No Accounting for Cowboys

by Leah Braemel

Please tell me he’s gone to dinner, or somewhere that’ll take him at least an hour so I can get you into the bedroom and have my way with you.

  “He’s gone out.”

  Okay, not exactly a warm and fuzzy greeting she’d been expecting. She’d figured he’d be all smiles. To still be excited about the afternoon’s success. Whatever had happened, she had an idea to get him out of his funk.

  “I think today calls for some celebration sex, don’t you?” She sauntered over to him, rested her head on his shoulder, and walked her fingers to his fly.

  “No.” He sidestepped her and faced her.

  One pissed off cowboy stared back at her, his eyebrows cranked down hard, his fingers digging into his crossed arms.

  Oh fuck. What had she done to earn that look? “What’s wrong?”

  He dug into his pocket and held up her phone. “I just had a very interesting conversation.”

  There was no hint of warmth in his voice or in his eyes, just cold hard anger. What the hell had happened. Who had called?

  Shit, was he pissed at her for suggesting CJ do his song as a duet? Oh God, had CJ called while she was in the shower to complain about her? Or worse, maybe CJ had called Ruben who had threatened Jake about taking her to a business meeting?

  Except Ruben wouldn’t have called her, nor would have CJ. He only had Jake’s number. “Okay. Who did you have this interesting conversation with?”

  “My mother,” he snapped the words out as if they were poison.

  Suspicions crawled up her spine with icy spiked claws and settled in her chest. Oh, shit. No. Cissy wouldn’t spill the beans about Randy on the phone. She wouldn’t be that cruel. That stupid. And he couldn’t blame her because Randy was his father.

  Settle down. Maybe it was something else entirely. You’re probably overthinking things. Maybe he was just angry Cissy had been in touch with her at all. Maybe he saw that as a betrayal.

  “Okay,” she repeated slowly. “And you’re angry that she phoned me? She might have had a question about a receipt or something because I am your accountant still. It would make sense if she called me.”

  He inhaled a shuddering breath, flexing his fists as if it took all his control to look at her. “Oh yes, she called originally about the payroll. Then she mentioned how sorry she was that you felt it necessary to come out to tell me about Randy instead of letting them handle it. That she was upset with you because you’d promised you wouldn’t tell me he was my fucking father.” Though he’d been controlled when he’d started he ended up yelling the last part.

  Oh fuck. Her skin rose in goose bumps as if her blood had frozen. What stupidity had gotten into Cissy to blab about Randy to Jake over the phone? And what right did Jake have to be mad at her? If he should be mad at anyone he should be pissed at Randy or his mother. At this point, all her arrows were aimed at Cissy.

  “I’m so sorry, Jake. She wasn’t supposed to say anything. Not until Randy had a chance to talk to you himself once we got back.”

  The muscles on his jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed into slits. “How long have you known?” He was back to shouting again “How long have you been fucking lying to me?”

  “I haven’t lied to you. I just couldn’t tell you what I knew.”

  “How. Long. Have. You. Known?” He slammed his fist on the mantel so hard, she worried he might have broken some bones.

  There was no use trying to skirt the truth. “Since the day of the audit. I was in Randy’s office, waiting for him while he and Gabe’s lawyer were discussing whether to keep us as your accountants. I found a letter with the DNA test results proving he was your father.”

  He hissed in a breath.

  “I called him on it, but he said he wanted to tell you face-to-face. Once you got back from the tour.”

  “And you didn’t think to tell me any of this in the two and half weeks you’ve been here?”

  “It wasn’t my secret to tell, Jake. Randy wanted to tell you himself. Face-to-face. He promised he’d tell you as soon as you got home.”

  Roaring in anger, he swept the vase of fake flowers off the mantel. The flowers scattered over the floor, and the silver painted plastic vase bounced off the coffee table leg and rolled beneath the couch. “I thought I could trust you. I thought you were on my side.”

