Rough Ryder

by Alexander, Randi

  He stood, his knees snapping as they straightened. If his mother could have guessed at the hours of pain and uncertainty she’d caused a wide-eyed little boy, she would have been heartbroken. “Shit.” Why was he going down that rutted track now? What he should be doing was figuring out how to forgive his mother, and move…the…fuck…on.

  He walked to the table laden with a crystal decanter filled with brown liquor and surrounded by a dozen matching tumblers. Picking up the decanter, he pulled out the stopper and sniffed. Definitely scotch. He poured himself an inch and sipped his first try at Angus’s favorite libation. Nothing close to the beer that was his mainstay, but for Angus…Dad?...he’d give it a try.

  Ryder sat on the couch and watched the fire, sipping the liquor and trying to settle his jumpy nerves.

  A half hour later, Steele carried two acoustic guitars down the stairs to the living room.

  “We having a hoedown?” Ryder took the guitar Steele offered him.

  His brother pulled a paper from his pocket, unfolded it, and set it on the table. “I’ve got this song I can’t fix.” He sat next to Ryder on the couch, his guitar on his lap.

  Ryder didn’t breathe for a few seconds. Steele McLairn, country’s biggest selling musician, was asking him for help with a song? “You serious?”

  “Yeah, I’m serious.” Steele frowned at him. “You don’t wanna help?”

  “I’ll give it a try.” He focused on tuning the guitar while his mind raced. Was this some kind of bonding exercise? Was Steele testing Ryder to see if he had any talent? Or was this just a couple musicians collaborating on a song?

  “Here’s what I’ve got.” Steele played and sang a ballad. Kind of romantic, but in the wrong key for Steele’s voice.

  “Let me see.” Ryder slid the paper closer and tried it in a different key.

  “Yeah, that’s better.”

  For a couple hours, they fine-tuned lyrics and rewrote the song on music paper as they worked their way through their father’s scotch.

  Steele’s phone rang. “Hey.” He waited a few seconds. “Okay, give me ten minutes.” He ended the call. “I’ve got to get back to LA. You gonna be okay here alone?”

  A slight panic gripped Ryder, but he nodded. “Yep. Me and Nora got this under control.”

  Steele stood, folding the papers with the song on them, and placing them in his pocket. “Call if you need anything.”

  Headlights shone through the window.

  Ryder shrugged one shoulder. “I will. I’ll stay until Angus gets here.”

  “You’ve got another show before Chase and Reno’s thing, right?”

  Their friend Chase and his new wife Reno were having a Sunday morning christening party for their baby girl, Joy.

  “Yeah, Saturday night. I’m flying up to South Dakota right after the show. You?”

  “I’ll be there with Tracy.” He worked his jaw. “See you then, I guess.”

  “Unless that was your way of hinting around for free tickets to my next concert.” Ryder smirked.

  Steele smiled. “I’m gonna take you up on that one of these days.”

  “It’d be an honor.” Ryder meant it with his whole soul. He’d like nothing better than for things between them to get back to the way they’d been before the attorney representing Ryder’s mother had delivered the news that had nearly made enemies of the two of them.

  Steele looked away, then back at him. His mouth opened, closed, then he nodded once and left the room.

  Ryder watched the flames again. Back a few months, after the McLairns found out about Ryder, Steele had gotten it into his head that his newly revealed half-brother must have known his relationship to them all along. He’d accused Ryder of becoming friends with him just to improve his status in the country music industry. Of course, Ryder could see how Steele could reach that conclusion, but Ryder had sworn it was just a coincidence.

  And it didn’t help that both Angus and Val had been angry with Steele’s behavior, the two of them practically shoving Ryder’s presence in their family down Steele’s throat.

  Steele had gone so far as to forbid them all from revealing the information to anyone outside their immediate family. The guy had been in a bad place back then, afraid of what the news would do to his career, paranoid that the fans who adored him would see him as tainted. It’d taken a long time, a family crisis, and a lot of love from Tracy to get Steele to even speak civil words to Ryder.

  Ryder frowned, knowing he hadn’t been much help through the process, though. Pissed at Steele for shutting him out of the family he’d just found, Ryder had taunted the living shit out of his big brother through that whole process.

