by Nash, Willa
“Baby, we both know you’ll never be happy living here forever. You need—”
“No.” She flew off the couch. “Have you not heard me? Have you not listened to me? I’m not going back there.”
“But your music.”
“I grieved that part of my music. And today, I realized I can have it. Here. In this life.” She shook her head. “Duke, I’m not leaving.”
“Lucy—”
“I’m not leaving!” She threw her hands in the air. “Please, hear me. I’m not leaving. Nashville is not my home. Not anymore. I live here. In Calamity. I told you, you had your chance to get rid of me.”
“I don’t want to get rid of you.”
“Then don’t try to shove me out the door. I’m not going anywhere.”
“You might change your mind.”
“Duke,” she whispered. “I’m staying.”
Fuck me. She was staying.
I flew off the couch, sidestepping the coffee table as she raced my way. We collided, lips and hands and gasps and want. Then I swept her into my arms and carried her upstairs to the bedroom, stripping off her clothes to worship her body and feast on her pussy until she came.
When I buried myself deep inside her, our gazes locked, I made a silent vow to hold tight and cherish this woman for as long as she’d have me.
Lucy had asked if I believed in destiny. I hadn’t, not until her.
We made love, hot and passionate and all-consuming, until we were both spent and darkness had fallen outside.
“Things are going to change,” I whispered into her hair as she rested on my side.
Lucy lifted and propped her chin on my chest. “Like what?”
“How attached to the farmhouse are you?”
“I like it here. But I’m not attached. Why?”
“Because I’m attached to my house.”
“Are you asking me to move in?”
“When you’re ready.”
She laid her cheek on my sternum, her ear pressed to my heartbeat. “I don’t want to bail on my lease with Kerrigan. How about when it’s up?”
“Fine by me.” I grinned as my stomach growled.
“We missed dinner.”
“I didn’t.”
Lucy laughed and sat up, holding the sheet to her chest. Her black hair was draped over her creamy shoulders. Her freckles complemented that beautiful smile on her face. “I’m going to go get us some snacks—”
The sound of shattering glass followed by a loud thud made her yelp and flinch. Her hands covered her ears as I jerked and scrambled out of bed.
I swiped up my boxers and stepped into them before grabbing my gun from its holster still attached to the belt on my jeans. “Stay here.”
“Duke—”
“Stay here,” I ordered and strode out the door, gun raised.
The sound of a dirt bike’s engine filled the air. I leapt down the stairs, two at a time, hoping to get a closer look, but froze at the mouth of the living room. Shards of glass littered the floor, their jagged edges catching the light coming in from the kitchen. Lying beside one of the coffee table’s legs was a gray rock twice the size of my fist.
The cool evening air blew through what had once been the picture window, raising the hair on my bare skin. And beyond, a single taillight flew down the gravel road.
“Son of a bitch.” I lowered my gun and jogged upstairs.
Lucy had pulled on a T-shirt and her shorts. “What’s going on?”
“Someone threw a rock through the front window.”
“What? Why?” She gasped and her face paled. “Do you think—”
“No.” I pulled her into my arms. “This is about me, not you. I saw a dirt bike race outta here like its wheels were on fire and I’m pretty sure I know who was holding the handlebars.”
“Was it . . .”
Travis?
That boy had better not have had anything to do with this. I grabbed my jeans and tugged them on. Lucy helped button my shirt.
“Do me a favor,” I said, taking the keys from my pocket and twisting off the key to my house’s front door. “Get some shoes on and pack stuff for a couple of nights. Then head over to my place.”
“Where are you going?”
My shoulders sagged. “To arrest a kid.”
Chapter Fourteen
Lucy
I hummed as I drove down First Street.
In Nashville, I hummed constantly. I’d hum a song stuck in my head. I’d hum a song I was trying to write. I’d hum to the radio.
Then I stopped.
As a habit, it should have been something I had to force myself to stop doing. But it had taken no effort. No conscious thought to not hum. The music had just been . . . gone.
