The Rancher's Lullaby (Glades County Cowboys) (17 page)

When her friend Mazie had offered Bridgett a room at the Bed & Biscuit, she couldn’t have packed fast enough. She needed to break away from the one person she’d never imagined would betray her. Of course, Mazie had given her a room rent-free, but Bridgett refused to be a charity case. Bridgett assisted Mazie in the kitchen and cleaned the inn to repay her friend’s generous hospitality.

Bridgett thought she had made it clear she wanted—scratch that—
needed
time to think, but very few people seemed to listen. She was confused by the truth and hurt by the lies. Surely a little breathing room wasn’t too much to ask for.

Bridgett clipped another ticket to the order wheel and spun it to Bert. He and Maggie may have taught her how to run a restaurant, but Mazie instructed her on the finer cooking techniques she had learned at Le Cordon Bleu in Paris. Bridgett studiously took notes and added each lesson to her own overstuffed
dream book
.

Unlike most of her friends, Bridgett hadn’t had the desire to go to school to learn a trade or earn a degree. She preferred the hands-on approach. That was the lie she told herself anyway. She couldn’t afford to go to school then or now. Darren had managed to send all three of his legitimate children to Ivy League schools. Abby’s parents had sent her to college—seven years’ worth for her to become a physical therapist. Out of Darren’s five children, Bridgett was the only one without a career or college degree. Her jaw tightened. Jealousy wouldn’t solve anything. She had the strength and determination to make it on her own. And she would make it, too. Someday.

Bridgett bussed a table, mentally envisioning the floor plan of her own restaurant. As she nudged the kitchen door with her hip, the bells above the entrance jingled.

“Welcome to The Magpie.” Halfway through the door to the kitchen, Bridgett caught a glimpse of the man standing just inside the luncheonette’s entrance. The plates precariously balanced on her arms began to slip. He smiled at her. “Oh, my stars,” she whispered, struggling to prevent the stack from crashing to the floor.

Quickly depositing the dishes in the kitchen, she ducked down and made her way to the pass-through to sneak a peek at the man without appearing too obvious.

“What on earth are you doing?” Bert asked from the grill.

Bridgett shushed him and attempted another glimpse. The man was definitely easy on the eyes—
gorgeous brown eyes—
almost familiar in a way, but she was positive she hadn’t seen him before.

Crap.
Lark greeted him and led him to the counter. Bridgett crouch-walked to the door, stood and took a deep breath.

“He’s just a man, sweetheart,” Bert chuckled as he plated another order. “Don’t get yourself in a state. Go on out there and act natural.”

Since when did Bert give relationship advice?

Bridgett couldn’t bear to turn around and see the expression on the cook’s face. Shoulders squared, she casually entered the dining area and strolled behind the counter.

“Thanks for your assistance before, Lark.” Bridgett touched the woman’s shoulder. “I’ve got this.

“How may I service you today?”

Please tell me I did not say that!

Mortified, Bridgett closed her eyes and vainly struggled to keep a nervous laugh in check. She failed. “Let me try this again.”

“It’s okay,” he drawled. “I’m intrigued by your offer.”

If she’d thought his eyes were gorgeous before, they were downright intoxicating up close. And his voice reminded her of a song, but she couldn’t place which one. She needed a distraction, and this sexy newcomer had just claimed top billing.

* * *

A
DAM
S
TEELE
HADN
’
T
eaten since yesterday—a day he’d rather forget. When he’d arrived at his sister’s in a sorry state, she’d taken him in. She’d cut and colored his hair from bleached blond to its natural brown, then forced him to shave off his jet-black beard. The new Adam was unrecognizable, even to himself.

“Are you in town for this weekend’s Harvest Festival?” the waitress asked. The name
Bridgett
was embroidered on the front of her pink-and-white fifties-style uniform, next to where the zipper began to reveal a hint of cleavage. Normally he’d pass on the whole retro vibe, but it worked on her.

“The festival’s a pretty big deal here, huh?” The main reason he’d pulled into town had been his growling stomach. He also wanted to test out his new look to see if anyone would recognize him. Bodyguards usually accompanied him and his band when they traveled. Outside of the quick shopping spree he and his sister had made to buy some normal clothes for his trip, this was his first solo performance and he needed to be sure he’d be able to travel incognito. How ironic his “disguise” was his real identity.

