The Rancher and the Rock Star

by Lizbeth Selvig

  “Of course you do. The information is all in the letter. You call him whenever you’re ready. There’s no hurry.”

  She gave him an impulsive hug, and when she released him and turned, Sylvia had materialized at her side. Elliott turned her over to the older woman with a nod, and Abby dissolved in her arms.

  “There, now, Abby. Kim told me. Come, we’ll sit together.”

  Sylvia’s mothering couldn’t stop the night from proceeding on its course of self-destruction. Nobody believed the lame story Gray and Spark concocted about spending the night working on a new song, except maybe Karla and her family who said their good-byes none the wiser. Everyone else knew something was wrong. Sylvia doggedly headed the clean-up with Kim and Lindsey. Ed and Dawson fed the horses. Miles, Spark, and Misty kept Gray huddled in heavy discussion. Elliott disappeared like a boy who’d poked a mountain lion.

  Like a prisoner on suicide watch, Abby endured streams of inane chatter. It would have driven her crazy had her brain not been too numb to feel.

  Finally, Gray went upstairs and packed.

  The next she knew, Gray, Spark, Misty, Lindsey, and a sobered Miles stood by Gray’s rental car. They all hugged a bemused Kim and wished her a happy birthday. Gray shook Ed’s hand. He thanked Sylvia for a perfect cake. He stood in front of Abby. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he said.

  That was it. If it was possible for a body to be taken over by aliens, Gray was living proof. He led Dawson several steps away. Their unheard exchange ended with Dawson shrugging off his father’s hand on his shoulder and stalking toward the house. Abby prayed for him to follow the volatile boy, as he’d been doing more often when the teen went into his hormonal tantrums.

  Instead, he glanced one sad time in her direction. And he left her.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  THEY MADE A sullen parade trudging across the driveway to the Loon Feather the next afternoon. None of the four said a word when the café door jangled and Lester’s ecstatic wolf whistle filled the air. Dawson pressed his face against the cage.

  “Howdy Stranger.” He wiggled a finger at Cotton.

  The little white bird bounced like a bobble-head doll. “How, how . . . deee.” Dawson abandoned his gloominess with a huge grin. Abby forced a smile, wanting to be ecstatic. “How, how, deee, stray . . .” Abby stole a look at Gray, but his expression remained impervious even to Cotton.

  “Hey, you guys!” Karla met them with a smile. “Survived the party? Noon rush is over, I think you’ll have plenty of privacy.”

  Abby accepted a hug, and when Gray took his, it wasn’t jealousy but hurt that welled within her. He’d been civil to her all morning, friendly even, but he hadn’t so much as picked up her hand. She couldn’t believe this was the man she’d let herself make love to just three nights ago, and that a mere twenty-four hours ago they’d been teasing about marriage.

  But Karla suspected nothing. She thought this was Gray’s treat before he left for Winnipeg and had no clue that he’d refused to stay at the farm, using the “what if the paparazzi followed me” excuse.

  Kim followed Gray to the booth, and nobody fussed when she slipped in beside him. Abby slid in across from them. Dawson remained with the cockatiels.

  “He’ll teach that stupid bird to talk yet,” Kim said.

  “Looking like it,” Gray replied.

  Kim stared from him to Abby and set her face more firmly into the scowl she’d worn all day. The uncomfortable quiet only broke when Dawson rejoined them.

  “Goofy bird. She can almost do it.”

  “Impressive.”

  “Good job.”

  Gray and Abby spoke simultaneously and looked as if two monks had broken a vow of silence. Dawson glared just as Kim had. “That’s it, you two. What’s going on?”

  “What do you mean?” Gray asked.

  “We might be kids, but we have eyes.” Dawson narrowed his. “You didn’t go work on any song with Spark last night. You’re hardly speaking to Abby. We deserve to know what the problem is.”

  “Sit down, Son.” Gray’s tone gave Dawson no room for argument, and the boy slid next to Abby. “You’re right. A few things are changing.”

  “Changing?” Concern bloomed in Kim’s eyes. “How?”

  “It’s time for me and Dawson to go back home.”

