by Piper Rayne
“Hold down the fort for a minute or two. I’ll be right back.”
Mai disappeared into the back kitchen to check the message. It was from Ian. Huh. Maybe she had been wrong after all. He’d said he would call later, but wasn’t that what they all said? He and Mai had scratched a two-year itch last night. She had to accept that that was all it had been.
All it ever could be.
She listened to the message.
Hey there, Mai with an I. I have to leave town tonight. Alex has been released, so the band is headed back out on the road. I am so sorry to leave without seeing you again. I’ll be back as soon as I can.
She tapped “delete.”
Well. Can’t say I didn’t see that one coming.
Chapter Eight
The day had been a disaster. No way to sugarcoat that.
Ian was lying on a bed in yet another generically luxurious hotel, staring at the ceiling. There were perfectly good artworks on the wall he could stare at. Also, a well-stocked minibar and giant screen television. But the blankness of the ceiling suited his mood.
The band had played an outdoor music festival that afternoon. It had been hot—and not in a good way. Hot in the way that hell was supposed to be hot. Hard to play a guitar with a river of sweat dripping off his fingers. The audience had dropped like flies, too. From the stage, he’d seen medics pushing their way through the crowd and carrying people out.
I wouldn’t pay money to see my own band in that kind of weather.
That wasn’t even the worst of it. Halfway through their most recent hit, Alex had switched to a drum fill from a different song. It took thirty seconds of the entire band taking turns glaring at him before he realized what he had done. The crowd applauded what they assumed was some sort of clever musical “in” joke.
One time could be laughed off. If Alex were to make a habit of spacing out in the middle of sets, though, it would become unfunny very quickly.
On the nightstand, his phone buzzed with a text, sending his heart soaring at the prospect of some small communication from Mai. He had texted her every day for the past three weeks. And she’d replied. Most days, anyway. She was busy—he got that. He wasn’t entirely sure she really wanted to hear from him, but her replies were always pleasant, polite. She was too sensible a woman to chase after the likes of him. On paper, he was a bad bet for a serious relationship. He got that, too.
On the other hand, she hadn’t ghosted him or blocked his number, so there was still a glimmer of a chance—right?
He rolled onto his side and dragged the phone from the nightstand onto the mattress. The message was from Dave, who clearly knew that calling Ian was not a good idea at the moment.
Interview request from New Music Now. You should take this one.
He shoved the phone away. Sitting for an interview was on the ever growing list of things he never wanted to do again. Along with playing desert music festivals, appearing on stage with Alex without a note from Alex’s doctor, and drinking the crap coffee that even five-star hotels served.
And anyway, he had nothing new to say to anyone, nothing that he hadn’t said a million times already. I’m a twenty-nine-year-old millionaire who plays in a band. Why do people want my opinion on climate change? Or where is the music industry going? What is the secret to writing hit songs?
Hell if I know.
He didn’t even know where he was going to be six months from now. What hotel? What city? What country? Or would he be twiddling his thumbs in his rented condo while Alex struggled to dry out again?
The only thing he really knew was where he wanted to be in six months. Scratch that—where he wanted to be right now. He wanted to be in a particular small town on the Chesapeake Bay. In a particular bed above a charming coffee shop. In the arms of a particular woman.
Mai with an I.
He picked up the phone. It was ten o’clock on the east coast. Her shop was closed by now. He called and listened as the call rolled over to voice mail. He ended the call without leaving a message. He’d made his interest clear to her, but he wasn’t going to be a nag.
Two minutes later, his phone rang.
“Hi there,” the voice on the other end said. Her voice, that was as lovely to his ears as any song could be.
“Hey. What are you up to?” He pictured her puttering around her apartment, mug of coffee in hand.
“I’m on the world’s most boring date.”
He sat bolt upright, nearly choking on air. She was dating? Oh no no no. Suddenly, everything was crystal clear.
“Where are you?”
“I’m hiding in the ladies’ room, so I could return your call. How did the show go?”
“It could have been worse. But not by much. Don’t look it up online.”
“It’s good to hear your voice.”
“My voice is shot from the show.”
“Still.”
“How long have you been dating this guy?”
“This is the first date. And the last.” She sighed. “Ian, you can’t keep asking me to wait. To give us a chance. I want a life you can’t give me.”
From a small stage erected in the parking lot at Secret Beach, Mai looked out over the crowd assembled for the official celebration of St. Caroline’s 300th anniversary. Beyond the crowd, out on the bay, a barge filled with fireworks waited. Despite the evening’s heat, the metal microphone felt cool in her hands. She watched as the high school band director settled down his students. After a minute, he turned and gave her a nod. She took a long breath and then lifted the microphone.
“O say can you see …”
Normally, she could sing the national anthem without even thinking about it. In any case, she could forget half the lyrics, fall off the stage, and still get a rousing round of applause from everyone in St. Caroline.
