To Win Her Trust

by Mackenzie Crowne

  “How lovely.” Pam turned from Yearning to smile. “What gage wire do you use?”

  “I saw a piece of hers at Putnam’s last week,” someone whispered behind Ronald.

  Dan leaned forward and squeezed her arm briefly. “Honey?” He dropped his hand and linked it with Paul’s. “We were wondering. Why do you go by anonymous? I mean, it’s a brilliant marketing strategy, don’t get me wrong. Makes people wonder, but why not use your name?”

  “I admit I’m curious about that myself,” the council president added.

  “I—” Oh, God. “I—” Her gaze flew to Ronald who, as far as she was concerned, was a dead man walking. Her lungs convulsed on a wheeze. Breathe, CC!

  “I believe that might have something to do with me.”

  What little breath she had whooshed from her lungs like a tsunami wave, and the hair on the back of her neck prickled and stood on end. Excited whispers broke the sudden silence, and the crowd crushed closer. She turned slowly, sure she must be mistaken. The blood drained from her head, leaving her dizzy, as her gaze clashed with the green eyes she hadn’t seen since she was nine.

  With his typical entourage surrounding him, Curt stood three feet away. “Hello, CC.”

  The years hadn’t been kind, from what she could see. Live and in person, her father didn’t have access to the usual airbrushing at his disposal on those magazine covers he appeared on at every opportunity. Though always on the thin side, his body had slid toward skinny and the toll of his rock ’n’ roll lifestyle showed on his aged and haggard face.

  What the hell was he doing here? Her mother had no idea she’d consented to Ronald’s request, and even if CC had told Kris about the show, her cousin would just as soon spit in Curt’s eye then aide him. She’d checked the brochure Ronald had dropped off yesterday. No mention of her name was given. How the hell had Curt known she’d be here?

  Confused fury flooded her brain, and her angry gasp kick-started her struggling lungs. “How did you know where to find me?”

  “You two know each other?” A tinkling laugh gurgled in Dan’s throat. “Oh, I can’t believe this. I’m standing two feet from Curt Jenson, Paul. Curt Jenson!” His lashes fluttered as if he were about to swoon, and then suddenly, his eyes widened. He slapped a hand to the clip on his waist and whipped out his phone. “Would you mind if I took a selfie, Curt? Oh, my friends will never believe this.”

  CC couldn’t believe it either. Apparently, Dan was a chronic uber-fan. He scurried up beside Curt, grinned, and stretched out his arm to snap several shots. She bristled as Dan cooed over a concert of Curt’s he and Paul had been to recently.

  The young fan’s selfie started a stampede. Cameras flashed as she stared in disbelief at the spectacle of wealthy patrons slobbering all over themselves to be photographed with the rock legend.

  A familiar face beyond the melee caught her eye. Bobby Oakley, her father’s long-time base guitarist, had been a small beacon of light during those days Curt dragged her around on that hellish tour. Though she hadn’t known it at the time, he’d been the one to finally put his foot down and free Kris and her from her father’s manic prison. As he had so many times back then, he offered her a sad smile.

  Tears stung at the back of her throat as she returned his silent greeting.

  “How do you know each other?”

  CC ignored George Truman’s question and turned a pointed stare at Curt. “How, Curt? How did you know to find me here?”

  He dipped his head to scrawl his name across a show brochure, then handed it off to a waiting fan. He glanced up with a wincing smile. “When you wouldn’t answer my calls, a…friend took pity on me.”

  A friend? What friend? Only Tuck and Ronald knew her schedule and neither of them would….

  Fingers of apprehension danced up her spine. She hadn’t demanded Ronald expand on the reason for his odd behavior that day he pleaded with her to do the show. Maybe she should have, but no, that couldn’t be. How would he even know about Curt?

  She jerked her head in Ronald’s direction, but he paid no attention to the mini-drama taking place. He faced the back of the gallery, his focus on something across the room. She followed his gaze and surprise made her blink.

