The Rancher and the Rock Star (4 page)

When he’d disappeared, Abby hugged herself as squadrons of butterflies swooped across the whole of her belly. What on Earth was she thinking? Her lips tingled like a schoolgirl’s. Kiss her? She’d let him kiss her?

Back in the kitchen, her hands trembled as she opened a narrow cupboard beside the refrigerator that hid a secret, exorbitant stash of ingredients for making mind-blowing and artery-clogging hot chocolate: chocolate bars, and a variety of cocoas, marshmallows, and a few choice spices. Sensuous smells drifted to her like exotic oils. Her plan had been to seduce Gray with chocolate into spilling his secret—the one she already knew. Instead, she’d lost her mind and kissed him back. She used him to keep the sting of the past at bay. Now she paid for the indiscretion with a heart that refused to settle into its normal beat.

A gentle pop and the beep of the kitchen phone heralded the return of power, and her kitchen flooded with brightness. She raised her eyes in silent thanks and let the light bring rational thought. Her mind calmed. Gray had been gone quite a while when the sensation of being watched made her turn. As her pulse headed for its upper limits again, she examined his face. Everything was different.

With one hip cocked against the doorframe, he held his arms rigid across his chest. His pale blue eyes held glacial flecks, and a question rode his brows.

“Jeans still fit?” she joked. Oh boy did they. But he didn’t lift an eyebrow.

“Of course.”

“David? Is something . . .”

“You’re good at remembering to call me that.” His voice was not angry; nonetheless a chill zigzagged down her spine. “Isn’t that right? You know.”

“Know what?” Regret heated her cheeks.

“Oh, come on.” He straightened and stepped into the room. “I think we’re
close
enough now we owe each other the truth. How long have you known?”

“David, I . . . Fine. Gray.” It was a relief to say it. “Since I slapped away the cigarette.”

The incredulity on his face was unmistakable. “You’ve known all along who I am?”

“I assumed you had a reason for not telling me yourself.”

“I did. I didn’t want to freak you out.”

“Umm, you seem a lot more freaked than I am.”

“Was it kind of fun? To see the famous guy in his skivvies? In your robe? To know you’d kissed the man on the posters?”

She reeled as if struck. “What kind of cruel questions are those? Who kissed whom, poster man? And wait a doggone minute. You’re the one who kept the secret in the first place.”

“It was mine to keep, not yours.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.” Disbelief curled through her stomach. “I knew you’d tell me in your own time. How the heck did you figure it out anyway?”

He steeled his gaze. “I couldn’t remember which way I was supposed to turn upstairs. Imagine my surprise when I wandered into the second door on the right and flipped the switch out of habit. Not only were there lights, but I scared myself to death.”

Kimmy’s room.

Abby closed her eyes. If Gray hadn’t been so miffed, and her butterfly squadron hadn’t started crashing and burning, she might have laughed. A tiny part of her wished she’d been there to see his face.

“Have to say, I didn’t expect to see myself as wallpaper in what I expected to be a bathroom.”

“Gray, I’m sorry. Kim . . . she’s one of your biggest fans. That’s not an excuse, but I haven’t even begun to process the sheer coincidence of all this. Dawson never said a word. He rags on Kim constantly about her hero worship of you, which makes a lot more sense now. Why does this bother you?”

“Because I know how fame works. People lie and cheat to get close to me. And I should have known better than to think it could be any different here. Being selfish tripped me up.”

“That’s ridiculous. We had a new start on some great . . .” she said, flushing, “. . . chemistry. I’ve got my hot chocolate ready to brew. What has to change?”

As if something she’d said flipped a switch, his body relaxed little by little. A smile formed into the practiced curve she’d seen in the farmyard. “You’re right, Abby. You’re right. I’m overreacting. So, what’s this about hot chocolate?”

His voice lacked several degrees of warmth. When his eyes met hers, his gaze penetrated only color deep. She wanted to cry. Fortunately, she’d learned long ago how to swallow useless tears.

“My specialty.” Her voice fell flat. “Wait till you try it.”

 

Chapter Four

A
BBY PARKED NEXT
to her dilapidated garage and fought the mix of anxiety and excitement in her stomach. Gray had not gone to his hotel the night before but spent it in Dawson’s room, with rain pounding until dawn and his car mired in the mud. But to say the tension between her and Gray had eased would be an outright lie. Why she should feel fluttery to see him was beyond understanding. His one accidental kiss had been the last warm moment between them.

