by Nash, Willa
“Once.” I’d ventured onto Twitter Monday, and after reading seven speculative threads, I’d closed the app. “Apparently I’m either in rehab or I had a mental break. One troll posted that I had to quit because Meghan had been the actual singer and I was only lip-synching her stuff.”
“People are assholes.”
“Truth. It doesn’t matter. I’m Jade Morgan now.”
“And how is Jade doing?” There was genuine concern in Everly’s voice. “Are you holding up okay?”
I glanced out the window, taking in the spectacular view of towering mountains in the distance and rolling fields of green and gold in the valley. “I think I found the right spot.”
It had only been a week, but I felt more at peace here than I had in years in Nashville. Maybe it was the lighter schedule. Maybe it was the quiet. Maybe it was Duke. Whatever the reason, Calamity was making its mark, gathering up the little pieces of my soul that had been shattered. Day by day, those broken shards were knitting together, forming a new me.
Jade.
“I miss you,” Everly said.
“I miss you too. Tell me what’s happening with you.”
We talked for an hour about the album she’d been working on for months. Next week, she had time in a studio to start recording. She hummed the melody to one of her favorite songs, then gave me a couple of options for a hook and asked me which I liked best. I listened, rapt, ignoring the piece of my heart that longed to be in her place.
I still hadn’t been able to bring myself to think about music yet. For years, I’d open my mouth and the first thing that escaped was music. For weeks, since Meghan, there’d only been silence.
After Everly and I said our goodbyes, I skipped my nap and wandered upstairs for a long shower, then spent the day tidying the farmhouse.
And fretting.
Everly’s concern had come from the heart, but it sent my head into a tailspin. Was I too trusting? Yes. Should I have an exit plan? I couldn’t imagine leaving Calamity at the moment. But what if reporters did show up looking for a story? The farmhouse was secluded and isolated. One of the reasons I adored it was because it was nice to have space. But if a news truck pulled into my driveway, I’d be stuck.
Once the cleaning was done, I pulled out my laptop and logged in to each and every one of my social media accounts. Without checking them, I deleted all my notifications and messages just in case.
Then I sat in front of the TV, not paying any attention to the sitcom on the screen as one hour passed into two. The paranoia I’d had my first days in Calamity had returned. I drew the blinds over the living room window to hide. To worry about what was to come.
Tonight, Duke would ask the questions I didn’t want to answer. I’d relive the fear and pain of the past six months, something I wanted to avoid, even if it only lasted minutes.
I knew him well enough to predict his reaction. He’d get mad. He’d want to step in and help. And I’d have to beg him to leave it be. I only wanted it to disappear.
My phone dinged, a text from Duke with his address and a note to come over whenever I was ready.
Stalling would only make this harder, so I shoved off the couch and walked out the door, taking my purse, which I’d stocked with a few things to spend the night, and driving across town.
My fingers drummed on the wheel, my anxiety spiking, as I followed my navigation app. I’d pictured him living in town, nestled in a quiet neighborhood, surrounded by the community that he loved so much. But Duke’s house was on the edge of Calamity, where neighbors had space from one another. The properties on this road were bordered by open wheat fields.
Duke’s turnoff was marked with a boulder, his house number etched into the stone. I nudged my Rover off the street and onto a driveway lined with trees. Beyond their trunks was a lush and sprawling lawn. The gravel crunched under my tires as I drove past tree after tree, the towering branches and green leaves providing a canopy down the straight lane.
Then his house appeared and a wave of surprise shoved my worries aside. His home was not at all as I’d expected.
This was no bachelor pad. This was a home. A family’s home. I parked in front of a three-car garage with a sturdy basketball hoop standing in the cement pad beside the third bay. Two whiskey barrels with potted petunias bracketed the hoop’s base, the yellow and white blooms in desperate need of deadheading.
Opposite the garage was the house itself. The brick on the rambling rancher had been painted white. The cedar shutters had been stained a chocolate brown that matched the pillars on the front stoop.
Who knew my boyfriend was so trendy?
The front door opened as I hopped out of the Rover. Duke stepped out, still wearing his olive-green sheriff’s shirt tucked into a pair of jeans, but he’d taken off his boots and was standing barefoot on the welcome mat.
He looked so domestic and relaxed. His arms were crossed over his chest and he leaned against the door’s frame, his lazy stance belying the sharp eyes eating up every one of my steps across the sidewalk.
I’d opted for a pair of skintight jeans and a tank top with thin straps that crisscrossed at my shoulders.
No bra.
He’d soon find out I hadn’t bothered with panties either.
“Nice place, Sheriff.”
He grinned as I stepped in close and stood on my toes, waiting for him to come the extra inch.
Duke unfolded his arms and took my face, kissing me much like he had on my own threshold this morning, leaving me breathless and smiling and aching for more. He boggled my mind and tangled up my heart in the best possible way.
Never in my life had I longed to be with a person the way I craved Duke’s presence. I’d take him every minute of every day. I was hoarding our moments together, locking them deep in my heart.
Just in case it all came crumbling down.
“How was your day?” I asked when he let me go.