  “I am on your side, Jake. I have always been on your side.” Please believe me. Her body shaking, she wrapped her arms around herself. How had things gone from so right to so wrong so quickly? “I love you. I’ve never said that to a man before. Not even my father.”

  Same as she’d never heard it from any other man until Jake had said it. Now it was spiraling out of reach, caught in a riptide of misplaced emotion.

  “You love me?” he repeated. “You have a funny way of loving people, Paige. If you really loved me, you would have told me that Randy was my father when you first arrived in Nashville. You wouldn’t have lied to my face day after day after day.”

  He paced to the patio door and back to the fireplace, his whole body vibrating with anger. “You know out on the beach today? I was picturing us getting married. Us having kids. I’ve never thought about marriage or kids with any other woman I’ve met.”

  His jaw cranked down, he glared at her and exhaled hard. “You’re just like my mother, aren’t you? You tell me you love me yet you keep secrets from me. Even when you knew I needed to know who my real father was, and you knew who it was, you wouldn’t tell me the truth. That’s not love, Paige. That’s...manipulation.” His voice had fallen flat, as had the expression in his eyes. As if any light, any laughter, had been permanently extinguished.

  “I have never manipulated you. Ever.” She stumbled back. How could he believe she’d ever try something so underhanded?

  “It wasn’t my secret to tell,” she repeated, choking the words out. “You needed to hear it directly from Randy and Cissy. Not me.”

  “And now I have.” He straightened, his eyes the cold gray of the Atlantic pounding on the shore below.

  Paige kept her hands rigid by her side, but it didn’t help ease the slap of his next sentence.

  “I told her you would be back there tonight. But you wouldn’t be doing our books anymore.” He nodded to where her suitcase stood by the front door. “I think I got everything. You’ll have to get whatever you need out of the bathroom. If I forgot anything, email or text Ben and I’ll arrange to have it sent to you. I want you out of here tonight.”

  “Jake, please,” she whispered. She pressed the heel of her hand against her chest. Breathe, just breathe. Oh, God it hurt. “If you’d just think about it, you’ll realize I haven’t lied to you. I haven’t manipulated you. Please...”

  He shook his head and backed away when she reached for him. “No, Paige. We’re done. I want you out of my house by the time I get back. Leave the extra key with Ben.”

  Her stomach heavy, she tottered unsteadily to the bathroom where she stuffed her make-up, hairbrush and toothbrush in a plastic bag. When she straightened she caught sight of herself in the mirror, her breath catching at the haunted look in her eyes. How had she opened herself to letting him hurt her? She’d sworn she’d never let anyone in again after she’d lost her mother.

  The hurt, the pain morphed into anger. Damn it, she’d done the right thing. He was the one being the ass. Wasn’t he? Of course he was.

  She marched out ignoring how he stood watching her and crammed the bag in the front pocket of her suitcase. A quick check of the closet, and a sweep of the room for anything else she might have laid down. Like the travel magazine on the table she’d leafed through the night before, checking out the places they might visit if she planned his tour schedule next year.

  Screw it. He could toss it in the garbage for all she cared. But she’d be damned if she’d let him take her dreams too. Straightening, she faced him. “
I know you think I betrayed you, but I didn’t. I’ll say it one last time and maybe you’ll listen to me this time. I didn’t tell Randy’s secret to you because it wasn’t my secret to tell. I would have told you if he hadn’t promised tell you himself, face-to-face. But you were on tour and no one—me, him, your mother—wanted to drop that type of bomb on you when you were expected to go out and perform later.”

  He shook his head, not meeting her gaze. This really was it. He was not going to bend. He was going to let her walk out the door. Hell, push her out the door.

  “Fine.” She pulled the suitcase into the hall then paused before the door swung closed.”Be really careful about throwing those stones too hard, Jake. Because the self-righteous palace walls surrounding you right now are pure crystal. And you just shattered them.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “You suck!”

  Jake ducked as a beer bottle whizzed through the air and smashed into the wall beside him, leaving his right side drenched.