“Whose car is that?” Kim, beside her in their twelve-year-old Explorer, squinted at Gray’s Malibu stuck in front of the barn where it had sunk four inches into giant skid marks.

“Well, I have news. Someone’s here to see Dawson.” She spoke carefully, heeding, just in case, Gray’s fear that his son might run again if he knew he’d been found.

“Me?” Dawson straightened in the back seat, his normally genial face on high alert.

“Yes.” Abby drew a deep breath. “Is there anything you two would like to tell me before we head inside?”

“Like what?” he asked warily.

“Like a little mix-up you might have had on your birthdate?”

“Mom, now wait . . .” Kim began her protest, but Dawson stopped her.

“You already know.” The sullenness in his voice was the first Abby had ever heard. “Why bother to ask?”

“It’s your word against this man’s. I’m giving you a fair chance.”

“Fine, then. I lied about my age.”

“We can explain,” Kim implored. “He had to leave home. His parents are crazy. His dad is never around; he just travels making money at odd jobs. The only thing he ever did was teach Dawson to play the guitar. And his mom just threw him in this private school and left him there.”

Kim had met Dawson online, and they’d been friends for two years. Her invitation had brought him there, and now her explanation rushed out, an obvious paraphrase of the story Dawson had fed her. The twisted truths were priceless.

Her daughter was a beauty. Abby thought so without apology every time she looked at her. Caramel-colored, straight-as-sixties hair hung to her lower back, and she had Jack’s luminous, hazel eyes. She smoothed Kim’s long tresses. “Trust me, you’ll have plenty of chance to explain. I’m just disappointed you didn’t tell me the truth.”

“Oh, it’s the truth.” Dawson slumped into a resigned heap in his seat and crossed his arms. “Who’s here anyway? Did Mom send old Tattling Timothy the butler?”

“Hmmm. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.” Abby wasn’t angry, but the kids couldn’t know that. What Dawson had done was dangerous, and although his actions had turned out all right for now, Abby wanted him to face Gray with more than disgust and Kim to face him with more than awe. “C’mon. This guy isn’t here to get you in trouble.”

In truth, she had no idea what Gray was going to do. He had every right, just as he’d said, to take Dawson away, but the thought still made Abby sad. The child was about to be uprooted again, and nobody seemed to know why he’d run away in the first place. They trooped into the kitchen, an odd little parade, Dawson in the lead, Kim in the rear—

Abby had no idea what her daughter would do either. Gray filled arenas three times over in every city on his tours, but his core audience was older—adults who’d grown up with Jon Bon Jovi, maybe Billy Joel. Fans Kim’s age were uncommon, yet she’d always been the living definition of “Gray Covey Fanatic.” It didn’t help that she shared his birthday and played clarinet, Gray’s first instrument. But Kim had never met as much as a semi-famous person.

Gray’s back was to them when they entered the living room. Abby drew a breath in a vain attempt to calm her thrumming pulse. “Mr. Covey?”

He turned slowly as if he, too, was afraid of what he’d find.

Kim’s fingers twisted in a fistful of Abby’s T-shirt. A half-sob bubbled from her throat. Abby didn’t know where to look first, at Kim’s bugged-out eyes or Dawson’s jaw on his chest.

“Dad?”

“Hey, buddy. Sorry I couldn’t get here any faster. I, ah, didn’t know where you were.”

“Dad?” Kim’s word came out a strangled hiss, like an old steam radiator coughing past a clog, and she stared at Dawson. “This is your father?” To Abby’s astonishment, a tear welled in each of Kim’s eyes, and, with the hem of Abby’s shirt still fisted in her hand, she took a half-step behind her mother. “Gray,” she whispered. “Mom, it’s Gray.”

“I know, sweetie. It’s okay, I promise.” Abby gave Kim’s forearm a squeeze.

“What are you doing here?” Dawson’s voice trembled. “How did you find me?”

Abby studied the pair—Peter Pan and his shadow. Dawson stood just shy of his father’s six-foot height, a slender replica just starting to fill out. Both took the same wide-legged stance. Both had the same crook to their elbows, although Dawson’s arms curved in a protective shield over his chest, and Gray stuck one hand in his pocket. The other he lifted to rub the back of his neck. Gone was the cool, practiced superstar.