“Fine. Normal. I did paperwork all day and fielded three phone calls from city council members who were checking in after last week’s crash. They wanted to make sure Grayson was doing all right.”
“Aww. That’s nice.”
He shrugged. “Just how things are in my town. We look out for one another.”
My town. Someday I wanted to call it my town too. Maybe it already was.
“How is Grayson?”
“Doing all right. I’m keeping a close eye.” Duke took the purse from my hand and slung it over his shoulder. Then he gripped my hand and led me into his house.
The smell of garlic filled my nostrils as I stepped inside. Past a rug in the entryway and a line of empty coat hooks, hardwood floors led us to the kitchen. A large window overlooked the sink, which was probably where Duke had been standing when he’d spotted me coming down the drive.
An island in the center of the kitchen made the room a horseshoe. The cabinets were white, the countertops a speckled granite. My fingers begged to run themselves over the glossy surface. “This is beautiful.”
Duke set my bag in a small nook beside a tall cabinet I assumed was the pantry. “I bought this place years ago and have been slowly fixing it up.”
“Did you do this yourself?”
“Nah. Kase, my buddy who owns a construction company in town, did all of it. He did the design stuff too, so don’t give me any credit. My only requirement was that it was updated, comfortable and functional. I didn’t really care to pick through paint samples and carpet swatches, so I recruited my sister and she worked with Kase to design it all.”
“Ah. Well, your sister has lovely taste.”
“I’ll pass that along.”
Two things melted me in that moment. One, that Duke would talk about me to his sister. That I was significant enough for him to share with his family. And two, that Duke had created a home. A sanctuary to live in, not show off.
I’d been surrounded by material people for years. Everything was about the size of their house and the model of their car. The label hosted
an annual Christmas party and I’d walk in the room and be instantly sized up. People who needed to up their social status would bring me glasses of champagne and compliment me on my dress. Those who thought I was beneath them would turn up their nose and snicker at my lack of jewels.
Duke’s humble roots were winding around my ankles and I was loving their firm grip.
“I’ll give you the tour later,” he said. “The main floor’s been done for about two years. But be warned, the basement is still the original eighties style because the only thing down there is my home gym and I don’t care much about the wallpaper when I’m working out.”
“Now I can’t wait to see it.”
He grinned at me and jerked his chin to the fridge. “Water and beer are in there. I picked up a bottle of red if you want that instead.”
I spotted an amber beer bottle beside the sink so I helped myself to the same. “Can I help?”
“No. You just relax.”
“That’s all I’ve done today.” That and worry. But I stayed on my side of the island, sipping from my beer as he threw a towel over his shoulder and dug out a cutting board and knife. Then he started pulling vegetables and a bundle of lettuce from the refrigerator. “What are we having?”
“Steaks are ready for the grill. Potatoes are in the oven. Thought I’d whip up a salad too.”
“You can cook?”
“I can cook,” he said as he began slicing a tomato. Judging by the smell of the potatoes roasting, dinner would be delicious.
He chopped in his bare feet, looking sexy and charming and completely at ease in the kitchen. Knowing that he was king of this house like he was king of the town was a total turn-on. One day, if the music returned, I was absolutely writing a song about this man.
Duke Evans deserved one hell of a song.
I wanted to immortalize him into lyrics. The same way I’d done for my father.
“My dad cooked,” I said. “Not all the time but often. He loved coming home early from work a few days a week and beating Mom to the kitchen. He’d strap on her floral apron and go to town, make something fancy for us.”
“What was your favorite thing he cooked?”
“Tacos. They weren’t fancy but Mom loved tacos. And Dad loved Mom so we ate a lot of tacos.”
I smiled, thinking about how he’d pull out her chair and drape a napkin over her lap. Then he’d bring her a plate of tacos and act like it was escargot.
“My parents had this silly little thing,” I continued. “My dad was the master of cheesy, over-the-top gestures. If there was a chance it could make my mom blush and giggle, he’d do it. Then afterward, he’d ask her if it was cheesy enough. She’d rate him on a scale of cheddar at best”—I raised my hand above my head, then lowered it past my waist—“to American singles at worst.”
“Because that’s not really cheese.”
“Exactly.” I pictured Mom’s smile when she broke the news that his efforts were mediocre mozzarella. And heard Dad’s laugh when he scored the elusive holy swiss.
Duke set down his knife and braced his hands on the counter. “What happened to them?”
“Car accident. It was about three months after I moved to Nashville. They went out to a movie one night and never came home.”
He dropped his head. “I’m sorry.”
“It was a long time ago.”
“I shouldn’t have told you about the accident.” His jaw clenched. “Probably brought it all back. Fuck, I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s okay. I was happy to listen.”
He shook his head, pinning me with his blue eyes. “It’s time, baby.”
“For the potatoes?”
“No.” He came around the island and put his hands on my shoulders. “Time for you to tell me what’s going on.”
“Oh,” I muttered.
“Gotta know what I’m dealing with here.” His thumbs stroked my skin. “I wanted to give you some time. Give us some time to just sink into this thing. But I don’t like that I’m walking through a minefield with a blindfold on.”