Bridgett’s eyes widened and Adam feared he’d already blown his cover. “You’re not a reporter, are you?” She took a step back. “Because I’ve had my fill of those lately.”

Adam inwardly cringed. “A reporter? People have called me many things, but a reporter hasn’t been one of them. Why would I be?”

“Because you answered my question with a question. It’s what they do. And I’ve endured enough questions to last forever.”

Okay, retro girl has a problem with reporters.
After countless world tours and the tabloids’ constant fabrications about him and his band, they ranked at the bottom of Adam’s list also.

“No, I’m not a reporter or remotely connected to journalism. What do they want with you?”

“Corrupt mayor, political scandal.” Bridgett quickly broke eye contact, reached into her apron pocket and removed her order pad. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed.”

“The sign for the festival caught my attention and I thought I’d check it out. Can you recommend a hotel?”

“New to the area? I haven’t seen you in here before.”

“I’m from Katy. Three hours to the east.” Adam almost flinched at his own answer. When had he last told the truth regarding his hometown? Nine, or, ten years ago—maybe. After that long, he hadn’t expected it to roll off his tongue so easily. Tension usually surrounded the question. This morning it was absent. The fear someone would expose his lie vanished with the truth. If anyone had recognized his “true” identity in the past, his credibility in the industry would have ended. He’d managed to keep the truth from everyone, including his band. The world knew him as The Snake. It was the biographical lie his first manager had created and he’d never been able to escape it. An extremely lucrative persona had grown from that lie, playing on people’s emotions. The orphaned street kid from one of Miami’s roughest neighborhoods, discovered on a corner playing guitar. Only it wasn’t true.

It wasn’t until this last tour when he’d finally came clean with his drummer, Phil, telling his best friend how he actually hailed from Texas. Strangely enough, the story hadn’t surprised Phil. Bogus childhoods weren’t unusual in Los Angeles. But most people hadn’t gone to the extremes Adam had. He’d created a career based upon that lie. If the truth surfaced, Adam knew he’d lose all credibility in the music industry. The products he currently endorsed would take a hit, as well. Why would anyone want to be associated with a man who had not only lied to the world, but also shunned his family in order to make millions of dollars?

“We don’t have much in the center of town, except for the Bed & Biscuit—biscuit as in dog biscuit. Mazie, the owner, caters to people with pets, although oddly enough she doesn’t own one herself. But her sister, Lexi, is an equine veterinarian and... Good heavens, I’m rambling.”

Adam enjoyed the pink tinge flooding Bridgett’s cheeks. Her high ponytail enhanced her long, slender neck. He’d love to loosen those thick honey-red waves and watch them fall down around her shoulders.

Adam caught himself staring at her, neither one of them making a move to speak.
Form words, Adam. You’re no stranger to women.
He had certainly partaken in his fair share of the opposite sex in his younger days, but none of them had caused his heart to beat like a revolutionary war drum.

“Bridgett!” A voice boomed from the kitchen. “For the third time, order up, table seven.”

“Huh?” Bridgett shook her head and Adam wondered if she’d figured out who he was. “I need to— I’ll be— I—”

“She’ll be with you in a minute. Meanwhile, you can look
this
over.” The other waitress thrust a menu at him, placed her hands on both of Bridgett’s shoulders and turned her toward the pass-through window. Adam couldn’t hear everything the other woman whispered to Bridgett, but he clearly understood the words, “What the heck is wrong with you?”

Bridgett swatted the woman away when she offered to take his order instead. He’d had women stumble over him before, but this was different. He genuinely didn’t think they knew him from...well...Adam.

“I’m sorry.” She returned, her voice interrupting his thoughts. “Let’s start from the beginning. I’m Bridgett, welcome to Ramblewood.”

She offered her hand. Her skin felt soft as velvet against his callused fingers. Adam wondered if his attraction to her was real or if the sudden freedom to roam where he wished had seduced him. He probably had a ridiculous grin plastered across his face, but he didn’t care.

“Adam. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Do you mind if I ask you a question?” Not waiting for her answer, he rose slightly on his stool and leaned on the counter, her hand still in his. “Are the boysenberries really local in the Local Boysenberry French Toast?”

Bridgett moved closer to him and whispered, “Yes, and it’s to die for...my personal favorite.”

