The Lone Star Groom: Bachelor Billionaire Romances

by Taylor Hart

Texas stared intently at him. “Okay.”

  “I know you don’t want me to ask this, but I have to. How are you?”

  Texas felt himself come to a complete stop. He and Montana were tight. Honestly, he was probably the closest person to him right now. A true friend. A brother, that’s what Montana Crew was to him. Still, Texas didn’t want to talk about what Montana was asking about. He’d gone a bit crazy a couple of months ago, but he was fine now. He produced a tight smile, trying to cover his discomfort, knowing he wasn’t successful. “The shrink says I’ll be fine. Nightmares are common among vets.” He shrugged and sighed. “Haven’t been having them anymore.” Okay, that was a lie, but they weren’t traveling on the same tour bus anymore, so Montana couldn’t call him on it. “I’m good. Writing. I almost have enough songs for an album. That's the only good part of war and heartbreak. They make for a good song.”

  “And your dad?” Montana asked quietly.

  It wasn’t a secret his dad had lung cancer. This had been an ongoing thing, though it had gotten worse recently. He shrugged. “Holding on. Which is good for Mama.”

  The look on Montana’s face turned sad for a moment before he nodded. “Yeah, life throws curveballs at ya. You’re doing good, Tex.”

  It meant more than Texas could admit to hear those words from Montana.

  He cleared his throat. “Okay, back to business, I want to up the timing of your fall album to coincide with the tour starting.”

  That took Texas by surprise. “But I don’t have a new album yet.” It was the end of May, and that was an unrealistic timeline to produce an album.

  Montana pulled off his big cowboy hat, and Texas took note of the hat line on his head. “You’ve been writing though. You just said you have a ton of songs for an album.”

  “I have a lot, but they haven’t been vetted through anybody else. They're raw.”

  “Exactly.” Montana flashed a grin. “That’s why I’m sending you to my house in Jackson to write and lay down tracks for the next month with the band. You can stay at my house and use my studio. It’ll be great.”

  “What?” Texas was shocked. That hadn’t been a part of the deal.

  “A month in Jackson should have your album close to done, right? Then we’ll send you back to Nashville and have you put the final touches on it. It can be ready to release when your tour starts right after Labor Day.”

  It was his talent, one that Texas had kind of fallen into—being able to write fast and produce his own stuff. He did know it probably would be better if he could have time in his own head. He usually didn’t do it with so much pressure. “I don’t know. Maybe you should push back the tour until October or just wait until the album’s done.”

  Montana crossed his arms. “How come I have a feeling this fight doesn’t have anything to do with the subject matter and more to do with the fact I’m bossing you around and you don’t like it?”

  Smiling, Texas stood. “Guess that’s why I didn’t become career military— couldn’t stand the jerk superiors.” It was a veiled insult, but Montana caught it.

  Good at keeping his cool, Montana only gave him a half-hearted eyebrow raise. “I need ya to do this for me, Tex. For you, actually. Having a new album to kick off the tour is gonna put you on top of the charts. And you need some good press.” He cleared his throat.

  Texas knew Montana was referring to the fact Texas had settled out of a lawsuit with a paparazzi guy who kept shoving a camera at his face one night after a concert and Texas had shoved him down. After a few seconds, Texas sighed. “Okay, I’ll go to Jackson to write and lay down tracks for a few weeks. That’s fine.” Truth be told, Texas didn’t have plans anyway. He’d told his mama he’d go home to South Carolina, but he didn’t have any other plans he’d have to reschedule.

  Montana nodded, looking a bit happier. “Good. The reporter goes too.”

  Texas blew out his breath. If one more of those paparazzi got in his face again, he swore he’d belt him one. “Back to this? No. I’m writing. Nobody comes.”

  “We need momentum for this album and tour. The New York Times is willing to do a lifestyle spread about you. Two full pages.” He held up two fingers. “To be released the Sunday before the tour starts."

  “No.” Reflexively, Texas stepped back and shook his head. “No way.” His mind spun. He didn’t need someone poking around in his private life. “I’ll be working.”

