He guessed that more people walked around with PTSD than they realized.
He hung back and watched as she headed down to the kiddie park that contained a slide, a couple swings, and a merry-go-round.
Kelsey sat on one of the swings, dragging her feet along the ground.
And Tate’s heart went out to her. He knew what it felt like to be alone, the night pressing in, no one to turn to. Maybe that’s what propelled him forward, out of the shadows, to stroll up to her.
“Only took you five nights,” she said without looking up at him.
Oh. Maybe that’s why she so freely roamed the premises—because she knew he was her shadow. He said nothing and sat on the swing next to her.
She leaned back and pushed off, back. When it reached the apex, she leaned back on the metal chains, her legs out, and began to pump in an easy playground rhythm.
A springtime night breeze rolled across the prairie, stirring up the smells of earth and cattle, and it reminded him very much of a sultry, starry night in Montana.
“I know you think I’m going to lose it onstage,” she said as she gained speed.
“I do,” he said softly, hating—but needing her to hear—the truth. “You think you’re fine now, but next time you’re on stage, with all those people watching—”
“You’re wrong. The stage is the one place where I’m safe,” she said. “Nothing touches me there.”
He said nothing, pushed off next to her.
“Okay, until yeah, my stage blew up, so there’s that.”
He let a tiny smile find his mouth. Started to pump, catching up.
The night deepened around them as they climbed toward the sky. The moon came out to watch.
“Kelsey, what did you mean when you said you weren’t going to let him win?” Tate didn’t look at her, hoping to make it easier.
For a long time, he didn’t think she’d answer.
Finally, “When I was fourteen, I was attacked in New York City, in Central Park. I was with my parents, who were both murdered, and I was beaten and left for dead.”
He stopped pumping, dragging his feet on the ground, almost halting himself cold.
What—?
His throat filled, bile in his chest. Her cool, almost reporter voice had left him bereft.
Well done, Tate. Make her bring that up.
She kept pumping, as if refusing to be halted by his shock. Then again, she’d lived with that reality for…what, twelve years?
No wonder the woman had PTSD.
“I’m so sorry, Kelsey.”
She dragged her feet on the ground, kicking up dirt. “Life is tragic and random. At best, we all have to learn to survive it.”
“And you did.”
She stopped and now stared at him. “I was found by a jogger and his dog, nearly frozen, nearly bled out, and I spent almost two months in the hospital. When I got out, I went to live with my mother’s cousin in Wisconsin. Dixie’s dad.”
She held the chains of the swing, her whitened hands the only evidence of stress, her voice easy, conversational.
“No one in my school knew what happened. It might have made the news, but I think the papers tried to protect my name. I determined to put it behind me. A couple years later, Glo showed up. She has her own tale of tragedy, and we sort of bonded. Dixie’s family played bluegrass, and I liked to sing. And Glo was ready to do anything that would annoy her mother, so we started the Yankee Belles.”
So much in that explanation to unpack, but Tate focused on the one thing that mattered. “Kelsey, I know you don’t want to hear this, but I think you have a little PTSD. You need a break.”
She looked at him. Sighed. Shook her head. “You have to get it, Tate. The band is all I have. I went to college for a couple years, and it was a disaster. Singing—the stage—makes me feel like I’m, if not normal, then in control.”
“And, to use your own words, ‘my stage blew up, so there’s that.’”
Her mouth tightened.
“Listen. Carter talked to me. He told me he can cancel the opening act with Brett Young, and I agree.”
“What? Why would you do that?” She pushed off the swing, rounding on him.
He held up his hand. “Because I’m trying to help.”
“Then don’t interfere. I thought maybe if you heard the story, maybe you’d be on my side—”
“I am on your side!”
She shook her head. “What is it with you Marshalls that make you think you can chase me down, stick your nose into my world—”
“Hey. You pay me to stick my nose in your world.”
“Fine. You’re fired!” She turned and stalked away.