It was returning again. Slowly. And there was no question that part of the reason was Duke. If he hadn’t come into my life, the music might have been silenced forever. But I was falling for him, a little bit more each day. Those emotions, the beginning of what felt a lot like love, were healing a lot of wounds.
So I kept humming, smiling as the music purred from my throat, as I eased the Rover into a parking space near one of the banks downtown. The sidewalk was shaded by a tall cottonwood, the limbs still green even though autumn was chasing the summer heat away.
Fall was going to be spectacular in Calamity, an orange and yellow and evergreen kaleidoscope. If we had more chilly temperatures after dark, the leaves would soon turn. Last night had felt especially cold, though that was likely because I’d spent most of it alone in Duke’s bed, curled under the covers, missing his body heat.
After I’d dressed and packed a bag for a couple nights’ stay, he’d led me downstairs and past the wreck in my living room. I’d wanted to gawk and linger and mourn my broken window, but Duke had kept a firm grip on my elbow, not slowing a beat as he walked me out the door. But even with only a quick glance, the destruction was fresh in my mind.
It was just glass. I’d been telling myself all night and all morning that it was just glass. One broken window and a rock on the floor. Except it was familiar. The broken window was an attack on my sanctuary, like my stalker’s texts on my phone. The letters in my mailbox. The emails that had made me fear the ding of an incoming message.
The stalker had never damaged my property though. That was probably the reason I hadn’t freaked out. I could compartmentalize the events in Nashville as something entirely different from some shattered glass.
The reason I’d spent most of the night awake had been less about fear and more about worry.
For Duke.
He hadn’t admitted it was Travis who’d thrown that rock, but as far as I knew, no one else in Calamity hated Jade Morgan.
Why did Travis dislike me so much? Duke hadn’t dated his mother in years. Maybe Melanie and Duke had been more serious than Duke let on and I was missing a piece of the puzzle. Did Travis actually think coming after me would drive Duke back into his mother’s arms?
Complicated creatures, teenage boys.
When Duke had finally come home after four this morning, he’d collapsed into bed and wrapped me up tight. Wordlessly, we’d both drifted off to sleep. Then this morning, he’d snuck out.
He’d gotten up, showered and dressed for work while I’d slept through the whole routine. The sun had been streaming through the bedroom window by the time I’d finally forced myself out of bed. In the kitchen, I’d found a note beside the coffeepot.
Went to work. Call me when you wake up.
We hadn’t talked long when I’d called because I could tell there were people around him. He’d told me that a deputy was at my house cleaning up the glass. His friend Kase was heading to the farmhouse later today to get measurements for a replacement and board up the hole with a piece of plywood. Duke had rattled off logistics, then asked me not to go home until we could go together.
I’d agreed, something I would have protested had I been properly caffeinated.
Five hours later, his laundry was done, h
is kitchen was clean, and I hadn’t heard a word about Travis. Rather than sit and spin myself into a tizzy, I’d decided to brave First Street to kill an hour or two. Maybe an afternoon of window shopping would settle my nerves.
And keep me from calling Everly.
My fingers itched to dial her number on my new phone. But we were both holding to the agreement. I hadn’t called or texted in two weeks. Whenever I reached for my phone, I’d slap my own hand as a reminder that emails and calls were off-limits.
Was she okay? God, I wanted to know. She hadn’t contacted Duke, which meant there weren’t any emergencies, but she was also incredibly stubborn. And our definitions of what constituted an emergency were on opposite ends of the severity spectrum.
Be okay. I sent up the silent wish, then got out of the Rover to walk off my anxiety.
I was wearing Duke’s green ball cap, the same hat that he’d worn when we’d met in Yellowstone. I’d stolen it from his house this morning and wasn’t planning on giving it back. It was mine now. Along with the man. Along with this town.
