“He’s got to be here.” Gray pushed aside several large hunks of lumber and two tables, and found a large piece of linoleum countertop braced against a door. “Where does this lead?”
“How-dee stray-jer.”
“The basement!” Abby joined him, her thoughts frantic. Miles and Dewey heaved the heavy counter out of the way. Gray yanked the door open to find the staircase crisscrossed with two-by-fours.
“Dawson? Kim?” He shouted into the blackness, the quaver threading through his voice giving away every bit of his fear and hope.
“Dad?”
“Mom?”
Abby’s knees buckled.
They were trapped beneath the collapsed section of the café’s floor, and the only injury was to Kim’s foot. It took fifteen precious minutes to clear the stairwell, but when Gray and Abby reached the basement, Dawson scurried out of a hole secured by rescue workers, into the waiting arms of his father. Abby rejoiced for Gray as his son clung like a six-year-old.
“How did you two get here?” Gray stroked Dawson’s head over and over.
“Old Mister Jirek.” Dawson’s words were muffled in Gray’s shirt. “He was going to town to pick up his wife and get her home before the storm. We hitched a ride and told him we were meeting you.”
“I’m gonna ground you for life, buster,” Gray’s voice quavered with emotion.
“Here in the U.S.?” Dawson lifted his head, and the band members at the top of the stairs burst into laughter.
“Let’s get Kimmy out, and then I’ll deal with you.” He kissed Dawson’s hair twice more, unashamedly and finally let him go. He peered into the man-made escape hole, next to a burly firefighter. “Hey you,” he called. “Your foot hurts, huh?”
“I think it’s broken. I tripped running down the stairs. Was there really a tornado?”
“Indeed there was. But it doesn’t matter anymore. Now we can fix everything.”
Abby marveled at the warmth and humor in Gray’s voice. There were mercenaries across town scheming for a way to steal his picture and associate it with this disaster. He should have been useless and self-centered, but he was a hero. He took care of details. He’d set aside his personal problems. He could speak like a father to a girl who needed comfort in a crisis. He could lead a family. He was so much more than his money and his wealth. Where had her head been all these weeks thinking selfishly of herself?
“Is my mom here?”
“She sure is.”
Gray let the fireman go into the rubble and pull Kim to safety, but he took her immediately from the rescuer and cradled her in his arms. She held his neck, burying her face in his T-shirt until they reached Abby, and he set her down, making sure she was steady on her good foot.
“Mommy!”
Abby grabbed her in a hold that she never intended to let go. Kim wept, but Abby had shed her last tear for a while. When all four stood at the bottom of the stairs, Gray wrapped his arms around them all. “Kimmy, you couldn’t mean more to me if you were my own daughter, and losing you would have hurt as much as losing Dawson. And you . . .” He spread his hand over Dawson’s head. “We were frantic. If you ever do such a boneheaded—”
“No.” Kim’s small voice cut him off. “It’s n-not his fault. I ran away and he tried to s-stop me. Then he wouldn’t let me go alone.”
“You?” Abby held her, confused. “Why?”
“Because, I didn’t want Gray to be right. He told me the night of the concert I was confusing needing someone strong, like a father, with being in love. I-I felt so stupid and, and mad.” She stuttered, burying her face deeper into Abby’s arms.
“You aren’t stupid, sweetheart.”
“I re-remember a-all the times I needed help. With the clar-clarinet and Gucci and here. I knew you’d co-come. The best times are when you act li-like a dad.” She reached to Gray, and clung to his neck as he lifted her into strong arms. Abby found she had more tears after all.
“It isn’t safe down here. Let’s get you up to the EMTs, huh? Can I carry you?”
She nodded against his shirt. Abby put her arm securely around Dawson and sought Gray’s eyes. “Can we really fix everything?” she asked.