“I don’t think so.” He caught up to her, grabbed her arm. “Listen. I do understand.” He ground his jaw, then, “I understand, more than you realize, the need to prove yourself. To show yourself that you’re not afraid, not the person who is going to run. But if you don’t face this now, in a year you might not have anything left to give.”
She pulled away from him. Met his eyes. “And if I quit now, I might never get back onstage. And if you can get on board with that, you can stick around.” She unlatched her arm from his grip and strode away.
Oh yeah, he had a real charm with women. He blew out a breath and made to follow after her as she took the path back to the bus, her frame already under the park lights.
“Tate.”
The voice stilled him, and he turned.
What, did every Belle go out for midnight strolls? Glo stood just outside the perimeter of the kiddie park. She wore a bulky sweatshirt, pajama pants, and flip-flops, her short blonde hair captured in a hairband. The look only accentuated her high cheekbones, those luminous, now angry, hazel-green eyes.
Maybe he should quit while he still had his skin. He shoved his hands into his pockets, frowned at her. “What are you doing out here?”
She came up to him. Glanced at Kelsey.
“Were you following her?”
“You, actually. Both of you.”
“Still trying to figure out if you can trust me.”
He wasn’t kidding, but a tiny smile tipped her lips. “Maybe.”
Super. “I don’t know why I’m even here, Glo. Kelsey told me about her past. Tragic and yes, she has a right to be jumpy, but I don’t seriously think she’s in any danger—”
“What about me?’
He stared at her. “What about you? Do you have a stalker I need to know about?”
Something flickered in her eyes and for a second—wait—what—?
But then it vanished, and she shook her head. “No. I don’t. But she didn’t tell you everything.”
He cocked his head.
“I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but she was also raped. She was fourteen. Her assailant also promised to find her when he got out of prison and do it again. And this time finish the job.”
Oh. He felt sick.
Glo only made it worse when she said, quietly, “She found out just before the bombing that Russell, the man who hurt her, is out on parole.”
He had nothing then, his lungs so tight he couldn’t breathe. Finally, “Which might mean he’s walking around in New York with an ankle bracelet, but just as easily might mean that they signed him into a halfway house and he’s really in Indiana, flooring it to Nebraska.”
Right.
“You should have told me sooner, Glo.”
She looked away. “Yeah. I thought they found the bomber, and it wasn’t Russell. And at first, I didn’t hire you to keep us safe as much as to make her feel safe. Make us all feel safe.” And there went the flicker of something again. “But most of us don’t have nightmares that come to life and try to kill us, and I guess I should have taken that more seriously.”
“Okay. Then let me do my job. Let me get you all out of here and to someplace safe while I figure out if this guy is after Kelsey.”
“Where?” Glo seemed to be actually considering his words. Which he took as progres
s.
Anything other than Glo belittling him with nicknames felt like progress.
“My family’s ranch. In Montana. It’s remote enough for us to catch our breath and for me to do some digging into this Russell guy.”
Glo cocked her head. “Do you have a barn?”
Huh? “Yes. Of course. And horses. And maybe a few kittens…”
She rolled her eyes. “Okay, Farmer John. I’ll see if I can talk Kelsey into saying yes.”
Farmer John?
But then she touched his arm, gave his bicep a little squeeze, and walked past him. “Good idea.”
And shoot, but he nearly, stupidly, flexed his farmer’s muscles.
6
With every mile, Kelsey’s future slipped from her grip. “I’m a hostage here, just so we’re clear.” She sat on the step between the front driver’s seat and the back of the bus, staring out the massive front windshield as Tate maneuvered the bus through the foothills and twisted curves of the Garnet Range, east of Helena, Montana.
Montana.
Talk about hiding away. They’d been driving for the better part of two days since leaving Lincoln, her show, and her spectacular finale, yet unseen, after the showdown of the century in the RV village.
What do you mean you pulled us from the show?
Her words to Carter, not quiet in the least, and even she could figure out that she was unraveling. She didn’t need Dixie to take her by the shoulders, look her in the eyes, and tell her that she didn’t want to be onstage when she had a meltdown.