  “Home?” Dawson added his surprise. “You aren’t done touring yet.”

  “Ten days, three gigs. And I’d like you to come.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Okay, let me rephrase. You are coming.”

  “Gray, I . . .” Stupefaction cut off Abby’s words. Was he was so angry at her he was willing to abandon all his efforts on his son’s behalf?

  Karla interrupted by coming to take their orders and forcing them to don pleasant faces until she was finished.

  “Now answer my question,” Dawson demanded when she’d gone. “You two were all over each other yesterday.”

  “That’s inappropriate,” Gray admonished, but his son ignored him.

  “Elliott showed up, Chris left. In my book that’s good. What happened to you?”

  “It was before that.” Bitterness tinged Gray’s voice. “The question really is what happened when Gucci showed up? Right Abby?”

  How dare he turn the challenge around in front of the kids? This wasn’t their business. “I’m willing to discuss that, Gray. You’ve shut any conversation down by being blind and stubborn about Elliott and Chris.”

  “Aha,” Dawson said, reminding Abby just how perceptive and older-than-his-age he could be. “Chris.”

  “Chris is the one who’s been sending the pictures.” Gray’s voice held no emotion, just angry fact.

  “All the pictures? Like the one of Grandma?”

  “Yes. But, it seems Abby joined the subterfuge by sending in that latest picture of you and me.”

  “Mom, how could you?” Kim joined her hero by adopting his shock and disappointment.

  “Way to go, Abby!” Dawson grinned at her.

  With all her heart, she wanted to laugh, because their children were hilarious. Instead, Gray’s words cut her to the quick.

  “Yup. Way to go, Abby,” he continued. “Because, ironically, your part in this little sting will have a big, nasty side-effect. Your peaceful life is finally going to be shattered. And that,” he looked at Dawson, “is why we have to leave. If I’m not here, the press won’t stay around.”

  “Fine. You go. They won’t care if I’m here.”

  “Oh, yes they will. As long as you’re here, they know I’ll be back.” His voice turned cajoling. “Besides, I’ve got need of some fresh ideas for the music, and I want your input. The best thing is for you to keep sitting in with the sound guys at the concerts.”

  Abby’s stomach scrabbled toward her throat. Gray had just regressed to Day One and become the over-eager, neophyte father expecting his son to thrill at the chances offered. Had he forgotten every lesson he’d learned the past month?

  Dawson’s eyes shot sparks hot enough to set the gingham tablecloth on fire. “Jeez, Dad, are you on crack? You’re doing it again, blowing everything because of your stupid career. You’ve had, like, eight girlfriends since Mom left you, and you let them all just go. You didn’t care, you didn’t even try. Until Abby. She’s the best, you told me so.”

  Abby’s heart lurched. Gray had talked to Dawson about her?

  “I’m not going anywhere with you. Take your stupid, big, famous mixing software and, I don’t know, stick it up Chris’s butt.”

  “Dawson, enough.”

  “I’m leaving.”

  “Sit down.” Gray ordered.

  “I’ll see you at home. Have a great lunch.”

  Gray started to stand, but Kim was in his way, and Abby reached across to touch him for the first time.

  “Don�
��t, Gray. It’ll just make a scene.”

  “Whoa, hey there Dawson.”

  Abby looked up at the sound of Elliott’s voice. The three other tables of people paid little attention as Dawson brushed past the photographer with a miserable, wookie-like grunt. Lester let loose with “Colonel Bogey” and was echoed by a faint “How, how . . . deee, stray . . .” The first tears dripped from her eyes.

  “You’re like bad food, St. Vincent.” Gray stared blankly at Elliott, but his voice held none of its previous venom.

  “Yeah, and you’ll get over me just like you get over a gut ache. Hey, Abby.”

  “Elliott.” She wanted to be angry that Gray seemed less peeved at him than at her. But the things that were angering and not angering her today had her believing up was down.

  “I came to warn you, you have about three minutes before the first ten photographers in town bribe Dewey Mitchell into telling them where you might be.”

  “Oooh.” Abby balled her fists and pounded them in frustration against the ridge of her eye sockets. “What did I ever do to Dewey that he has it in for me? I thought we were friends.”

