by Sandy James
The man didn’t even turn his head to look at her, seemingly enraptured with her horse. “You gotta be Chelsea. Ethan told me this be your horse.”
“He is. His name’s Hamlet.”
“Fine-lookin’ animal. Standardbred. Don’t see no racehorse in his eyes, though,” the man said.
Ethan strode to her side. “Joe Alvin, this is—”
“Chelsea Harris,” Joe said. “I know. Thanks to you, we don’t listen to much else ’round here no more.”
“You listen to my music?” she asked, a smile blossoming.
“The boy has it blastin’ in the barn almost constantly.” He finally turned to face her. “Pleasure to meet ya.”
Swallowing a gasp, she willed herself not to react. The right side of the man’s face was a mass of scars, burns most likely. But his blue eyes held intelligence, and his smile seemed genuine.
She held out her hand. “The pleasure’s all mine.”
After he gave her a firm handshake with a callused hand, he turned back to Hamlet. “This one’s too gentle. No wonder he didn’t make a good racehorse.”
Something in the authoritative way he made that claim made Chelsea curious. “Have you been around a lot of racehorses?”
Joe let out a chuckle and stepped to the next stall as she followed. “More than my share. Worked as a groom ’fore I served. Trained some after. Thoroughbred, standardbred. Was damn good at it too.”
“Why did you stop?”
Inclining his head at Ethan, Joe said, “This one’s daddy begged me to work for him after I got burned in that barn fire. Couldn’t refuse Crawfish nothin’. Came to the Walkers when Ethan was barely walkin’.”
“Uncle Joe…” Ethan heaved a sigh. “Please don’t start telling ‘good ol’ days’ stories.”
“They’re mine to tell, ain’t they?” Joe said with a smirk.
“Uncle Joe?” Chelsea quirked a brow. There was a lot about Ethan she had to learn.
“Yep,” Joe said. “Raised this boy while his daddy and mama were on the road.”
This endearing man was going to be a fountain of information about Ethan, and she planned to fish for every story she could. Knowing about his past would help her understand him. “I can’t wait to hear all about his childhood.”
Joe grinned. “Well, there was this one time when he weren’t no more than five—”
“Enough of that.” Ethan took her hand and dragged her down the aisle of the barn. “We need to see about a saddle.”
Tripping to keep up with him, Chelsea said, “I thought you knew where I could get a good used saddle.”
He didn’t stop until they were in the tack room. “I already got it for you.” Pointing to a beautiful leather Western saddle, he said, “Bought it yesterday. Was going to tell you last night, but…Screwed that up royally, didn’t I?”
She lightly ran her fingers over the floral tooling on the chestnut-hued leather. “It’s beautiful.” The middle of the seat and pommel were smooth black leather, and the underside soft sheepskin. “Was this your friend’s?”
“Yep. She was happy to sell it to someone she knew would use it. Said it was too pretty to sit around gathering dust.”
Had she searched for weeks, she couldn’t have found one half as perfect. “How much do I owe you?”
Ethan shook his head. “There’s a matching bridle. Reins and a breast collar, too. But you’ll have to get a good saddle pad when you get your tack. We need to shop for that soon. You can borrow any of mine ’til then.”
“We?” Then she processed what he’d said. As if she’d let him buy her a saddle, especially one so expensive. “I can’t let you pay for this.”
“Too late.”
“Ethan…”
* * *
Ethan shrugged, feeling a little like some boy with a crush who’d just handed the object of his affection a wilting rose. “It’s only a saddle, and it’s not like I can’t afford it.”
Having expected an argument, he was again surprised at Chelsea Harris when she turned, pushed her arms around his neck, and kissed him.
The simple kiss didn’t stay simple for long. Every time he touched her, he went a bit crazy. Didn’t even matter that they were only a few feet from Joe or anyone else who might stop by the barn. He kissed her long and deep, loving how her tongue glided over his, sending heat racing through his veins. If they finally came together…he had no doubt it would be amazing.