She’d wanted to rip herself away from Dixie’s gaze, and then from Glo, who put her arm around her and essentially betrayed her with an agreeing nod.
A couple of Benedict Arnolds the way they sided with Carter—and her new warden, Tate Marshall. “Two weeks off—that’s all I’m asking for,” Tate had said, shooting a glance at Carter, who’d folded his arms across his chest, nodding. “Enough for us all to take a breath and figure out if Kelsey is really in any danger.”
And oh, perfect, her past had shown up to wreak havoc on everyone’s lives. She didn’t know who had ratted her out, but the news about Russell’s parole had found Tate’s ears, and suddenly the man had decided to earn his paycheck. But no one seemed to be complaining about the hijacking of their show as they disbanded, briefly, half the band heading for the airport—Dixie to Minneapolis, Elijah Blue back to Austin, Texas, Carter to his office in Nashville.
Except, of course, Glo and Kelsey. Now, Kelsey sat on the steps of the bus watching as her world went from city to farmland to mountainscape.
And okay, it might be a little breathtaking, the way the rustic green foothills, speared with deep green pine, edged the hazy-blue snowcapped mountains in the distance. Tufted white clouds against an impossibly blue sky hung over the horizon for as far as she could see.
A girl could probably stand in the middle of a field and scream and not be heard for miles.
In fact, a rather large part of her wanted to try it.
Just run off the bus into one of those wildflower fields, drop to her knees, and release the roil of frustration inside.
Except, then Glo and Tate might decide she didn’t just need two weeks off, but perhaps a little white jacket to go with it.
“What, exactly, am I going to do for the next two weeks?” Kelsey said, mostly to no one.
Tate sat in the driver’s seat, dressed in a blue T-shirt, a pair of jeans, and cowboy boots. He hadn’t shaved since they left Lincoln, and now a deep brown scrub of whiskers covered his face. He wore a baseball hat backward on his head and a pair of aviator sunglasses. “You could…pet the cats.”
“I’m allergic to cats.”
“Feed the chickens, gather eggs.”
She shook her head.
“We have baby goats.”
“Really?” This from Glo who sat on the sofa behind them, her feet up, dressed in a pair of yoga pants and a hot-pink tee. She was reading something on her tablet. “I love baby goats.”
“Do you like horses?” Tate asked, and Kelsey wasn’t sure to whom, but she answered anyway.
“We used to have a horse on the farm, back when I was a little girl. We’d try and saddle him, and he’d blow out his stomach so that we couldn’t cinch down the saddle. Then, we’d be in the middle of a field and he’d let out his breath. The saddle would fall right off, and us with it. Then he’d leave us stranded there and head back to the barn. I hate horses.”
Tate glanced over his shoulder at her. “Wow. Who’s us, by the way? Sister? Brother?”
“Half brother. Hamilton Jones. He’s from Dad’s first marriage. About ten years older than me. A SEAL. I haven’t seen him in years.”
She drew up her knees, crossed her arms on them, and propped her chin on top. “I suppose I could work on the new album. Maybe write a couple songs.” She looked at Glo through the rearview mirror. “What do you think, Glo?”
“Mmmhmm,” Glo said.
“We have to do something.”
“You could just relax,” Tate said as he touched the brakes. “Maybe try to get a decent night’s sleep?”
He turned onto a dirt road, stopped, and opened the door of the bus. “Stay here.”
Where, really, was she going to go? Because as far as she could see was rolling green pastureland dotted with dark humps of cattle, rough-edged gullies, and the occasional tumbleweed. A real mecca of activity.
Tate unlatched the gate under the soaring log braces of a grand entrance with the words Marshall Triple M Ranch cast in iron hanging from the crossbar.
He got back on the bus.
“Are we here?” she asked.
“Almost. Another mile up the road.” He eased the bus through, then got back out and closed the gate. Returned.
