Which was in her best interest, too. Otherwise, everyone would want to know how seeing him again felt.
She shuddered.
“Thank you, Ivy.”
Her uncle’s relief in those two words made her sorry she’d stressed him out.
“I don’t want to see him again.” Not ever.
“I’ll tell him to stay away from the pub, if you like.”
“Please do. Thanks.”
Silence filled the line. “Seeing him tonight must have brought back bad memories.”
Ever since she recognized Nash Bennett, her pulse had been sprinting and hadn’t slowed. She’d been thrust into that awful time of grieving her father’s unexpected death, postponing her move to Nashville after high school graduation, and having her dreams destroyed by her once-favorite country singer.
“I’d rather forget the memories.” That included Nash Bennett.
“You can’t escape the past.”
So far, she’d been doing a good job at it. “Maybe not, but I’d prefer to stick my head in the sand where he is concerned.”
“That will only work for so long,” Uncle Bob cautioned.
“It’s been ten years. I think it’s working well.”
“With him in Quinn Valley, this might be the perfect time to talk to him about what happened.”
A shiver shot through her. “No.”
“You might gain perspective and peace.”
“I’m good.” And she would stay that way if she avoided Nash Bennett. “Do you know how long he’ll be in town?”
“That depends on his recovery.”
He appeared fine to her, but medical conditions weren’t always visible. “Any guesses?”
“Let me check.” The sound of typing on a keyboard filled her ear. “Up to another month based on his reservation, but that isn’t a firm check-out date. We said we could be flexible with his stay. Few can afford the suite where he’s staying.”
That would help her uncle’s bottom line. Not that the hotel lacked for business during the summer. As for her…
Quinn Valley was a small town. She could avoid Nash for a few weeks, even a month, if need be. She didn’t go out much, preferring to spend her free time writing music or hanging out with her family.
“As long as he doesn’t come to the pub, his being in town won’t be a problem.” She would do everything she could to not see him again. “But could you let me know when he checks out, please?”
“Of course, dear.” Compassion filled his voice. “If you need someone else to talk to about this, Travis might be able to help.”
“Thanks, Uncle Bob.”
Ivy, however, wouldn’t call Travis because she didn’t want to talk about Nash Bennett to anyone. Until she heard that he’d left Quinn Valley, she would stick close to home. Other than her shifts at the pub and a once-a-week trip to the grocery store, she would avoid every other place in town. If she needed anything more, she could drive to Riston. The only social event coming up was the family’s annual Fourth of July party at her grandparents’ ranch. She would be safe there.
A solid plan.
Nothing wrong with being a homebody. That would give her more time to write music and forget Nash Bennett ever existed.
CHAPTER FIVE
As Nash returned to the hotel, his leg throbbed. Not the same jagged pain from right after the injury, but an ache telling him to get off his feet because he was pushing himself too hard. Travis had taught him how to read his body, but Nash hadn’t tonight.
His fault.
He’d taken the long way from the pub without thinking. Even though he had an empty suite waiting for him, he’d hoped to clear his head by getting his blood pumping and fresh air into his lungs. All his walk had done, however, was make him hurt and sweat more. He needed water to refresh him and wash away the sour taste in his mouth.
Friday night at the pub had been bad enough, but tonight…
Because, Mr. Bennett, you gave me advice years ago. As much as you could in two minutes. What you said was the opposite of flattering. I’m not up for another round of devastation. Or you. So please, leave me alone.
He hadn’t a clue what Ivy had meant. She didn’t like him. That much was clear. But could she also be crazy? Making up something that hadn’t happened?
That seemed a distinct possibility given what she’d said. He’d met all types of musicians and fans. Some more sane than others. A few had been downright delusional. One had introduced herself as his wife, and she hadn’t been joking.
Pretending tonight hadn’t happened was the smart thing to do. Except the visible pain on Ivy’s face and in her voice wasn’t going to be easy to forget. Whatever she believed had happened hurt her.
Badly.
But he needed to forget about her.
