The Rancher and the Rock Star

by Lizbeth Selvig

  “What is wrong with you two?” she asked in a strangled whisper. “Where in the world would you have met Dewey Mitchell? You just got back.”

  Gray squirmed. “One day, while you were working, Ed asked for some help with . . . ah, something. Dewey ran into us.”

  “Up at Ed’s place?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Tell me exactly.”

  “Abby, look, I can explain later.” Gray stroked her thigh beneath the table. She waited for him to remove his hand; instead he squeezed above her kneecap. Her breath nearly choked her. “Ed had a little chat with Dewey, who promised he wouldn’t leak a word.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me? I could have gone and talked to him before now.”

  Gray’s whisper pulsed against her ear, his breath hot, his words inaudible to the kids. “Maybe I didn’t want you to go talk to him.”

  There was a snappy comeback somewhere in the universe, but it floated out of her reach. Her throat seized like hot winds from every desert on the planet had sucked it dry, and insistent soft pressure, just under the hem of her shorts, sent shocks racing the length of her thigh. Her fingers slid into the valleys between his prominent knuckles. Gray flipped his hand beneath hers, laced their fingers together, and gave a squeeze. Abby forced herself not to slip under the table and babble incoherently.

  “You’d better hope Ed had big time power over him,” she croaked, her voice powerless. Gray only grinned at her, and, to her relief, Dewey sat without seeing them.

  They’d all tucked into their meals when Lester’s fourth wolf call of the evening made them pop their heads up yet again. Abby froze when she saw Dewey had moved and could now see directly into the booth. He snared her gaze with concern and censure in his eyes. She swiveled her head to see a tall, wiry man with a thick, blond mustache that looked like it weighed more than he did. The newcomer gazed ominously around the restaurant.

  For a moment Abby prayed he was just choosing his table, and her heart gave a vain stutter when the man’s eyes fixed on her pictures. He studied them for several moments but then went back to scanning the room. When his eyes found Dewey, Abby’s would-be suitor bobbed his head once. The Judas gesture sent dread trickling into Abby’s stomach.

  “Gray?” she whispered as mustache man headed in their direction. “Somebody’s here.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “HELLO, GRAY.”

  Every visible muscle, sinew, and inch of skin on Gray’s frame went rigid when the man stood beside their table. “Abby, let me out please.”

  At his disquieting tone, she didn’t consider questioning him, and he exited the booth so quickly she barely saw him move. She stood back with no idea what to expect. Dawson’s features hadn’t been this shocked since Gray’s arrival, and Kim followed the action in nervous fascination. They all gasped when Gray splayed his right hand on the man’s chest and shoved him like a rag doll against the pine wainscoting next to the booth.

  “What are you doing here, you son of a bitch? What were you doing photographing my mother?”

  “I took no photos of your mother. Take it easy, man. You don’t want a scene, especially since there are still very few people who know you’re here in Watercan Falls, Minnesota.”

  Gray let him loose, a tic pulsing in the center of one dimple, his eyes full of ice daggers. “Get out of here, St. Vincent.”

  “But you asked so nicely why I came.”

  “I changed my mind.”

  This was Elliott St. Vincent? Abby’s heart plummeted as he deftly side-stepped Gray and offered her an unexpected smile. “You must be Mrs. Stadtler.” He held out a slender, sinewy hand, which she ignored. “I’m Elliott St. Vincent, a friend of Gray’s.”

  “No friend of mine, you lying . . .” Gray stopped himself. Abby refrained from replying.

  “Are those pictures on the wall with your name on them really yours?”

  “Pictures?” Gray turned to her. “This is the restaurant?”

  She continued ignoring Elliott’s proffered hand and nodded. “I was going to show you.”

  “Hey, Dawson.” Elliott turned. “You doing okay?”

  “Hey, Elliott. Sure.” The boy lowered his eyes.

  Gray’s anger returned. “I’m giving you a chance to go and leave my family alone.”

  “Your family? Ahh . . .” He shook his head. “Look, man, we just need to talk. None of this is what it seems. I can help you.”