  Relief washed through her and left her legs wobbly. Like a modern day knight come to rescue her from the madness, Tuck crossed the room in an easy, loose-hipped gait. The gallery lights fired his golden blond locks with red and blue highlights, and his black-on-black tuxedo rode his wide shoulders and trim hips with the precision only a custom job could achieve.

  Uneasiness pricked her relief at his lack of a smile and turned to dread when Tuck’s sober gaze locked on Curt and stayed for a long moment before sliding to her. Betrayal slashed at her as his words echoed in her head. “You’ll regret not finishing it down the road.”

  Oh dear God.

  He slowed his steps, and when he reached her, he held out his hand.

  She took a full step back and spoke in a condemning whisper. “How could you?”

  Though guilt dulled the blue of his eyes, in typical Tuck fashion, he went on the offensive. “Relax, sunshine. I came in the back door.”

  What the back door had to do with anything, she didn’t know and didn’t care. What he’d done was a deal breaker. Before she could tell him so, a squeal pierced the air and she turned. Dan’s face was lit up like a child’s on Christmas as he stared at Tuck. Amongst the renewed chattering excitement of the crowd, the small smile riding her father’s lips confirmed what her heart, even now, cried couldn’t be true.

  He stuck out his hand to Tuck. “I think my daughter’s relieved to see a friendly face.”

  CC’s eyes slid shut briefly as her last hope crumbled along with her heart. When she opened them again, her childhood nightmares had returned in living color.

  The room erupted in chaos, with questions flying from nearly every mouth. Dan was beside himself with excitement, snapping pictures as he danced from foot to foot. Pam turned her baby blues on Tuck to ask if he was in the market…for art, she added, almost as an afterthought. Her husband, George, leaned toward Ronald to grumble he didn’t like surprises. CC tuned out Ronald’s wheedling apology.

  Through it all, her father held her gaze. “I’m sorry,” he mouthed.

  Not sure if his apology was for the current fiasco or for the past, she shrugged. What did it matter? Any affection she’d carried in her heart for the man who fathered her had died long ago. He was a stranger and, surprisingly, his presence no longer had the power to hurt her.

  If this meeting had come three weeks ago, she’d no doubt be passed out on the floor. Instead, her heartbeat tripped along at a steady beat and her breathing remained even. As if she were an uninvolved witness to the shambles that was her life, nothing touched her. Not fear, not anger, not even sadness.

  Perhaps the shock of Tuck’s betrayal was responsible for her numbness, or maybe facing her father again had finally freed her. Whatever the case, she was done. Done with this ridiculous circus and done dreaming of a life she’d never had a chance at to begin with.

  * * * *

  Tuck kicked his condo door shut behind him and tore at the bow of his tie. After stomping into the kitchen, he paused before the refrigerator, curled his fingers into a fist, and then thought better of slamming his hand into the stainless steel appliance. Jacking up his catching hand two days before training camp would only land him on the injured list.

  His cell phone buzzed in his pocket, and he scrambled to retrieve it. “It’s about damn time.” Expecting CC’s return call after the five messages he’d left her over the past hour, disappointment crashed into him like a wrecking ball. Gracie’s picture on the screen made him scowl. He thumbed the screen and answered with a curt, “What?”

  “Well, hello to you, too.”

  His shoulders slumped on a sigh. “Sorry. I’m in a shitty ass mood.”

  “Uh-oh. What did you do?”

  “Why do you assume I did something?” He cl
enched his teeth at her soft chuckle. He shrugged out of his tux jacket and tossed it on the back of the couch as he stalked across the condo toward his wood shop. “What’s up with you women? A guy tries to do something nice, show a little support, and it blows up in our faces.”

  “I take it we’re talking about CC?”

  He tucked the phone between cheek and shoulder before snapping the cufflink from one wrist and rolling the linen sleeve to his elbow. “All I did was show up at her art show tonight. She got pissed and took off while I was surrounded by a handful of autograph junkies. Now I can’t find her. She didn’t go home, and she won’t answer my calls.”

  A quiet hum sounded in his ear. “Why is she pissed?”