The pale blue of his irises shone in the dim basement light. “I guess that’s up to us.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“NO. NOW MORE than ever I don’t think you should cancel it.” Gray stood at the front of Kennison Falls’s makeshift city council room in the drafty basement of the Lutheran Church. He faced the exhausted mayor and five city council members. Behind him crowded a good portion of the town’s residents, and beside him stood Elliott along with Karla, narrow tear tracks forming mini deltas on her dusty cheeks.
“It’s fine, Gray.” Karla’s rounded shoulders slumped. “I understand why there’s no way we can hold the camp. There’s no time. Now there’s definitely no money.”
Gray stroked her hand. It was temporarily fragile, like everyone in the room. “I’d like to make a proposal.”
“By all means, Mr. Covey, we need as many ideas as we can get at the moment.” Sam Baker, the fireplug-shaped mayor of the devastated town, looked far older than his fifty-four years and way past bone-weary. Considering the paparazzi force had done nothing to ease his considerable burdens, Sam had been surprisingly welcoming to Gray.
It didn’t hurt that the Lunatics had also become Kennison Falls adopted sons, continuing to dig in and dig out with as much fervor as the locals even after all souls were accounted for.
“If we’ve learned anything in this country it’s that one thing we all need after a disaster is joy to take our minds off the pain.” Gray kept his voice solemn. “Music camp will be that joy. And my band and I would like to help.”
Elliott gave Gray a supportive pat on the back and took over. “If we find a suitable venue for an expanded . . . Kabbagestock?” He scowled at Karla. “Really?” Titters floated through the room, welcome sounds from the exhausted residents. “Gray would like to perform a benefit concert and donate the proceeds to the town. Meanwhile, if we can get basic safety clean-up done and get those businesses that are able back up and running, I’ll personally work on promoting those businesses and the concert, in a respectful way. It could be good for the whole town.”
For several seconds silence hung in the room. Gray swallowed bittersweet emotions. It should have been Chris standing by his side. Instead, lawyers were scrambling to make sure Chris had no access to Gray’s assets until final decisions were made. Chris out. Elliott in? The world had been blown off its moorings by more than a Midwestern twister.
“That’s a pretty generous offer I hafta say, Mr. Covey.”
“Gray.”
“Thank you. Gray it is.”
“What about security?” a councilman identified by hand-written sign as Daniel Hopka asked in concern.
“I have a large staff of road personnel, and I’ll donate their time for whatever help you need. I’m not good at coordinating rebuilding efforts, but I can help organize a music camp.” Gray self-consciously rubbed his skin, scratchy with dust-laced scruff.
“We all love Mrs. Baxter’s music camp. It’s been a tradition here for fifteen years.” Sam Baker looked down his short line of council members. Each nodded.
“To say we appreciate your help would be understating our feelings.” Councilwoman Ann Gunderson, her eyes bright, her words eager, was the only one who’d shown signs of being a fan. Gray smiled back at her. The town would get used to him. If he wanted to stay, he had to be more than a celebrity curiosity.
“I’ve grown to love quite a few people in Kennison Falls. I want to help.”
“Oh, Gray,” Karla faced him, tears streaming into her smile. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t say anything. Give me a hug, and let’s get to work.”
Two hours after the council meeting,
Gray leaned against Abby’s living room door jamb, and she smiled from the sofa. Stretched out with her tousled head cradled in Abby’s lap, Kim slept like a comatose patient. Her left foot, swathed in several inches of flesh-colored Ace bandage, was propped on two pillows—badly sprained, but not broken. Bird lay curled against her good leg, purring like a lawnmower.
“I swore I was going to wring their necks,” Abby said softly, “but I can’t bring myself to be angry.”
“I know the feeling, believe me.”
His tired gaze settled on the recliner across the room where his son, his safe son, was heaped in a much less elegant state of slumber beneath a thick quilt. Roscoe snoozed in front of him.
Dust and filth still covered Gray hair to shoes, exhaustion encroached on every body part, and unspoken words hovered precariously between him and Abby. But with his family—what he desperately wanted to be his family—gathered secure and safe within his sight, a soul-deep contentment was doing a great job staving off full exhaustion.
