Reforming the Cowboy

by Marisa Cleveland

  He swallowed. “So right now I’m a little desperate for some peace and quiet. Which is why we’re here.”

  “I hope it doesn’t stay quiet,” Lacey grumbled. She held the paper in the air and read, “Trendy new café and strategic move to book Nashville country singer Billy Hardy might pay off for local owner Lacey Durant.” She looked up. “That’s not bad. Sounds good, right?”

  “Might.” Billy shook his head and stifled a yawn. “I thought the place seemed pretty packed.” He glanced around the café. Not quite as crowded as his hotel restaurant had been, which was why he’d demanded his manager snag them a cab to the café for breakfast. “For a Monday night. What’s so bad about that?”

  Lacey nodded. “Nothing. I had solid numbers. But I hadn’t counted on them comparing my café to Bare Bones.”

  Billy blanched. “Shit.” He knew the place. Recalled it with fuzzy clarity. It really shouldn’t have surprised him that the local media wouldn’t leave his past in the past.

  She slammed her palms on the table. “It’s a topless bar, Billy, and if I’m not mistaken, it’s a topless bar in Tennessee!” She closed her eyes. When she opened them, she said, “Yeah. They basically compared me to some place you played at back when you were in some dark downward spiral, and”— she jabbed the paper— “Lacey’s move to book Nashville’s black sheep is either strategic or stupid.”

  Chip snatched the paper from Lacey and scoffed. “Lacey. Sure, they mention your name. As if I had nothing to do with this. If it weren’t for me, Billy wouldn’t even be here. I contacted you.” He motioned from him to Lacey in a dramatic gesture that showed just where he thought credit was due. “Of course it was strategic. And it’s going to work. Hell, it’s already working, judging by the cheerleaders.”

  Billy swallowed a thick piece of bagel. He hated this part of performing. The negative energy. The bad reviews. The people gleefully aiming to bring him down, or in this case, stop him from climbing back up. “Not exactly the comeback I planned.”

  Chip glared at him. “You didn’t have a plan.”

  “I did. Write another album and hit the recording studio.” Damn if he could do that on limited sleep and with no quiet place to reflect.

  Lacey asked, “Have you written anything?”

  Billy squinted at the empty stage. It had felt too good to admit defeat. One night. He’d been back for one night. “Not yet. But I will.”

  “Which is exactly why we’re here,” Chip reminded him.

  He almost agreed. Except that a small part of him had hoped that Chip would find a local venue, a place where studio executives likely drank before dinner or stopped by on their way to another event. Somewhere in Nashville, not South Beach. “The chances of someone discovering me here are slim to none, Chip.”

  His manager forked a sausage into his mouth. “That’s not why we’re here.”

  “I’m not playing to get rediscovered?”

  “No. You’re here to get back your writing groove. Besides, Nashville wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole. Not after the stunt you pulled with Marvin. You’re lucky you weren’t blacklisted.”

  Damn. His manager had a point. But he still argued, “Chip, I’ve been out of the game for a decade. If that’s not blacklisted, it sure as hell feels like it. And this article didn’t do me any favors. Like they’re not sure I’m good enough to be here for her grand opening.”

  Chip smiled. “Not all publicity is bad.”

  He opened his mouth to argue, but Lacey cut him off. “Billy, I owe you a thank-you for helping me out with Simon last night.”

  “No problem.” He was too tired to keep arguing anyway.

  “That was so embarrassing. But this,” she stabbed the paper again, “might ruin my chances.”

  “He’s your only investor?”

  She nodded. “I really need to impress him.” Then, she glanced at Chip. “I did my homework before hiring him, but what did you mean about Nashville not touching him with a ten-foot pole? What stunt?”

  Chip waved it off. “It’s nothing. He’s making a comeback now. Nothing to worry about.”

  “I’m not talking about now. Obviously it’s something that happened back then. What stunt?” She persisted, “What happened, Billy? I thought you had a breakdown after your ex cheated on you. I mean, that’s what all the tabloids claimed, and I thought that’s why you stopped performing.”