Calamity was mine, and it was time to stop hiding. Maybe someone would recognize me. Maybe not. But if they did, Duke and I would deal. Together.
There’d been such relief on his face yesterday when I’d assured him that I was staying.
His fears had been justified. I hadn’t made it abundantly clear that I wasn’t going back to being Lucy Ross, country music superstar. Because there’d been a part of me, deep down, that hadn’t been wholly ready to say farewell to my former life. The small part that loved the music almost enough to deal with the gruesome politics and the label’s bullshit and the endless rehearsals and the ruthless media and the crazed stalker.
But yesterday in the living room, when Duke had spoken with a goodbye in his voice, I’d known I was done.
I’d satisfy my love of music another way, even if that meant writing songs to sing on my patio for no one other than myself. Nashville was history.
I chose Calamity.
I chose Duke.
Eventually, we’d have to make some decisions. Who was I going to be? What color did I want my hair? Could I stay in hiding forever?
Realistically, I knew the answer was no. But I pushed those worries aside and continued my stroll. My problems would wait until I was ready to solve them.
Downtown was quiet today. There were fewer tourists and more empty parking spaces. My footsteps were unhurried as I walked, smiling at shop clerks through their front windows. The baristas in the coffee shop weren’t scrambling to make lattes, instead laughing with one another as most of the tables sat empty. The neighboring jewelry store had left their door open and a dog lay in the threshold, napping. And for the first time, the small art gallery wasn’t swarmed with people.
The featured painting in the window display lured me inside. It was of a buffalo, the oil paint done in chunky, bright strokes on the canvas. The reds and oranges and blues and browns were so striking, my eye wasn’t sure which color to love first.
Before Yellowstone, I would have purchased it immediately. Now, it was a firm maybe.
“Hello,” the receptionist greeted, adjusting the rim of her black-framed glasses as I stepped inside the gallery. “Is there anything I can help you find?”
“No, thank you. I’m just browsing.” I smiled, my eyes struggling to make contact because they were so drawn to the paintings on display.
There were animals—a wolf, a deer, a rainbow trout—spaced between stunning landscapes. I walked slowly along the walls, taking it all in, but stopped when I came to the one and only portrait on display. A painting of a girl.
The style of the piece was the same as the others, chunky paint dried thick on the canvas in bold, rough strokes. This must be an artist’s personal gallery because all of the paintings were signed with the same black smudge in the lower right corner.
But this girl was different from the animals. The colors were muted with the exception of her eyes. They were so brilliant, so vivid a deep blue, that violet tinted her irises. Pale hair framed her face, its color white and shimmery like beams of the morning sun.
It was an eye-catching piece. Breathtaking and heartbreaking. The girl wasn’t smiling. She wasn’t frowning. Her expression, like most of the colors, was blank. She looked . . . lonely. I wanted to reach past the paint and give her a hug.
I turned to the receptionist. “How much—”
“It’s not for sale.” A man appeared at my side, reaching past me to tap the small golden placard underneath the portrait I hadn’t noticed.
Display Only. Not For Sale.
“Oh. Sorry.” I took a step away, feeling like I’d intruded on his personal space. “I didn’t notice.”
He studied me in a way that made me feel like my face would be on the next canvas.
Was this the artist? It had to be. He had that tortured, brooding vibe rolling off his broad shoulders.
He was handsome. Not Duke-level hot, but definitely attractive with a tall and strong physique. His eyes were a deep blue and his sandy-blond hair was buzzed short. The sleeves of his Henley were pushed up to his elbows, revealing a tattoo on his left forearm that was nearly as colorful as his artwork. He’d be a lot more good-looking if he lost the scowl.
Maybe he thought I was a tourist. Maybe he’d lighten up if he realized I was a resident too.
“Hi.” I held out my hand. “I’m Jade Morgan.”
His eyes flicked to my hand, but his arms stayed firmly crossed over his chest.
Jerk.
