“No! Don’t you see how she’s manipulating him? Using his boy? Damn it, Spark, she’s playing us for all we’re worth. He’ll give up touring for her, and, what? Mow her lawn for the rest of his life? She’s damn fine-looking, I sure don’t blame him for wanting a piece of that for a while, but he’s not a one-lawn kind of man. And I can’t promise I could get him back to where he is now once he’s tired of playing Farmer in the Dell.”
“You can’t run his personal life. He’s an adult.”
“I’ve always run his life. He’d go gallivanting around the globe singing to Alzheimer’s patients if he didn’t have me. I’ll do what needs to be done to make sure I keep running his life.”
Abby didn’t dare stay to hear more. She stumbled backward, nauseated and shaking. To her face, Chris had oozed smooth charm. Smooth like Lex Luthor, she realized. But she had to face the fact, too, that no matter how distasteful a man he was, Chris could very well believe he had Gray’s best interests at heart. She scooped Bird from the kitchen and carried him to the back stoop. She didn’t know why the big cat allowed her to hold him like a stuffed toy, but he did. And he purred when the first of her tears plopped onto his orange head.
Elliott had written out instructions for her in case she decided to help him with his sting. All she had to do was create a header that made it look like her e-mail came from an anonymous photographer. A simple message, “I’ve found your boy. He’s in Minnesota. Contact me if you want me to keep his whereabouts a secret,” was all Elliott claimed it would take. Chris would grab the chance to spin the picture his own way.
She couldn’t do it.
She had to do it.
She should tell Gray what Chris had said, give him another chance, but he’d been adamant he wouldn’t play Elliott’s game. If Elliott was wrong, Gray would never know the picture had been sent. But, if Chris was manipulating Gray’s career at any cost, and if he planned to keep her away from the man she was growing to love . . . She had to risk helping Elliott.
Late that night, with her finger poised over the send key, she told herself it was only a small experiment. If her perfect picture of Gray and his son did get printed, the public would see them in a wonderful, warm light. Still, a swell of bile rose in her throat, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that if she sent her potentially damning cargo off into cyberspace, she’d be starting a launch sequence to disaster.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“WOW, IS THAT my cake?” Gray entered the kitchen and caught Abby around the shoulders, giving a squeeze that earned them a lazy smile from Sylvia.
“And Kim’s.” Sylvia cuffed at Gray’s fingers when he reached for a slick of frosting. “You have to share, even if you could eat it all yourself.”
“I could.” He shook his hand and bestowed an unabashed hug on Sylvia. “It looks incredible.”
Sylvia had a delectable talent with cakes. This one was decorated with a guitar, outlined in icing and filled in with the exact colors of Gray’s blue Ovation. The guitar was surrounded by feminine flowers, and Gray’s and Kim’s names.
“I came to tell you all everyone’s looking for you girls.” Gray lifted a finger as if to try another steal, but Sylvia narrowed her eyes and he grinned.
“More like looking for the cake,” Sylvia scolded.
He waggled his brows.
Abby patted his side then wiggled her fingers, laughing as he doubled over, basking in the familiarity. “Go away now.” She pushed at him. “The cake will be there soon enough.”
“Mean, mean woman.” He kissed her, right in front of Sylvia, and left.
A rush of warmth flushed Abby’s cheeks, and she covered her face in her hands, giggling. When she looked up, Sylvia chuckled. “Oh, Syl, what do you think? Is he perfect-gentleman enough?”
“I sure hope not.” Sylvia lifted a knife and pretended to wipe it on a towel.
“What?” Abby sputtered.
“You’re kids; you like each other.” Sylvia fixed her with a wise eye. “There wouldn’t be much to keep up the interest if he were a perfect gentleman.”
Abby’s mouth dropped. The aloof old faker. All at once, the source of perpetual light between Sylvia and Ed became a lot clearer.
“That singer makes you happier than you’ve been in a while, and that makes us happy. All right, then.” Just that succinctly she was done with the mushy stuff. “Let’s go party a little bit. You bring the cake out for me.”