  “Help me what?” Gray nearly spit into the other man’s face. “You’ve come as near to ruining things for me as you possibly could, and you did ruin them for Jillian Harper. Chris has done nothing but spend the last month cleaning up your messes.”

  From the purplish hue spreading on Elliott’s face, Abby could tell Gray had hit a nerve. “Jillian Harper will cause more grief than you know, but that’s another story. You’re blind, Gray. You follow Chris Boyle like a lemming, and if you don’t listen to the truth, he’ll lead you right over a cliff.”

  “There’s nothing I want to hear from you. I don’t know how you found me, but we’re finished talking.”

  Chagrin boiled beneath Abby’s cheeks when she glanced around the restaurant and saw Dewey openly watching the exchange with “I told you so” written like neon in his eyes. “I found you because your beloved manager can be bribed,” Elliott said.

  “Bribed or blackmailed? You have no idea what’s going on.”

  “Then enlighten me. Or, keep showing me. Your little domestic interlude this afternoon spoke volumes.”

  “What?” Abby rocketed forward. “That was you skulking around my farm?”

  “It was, and I apologize, Mrs. Stadtler, I do,” Elliott said. “I have no desire to use anything I photograph in Kennison Falls. I just want a chance to prove myself.”

  “You arrogant SOB.” Gray reached once more for the photographer, but Abby rested her fingers on Gray’s forearm.

  “Don’t, Gray. It’s not worth it.”

  He backed down, and behind the cold anger in his narrowed eyes she finally saw a warm spark for her. “I’m telling you to leave for the last time.”

  Elliott held up a hand. “I’m going for now, but I’m not leaving. Not until you talk to me.”

  “I’d buy a house here, then, because you’ll be waiting a long time.”

  “Oh, you’ll talk.”

  Elliott turned to her again. “You seem like a reasonable woman. Ask him to meet me.”

  “I can’t tell him how to run his life,” she replied, shocked at his request. “He came here for personal reasons, and I think he and our children deserve their privacy.”

  “Mrs. Stadtler, there won’t be privacy for any of you if Gray doesn’t hear me out.”

  Gray positioned himself between them. Calm was returning to his features, but when he took her hand nobody could see how hard he squeezed. “Don’t say anything else, Abby.”

  “You’re making this too goddamned hard for words.” Elliott worried his bushy mustache as if searching for something more to say. Unsuccessful, he turned away and a moment later got piped out of the cafe by Lester’s cheerful march. For an uncomfortable minute everyone stared.

  “So.” Karla edged around the corner from the kitchen. “Anyone ready for dessert?”

  Gray pulled Abby into a brief hug and kissed the top of her head. “Thanks for saving me,” he whispered.

  Dewey closed his unused menu, stood, and with a scathing glare at Lester, who switched to “Andy Griffith,” followed Elliott out the door.

  AN HOUR LATER, Gray watched Abby watch him like a patient parent from her seat in the living room armchair. “Stop fretting, Gray,” she said. “You were ambushed, and I don’t blame you for being angry, but it’s over.”

  “Oh-ho, no. It’s just starting. You thought Chris’s photographers were bad.”

  He paced the floor
in direct contrast to everyone else and scratched in agitation at his rough cheeks. Dawson sat with the rigidity of a rag beside Kim on the sofa, his hands threaded into the cargo pockets of baggy black shorts that hung to his calf. Abby, on the other hand, stretched firm legs, clad in very close-fitting white shorts, onto the ottoman, fueling Gray’s distracted thoughts.

  “It would be over, Dad, if you went back early.”

  “Excuse me? Who are you, and what have you done with my son?” Gray stopped prowling, his heart pounding in disappointment.

  Disappointment?

  “If you want Elliott to leave, you leave. Un-cancel one concert, and you’re forgiven.”

  He’d been handed a get-out-of-jail-free card, and he felt disappointment? Gray studied his son. They’d had a breakthrough in Virginia, but now Dawson was back to being an enigma. Despite his words, he looked like he wanted to take on the world in a cage match. Then there was Kim, who’d reverted to shyness and swung her feet so her heels thumped against the sofa front—rhythmic thuds filling the room. If he’d been playing at the fantasy of living like a family the past two and a half weeks, Elliott had brought reality crashing back.

