“Get out of here, you two,” Henry muttered. “I’m busy.”
Delight pivoted and rushed down the hallway. Her face burned with painful humiliation as tears stung her eyes. All she’d wanted to do was find Denton and call off the date for tonight, but would Henry ever believe she hadn’t been deliberately spying? Of course not. He was a black-hearted old—
“Delight?”
She ignored Michael’s voice behind her. How many times had she wished she could talk to him alone, away from Grace and the rest of the cast? But this wasn’t what she’d had in mind.
A touch on her arm startled her, and she jerked around and looked up into mesmerizing dark brown eyes that could boil water with their intensity. She caught her breath.
“I really wasn’t eavesdropping,” she said. “Not intentionally, anyway. I don’t care what Henry says.”
“Don’t take Henry’s words to heart right now. If you heard anything at all, you know he’s under a lot of pressure.”
“He hates me.”
“See? There you go, taking it personally.”
She warmed to the teasing tone of Michael’s voice and fell into step beside him. What she wouldn’t give to be his costar. Grace didn’t even realize what she had.
“I don’t know what I’ve done to Henry,” she said, “but it’s obvious how he feels about me.”
“Give him time. He was that hard on me once, years ago. On Grace, too, for that matter.”
“How long before that changed?”
“I worked with him for the first time six years ago. I just did a brief substitution for another musician, but we remained friends afterward. He remembered me when he was putting the cast together for Star Notes. He also insisted Grace and I work together.”
“Well, he’d never try to boost my career.”
“You’re looking at it the wrong way. He wants what’s best for the show. Right now, that’s Grace. You’re what, twenty? You’ve got lots of time.”
“I don’t see what age has to do with it.”
“Experience has everything to do with it. Grace has ten years on you. Just settle in and pay your dues.”
Delight wanted to scowl. Instead, she poked Michael in the side with her fingers and grinned up at him. “So, you think I’m young and energetic.”
He laughed as they reached the broad staircase that led downstairs to the lobby. “Don’t take that personally, either.”
She stopped and allowed him to take the stairs without her. “Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you have a lot of potential, and you have time to develop it.” He glanced up at her over his shoulder. “Give it the time it needs, and mature into it.”
The words struck her like a slap. In other words, he was telling her to grow up. First Blake, now Michael.
Stinging from the rebuke, she watched Michael reach the lobby and cross to the cast entrance. With a casual wave over his shoulder, he walked out.
Chapter Four
Michael’s cell phone vibrated in his shirt pocket just before he pulled his helmet on, bracing himself for a chilly ride home. As he retrieved the phone from his pocket, he caught sight of Delight striding from the cast entrance, hands stuffed deeply into the pockets of her fur coat.
“Hey, gorgeous.” A familiar husky voice came from the phone.
“Hi, Sherilyn.” Grace’s determined agent had wooed him professionally for months now, in spite of his rejections.
“Had lunch yet?” she asked.
“I slept late, had a late breakfast.”
She tsked him. “You and Grace Brennan are like two nuts from the same tree. Fortunately for her, I’m curbing her breakfast choices for a while, which will be difficult for her down at Bertie’s.”
“She’s in Hideaway today?” With a pang he realized he’d missed her.
“That’s right, and she’d better be sticking to my diet plan. You didn’t happen to catch the article in yesterday’s Across the Country, did you?”
Delight peeled out of the parking lot in her Viper, and Michael looked up to see her barely missing a car in traffic. “I avoid that magazine whenever possible, though I’ve heard about the article.”
The last time his face had been plastered across the pages of that magazine the headline had read Heart-throb Branson Singer Michael Gold Pulled Over For Drunk Driving. The reporter hadn’t bothered to explain that the patrolman discovered Michael had not been drinking, but had been distracted by a stray puppy sauntering into the street.
“I advise you to snatch a copy from the closest newsstand,” Sherilyn said. “Jolene was rough on Grace this time. Made a big deal about the meeting Friday night.”
“I heard.”
“I’ve got a radio station looking for a guest celebrity for an upcoming Saturday segment.” The sudden change in subject was typical Sherilyn. “Preferably male. Interested?”
He chuckled, enjoying the warmth of the sunshine as it heated him through the black leather of his jacket. “My Saturdays are tied up.”
“It wouldn’t interfere with practice, because it’s Saturday morning. It’d bring some good publicity your way for a change.”
“Sorry, I’ll have to pass.” He wasn’t about to give up his Saturday-morning work at the clinic to build a music career he’d suddenly begun to have doubts about.
She sighed audibly. “You do play hard to get, Michael Gold. I could do your career a world of good, you know.”
“I’m sure you could.” He occasionally caught himself cringing lately when he saw a photo of himself in the media. “How about Cassidy Ryder? He’s a celebrity.”
Sherilyn gave an unladylike snort over the phone. “You’re the one I want.”
He chuckled and said goodbye, then zipped up his jacket and braced himself for a cool ride—maybe he could make it back home in thirty minutes if he took an alternate route out of town.
Grace sat on the sun-drenched deck of the Lakeside Bed and Breakfast, ignoring strange looks from the lunch crowd inside the dining area as she read the final lines of the article Sherilyn had been so insistent that she read.
