Storming the Castle (Dale Series)

by Arianna Hart

  “Good call. Text me when you get home so I know you made it through the woods safely,” Faith called out.

  “Yes, Mom.”

  “Once a mom, always a mom,” Faith shouted to Nadya’s retreating back.

  Chapter Five

  Sam’s thigh muscles burned with every step he took. He’d known he’d hurt the day after running, but he hadn’t realized how much he’d hurt. Sitting on the toilet was a major undertaking and forget going up and down the ladder-like stairs in the cabin. He’d sleep on the floor before going up those more than once a day.

  Yet here he was, running through the woods again. At night, no less. When he’d considered taking a day off, he could practically hear his father shouting in his ear, “The only thing that will stop that pain is more of the same. Get up, get up, get up!” So he’d gotten his ass up.

  It would have been easier to do the run in the daylight, but he’d spotted Goldilocks and two little blondes by a cabin when he’d been walking around and he hadn’t wanted them seeing his stumbling attempts at a jog. By the time they’d left, it had been just too damn hot to run.

  He’d made some coffee and sat down to write, but that had not gone well. It wasn’t that he couldn’t write a song, he could. He’d started half a dozen. They just sounded like shit. There was no soul, no meaning to it. He’d torn up the music sheets and crumpled them into balls which he threw at the wall.

  Critics had called his songs “the frenzied venting of an angry man” or more kindly, “the punishing anthem of furious youth.” They’d all agreed his songs had passion and meaning. The crap he’d written today was just a rehashed version of what he’d previously written, but without the feeling behind it.

  After twelve years of railing against authority, he just didn’t have any anger left. A kernel of fear wormed into his brain at the thought that was the only emotion he’d ever had.

  No, damn it, there had to be more substance to him than just angry, bad-boy rocker. He’d worked hard to hone his craft, to be a better songwriter, a better musician, better performer. Just because he’d grown up and no longer hated his father and the world didn’t mean he couldn’t make music anymore. All good artists evolved. Look at U2, for God’s sake. They’d changed dramatically from their roots and were still relevant. He’d only been famous for the past five years or so. He had his whole life ahead of him to grow and change if he wanted to.

  But would he lose his fan base? Would they accuse him of selling out if he wrote less punishing music?

  Maybe, maybe not, but he’d definitely lose them if what he wrote was meaningless dreck that recycled what he’d already done.

  He’d spent hours working and had nothing to show for it but a pile of paper on the floor. The sun went down, and he decided to give up and head out for a run. Physical pain was more attractive than dealing with the frustration of failure.

  The three miles didn’t seem any easier the second day. In fact, every step was harder because he was trying to make sure he didn’t trip, but he kept going. It was only three miles. He could do it.

  He slowed to a walk as he reached the green cottage. He whipped his shirt over his head and used the last dry inch of it to wipe his face. Even at night it was damn hot. The sky was crystal clear, and the moon shone so big and bright he felt like he could reach out and touch it. He was staring up at the stars that seemed to be brighter and closer than ever when he bumped into someone.

  “Oh!”

  “I’m sorry. Are you hurt?” He steadied the woman and brushed at her arms to see if she was okay.

  “I’m fine, I’m fine. I wasn’t looking where I was going and ran right into you,” the woman said, stepping back and shining the flashlight at him.

  “What are you doing out here in the middle of the woods?” he asked, suddenly suspicious. At first he’d thought it was Goldilocks, but when she held up the light, he could see she was a brunette, not his blonde.

  “I was on my way home. I live just on the other side of the creek. I was visiting with Faith for a bit. You must be her long-term renter.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him, and Sam realized she was shining the flashlight where his tattoo encircled his arm.

  Fuck.

  “Aren’t you Sam Castle?”

  “Ah, why do you ask?” he said, buying some time.

  “I used to work for Bickle, Goldberg, and Finklestein in New York. We handled your contract negotiations.”

  “My lawyer was Aaron Goldberg. Trust me, I would have remembered having you at the meeting.”

  “I wasn’t on that team, but I got to go to the meet and greet before your Madison Square Garden show. You were wearing a tank top, and I remember seeing your tattoo. It’s rather distinctive.”