  “I think he might be right,” Abby said gently. “It’ll be two full weeks tomorrow. I think you’ve proven a few things to your son. Don’t you, Dawson?”

  “Whatever. Yeah.”

  “But I think you should talk to Elliott, too.”

  “I’m not talking to him.” His pulse reacted to the very thought. “I am my own man.” His voice rose more petulantly than he intended. “Elliott can’t dictate to me. And if I were to say I’m not finishing the tour at all, that’s how it would be you know.”

  “Right.” Dawson hunched deeper into the sofa. “And Chris’s head would spin around like the girl in The Exorcist. He knows I forced you to cancel the concerts in the first place. He’ll totally find a way to have me hauled back to England.”

  “He doesn’t hold that kind of power,” Gray insisted, but a freshly-seared memory stopped him. You follow that man like a lemming.

  Not true. Where would he be without Chris Boyle’s steady guidance?

  “Chris holds all the power.” Dawson’s hands appeared from his pockets, and he stood. “You know, maybe you shouldn’t go. Maybe I didn’t think it through.”

  He spun to leave, but this time Gray stepped in front of him. “Oh, no you don’t. Don’t start running away again.” The lack of anger in his voice pleased him. He sounded a little like his father. “Leaving is a coward’s way out. You stay and talk.”

  For a moment he didn’t think Dawson would listen. Then the boy slumped his shoulders. “What are you going to do with me if you go back on the road?”

  Gray sighed. Of course Dawson would ask to stay. They’d barely returned as it was. But whatever was occurring between Abby and him, she’d never given him permission to assume he could stay indefinitely. With Elliott hanging around like a bad smell and the rest of the media a mere phone call away, the threat of fans finding the farm was more real than ever. Still, his heart dropped to his stomach at the thought of leaving.

  “Two choices, just like before,” he said. “Come with me, or go back to your mom.”

  “Wait, Gray.” Abby silenced Dawson with a hand. “I thought we were past that. Let him stay here. Please? The only condition would be that you come back and get him.”

  How different from the first time she’d all but demanded he leave his child here. This time her eyes smoldered not with indictment, but with suggestive sparks. And he certainly didn’t want to fight with her, he wanted to climb up her long legs and lose himself inside of her.

  Dawson’s entire demeanor went from dejection to disbelief. “You’ll let me stay?”

  “It’s totally up to your dad, but it’s all right with me.” She caught his eyes. “Your birthday is in two weeks. You don’t have any shows that weekend, I know.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I’ve had a calendar of your concert dates since the beginning.” She batted her lashes. “I wanted to know how long you might be here.”

  “In case you wanted to kick me out?”

  “In case I wanted to talk you into staying.”

  Kim kicked the front of the sofa one last time and stood. With startling boldness, she sidled up to Gray and slipped her arms around his waist to give him an enormous squeeze. “It would be so cool to share our birthday. We can do a party.” She tilted her head to smile her frightening baby-Dietrich smile. If he hadn’t known better, he’d have said she was sending some possessive signal to her mother. If he hadn’t known better, he’d have laughed.

  “A party would be good.” He extracted her arms from his torso and grinned, popping a kiss onto her crown. “Sharing it with my best fan? Nothing better.”

  “Hey, I’m more than a fan by now, aren’t I?”

  “I hope so.” He knew immediately he’d fed right into her crush again. He was out of intelligent ideas for dealing with her.

  Abby rescued him with barely contained laughter. “After a party, and after you’re done touring, you’ll have time to make permanent plans—you and Dawson.”

  “There’s one thing.” Dawson fidgeted with a knotted cord bracelet around his wrist.

  “What?” Gray asked.

  “School is supposed to start again just after you get done touring. I’m not going back . . . even if you and Mom never agree.”

  Gray massaged his brows, grimacing at his own touch. Nothing was ever easy. Ever.

  “Let your father and me talk about it.” Abby’s voice, calm and sweet, bailed him out again.