“We followed your trail, through Heathrow and the Port Authority in New York. It took us a while to find Abby.”

“He calls you Abby?” Kim’s whisper squeaked in Abby’s ear.

“It’s my name.”

“I didn’t ask you to come.” Dawson drew his line in the sand.

The light blue of Gray’s eyes blanched, and he swallowed as if he’d been punched. “Kids who run away generally don’t send announcements.” His voice held a false brightness.

Abby’s heart went out to him. She sensed him struggling to strike the right tone between disciplinarian and friend. She also watched Dawson stiffen and search desperately for a way out of the trap that had just sprung on him. “Your mom and I have both been worried about you.”

“Mom is skiing with Klaus. She’s not worried about me.”

Dawson’s coldness stunned Abby and roused her interest more than a little.

“Your mom is who she is, Dawson. She loves you.”

“She loves Danielle, too. But our nannies worry more than she does.”

Gray pursed his lips sympathetically. “There is me, Daw. I’ve been worried.”

“Yeah, I could tell. How’s the tour going?”

“Worst ever. Inspired me and Spark to write a song about overflowing toilets last week, and they’re the best lyrics I’ve managed in months.”

If Abby hadn’t known Dawson she never would have seen the tic at the corner of his mouth. So, there was a connection there. Weak but alive.

“I’m sorry you came all this way for nothing. I’m not going back to Heighton to live in cold dorms with blazer-wearing geeks. And I’m not spending the holidays with Klaus the Priss.”

“You can spend the holidays with me.”

“Oh joy.”

At Dawson’s insult, Gray Covey the dad disappeared. The plastic shield lowered over his eyes, and his stance solidified as if he prepared to make a sale any way he could. “You know,” a smile of feigned confidence appeared on his face, “we’ve got a little over five weeks left in this tour. The guys want you to hang out on the road and join us onstage for a few shows. It’ll be an honor to have you with me.”

Kim’s sudden weight was going to drag her to the floor.

“I’ll bet it would be.” Dawson’s voice held derision and a note of hurt. “The fans would just go ape-shit over seeing the baby boy, huh, Dad?”

“I think you’d better come up with more appropriate language in front of the ladies.”

So smooth, so calm. Abby wanted to cry. He was a pop-star Jekyll and Hyde.
Shake him, Gray. Or better yet, hug him. He doesn’t want the singer, he’s begging for you.
Dawson backed up, starting to put distance between him and his father. “Sor-ry.”

“Don’t try to run away from this. I know you’re mad at your mom, I know you think she doesn’t pay enough attention to you.”

“You don’t have a clue what I think,” Dawson shouted. “How could you?”

The practiced smile faltered, and, for the first time, Gray’s eyes met Abby’s across the room. He looked lost, and she smiled, trying to send him courage. Unfortunately, little as she knew about him, she did know he’d led with his ace, and his son had a built-in strategy to beat it. He was unimpressed.

“I think I do know.” Gray’s voice held less confidence. “Your mom sticks you in a private school without asking your opinion and pulls you away from your friends. Then she marries Klaus, has Danielle, and expects you to like it.”

“Way to go, Dad.” Dawson tapped his temple with a finger. “You’ve got it all figured out. You think I’m mad at Mom? You’re right. But, of course, I have you. Always around. I can’t get rid of you you’re so in my face.”

Gray’s stricken eyes widened, and his lips parted wordlessly. Some might have considered Dawson’s tone disrespectful, but he was being dead honest. It was just painfully clear Gray hadn’t seen these blows coming.

“You have no idea how hard we worked to find you these past six weeks. I canceled a show the instant your mother called to say they knew where you were.”

“You did?”

Hope sparked in his eyes. “Of course.”

“Wow, how much did that cost you?”

“Oh, for God’s sake.” The cover blew off Gray’s schmoozing, pop-star façade. “What difference does it make? I’m here. You’re coming with me, but I’m trying to tell you I
want
you to come. Don’t insinuate I don’t care about you.”

“You care?” Dawson asked. “Which do you care about most? Twenty million fans and all their money and adoration, or the son you’d rather hide away in a British boarding school?” He turned in blank fury and stalked toward Abby and Kim, leaving Gray immobilized.

