Reforming the Cowboy

by Marisa Cleveland

  And stupidly, Lacey wanted nothing more than to protect him.

  …

  They checked Billy out of the hotel in record time, and on the ride back to the café, Lacey thanked the high heavens for the mountain of patience she seemed to find from deep in her gut.

  Chip blabbed from the backseat. “Man, I couldn’t tell who liked you more, the adults or the kids.”

  Billy had played four songs, let each of the children touch his guitar, and barely managed to relax enough to breathe. But his manager seemed oblivious to his client’s phobia, and Lacey had no doubt that was what Billy had where hospitals were concerned.

  When her phone rang, she had no choice but to use the car’s feature to answer. “This is Lacey.”

  “Lacey?” Her friend’s cheerful voice filled the car.

  “Hi, Viv!”

  “Guess what? I’m not working at the bar tonight and can come hear Billy Hardy.”

  “Awesome!” Lacey glanced at Billy to see his reaction to her friend’s news.

  “So, what time should Beth and I get there?”

  “Billy starts his set at seven.”

  “Hey, we were wondering if you still have that poster of—”

  Lacey clicked the button and silenced Vivien midsentence. Her friend would understand. She knew the poster Viv referred to, and the end of that question would do nothing but put more lusty thoughts into her head. Shirtless, wide-brimmed cowboy hat, barefoot, and worn jeans, that image on the poster had held a special place on her dorm-room wall fifteen years ago.

  Billy slid down the seat, and his knees touched the dashboard. He smirked and gave a deep chuckle. “Poster, huh?”

  Heat shot up Lacey’s neck. “It’s not like that.”

  “It better not be like that,” Chip warned. “Billy needs a squeaky-clean image if he wants back into Nashville. Reformed and all that.”

  “Nothing to worry about,” Lacey said. She would not make another bad decision based on hormones. And he’d be gone in less than a week.

  Dear Lord, could she really handle this?

  Chapter Three

  Billy wished he’d thought to pack a cowboy hat. He always felt more authentic when he wore his. But he’d left it–one of several–in the room above the bar in Nashville where he’d been staying when Chip had grabbed him for the gig. As it was, he had one duffel bag and a whole lot of regrets, and right at that moment, the way Lacey’s knuckles whitened as she gripped the steering wheel, he had a real dry mouth, too.

  Couldn’t sing with a dry throat, now could he?

  “I need a drink.”

  Her eyebrows raced up her forehead. “You don’t need a drink.”

  “I could do with a drink,” he reiterated, just to get her goat. He’d meant water or warm tea, but she’d obviously thought the worst about him, and it rankled him more than he wanted to admit.

  Billy grinned when her lips tightened into a frown, but she kept her mouth shut. He liked her spunk, and he almost made another quip to rile her, but traffic crowded around them, so instead of antagonizing her further, he raised the volume on the radio.

  “… Billy Hardy. If you missed his debut performance at Lacey’s Café, make sure you get on down there for tonight’s encore. I’m DJ Carl Spin, and you’re listening to W-H-A-W-T.”

  He blew out a low whistle. “I think I just heard my name on a Miami radio station.”

  Chip clapped him on the back. “You did. Place will be packed tonight.”

  Blood whooshed in Billy’s ears. Almost like the old days, but without the liquor and women. While Chip rubbed his hands together villain-style, Lacey’s smile spread across her whole face. “I hope so.” She jerked the car into the left lane and sped up considerably. “But we have to hurry.”

  Billy sat a little straighter. “Easy there, speed racer.”

  Lacey shot a quick glance in the rearview. “We have to get to the coffeehouse. I shouldn’t have been gone this long.” She sounded excited and her chest rose and fell rapidly as she swung into the middle lane and again into the far right this time, exiting with purpose. “I hope we get a lot of repeat customers.”

  Billy rubbed his hands on his jeans. His palms moistened, and his fingers felt a little stiff. Out of habit, he flexed them and stretched them. What if more people showed tonight than last night? Same customers as last night?