  “How the fuck should I know?” He paused in the act of rolling up his other sleeve, plucked the phone from his shoulder, and squeezed his eyes shut. “Okay, so she asked me not to come because she was afraid my presence would draw unwanted attention.”

  “A logical concern. Did it?”

  He opened his eyes and gritted his teeth. “What do you think?”

  Her sigh was long and windy. “You should have respected her wishes.”

  Yeah, he probably should have, but tonight was a huge step for her. He’d needed to be there. Just to make sure she was all right, and he’d taken precautions. Christ, he’d even slipped the security guard a C-note so he could sneak in through the back door and avoid the paparazzi.

  His nostrils flared on a wry scoff. “Not that it would have mattered if I had stayed away. By the time I arrived, the place was already a circus. Her father was there.”

  “Curt Jensen?”

  “The one and only. Along with his entourage.” The memory of her, standing like a deer in the headlights at the center of the chaos, made his stomach muscles clench with frustrated anger. Guilt scraped at the soft tissue of his mind for his part in her obvious discomfort but, the truth was, if not for the crowd of art lovers crowding the space, her anxiety would have gotten a lot worse. He would have taken great pleasure in driving her father’s nose through his famous face to the base of his skull.

  “You said they were estranged.”

  Ripped from his homicidal thoughts, a harsh laugh blew through his lips. “Estranged is too mild a word for their relationship. She hates the bastard. With good reason.”

  A moment passed. “Then maybe it’s not you she’s pissed at.”

  “Maybe, but doubtful.” The look of betrayal on her face when she’d avoided his reach had nearly knocked the wind out of him, but she’d pulled a Houdini vanishing act before he could drag her off somewhere private and demand to know what had put the cold steel of finality in her eyes.

  Gracie’s understanding murmur drifted to his ear. “Give her some time, Tuck.”

  He picked up a sanding stone beside the bench he’d been working on earlier that day. “I don’t have time to give her. I leave for camp in thirty-six hours, remember?”

  “Then keep trying to reach her. I’ll try, and get Jake and Max on board, too. She’s bound to answer one of us eventually.”

  A band of iron squeezed his chest. What if she didn’t? He knew good-bye when he saw it, and her glittering green eyes had practically screamed, “Adios, asshole.” He shoved a hand through his hair. “Thanks, Gracie. Do me a favor?”

  “Anything.”

  “Even if she makes you promise not to tell me where she is, call me right away if you talk to her. I’m worried about her.”

  He spent the next day and a half frantic with worry. CC might have overcome the worst of her fears, but it wasn’t like her to go off on her own. She hadn’t returned to her condo. He knew because he’d checked every room and closet, twice, much to Kris’s consternation, and a call to Natalie proved she hadn’t hopped on a plane to go hide out at her mother’s home in L.A. As Friday night passed into Saturday, and then Sunday arrived, neither he nor his friends had had any luck in reaching her. Finally, he’d bullied Kris into admitting she’d heard from CC, and she was fine. She simply didn’t want to talk to him.

  Red-hot fury replaced the worry as he packed his bags to leave for Syracuse. He refused to name the ache below his heart hurt as he climbed into the car service limo, and by the time the private jet touched down in upstate New York, he wanted nothing more than to forget he’d ever laid eyes on CC Calhoun.

  Chapter 26

  CC dropped her head to her workbench with a groan. “God. Why can’t everyone just leave me alone?”

  The doorbell rang again, and she slid from her stool to answer the door, grumbling beneath her breath. At least she didn’t have to worry Tuck would be standing on the stoop. An improbability after his last, curse-laden message, but one she’d rather avoid just the same.

  Apparently, he hadn’t appreciated being left at the gallery and liked having his calls ignored even less. Too bad. She’d taken the opportunity to slip out of the gallery without him noticing while he’d been busy signing autographs and taking selfies with his adoring fans. She’d ignored his call five minutes later, and after shutting off her phone and checking into the first hotel she came to, she’d ordered a bottle of wine from room service and cried herself to sleep. The next morning, she’d ignored the dozen voice mails, calling Kris to tell her she was all right, and had spent the remainder of the weekend, including her birthday, feeling sorry for herself, but she was done with that.