  Now, today…Steele asking him to work on that song. He picked up his tumbler of scotch. Unprecedented. And it felt incredible.

  ****

  Brooke stared out the window of her apartment as she watered one of her plants. Her partial view of the Washington Monument as the sun hit it just right usually made her happy. Not today. She wanted to be somewhere other than here. Somewhere Ryder was.

  Cold water dripped onto her bare foot. “Oh crap.” She’d overwatered, and dirty streams rushed out of her ficus pot and all over the table. She ran to the kitchen for a towel and cleaned up the table, then knelt to sop up the water pooling on the hardwood floor.

  Her head just wasn’t in the right place this week. Every time she sat down to write a song, each time she tried to coordinate a recording session for a demo CD, her thoughts jumped to Ryder.

  The connection they shared, was it just physical? Brooke sat back on her calves, holding the soaked towel, not caring that it wet her light-blue yoga pants. They had one doozie of a carnal link, that was for sure. But something more had gone on between them. Like two lost souls finding each other.

  Closing her eyes, she concentrated on using the universe to reach out to him, sending him pulses of her longing, bursts of her need to see him again. Her psychic mother and their yogi assured her this technique worked, even though Terry called it existential hoo-haw. “Can’t hurt.” She refocused on connecting with Ryder, psychically.

  A knock sounded on her apartment door.

  Her eyes popped open. “Ryder?” Could it be? She jumped up and ran, unlocked the deadbolts and swung open the door.

  “Hi, sweetheart.” Her stepfather stood there holding a plastic bowl, each strand of his full head of gray hair perfectly in place.

  Brooke’s excitement faded so fast, she had to grab hold of the doorjamb to stay upright. “Hi. Come on in.”

  He looked down at her pants. “Did I scare you?” He chuckled and walked past her into the apartment.

  She glanced at the wet stain that started at her crotch and ended at her knees. “Looks like it, huh?” Stepping into the kitchen, she tossed the wet towel into the sink.

  Terry followed. “Greta sent this.” He made a sour face. “It’s her newest try at a vegan casserole.”

  Brooke took the bowl and set it in the refrigerator. “Thank her for me. And thanks for coming all this way just to get rid of your leftovers.”

  He leaned back on the counter. “There’s more to it than just cold tofu, but mainly I wanted to see you. You haven’t been around much, and your mother is a little worried.”

  “Coffee? Tea?” She reached for a cup in her open cupboard.

  “Coffee would be good, thanks.”

  “I’ve just been busy.” Using the hot water spigot on her sink, she made a cup of dark brew for him, and a cup of green tea for herself. “I’ve sold a few songs recently, to some pretty big-named stars, and word is spreading around about me.”

  He took the cup from her and inhaled. “Good for you.”

  Her mother didn’t allow coffee in their house, and he had taken up jogging just to get out every morning and get himself a cup of joe.

  “So, what’s the other reason you came by?” She dipped her teabag in and out of her cup, thinking of the morning she’d spent in Ryder’s hotel room bed, drinking coffee wit
h him. Of course lately, everything reminded her of him.

  “I heard from McCrae.”

  She nearly dropped her cup. “You did? Where is he?” She’d wasted too many hours trying to locate him through online satellite search sites. Evidently, his phone was turned off, and non-accessible to searches.

  “He asked me to wire him some money to a suburb outside Chicago.” He narrowed his eyes. “And he wanted me to keep the information secret…from your mom and you.”

  Brooke hadn’t wanted to tell Terry about McCrae’s latest shithead exploit, but he’d hear about it soon enough anyway. She explained about her notebooks, hearing her song on the radio, and the confirmation from Ryder Landry that it was McCrae who’d sold him the song.

  Her dad’s mouth drew in so tight, his grip on the cup handle became so fierce, she could imagine he’d either crack a tooth or the coffee cup. “What the hell did he do with the money he made on that song?”

  The kid could never manage his finances. Brooke shrugged. “He probably partied it away. Or bought a new car. Maybe he gambled.”