  Why did Cam have to put this song, the one he’d written about Paige, in tonight’s line-up? Because you got polluted and passed out even though you’d agreed to go over it with him. Yet since Paige had left two weeks before, the only way he’d managed to get any sleep was at the bottom of a bottle. If you keep this up, you’ll be sent home, just like Drew.

  “Go back to Texas, jerkwad!” accompanied another bottle that smashed onto the edge of Jake’s guitar making Jake miss his cue during the bridge. How could they expect him to focus when every line he sang reminded him how the one person he trusted had betrayed him?

  “Ignore them, dude. But get it together, will ya?” Cam snarled as he and Hunter improvised a bridge and set him up again.

  You can do this. Just ignore them.

  He took a deep breath and leaned into the mike. Right as another patron lobbed a missile at the stage. It bounced off Jake’s arm, across Phil’s snare and into his hi-hat, sending it crashing to the floor.

  The spotlights on the band went out, and their mikes went dead. A voice echoed from the side, “All right folks, we’re gonna take a twenty minute break and let everyone cool down.”

  A few more bottles were lobbed their way before the crowd backed off. Afraid to leave his guitar on stage, Jake followed Cam and Hunter to the backdoor while Phil restored order to his drums.

  Cam faced him, beer dripping from his beard. Guess a bottle, or at least the spray of one, had hit him too. “Shit, dude, you’ve got to get it together. I know your life sucks right now, but you’re screwing up too much.”

  “Fuckin’ A,” Phil added as he joined them. “I didn’t sign up for this type of second rate crap. I had no problem with you when I joined but, man, I’m ready to walk out and hook up with another band.”

  Before Jake could respond, the bar’s manager stomped over to them. “I thought you were professionals with a record deal. You guys played like goddamned amateurs in there.”

  He was right. Jake scrubbed his hands over his face. “Sorry. It’s my fault, not the other guys. We’re good to go. Don’t worry. We’ll give you a good show from here on out.”

  “You think I’m going to let you go back in there? The crowd will eat you alive.”

  “You’re going to let them back on stage because they’re going to have a very special guest.” His thumbs hooked in his belt loops, CJ McGarray sauntered down the alley. “Or are you gonna turn me away too?”

  If he wasn’t so shocked himself, he might have found the identical dropped jaws of Cam, Hunter, Phil and the manager funny. For himself, Jake wished a sinkhole would appear beneath his feet and swallow him. CJ had obviously been in the audience, watching him screw the pooch. There was no way he’d want to associate himself with such an unprofessional musician now.

  The manager recovered first and spluttered. “CJ, I didn’t know you were in town. And you’re always welcome to sing here, you know that.”

  His lips compressed into white lines, he hooked a finger at Jake. “But are you really planning to let these bozos back you up? Did you hear them in there? Say the word and I can get better guys behind you.”

  CJ shook his head. “Nope, I want these guys. And you’re gonna let ’em play. Aren’t you, Kelvin?”

  Jake held his breath until the manager nodded. “All right. I’ll go make sure the stage is cleaned off and the crowd’s ready for you.”

  CJ waited until the manager hurried back into the club, shouting for one of his staff to grab a mop, before tilting his head toward the still-closing door. “You boys mind giving me a couple minutes with Jake here?”

  Shit.

  Once they were alone, CJ canted his head and raised one perfectly formed eyebrow. “Not one of your best performances tonight, son.”

  “No, sir.” Yeah, where was that sinkhole when you needed one?

  “What’s wrong? You feelin’ sick or somethin’? Venue throwing you off?”

  “No, sir. I have no excuse.” Except his world had collapsed.

  “No, you don’t. When you’re up on that stage, those people in front of you count more than any of your problems. I don’t care if your best goddamn huntin’ dog died. They’re counting on you to make them forget their problems. That’s what they’re payin’ you for. Don’t you ever let ’em down again.”

  “Yes, sir.” The whole son-sir thing was rather weird, considering CJ was only about ten years older than him, but when it came to life experience, to career achievements, CJ was a hundred and ten years old while Jake was a babe in arms. But CJ was one hundred percent right. And as much as he still wished the earth would swallow him up, he knew he’d needed the kick in the ego. Even if CJ never talked to him again, never looked at one of his songs, he’d be forever grateful to him.