  “I know.” Montana crossed his arms again and had that look. The one bull riders got before getting into the ring. “I need you to do this.”

  Texas felt like a belligerent teenager. “I can just go stay at my apartment in Nashville.”

  “You hermitage in Nashville.” Montana asked his tongue at him. “It’s not healthy.”

  Texas’s scowl, deepened.

  “Hey.” Montana lifted a hand. “I heard this reporter’s cute. A knock out really, maybe you’ll get along.” He winked at him. “Maybe you could be the next Groom.”

  “What the heck are you talking about?” Texas scoffed.

  Montana laughed. “Nothing. Just a joke I used to have with a couple of the guys in Jackson.”

  Texas slowly shook his head. “Well, rest assured … I’m nobody’s groom.”

  Montana nodded, a mischievous smile on his face. “Back to the article, they want to pitch it as ‘Has Montana gone Texas?’” He winked at him. “Obviously, we know which one is the best state, but still, our names are good publicity.”

  “Ha. Ha,” Texas said without his usual respect. He felt his heart race. “Montana, you can’t do this to me. Up close and personal is not my kind of thing.”

  Montana cocked an eyebrow. “Do you want to have a shot to prove you are as good as you think you are? Or do you want to stay an opening band for me? It’s your choice.”

  Texas stared at the King of Country and swore inside of his head. “Fine, I’ll do it.”

  Chapter 3

  Liberty stood outside of Montana Crew’s home in Jackson, Wyoming and let out a string of curse words her mother would frown at. She bit her nails, another thing her mother would frown at. It didn’t reflect her Boston private school upbringing. She yanked her fingers back, remembering in the fourth grade when her mother had put some type of medicine on her nails that made them taste horrible for days at a time. Obviously, the medicine wasn’t still there, but it had done its job well. Like Pavlov’s dogs, she only remembered the bitter taste when she started to bite them.

  Why? Why? Why? It wasn’t fair she’d been given this assignment. She pretty much had never listened to country music. Her mind flitted to the deal she’d made with her mother. Her mind flitted to Hale.

  Even though she hadn’t agreed to marry Hale, Liberty still felt torn on what to do.

  She’d had dinner with him two nights ago. He’d been animated and excited, telling her about his job, about what he was learning, about his father. Hale was close to his father, who was grooming him to take over the firm eventually. Hale didn’t seem too concerned with her going to Jackson. When she’d slipped in the fact that she would be going to a conference and would return only a few days before the engagement party, he’d paused. Then he’d brushed it aside, telling her his mother could handle the party and everything would be fine.

  Yes, his mother. His mother was always planning society parties. Perfect. She wanted to ask if that’s what Hale wanted her to be— a party planner.

  “You have thought about whether you want to marry me or not, haven’t you?” Hale had asked her.

  Taking in a long breath, she decided to tell the truth. “Hale, maybe we should just tell both of our families to cancel the party.” They’d been friends their whole lives, and she’d never been attracted to Hale. Not in the way she thought she should be if she was going to marry him.

  He’d taken her hand and smiled at her. “I’m in love with you, Lib. We’ve been meant for each other our whole lives. We have a future together that will inspire generations. We’ll build a dynasty togeth
er.” He squeezed her hand. “I love you enough for both of us.”

  Not wanting to argue with him, she’d slowly pulled her hand back. “I can’t marry you, Hale.”

  Hale had picked up his fork and stabbed a piece of steak. “Just don’t think about it until the engagement party, okay?”

  She hadn’t argued with him because she didn’t want to hurt him. First, she needed to deal with the article. After that, she would handle Hale. Focusing on the present, she heaved out a breath.

  Three weeks.

  Why did she need three weeks to write this spread? She had told her mom she could get in and out and be done. Three days, maybe a week tops.

  How hard was it to assess somebody?

  She’d already done the perfunctory Google search last night.

  Bad boy of country music. She rolled her eyes. Weren’t they all trying to find some ‘persona?’ She tried to focus. Focus on the goal—get an up close and personal interview and get to Nigeria.