  “He did have a flashy black sports car the last time he came to visit. He said it was his girlfriend’s.”

  McCrae could tell a lie better than anyone Brooke knew. “I need to find him to get this all straightened out. Can you help me?”

  He set down the cup and pulled Brooke into his arms, giving her a quick hug. “Of course we’ll help. Let’s go talk to your mother and figure out how.” He held her by the shoulders and gave her a weak smile. “With Greta’s devious mind, she’ll engineer a trap for us to use in no time.”

  “Thanks, Terry. I wish it didn’t have to—”

  “Ah-ah-ah.” He shushed her. “It’s time that boy faces up to his crimes.” He dropped his arms and shrugged. “He’s gotten away with far too much in his short life.”

  Brooke emphatically agreed, but just nodded. “Let’s go see what the mastermind can concoct.” She grabbed her purse.

  Her stepdad pointed to her thighs.

  She looked down then set her purse on the counter. “After I change my pants.”

  Chapter Six

  Ryder finished his last encore at the arena in Nashville, Tennessee and walked off stage as the house lights came up. During the concert, he’d tried not to, but he kept looking for Brooke. Looking for her sign and flashlights.

  His lawyer reported that she hadn’t responded to his calls. Ryder wished he could believe what the lawyer concluded: that Brooke had given up. But he knew better. He’d just have to wait until she found a way to get to him. Despite having Schmiddy on the lookout, Brooke seemed like the type who could easily slip through any roadblock.

  Ryder went directly to his dressing room and showered then changed into a white T-shirt, jeans, and a leather jacket. He’d had to leave the McLairn Ranch before his father returned from his trip, which had been extended because of weather. Ryder’s sister, Val, and her family had come out to the ranch to keep an eye on the place for a day or so until Angus returned. Angus, the crazy old coot. He hadn’t told anyone where he’d gone or with whom. Ryder needed to get back there soon and talk to him, find out what was going on in that crafty mind of his.

  A knock sounded on the door. The sponsor of this tour date had arranged an after-party for some lucky fans who’d won tickets through a contest.

  Ryder opened the door and stepped out. “Ready, Schmiddy?”

  “Yes, sir.” The big man led the way down the hall and onto a freight elevator. “Checked the guest list. She’s not on there.”

  Ryder let out a breath. He’d half-hoped she’d be there, but tonight wasn’t the night to deal with her. He had to be in South Dakota by ten in the morning.

  The small room on the club level of the arena was packed with twenty contest winners and a dozen sponsors. Ryder walked in, and a round of applause went up. The sponsors greeted him first and had photos taken, then he made his way around the room, shaking hands with the contest winners and posing for pictures.

  A shorter woman, heavy, wearing a really large cowboy hat that made her short, curly black hair stick out from under it, kept to the periphery. He would make sure she didn’t leave without getting a picture with him. The shy ones…

  Big glasses with thick frames nearly hid her eyes, but those lips looked familiar. He walked toward her.

  She stiffened and tried to turn away.

  “Hi. I’m Ryder Landry. Glad to meet you.” He held out his hand.

  She grasped his hand with her small one. “Greta Hutchinson.” That’s what her nametag said, too, but she looked very familiar.

  The photographer appeared beside them. “Get a little closer, please.”

  Ryder slung his arm around her shoulder and leaned in. The scent of ginger and peaches… His smile amped up. “I had a feeling you’d be here, Ms. Davidson.”

  Brooke’s body jerked. “Before you call Schmiddy over, please let me tell you why I came.” Her voice shook.

  With the photos taken, he backed away a few feet. “I really like what you’ve done with your hair.”

  She let out a laugh and touched her fingers to the frizzy black stuff, which Ryder hoped was a wig. “Can we talk? For just a few minutes? Please?”

  “Sure.” He looked around, but didn’t see anyone he hadn’t spent time with. “Walk out and go to the right. I’ll come out in a few minutes.”

  “Thank you.” Her hands shook a little and he wanted to hold them, tell her not to worry. But Schmiddy stared at them from across the room, a fierce glare contorting his features. The man had to see through her disguise, now.

