by Lori Wilde
“Well.” She laughed. “This is very adult of us.”
“Be well, Sim.”
She opened the door, stepped out to the deck, stood underneath the light looking vulnerable.
He followed, trying to decide if he should offer to walk her to her vehicle, when she turned, wrapped her arms around his neck, pulled his head down, and kissed him.
He did not kiss her back. Gently he untangled her arms. “Sorry, Sim. It really is over.”
“I know,” she said. “I just thought one last kiss for old times’ sake.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s all. I’ll go now. Need to return the rental to DFW airport for my eight a.m. flight back to LA.”
“You really didn’t come with the expectation of spending the night?”
“I did not.” She opened her smartphone, showed him the bar code of her boarding pass. “See for yourself. Quick, round-trip red-eye to get the guitar back to you and hide from the paparazzi.”
He smiled at her, proud of how far they’d both come. “Go. Be happy with Snake. And thanks again for bringing Lorena home.”
She turned and walked away. Stopped. Gave him one last parting glance over her shoulder. “I hope you find what it is you’re looking for, Cash . . . before it’s too late.”
With that, she pushed him inside. “Don’t watch me walk away,” she said. “It’s too sad.” Then she closed the door in his face and Cash never saw her leave.
Simone Freaking Bishop.
Paige was standing in the middle of her houseboat with Simone Freaking Bishop, and the woman was beautiful enough to stop clocks. Beside her, Paige felt like a bag lady.
After running inside, she’d given up all hope of sleeping and decided to wrap Christmas presents. She’d been sitting on the floor surrounded by brightly colored foil paper, ribbons, and bows, trying not to think about what was going on in the houseboat next door, when Simone knocked on her door.
Simone Bishop looked like a 1940s film-noir, silver-screen siren. She towered a good five inches above Paige, and had a slender neck long enough to make a giraffe jealous. The lights from the three Christmas trees shimmered off her wavy golden tresses and sky-high cheekbones and reflected back the sheen of her black lamé blouse.
Her eyes were the color of emeralds, slightly almond shaped and fringed by lashes so long they had to be false. A faint dusting of lavender shadow over her eyelids, and her spectacular mouth, full and marshmallowy, was painted a vibrant fire engine red. Her coltish legs were swathed in black skinny jeans and her busty bosom pushed insistently against her buttons, as if begging, Let us out. And she smelled like Chanel.
Absentmindedly, Paige pressed a palm to her heart. This incredible creature had been alone with Cash in the houseboat for a good thirty minutes. What had been going on over there? Had they reconciled? Was Simone here to gloat? Nah, nah, I’ve reclaimed my man.
She let Simone in, and it felt as if a stone settled in her stomach as her hands went numb. “What . . .” Paige cleared her throat, started again. “What can I do for you?”
“Be careful.” Simone’s eyes narrowed.
Paige bristled. Sank her hands on her hips. Okay, the woman might be a goddess to end all goddesses but this was her home, dammit. She wasn’t going to let her march in here and threaten her. “Are you trying to start a fight? Because I gotta warn you, lady, while I might be small, I’m feisty.”
At that, Simone laughed like it was the funniest joke she’d ever heard in her life. She hooted. Guffawed. Kept laughing. Pressed a hand to her side. Laughed some more.
Hey, hey. Paige scowled. What was so damn funny? Did the glamorous giraffe doubt that she could hold her own in a tussle? She knotted her hands into fists, but that only sent Simone into fresh peals of laughter.
“Oh, doll baby,” Simone said. “You are so precious. And you really do look like a nice kid. Honest, I didn’t come here to threaten you. I came to warn you.”
Paige folded her arms under her breasts, deepened her glower. “What’s the difference?”
“You think I want him back?”
“Don’t you?”
“No, no, no, no.” Simone shook her head like she was a wet dog shaking off water.
“Then why did you come to see him in the middle of the night even though you’re marrying his best friend on New Year’s Eve?”
“To return the guitar I stole from him.”
