by Nash, Willa
Fear and paranoia aside, there was no way I could survive another day on the food in my house. As much as I loved chips and salsa, it wasn’t breakfast.
The clock on the microwave read 7:23. Maybe if I limited my adventures in town to the early morning, I’d be able to avoid masses of people and go undetected.
If I could live here for a year or two without raising any suspicions, the citizens of Calamity might just believe I was Jade Morgan, and hopefully by then, the rest of the world would have forgotten all about Lucy Ross.
As long as the sheriff kept his word and accepted my bribe, things would be all right.
The bribe.
What the actual fuck had I been thinking? Was I really so jaded toward people that the first thought that had crossed my mind was to throw money at a stranger?
I could have just asked Duke to keep my secret. I could have just said, “Duke, would you please not tell anyone who I am?” But, no. Because after years and years in the music industry, I’d become a suspicious woman who trusted one and only one person on this earth—Everly.
Considering that Duke had accepted the bribe, my cynical side was struggling to see how there’d been any other option.
Everyone else just wanted a piece of me. My money. My music. My looks. My sole purpose in life had been to be the brand.
The Lucy Ross brand.
The irony made my insides churn. I was Lucy Ross and the brand we’d cultivated—that I’d let the record label design—was so far gone from the real Lucy Ross, I’d had to dye my hair black and move to Montana to actually recognize myself in the mirror.
The brand was the reason I’d offered that bribe. Because we protected the brand at all costs. That was the record label’s motto. And for years, it had been mine.
I had protected Sunsound Music Group’s Lucy Ross brand.
Even when I’d been sick to death of having my life managed by other people. Even when I’d lost the freedom to choose my own clothes except bras and underwear. Even when I’d write a song and the A&R division at Sunsound would flip it upside down and turn it inside out so that it fit the fucking brand.
Forget the brand. Maybe I’d offered that bribe from habit, but that money would protect this new life, the chance for me to build new habits.
As long as I could pay Duke.
As long as no one else recognized me.
Shit. What had I gotten myself into? How could I have been so naïve as to think this plan of mine would actually work? I’d been recognized on day one. Granted, he’d had my driver’s license, but still . . .
There was no hiding who you really were.
Not from the outside world.
And not from yourself.
Duke had stayed away from the farmhouse these past two days, but I suspected his need for answers would soon put him on my doorstep. How was I going to keep my secrets if he insisted on knowing why I was in Montana? And that man had insisted. I’d seen the determination in his gorgeous blue eyes.
Maybe I could lie? Except I’d never been a good liar and Duke struck me as the type to see right through a bullshit answer. It was only a matter of time before I had to fess up.
My only hope was that with a huge sum of money riding on his silence, he’d honor our agreement. Was a man who accepted a bribe honorable? It didn’t matter. I was out of options. The bribe had been offered and accepted. It wasn’t like I could call my legal team and ask them to draft an iron-clad contract to solve this problem. My lawyer played golf with Sunsound’s lead council every Thursday, and lately, I’d been questioning everyone’s loyalty, with or without attorney-client privilege.
So I’d pay Duke. And since I wasn’t exactly exercising my fingers on the guitar these days, I’d keep them nimble by keeping them crossed. Because if he knew anything about tabloids, he’d sell me out for well over a hundred thousand dollars.
“Ugh.” I dropped my forehead to the stainless steel of the fridge and groaned. Why, Duke? Why?
The moment he’d accepted that bribe, I’d wanted to scream. He was so . . . disappointing. The noble man I’d met in Yellowstone had been an illusion. Duke Evans was just like the others—in it for the money.
Whatever. I’d spent two days pushing that crushing frustration down deep. Eventually, I’d come to terms with the bribe I’d so desperately offered and I’d pay him to keep those soft, kissable lips shut.
Now I just had to figure out how to get him one hundred thousand dollars without calling attention to my whereabouts.