  Brooke gestured toward the big bodyguard. “Is he going to stuff me in a trash can and have me shipped home?”

  “Possibly.” Ryder put his hand on her back and gave her a little nudge forward. “But if anyone could get him to change his mind, it’d be you.”

  She wandered through the crowd, then straightened her spine and walked directly toward the door.

  Ryder could hear Schmiddy’s growl as she passed him.

  She looked way up at the bodyguard and growled right back.

  Ryder had to bite back a smile. A few minutes later, he excused himself, promising to be back in a minute, and walked out the door.

  Schmiddy followed, but Ryder motioned for him to stay.

  “Sir…”

  “It’s good. Just stay put.” He walked around the corner to the right and found her, glasses off, sitting on a barstool. “How’d you get in?”

  She swiveled the seat to face him. “A…relative bribed an employee.” She shrugged.

  He walked up to her, setting his hands on her thighs. Whatever padding she had on made her look twice her real size. “The extra weight looks good on you.”

  “Thanks, I went on an ice cream and cookie diet this week.”

  Sliding his hands to her hips, he leaned in for a kiss. He couldn’t help himself, and the second his lips touched hers, a blast of desire grabbed him low in his belly.

  With her palm on his chest, Brooke ended the kiss, slightly breathless. “Can we finish this later? Right now, I need your full attention.”

  Later. Yep, he’d take pleasure in peeling off her big-girl suit and laying her down on his bed… Shit, he had to be on the plane in a half hour. This would have to wait until much later.

  “Ryder?” She looked into his eyes. “Can. You. Hear. Me?” She smiled.

  “Yep. Go ahead.” He pressed closer, his hips between her thighs, spreading them, his zipper riding along the seam of her sweatpants. “I’m right here.” And he damn sure wanted to be right there. Between her legs, both of them naked and hot.

  “Physically, yes, I can feel how much of you is there.” She swallowed, then placed her hands on his hips and pushed him back a few inches. “But I want you to listen, okay? Here’s the plan. I know you’re traveling to the next show tonight, but if you could make a quick detour, we may be able to catch McCrae.”

  “Oh yeah?” This he had to hear. He forced down a
good percentage of his lust and waited for her to go on.

  “He asked my stepdad to wire him some money. In Chicago. Terry told him he wouldn’t be able to do it until three tomorrow morning. So all we have to do is fly to Chicago, get to the place where he wants to pick up the cash, and sit outside and watch for him.”

  His mind, still mostly clouded with desire for her, couldn’t visualize it. “What if he doesn’t show up at three? What if he waits until after breakfast?”

  Brooke scrunched up her face. “We wait until after breakfast?”

  Shaking his head, he backed away a little further. “I’ve got to be in South Dakota in the morning. And I can’t be late.”

  She slid off the stool and sighed. “Damn. We didn’t think of that. We thought you’d be heading right for California.”

  “We?” She had a whole crew coming up with plans to catch her stepbrother?

  “Mom, my stepdad, and me. Well, mostly Mom.”

  “Sorry, Brooke. This is not something I can just miss attending.”

  “Okay, I understand.” She looked up at him, her hazel eyes puppy-dog wide. “Could we at least go and wait until you absolutely have to leave for South Dakota?” She blinked a couple times.

  He puffed out a breath. How could he refuse that logic? And he really did want to get his hands on McCrae. “Yep, okay. Let’s do this.”

  ****

  Brooke made it onto the plane with only one more growl from Schmiddy. The three of them sat on Ryder’s private jet, blasting through the night toward Chicago. She’d removed the hat and the extra layers of padding and clothes, and peeled down to jeans and a sweater.

  Ryder had fallen asleep almost immediately after takeoff. She couldn’t imagine how exhausting a multi-city tour would be. The cabin lights glowed softly, almost like candles, the air circulated warm and fresh, and she would love to be able to fall asleep, but the energy flowing through her at the thought of catching McCrae kept her on edge.

  She hunkered down in her leather chair and read on her phone to keep her mind from flitting to all the possible scenarios that could occur when they caught McCrae. The book was a how-to on songwriting, and a couple times she nearly snorted out loud. She could write a better book than this one.