  “I need new songs,” he blurted. Panic constricted his chest. He’d exhausted his limited playlist the previous evening. Like an amateur, he’d belted all his hits and crooned all his ballads and had given the audience all of him. Even during his final set, with half a crowd, he’d left nothing back. He’d bared it all on the stage. “I can’t sing the same songs.” Damn Chip for booking him for four shows when he’d never before played back-to-back in any one place. “I don’t have enough material for four shows.”

  The seat belt choked him, and he unclipped it. He coughed, willing the scratchiness in his throat to go away. He swallowed hard, several times.

  Lacey’s eyes widened and her voice sounded like a growl. “Do not freak out on me, Billy Hardy. Do not.”

  He inhaled. “I’ll be fine. I’ll be—”

  Lacey’s face reddened and her voice rose. “You better be fine. It’s my second night in business. They just announced your show on the radio!”

  “Billy,” Chip reminded him in that calming tone, “you have plenty of hit songs. You did great last night. You’ll do great tonight. Fans love the familiar. But if you really need something new, sing something not on the album. You have at least a dozen other songs.”

  Had. If only he had his notebook. But Shawna stole it, created her own melodies, and ruined his from-the-heart lyrics.

  And he hadn’t written anything in years. He hadn’t worked on new material since the breakup. “There’s nothing else.”

  Lacey lowered her voice. “You’ll be fine. It will be fine.”

  He heard the anxiety under the calm, and even though she came across as tough as nails, he saw the flash of panic in her eyes. But he would not ruin this gig by playing the same songs two nights in a row and boring the crowd. Fans could be fickle. His three or four hit songs, yes, those he could play every damn night. But the crowd would expect something new, too. Jeez, people didn’t see the same movie twice in a row.

  Billy fumed. He wanted to kick something. Damn Shawna for messing up his life. He had a plan and a goal, and she stole it from him. Dang, in the end, right before his fist connected with the record executive’s jaw, he’d been out of control. He hadn’t even cared if everything was about to blow up in his face. He hadn’t fought to keep any of it, and by the time he surfaced for air, the tabloids and the fans had turned on him. Everyone had disappeared. Except Chip.

  And now, moments before he was about to right a serious wrong, he had Lacey breathing down his neck. Pushing him when he just needed one damn day…

  And just like that he heard the lyrics again. Silent since the day he punched the record exec in the jaw and was tossed in jail for assault. The phrases flew around his brain in random order making sense to no one but him.

  “Paper,” he demanded. “I need paper.”

  Lacey narrowed her eyes at him. “Why?”

  “I have,” he glanced at the dashboard, “five hours before I’m due on stage, and I just told you I wasn’t singing all the same songs from last night. So give me paper so I can write something new.”

  She looked skeptical, but she also looked impressed. Like he was a superhero and not the villain. “Just like that?”

  Chip handed him a pad of paper and a pen.

  “Just be quiet.”

  He scribbled the first phrase and hummed a tune. Too low for an opening line. He rearranged it in his head and then hummed again. Better. When he focused, he could block out an earthquake, but Lacey’s soft, almost resigned sigh snuck through his concentration. “Thank you, Billy.”

  …

  How the hell had Billy Hardy managed to strum a new song f
rom nothing but a car ride back from the hospital?

  Lacey crossed her arms over her chest and refused to look him straight in the eye. On stage, his grin just two notches down from cocky, he charmed the audience with a shy, almost apologetic tone to his most recent masterpiece.

  “I’m sure y’all have felt it…”

  Women leaned forward as his voice lowered.

  “…a time or two…”

  Lacey felt something, all right. Frustration. At herself. His signature chambray shirt with the cuffs rolled highlighted his naked forearms, and she thought they were sexy as hell. Oh so not good.

  “…that tug of war in your peace of mind…”

  He had that right. She’d begged her parents to help her with the loan. They’d taken a chance on her. She couldn’t fail. And even though Stephen dumped her with a pile of debt, she hadn’t suffocated under it. Instead, she’d clawed her way up for air, and now she could almost breathe again.