Maybe if he spoke to R.J., Nash would be able to hide out in another Podunk town. Though how many of those had a physical therapist as good as Travis Quinn? Nash was likely stuck here for the duration.
Just put Ivy Quinn out of your mind.
As he approached the hotel’s entrance, his feet, weighed down by the heaviness in his legs, shuffled against the asphalt. Add in his slight limp and that was a recipe for another spill like the one he’d taken off the stage during a show. He couldn’t afford to stumble or aggravate his healing muscle, so ignoring the pain, he forced himself to walk normally.
Inside the lobby, Nash kept his gaze lowered. If he didn’t make eye contact with anyone, no one would speak to him. Eager to get to his room, he headed toward the elevator.
“Rough night, Ben?” a male voice asked.
Nash had registered at the hotel as Benjamin Ashe. Not the most creative fake name when he stayed at places, but only one other man in Quinn Valley knew the alias.
Nash stared at Bob Quinn, who stood behind the check-in counter. He was old enough to be Nash’s father, but the two men had nothing in common. Bob didn’t seem like the type to abandon his kids. “You could say that.”
Bob’s gaze narrowed. He’d been standoffish and wary when Nash arrived, but the hotel owner had become more talkative as the weeks passed. Bob set his jaw. “You were at the pub tonight.”
It wasn’t a question. Not that Nash had anything to hide. Besides, whatever he told Bob couldn’t be repeated. “Travis mentioned the live music. I was there last night, too.”
Bob’s lips narrowed. “Did you hear Ivy sing?”
Nash’s mouth gaped. Closing it, he took a step toward the front desk. “You know her?”
So much for letting it go, but he wanted answers. For himself. Nothing else. She’d told him to leave her alone—included a please—and he would.
Getting drunk, stealing the security’s golf cart, and doing donuts at an amphitheater after a show to blow off steam was the definition of stupid. So was fighting with paparazzi at a club two weeks later. That led people to assume he had a drinking problem which wasn’t the case. Passing out during a charity event only added to the gossip even though that had been the result of jet lag and exhaustion. He’d only drunk water that night. He could live with the rumors. That was one of the prices of fame. But being accused of harassment or stalking wasn’t happening.
Nash had done enough damage to his career. Injuring himself after falling off the stage in Seattle had only hurt his reputation more. He didn’t want to mess up again.
Two women exited the elevator. As they headed toward the front door, one waved at him. Nash acknowledged her with a nod. They left the hotel.
“Ivy is my niece,” Bob explained in a tight tone. “She called me tonight after speaking with you.”
Nash rushed to the front desk. The hard edge pressed into him. His palms pressed down on the countertop.
“Is she okay?” The question shot out. He took a breath to calm himself. “I upset her.”
“She’s upset and frustrated.” Bob sounded like he wasn’t happy, either. He glanced around as if to see if anyone else had entered the lobby. “Do you blame her after
what happened?”
Nash was dumbfounded. He’d tried to think of everything wrong he’d done, but the list was long and nowhere was Ivy involved. “She mentioned something, but I don’t know what she’s talking about.”
Bob’s nostrils flared. “You forgot her.”
The accusation in the man’s tone made Nash take a step back. He held up his hands, palms facing out.
“I only met her last night.” Briefly, before she shot him down. “Tonight was the second time.”
Bob rubbed his forehead, but that eased none of the tension in his stiff posture or muscles. “You’ve interacted with Ivy before.”
Interacted? That was a strange verb to use. “When?”
“You really don’t remember her?” Suspicion filled Bob’s voice.
Nash’s teeth clenched. He didn’t appreciate being accused of lying. “I don’t.”
“It was a decade ago.”
Ten years seemed like another lifetime to him. His career had exploded a year before that, and he was riding high. Too cocky, but that was a folly of his youth. He’d mellowed since then. He tried to recall something—anything—to do with Ivy but came up blank.
She was pretty enough he would have remembered meeting her. “I have no idea when or how we met. What did I do to her?”