While Abby extricated herself slowly from pillow duty, Gray took in every movement and detail. Grime smeared her face, her blue shorts hiked up past the swell of her inner thigh, and her white, zippered hoodie was striped like zebra skin. She stood, and her waistband rode down exposing the soft skin of her waist. Her gorgeous bottom popped toward him when she bent to smooth Kim’s hair.
His body buzzed with the thrill of being near her again. His tired, besotted male brain ogled her without guilt. Sylvia and Ed were tucked into their house with promises that tomorrow there’d be a willing crew to help sort out their yard. The Lunatics were ensconced at a hotel in Faribault. The kids slept. She faced him, and for a moment they stared as if each waited for permission. Gray moved first, crossing the room to gather her tightly, aching with weariness and, given the circumstances, inappropriate desire.
“Did I ever tell you how glad I was to see you this morning?” she asked.
“Did I ever tell you how glad I was that you were safe?”
“I need to say something, Gray. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I betrayed you, and it was a betrayal no matter how well-intentioned.”
“No. I understand. I do. I’m glad you did it.”
“It won’t happen again. It wasn’t like me.”
“It was exactly like you. Fighting for me like you fight for everything you care about.”
She tilted her head up, but he didn’t let her gaze linger. He craved the taste of her mouth like an addict craved heroine, and, with a starving, searching kiss, he covered her lips. The bold surge of her tongue parted his lips, gentle suction pulled shards of pleasure from deep in his body. She was rare, wonderful wine he’d gone years without tasting.
“We’re good at this,” he whispered when they parted, reluctantly.
She set her forehead against his lips. “We’re good at a lot of things. We were good today, but I don’t know what it means.”
“I’ve figured out what it means for me. When I got it through my stubborn head you sent that picture against my wishes to save me, I came back. I want to change my life with you. I want you to be my life.”
“So serious.” Her eyes shone the way they had the first time he’d looked at her, but behind the teasing mask they held the same, familiar doubts. When he squeezed her fingers her gaze slipped sideways.
“I’m not taking this lightly.” He turned her cheek back. “You told me you didn’t want to be my charity. You’ve never been a charity case, Abby. But you were right when you told me to find something worthwhile to do with my money. Dawson told me I was so rich I could afford to cure Alzheimer’s.” His laugh was self-deprecating. “Well, I can’t, but I can help.”
“Yes. You could.”
“Chris wasn’t—isn’t—a philanthropic man.” Anger and sorrow pricked at his heart in equal parts, as he realized he was already thinking of Chris Boyle in the past tense. “I was raised by my manager to be a selfish businessman, and I didn’t realize it.”
“There isn’t a selfish bone in your body.” She rubbed her hand against his chest. “I heard you at that council meeting. I know how generous you are with Kim and Dawson and me.”
Just like that, they reached the heart of the problem between them. Gray drew his breath deep, fortifying his resolve. Praying—as he’d been doing all day.
“Chris always said I didn’t have time to waste on philanthropic projects like an Alzheimer’s foundation. He would never have stood for the benefit concert. He turned things just like it down left and right, but I never paid any attention. It’s being with you that’s shown me why my life has had so little meaning.”
“Stop.” Her blush was beautiful beneath the dirt smudges. “I know I’m prideful, wanting to make things work all by myself, asking for help from no one but God. Why do you think I was so angry about Gucci? About the saddle? I want to do it all myself. I really have been living in fear of losing Kim, losing everything, for so long.”
“Did Jack’s parents really threaten to take Kim from you?”
“They took me to family court. Tried to prove I couldn’t provide proper schooling, or clothing, or adequate food and shelter. They didn’t like that I’d married their son in the first place, and they semi-blamed me for his death. They put the fear in me for quite a few years.”
“I was selfish, even when you first told me that. I thought it was hyperbole, and I just wanted what I wanted, even though I wanted it for good-intentioned reasons. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to be sorry. I don’t know how to change the fact that it’s still impossible to think about letting go of my independence.”
