"There are Native American carvers in the Pacific Northwest. I searched for about a year before I found the right guy. Totem poles are complex. I won't bore you, but each one of those carved blocks you're lookin' at carries a meanin'. They're not random. Even their position on the pole has significance. I didn't know any of this when I started the project. Learnin' about it has been a journey in itself."
"Is that an owl at the bottom?"
"Sure is."
"Shouldn't he be at the top?"
"Actually, the bottom position carries the most importance."
"Really? Why did you choose an owl?"
"That's a long conversation, Amber, and we'd best keep movin'. Jasmine's gonna have lunch on the table pretty soon."
He asked Soldier to walk forward, and though Millie fell into step, Amber couldn't take her eyes off the totem pole, especially the wise, wide eyes and widow's peak brow.
"Why were you chosen to be in the most important place? I need to know more about this."
"Did you say something?"
"I was talking to myself," Amber replied hastily. "I tend to do that."
"I think we all do, though most of us don't admit it," he said with smile. "There's the homestead."
"My gosh. Doesn't it get lonely living in a house that big," she asked, staring at the Georgian mansion, "or do you have people in and out all the time?"
"Half of the first floor is a studio. The band stays here when we're recordin'. We get more done livin' together, but that's been changin'. A couple of the guys are married with kids now, and they don't wanna be away from home, especially since we tour so much."
"How often do you have to change musicians?"
"You sure ask a lotta questions, Amber Scott," he remarked, shooting her a look.
"I do? Probably from writing. Writing is all about answering questions. Who, what, where, and so on."
"I get it," he said, following the path away from the house and heading back down to the barn. "Kinda weird though."
"If I'm going to help you write your book I'll spend most of my time interviewing you."
"I'm not big on interviews."
"No kidding!" she exclaimed. "When Heath called me and suggested I apply for the job I tried to find out more about you. I knew who you were of course. Everyone knows Brett Preston, but there's nothing personal about you anywhere. Just repetitive PR stuff that says you live on a ranch and you're an animal lover."
"Yep. That sums me up."
"You said yourself privacy doesn't exist much anymore, but you've sure managed to keep your personal life under wraps, especially considering how famous you are. I'm amazed there's so little information available."
"My public relations people have never been very happy with me."
"That begs the question. If you're so determined not to reveal much about yourself, why are you writing a book? Isn't that contrary to your nature? A biography is certainly contrary to the privacy you're so determined to maintain."
"Yep, I reckon it is. There's the barn," he added as they crossed the driveway.
"Then why did you—?"
"I have my reasons, and I'm still not sure what I'm gonna include."
"Why did you start this project in the first place?"
"I'm not ready to give you an answer about that," he replied with a slight frown. "Do you see that fella standin' by my truck?"
"Uh-huh," she muttered, hoping she hadn't pushed too hard.
"That's Steve. Don't be offended if he's not chatty. He manages the barn and takes care of the horses. He's wonderful with animals, but he's not great with people."
"Did something happen to him?"
"Amber, you've really gotta stop askin' and start talkin'. Over lunch I wanna hear about you."
"Sorry. Like I said, it's a habit, but you'll find my life dullsville compared to yours."
"I doubt that."
She expected the barn manger to walk up and take Millie and Soldier, but he stayed by the old truck. Coming to a stop at the hitching post, swinging her leg around and slipping from the saddle proved far less difficult than mounting up.
"You wanna follow me in your car up to the house, or hitch a ride with me?" Brett asked, petting Soldier as he talked.
"I'll go with you," she replied, silently adding, and face my ghosts.
"Did you enjoy the tour?"
"Absolutely. Your mare is a dream."
"Yep, she's a good girl."
As they walked forward, Brett lightly placed his hand against her back. The gentle touch almost made her knees weak, but as they drew near the gleaming pickup, her focus shifted. She reminded herself the truck wasn't the truck, and it was sheer coincidence that it happened to be there.