Bob opened his mouth before shutting it. A pained expression crossed his face. As he looked everywhere but at Nash, Bob seemed to battle himself. “Ivy is family. She’s already angry no one warned her about you being in town. I can’t get in the middle of this.”
“Loyalty is important.” Nash didn’t know what he’d do without his former foster parents. He rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t want to put you in a rough spot, but how am I supposed to figure out what I did?”
Ignoring the question, Bob straightened a stack of brochures on the counter.
“Can you give me a clue?” Nash hated the desperation in his voice, but he needed to figure this out. “Something that won’t make you feel as if you’re betraying your niece?”
Bob’s lips parted, but no smile followed. He appeared as upset at Nash as Ivy had been. “Yes, I can.”
Relief washed over Nash. Finally, he could figure out what was going on.
“Do you have a laptop?” Bob asked.
Nash nodded.
“Search your name and Ivy Quinn.” The words were direct and harsh. “That should fill in the memory gaps.”
“Thank you.” Nash hoped he sounded sincere because he was grateful. He needed to figure this out. Whatever had happened ten years ago appeared to have affected other family members, too. “I’ll do that now.”
“One more thing.” Bob’s gaze was as hard as granite. “Ivy doesn’t want you at the pub again.”
Nash’s heart went splat against the floor. Okay, he’d planned on keeping his distance because she hadn’t wanted to see him. He hated that she felt that way, but he had a bigger concern now.
“I’ll stay away.” He pulled the NDA from his back pocket, unfolded the two pages, and handed them to Bob. “Would you ask her to sign this, please?”
Bob studied the papers. “Ivy agreed not to tell anyone you’re here.”
That didn’t ease the knots forming in Nash’s shoulder muscles. “I appreciate that, but this is…business.”
Bob’s face reddened. He started to speak but then stopped himself. He refolded the NDA. “She’s always been a good girl. Her word is as good as gold. But I’ll have her sign this tomorrow.”
“Thank you.” Nash wanted to run to his room and do a search, but his leg would never survive the stairs. He would have to take the elevator. “Goodnight.”
Once Nash was inside his suite, he tossed the beanie and sunglasses onto the coffee table and then sat on the couch. His stomach churned with a mix of dread and curiosity. He opened his laptop and typed in his name and Ivy’s into the browser’s address bar.
Pages of search results appeared, including videos. He read the subject lines.
“Superstar Nash Bennett Crushes Grieving Teen’s Dreams.”
“Nash Bennett Tells Teen Singer to Go Home Because Only the Strong Survive.”
“Reality TV Judge Nash Bennett Really Hates This Young Singer.”
“Is Ivy Quinn Using Her Father’s Death as an Excuse for a Horrible Audition?”
“Nash Is Right! Ivy Quinn Can’t Sing!”
“Was Nash Right to Crush a Teen’s Dreams?”
“Who Would Rather Hear Ivy Quinn Cry Than Sing?”
Each result added a sandbag onto his shoulders causing him to slump until he hunched over.
What was going on? He gritted his teeth. How come he didn’t remember?
The dates corresponded to when he judged a hit TV show that turned unknown singers into hit sensations. He rubbed his jaw. Given that he’d listened to hundreds of auditions, forgetting her wasn’t surprising. Still, with this much media coverage, he had the feeling he should remember.
One search result narrowed down her audition location—Seattle.
Man. Nash brushed his hand through his hair. That city had it in for him.
His computer’s arrow hovered over the play button for the top video listed on the page. Self-preservation told him to close his computer and go to bed, but he couldn’t. He had to know, so he clicked.
The logo from the reality TV show he’d judged on appeared on the screen. A shot of a throng of singers standing in a massive line came next.
Man, there had been many people wanting to audition that day. One singer had blended into another. Maybe that was why Nash didn’t remember Ivy.
The host, Lance Yarborough, a popular DJ with a nationwide show, held a microphone. He flashed a toothpaste-ad-worthy smile.