On the one hand, she could see why she’d believed the boy to be eighteen. He made an erudite argument. On the other hand, his was a little boy’s cry. She squeezed Kim’s shoulders, hurt for her daughter as well. This was hardly a glamorous way to meet her biggest hero.

Dawson stopped just in front of them. “Why did you let him know I was here?”

“He’s your father, I can’t keep him away.”

Out of the blue, Kim’s fist shot from behind Abby’s back, and Dawson reeled from a sharp blow to his upper arm. “Ow! What the heck was that for?” He took a confused step backward, rubbing his bicep.

“You’re evil and twisted, Dawson. He’s your
dad
?” Kim’s voice was a stifled whisper, and she sent a furtive glance in Gray’s direction. “How could you keep something like that from me all this time, and laugh at me behind my back?”

Abby had learned to love Dawson’s ability to deal with Kim as well as any big brother would. He could tease her out of a bad mood or annoy her into one, but their camaraderie had grown strong. This time—for the first time—he dropped her flat.

“You’ve just seen why,” he said, his voice cold. “The guy is a class-A fraud.”

“I know you’re mad at me.” Gray’s eyes held no certainty, though his voice remained firm. “But you are coming with me. You have an hour and a half to get packed up.”

“What?” Dawson spun, fists doubled, breathing like a stabbed bull.

“I have a show at eight thirty in Chicago, and I cannot miss this one, too. Our plane leaves at five.”

“Are you kidding me? You can’t just show up and drag me off with no warning.”

“And you can’t just walk off your school campus and board a plane for a different country with no warning, yet, somehow, here we are. I
can
just take you, Son. It’s come with me or you’re on the next flight to Heathrow.”

Dawson threw a pleading look at Abby. She couldn’t help but be impressed with both of them. “Gray, don’t you think—”

“No.” He pointed at her. “This is not up for discussion. There’s no time.”

“But is it really best for him to hang out with a rock band?”

“Yes.” He closed the discussion with a tight-lipped stare.

“Dad, you’re just being a jerk now.”

“You don’t get to talk to your father that way,” Abby chastised him gently.

“But he gets to dictate my life when I haven’t seen him in four months?”

“I’m afraid so, kiddo.”

“This is bogus.” He turned and marched from the room.

Kim stared after him. Gray blew out his breath and looked at the ceiling. Abby searched the archives of her brain for any smidge of an idea that would help and found zilch. “I guess you surprised him.” Her lame humor fell flat.

“I don’t blame him for being angry. I’ll go talk to him in a few minutes.” Gray rubbed his cheeks and, just like that, the performer slipped back into place. “Meanwhile, I haven’t had a chance to meet Kim yet. I’m very sorry we started off like this.”

Kim met the eyes of her hero for the first time. He smiled, but Abby saw the hollowness behind them, the panic building as he realized there was something wrong he’d never suspected. But he was nothing if not a consummate performer.

“I hear I have you to thank for offering Dawson a safe haven. I’m very happy to meet you.” He started across the room.

“I look like a dweeb,” Kim whispered in despair and looked at her camp-dirty jeans.

Abby urged her toward Gray. “You’re beautiful.”

He took Kim’s hand, sending her cheek color straight to crimson. “I . . . I’ve always wanted to . . . it’s
really
nice to meet you.” Under any other circumstances, Kim would have pulled off something more poised.

“Your mom tells me you’re a fan.” Gray smiled in pleasure. “That’s a huge compliment from someone of your generation with all the great music that’s out there these days.”

Wow, Abby thought. He is good.

“There’s nothing as great as yours.” Kim gushed for the first time. “I love every song.”

Before Gray could reply, Kim blushed to a darker rose, and her hands flew to her face. “It’s so amazing to meet you.” She looked like she was about to lose her dinner. “I’m sorry. I’ve got to go. Get something. For a minute. Sorry.”

She fled past Abby and pounded up the steps. Abby turned back to Gray, whose face had turned a bit Kermit-colored.

“Gee, Abby,” he said. “That worked out just swell.”

T
O AN UNTRAINED
eye, Gray Covey’s elaborate stage at Chicago’s new Marvel Arena might have looked like a productive beehive. To Elliott St. Vincent’s highly-trained eye, however, the meandering techs looked like mechanics wandering a garage in search of something to fix.

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