  Arriving at the front door of the mansion, she rang the doorbell and didn’t know what she expected. Or rather, who exactly she expected to answer the door. Staff. The maid.

  One thing she knew with certainty was she really didn’t expect him.

  Texas Waters.

  He kind of leaned into the door, looking tired. She was taken aback by his eyes. She remembered last night looking on Google at one of his album covers. His most recent was a large picture of his face with his eyes as a focal point. The cover artist had made his eyes look like there was an ocean in them. She remembered thinking his eyes cannot be that blue. The blue must be photo shopped, but she’d been wrong. They reminded her of sitting on the London Eye on a clear day and staring straight out at the sky and the ocean, where the two met. Just like the view in London, his eyes were striking. Not to mention the stubble on his face or the way his black button-down shirt was disheveled and halfway unbuttoned. His jeans were dark, and he was barefoot. Her heart sped up. He was bad boy sexy.

  He scowled. “What?”

  She was jerked out of her daydreaming by his brusqueness. “I’m Liberty Wright.”

  His scowl deepened. “Who?” He ran a hand through his blond hair. Striking blond hair. She guessed that would have to be a word in her article when it came to Texas Waters. The man was striking on all counts.

  “I’m the reporter here to do the lifestyle piece for The New York Times,” she said. She felt like she was in middle school, trick or treating, pleading with the guy for a piece of candy and hoping he liked her outfit.

  Another glare came from him before he let out a breath and took a step back. “Oh, right. I didn’t realize you were coming today.” He looked around, a bit out of sorts. He didn’t wait for her to walk in or introduce himself properly. He just sauntered away from the door. “I need to write for a couple more hours. I guess you can just do your thing or whatever.” She was left at the door.

  Taking a step into the massive mansion, she didn’t feel intimidated. She had grown up in her mother’s equally large house. No, she didn’t feel intimidated, just kind of stupid. He’d left her standing there.

  “Okay.” She stepped further into the house, noting the log cabin mixed with farmhouse décor. It would be perfect for the spread. However, she knew it wasn’t his house. It was Montana’s.

  Broody, she thought was the perfect word to describe Texas. She slowly walked into the center of the room with the large chandelier and masculine vibe, and followed him to a room that opened into a huge kitchen and living room. Floor to ceiling windows showed off beautiful acreage with a pool and a large deck.

  Texas was sitting at the kitchen counter with his eyes closed and a cup of coffee in front of him. He didn’t seem to notice her. He held a pencil, and a guitar was next to him on the counter.

  There was not another soul around.

  Not knowing what to do, she stared at him for a couple of seconds. Did he seriously want her to just hang out? Rude much? Aloof. Broody. Those would be the words she would use to describe him. Getting more agitated by the second at basically being ignored, she wandered into the living room and sat.

  Crap, she thought about how her mother wanted something interesting about him. Glancing at Texas, she saw he still wasn’t looking at her. Sitting back on the couch, she pulled out her laptop. She wasn’t about to ask him for a Wi-Fi password, so she turned on her phone’s hot spot and went about doing what should have been done already.

  Research.

  Anger and purpose filled her. If he wanted to play this way, fine. She would get all the information she needed from the Internet and then write the article by the end of the week anyway.

  Everyone was online these days. People thought they had secrets, but the Internet had pretty much killed privacy. In reality, everything was attainable with the right keystrokes.

  Hesitantly, Liberty turned back to look at him. He was still sitting at the counter, scrawling in a plain, spiral-bound notebook. Without warning, he picked up the guitar and strummed a few chords. He let out a low string of words and continued singing what sounded like a chorus, not even looking at her.

  He just kept singing. For a second, she was stunned by how involved he was with his art. She could appreciate that. After all, she was the same way when she got involved in a story.

  Abruptly, he stopped and started scrawling again.