"Steve, this is Amber. She's gonna be helpin' me with a project and spendin' some time here. Amber, this is my barn manager, Steve."
"Hello, Steve."
"Hello, Amber."
His face was deeply tanned, and his brown eyes narrowed as they caught hers. For a fleeting moment she thought he could read her thoughts, but abruptly touching his cowboy hat, he sent his gaze back to Brett.
"You done with the horses?"
"Yep. Thanks, Steve."
Steve strode off to the hitching post, and dropping his hand from her back, Brett stepped up to the truck and opened the door.
"Your carriage awaits," he declared, with a theatrical wave of his arm.
Her heart hammered.
Her mouth fell dry.
There was no turning back.
"How long have you owned this?" she managed, trying to sound normal as she climbed in.
"More questions?"
"Sorry."
He closed the door, and as he walked around to the driver's side, she took long deep breaths and willed her heart to stop its heavy thumping.
"You were right," he declared, sliding in behind the wheel and starting the engine. "I have to get used to your questions. My dad gave me this pickup when I was just a kid. Took me forever to get the damn thing runnin', but I loved it then and I love it now."
Her stomach churned.
A swirling mix of emotions seized her heart.
She felt an overwhelming need to hug him.
To curl into his lap and lose herself in the comfort of his strong, muscled arms.
"Her name's Betsy," he continued, putting the truck into gear and heading up to the house.
His words barely registered.
The pain was too great.
The shameful wounds of her past had suddenly and mercilessly been ripped open.
CHAPTER THREE
As Brett walked Amber down a wide hallway to his recording studio, the memorabilia mounted on the walls helped to distract her. On one side a row of gold and platinum records offered a testament to his hugely successful career. On the other, groupings of photographs of Brett next to titans of the recording industry illustrated his superstardom. Many famous faces she recognized, while other pictures showed him with suited men looking incongruous next to Brett dressed in jeans and a stetson. She spied only one picture of the handsome cowboy in a tuxedo, and she thought he could easily have been James Bond. When he opened the arched double doors she expected a glassed-in booth and a room with musical equipment, but what he called the studio, turned out to be an apartment with its own kitchen, a comfortable lounge with a fireplace, an impressive bar, and two bedrooms.
"Band accommodations I assume," Amber remarked.
"Most of the time, but if I have friends over for dinner I often invite them to stay. I have other guest rooms, but here they have a kitchen and comfortable lounge. The point is, I don't like anyone drivin' down that hill late at night."
"The road has so many twists and turns I can see how it would be dangerous if you're tired or a bit buzzed."
"There's also the danger from wildlife. They step out from the brush without notice."
"Isn't it difficult trailering the horses up here?"
"Goin' down the other side isn't near as
bad. That's what we use when if we have to move them. Sometimes it's a pain, but what's a little extra time if the trip's safer. You wanna see where you'll be stayin? Make sure it's okay."
"I'd be happy living here in a closet. This place is beautiful."
"You'll be just across the hall, but if I'm playin', or if any of the guys come up and we jam you won't hear a peep. The studio is soundproofed."
"I'm not worried in the least. I might even ask if you can leave the door open so I can listen, but something just occurred to me. You tour every summer. When will you be leaving, and how can we work on your book if you're on the road?"
"I'm takin' this season off. First time in seven years."
"Really? Won't you be bored?"
"I hope so. I need to be bored for a while, but I'm lookin' forward to workin' on my memoirs, and I'll be writin' for the next CD. I can't shut that down. The music happens in my head all by itself."
"I know what you mean. When I start a story the characters take me on a journey. I'm a passenger most of the time. What am I saying? I'm a passenger through the whole thing."
"I hear that," he declared, leading her back into the hallway. "I should probably warn you. A nighttime visitor might be wantin' to share your bed."
"He should be so lucky," she quipped, surprised by the blatant flirtation and wondering if he would really do such a thing.