“Well, on that recommendation—”

The sound of a woman clearing her throat caused them both to look down the counter. The other waitress stood with both arms full of dirty dishes, one eyebrow raised.

Releasing him, Bridgett stood up straight and adjusted her apron. “And this is Lark.”

“Charmed,” Lark grumbled. “Unless you want more gossip floating around, I suggest you two cool it until you find a more private place to ogle each other.”

“More gossip? Involving you?” Adam asked. Could there be more to the reporter story than Bridgett indicated earlier?

“She means small-town gossip in general.” Bridgett may have dismissed the question, but Adam caught the slightly aggravated inflection in her voice. The sidelong glance she shot Lark was a clear message for the other woman to shut up. “Where were we? Oh, yes, the French toast. A local farmer grows and cold-pack cans the boysenberries so we have them year-round. Maggie’s boysenberry syrup is incredible. And a few of our pastries have a boysenberry filling.”

“Maggie?”

“Maggie Dalton.” Bridgett checked her watch. “She owns the luncheonette, but she ran to the farmers’ market this morning. She should return any minute.”

Bridgett’s green eyes reminded him of the dew-covered clover he’d seen in Ireland last summer. “I’ll have an order with a side of bacon and a coffee.”

“Coming right up.”

Bridgett bounced into the kitchen, her ponytail swinging. Adam swiveled on his stool, checking out the rest of the luncheonette. The complete opposite of the clubs and expensive restaurants he usually frequented. Only a dozen tables and booths filled the narrow space. He’d once enjoyed eating in similar places. Comfortable and cozy. Where everyone knew everyone else. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed those simpler days until now. He’d trade every cent he’d made to have his family back.

The vibration of his cell pulsed in his leather jacket. He tugged it out of the pocket, powered the phone off and tossed it on the counter. Twenty-four hours ago, Adam had knocked on his parents’ door and pleaded for forgiveness. He probably would have gotten further with them if he hadn’t reeked of whiskey and stale cigarettes. The final night of a tour meant an enormous party for the band and crew. In the spirit of the celebration, Adam had drunk more than he should have. He’d celebrated for a different reason...his final show. Period. He’d decided to quit when another fight had broken out between the bass guitarist and drummer minutes before hitting the stage. Tempers and egos had reached a boiling point and they hadn’t discussed future projects in ages.

As the band’s front man, Adam knew he needed to let them and their management in on his decision. But he’d rather do it in person. He’d bailed early on last night’s party. Houston had been their final concert—an hour away from his hometown. The fact that he had to be assisted by the limo driver to climb out of the car should have been his sign to wait another day or two. But he couldn’t wait. He had wanted to share his decision with his parents first. When he’d rung their bell at four in the morning, his mother had appeared in the sidelight window next to the door. She hadn’t recognized him until he’d shouted, “Mom, it’s me” loud enough for her to hear. Adam had placed his palm on the glass. Slowly she’d lifted hers, matching his on the other side of the window. She’d held his gaze. The longing and loss etched into her face had broken his heart. Squeezing her eyes shut, she’d mouthed his name and disappeared from view.

He had repeatedly rung the bell, calling to her. He’d stopped when he heard the deadbolt unlock. His father had swung the door wide, stormed onto the portico and demanded that Adam leave before someone overheard him and called the police. He’d thrown in a “have you looked at yourself in the mirror” followed by the crushing blow “you’re no longer a part of this family.” When Adam had tried to explain he wanted to move home to Katy, his father had cut him short, reiterating that he needed to leave.

Adam’s jaw clenched at the memory. When he’d arrived at his sister Lizzy’s, she’d been waiting for him, tipped off by their parents. She’d had no choice but to let him in since he owned the house she lived in. Adam had purchased it two years ago, after Lizzy’s ex-husband had beaten the crap out of her. The home was tucked away in a gated community boasting its own security guards. Adam had added an alarm system rivaling Fort Knox to ensure her safety.

It had irked his parents how he’d provided for Lizzy. Especially when they’d offered her a place to live on their small ranch. Her violent marriage and the traumatic end to her career because of those injuries had almost been too much for Lizzy to bear. Moving in with their parents would have been the final blow to Lizzy’s pride. And although Adam had arranged for a generous bank account for Lizzy to draw on if she needed, she hadn’t touched a dime of his money.