing to help me?”

Playing the guilt card, as usual. Well, Zane hadn’t asked to be dealt in. “Look. We both know you stole my ID and my money. You have two choices here. Jail or rehab. And you’ve got thirty seconds to decide which you want me to tell my lawyers to plead. Clock’s ticking.”

“I swear I’ll destroy you and your precious reputation if you do this to me, Zane.”

“You’ve already damaged my reputation as much as I’m going to let you. I’m done with this, Nick. It’d be easier on me if you went to jail, but I’m going to send you to rehab instead and hope you get your damn head on straight.”

“So you’re willing to risk me telling the world how Dad really died? I don’t know how many CDs you’d sell once people knew you killed your own father. I lied for you once. Now it’s your turn.”

The line went dead.

He’d lived with that guilt daily since it happened. It had been an accident, but Nick never believed that.

And Nick had been the only other witness.

Zane had to hope it was the dregs of the booze-filled night talking, or his worst nightmare might be made public. If Nick changed his story of that day . . . Zane couldn’t even think about it. The records were sealed because it had happened when they were juveniles. But there was no statute of limitations for murder. And it would be Zane’s word against his brother’s.

He slowly dialed his lawyer’s number. After Jack answered, Zane said, “Send him to rehab. And ignore anything he threatens. It’s what he does.”

“Will do. But Zane, we’re deceiving the court with our part in this, by letting the police think it’s you they have. You and Nick need to stay tucked away or we all could face serious consequences. You could go to jail for contempt. Are you sure we want to risk that?”

“Yes. Now go convince Nick of how dire the consequences are so he’ll get his butt into rehab. Thanks. Goodbye.”

Zane hung up and tossed his phone on the table beside him. Maybe he could’ve lied and told the police they had mixed up their IDs, but if they looked carefully, surely they’d figure out Nick had a fake.

If not, then Nick would’ve gone right back to his destructive ways, getting into bar fights and driving drunk. Possibly hurting someone other than himself in the process. As much as Zane hated the prospect of the most horrific thing to ever happen in his life becoming public fodder, he was tired of the constant blackmail by his brother. Rehab was the best thing for Nick, long term. It was what their mom would’ve wanted.

He rolled his shoulders and grabbed his cell. Maybe he’d take a walk or borrow one of the bikes he’d seen down by the lake and shake off his mood. It’d give him a chance to cool down, and to explore his new temporary home.

Could he really stay hidden for two months?

Casey slid Zane’s preference sheet onto the granite countertop in the kitchen, then scooped up her niece, Haley, from a barstool. “There’s my favorite princess. What are you stuffing your chubby little cheeks with now?” She kissed Haley’s forehead and then set her down. Casey loved her boys more than anything in the world but had always secretly wished for a little girl too.

Blond, sweet, two-and-three-quarters-year-old Haley grinned and held up a chocolate chip cookie. “Yum!”

Casey’s grandmother, tall, feisty, and sharped tongued, sat on the other side of Haley. She said, “Double yum!”

Haley’s mom, her sister, Meg, just lifted her chin in greeting because her mouth was full.