by Brenda Novak
“You’re planning a new album?”
“I am.” Did he know how badly Hot City Lights had tanked? That would depend on how well acquainted he was with the music world. Although the critics had liked the album, it hadn’t sold. Everyone who really counted understood that she was losing everything she’d established. She needed to win back her fans and prove to Derrick that he hadn’t bet on the wrong girl. And she didn’t have a lot of time. The further she went between releases, the harder her comeback would be. Timing might be even more critical to her relationship with Derrick. He’d recently acquired a new client, an up-and-coming artist named Crystal Holtree, whom the media had dubbed “Crystal Hottie.” Lourdes had seen the way he looked at Crystal, couldn’t help remembering when he’d looked at her that way—
“Something wrong?” Kyle asked.
Hitching her purse higher on one shoulder, Lourdes returned her attention to her prospective landlord. “No. I apologize. I was daydreaming. Shall we take a look at the inside?”
The house was every bit as wonderful as the photographs she’d seen online. It was old where old was preferable, with tall ceilings, hardwood floors, heavy framed windows and moldings, plus the original doors, complete with fancy hardware. And it was new where new was preferable, featuring an expansive kitchen, two large bedrooms, each with a walk-in closet, and completely updated bathrooms. Best of all, there was a beautiful set of French doors leading to an office, which she’d use as her music room.
Although he might have had help, her landlord had even done a halfway decent job of furnishing the place. There weren’t any window coverings, but the location was secluded enough that they weren’t necessary.
Derrick had been right; it was perfect.
So why had he decided, at the last minute, not to come with her?
Because he preferred to be with Crystal. As much as he denied that, Lourdes could feel it in her soul...
She was on her own for the first time in years, without the man she loved, who was also the manager who’d promised to take her back to number one, and without real hope that she’d be able to reclaim the momentum she’d lost in both her personal and professional lives.
Still, she had her guitar. That was all she’d started with when she moved to Nashville at eighteen, wasn’t it? If she could come up with a handful of songs that were special—no, groundbreaking—maybe it wouldn’t be too late to turn her luck around. And this place, isolated and yet familiar enough for her to feel comfortable, would offer just the refuge she needed.
“I’m ready to sign the rental agreement,” she said.
* * *
Lourdes Bennett had arrived at Kyle’s farmhouse only a few minutes after he did, so he hadn’t had time to read about her. He’d barely pulled her up on Wikipedia when he’d heard the sound of her car and shoved his phone in his pocket. But now that he was home and could surf the internet at his leisure, he’d spent over an hour visiting her website as well as exploring several other links that contained less official information.
He hadn’t been nervous about approaching a woman in a long time, but when she’d gotten out of the car, and he’d caught his first glimpse of her, he’d suddenly—and against all expectation—gone a little weak in the knees. He didn’t care about her fame. His best friend had married a major movie star, so he knew someone far more famous. It was that she was so attractive. Usually the pictures people posted looked a lot better than the real thing. That wasn’t the case with Lourdes Bennett. Her blond hair had fallen about her shoulders in a thick, wavy mass. Her skin was pale, but she also had the smoothest, creamiest complexion he’d ever seen. And her eyes! They reminded him of the azure color of the Caribbean Sea.
“Of course she has a boyfriend,” he muttered when he found a picture of her at the Country Music Association Awards posing with none other than a man identified in the caption as Derrick Meade, her manager. Apparently, her relationship with Meade went beyond business. The same caption indicated that after Derrick had helped America “discover” her, the two had started dating, and they’d been a couple for six months, even though he had to be at least twelve to fifteen years older.
That picture had been taken two years ago, before her last album came out. Kyle couldn’t find as many public appearances after the release of Hot City Lights, and nothing more about her and Derrick. But he guessed they were still seeing each other. It was Derrick who’d called to line up the farmhouse, wasn’t it? That meant he’d probably be joining her periodically—maybe on weekends—and certainly for Christmas...
Disappointed in spite of all the reasons he shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up, he went into the kitchen to crack open a beer. Then he jumped. Someone was at his window, peering in at him!
A second later he realized who it was. Noelle.
With a curse, he put down his beer.
“What are you doing here?” he asked as he swung open the door.
She threaded her way through his shrubbery to reach the porch. “My, aren’t you in a good mood.”
“What did you expect? You were peeping at me!”
“Oh, don’t flatter yourself. Your truck’s in the drive, so I was trying to see where you were. I knocked but you didn’t answer.”
“Because I didn’t hear anything.” He must’ve been too absorbed in researching Lourdes Bennett. “What do you need?”
“I couldn’t get someone to help me with the water heater until after your office closed. A.J. and I have been trying to get in, but—”
“A.J.?” That wasn’t a name he’d heard around Whiskey Creek.
“Yeah. He works with me at Sexy Sadie’s. He took Fisk’s place when Fisk moved to Vegas and a job opened up at the bar.”
Once upon a time, Kyle would’ve known all the bartenders at the local pub. He’d hung out there quite a lot over the years. There weren’t many other places to go for fun in a town of only two thousand. But now that nearly all his friends were married, he spent most of his weekends working.