  “A breakdown?” Billy snorted. “I had a brawl was more like it.”

  The manager set his coffee mug on the table. “You really think a breakdown stalled his career? Nah. A cheating ex endeared him to fans. What destroyed him? What stopped him from getting another gig was when he punched the recording producer in the face and threatened to break both his arms.”

  The color drained from Lacey’s face. “How on earth did you keep something like that out of the press?”

  Chip shrugged. “Luckily it happened behind closed doors, and the producer chalked it up to some sporting event, but he basically shut all the doors of opportunity for Billy.”

  “Which is why we’re here,” Billy said wearily. He wondered if she’d let him nap in her dressing room.

  Lacey slid to her feet. “Well, I should check on things.” She motioned toward the kitchen.

  “Thanks for the breakfast,” Billy said. “Everything tastes awesome.”

  “Yeah, it’s perfect,” Chip agreed.

  She swiped her hands down the sides of her skirt. “Well, let me know if I can bring you anything else.”

  As she turned to leave, a woman, dragging a young girl, approached the table. “Excuse me? Billy Hardy? I’m Veronica Stone. My daughter and I heard you sing here last night. You’re wonderful.”

  Immediately, he turned on the charm and flashed a wicked grin. “Why thank you, ma’am.”

  The girl tugged on her mother’s hand. Veronica shot a warning to her daughter and asked, “Would you please sign something for me?”

  He looked around, snatched a paper napkin from the neighboring table, unrolled the silverware, and held out his hand. Chip produced a Sharpie, and Billy asked, “Veronica?”

  “Yes.” The woman smiled.

  He shot a grin at the girl, clearly trying to lead her mother away. “What’s your name, darlin’?”

  “Misty,” the girl answered. “My mom played me some of your songs before last night, and your lyrics are almost as good as Taylor Swift’s.”

  Had the tween just compared him to a pop-country girl?

  Chip laughed. “He’s here through the Fourth.”

  Billy handed Veronica the napkin. To Misty, he said, “That’s what my baby sister told me just last month, so now I’ll just have to keep working on my lyrics, then.”

  The mother took the pass. “Thank you. This is a great place, so I’m sure we’ll be regulars, and we’ll definitely make it back for Thursday, before the Fourth of July fireworks.”

  Misty looked at the napkin. “I want to be a country star one day. I’ve almost finished my first song.”

  “Well, you take your time with that,” he advised.

  The mother smoothed the girl’s hair, pride in her voice. “Misty sings Taylor Swift songs, but I think she’s going to learn some new lyrics this afternoon. I dug out all my old CDs.” Her mother swallowed and a sad expression flitted over her face. “Misty sings at the hospital in the afternoon. Her younger brother has heart disease,” she said, almost apologetically.

  Chip perked up. “Hospital? Mercy General Medical Center?”

  Billy blanched.

  Veronica’s face brightened. “Yes.”

  Chip said, “Billy’s scheduled to make an appearance there in,” he made a show of checking his large-faced watch, “two hours. Noon to one. Meet and greet before heading to the café.”

  Veronica nodded. “Great. So we’ll see you there.”

  Billy stood and shook her hand and then Misty’s. “See you soon.”

  When his phone buzzed, he glanced at the caller and then wa
ved the phone at Chip. “Let me get this. Be right back.”

  He stepped outside into the blazing sun and engaged the caller, listening for about two minutes too long before ending the call with an aggravated snap. Imagine his lying, cheating ex-girlfriend calling him the day after he returned to the stage! Shawna was a menace, and if she thought she could waltz back into his life, well, she could think again. No way would he ever be ready to make nice with her. Especially after hearing her breathy plans for a reunion. Hell no would he welcome her back into his life, let alone tell her the name of his hotel.

  Shawna had lied right up until the end. Hell, she was still lying, claiming the notebook she stole from him were songs she’d written. As if she could string a decent-sounding phrase together. The one song she’d written on her own had tanked.

  But this wasn’t about Shawna.

  It was about him. He needed to prove he could do this on his own. That he could be back on stage, back on the charts. He scrubbed a hand down his face.