She eased away first. “Since Joe’s here to help you, I really should be going.” A yawn slipped out that she tried to hide behind her hand. “Didn’t sleep much last night.”
“Me, either,” Ethan admitted. “Sorry I was such an ass.”
“You had every right to be mad. I’m glad we can start over.”
He shot her a sly smile. “Are you coming to visit Hamlet tomorrow?”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
He followed her out of the tack room, watching the sway of her long hair as Chelsea walked back up the aisle. “We should talk about the duet and—”
Turning to face him, she shook her head. “That’s a dead issue, Ethan.”
“Not to me, it’s not.”
“Who’s dead?” Joe asked.
Having spent his whole life respecting the man, Ethan had to bite back a sarcastic remark about Joe’s penchant for butting into conversations. “No one’s dead.”
“The duet is dead,” Chelsea said.
Joe cocked his head. “What duet?”
“The one I’m singing with her for her charity album,” Ethan explained, hoping she would realize that once he was on board, he would see his commitment through.
Obviously not appeased, Joe said, “Charity? Which charity you singin’ for?”
“He’s not singing,” Chelsea insisted.
Getting a bit aggravated that she wasn’t being grateful he’d agreed, Ethan turned to face her. “I am singing.”
She shook her stubborn head. “You were so adamant before that you didn’t want to sing with me. It’s clear you don’t want to do the song.”
Singing his parents’ signature song wouldn’t be easy. There were just so many bad memories of all the times they’d left him when he’d been too young to understand why they always had to be on the road. But after the way he’d treated her, he would find the strength to sing the duet. “I changed my mind.”
“I changed my mind, too,” Chelsea insisted.
“I can’t believe you’re arguing over this when I’m giving you what you want.”
“But it isn’t what you want.”
Joe watched the exchange, his gaze switching back and forth between two of them until the poor man had to be dizzy. He finally put his fingers to his mouth and let out an eardrum-piercing whistle. “For the love of…Will one of you please answer my question? What charity?”
“It’s for cancer research,” Ethan replied.
“Colon cancer,” Chelsea added.
“The boy don’t like singin’ much,” Joe said, slipping his hands in his back pockets and rocking on his heels.
“Which is why he’s not doing the duet,” Chelsea insisted. “After what Russ said—”
“Oh, hell,” Joe said. “Russ stuck his nose in this? What did he say?”
“He didn’t stick his nose in anything,” she explained. “He was working at the bar when Ethan up and left and he told me Ethan reacted so rudely because he hates singing.”
Ethan heaved a sigh. “I don’t hate singing.”
“You’ve been adamant from the moment I brought up the duet that you wouldn’t do it.”
Hands on his hips, he glared at her. “I will.”
“You should,” Joe said. “Good cause and all.”
Ethan nodded. “See? Even Joe thinks I should sing with you.”
Her eyes found Ethan’s. “You’re sure you want to do this?”
“I’ll admit, I hate recording—”
“Then you shouldn’t—”
“Oh, for s
hit’s sake…will you let me finish?” At least she had the sense to bite her lip and stop talking when he was close to blowing his stack. “But…it’s for your father’s memory, so I’ll sing with you. Okay?”
Joe cuffed Ethan on the shoulder. “My boy always does the right thing.” On that pronouncement, he headed into the tack room.
“Are we agreed now?” Ethan asked.
Still not looking convinced, Chelsea chose to put the discussion off. “We can talk about details later.” Taking his hand, she moved close enough to rise on tiptoes and brush a kiss over his mouth. “I should go.”
After a squeeze of his hand, she hurried out of the barn. A few moments later, the roar of her Land Rover’s engine signaled her departure.
Not surprisingly, Joe came out of the tack room, grinning in his goofy way. “That one’s a keeper, boy.”
Since he’d been “boy” to Joe all his life, Ethan didn’t bother scolding him for the rather derogatory nickname. He’d learned a long time ago that Joe had his own way of doing things and changing the man was impossible. “You think so, huh?”