I’d taken out as much cash as I could manage before leaving Nashville. Ninety thousand had gone to buying my Rover. Thirty thousand had gone into the backpack I’d taken hiking. It had probably been stupid to drive across the country with that much money, but I hadn’t wanted to go to a bank.
Credit cards were too easily traced, and until things blew over, I was sticking to cash.
When I needed to replenish my funds, I’d take a road trip to Seattle or San Francisco or Salt Lake—some S-word city within a thousand miles. I could take ten or even twenty thousand out of my accounts at a time. But how was I going to get a hundred? I’d have to make a few extra trips.
Hopefully Duke would be patient and give me some time to collect. Worst case, I’d sell my car.
My stomach growled again, reminding me that priority one here was food, and I collected my purse from the kitchen counter before walking through the house. Sunshine streamed through the living room window and brightened the already well-lit room. The furniture that Kerrigan had picked was so different from the colorful and eclectic items Everly and I had shared in our apartment. We’d refused to hire a decorator and the furniture had been an odd collection we’d come up with over the years.
This farmhouse was decorated more to Everly’s taste than mine, but she’d always indulged my need for bright colors. She hadn’t cared when I’d bought a bold floral couch that clashed beautifully with a lemon velvet chair. I’d lost control with anything outward facing so I’d clung to it behind closed doors.
But I liked the farmhouse’s look. It was simple and inviting. The modern edge gave each room a coordinating vibe and the pieces made the best of the small spaces. The couch in the living room was a rich caramel, the leather as smooth and buttery as the candy itself. The chair was a tweed fabric, the color a soft oatmeal with flecks of the same caramel as the couch. The coffee table sat on a plush, vintage-style rug with red and cream and black tones that complemented the hazelnut color of the hardwood floors and the red bricks of the fireplace.
Maybe this winter, I’d light myself a fire every morning and write songs in the living room.
Maybe by winter, I wouldn’t be scared of my own guitar.
I pulled on the hat I’d worn in Yellowstone and added a pair of sunglasses before walking out the front door. Then I jogged down the five steps of the porch, checking left and right to make sure I was alone before running to the Rover and locking myself inside.
It was silly. This wasn’t Nashville and the precautions I’d taken there were unnecessary in Montana. But they were yet another habit.
The Rover was parked in the same place it had been since I’d arrived, though the back was now empty. Moving into the farmhouse had barely filled an afternoon, considering all I’d brought were three suitcases and two backpacks.
I cracked the window as I drove, savoring the country air. There was a crisp chill that would probably burn off by midmorning, but at the moment, I was glad I’d tugged on a hoodie when I’d dressed earlier.
Maybe after the store, I’d venture outside for a walk or run. So far, I’d spent my time watching Netflix, avoiding my phone and all things social media. But as the fresh air blew into my face, I didn’t want to spend another day cooped up inside.
Boredom’s claws were coming out, preparing to scratch.
In the past, I’d kept myself occupied with music. Considering I couldn’t even stand the radio now, that wasn’t an option. I added a novel or two to my mental grocery list
. I hadn’t had time to read in recent years, not that it had ever been a priority, but my mother had loved to read. I’d like to discover why, if only to feel some sort of connection to her.
Because at the moment, alone—truly alone—for the first time in years, I was desperate for any kind of connection.
My parents had been my shelter and since they’d died, I’d felt lost. I was a woman running through a storm, searching for a haven against the onslaught of rain. For a time, I’d thought I’d found a place with Sunsound. Turns out, all I’d found was a leaking umbrella.
I reached the end of the gravel road and my anxiety spiked, shoving away thoughts of my parents and the label.
“Quick trip,” I told myself as I turned toward town. I’d be in and out of the grocery store in a flash. I’d be gone an hour, tops. I didn’t have to change my plan entirely. Duke had agreed to take the bribe and my secret was safe. I just had to be careful, right?
Just because Duke knew who I was didn’t mean I had to move. Yet.