But before he started, he turned, one arm on the steering wheel. “Listen. My mom can be a little…friendly. She doesn’t mean to, but she’ll get into your business, and…anyway, just brace yourself.”
“Your mom is here?” Kelsey asked, and something stirred inside her.
Wait, huh—
But he had nodded and turned back to the road.
His family’s ranch…oh no, she should have…wait, wait—
But what could she say? Turn the bus around?
Maybe Knox didn’t even live here—maybe she was simply doing what she did best—conjuring up a worst-case scenario. How terrible, really…
Oh, the last thing she wanted was to relive the memory of her dreadful panic. She simply couldn’t bear the pity in his eyes.
The ranch house came into view and for a moment, everything else dropped away. “This is your home? It looks like a freakin’ resort!”
A main ranch house was situated at the foot of a hill studded with lodgepole pine. The craggy hill fell to a groomed front yard cordoned off with pale, faded hitching rail fencing. In the middle of the yard at the apex of a curved drive, sat a dark log-sided, two-story home with a stone front porch, complete with rocking chairs, of course, and a dark red door. A basket of flowers sat on a bench near the door.
Charming.
“My grandfather built the house. Hand-sawed the logs, cleaned, and stripped them. The house was just a simple box until my dad added on the wing with the kitchen and great room in the back. You should see the fireplace. We hauled in those stones one at a time.”
He pulled up in front of a four-stall garage. To the right, a gambrel roof barn painted green completed the aura of ranch life. She very much expected a cowboy to walk out of those big wide doors.
Probably one that looked a lot like Knox Marshall. Tall, ruddy brown hair, a cowboy hat. Maybe even wearing chaps and leading a horse named Silver.
Yeah, okay, so she’d built him up a little in her mind. It didn’t mean she wanted to see him. To have to apologize in person.
Frankly, she was too afraid to ask if Knox might be here. Too afraid that she might just climb into her back bunk and pull the curtain.
Refuse to come out.
&
nbsp; In truth, she almost didn’t move when Tate opened the door, got up, and reached out his hand. Helping her up, maybe, but she had a sneakin’ suspicion he remembered what she’d said to him nearly two weeks ago.
I’m sorry, Tate. I don’t want to see him. But tell him thank you.
Jerk.
She ignored his hand and stepped past him, out of the bus.
The glorious scent of pine and aspen, of wide-open spaces, and yeah, a working cattle ranch, swept through her.
She took another sniff and wanted to cry, a crazy lump filling her chest.
Glo landed behind her. “Oh my gosh, this is amazing.” She grabbed Kelsey’s hand, gave it a squeeze. “Listen to all that…nothing.”
Nothing was right. No traffic, no honky-tonk band in the background, no buzz of parking lot lights.
It felt almost empty. As if, without the buzz, she might actually hear herself.
See, she should have said no, dug her feet into the safety of the rich Nebraska soil.
Tate led them around the bus, and Glo didn’t release Kelsey’s hand, holding her hostage as she dragged her after Tate.
A woman had come out to stand on the porch. She wore her brown hair back in a headband, a curly mess springing out like it was trying to escape, a brown flannel shirt, a pair of cargo pants, a green T-shirt, and gardening gloves, which she now took off and set on the bench by the door. Only then did Kelsey notice the pots, the bags of dirt, and the geraniums in baskets, ready to be repotted for summer.
“Tate? Are you kidding me?” The woman came off the stone porch, arms open, and practically flew down a worn stone path to the dirt drive.
She dove into Tate’s arms, and he swung her around, and it did something crazy in Kelsey’s chest to see a grown man love on his mother. The woman let him go, but cupped his face, grinning, a glisten in her eyes.
Sweet.
He kissed her forehead, then put his arm around her as he turned her. “Ma, this is Kelsey and Glo. They’re with the Yankee Belles. We need a little…timeout from touring.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful.” She grinned at them, her eyes so warm Kelsey had to look away, out into the jagged horizon where the snowcapped mountains burred the skyline.
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