Finished, she shoved the magazine across the table in disgust. She wanted to throw it into the water, but that would be littering. Besides, it was her mom’s copy.
“‘Overly voluptuous,’” she muttered, leaning back in her chair and staring across the water toward the opposite shore.
The screen door opened, and Bertie Meyer stepped onto the deck carrying a large bowl of greens and chopped veggies topped with slices of grilled chicken. “This oughta fill you up, gal. At least for a couple of hours.”
The wily white-haired octogenarian set the bowl down. “Won’t help to brood.”
“You read the article?”
“Sure I did. Half the folks in town read it. We keep up with your career, you know. We’re all so proud of our hometown boy and girl making good.” Bertie sat down across the table from Grace with a groan of relief.
“You call that good?” Grace gestured at the magazine.
“I call it dirty. I’d like to get hold of the person who wrote it and teach her some manners. Still, they wouldn’t be writing that stuff about you if you weren’t in the public eye. And the reason you’re in the public eye is because they love you.”
Grace shook her head and managed a smile, remembering why she’d always adored Bertie.
The older lady gestured to the salad. “That’s one of the recipes I fixed up for Karah Lee over at the clinic. Grilled chicken salad with salsa. Says she’s lost thirty pounds and still going at it.”
Grace studied the salad. Karah Lee was the tall, beautiful, outspoken redheaded doctor who dated Ranger Jackson Taylor. Come to think of it, she had lost some weight lately.
“How’d you like that breakfast I made you this morning?” Bertie asked.
“Delicious. Was that one of Karah Lee’s recipes, too?”
“Yep.”
After saying a blessing over her food, Grace ate with
a relish that surprised her. If the diet continued to be this good, she might be able to live with it.
Bertie glanced through the plate-glass window into the interior dining room. “Looks like customers are clearing out.”
Grace nodded. Most of the fall and winter crowd were antique hunters, retirees with lots of time and a little money on their hands. As they left the lodge, they’d be headed back to the serious business of searching for their next bargain.
Her mom’s shop, Vintage Treasures, was one of the most popular in town. Her mom’s assistant, Malcolm, a retired computer programmer, was handling business while the “boss” traveled around the four-state area in search of more bargains.
“Malcolm’s getting a lot of attention from the ladies lately,” Bertie said. “I think he’s interested in your mother.”
Grace nodded, skeptical. After the nightmare years with her dad, romance hadn’t been anywhere on her mom’s agenda.
Bertie’s pet goat, Mildred, bleated from the goat pen west of the lodge. A houseboat cruised past, sending tiny wavelets against the rocky shoreline below the deck. Bertie chatted a few more minutes, then went back to work.
Grace raised her face to sunlight dappled by a wisp of a cedar branch that overhung the deck. Bertie was right—publicity came with the job. Grace just hadn’t been prepared for the sharp sting of bad publicity and untrue innuendos.
Once upon a time she’d been so sure her place was in Branson, making music that would make a difference in her part of the world. But were her songs making a difference?
More than anything, she loved to write songs, and to sing and play them. To get paid well for doing something she loved seemed too good to be true. She knew from experience to save for slack times ahead, but even so, she’d been able to help pay off the mortgage on Vintage Treasures.
As blessed as she was, shouldn’t she be willing to pay the price with a bad review now and then?
Other local publicity, such as the coverage they’d received on local television stations and in 417 Magazine, had been top-notch.
The screen door opened again. Grace looked up, expecting to see Bertie or her elderly business partner, Edith. Instead she saw Michael, dressed in black leather. His dark hair stuck out in every direction from the impressions made by his motorcycle helmet.
Warmth curled through Grace’s stomach. “Been biking?”
He pulled a chair out and sat across from her. “All the way to Branson and back.” His face glowed from the sting of wind, and the fragrance of fresh air hung about him. “Finish your salad and take a walk with me?”
She gave him a narrow-eyed look. “Don’t tell me Sherilyn’s drafted you into this ‘whip Grace into shape’ campaign.”
“I just thought we needed to have a talk, and it would be more enjoyable if we strolled along the water’s edge.”
“If it’s about the article, I’ve talked all I’m going to.”
“Not that.” Michael unzipped his jacket and pulled out some sheet music, which he had secured between jacket and shirt. He slid the sheets across the table for her. “Henry wants us to try this.”
The quiet solemnity of his voice alerted her. She read the words and music as she finished her salad. Typical country music fare, with the man complaining because the woman he loved chose to marry someone else.
She looked up at Michael. Still that silent watchfulness in his expression, but why? Over a piece of sheet music? They were always trying new pieces. Granted, she’d been the one to write most of the new songs they’d performed lately, but this was no big deal.
“What’s up?” she asked.
“Denton’s pressuring Henry to pull some of your songs and replace them with stuff like this.”
She felt a stab of disappointment. “Why? He doesn’t think business is good enough?” She heard the sarcasm in her own voice, and was ashamed. This job came with its own temptations, and one of the hardest to resist was pride.
He beckoned her with his hand. “You’re finished with your salad. Time for that walk.”