“I was hoping you’d lend me the key,” Noelle said. “We’ll bring it back after we grab the water heater.”
No way would he ever trust her with access to his office. “I’ll drive over and let you in,” he said. “But...why didn’t you just call me? I could’ve met you there.”
“Check your phone,” she said. “You didn’t pick up.”
His phone hadn’t rung; it hadn’t even buzzed. But when he pulled it from his pocket, he could see why. He’d inadvertently turned on the “do not disturb” feature.
Or maybe he’d done it subconsciously. He really didn’t want to be interrupted tonight, especially by her.
“Give me a minute. I’ll be right out.”
He went to his bedroom to retrieve his coat before scooping his keys off the counter.
It took longer to load the water heater in A.J.’s truck than Kyle had thought it would. A.J. needed to clarify the instructions on how to install it—again and again. Kyle almost offered to do it himself. Obviously, A.J. wasn’t mechanically inclined and wouldn’t be much help to Noelle. But then Kyle got a text from a number he didn’t recognize that said:
This is Lourdes. I can’t get the furnace to come on, and it’s freezing in this house.
“What is it?” Noelle asked.
He lowered his phone so she wouldn’t be able to read the message. “There’s a problem with my new renter. I’ve got to go.”
“So that Meade guy took the place? The farmhouse has been leased?”
He hesitated at her assumption. His tenant wasn’t the man he’d mentioned to her earlier. But Lourdes didn’t want to be bothered while she was in Whiskey Creek. And if he told Noelle they had a famous country singer in their midst, she’d spread the word all over town. She might even show up at the farmhouse, claiming she was his ex and therefore had some right to the
property.
He couldn’t allow that to happen. “Yeah. It’s a done deal,” he said.
“That was fast!”
“He was serious. He had me furnish it, remember?”
She didn’t seem to mind that A.J. was tying down the water heater without her help. “I remember,” she said. “But what does someone from Nashville want with a house on a remote piece of land outside Whiskey Creek? This isn’t exactly Tahoe. If it was, maybe I’d have a shot at being discovered,” she added wryly.
If only she would move to Lake Tahoe or LA. Or New York. The farther, the better. But her lack of resources precluded it.
“He’s looking for some solitude,” he said. “An escape from the demands of his usual life.”
“How long’s he staying?”
“For a few months, like I told you.”
“That sucks. You should’ve rented to me.”
Kyle felt his eye-twitch coming back. “The duplex you’re living in is fine. What’s wrong with it?”
“It’s a dump compared to the farmhouse.”
“Maybe you can find something you’re happier with after Christmas,” he said, but for once, placating her didn’t seem to be necessary. He could tell by her expression that she’d already switched gears.
“How old is he?” she asked.
“About our age.”
“Is he handsome?”
Apparently, she and A.J. didn’t have anything going on romantically, or she wouldn’t be asking such obvious questions with her helper in hearing distance. “I couldn’t tell you,” Kyle said. “I’m not used to judging other guys in that way. But it doesn’t matter. He’s with someone.”
“He’s married?” she asked.
“It might not be that official, but he’s been with the same woman for a few years. So enough with the nosy questions. My renter isn’t an option for you.”
“You’ve gotten ornery,” she complained.
“What are you talking about? I just solved your hot water problem.” And he was standing outside, freezing his ass off because of her when it was about to snow.
“You comin’?” A.J. called as he jumped to the ground and circled around to the driver’s side.
“Yeah, I’m comin’,” Noelle said. Then she surprised Kyle with a hug. “You look good, you know that? You look real good. God, I miss you.”
Before he could react, she released him and turned away. But as she got in with A.J., she called over her shoulder, “Think about what I said before. You’ve got to be lonely. Now even Riley’s getting married. Who will you hang out with when he’s as pussy whipped as your other friends?”
“Baxter’s moving home,” he said. He’d been consoling himself with that news for several weeks...
“Baxter’s gay, Kyle.”
“You think I’m not aware of that?”
“You’re not being realistic. I doubt he’ll be interested in going places where you can meet girls.”
He frowned as he gazed at the wind-tossed branches of the trees. “Don’t worry about it.”
“I’m just saying I’d be happy to be your buddy if you want me to.” With a wink, she shut the door.
He could never be that desperate. If only he hadn’t been stupid enough to get involved with her in the first place, he’d be married to Olivia. Instead, Olivia was married to Brandon.
He waited until Noelle and her bartender friend drove off before taking out his phone to respond to Lourdes’s message.
I’m on my way, he wrote back.
* * *
Lourdes was wearing a holey Budweiser T-shirt she’d inherited from a member of her stage crew, a pair of Victoria’s Secret sweat bottoms and a belted, big-collared sweater her mother had given her a year ago for Christmas. None of it matched, including her fuzzy socks. She’d bought those for their softness alone. Too bad they weren’t as warm as they looked. She’d forgotten her sheepskin slippers at her estate in Tennessee, which was a mistake. The weather outside was reminding her that even parts of California could get cold.