  “…splitting you in two…”

  If she’d never seen his vulnerable side, if she’d come to the café and not gone with them to the hospital, she might have been able to keep her emotions in check. But she knew his onstage swagger was a cover up for his softer side. Her girlie parts tightened as she remembered how she’d squeezed his hand. She groaned and retreated into the kitchen.

  After a quick chat with her kitchen staff, Lacey peeked out and caught sight of some women from the hospital, including Veronica Stone. She waved as she walked toward them, and after they were seated, she returned to the kitchen to plate a tray for them.

  As the night wore on, her tension eased, but it wasn’t until the last note faded that Lacey screamed and jumped for joy with how successful her second night in business ended.

  Billy stood, grinned, and thanked the crowd. He strutted down the stairs and several women approached him for autographs, reminding Lacey she wanted to ask him about displaying some headshots.

  He slid onto a barstool and downed a glass of water the barista handed him.

  The café slowly emptied, with customers smiling and waving as they exited. When only her staff remained, wiping down tables and mopping the floor, Lacey slipped behind the bar to take her own glass of water.

  “That new song was amazing.”

  He coughed and set his glass on the bar. “Thanks. Honestly, I’m still kinda shocked I was able to write something. Total mind-freeze.”

  “Well, the audience loved it.”

  “It was kinda an adrenaline rush.”

  “The women from the hospital came. They said the kids loved your visit.”

  He stiffened. “That’s good, but I’m glad I won’t have to do that again.”

  “You won’t make another visit?”

  He rubbed a hand on the back of his neck. “I have my reasons.”

  “Something bad with hospitals?” she guessed.

  “It’s late. I’m tired.”

  It hurt that he didn’t want to share what was bothering him, but what had she expected? He was Billy Hardy, almost famous country singer, and she was…ordinary. “Okay. I get the hint.”

  As he slid from the stool, he said, “I’ll have Chip send over some toy guitars.”

  His spur-of-the-moment donation impressed Lacey, and she blurted, “That’s really nice of you.”

  “Every kid deserves a guitar.”

  “How old were you? When you first got one?”

  His cheek lifted in a semismile. “Five. Five years old sitting on the back porch, listening to my dad hum and strum a guitar.” He touched the guitar hanging diagonally across his back. “Take me home.”

  His words burned into Lacey’s brain. The intensity with which he made that statement intimidated her, but it also excited her. Home. As in the place the two of them would go. She’d hoped to keep this new arrangement on the down low, but there was little chance her employees who were closing wouldn’t notice them hauling his stuff up to her place.

  She led him through the kitchen. No reason to delay getting him upstairs and settled. “Let’s get your bag from the office.”

  He slung the duffel over his shoulder, and she studied his profile. Quite stunning. Sandy brown hair, tanned skin, straight nose. The scruff along his jaw roughed up his otherwise-smooth features, and for a brief moment, she ached to feel his stubble on her face.

  They reentered the café’s kitchen. Her assistant manager’s eyebrow curved, but other than the smirk and the, “You kids have fun,” she continued loading the dishwasher. Lacey’s face flamed, but she unlocked the door leading to the stairs. Flicking on the light switch, she gave a quick “night” and climbed to the second floor landing in silence. Billy entered the apartment close on her heels, and when she glanced over her shoulder, she noticed him taking in the open concept, her kitchen and living room evenly centered between two doors leading to two separate bedrooms and bathrooms. Yeah, it was small, but practical.

  Without pausing to gauge his reaction—she liked her place, but he’d been almost a megastar once, so who knew what he thought of her temporary digs—she hightailed it to the refrigerator. Tossing her keys on the low counter, she opened the fridge and snagged two beers. When she spun back around, Billy was there. Towering over her, his broad shoulders taking up too much space and reminding her—as if she could forget—that a wickedly handsome man was alone with her. Short of melting in a hormone-soaked puddle at his feet, she offered him a long neck.

  His eyebrow arched.

  She wiggled the bottle.

  His hand tightened around it, and hers, for a moment before she released the bottle and swiped her hand down her jean skirt. He easily twisted the top and dropped it on the counter, and as he tilted his head back and swallowed half the beer in one fluid, lingering gulp, she pictured tearing open his shirt and running her palms over his chest.