“Sorry, Hux.” The receptionist appeared with a panic-laced smile, stepping between me and the man. She waved, motioning me to step away with her.
Their customer service could use some improvement. If that painting was so precious and guarded, why have it hanging for the world to see? I’d buy my art online. I spun around, ready to leave, and ran into a solid wall of man.
A familiar wall.
Duke’s arms steadied me. I relaxed. He must have gone home and found me missing, then spotted my car on First.
“What are you doing here?” he asked at the same time he moved me to his side and away from the receptionist and angry artist. He’d asked a question but wasn’t waiting for an answer.
“What do you want, Evans?” Hux barked.
I looked between the men, who glared at one another.
The receptionist ducked her head and muttered, “Excuse me,” before disappearing.
I inched away, ready to follow. “I was just doing some window shopping. But we can go.”
Duke’s attention was locked on Hux and he didn’t make a move.
Ah. He wasn’t here for me.
“Stay,” he commanded. “This involves you too.”
“It does?”
Duke nodded but spoke to Hux. “Last night, your daughter threw a rock through Jade’s window.”
Daughter? I thought it had been Travis.
Hux’s jaw ticked. “Do you have proof?”
“Prints on the rock she used. An eyewitness—me—who saw her riding off on a dirt bike. And her confession.”
“Fuck.” Hux ran a hand over his short hair. Hair just a shade darker than the paintings. She had to be his daughter.
Why would his kid come to my house? Why would she vandalize my property? I swallowed my questions, sensing that I was here strictly to observe.
“How much trouble is she in?” Hux asked, letting some genuine concern slip into that cold front.
“That’s up to Jade,” Duke said.
Hux’s eyes snapped to me and the glare was gone. In its place was a pleading look. “I’ll pay. I’ll get the window replaced. Kase’ll do it.”
“He’s already got a new one ordered,” Duke said.
“I’ll call him. Get him to send me the bill. We’ll get the window replaced and forget it. Okay?”
“Uh . . . okay?” Was I supposed to agree? Or protest? I looked to Duke but he was no help. We’d have to talk later about him clueing me in
before the confrontation.
Duke blew out a long breath. “She’s getting desperate, Hux. She wants out of that house and thinks if she gets hauled into the station enough times, I can make it happen. But there’s only so much I can do. Only so many times I can cut her a break. She pushes me too far, then I have no choice but to talk to the county attorney and she’s going to end up in juvie. Call your daughter. Be the father she fucking needs. And get her out of that goddamn house.”
I was getting whiplash looking between the two men. What house? What was happening?
“No one’s going to give her to me.” Hux spoke through gritted teeth. “I tried. For years. Remember?”
“Yeah, I remember. And I remember you giving up.”
“I can’t win this one.” There was a hopelessness to Hux’s words. “No matter what I do, it won’t be enough.”
Before Duke could speak, Hux turned and disappeared down a hallway I hadn’t noticed.
“Damn it,” Duke muttered before taking my elbow and steering me away. He jerked his chin at the receptionist as he escorted me out the door. It was only after we were in the sunshine and the door’s chime had faded behind us that his stiff posture relaxed. “Fuck.”
“Okay, Sheriff.” I put my hands on my hips. “What is going on? Who is that?”
“That is Reese Huxley. His daughter, Savannah, is the same age as Travis. She’s one of the kids I don’t want him hanging around.”
“Because she throws rocks through people’s windows.”
“Yeah.” He sighed. “Among other things.”
“What other things? What does she do?”
“It’s more like, what doesn’t she do? She hangs out with older guys who buy her beer. She rides a dirt bike around town even though it’s not street legal. I’d bet a year’s salary she was the one who gave Travis the vape pen. Spray-painting trees. Out past curfew. Whenever I’ve got trouble with a group of teenagers, she’s in the thick of it. And it’s all to get Reese’s attention.”
“Why?”
“It’s a long story. But the short of it is, her mom is worthless, and her stepdad is a rotten piece of shit.”