“I see,” Paige said, even though she didn’t believe Simone that she wasn’t still hung up on Cash.
“He’s a good guy, and he’s handsome as the day is long, and he’s damn easy to love, but he’s never going to commit.”
“I know that.” Paige squeezed her rib cage, hugging herself tight.
“Do you?” Her voice held a superior I’ve-been-there-you-haven’t tone.
“I’m fully aware of who he is,” Paige said. “I want nothing from him.”
Simone clicked her tongue. “You sure?”
Did she want Cash to tell her he loved her? Yes, yes, she did. Wanted it with every cell, every breath, in her body. But did she expect it? No.
“I hope you’re not falling in love with him.”
“Of course not.” Paige scoffed, but it came out sounding lame and lean.
“Everyone loves him, you know. Friends. Fans. Women . . .” Simone paused. “They love him at first. And then they realize the love is one-sided. He can’t return the love. It’s not his fault, poor pet. I blame his mother. She screwed him up royally. So Cash and I were doomed from the start. Anyone who gets with him is doomed from the start.”
“The fact that you cheated on him with his best friend didn’t have anything to do with the doomedness?” Paige asked dryly.
“Hey, that’s not fair. I wanted to marry him. I wanted him to say he’d be there for me forever. But he wouldn’t. Or he couldn’t. And I fell in love with someone else. He didn’t fight that hard to keep me. So I’m not saying this to be a bitter bitch, but because I’m worried about you. I’m afraid he’s going to break your heart. He can’t help himself.”
She took the bait. She couldn’t help herself. “How so?”
“When he was ten years old, his mother told him that falling in love would kill his success. On her deathbed no less. On Christmas Eve. She told him that the only thing he was allowed to love was Euterpe.”
Euterpe.
That stopped her heart. The nickname he’d given her. His muse.
“Do you know who Euterpe is?” Simone asked.
“I’m not an idiot,” Paige snapped, although she hadn’t known who Euterpe was until Cash told her. Then an awful, stomach-churning thought struck. What if he’d given Simone the same nickname?
“Did he ever call you that?” Paige ventured, wondering why she was torturing herself.
“What?” Simone asked. “Euterpe?”
Paige nodded.
“He calls you Euterpe?”
Should she admit it? Find out he called all his lovers that? She bit her bottom lip, barely nodded.
“Oh shit.” Simone slapped a palm over her mouth. “You’re in more trouble than I thought.”
“What does that mean?”
“Here.” Simone fished around in her clutch purse for a business card. “Here’s my number. Feel free to call me when you hit rock bottom, and you will hit rock bottom. Call me and we’ll commiserate.”
Paige took the card Simone pressed into her palm. She had no intention of calling the woman. Ever. No matter what happened with Cash, but it seemed rude not to take the card.
“Good luck,” Simone said.
And then she was gone. Leaving a waft of Chanel in her wake.
Chapter 19
Expressionism: Atonal and violent style used as a means of evoking heightened emotions and states of mind.
Simone Freaking Bishop left without explaining what she meant by her parting comment. Leaving Paige flabbergasted and more than a tad nervous. The look on the beautiful woman’s face bef
ore she walked out the door had been one of absolutely pity.
And she was worried about that Freudian slip she’d had at Cash’s houseboat. One of the last things she’d said to him was “I love you” and he’d not reciprocated. Had not even acknowledged she’d said it.
Hey, maybe he believed her when she’d said she didn’t mean she loved him, loved him, and he’d completely forgotten about it.
She could hope, right? They could just ignore this and go right on as if she’d not uttered a word. Still have fun. Still enjoy each other’s company. Still keep things light. No strings attached.
Yeah, about that. Her feelings for Cash lashed her down like Gulliver in Lilliput. Chained by her emotions, stings all over the damn place.
They were going to have to talk about it eventually; no matter how much she might not want to, she knew ignoring things only worked for a little while.