  With the start of training camp this morning, Tuck’s calls had stopped, and she’d promised herself so would her tears. It was time to get on with her life, and if her friends and family would just cooperate, she would. Only Kris seemed to be on her side. Between phone calls from her mother and visits from Max, as well as Gracie and Jake, she was ready to scream.

  Walter bumped against her thigh, and she curled her fingers around his collar. She yanked open the door, ready to do some of that screaming, but the sight of her father, alone for a change, made her blink.

  “May I come in?”

  Her shoulders sagged. “What’s the point, Curt? I don’t have anything to say.”

  “But I do. I promise I won’t stay long.”

  Too exhausted and heartbroken to argue, she turned and wandered into her studio, leaving him to follow. As she climbed onto her stool, he stopped beside the couch and eyed Walter. The dog gave him a smile.

  Curt shoved his fingers into the pockets of his low-riding jeans. “I had a Rottie once. Smartest animal I ever had.”

  She shot the dog a sidelong glance. “Yeah, well, Walter’s still working on finding his intelligence. Aren’t you, buddy?”

  Smart enough to get you to follow me around with a baggie to pick up my shit.

  She cleared her throat, and her mind of Antonio, and turned back to Curt. “As you can see, I’m working. What is it you wanted to say?”

  He dropped his gaze to the floor. “First. I’m sorry, CC.”

  She arched a brow. “So you said at the gallery.”

  “And you didn’t believe me.”

  “Whether or not I believe you doesn’t matter.”

  He lifted his head, and his eyes were intense when he met her gaze. “It does to me.”

  “Why?” She sighed when he flinched. “I’m not trying to be mean, or even rude. Honestly. We don’t know each other and that’s okay. It makes no difference to me one way or the other. Why, after all this time, are my feelings suddenly important when they never have been before?”

  He lowered himself to the edge of the couch and sat with his hands dangling between his knees. He stared at the floor. “Because I’m dying.” He glanced up and tears swam in his eyes. “And I don’t want to go without telling you how sorry I am for what I did to you.”

  Stunned, she stared. He was dying? “Does Mom know?”

  He nodded. “Why do you think she’s been trying to get you to talk to me? For some reason, she still cares.”

  “She loves you.”

  “I know. I just don’t understand why.”

  CC did, but she didn’t bother e
xplaining that some hearts, once given, could never turn back.

  “I was a shitty father, CC.” A mirthless laugh flared his nostrils. “A shitty man, when it comes down to it. I still am.” He slouched back on the couch. “I let blind ambition run my life, and I ended up missing it.”

  “What’s wrong with you?” she asked quietly.

  “Cancer. My pancreas is riddled with it.” He scraped a palm over his jaw. “Until a few months ago, I didn’t even know what a pancreas was.” A sardonic smile twisted his lips. “Anyway, what I wanted to say is, you’re right not to have anything to do with me. I’m no good. I wasn’t a kid when I met your mother and you were born. I was a grown man, greedy for the spotlight, and I did unspeakable harm in my quest to stay in it.”

  “I’m sorry.” And she was. As numb as she was to him as a father, the man was suffering.

  “Don’t be.” He sat up. “And once I’m dead, don’t ever blame yourself for not having a relationship with me. That’s on me. No one else. You deserved better.”

  She had no idea what to say. Tears stung her eyes and distorted the wire in her fingers when she looked down.

  “Oh, shit. Don’t do that.” He jerked to his feet. “I’ve said what I came to say, and I want to apologize for upsetting you the other night at your show. When Bartolini contacted me and told me you’d be there, I figured it might be my only chance to get you to listen.”

  Her head jerked up, and her heart did a crazy flip in her chest. “Ronald told you where I’d be?”

  “Ronald’s your agent, right?”

  She nodded and struggled to control her breathing.

  “He left a message at my hotel Friday morning, saying he had information regarding you I might be interested in. When I called him back, he gave me the address and time of the showing.”

  Her fingers clenched even as her stomach sunk. “Tuck didn’t tell you I was doing the show?”