  “You probably didn’t marry him.” Elliott gave a jovial shrug.

  “Would you like to know why?” Abby narrowed her eyes, still damp from tears of moments earlier. “He’s a stupid boy. I’m surrounded by stupid boys.”

  “And I’m surrounded by stupid grown-ups.” Kim, who’d watched the exchange with disdain, spoke with unexpected vehemence. She followed Dawson’s example and stood, pushing Elliott aside to do it. “Dawson is right.”

  Abby let her go, as well. Kim didn’t need to see any more unpleasantness. Lester chose “Andy Griffith” for her as she slapped her way through the Loon’s front door. The instant its bell quit dinging, Karla swung in with her tray of food. She stopped short and stared at the new configuration of people at the booth.

  “I’m confused,” she said with a grin.

  “You have no idea from confused,” Abby muttered.

  “Whoever’s here, eat up. I’ve got three burgers and a chef’s salad and I’m not taking them back.”

  The doorbell tinkled again and Lester whistled. “Karla? You’ll never guess what we heard.” Gladdie Hanson’s voice easily drowned out “Colonel Bogey.” Two seconds later, the Sisters stood in front of Gray and gawped. “It was you.”

  It shocked Abby to see the two old town gossips bright-eyed as fawns and at a loss for words.

  “I was me?” Gray laughed and plastered on another cheerful face. “Well, whoever I am now, it’s a pleasure to meet you. You all keep this town running if I understand.”

  He stunned with his charm, as always.

  “Well—” Gladdie didn’t gush, but she pinkened. “If you aren’t just as nice as they say. Abigail, have you taken up with this one like the rumors have it?”

  “No, Gladdie, we’re just friends. Gray is Dawson’s father.”

  “Imagine that.” Claudia touched her own cheek, then brushed at the hair over her ear. “I actually heard something true on Entertainment Tonight.” Claudia laughed.

  The staid and stoic Sisters of Kennison Falls watched ET? Could the day get any more surreal?

  “I’m sorry your peaceful town is being plastered all over the media,” Gray said. “I tried to keep it quiet until Dawson and I left.”

  “Leave? That’s too bad. Abby likes having Dawson here. A man around the place.” Gladdie assessed Gray with a kindly eye. “You’d probably like it, too, if you gave it a chance. We hear you have a show up in the cities this weekend.”

  “We don’t go to those rock concerts anymore,” Claudia added. “But if we did, we’d go to yours.”

  “No, we wouldn’t, because you won’t ride on the freeway.” Gladdie dismissed her sister. She leaned forward as if confiding a secret to Gray. “She won’t ride in anything that goes fast.”

  Despite everything, a smile twitched at the corners of Gray’s mouth. “I think, perhaps, you’re a wise woman.”

  “I used to,” she said cheerily. “Had a friend killed in a big crash one time, too many years ago to count. I’ve just taken life slow and easy since then; it’s too short to hurry through.”

  Abby stared. How had she never known this?

  “Good advice, Miss Claudia,” Gray said.

  “I can’t wait to tell my grandkids I met you.” Claudia took the handshake he offered and Gladdie did likewise.

  “Same for me. You take care now.”

  They left with aplomb and seated themselves at their usual table.

  “Damn, why can’t all my fans be like those two?” Gray mumbled.

  “No lie,” Elliott said.

  “Are you still here?” Gray glowered at him.

  “I’m trying one last time to protect your sorry butt. You two need to get out of this place before . . . well, shit. Never mind.” “Andy Griffith” filtered through the café.

  Four men in jeans and various combinations of casual sport coats and pocketed photographers’ vests entered the Loon and gazed around the room like a four-headed dragon, each neck swiveling to take in a different section of the café.

  “Stay put, Gray,” Karla said. “I’ll see what they want.”

  “Lie if you have to,” Elliott said.

  Gray hunkered into the corner of the booth, rubbing his dull eyes, looking like a man giving up. Abby wanted to forgive him everything at that moment, but she couldn’t touch him. His recoil would hurt too much.

  “May I help you, gentlemen?” Karla asked as Elliott sank into the spot Kim had vacated.