  “Seriously?” Clearly Dawson didn’t quite believe it.

  Gray sighed in relief. “Yeah, we’ll figure it out.”

  “Well,” Abby said. “I think I’ll leave the horses outside tonight where they have water, since there won’t be any in the barn. It’s hot inside anyway. Kimmy, would you and Dawson go check on who needs a fly sheet on please?”

  “Sure!” Dawson leapt to the task, clearly happy to leave the conversation where it had ended in his favor.

  “Yeah.” Kim flashed Gray a last flirty smile and followed outside.

  When they were gone, he found Abby’s eyes. It only took seconds for him to stride across the floor and grab her unceremoniously into his arms. Her hair tumbled backward, and her lips parted in sweet, breathless surprise. He pulled away, grasping for her cheeks.

  “Thank you,” he said. “You’re my guardian angel. You’ve protected me from pretty much everything tonight—mostly myself.”

  “No, Gray. It just turns out we’re not a bad team. I’m no angel.”

  Not a bad team. The words certainly lifted him like wings.

  “You’re a good person, Abby, and I’ve rarely been good—until recently. Maybe it’s your prayers, the way you’re robbing me of all my vices—a little old time religion my mother would have said. It’s been a long time since I’ve been part of a team . . . like this. With a girl.” He bumped his nose gently into hers, drawing in the taste of her laughter.

  “Girl cooties.” Her fingers wriggled into his hair, and their tips circled his scalp, sliding, massaging down to his temples as she rose on her tiptoes to kiss him.

  “Oh, please, gimme cooties,” he whispered into her mouth.

  When they parted again, his blood swished excitement through his body, and he wished desperately he could figure out how to stay with her. He longed to lose his bad-boy rock life by taking on hers, to find a way he could actually fit into a small town like Kennison Falls with its tiny cafes and singing birds. But he knew better.

  “Your daughter thinks you give me cooties and she doesn’t like it. She worries me.”

  “Kim? Why on Earth? She’s smitten with you.”

  “Exactly. And I don’t want to make a mistake.”

  “She�
��s fifteen, Gray. She writes her name next to yours in secret notebooks. You have fabulous songs and a very sexy voice. And you’re kind of hot, in case you don’t know. Those things get to a fifteen-year-old girl.”

  “And that comforts me how?”

  “They get to thirty-seven-year-old girls, too.”

  He hauled her hips forward until they could have held quarters securely between them anywhere from chest to knee. “I’m not sure that comforts me either.”

  She tapped her finger on his lip, and the heat growing between them soldered her gaze to his. “Let her have her fantasies,” she whispered. “You won’t make a mistake.” She outlined his upper lip with her finger and drew it out to his cheek, where it bounced along his uneven stubble. “Some night you’ll take off your shoes, she’ll smell your stinky feet, and the magic will be gone. I promise.”

  “Really nice. So much for seduction, Abby. Sheesh.”

  “If seduction is what you want, how about we talk about that apprenticeship in the darkroom? We can meet after the kids go upstairs, forget about teenagers and paparazzi. And having only ten jugs of water. Which I’m going to get from the car.”

  She disengaged from his hold and backed away, licking her lips. His knees wobbled. “I’m pretty sure I can fit that into my schedule.” He swallowed.

  “Oh,” she added. “Just to let you know? I’m leaving my halo upstairs.”

  “WHEN THEY SAY ‘darkroom,’ they aren’t kidding.” Gray’s disembodied voice floated to Abby’s ears in the darkroom, lightless as a bottle of ink, and his breath set her skin shivering.

  “Dark as the inside of a heifer.” Her chuckle drifted into the void.

  “How would anybody know how dark that is?”

  “My dad must have. He said it all the time.”

  “Your dad is funny.”

  “Was funny.”

  “There I go again, Abby. I’m . . .”

  “Shush.” She stretched out a finger, delight dashing all the way to her stomach when she met his lips. “My dad was great. He raised me because my mother left him when I was a baby, but he was already in his late-fifties when I was born. He died of natural causes ten years ago. It was sad, but not tragic.”