“Let’s meet a few singers wanting to sing today.” Lance went up to a pretty, young girl dressed in a jean miniskirt, sleeveless lace-trimmed shirt, and cowboy boots. “What’s your name and where are you from?”
Innocence shone in her eyes, but a hint of sadness was also there. Her smile didn’t hide her nervousness. “I’m Ivy Quinn from Quinn Valley, Idaho.”
Nash’s breathing hitched. She looked so different. Younger, yes, but she’d had a vitality that was missing now.
“How old are you, Ivy?” Lance asked.
“Eighteen.”
That meant Ivy was twenty-eight. Older and thinner now, too. Maybe that was why she didn’t look the same.
Lance studied the people nearby watching the interview. “Who did you bring to the audition?”
Her smile faltered. “No one. My sister and brothers are at home with my mom to help run our family restaurant. My…um…dad died three months ago.”
Nash’s heart ached. Being deserted by parents who hadn’t cared about or loved him had been devastating. He couldn’t imagine the pain of losing a loving, devoted parent at any age.
But hearing this raised a red flag. One that should have been waving ten years ago. A grieving singer was a storyline the show would follow. Usually the judges were given a short bio of each contestant. In Seattle, however, they hadn’t given the judges any information even though they had at other audition cities. No one had even provided a list of names, only numbers. A production assistant had claimed they’d run out of time, but the three judges had joked not knowing a singer’s circumstances could add more drama.
Compassion filled Lance’s gaze. Not surprising since Nash had gotten to know the host during the show. The guy cared about friends and strangers alike. “That’s brave of you to come by yourself.”
She raised her chin the same way she had with Nash earlier tonight. “My dad used to tell me, ‘You’re going to be a star, baby girl.’ That’s why I’m auditioning. For him and for me.”
A few people around her sighed. Nash did the same thing.
“Have you ever auditioned before?” Lance asked.
“For musicals at my high school and to perform at our county fair.” She looked around with wide-eyed amazement. “But nothing like this. I
’m nervous.”
“You’ll do fine,” Lance assured her. “Good luck.”
She beamed, appearing not exactly confident but hopeful. “Thank you.”
The screen cut to the audition room. A ten-years-younger version of himself sat with a sour expression on his face. His trademark cowboy hat lay on the table. Another judge did a little dance trying to make him smile.
Memories rushed back.
Nash had been miserable that day.
It had been the final audition session in Seattle. All he’d wanted to do was finish so he could find a bar and get drunk. His girlfriend, Peyton, had broken up with him that morning, and his album hadn’t hit number one as everyone expected. Not that number three was bad, but he’d wanted to be at the top. He’d taken his bad mood out on the contestants.
Especially the ones toward the end of the day.
Which, if he recalled correctly, was almost over. Only one or two more singers were supposed to audition. The rest who were waiting would be told they’d run out of time.
The video showed the three judges seated. Ivy entered the room with a bounce to her step and a smile as bright as a ray of sunshine. A touch of mascara and pink lip gloss were the only makeup he noticed, but she must have worn foundation because the lights weren’t washing her out.
Still, she was dressed and acted like a teenager from a small town. One who likely starred in every production her high school put on and was a frequent soloist in her church choir. Before she’d sung one note, he’d wanted to send her home. The music business would leave someone so sweet and pure jaded.
The longtime judge, who liked to think he was in charge, asked Ivy to tell them her name, age, hometown, and what she would perform.
She did and then mentioned a piece Nash had written for his now ex-girlfriend. The song had been Peyton’s first big hit. He wondered how Ivy would do with it.
But as she sang, Nash cringed.
Then and now.
Watching in his hotel suite, he recognized how her fresh and creative arrangement hinted at her songwriting skills—but she was off-key and her voice shaky. Unfortunately, she never recovered.
When she finished, not one judge jumped to their feet. No one clapped. The first two judges offered constructive feedback. One thought she showed potential and should move forward to the next round. The other felt she needed more training and maturity. That meant Ivy’s fate rested with Nash. And he’d known what he had to do.
Summer Serenade Page 4