“I do,” Joe replied, stepping out into the barn. He stared down the empty aisle the same way Ethan was. “But she’s a singer.”
“She is.”
“A good singer judgin’ by the music you been playin’ lately. Is she as big a star as your daddy and mama?”
“Pretty damn close.”
Joe glanced over to Ethan. “Think you can handle that, boy?”
“That’s the million-dollar question, Joe.”
“I’ll tell you this…it’s past time you settled down and started havin’ some babies.”
With a scoff, Ethan shook his head. “For God’s sake, Joe. I’m not looking for a wife.”
“Why the hell not? What are you now, forty-nine? Fifty?”
“You know damn well that I’m thirty-five,” Ethan said, putting his hands on his hips and trying to get Joe to back off with a frown.
As usual, Joe wasn’t the least bit fazed even though he was a good eight inches shorter and thirty pounds lighter. “I’m sayin’ you’re close to past your prime. Better grab this one while she’s still available. Won’t be long, I reckon.”
“Past my prime?”
“Hell, you wait any longer,” Joe insisted, “and you won’t be able to get your pecker hard no more.”
Chuckling at the absurdity of the conversation, Ethan said, “My pecker works just fine, old man.”
“Then marry this one. Give her some little ones. She’ll make ya happy.”
“Why are you so hot for me to get married all of a sudden?”
Rubbing his beard-stubbled chin, Joe lost himself in thought before he replied. “I ain’t gettin’ younger, neither. Need me some grandbabies before I’m too old to teach ’em to sit a saddle proper.”
Since Joe didn’t have any children of his own, Ethan couldn’t help but be touched by Joe’s easy acceptance that any of Ethan’s kids would be Joe’s surrogate grandchildren. But that sentimentality wasn’t enough to make Ethan go out and buy Chelsea a ring. Hell, he’d barely begun to accept that they were going to be spending time together. “I’ll take things at my own pace, if that’s okay with you.”
With a snorted laugh, Joe grabbed a halter and started to open General’s gate. “Think hard on what you’ll lose if you let this one walk away. How many other women would understand the kind of life you’ve led and be willin’ to put up with the infernal baggage you seem intent to drag around with ya?”
On that, Ethan walked away to drown his troubled thoughts in hard work.
Chapter Ten
After nearly a week of seeing Chelsea for only short snatches of time when she came to visit Hamlet, Ethan missed her company so much that he found himself at Black Stallion to catch her Friday show.
Her show tonight seemed different, but just because she’d chosen an entirely new set of songs made it no less entertaining. The woman knew how to perform, reminding him a lot of Savannah. Both the women could capture and hold a crowd in a way that could only be called a God-given talent.
He didn’t want to look too deeply into why he needed to be there for her second Black Stallion performance. Yet something inside told him that she’d appreciate the gesture. So here he sat, wondering how she’d managed to reach him so quickly and so completely. Would she be surprised he’d shown up?
Ethan had to smile as he watched Joe nodding along with the beat. Even though Joe barely knew her, Chelsea had captivated him every bit as easily and completely as she had Ethan. When he’d told Joe he was heading into town to see Chelsea’s show, Ethan hadn’t expected the man to tag along. But Joe had insisted, even changing into his “dress jeans” for the occasion. Then he’d talked Ethan’s ear off the whole trip, singing her praises in his twangy accent as if he were trying to sell Ethan a good horse.
Great teeth. Perfect conformation. Pleasant temperament.
Ethan didn’t need to have Chelsea’s finer qualities touted to him. He was already infatuated. His only concern at that moment was how to get her out of Black Stallion without Joe or the press tagging along. Brad had invited him to a late-night cookout. After Savannah’s performance at Words & Music, they were heading to Brad’s enormous house to eat and enjoy a roaring bonfire. While he might not have asked if Chelsea could tag along, Ethan knew his friend would make her welcome. Besides, she’d already met Savannah, and they’d seemed to click.