I slowed as the highway became First Street. Most of the diagonal parking spaces were empty as I rolled into town, the businesses not open yet. The shops in the downtown area were themed like something from an old Western movie. Square, barnwood façades. Red brick and mortar walls. On some, the original name of the business was still painted on the buildings in barely-there white letters, like the Candy Shoppe and Calamity Trading Co.
Yet restaurant sandwich boards boasted free Wi-Fi. Neon signs glowed from both of the town’s bars. There was a Tesla parked in front of the bank.
Calamity was like a ghost town restored. An odd and eclectic mix of a forgotten world and modern-day society.
As I continued farther, more and more vehicles appeared. Every space in front of the coffee shop was taken and the same was true in front of the White Oak Café.
My fingers clenched the steering wheel, my heart in my throat, as I drove at exactly the speed limit to the grocery store at the opposite end of town from the farmhouse. It was the largest building on First with the exception of the hardware store across the street. It was also the most unique grocery store I’d ever seen. It was shaped like a barn and painted a loud crimson.
Thankfully, the lot was mostly empty and I parked in a space close to the front. Get in. Get out. I was hurrying through the sliding doors, looking for a cart, when I nearly collided with a buffalo.
I gasped, slapping a hand to my racing heart. “Stupid statue.”
The animal was painted in a swirl of green and blue from horns to hooves. I’d seen other bison like this one when I’d explored town the other day, though all had been decorated differently. Was the bison Calamity’s mascot?
That would take some getting used to.
I shot the statue a scowl and continued on to the row of parked carts. With the brim of my hat pulled even lower and the hood of my sweatshirt shrugged up my neck, I took off my sunglasses, realizing it would probably be more suspicious to leave them on. Besides, my hair was draped everywhere and I hoped it would be the feature people noticed most. I’d be that woman, new to town, with the long, black hair.
Jade Morgan.
I’m Jade Morgan.
It had taken me the almost-two-thousand-mile drive from Nashville to Montana to start answering to that name when Everly used it. She’d forced me to practice, and without her here, I was on my own to rehearse.
It was nothing more than a stage name, really. Because this was all a performance.
If I could win a Country Music Award for Entertainer of the Year, I could master Jade Morgan.
I set out into the store, my hunger growing exponentially as I neared the bakery. I splurged on a dozen maple bars along with a loaf of bread. I bought the essentials from the produce section—bananas, apples and celery sticks.
Then I went up and down every aisle, filling my cart to the brim. The corners became harder and harder to maneuver by the time I made it past frozen foods to dairy for some milk.
“Morning.” A man wearing a red polo smiled and nodded as he passed me down the aisle with a clipboard tucked under his arm. His nametag read General Manager.
“Hello.” I tensed, waiting for any sign of recognition, but he didn’t slow or spare me a second glance.
I grabbed my gallon of milk, then pushed my overflowing cart to the checkout line.
“Good morning.” The cashier wore the same red polo as the manager, but his was covered in a black apron. “How are you today?”
“I’m great, thanks.” Once my haul was on the conveyor belt, I let my gaze wander to the magazine rack.
And my own face stared right back.
Oh, shit.
It was a picture of me from my last concert. I was smiling into the microphone. My hair was blond, curled and poofed six inches at the crown. Golden eyeshadow extended past my eyes and across my temples, dusting my hairline. My lips were colored a dark red.
I fumbled to take the first magazine down, then tried to nonchalantly put it back, this time the front cover turned inward. Before the cashier could notice what I’d done, I hurried to the end of the aisle and began bagging groceries, wanting as much distance between me and the magazine as possible.
“Anything else, ma’am?” the clerk asked as he rang up the last item.
“No, thanks.” I waited for the total, then gave him a wad of cash from my wallet.
With the change in my pocket, I pushed my cart outside, the plastic sacks rustling in the breeze along with the wheels on the asphalt. I opened the back of the Rover to unload just as a deep, gravelly voice filled my ears.
