Ryder could have nixed her big break before it happened. Now she had everything she had dreamed of. Unfortunately, dreams were not stagnant. They grew—expanded when she wasn't paying attention. Professionally, she was golden. Personally? Quinn wasn't sure how to answer that. She wasn't miserable. Or inconsolable. She was… sad. Not as sad as a month ago. But the difference was negligible.
"What am I going to do about you?" Quinn asked, scanning the printed pictures.
There were hundreds from the tour. However, her favorites were the ones she had taken in Aruba. Ryder wearing the fedora. Handsome didn't begin to describe him. Sexy. Magnetic. Ryder was a natural in front of the camera. Quinn could have made a small fortune off one of the shots. Closing her eyes, she sighed. That would never happen. The moment had been too personal to share. Instead, she chose to torture herself with image after image. She couldn't have him. Why not spend hours reminding herself?
Straightening her spine, Quinn slammed her hand down on her desk. "Enough."
When had she become a self-involved wallower? Whether he was here or not, loving Ryder was something to celebrate, not mourn. Determined, Quinn pulled the first picture from the wall. Then the next. And the next. She had each one cataloged and filed on her computer. Making prints had been self-indulgent foolishness. Quinn was booked on a flight to Boston at the end of the week. It was a short trip, but she was determined to make a fresh start when she returned. That meant not having Ryder's face greet her as though he lived here.
"I live alone, Mr. Hart." Quinn sealed the photos in a manila envelope before exiling them to the bottom drawer of her desk. "Someday when I have gained a little perspective, I might let them see the light of day. But for now, I can at least pretend that out of sight means out of mind."
Armed with a new attitude, Quinn took a break. It was afternoon, and she had skipped breakfast. Unless the grocery elves had paid her a visit, her cupboards were bare. She always kept peanut butter on hand. The bread wasn't fresh, but she wouldn't call it stale either. With a glass of milk, it would do just fine. She was just reaching for a plate when there was a knock at the door. It had to be one of her neighbors. The tenants were very good about not letting strangers in. If it were a delivery or a guest, she would have heard the buzzer.
Quinn wasn't exactly dressed for company. She had combed her hair that morning, pulling it back into a messy bun. She wore no makeup—nothing new when she was at home. Her jeans had seen better days, and the baggy t-shirt was a faded yellow from many, many washings. Feet bare, Quinn padded across the hardwood floor. She didn't bother to check the peephole. Her neighbors had seen her after a three-day bout of the flu. If she hadn't scared them off after that, she wasn't worried.
The second Quinn opened the door, she regretted her decision. Zoe Hart didn't wait for an invitation to enter—she barreled into the apartment. There was no point in asking how Ryder's sister had gotten into the secured building. One look at Hurricane Zoe and only a fool would have stood in her way.
It was obvious that something had Zoe wound up. Without preamble, she tore into Quinn. "You unscrupulous, duplicitous, greedy bitch. We trusted you. No, I take that back. Ryder trusted you. The rest of us trusted Ryder. He will never forgive you."
Perhaps it was a lack of food, but Quinn's first thought was that she should have combed her hair. And put on some lipstick. When an avenging angel came to call, it didn't help when she looked like she had just stepped off a fashion magazine, and Quinn looked like she was one step away from homeless. Zoe's jacket alone must have cost a fortune. The gray leather set off her blue eyes to perfection. Then Zoe's words kicked in, and Quinn's appearance became the least of her concerns.
"What did you call me? Unscrupulous? Duplicitous? Greedy?"
"Don't forget bitch," Zoe growled. Her heels clicked as paced across the small living room.
"I'll give you that one." At the moment, the other woman labeling her a bitch was the least of Quinn's worries. "But you'll have to explain the rest."
Blue eyes blazing, Zoe took something from her purse, tossing it on the coffee table.
"How much did they pay you? I hope it was plenty." Zoe looked Quinn up and down. "You certainly didn't spend it on your wardrobe."
"Now who's the bitch?"
Quinn picked up the paper. It was obviously a supermarket tabloid. One of the big ones. The headline was typical—overblown and filled with conjecture and innuendo.