“Okay.” I took a deep breath, ready to launch into it from the beginning, when the doorbell rang.
Duke’s eyebrows came together and he dropped his hands, tugging the towel off his shoulder. He tossed it behind him to the island, then he strode from the room, leaving me and my beer with a short reprieve.
Why was I so nervous about telling him my story? When I’d told Everly that I trusted Duke, I’d meant it. There was no way that man would betray me. But a part of me wanted to keep my secrets locked up tight. Maybe I feared he’d think less of me.
Yes, I’d been stupid. I’d given up too much control to the wrong people. A woman was dead and it was because of me.
But it hadn’t been my fault. None of it had been my fault. At least, that was what I’d been telling myself for weeks.
So why did I feel so guilty?
“You walked here?” Duke’s voice carried down the hallway, echoing before his footsteps. He came around the corner from the entryway but he wasn’t alone.
Travis followed behind him. “Mom grounded me from the car.”
“Why?”
“Because I—” The second he spotted me in the kitchen, Travis’s face turned to stone. He must not have realized it was my car in the driveway. I doubted he’d make that mistake again.
“You remember Jade?” Duke nodded to me as he went back to his cutting board.
“Yeah.”
“Hi.” I smiled and waved, hoping a friendly face would thaw the boy a bit.
It didn’t.
He scowled at me and then glared at Duke. “Is she here for dinner?”
Duke answered with a hard glare. Had it been aimed at me, I would have dropped to my knees and begged for sweet mercy.
Travis wasn’t fazed. Without a word, he spun around and stormed out of the house, marking his exit by slamming the door.
I jerked and, when the sound stopped reverberating through the house, looked at Duke. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to come between you two.”
“Don’t apologize. He’s going to have to deal.”
“Okay,” I muttered, feeling like a wedge driving a boy and his role model apart.
Duke returned to cooking and though he didn’t admit to it, Travis’s attitude dampened his mood. He chopped the salad toppings with a bit too much force, squishing the tomatoes with every slice. He yanked the pan of potatoes from the oven to give the spuds a turn, almost rolling one onto the floor.
And the conversation from before Travis had arrived was over.
It was probably for the best. It would be hard enough to tell Duke when he was in a good mood. Grumpy Duke would freak the fuck out.
When Duke went outside to grill the steaks, I followed him to the deck. “Would Travis normally have stayed for dinner?”
He nodded. “Yeah. He comes over once or twice a week. We eat. Play hoops or watch a game.”
The comfort and ease with which Travis had entered the house spoke of how many times he’d come here. “I’m sorry.”
“Hey.” Duke came over and wrapped me in his arms. “Don’t. I want you here. Travis will come around.”
“But—”
“Lucy, it’s fine.” He let me go long enough to drop a kiss to my lips. “Let’s forget about it. Have dinner. Go to bed.”
“Are you going to ask me to stay?”
“Wasn’t planning on asking but you’re definitely staying.”
I smiled. “Good thing I brought my toothbrush.”
Sex would take his mind off Travis.
And buy me one more day to avoid the inevitable conversation.
Chapter Ten
Duke
“Lucy,” I called, closing the front door of the farmhouse behind me. We were going to have words about her leaving it unlocked while she was home alone.
“Upstairs!”
I kicked off my boots and unholstered my gun, leaving it and my badge in the backpack I’d brought along.
Sooner rather than later, either she was going to have to start spending more nights at my place, where I had a gun safe, or I was buying one to leave here.
I jogged up the stairs, turning for the bedroom. It was bright, smelled like laundry soap and . . . empty. “Where are you?”
“I’m in the bathroom.”
I crossed the room and there she was, standing in front of the mirror, wearing rubber gloves with a plastic bottle of black in one hand. She dragged the pointed tip through a sharp part in her hair, squeezing the dye into her roots to cover the blond that had begun to peek through.
“You left the door unlocked.”
“Because I knew you were coming over and my hands are a little busy at the moment to answer the door.”
“I’m having a key made tomorrow.”
“There’s a spare in that wooden bowl in the kitchen. Just take it.”
No hesitation. No serious conversation about exchanging keys and where are we headed.
Because she knew, like I did, that this wasn’t going away.
“Want some help with the back?” I came into the room, bending to drop a kiss on the sliver of skin showing past the thick towel covering her shoulders.
“Sure.” She met my gaze in the mirror and smiled. “That would be great. Want the gloves?”
“Nah. You keep them.” I didn’t want her delicate fingers marred with stain. And if my fingertips were black, it would just be a reminder that she’d let me help.
There was something intimate and trusting about helping her color the blond roots. About lifting sections of her long hair and placing them here and there.
Did she trust me?
I’d been trying not to pressure her into telling me her story. At dinner the other night, she’d had this look of dread, of fear, on her face right before Travis interrupted us, and after that, I just hadn’t pushed. I didn’t want to go into my normal interrogation mode and make her feel like I was grilling her for a confession.
But damn it, it was killing me not knowing what had happened. My thirst for answers had nearly driven me to the internet over the past week, but I’d held back. I’d waited.
“Done.” I handed her back the empty bottle after hitting the last section of hair, following her instructions.