Now he only needed to get Chelsea out of there with no one tailing them.
Joe leaned closer. “Sings like an angel.”
Ethan nodded.
“Likes horses too,” Joe added.
Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Ethan merely nodded again.
Thankfully the conversation was interrupted when the crowd rose in a standing ovation as Chelsea ended her last song on a note that seemed to go on forever.
* * *
Chelsea couldn’t keep her eyes from drifting to the table where Ethan sat. Again. Tonight, his presence had been a comfort and gave her more passion as she sang instead of causing her to lose her lyrics. When the last song of her encore was still ringing in her ears, all she could think about was whether he would come to her dressing room to see her.
The press had been hanging around, and she knew how Ethan felt about being cornered by photographers and reporters. She wasn’t sure how they could get away from Black Stallion unscathed.
Assuming he even wanted to leave with her…
Feeling the energy still flowing through her, she hurried to her dressing room. She whipped off the scratchy sequined shirt and tossed it on the dressing table chair. The sweaty black pants followed. She wanted a shower, but that would have to wait until she got away from the bar. Settling for a trucker bath, she washed up in the sink, slapped on some more deodorant, and donned the fresh clothes she’d brought along. She’d barely finished dressing before there was a knock at the door.
“Coming!”
It wasn’t Ethan’s smiling face that greeted her. Instead, Joe stood there, grinning.
“Um…hi.” She tried to look around him. “I thought Ethan was with you.”
“Oh, he is. Got stopped by that fancy guy that runs this place. He’ll talk the boy’s ear off before he turns him loose.”
“I see…” She opened the door a little wider. “Please come in.”
Settling on the couch, Joe kept smiling.
“Did you enjoy the show?” she asked, trying to break the silence.
“Yes, ma’am. You’re quite the singer. You’d make Ethan’s mama and daddy proud.”
“That’s quite a compliment,” Chelsea said, touched at his emphatic praise.
“Not many can work a crowd like Crawfish and Dottie,” Joe added. “No, ma’am.”
The door opened, and Ethan came in. Nearly slamming the door, he leveled a frown at Chelsea. “Now I know why there’s press crawling all over this place.” He pulled his phone from his front jean pocket when it signaled
a text.
“There really were a lot of them.” Normally, a couple of reporters or photographers might hang around a smaller show like this. Tonight, she’d been informed there was a crowd waiting at the stage door.
Ethan was still texting, which she found incredibly rude until she saw the anger on his face.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“I told you, I know why there’s a gaggle of reporters tonight,” he announced as he worked on his phone.
“Then tell us, boy,” Joe said, showing where Ethan had learned his impatience.
Instead of replying, Ethan turned the phone to them.
Squinting, she needed a second to figure out what she was looking at. Then the picture registered. It was a shot of Ethan sitting at the table in the Black Stallion. “Who took that?”
“Not sure,” he replied. “But that’s only one of a shitload. Russ said we’re…what’s the word? Trending?”
She couldn’t contain a gasp. “We’re trending?”
“Someone recognized me. I guess lots of people took pictures.” He took his phone back in his hands, touched the screen a few times, and then showed them another picture. This time, it was him going into her dressing room, her red hair clearly visible over his shoulder.
“Someone close is doing this,” she said, feeling angry and a bit sick to her stomach. No matter how many times she’d dealt with media storms like this, she always felt as if her privacy were being raked across the coals. Normally, she would handle the press with skill and a note of nonchalance, but knowing how much this had to be annoying Ethan made her typical calm disappear. “I have no idea who could’ve taken that picture.”
“Probably Robert,” Ethan said. “Drumming up business, as usual.”
As her father had often told her, there was a price for success. The more triumph, the higher the cost. Sometimes it just felt like she might be paying a bit too much.
“I guess people are speculating that we’re a couple,” he grumbled.
“Well ain’t ya?” Joe asked.
Chelsea wasn’t about to answer that. With this stupid social media bullshit, Ethan was likely to want to leave skid marks getting away from her.