  Inside the bar, there was a roar. The manager had announced the surprise guest musician, no doubt.

  CJ opened the door, and looked over his shoulder at Jake. “You ready to give ’em the best damned show of your life?”

  Jake straightened his spine, pulled his shoulders straight. He raised his head and met CJ’s eyes. “Yes, sir. Let’s do this.”

  Three hours later, while Cam, Hunter and Phil headed back to their trailer, Jake found himself sitting in CJ’s opulent tour bus. When they’d arrived, Lisa had been curled up on the leather couch, sleeping, until CJ bent down and lifted her in his arms. “Come on, sleepyhead. Time for bed.”

  Feeling like he was intruding, Jake stayed standing, watching as CJ carried his wife beyond a doorway at the back of the bus, their bedroom no doubt.

  The dream that he could have been coming home to Paige, lifting her in his arms like that one day combined with the knowledge that he’d lost her forever. Loss, longing, jealousy stabbed him in the heart before he could remind himself she’d proven he couldn’t trust her. That she’d betrayed him.

  CJ returned, quietly closing the door behind him. “Don’t just stand there like a scarecrow, park your butt. Make yourself comfortable.”

  Jake lowered himself onto a white leather chair, worried that his jeans might stain it despite how a similarly dressed CJ flopped onto a matching couch with no seeming regard for the furniture. He took off his hat and turned it around until the metal star of the hat band Paige had added to it faced him. She’d brought it with her to Nashville and tied it on, then handed it back to him. “There,” she’d said, “now it’s different than your father’s. And every time you see yourself in it, you’ll remember me.”

  And he had. Every time he handed out a CD since Southern Gents had featured him and the damned hat on the cover. Every time a fan posted a photo they’d taken of him to Facebook. He ran a thumb over the slightly sideways star. Fuck, he missed her.

  “So Jake, tell me what tonight was all about. What got you so rattled?”

  “I don’t know.” That was a lie. And he’d had e
nough lies for a lifetime. The entire story spilled out of him, the discovery of how his father had cheated on their mother, the shock of learning that Gabe was his father’s love child, Bonnie’s embezzlement and the audit that had led him to meeting Paige. He stumbled over his words as he retold his mother’s misdeeds, the ultimate discovery of his real father’s identity, and Paige’s lies of omission, anger and confusion writhing inside him like a snake pit. When he finally wound down, CJ was frowning, his head bowed over his steepled fingers.

  “So you see? Everyone I trusted has lied to me. And now I can’t get it out of my head.”

  CJ tapped his fingers together before finally meeting Jake’s gaze. “Seems to me you’re mad at the wrong person. You’re blaming your girlfriend when you’re angry at your momma and that fella Randy.”

  “Yeah, but...” Shit. He hated sentences that started like that. “She should have told me.”

  “She’d promised your daddy she wouldn’t.”

  “He’s not my daddy,” Jake snapped. “Ed Grady was more of a father than Randy Freeman could ever have been. I mean, he may not have been my biological father, but he was there for me. He taught me to be proud to be who I am. Taught me about right and wrong. He will always be my father.”

  “And he did a good job from what I’ve seen.” CJ stretched his feet on the couch opposite him, crossing one ankle over the other, and examined his boots. “You know, if this fellow Randy knew your daddy, watched him with you, I’m betting he knows that too. It may even be why he didn’t want to tell you who he really is. Maybe he didn’t feel he could live up to Ed’s standard. Or maybe he isn’t willing to try. If he really was Ed’s best friend, I don’t doubt he’s feeling pretty damned shitty about himself right about now.”

  “He fucking well should. He slept with his best friend’s wife. I don’t care if it happened a million times or just once, you don’t do that. Hell, you don’t sleep with a married woman no matter who she’s married to. And you sure as hell don’t betray your best friend by sleeping with his wife.”