"He can be pretty insistent," Brett continued, entering through an open door directly across from the studio. "Here you go. It's a bit bigger than a closet, and you have a terrace overlookin' the pool."
Walking in behind him, she scanned the spacious lounge. A slider led out to a flagstone patio, a sofa and chairs were grouped in front of a fireplace, and mounted above the mantle sat a flatscreen television.
"The bedroom and bathroom are through here," he said, ambling across the room and standing by the door. "The bathroom's been stocked up. You should find everything you need."
Expecting a bedroom as lovely as the living area, she stopped short and caught her breath as she entered. Before her father lost his wealth she'd enjoyed an opulent lifestyle, but she hadn't been able to persuade her parents to decorate her bedroom as she wanted. She was staring at her vision. Willowy curtains fell from the canopy of a white four post bed, and the furniture was cream shabby chic.
"I figured he'd be here," Brett drawled from the doorway. "That's Benny."
Surprised by the decor she hadn't noticed the grey tabby curled up in the middle of the bed.
"He's adorable," Amber exclaimed, leaning over and stroking his soft fur. "Hello, Benny."
"This room belongs to him, so good luck gettin' him off this bed at night."
"This is the insistent visitor you were talking about?"
"Well, sure, who else?" he replied with a poker face. "From the moment he came into the house this has been his domain. I hope you're not allergic. I should've asked."
"The only thing I'm allergic to is not enough sleep. I need my eight hours or I'm a bear."
"Good to know."
"Sorry. Probably too much information."
"Not for me. Do you approve of your living space?"
"Approve?" she exclaimed, rising from the bed and walking slowly around the room. "I wish I could move in this second!" Pausing to run her fingers across the distressed furniture, she stared out the paned window at the sparkling pool. "Everything is just beautiful."
"Do you mean that?"
"That I think everything is beautiful? Of course I do."
"No, about wishin' you could start right away."
As she turned to reply, she felt a bolt of energy. Brett Preston, the sexiest man she'd ever laid eyes on, was leaning his shoulder against the door frame, his arms crossed and with one foot over the other. He could have been a hunk in a cowboy calendar.
"I do," she managed. "I mean, who wouldn't want to live here?"
"Don't you have loose ends that need tyin' up?"
"Loose ends that need tying up," she repeated thoughtfully. "Um, not really. Can I have my mail forwarded?"
"That'd be a whole lot easier than runnin' back to your house every day."
"And you're ready to start on the book? Are you sure, Brett?"
"I don't know how we go about that, but yeah. A couple of the guys will be stoppin' by from time to time, but other than that I don't have much goin' on. Around this time I'm usually up to my eyeballs preparin' for the tour, but like I said, not this year. I'm gonna take it easy, get the book done and play with my horses."
"So, um, Mr. Hamilton said I'd receive a formal offer," she said, walking slowly towards him. "Is that what this is?"
A wry grin curled his lips.
"I have the paperwork in my den. All I have to do is fill in the blanks."
"You were expecting to give it to me today?"
"No," he said hastily. "John's office sent it over so I could approve it. The details are blank, but I can fill them in myself. I don't have to send it back to him."
"I'm feeling weird."
"Why?" he asked, straightening up and uncrossing his arms. "Did I say something to make you uncomfortable?"
"No, it's just, uh," she stammered, trying to find words to describe her array of emotions. "I've never been in a situation like this."
"Excuse me," he said as his phone rang. Unzipping a pocket on his vest, he retrieved it, glanced at the screen, then brought it to his ear. "Hey, Jasmine. Great, thanks. We'll be right there. Lunch is ready," he said, ending the call. "I have a suggestion. When we're done, you can take a wander around the house while I fill in those empty spaces. I'll put the offer in an envelope, and you can take it with you. Look it over when you get home."
"That would be perfect. Thank you."
"If you have any questions you can call me or John Hamilton."
"Can I call you? I don't think Mr. Hamilton likes me."