Since she was waiting for her landlord, she considered changing. Not only was she wearing frumpy, shapeless clothes, she’d removed her makeup and piled her hair on top of her head. But she was too depressed to care. So what if Kyle Houseman was handsome? He was probably married. Even if he wasn’t, she was in a relationship.
A knock alerted her to his arrival. She went to answer the door but paused after peeking through the peephole. Was she really going to let him see her like this? It wasn’t just that he was so good-looking; she’d grown accustomed to maintaining her image. Being famous meant that people had certain expectations of her, and those expectations weren’t always realistic.
But this was exactly the type of pressure she’d come to Whiskey Creek to avoid. For her own sanity, she had to escape the need she felt to compete—in the music world and in her personal life with the incomparable, and much younger, Crystal. She needed to be a regular person for a while. Needed to take a step back and root out the panic and neuroticism that was taking hold and turning her into someone she no longer recognized.
After tightening the belt of her sweater, she opened the door. “I’m sorry I had to bother you,” she said, stepping aside to let him in.
“Sounds to me as if you had every right. I’m sorry you couldn’t get the furnace to work. It’s a brand-new unit, so I can’t believe there’s anything terribly wrong. I’ll try to figure out what’s going on.”
He had a tool chest in one hand, which he put on the floor while he fiddled with the thermostat.
Instinctively, she folded her arms across her chest. She was wearing so many layers he’d never be able to tell she hadn’t put on a bra. But there was something about him that made her more aware of him than she should be. “So you handle your own repairs?”
“Only the easy ones.”
She wasn’t sure why she was feeling self-conscious; he’d hardly looked at her.
“To be honest, I’m no handyman,” he added. “But it’s after five, so I’m all we’ve got for today.”
He had a nice skin tone. She also liked his dark five-o’clock shadow, which contrasted with his kind eyes and the laugh lines around them. It made him look a little uncivilized. “Then what do you do for a living? Besides own rental property?”
“I’m a solar manufacturer. You can’t see the plant from here, because of the trees and the rolling hills in between, but if you drive east about half a mile, you’ll reach my factory.”
“No wonder you got here so quickly.”
“I happened to be at the plant taking care of something when you texted me, but my house is even closer.” He frowned as he adjusted the thermostat. It was digital, with an abundance of programs and cycles. Lourdes didn’t understand why a device that could’ve been so simple—and used to be—had been made so complex. Maybe the furnace didn’t work because she’d been messing with the various buttons and screwed something up...
She perched on the arm of the leather sofa in the living room. “Solar must be a thriving business, what with everyone talking about carbon footprint.”
“As time goes by and the price of solar modules comes down, more and more people are making the switch.”
“Then you’re poised for growth.”
“Thanks to various government incentives, it’s been a good field—and it’s getting better.”
If she couldn’t create the kind of album she needed, maybe she could learn enough to open a solar plant. Except she’d be miserable. All she’d ever wanted to do was sing.
She picked up her guitar and ran through a few chords. She used it so much and had used it for so long that it almost felt like a part of her. It was comforting just to have it in her hands. “Does this house have solar? Is that why we have no heat? Because there’s b
een no sun?”
He chuckled.
“What?” she said.
“Nothing. I had to explain to someone else that— Never mind. Anyway, yes, this place has solar, but it also has a gas furnace. The solar system delivers the electricity. So the air-conditioning, most of the appliances, the sprinkler system and the lights all run off the solar. I could’ve installed a special heating unit, too. But it didn’t seem cost-effective for a rental.”
“Tenants usually pay their own utilities.”
“That’s a consideration for some landlords, yes.” He frowned as he turned to her. “There’s nothing wrong with this thermostat—not that I can tell. I’ll check the unit itself.”
After reclaiming his tools, he went out back while she set her guitar aside and stood at the kitchen window, watching his flashlight bob as he walked. He looked good in those jeans, she thought—then stopped herself. She had no business admiring his backside.
He returned about fifteen minutes later but said he couldn’t find anything wrong with the unit itself, either. He suggested it might not be getting power and tried throwing the circuit breaker.
When that didn’t work, he came back in and, muttering something she couldn’t hear, tried the thermostat again. Only then did he reluctantly admit that he couldn’t fix it. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m not an HVAC guy, but I can get one out here first thing in the morning. The bad news is that this place won’t get any warmer tonight. So I’ll pay for you to stay at one of the two bed-and-breakfasts in town. They’re both comfortable, and you can have breakfast in bed, which is more than you’ll get if you stay here.”
He was trying to make it as appealing as possible. She was tempted to accept his solution, especially when he gave her a crooked grin that revealed how uncomfortable he felt at having to ask. But she wasn’t interested in staying anywhere else. “I can’t go into town,” she said. “I’d rather not be seen, don’t want to deal with...all that celebrity stuff. I told you before, I’m here to lie low.”
His eyes widened slightly. “I wish I had a better solution, but I don’t. You can’t stay here. It’s too cold, and it’s going to get colder. Maybe you haven’t heard, but we have a huge storm moving in. It’s already snowing.”