That might actually happen tonight—because a tall figure had just separated from the back of the crowd. Even in the fading light of sunset—and even though all she could see were his head and shoulders—she recognized him. Improbably enough, Ian was here. In town. Listening to her sing.
“... that our flag was still there …” The band picked up volume as the crowd joined in for the last two lines. Ian was walking toward the stage, causing a few double takes as people recognized him. Fireworks lit up the sky as the crowd’s collective voice crested over the finish line. By the time Mai seated the microphone back into its stand and hopped down from the temporary stage, Ian was there.
“What are you—?” Her question was stopped by his kiss. A long, leisurely kiss that left Mai unable to tell whether the sizzling noises she was hearing came from the fireworks or the electricity zinging down her spine.
“Do you have to stay for the rest?” he murmured into her lips.
She shook her head, unable even to get out the word, “no.” Ian was here. Unless she was dreaming—which couldn’t be ruled out, because she dreamed about that night with Ian all the time.
“Then I’ll walk you home.” He laid his arm across her shoulders and tucked her in against his ribs.
“Aren’t you supposed to be on tour?”
“Last date was yesterday.”
They reached a street corner, where he stopped and kissed her again.
“I’m not going another day without you in my life.”
“Umm … how’s that going to work? With the band and all?”
“I quit the band.”
“What?”
“Alex needs a much longer stint in rehab. And I’m tired of that life.”
“So … just like that? You left?”
He nodded. “Just like that. I told Alex he could replace me. He can continue using the name, if he wants. But I’m out.”
“And so you came here?”
They stopped at the next street corner and kissed again. She tallied up the number of street corners left until they reached Two Beans.
“I promised Simone I would do an album with her. Which will be far more interesting than anythi
ng Pulse is doing. And I promised a certain coffee shop owner that I would be back.”
She was definitely dreaming. “Your timing sucks, though. I swore off men after that last date.”
“You swore off other men. There, I fixed it for you.”
Two more street corners. Two more kisses.
This can’t be happening. Ian came back. For her.
They stopped in front of Two Beans. The sandbags were long gone. She looked up at him, hesitant to ask him in. It might be the thing that broke the spell and—poof!—he’d disappear. She’d wake up the way she’d been waking up for weeks—to find herself alone in her bed.
“There’s only one problem,” he added.
Ah, here comes the kicker.
“I need a place to stay.”
“Simone doesn’t have a guest room?” she parried.
“She does, but she’s a newlywed. I doubt she and Douglas want me hanging around.”
“I hear the Chesapeake Inn is nice.”
“Booked until October. Also, the coffee isn’t as good.”
“I won’t tell them you said that.”
“I’m sure they already know.” He cupped her chin in his hand. His face was all seriousness now. “And just for the record, I am offering you whatever life you want. Marriage, kids, white picket fence, small-town fireworks, a chance to sing something other than Francis Scott Key.”
“Small-town fireworks. Is that code for …?
“Shagging you six ways to Sunday? Yes, it is.”
His grin was goofy, hopeful, and entirely un-rock-star-like. He ran his thumb along her lower lip, then traced the curve of her neck until he reached her sternum. He tapped the spot over her heart. “Invite me in, Mai with an I. We’ll figure out the rest along the way.”
She fished a key from the pocket of her skirt and unlocked the door.
If you enjoyed Stormy Hearts, please check out the rest of the St. Caroline Series. You can start the series for free with Hearts on Fire!
About Julia Gabriel
Julia Gabriel writes contemporary romance that is smart, sexy, and emotionally-intense (grab the tissues). She lives in New England where she is a full-time mom to a teenager, as well as a sometime writing professor and obsessive quilter (is there any other kind?). If all goes well, she’ll be a Parisienne in her next life.
Her books have been selected as “Top Picks” by RT Book Reviews, and critics at RT Book Reviews, Kirkus, and others have called her work “nuanced,” “heart-wrenching and emotional,” “well-crafted contemporary romance,” and “deeply moving storytelling.”
Also by Julia Gabriel
St. Caroline Series
Hearts on Fire
Two of Hearts
This Reminds Me of Us
Summer Again
Anything for Her
(standalone romantic comedy)
Phlox Beauty Series
Next to You
Back to Us
All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means without the written permissions of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2021 Kim Law
About Montana Inspired
Passion ignites when two longtime friends find themselves in the right place at the right time.
Jewel Jackson has pined for Bobby Brandon for years. He’s been “with his soulmate” since high school, so pining was all she ever expected. However, when he returns home to help out with his family’s stock contracting business, he shows up sans fiancée and suddenly looking at Jewel in a whole new light. As they work together to ensure the Brandons’ star bull has the best season of his career, sparks between the two of them begin to take on a whole new light. Could an easy summer fling inspire something more? And will either of them be willing to change their entire life to make it so?
Read the standalone prequel to Kim Law’s bestselling Wildes of Birch Bay series and fall in love with all things Montana today.