A full-on stampede greeted them as Abby set the cake in the middle of the picnic table. She produced three boxes of birthday candles, and while she speared forty-five of them into the frosting she considered the unlikely mix of guests. Spark’s wife Lindsey had flown in, as had Misty Donahue. Karla had been in nirvana talking music with Gray and Spark. Her husband, Roger, had struck up a conversation with Chris, and Ed viewed the hubbub with a bottle of beer and an eagle eye. He might have looked like the forgotten patriarch of a rowdy family, but his sharp, vigilant gaze showed he wasn’t missing a trick.
Abby lit every single candle, and, fueled by laughter, the party broke into a raucous, out-of-tune rendition of “Happy Birthday” that left Abby’s eyes streaming.
“For a group of singers, that was the worst performance I’ve ever heard,” Ed said for her.
“We’re on vacation,” Spark replied. “No busman’s holiday.”
“Okay.” Gray held up his hand. “Mine isn’t the only birthday today, as you all know. Kimmy? Front and center!”
Star-struck, Kim hopped up next to Gray, her eyes fiery with excitement. Spark handed Gray his guitar. Misty, beside Kim, winked and nodded.
“Yo, sixteen candles!” Miles clapped his hands, and Ed stepped in with matches.
“He knows how to put on a show, doesn’t he?” Abby startled at the voice in her ear.
Chris had kept a low profile all afternoon, for which she’d been grateful. She half-feared he was slick enough to have figured out the e-mail plot. He had to have received the photo.
“He’s good with people, if that’s what you mean.”
“Oh, my dear Abby.” His laugh was robust and confident. “That’s putting it very mildly, as you’ll learn if you endeavor to stay with him for any length of time.”
“Excuse me?” She turned just enough to eye his profile. “Endeavor to stay with him? Are you suggesting something, Mr. Boyle?”
“Of course not. I’d like you to go into this with your eyes open, however. For your sake. I love Gray like family—we all do. But we know him. He talks about you as the new woman in his life. But, my dear, you aren’t the first new woman by a long shot.”
“I’d be a hermit with my head in the sand if I didn’t know that.”
“Then you also know it’s possible to get hurt if you play in his circle.”
“You don’t want me with him.” Abby faced him. “I don’t know why, since you don’t know me. But let me tell you, Mr. Boyle. Chris.” She impaled him with a frank stare. “I’m not looking for anything from him, and he knows it. I love my home, and although I’m deeply attracted to Gray, we don’t know yet if our lives will ever mesh. We just want the chance to find out. You might consider, if this works out, although I’m not his first woman, I might be his last.”
If Chris hadn’t stared just a nanosecond too long, and if the crease beside his handsome mouth hadn’t twitched and deepened an extra millimeter, Abby might have believed his next words. “I have nothing against you, Abby, but that isn’t the first time I’ve heard that line either. I care more than you can imagine about Gray, so in truth my job is to protect both of you. I just want you to take care.” He walked away without another word.
“Of all the . . .” She stared at the grass, welding her lips tight to keep her thoughts inside. She pounded clenched fists on her thighs. Egotistical, condescending jerks.
A guitar chord lifted her from her angry reverie
. Kim, mesmerized, stood with moony eyes trained on Gray, while he and Misty launched into a lilting version of “Happy Birthday”—Marilyn Monroe–slow if not sexy. How the heck “Happy Birthday” could spellbind a yard full of adults Abby had no clue, but it did. Misty’s phenomenal, sultry alto swirled with Gray’s crooning baritone, thick and musically caloric—like slow-churned ice cream for the ears. When they finished, Abby was lost in his voice and his eyes. She wanted nothing more than to whisk him away and turn him into her own private dessert.
“Happy day my birthday twin,” Gray said.
“Oh, thank you. That was beautiful.” Kim whispered in near reverence, but Gray didn’t allow the mood to grow. He raised his palm for a high-five, and Kim’s grin blossomed like a summer crescent moon. “Blow out your candles, Kimmy, then we can eat cake. Then we get presents!”
“All right!” Kim made short work of the sixteen candles and bent to the task of cutting.
“Hey, gorgeous.” Gray’s arm encircled her from behind, and he nuzzled her earlobe.