  A different face flashed in his mind’s eye. Lacey, with her maple-syrup-colored eyes and light brown hair, was the exact opposite of Shawna. And unlike Shawna, Lacey actually wanted Billy to succeed. Had hired him when he was down on his luck.

  He shoved his phone in his back pocket and flung open the doors to the café. Shawna wanted his hotel’s name, which meant she might come looking for him. Classic move on her part. He thought about his room’s view of the pool, the noise from the kids squealing, and the teens blasting their own brand of music. That would completely ruin his concentration. The cheerleaders had whistled at him that morning, so what would it be like when he returned that evening? He cringed. What if they practiced all night long again?

  Most girls he’d known only wanted to sink their hooks into him, to use him for one thing or another. Granted, when they’d wanted to use his body, he hadn’t exactly put up a fight, but then they had been bedding the Billy Hardy, the guy on the stage they’d thought they knew or whose voice they’d sang along with on the radio. That kind of sex had lost its appeal years ago.

  He stomped back to the booth and collapsed, happy to see a fresh cup of coffee at least.

  Maybe Chip could get his room upgraded to an ocean view. Something calming to take his mind off charity gigs involving hospitals. He cringed at the dark memory of his sister fighting for her life after the same accident that had killed their parents ten years ago. And then she’d caught some virus while in the hospital. She’d survived, but kids and hospitals made his stomach churn.

  A crowd of soccer kids entered, their cleats clicking on the floor snapped him back to the present. They ordered noisily, and Billy wondered if he’d ever get his groove back.

  Closing his eyes, he pictured his apartment. The thumping from the bar music below had done little to inspire him. “Chip, I need to find a quiet place to write.”

  “I know. Why not back at the hotel? I’m sure it’s quiet during the day.”

  “I can’t concentrate. I’ll never write anything there. My room overlooks the pool.” He tilted his head back. If he couldn’t write, then why the hell was he even trying to return?

  “What do you suggest?” Chip picked up a muffin and sliced it open.

  “I need somewhere where it’s quiet and I won’t be disturbed.”

  Chip exhaled. “Maybe Lacey can book a different hotel. We negotiated the room and board into the contract.”

  “Let’s find her.” His gaze swept the dining room, passing over the darkened stage. He’d plead his case to her face.

  “The hospital?” Chip reminded him. “Maybe we can ask her after your gig.”

  “We have time now.” He had to shake the damn writer’s block and steer clear of his lying ex-girlfriend, and he couldn’t do that in a noisy hotel.

  The soccer team left, taking their drinks and noise with them. The café returned to blessedly quiet, and an image of the dressing room with the narrow sofa hit his weary mind. Hell, he’d stayed in worse. And it would offer him privacy.

  “Let’s find her. She must be in the back,” he barked at Chip. “I’ve got a plan.”

  …

  Lacey blinked. “You want to move in where?”

  “Here,” Billy said.

  Was he serious? She glanced passed him to Chip. “What’s wrong with the hotel?”

  “Too noisy,” Chip answered. “But I plan to keep my room there.”

  They’d shuffled her into her tiny office. She’d been awake since five that morning, so perhaps she wasn’t hearing him correctly, but…

  Billy cleared his throat. “The dressing room had a bathroom and sofa. It’s perfect.”

  She cringed. It needed a major renovation. “You can’t stay in the dressing room.”

  “I can’t stay at the hotel.” His lips parted to reveal a charming grin. “Please.”

  The idea of Billy Hardy staying in her café floored her. She blurted, “I have a guest room upstairs.”

  His whole expression shifted from pleading to relief. “You do?”

  “Uh, yeah.” Had she just invited him to stay with her?

  Chip clapped his hands. “Perfect.”

  She frowned. “But I’m not sure—”

  Billy grabbed her hand. “Come on, Lacey.”

  She looked down at where his fingers held hers, and tingles danced up her arms. She shook her head. “It’s not a good idea.” Not with the way she wanted to resurrect those college fantasies.

  He released his hold on her. “I just need peace and quiet. You won’t even know I’m there.”