Chapter One
Holy hotness.
Jewel Jackson licked the cherry-flavored ice cream of the two-scoop cone she’d just been handed as her attention snagged on the man manning the booth opposite where she stood. Bobby Brandon was home again. Which she’d known. Or she’d known he would be home. As he’d done the year before, after his father had died, Bobby intended to help out with his family’s stock contracting business. Jewel’s full-time hand was on leave for the next month, so Bobby had offered to fill the void.
But Bobby Brandon, back in town so soon after the last time . . . and with a full, thick beard? Not to mention, the wildly inviting messy hair pushed back from his face.
Good Lord.
It hadn’t even been seven months since she’d seen the man. Why the big change?
And who knew she liked bearded men?
She scooped out another bite of ice cream with her tongue, taking a moment to enjoy the sweetness of the locally grown cherries before swallowing. She’d always been more drawn to a clean-shaven face, such as what Montana’s bull riders typically sported. A few of the guys maintained trim goatees, but in her neck of the woods, most of the cowboys were fresh-faced and whip-cord tough.
Bobby was . . .
Sigh.
Bobby was the friend she’d always quietly lusted after while also knowing she could never have. He’d been hot before. A little beefier than the bull riders. A lot nerdier. And clean-shaven with short, neat hair.
He’d also always been taken. He had Bria.
He’d always had Bria.
And they had big plans.
Yet now, there was a sexy, just-say-the-word-and-I’ll-back-you-against-a wall look about him as his blue eyes seemed to twinkle from the middle of all that hair, and Jewel found that she couldn’t drag her gaze away from him.
He hadn’t seen her yet. He remained focused on the mother and son who stood in front of him. They were at Birch Bay’s annual cherry festival, and as Bobby had done occasionally over the years, he’d rented a booth to sell his wood carvings. He’d dabbled in the hobby for as long as Jewel had known him, even gifting her a tiny bull after she’d started working for his dad back in high school.
The pieces had an unpolished roughness about them, but at the same time were exquisite. The curves weren’t smoothed out. Instead, everything he made showcased the small slivers shaved off to form each shape. However, the added details were phenomenal. He mostly did animals, but she’d seen holiday themed items, as well. Santa Clauses and snowmen. Cupids and leprechauns. That sort of thing. His pieces had been in one of the local tourist shops for the last couple of years, and Jewel found his creativity humbling.
“When are you going to stop ogling from afar and simply go for it?”
The unexpected question had her entire body jerking in surprise, her gaze shooting from Bobby to the man now standing at her side, and as the top scoop of her ice cream wobbled precariously, her free hand barely made it up in time to catch it.
“Nick Wilde,” she hissed. She held the cold pink blob in her right hand and did her best to reattach it to the cone. “I am not ogling. I was just admiring Bobby’s carvings.”
His laugh was half snort. “Well, you were certainly admiring something.”
She scowled, but he didn’t notice because he’d reached over to the booth where she’d bought the ice cream and snatched up a handful of napkins. The booth was a miniature version of his family’s local store, The Cherry Basket, which was a side business to their cherry orchard. The Wildes had one of the largest operations on the eastern shore of Montana’s Flathead Lake, and though several of the Wildes no longer lived in Birch Bay, most usually returned for the annual harvest and subsequent cherry festival. Nick was one of those who regularly returned.
He wiped he
r hand off when she thrust it out for him, and though she wanted to further defend herself against “ogling” Bobby, she used the excuse of her now very unstable ice cream cone as a detractor.
Focusing on smoothing out the scoops, as well as catching every dribble oozing over the edges of the cone, she made sure her gaze stayed trained only on her ice cream.
“Admit it, J,” Nick murmured as he leaned in to whisper in her ear. “You’ve had the hots for Bobby since he was a mere boy.”
“Shhh.” She glared at him. “And no. I haven’t.”
She moved away from the booth, as well as the clump of other customers standing nearby. The streets were packed today since it was a perfect seventy-six-degree July day. Residents of Birch Bay, as well as tourists from all over, looked forward to this festival every year.
Nick gave her a bored look as he shifted to remain standing next to her. He was one of those cowboys she’d just been thinking about. There was a good chance he’d top the list in the Montana Pro this year, especially if he finished the season the way he’d started it. However, he wasn’t a cowboy she’d ever lusted after. They’d been friends since the fourth grade.
“I hear he’s come home to help you for the next few weeks,” Nick prodded.
The fast spread of information in her hometown never failed. “He’s home to help out in his family’s business.”
“By traveling to the rodeos with you.”
She once again glared at him. “Yes . . . So?” It wasn’t best practice to handle the bulls solo at the rodeos, and she couldn’t bring either of her other two employees due to them needing to stay back and care for the rest of the stock. Therefore, yes, Bobby would be traveling with her for the next five weekends as a second set of hands.