The Secrets of the Ryder Hart Band. The backstabbing. The jealousy. Is the end near? An inside source tells all.
"You've been around long enough to know how these rags work, Zoe."
Quinn winced at the badly photoshopped pictures. Ryder looked like he was ready to murder Dalton. Ashe and Zoe were in some kind of odd, supposedly romantic clinch. It was typically awful.
"I would agree if I hadn't read the story. There are things in there that have never been printed before."
"About Ryder?" Suddenly concerned, Quinn rifled through the pages.
"About all of us."
Quinn skimmed the two pages. There were more bad photographs. The rest was personal but hardly earthshaking. Mostly things about Dalton. Ryder was hardly mentioned.
"It wasn't me, Zoe."
"Right," Zoe sneered. "All the years we've been together without more than the occasional crap speculation popping up, and suddenly the band is featured on the cover of every tabloid in the country. Not to mention the internet gossip sites. Why now?"
"Is this really all over the place?" Quinn sat down, giving the article a closer run through.
"Yes. A friend of mine alerted me to it this morning."
"What did Ryder have to say?" Quinn couldn't imagine that his reaction had been as over-the-top as Zoe's.
"Luckily, he's been someplace where he doesn't have access to this crap."
"Is he still at his cabin in the mountains? I thought he would have been back by now."
"You know about Ryder's cabin?" Zoe's eyes narrowed. "Nice. You have enough information to keep you in ratty t-shirts and ripped jeans for years."
"Damn it, Zoe." Quinn jumped to her feet. "I am not the source. I doubt there is one. Most of the stuff in the article is pretty general."
"And some of it is very specific. Too specific not to come from someone close to one of us." Zoe stared her down. "I came here to tell you that you've been outed. Don't try to contact Ryder. If you do, I will take you down."
With that coldly worded warning, Zoe headed for the door.
"It couldn't have been me, Zoe."
"Why should I believe you?" Zoe asked, halfway out the door.
"I would never do anything to hurt Ryder. Or any of you. I love him, Zoe."
That seemed to make Zoe pause—but not for long. The steel in her gaze hardened. "Join the club. Thousands of women claim to love my brother. It hardly makes you unique." With a swing of her long, blond hair, she slammed the door behind her.
Quinn sank to the sofa. With her index finger, she absently tapped the tabloid. Suddenly, an idea hit her. Pushing aside the front page, her gaze moved down the index page until she found what she was looking for. Quinn smiled, reaching for her phone. Sometimes old contacts came in handy.
Hurricane Zoe. One wouldn't know it to look at the room, but Ryder's sister had left potential disaster in her wake. Hopefully, Quinn could do her part to clean it up.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
RYDER FOUND DALTON and Ashe exactly where he expected them to be. In the recording studio arguing over arrangements. It was always something irreconcilable. The two of them came from different places—geographically and musically. Ryder often wondered how it worked. But it did. Before long, Dalton would give a little. Unless the first move came from Ashe. Either way, when they caught each other's rhythm, nobody in the business could rival their ability to find the perfect mix.
"Have you come to blows yet?"
It was a running joke—funny because, in the
ir hot-headed youth, more than one punch had been thrown. Now, they settled things in a less violent manner. However, Dalton and Ashe had never lost their passion for the music. It gave their recordings an edge that others had tried and failed to duplicate.
"Well, look what we have here, Dalton." When he spotted Ryder, Ashe took off his headphones. "How's it hanging, Jeremiah Johnson?"
It wasn't the most original joke, but it was accurate. Ryder had driven straight from his cabin to downtown Los Angeles without bothering to shave off his beard. He wanted to see his friends—and record a rough cut of his newest song.
"Get it out of your system," Ryder urged. "This afternoon, this look is history."
"It's good to have you back, man." Dalton pulled Ryder close, patting him hard on the back. "A few more days and Zoe would have sent out the National Guard."
"I lost track of time."
Ashe shoved Dalton aside to get in his greeting. Standing back, he gave Ryder the once over. "Other than the Grizzly Adams impression, you look good. Do I detect a spring in your step? You were dragging pretty low before you left."
Ryder thought of Quinn and smiled.
"I had an epiphany."