  He was probably right. Since a month before opening, she’d barely set foot in her apartment above the café. Her every waking moment revolved around making her new business a success.

  He rocked back on his heels. He expected her to decline. But he also looked prepared to argue.

  She sighed. What risk would there be having him on the premises? She had already taken the biggest risk of her life opening this café. She caved. “Okay.”

  Chip blew out a breath. “Great. Now that that’s settled, can we please go so we’re not late?”

  “Late? Where are you going?” she asked.

  Billy grimaced. “Chip booked me for this charity gig at Mercy General.”

  Chip opened the office door. “And we need to call a cab to get us there on time.”

  She grabbed some discount cards from her desk and followed them to the front of the house. She would give the cards to the hospital staff as a goodwill gesture and to spread her name. Business was manageable for a Tuesday, and with her assistant manager handling the afternoon customers, she made a snap decision. “I’ll drive you.”

  She led the men out the back and into her sedan, still barely believing she would have the Billy Hardy staying in her apartment.

  Halfway to the hospital, Billy drawled, “Thanks for letting me stay with you. We’ll get my stuff after the gig.”

  Her stomached flipped at his lopsided grin and deep country twang. Funny, she noticed his accent was a lot thicker when he turned on the charm. If he only knew how many fantasies he’d starred in during her twenties.

  She nodded but remained quiet as she drove to Mercy General Medical Center.

  Once in the parking lot, Billy paused and sighed heavily, but Chip rambled about positive publicity that would be good for his image. Lacey was pretty sure Billy only marched inside to shut Chip up.

  Spacious and bright, the reception area was definitely welcoming.

  Chip greeted the woman behind the gray-and-glass desk. “Good afternoon. I’m Chip Mortenson with Billy Hardy. We’re here to meet Emma Henderson in Cardiology.”

  The receptionist beamed. “Oh yes!” She stood and shook Chip’s hand. “I’ll let her know you’re here.”

  Chip grinned over his shoulder at Billy. “This is going to be great.”

  “One hour,” Billy mumbled.

  Lacey noticed a fine sheen across the top of Billy’s forehead. His fingers flexed around the guitar
case’s handle, making his knuckles white. “Hey.” She touched his arm. “Are you okay?”

  With shallow breaths, he nodded. “Fine.”

  She turned to say something to Chip, but a woman in penguin scrubs appeared. “So glad you made it. I’m Nurse Emma. The children are over the moon about your visit.”

  Lacey swore she heard Billy swallow. What on earth? The tension rolling off his body hinted at a phobia toward hospitals. She followed in silence as Emma and Chip chatted as they made their way down the long, vividly colored hallway. They stopped in front of a window where she could see about ten children playing inside, and on the far end of the room, adults seated in folding chairs formed a semicircle around a lone chair, probably where Billy would sit.

  She reached for the door at the same time she noticed Billy’s frozen feet. He’d stopped all forward momentum, and instinct had her slipping her fingers through his and giving them a squeeze. She ignored the surge of heat that enveloped her when she leaned into him to whisper, “You can do this.”

  He released her hand, but it took several moments before his empty eyes finally focused on her upturned face. With a hollow smile, he whispered, “Thanks.”

  “Billy!” Misty rushed up to him.

  “Hey, kid.” Billy smiled down at her, but Lacey could tell he was still a little dazed.

  She recognized Veronica Stone and waved, assuming the other adults were either the parents of the children or the hospital staff.

  “…so without wasting any more of our precious hour, I’d like to thank all the parents for their support, and I’d like to thank country singer Billy Hardy!” Emma started the applause, but the children bounced and smiled and pointed at his boots and wide-eyed his guitar.

  Billy coughed, cleared his throat, and looked to Lacey. She tried to offer him a glittery smile, one that said she had faith in him and everything would be okay, but she didn’t know what his issues were with the place, and some part of her wanted nothing more than to drag him away and yell at Chip for making Billy uncomfortable. The look he shot her reminded her of the fleeting moment on stage last night when he looked vulnerable. Exposed.