“Hey . . .” She spun in his arms. “I kind of wish it were my birthday. That song . . .”
“Mmm, liked it, did you?”
“Uh, yeah, Gray . . . duh.” She rolled her eyes in her best teenager imitation.
“You don’t need a birthday for me to sing sexy to you.”
“Oh, and I’ve learned that, too. You spoil me—and to think I wasn’t even a fan at first.”
He set his forehead against hers. “Why do you think I fell so hard for you? I had to win your love without the fame or the glitz—they never impressed you.”
“Still don’t,” she whispered.
“Won’t it be fun when this is an every-year event?” Gray nuzzled her ear again, and Abby slapped his shoulder.
“Don’t get cocky just ’cause it’s your birthday. I never said I’d marry you.”
“But you might.”
A thrill of excitement darted around her insides like a trapped firefly. “I might.”
Half an hour later, the evening had donned the best of summer with a gentle breeze and hazy, seven o’clock light filtering through rustling leaves. Karla stood in front of the guests, who’d assembled like theater-goers in lawn chairs and blankets on the grass. Gray gave her a thumbs-up. He liked Karla Baxter—especially after talking with her for quite a while earlier. She exuded not just effervescence but a genuine honesty that invited friendship.
“I thought it would be awkward coming to a party for a famous singer,” she began. “Turns out Gray Covey’s just a regular guy, which is, I think, what he’d like all of us small-towners to know.
“I’ve been spending a lot of time arm-twisting today, and I’m thrilled that Gray told me I can make an official announcement. He’s agreed not only to help convince the powers that be to hold our annual music camp in three weeks, but he’s volunteered to participate—right after the last concert of his tour. He’ll teach some classes and help organize the Kabbagestock concert. What do you think?”
Gray shrugged away the whoops and thanks, and avoided looking at Chris, who had heard nothing of this venture. He wasn’t sure himself why he’d agreed, except that, while playing for arena-sized crowds was exhilarating, those crowds weren’t changing his standings on the charts or feeding his creativity. They also didn’t stop the panic inside every time he realized there were no plans, no dreams, for when he could no longer sell out a concert.
Karla’s music camp represented a project so different it terrified him. He hadn’t been adrenaline-pumping, go-for-broke, it-might-fail-but-what-the-hell scared and excited in a long, long time. From the chair next to his, Abby crinkled her nose. “You’re so cool,” she whispered. His heart careened into his chest wall.
Her delicate feminine scent was ingrained in him. The memory of her body intertwined with his wouldn’t leave him. Like a randy teenager, all he could fantasize about was riding off again with her and reprising the most amazing lovemaking of his life.
More unbelievably, she wanted him for no other reason than love. He’d never trusted that in any woman before. His connection with Abby felt soul-deep. He’d rushed the gate with talk of marriage, but he was as certain of his desire to stay with her as he was of needing his next breath.
“Hey.” A stroke on the back of his hand sent a shiver up his arm. “They’re talking to you. “It’s gift time, singer-man.” She grinned. “You and Kim get up there.”
“Ours first!” Kim crowed, beating Gray to the front. Several wrapped packages appeared, and surprise emotion clogged Gray’s throat when she handed them to him. He hadn’t gotten simple, old-fashioned birthday gifts since his mother had gotten sick. The boxes contained treasures. A soft, blue silk shirt from Abby and Kim, a very mother-like sweater from Sylvia, and a custom-printed sweatshirt from Ed: “Don’t bother the Goddess.”
“You’re a fun guy, Ethel.” He thumped the old man on the back, more at home than he’d been in five years.
“Yup, and you’re definitely more fun than I’ve had in a long time.” He turned to Kim. “Okay, young lady, age went before beauty, that’s for sure. Close your eyes.”
Kim clapped like a five-year-old. Ed and Dawson disappeared around the side of the house. Gray’s stomach did anticipatory high-dives and flips. “Eyes closed? Promise?”
“Yes! Yes!”
A moment later the pair reappeared, carrying Ed’s birchwood trunk, three-feet-by-four-feet, with a hinged lid, and a hand-rubbed polish. Affixed to the top was a huge pink bow. Gray tapped Kim’s shoulder. “Okay, you can look.”