"Don't let that old buzzard fool you. He's a neat guy, but he likes to put on a don't-mess-with-me attitude. I've always thought he would've been a great lawman in the old west."
"You know, you're right. I can totally see that," Amber said with a giggle.
"Feelin' better? Not so weird?"
"Not so weird."
"Let's go have some grub. Jasmine's a sweetheart, but she's a bit like Steve. Kinda reserved. Are you hungry?"
"Definitely. I think my appetite's been stirred by all this clean, country air."
"She set up a table by the pool. We can go out through the slidin' door in your living room."
"My living room?"
"Hopefully it will be soon."
Not sure how to respond she simply smiled, then walked with him onto the terrace. A soft breeze kissed her skin, and as they started walking, she spied a wrought iron table on a colorful patio at the far end of the pool. Johnny and Cash sat nearby as a woman set out several dishes, then disappeared into the house.
"She said she made cold cajun salmon salad, but if you're a vegetarian—"
"I'm not. That sounds fabulous."
As they ambled past the pool, she wondered if she'd wake up to find she'd been dreaming. A gorgeous country and western singer actually wanted her help. He'd taken her around his property on a sweet mare, shown her the pond with the willows, and she'd stared in awe at the sacred garden and the totem pole. She'd even be sleeping in the bedroom of her fantasies.
She grinned—then frowned.
Guilt.
It seeped silently into her gut.
She wasn't there to help Brett.
That was a lie.
Uncovering details of his life for her own purposes, that was her agenda.
A snatch and grab.
"You've gone quiet," he remarked as they reached the table and sat down. "Havin' second thoughts?"
His question was coincidentally and alarmingly accurate.
"I was thinking how quickly things can change," she replied, telling herself it may be a half-truth, but a truth nonetheless.
"Yep. Change is the
one constant, but sometimes it can be sneaky."
"How do you mean?"
"There are times when change is real slow and you don't feel it happenin', then it suddenly bites you in the ass."
"I've had that experience," she said knowingly, then stared down at her salad. "This looks great. Where did Jasmine go?"
"She takes lunch down to Steve and they eat together. Iced tea?"
"Yes, please. Can I ask how you found him? He doesn't seem the type to answer an ad in the paper."
"He came in with the totem pole."
"You're kidding?"
"Nope. After the ceremony I saw him in one of the paddocks. Soldier and Millie were standin' with him at the fence, and the two other horses in the next pasture had joined them. When Steve looked up and saw me he started walkin' to the gate, and damn if those four horses didn't stick to him like glue. I'm tellin' you, Amber, I got goosebumps like you wouldn't believe."
"I got goosebumps listening to that story," she said, gratefully sipping the cold tea.
"I believe destiny brought me to this place, and I also believe Steve is a part of that," Brett said solemnly. "He knew it too, and so did the tribal elders. I had a cottage built for him behind the barn. That's where he wanted to live. Near the horses and off by himself. He may not say much, but whenever I ask his opinion about something he blows me away."
A comfortable energy had settled around them, and as they began to eat, Amber relaxed for the first time since she'd left her tiny apartment. The conversation turned to their mutual friend Heath, and she was surprised to learn the two men had met when they were teenagers at a stable in Houston.
"I think we hit it off 'cos he was havin' trouble with his dad, and I was havin' trouble with life. We sure had some crazy times. He usually had dollars in his pocket, and I had a way with words. When we wanted beer we'd hang around the liquor store. I'd do the talkin', and he'd pull out his wallet. Those were tough times, but lookin' back, they were good too. We've stayed close over the years. We're like brothers."
"He's a few years older than me, but we still saw quite a bit of each other at parties, though and I can't say I know him very well now. I'm surprised you and I didn't run into each other back then. I'm glad he called me and told me about this opportunity. Funny we all left Texas and ended up in the same area."
To Con A Cowboy (Hunks and Horses Book 3) Page 3