  “Yes, ma’am. We’ve learned that Gray Covey is staying somewhere in the area. We just saw his son coming from the café here and hope, perhaps, you can help us.”

  “Gray Covey, the singer?” Karla’s voice held the perfect amount of incredulity. “I’d love to meet him. You said his son was here? Who’s his son?”

  “Dawson Covey, ma’am.”

  “I don’t know a Dawson Covey. I’ve met a Dawson Cooper . . . He works for an older couple several miles out of town. I think your information was about a different Dawson.”

  For the first time, Gray sought Abby’s eyes. The briefest flash of light between them acknowledged the memory, then the light dimmed again.

  “Do you mind if we sit for some coffee?” another man asked. “Maybe we can figure out some other place to look.”

  “Ummm . . . of course.” Karla’s bravado wavered.

  Elliott peered around the banquette and blew out a sigh of frustration. “One of them’s Kyle Rodriguez. He works for the Inquiry; he’s not even an independent. Damn, Gray, you’re big news.”

  “Ducky.”

  “I’ll grab your coffee, guys, but you aren’t going to find any famous singers in Kennison Falls.” Karla laughed. “Faribault north of here is where somebody of Gray’s caliber would stay.”

  “Been there, ma’am.” The voice belonging to Kyle Rodriquez was suave. Abby shivered. If they’d seen Dawson, they’d seen Kim. The scenario got worse and worse. “All signs point to a local resident putting him up.”

  “I don’t think so.” Karla’s voice remained adamant.

  Abby’s heart sank. Gray couldn’t even leave through the back door because they’d be spotted crossing to the kitchen.

  “Say, excuse me . . .” Abby, Gray, and Elliott shared a look of shock at Claudia’s voice, calling above the chatter. “You aren’t talking about that famous singer there, are you? That one with the color for a name?”

  Oh no, please don’t, Claudia, please don’t. I know you’re excited, but . . . Abby despaired. She didn’t know what would happen if the men discovered Gray. It wasn’t him she worried about, but the kids and the town. She couldn’t be responsible for them getting thrown into a spotlight and their personal problems dragged through the tabloids—especially D
awson. His tough young male emotions were fragile.

  “Gray Covey, yes ma’am,” Rodriguez said, interest evident in his voice.

  “We met him this morning.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes, sir. I drove into Faribault to get some yarn, you know, and there he was, bold as brass sitting in the coffee shop where we stopped.”

  Abby pressed a hand to her mouth. Gray’s lips hung parted but motionless. Elliott’s eyes widened like a northern pike’s.

  “When was that, ma’am?”

  “What would you say, Gladdie? An hour ago? We came straight here. Nice fellow.”

  “An hour? That’s all?” Rodriguez asked. Abby could already hear the scraping of chair legs, and her heart beat in a furious, hopeful rhythm.

  The group of paparazzi managed to cajole a location out of the Sisters, and Abby, Gray, and Elliott stayed bunkered in the booth until Karla appeared, grinning.

  “Gone,” she said. “All four. Out of here like prospectors to the Yukon.”

  “Karla, I could kiss you. Let me out, St. Vincent.”

  Abby slid out, too, and when Gray was free of the seat he nearly sprinted to the table where Gladdie and Claudia sipped coffee as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

  “I’m giving each of you a huge kiss and hug whether you want it or not.” He embraced Claudia from behind.

  “Watch it, isn’t that sexual harassment or whatever they call it?” Gladdie asked.

  Abby finally broke out laughing. She’d thought she’d known these women—slow, gossipy, old-fashioned. Here was proof eavesdropping had a positive effect—like the good side of nuclear power. And that you never knew the true depth of anybody.

  “You saved my life.” Gray hugged Gladdie next.

  “We take care of our own.”

  “I’m sorry you had to tell lies for us.” Abby offered her own small hugs. “Claudia you’ve never driven to Faribault in your life.”

  “But I’ve always wanted to.” Pleasure oozed from her. “This was a fantasy trip.”

  “Heck,” Gladdie smiled like an embarrassed imp. “The Lord will forgive us some little white lies used to save someone’s life. Like those nuns in The Sound of Music.”