“But is it independence, Abby? Or have you simply learned to keep people away so you don’t lose them again? You let people tell you how strong you are, but do you let people tell you it’s okay, even after twelve years, to be scared or sad? To need help? Are you sure you aren’t that drowning woman who faithfully believes God’s going to rescue her, but doesn’t recognize the rescue when it comes?”
He didn’t realize at first she’d started to cry. When he recognized the shimmy in her shoulders as silent sobbing, his heart fell to his stomach. “Abby, I didn’t mean to—”
“I know that joke.” The soft skin beneath her eyes glistened. “When the woman dies and gets to heaven and asks God why he didn’t save her, he says, ‘I sent you a boat and a helicopter, what more did you want?’ I know the whole town recognized you as part of the helicopter crew who’d arrived to save them today, Gray. They know how to accept help, why is it so hard for me?”
“You’re tough, but you’re wounded. You lost most of a family and were threatened with having what was left of it taken away, too. Kim might be safe with you now, but why should you risk finding another family just to risk starting the losing process again? I get it.”
“And yet, I almost did lose it.”
“We both almost did. And I can’t guarantee nothing bad will ever happen. But I can help you stop living in fear. Dawson isn’t Will, but he fills a hole, and you love him. I’m not Jack but I can love you like an obsessed man. C’mon Abby, get into my rowboat.”
A small smile, nervous but genuine, slipped onto her lips. “Maybe I’m just afraid of how big the rowboat is.”
“It’s true. I can afford a big rowboat. But that could be fun. We could sell this place and buy you the farm of your dreams.”
She stiffened in his arms, as he’d expected. “Oh, Gray, that’s just it. I’m not ready for that.” The clouds in her eyes darkened with her endearing, stubborn pride. He held her tighter. She was new at this, but he was ready this time. With a flourish in his voice he played his ace.
“I said we could, I didn’t say we should. Besides, you’re a woman of means yourself now. You can buy your own boat. Elliott told me about the dealer who wants to see your photos. And there is the picture I sent to the record label’s art department. Th
ey like it.”
“You what?” She shook her head in wonder. “Oh, Gray, I don’t know how I feel about either of those things. Nothing is guaranteed even if I don’t stop you from helping me.”
“The point is something will come of it if you choose to work at it. You know that’s true, because you know you’re good enough. And if you don’t know it, I’ll spend the rest of my life convincing you. Maybe you think this boat of mine is too close to being an ocean liner, but what if God isn’t rescuing you, Abby? What if He’s finally giving this drifting ocean liner a lifeboat?”
“I don’t believe that for a second.”
“Just believe it for a nanosecond, and we’ll build from there.”
This time her smile morphed into a laugh. “You’re a fine salesman, Mr. Covey. I’m not sure it’s all as easy as you seem to think it is.”
“Oh, love, I don’t think for one second this is easy. But it is easier with two. And together, if we can rebuild a town, we can certainly remodel a farm. We can keep the name but we could give old Jumbawumba Ranch a makeover with our stamp on it.”
“Stop dissing my name.” She let herself melt against him, losing her tenseness, letting the storm in her eyes pass.
“Jambalaya,” he kissed her. “Jujuwonky.” He kissed her again. “Jabbywickets.”
“Gray?”
“Yes, Abby?”
“Stick to the push-ups.” She snaked one long, lovely leg around his thighs and slid it up to his rear. Fire licked at his belly. Every ounce of fatigue drained away.
“It’s a new day,” he mumbled against her lips, nipping, reaching around her hips, lifting until both her legs wrapped him like cotton candy spinning onto its cone.
“We’re good at new days.” She kissed him. “Can we just have a few of those for me to get used to? Please will you and your rowboat be patient?”
“I’m patient,” he promised. “You’ll get impatient with my patience.”
The Rancher and the Rock Star Page 32