  Sucking in a deep breath, she decided to look at this situation a different way. At least he wasn’t trying to impress her. She hated those overly polished types. The types she’d grown up with. Once again, her mind flitted to Hale. She sighed and quickly refocused on the task at hand. She scrolled through pictures of Texas Waters.

  It’d been interesting to her last night that some of the fans had complained he sounded too rock. Despite the complaints, he sold albums. For the next two hours, she sifted through several pictures and articles all centered on him and his professional life.

  She’d be out of Jackson, Wyoming by the end of the week. Article done. No problem.

  While she worked, she ignored everything else—him, her own discomfort, thirst, hunger, everything—and focused on learning all she could about this man. The pages began to fill in her word processor as she copied and pasted and captured every idea that crossed her mind.

  She had to admit this guy was fascinating.

  He was born in Odessa, Texas. His father had been a policeman, his mother a housewife. There was a big spread about how his father had recently been diagnosed with lung cancer. The article also explained how Texas had bought them a house in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina where they now resided.

  A bit of sympathy filled her, and she wondered how close he was to his father. Continuing to scroll, she discovered other articles written about Texas. She was surprised to learn he’d received a Purple Heart for his service in the Army. Becoming more and more fascinated, she took in all the facts she could find and carefully put them into one document, citing all the sources. Yes, she could write this article with only Internet information if she had to. It was because she was so focused she didn’t notice he had moved until he cleared his throat loudly next to her.

  Startled, she looked up into those haunting, blue eyes.

  He stood in front of her, his arms crossed, a smirk on his face. “You look pretty busy there.”

  “Oh … yeah.”

  His face wasn’t angry and broody like before. He seemed much more relaxed and that curved smile turned into a carefree grin. He moved to the chair in front of the couch and sat. “I just finished another song.” Sitting back into the couch, he looked very pleased with himself. “That makes five songs done for the album. Feels so good to be ahead of schedule. I haven’t really slept much in the last seventy-two hours, but I’m all keyed up. Go ahead and ask me some questions for half an hour because after that I’m going to have to send you away until tomorrow while I crash. You don’t really need three weeks, do you?” He gestured to the kitchen. “Because, as you can see, I’m on a deadline, and
I really don’t have time for a lot of ‘delving into my past.’” He air quoted dramatically before pointing to her computer. “As I just saw, you can gather most of what you need from the Internet, right? Plus, I try to stay on a strict schedule, or I end up not sleeping for seventy-two hours too much. Know what I mean?”

  It annoyed her that he didn’t want her around for three weeks. Forget the fact he’d pretty much summed up exactly how she felt about the article, but it irked her that he looked at her like an inconvenience and felt she could get the article done in a snap. He obviously didn’t appreciate what good reporting was—even for a fluff article.

  “So go ahead, ask me the questions. I can give you an hour if you really need that long.” He leaned back with both hands behind his head and spread his legs. She noticed how his shirt stretched, hinting at his strength beneath it. His biceps were cut, revealing his tattoo. His body made it clear that he worked out. His eyes, those dark blue eyes, looked like they had a story inside of them. Her father used to point it out when he would see people with eyes like this. ‘See, Liberty Bell? See those eyes? Those are people with old souls or lots of life experience.’

  “O-kay.” She said quietly, trying to gather her thoughts together so she could ask the most important questions quickly.

  Snapping at her, he pursed his lips. “I would think you would be ready out of the chute, girl.”

  Confused, she tried to figure out what he meant and simultaneously think of the right questions to ask. “Ah …”

  He snapped again. “First question, here we go, here we go.”

  “What does ‘out of the chute’ mean?” She asked reflexively.

  Looking perplexed, he instantly smiled. “Okay, ‘out of the chute.’” He air quoted. “Is a term that rodeo people use to describe being ready for the bull riding, bronc riding, or any kind of riding.”

  “But you’re criticized because some people say you didn’t grow up on a ranch, how do you know that?”

  An eyebrow cocked and a smile played at his lips. “Sweetheart, I grew up in a small town and every small town in Texas has a fair and a rodeo. Have you ever attended any kind of rodeo?”