Michael strolled beside Grace across the broad lawn to the municipal boat dock at the far tip of the peninsula on which the town of Hideaway was situated. She smelled like vanilla and spice and looked like heaven to him, dressed for comfort in old jeans and a hot pink sweater that draped below her hips.
As they walked, he explained his conversation with Henry and caught a glimpse of her eyes as they sparkled with excitement about the television prospect, then darkened with dismay when he explained Henry’s concern about the direction of the show. And he told her about Denton’s apparent interest in giving Delight more stage time.
She sighed as she stepped onto the unoccupied boat dock and reached into the pocket of her jeans. With a jangle of quarters she purchased fish food from a dispenser, then gave Michael a handful and took some for herself.
“I have to do this every time I come down,” she said, effectively changing the subject. Most likely, that had been her intention. She would do almost anything to avoid talking about unpleasant subjects.
Michael tossed his first few pellets into the water. Ducks and geese chattered from the foot of the cliffs across the lake, then began their avid migration as fish gathered below the surface beneath the dock.
He sat down, dangling his legs over the side of the dock, and patted the spot beside him. Grace joined him. By the time they ran out of pellets, the ducks and geese had arrived.
Grace laughed and got up to buy more. “I also have to do this every time I come home.” She returned and gave him another handful to share with the growing population of hungry mouths.
Michael tossed a single pellet to a solitary sun perch at the edge of the action. “You still think of this as home?”
“Of course.” She crossed her legs in front of her to stop the geese from nipping at her shoes. “As soon as we arrived here from California, I knew this was where we belonged. I mean, look at this place.” She spread her arms to encompass the broad, neatly trimmed lawn, dotted with gazebos painted in pastels of green, pink, blue, yellow and lavender. The inverted town square, with brick storefronts facing outward, was encircled by a street on all four sides. The architecture had a look of comfort and dependability.
“It’s beautiful,” he agreed.
“It’s a place with roots. The month Mom and I arrived here, we were invited to the Hideaway festival, complete with pig races. Even though I was still injured emotionally and physically, I couldn’t help noticing the kindness of the people. They welcomed us with open arms. I met Red and Bertie Meyer then, and loved them ever after. It broke my heart when Red died.”
Michael turned to study her face. “Even though you’ve only been here since you were sixteen and I grew up here, it seems as if you’re as much a native of Hideaway as I am. Do you realize that first Hideaway festival you attended was the first one I ever missed? I was eighteen and off to college. Believe me, if I’d seen you back then, I’d have remembered you.”
She laughed, obviously to cover a blush. “You apparently didn’t return for several years, because I’ve never missed one since.”
“I worked summers in Columbia to help pay for school, and when I didn’t work, I took extra courses. That’s why I’m able to do phlebotomy work at the clinic.”
“You never came home after you left?” she asked.
“Never enough time,” he said. “And with no family here after Dad died, I didn’t have a place to stay.”
She gave him a look of empathy. As he watched the dazzle of sunlight on her flawless skin, he discovered something he hadn’t realized before in five years of friendship. Grace Brennan belonged in the outdoors.
All this time he’d thought she was suited for the stage, with the extravagant lines of her face, her high cheekbones, her finely arched brows, her brilliant smile. But there was something more earthy and natural about her out here in the late-November sunshine.
They ran out of fish food and quarters.
Grace d
usted her hands. “How about continuing this walk to the general store? We can get bread to feed these beggars.”
Michael laughed and caught her fish-scented hand. “It would be just our luck for Sherilyn to choose that moment to come down and check on you, and she’d have both our hides.”
When Grace didn’t pull away, Michael continued to hold her hand as they strolled along the grassy shoreline.
“I miss the ocean,” she said. “When I was growing up in California, we lived in Thousand Oaks for a while, just a short drive from the beach. I rode my bike there all the time. That’s why when those resort people imported sand for a beach this summer, I was all for it.”
They reached the sandy beach she was talking about. “I don’t know,” he said. “I’ve been to the ocean a few times, and a sandy beach just isn’t the same without the ocean waves.”
“Better than rocks.”
“Have you been back to California since you and your mom relocated here?”
“I went out to visit friends a couple of times, but it isn’t the same. Too many memories.”
“You’ve never spoken with your father since you left?”
She shook her head. “He never contacted me after he got out of prison.”
“Are you afraid of him?”
Her steps slowed, and Michael slowed with her, still enjoying the feel of her hand in his.
“I’m not afraid of him. I mean, I’m an adult now. What he did he did in a moment of weakness, and he paid for it.”
“Have you forgiven him?”
She stopped walking. “He never asked me to.”
“Does he have to ask? Forgiveness is for your benefit.”
She turned to him. “You’ve changed in the past couple of years, Michael Gold.”
“How’s that?”
“You’ve softened.”
He frowned. “Every cowboy hopes to hear those words.”
She smiled. “Okay, maybe not softened. You’ve grown wiser. You listen more. You’re calmer.”
“Maybe you’re the one who’s changed.” Yet he knew what she said was true. He had changed. Some of those changes disturbed him. Some were threatening to take him farther from home.
Note of Peril Page 4