“You didn’t want the latest copy of People?”
I froze. My reprieve from Sheriff Evans was over.
Duke stood by the handlebar of my cart. The magazine from inside was in his hand. His eyes did the same thing they had with my driver’s license, darting between the cover photo and my face. Then a line formed between his eyebrows, like he couldn’t decide which version he liked better.
I sidestepped the cart and began transferring bags into my car.
God, I wanted to like him. I wanted to trust him. I wanted to laugh with him and smile with him like we had in Yellowstone. But then he’d taken my stupid, stupid bribe and revealed his true colors.
Would I ever learn how to read people? At least I was consistent. I’d read Duke wrong, like I had many, many others.
“Are you following me, Sheriff? Because if you’re worried about your money, there’s no need to stalk me around town. You’ll get paid.”
“Stalking? No.” His jaw ticked and he lifted his other arm. There was a gallon of milk in his grip that I hadn’t noticed before. “I was out of milk and I eat cereal for breakfast.”
“Oh.” In my defense, I was sensitive to being watched. It was too fresh and familiar.
Been there, had the letters to prove it.
Not that Duke was anything close to a stalker. No, the shivers he sent down my spine were of an entirely different brand.
The heat of his blue gaze made my pulse race. Duke was dressed for work, but he hadn’t shaved this morning and the morning sun caught the stubble dusting his jaw.
My belly clenched. I was so hungry I could eat him for breakfast.
His hair was still damp and the silky strands of that tawny brown were separated in thick chunks, probably from combing it through with his fingers. And his eyes . . . those eyes deserved a song, even if the man himself didn’t.
Why? Why had he taken the bribe? Why had I offered it to him in the first place?
I hated that he wasn’t the real-life hero I’d needed and wanted to know.
I hated that he was human.
Because right now, I needed a little bit of perfect. The Duke from Yellowstone had been that bit of perfect. He’d been the man I could put on an imaginary pedestal to prove to the world that not everyone was out for money or fame or revenge.
But perfect didn’t exist.
Duke Evans was as human as the next handsome man. M
aybe one of these days, I’d stop letting men disappoint me.
“We need to talk, Ms. Ross.”
I cringed and unloaded another bag from my cart. “Jade.”
“Jade.” My fake name sounded like acid on his tongue but it was better than Ms. Ross. “Why don’t you come to the station later today?”
“Are you arresting me?”
“No.”
“Then I’d rather not come to the police station. That draws attention.” And I’d spent enough time in an interrogation room over the past ten months to last a lifetime.
“Then your house.” He sounded smug, like he’d wanted to talk at my house but hadn’t wanted to insist.
Damn. Given my hesitation to spend anymore time in public than absolutely necessary, there wasn’t an alternative. But I didn’t want him at the farmhouse. It was too small with him sharing my roof.
Duke’s image might have dulled, but my body had yet to get the memo. Why did he have to be so freaking handsome?
“Fine,” I muttered, taking the last of the grocery bags from my cart. “What time?”
“Barring any emergency, I’ll be there by six.”
I blew out a deep breath. “Okay. Six.”
“You done?” He motioned to my cart.
“Yeah.”
He dipped his chin, the nod something he seemed to do often—not that I was paying attention to his gestures. “Bye.”
The wheels of the cart rattled as Duke returned it to the bin, steering it with one hand while holding his jug of milk and the rolled up magazine in the other. His shirt was tucked into his jeans. His brown leather belt was missing its badge and gun, which gave me nothing else to stare at but that ass and the jeans that molded so perfectly to his backside.
Oh, boy. I was in so, so much trouble. Because right then, I didn’t really care about the bribe. I didn’t really care about his moral compass, or mine for that matter. My fingers itched to dig into the rear pockets of his jeans and squeeze.
Duke must have felt my gaze because he glanced over his shoulder, the corner of that lickable mouth turning up.