  He swiped the back of his hand across his wet lips. “Are you nervous?”

  Instead of meeting his gaze, she opened a drawer and withdrew a bottle opener. He might be able to twist off the cap, but she needed the proper utensil. Her cap clattered on the counter and she took a quick swig. “Should I be?”

  “I’m not sure.” He set down his empty beer bottle. “You did me a favor by letting me stay here, but somehow, remembering I need to be a gentleman, it doesn’t feel like it.”

  She licked her lips. Had she remembered to turn on the air? Felt like eighty degrees in the kitchen. If someone had predicted, way back a decade ago, that she would have the Billy Hardy in her kitchen, she would have bought sexier lingerie. As it was, she couldn’t even remember if her bra matched her panties. Derailing those thoughts, she gulped more beer. “Um, so, that was real sweet of you. Offering to buy guitars for the kids.”

  He advanced toward her, closing the distance in four long strides. “Sweet?”

  “Generous.” She took another sip and clanked her bottle in the sink.

  He leaned his hip against the counter. “Sweet and generous.”

  Her brain sputtered and stalled. She had to gain control. Couldn’t let him get the upper hand. Even if she wanted to find out where this could go. “You must be tired. Let me show you your room.” She brushed by him and led him across the living room.

  When she turned, he was right there. His eyes laughed at her. “What if I’m not tired?”

  He was so…male. Everything about him captivated her. Clouded her otherwise steady mind with girlie hormones. Damn those wet lips and twinkling eyes staring down at her.

  His steel-blue gaze studied her for a long moment before he invaded her personal space. Her breath caught in her throat, as his fingers slid into her hair. He tugged her face toward his.

  He wrapped his other arm around her back, and she strained onto the balls of her feet to meet his mouth with her own. Her body relaxed for the first time all evening, and instead of trying to push him away, she pulled him close. In the distant quadrant of her brain, she might have realized this was a distraction tactic, but with the heat cloaking her e
ntire body, she welcomed the weight of desire as it settled in her stomach.

  “Billy.”

  …

  Even if she’d yelled or screamed or cried, he couldn’t have released her, and that thought should have scared the hell out of him. But she’d said his name in a whisper. A plea. He heard a hundred different intonations in his name on her lips, and a faint succession of single tones formed a melody in his mind. She was his muse, the reason he heard music again after silence for so long.

  He knew he’d write a song about this moment. This indecision about letting someone in, letting someone sneak by the armor and the shields and the protective wall built to keep intruders away. Was Lacey his intruder?

  His resolve crumbled. Hell, maybe he never had any to begin with.

  He reached around her and turned the knob to his temporary guest room. She pushed the door wide, the light from the main room spilling into the dark one. He searched her gaze, but found only hot desire. Shoving further into the room, they reached the bed, and instinct had him dragging her on top of him as he fell backward. She straddled his hips, her skirt hiking up her thighs. The room smelled like summer, citrus, and fresh breezes. He groaned into her mouth when she kissed him.

  Her hair fell forward, shielding her face, and he tucked it behind one ear. She stared down at him with a small smile on her lips before dipping down to kiss him again. His brain fired shots of excitement and anticipation straight to his groin, and he groaned when she pressed into him.

  “Mmmmm,” she purred, leaning up enough to look at him.

  “Come back here,” he commanded, and he wrapped an arm around her back, locking her over him.

  Her breathing hitched as their mouths collided with hungry force, and he wanted to devour her whole. Her noises turned him on, and the weight and heat of her straddling him had him ready to fast-forward to his release. But he wasn’t an animal, and he wanted to enjoy the moment. The tiny speck still firing reason in his brain pleaded with him to slow down. To make it last. To drag out the pleasure for both of them.

  But it seemed Lacey had other plans, because she sat up and lifted her top over her head. With her breasts barely covered in lace, she leaned over him again, kissing his jaw, his nose, his lips. Their tongues tangled, and he dragged the flat of his palms over her bare back until his fingers reached the clasp. Even out of practice, in mere seconds, he had her topless with her breasts freed.