For long seconds Kim stared, her brows knitted as she assessed the box. Gray grinned and stole a glance at Abby, who had two palms over her mouth in happy surprise.
“Your mama says you been looking at the fancy tack trunks in your catalogues for years,” Ed said. “I stole a look-see and decided I could do just as well. Gray and Dawson, here, helped pick out the wood. You go ahead and open ’er up. See if it’ll do.”
Little mewing squeals emanated from Kim as she sank to her knees. “Ed, su-weeet! It’s gorgeous, just gorgeous!”
Gray knew exactly what the inside of the box looked like, with a metal stand bolted to one end for holding a saddle, and a removable, partitioned tray over the top for holding small items. His pulse pounded like a piston as he waited for Kim to lift the lid.
She froze as if she’d been hit with a Taser. When she did move it was to swivel her head and stare at her mother, but Abby only shrugged. Kim’s eyes found Ed’s, then Gray’s.
“No way.” Her eyes began to glisten. “No way no way no way!” She delved into the new trunk and hoisted the dressage saddle Gray and Ed had placed there hours before. “Is this from you?” Her voice bordered on the hysterical.
“Dawson and me.”
“This is unbelievable. Mom! Look. It’s my County dressage saddle.”
Abby, too, had frozen in place, but unlike Kim, she no longer smiled. Her eyes registered shock and her voice grated with a twinge of irritation. “That’s wonderful, Kim.”
She didn’t look at him. Kim set the saddle back on its rack and launched herself at Gray with arms spread. He had no time to deflect her embrace.
“Thank you, Gray, oh thank you.”
Her slender arms tightened, and he let her cling. She was too hopped-up on excitement to make anything of the hug. She gave a last huge squeeze and jumped to where Dawson stood on the fringe of the group. Before he could escape, she’d thrown her arms around him, too.
“Hey.” Immediately pink-faced, he unhappily withstood the attack.
Neither Ed nor Sylvia escaped the wild thank-you, either.
Abby still looked two flashes short of angry. Gray approached her chair and squatted, forcing her to look at him. The sparkle of laughter from moments before was lost.
“It’s too much, Gray.”
�
��It’s all right. It’s a special birthday. We can talk about it later.”
“Oh yes, we can and we will.”
He relaxed. He could win her over. Besides, his final surprise would soften her for good. Dawson slipped away and Gray’s heart went back to beating double time. He grasped Abby’s hand and pulled her reluctant frame out of the chair. Her mouth had already lost its pinched look.
“This was quite a birthday, Mr. Covey.” She offered a grudging smile.
“It’s not quite over. There’s one more present. For the birthday girl’s mom.”
He could tell by looking at her she didn’t want to be excited. But she was. “Oh?” She pulled back to stare. “Do I even want to know?”
He spun her in place and put his hands over her eyes. “I bought back a piece of your heart.” He kissed her ear. “And, selfishly, what I hope is a long future of nighttime horseback rides.” He’d had a better speech planned, but the mood of the party didn’t warrant grand words. With a peek over Abby’s head, he confirmed Dawson was in sight leading a head-tossing Gucci from the barn. Kissing Abby lightly one more time, he drew his hands away.
Her shoulders hunched, and her hands flew to her mouth. “How? What?” Further words dissolved into choked sobs.
“You can’t live without him. I don’t want you to live without him.”
She spun on him with tears in her eyes, and the collective oohing from their gathered friends turned into clapping and cheering. But there was no joy behind Abby’s tears. “You!” She cried, her hands trembling. “How dare you?”
Chapter Twenty-Five
SHE MIGHT AS well have crushed him with a mace.
“Abby, I . . .”
She held up her hand. Without speaking, she headed toward her horse. Stricken by the reaction, Gray could hear her sob across the yard as she threw her arms around the stallion’s cresty, bay neck.
“I think you got her, dog.” Miles slapped him on the back.
His stomach churned, the joy he’d been savoring curdled in his gut. “I guess so.” Swallowing back acid, he watched in despair.
The Rancher and the Rock Star Page 27