"No kidding," Dalton winked at Ashe. "Does she have a sister?"
While Dalton laughed at his own joke, Ryder opened his guitar case. After weeks alone, he was anxious to get a second opinion on the songs he had written. One in particular. Quinn's song hadn't turned out the way he expected. The finished product wasn't a mournful lament to what couldn't be.
"No rest for the wicked?" Ashe chuckled when Ryder began to tune his guitar. "You've been back all of five seconds. What's the rush?"
"This song is a little different for me." It was easier to show than tell. "Just listen."
Writing a love song had always been easy for Ryder. There was a tone he set and words he strung together. Those songs had been good. Hell, they had sold more copies than he could remember. But they were by rote. He could have done them in his sleep. When he said The Road Back, was different, Ryder wasn't exaggerating. This time, he hadn't written about some nameless, faceless person. This time, the words and music hadn't come from his brain. For the first time, they came from his heart.
Closing his eyes, Ryder strummed the opening chord. He didn't see the look Ashe and Dalton exchanged. Nor did he notice when Ashe began recording. From the opening note to the last, Ryder was lost in another world. When he finished, he hung his head, took a deep breath, and waited.
"What the hell, man?" Dalton shook his head.
"He's crazy," Ashe agreed.
Frowning, Ryder slowly set aside his guitar. Whatever reaction he had expected, this wasn't it.
"No good?"
"You know damn well it's great. Women will weep when they hear it. Shit, I got a little teary myself."
"Me too." Ashe slapped Ryder on the back.
"Then why am I crazy?"
"Because you're here instead of with Quinn. Unless you were communing with some mystery woman for the last month, I assume the song is for her."
"I…" It wasn't that Ryder wanted to deny Ashe's statement. But it was harder than he expected to say the words.
"Give the guy a break." Dalton grabbed three beers from the mini-fridge. He was never comfortable with showing emotions. "We're dudes. We aren't supposed to say that shit to each other." Handing out the bottles, he tapped his against Ryder's. "Save the declarations for your lady."
Ashe joined the toast. Taking a sip, he sent Ryder a speculative look. "Which brings me back to my original question. Why aren't you with Quinn? Play her that song. However you screwed up, that will be an apology she can't resist."
"I didn't screw up."
Ashe snorted. Dalton merely shook his head.
Okay, Ryder conceded, maybe I had. But not the way Ashe meant. There had been no blow-up. He and Quinn hadn't exchanged angry words that couldn't be taken back. Ryder's mistake had been not recognizing what had been in front of him the whole time.
"Are you going after her?"
Scratching at his beard, Ryder caught his reflection in the glass tabletop. That was the plan. After he had a shave and a haircut. If he was going to put his heart on the line, he didn't want to show up at Quinn's door looking like Leonardo DeCaprio in the Revenant.
"The jet is fueled and ready." Ryder tossed Dalton his phone. "There is a month's worth of songs. You guys can take a listen and we'll start work when I get back."
"Take your time." Dalton connected the phone to his laptop. "Have you seen Zoe?"
"I called her, but it went to voicemail. Is she in the building?"
"I haven't seen her today." The upload from the phone complete, Dalton handed it back to Ryder.
"Ashe?"
"No. I—"
"You're back!" Zoe burst into the studio. Tossing her bag in the general direction of the table, the contents spilling out across the surface. Unconcerned, she threw her arms around Ryder. "I should have known this would be your first stop."
Laughing, Ryder swung his sister in a circle. This was the Zoe he knew as a child. She never hesitated to smile or hug. When they were separated and put into foster care, she drew into herself, becoming shy and reserved. The adult Zoe didn't suffer from those maladies. However, it was rare for her to publicly show her affection. Hugging her back, Ryder savored the moment.
"You know me well." Holding her at arm's length, Ryder whistled. "You always look good, Zoe, but you didn't have to dress up just for me. Nice jacket. Is that new?"
Not quite meeting Ryder's gaze, Zoe tugged on the hem.
"I had an appointment."
Ryder knew his sister. Zoe met everything—and everyone—straight on. The only time she didn't look him in the eyes was when she had done something she didn't want him to know about.