Paige thought about her first car. A used clunker that she’d neglected to take in for service. It rattled and knocked, but it still kept driving, so she’d ignored the noise. Until the day the engine blew up when she was driving home from high school, leaving her stranded on the side of the road in a thunderstorm. Smoke steaming from the hood, lightning crashing all around her, cell phone battery dead, and no way to charge it. Later, the mechanic told her if she’d just brought the car in for service, she could have avoided a cracked block, and the car wouldn’t have been totaled because it cost more to fix it than it was worth.
Yep. In the long run, ignorance was definitely not bliss.
Ah crap.
She turned off the lights on the Christmas tree, stumbled into the bedroom just as the sky was lightening, preparing for dawn, and face-planted into the mattress beside a sleeping Fritzi.
She’d no more dropped down than a fierce knock sounded on the front door. Seriously? Who was smashing the hell out of her door at six a.m.?
Sighing, she got out of bed, padded to the door, peeked out the window to see Cash standing on the deck. He looked so damn gorgeous, his hair mussed as if he’d been raking his fingers through it. Wearing a leather jacket, red western shirt, and Levi’s as if he were up for the day.
Heart thumping, she drew back from the door. She wasn’t prepared to talk to him. Not now. Not until she’d sorted out the night’s events.
He knocked again. “Paige,” he called. “You awake? We need to talk.”
Fear played her spine like a glockenspiel, tingling up and down, going faster, higher, until her lungs seized up. She couldn’t talk to him. She was still too thrashed by what Simone had said to her. By what she’d told Cash. I love you.
Remember that blown-up engine?
She put her hand on the doorknob, but did not turn it. If she opened the door, she knew without a doubt that she would take him into her bed and show him with her body exactly how much she loved him. She couldn’t help herself.
Not when it came to Cash.
Because this wasn’t the car all over again—with the car, she’d ignored a short-term problem that turned into a permanent issue. Everything with Cash was short term. She’d known that all along.
How could there be a permanent issue when they would not have a relationship past New Year’s? Why couldn’t she ignore it? Why did they have to talk about it?
Slowly, Paige backed away from the door. Stood staring at it. Waiting for Cash to knock again—to coax, to wheedle, to cajole.
He did none of that. Footsteps echoed on the wooden deck as he walked away.
Her spirits curled up into a ball and rolled right down her stomach to her thighs, knees, and settled with a hard, solid plunk into the soles of her feet. He’d given up mighty easily. Leaving her to assume he wasn’t all that keen on talking it out either.
She went back to bed and tried to sleep, but all she could hear was the sound of her old car engine knocking out a warning, Do something before it’s too late.
But in her heart, she knew it had been too late from the moment she’d slept with him.
She was madly in love with a man who had no idea how to love her back.
Stuffing his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket, Cash hunched his shoulders against the cold and headed for the Land Rover. He was too keyed up to go back to bed, and disappointed that Paige had not answered her door.
He was ready to tell her that he loved her too.
But he hadn’t wanted to keep knocking and wake her if she’d managed to fall asleep. Their talk could wait until she’d gotten some rest. In the meantime, he would head for breakfast, and as soon as the stores opened he’d look for a Christmas gift for Paige to show her what he couldn’t find the words to say.
You mean so much to me.
He drove to the town square, parked, and went into Perks coffee shop, which was already buzzing with activity. There were Christmas trees in every corner, and over the sound system, Alan Jackson was singing, “Let It Be Christmas.”
At this hour of the morning, the majority of the clientele were locals—farmers and ranchers in Stetsons and jeans talking cattle futures, horses, and the weather.
The sight tugged at his memory and he remembered the country diner near his grandparents’ ranch. How they took him to breakfast at the diner every Saturday morning. He recalled the sense of community. How he’d been welcomed and doted upon.
He had liked it. Working the land. Riding horses. Tending cattle. Forgotten exactly how much he had liked the land. Those days on the ranch had seeped into his music. Many of his songs were about a rambling cowboy unlucky in love, and sorrowful over what he’d lost.