"What's going on, Zoe?"
"And why did you fly to San Francisco?"
"What?" Ryder turned to see Dalton take an airline ticket from where it had fallen from Zoe's bag.
"I went to see Quinn." Zoe lifted her chin defiantly. "And before you ask, I had a good reason."
Ryder's stomach knotted. He could tell by the glint in Zoe's eyes that whatever had happened, it couldn't be good. Still, there was no point in overreacting before he had the facts. He watched as she hit a few buttons on Dalton's computer.
"There," she stepped aside. "See what that photographer did."
"I didn't realize photographer was a four-letter word," Ashe said.
"Fuck you, Ashe."
"Now, that is a four-letter word I recognize."
Ryder ignored Zoe and Ashe. Standing beside Dalton, he looked at the screen.
"TMZ, Zoe? Really?"
"Read the headline."
Ryder Hart Band Coming Apart at the Seams. Ryder sighed. It was the same old crap. TMZ—and their ilk—had the band breaking up every other month. Mostly, it had to do with his mysterious disappearance.
"They used the fact that I was out of town to up their advertising revenue. What does it have to do with Quinn?"
"This time, it's more than speculation, Ryder. They have facts that nobody knows but us. All the tabloids are running with it. This time, that ubiquitous inside source is real."
"You don't mean Quinn?" Ryder laughed. Then he realized Zoe was serious. "You're wrong, Zoe."
"What is it about that woman?" Zoe looked at Ryder, shaking her head. "From the moment you met her, you lost your common sense. She used you to make a quick buck, Ryder."
"Have you read this?" Ashe asked Dalton.
Dalton's reaction was grim. "I did."
"Quinn couldn't have done this," Ryder said emphatically. He wanted his bandmates—his friends to understand.
"What makes you so certain?" Zoe challenged.
"Because most of the shit concerns me," Dalton answered before Ryder could.
"So?" Zoe saw the facts; she couldn't understand why they weren't as incensed as she w
as.
"What Dalton understands without me having to explain is that I didn't tell Quinn anything about him. Or Ashe." Ryder met his sister's gaze. "Or you. She has a lot of ammunition that she could have used. But it all has to do with me. Nothing I shared with her—nothing, Zoe—is in that article."
To give her credit, Zoe had the grace to look contrite. Tentatively, she reached out her hand.
"I was certain I was right."
Since she was little, Ryder had done everything in his power to protect Zoe. How could he stay angry when she tried to do the same for him? As misguided as it had been, her actions were guided by love. He took Zoe's hand and squeezed. Ryder couldn't be certain, but he thought he saw a trace of moisture in her blue eyes. When was the last time he had seen Zoe close to tears? It was too long ago to remember.
"Quinn will understand." Dalton gave Zoe a restrained kick in the butt. Before she could release her wrath, he pulled her in for a hug. After a brief hesitation, she hugged him back. "It was this knucklehead who screwed up, Ryder."
"Quinn struck me as a forgiving woman." Knowing Zoe had her limits, Ashe refrained from a full-blown hug, opting for one arm and a quick squeeze. "She won't slam the door in your face. But just in case? Bring flowers and talk fast."
It wasn't bad advice. But ordering flowers was easy. He could have two dozen roses waiting for him at the airport. No, Quinn needed his words, not an easy gesture.
"Ryder?" Zoe asked as he grabbed his jacket and headed for the door.
Impatient, Ryder sent her a questioning look.
"May I drive you?"
It wasn't an apology. Zoe would wait until they were alone for that. A car ride to the airport would be a good start. Once Ryder worked things out with Quinn, it would be up to his sister to smooth things over.
Ryder slung an arm over Zoe's shoulder.
"Come on. I have a woman to woo."
THE ADVANTAGES OF living in San Francisco were too numerous to list. Quinn had fallen in love with the city at first sight. The culture. The abundance of fresh produce and seafood. The people. And the fact that no matter where she went, the workout she received walking up and down the many hills was better than anything she would find at an expensive fitness club. The street outside her apartment building was a perfect example. A simple trip to the grocery store and she could almost picture her muscles getting stronger—her legs getting long and lean.
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