And until this very moment, he had no idea how much he missed the ranch and his grandparents. Hadn’t realized he was that rambling cowboy searching for where he belonged.
It struck him as he walked to a lone table in the corner—every eye in the place tracking his movements, voices lowered in murmured gossip, his name on tongues—the full impact of what he’d lost out on by running away from home.
At fifteen, he’d viewed his grandparents’ strict rules as an obstacle to his music career, instead of what it really was. Loving discipline to keep him safe.
His grandparents must have gone through immeasurable pain when he’d followed in his mother’s footsteps. Blowing off their advice, clinging to Lorena’s vision for his future, no matter the cost.
They hadn’t lived long enough to see him succeed. His grandfather had died of cancer four years after Cash ran away, and his grandmother passed away a few months after, some say of a broken heart from losing everyone she loved.
The memories were knives, sharp and brutal, stabbing him from every direction.
How selfish he’d been. Concerned only about making it big in the music world. Not thinking twice how his leaving had devastated his grandparents.
His appetite vanished in the wake of this gut-punching revelation. He’d been such a wizard at burying his feelings, he was just now truly feeling the impact of his mistakes and all he’d lost.
“Hey there, handsome,” flirted the cute waitress whose name tag identified her as Jill. “What’ll you have? Coffee, tea, or me?”
“Coffee,” he said, not the least bit interested in flirting back.
“I love ‘Toasted,’” she said. “It’s my favorite song ever.”
“Thanks,” he mumbled, picked up the menu from the wire stand on the table, stared at it hard to keep from looking at her. He could feel her ogling him. McDang, sometimes celebrity was a real pain in the ass.
“I’ve been following your music since I was a little girl.”
“That’s nice. Eggs. I’ll have two eggs over easy and a side of bacon.”
“Okay,” she said, sounding disappointed, but she didn’t move away from the table.
Finally, Cash glanced up to see what she wanted. “Yes?”
“You know,” the waitress said. “I’ve admired you for years . . . until now.”
He affixed his trademark smile to the woman hoping to disarm her. “Look, I didn’t get
much sleep. I’m not my usual self.”
“I’m not talking about that,” she said. “I’m talking about the way you’re cheating on Paige with Simone Bishop.”
What? Huh?
“I knew you were a player,” she went on. “But I didn’t think you were a two-timer. You ought to know better since Simone cheated on you with Snake and you know how bad that feels. For shame.”
“How do you know about me and Paige?”
She just rolled her eyes, gave a snort. “Don’t even.”
“Jill,” interrupted a cowboy from the next table. “Can I have a refill?”
Jill leveled Cash a look. “Let’s just say you’ve lost a fan.”
What the truck? He scratched his head. His cell phone buzzed, letting him know he had a text. It was from Emma.
Emma: WTF!!!
Cash: ???
Emma: U haven’t seen the video?
Cash: What video?
A minute passed, and then a video clip appeared in a text bubble. Someone had filmed him singing “Danke Schoen” to Grammie and then kissing Paige in Ye Olde Book Nook, and uploaded it on YouTube.
Emma: 500k hits since upload at 10 P.M. last night.
It was just now seven o’clock in the morning. How had the video gotten that many hits in the middle of the night?
Cash: No kidding? Why?
Emma: This.
And there it was, a photograph of Simone kissing him in the doorway of his houseboat. Now it was all making sense why Jill had been upset with him. His stomach sank. How long before Paige saw this? Had she already seen it?
Cash: Not what it looks like.
Emma: I hope not. I’ll kill U if U hurt Paige.
Cash: Simone kissed me.
Emma: Why is she in Twilight?
Cash: Story too long to text.
Emma: U got a mess on UR hands.
Cash: It’ll blow over.
Emma: Good for your career?
Cash: Bad for me & Paige.
Emma: What is going on with U and Paige?
Cash: I don’t know.
Emma: Twitter is blowing up. #CashColtonOnNaughtyList