  The intricate dragon breathing fire onto a castle had taken months to finish. It was a piece of art he’d designed with the best tattoo artist he could find. The dragon’s body had a guitar worked into the scales and its barbed tail trailed down his shoulder blade to wrap around his upper arm.

  Now, he cursed himself for wanting something so one of a kind.

  “What are you doing in Dale? There’s not a nightclub within thirty miles,” she said, interrupting his thoughts.

  “I’m trying to stay out of the public eye while I work on a new album. I figured no one would recognize me out here.”

  “They probably won’t. Most of the folks here are into country, not hard rock.”

  “Listen, I’m trying to keep a low profile. I’d really appreciate it if you don’t tell anyone who I am.”

  “I’m a lawyer, I can keep a secret. I promise not to sell your story to TMZ, but I won’t lie to my husband.”

  “As long as he doesn’t go posting it on social media, I don’t care.”

  “I can’t promise you won’t be found out eventually, but it won’t be because of us.” She pointed the flashlight along the path. “Good night, Mr. Castle.”

  “Call me Sam. Ah, I never did get your name.”

  “Nadya McBride. Welcome to Dale, Sam.”

  “Thanks.”

  He watched her walk along the path until he could no longer see the bobbing of her flashlight. Dale might be a speck on the map, but it sure had some good-looking women.

  Lord, he needed to get his head out of his pants. He was here to work on his life and a new album, not ogle the local female populace.

  The cabin lights were almost too bright after the softer glow of the moon and stars. He headed into the kitchen area and searched for something to eat. Now that he wasn’t drinking, food tasted better, and he was constantly hungry. Thank God, Dave had had the place stocked with healthy foods instead of junk, or he’d end up even fatter than when he’d arrived.

  Although, from what he could see in the tiny bathroom mirror, he already looked better than he had just last week. The puffiness was gone from his face. It would take more than a few sit-ups and push-ups to get back into shape, but not downing a bottle or two of Jack Daniels a night had made a difference.

  Being in the country was good for his health. If only it would help his writing, it would be worth every penny he’d paid.

  …

  “Piper! Breakfast,” Faith called up the stairs. Her parents would be here in half an hour, and she wanted Piper cleaned up and ready to go. She’d made her daughter’s favorite meal, pecan-stuffed French toast, biscuits, and bacon. Lots of bacon. The smell wafted through the house and usually acted like a siren’s call for her little girl—and most of the guests who stayed here, too, for that matter.

  “Piper?” Where was she? Faith wiped her hands on a dishtowel and went upstairs to Piper’s room. Her bed was made with her duffle bag and teddy bear sitting neatly on the foot, but no Piper.

  Maybe she was on the porch, watching the driveway for Grandma and Grandpap. Faith went back downstairs and saw Sadie whining at the back door. As soon as Faith opened it, Sadie took off down the path to the blue cottage.

  “Oh no,” Faith groaned. Piper had been so c
urious about the mysterious renter, but Faith had thought going to her grandparents’ farm would distract her. She should have known better.

  Just as she was slipping on her shoes to go after her misbehaving daughter, Piper came running down the trail like the hounds of hell were after her. Sadie ran behind her, barking furiously.

  “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to! I won’t do it again,” Piper cried, dashing up the steps and hiding behind Faith’s legs.

  “Slow down, slow down. What happened? What did you do?”

  “I didn’t mean to spy, but I heard music, and I wanted to know where it was coming from. I just took a little peek in the window.”

  “Piper. What did I tell you?”

  “Not to bother the man in the blue cottage. But it was just a little peek. I didn’t mean to make him so angry.”

  Just as Faith was about to ask for clarification, Sadie’s barking picked up in intensity and she stood on guard in front of the steps. There was a crashing in the woods and a wild-eyed, bearded crazy man came bursting into the opening.

  “You scared the ever-loving hell out of me,” he shouted.

  “I’m sorry,” Piper wailed.

  Sadie growled ferociously.

  Having visions of the dog ripping out Mr. Castleton’s throat while Piper looked on, Faith shouted, “Enough! Piper, go wash up and eat your breakfast before Grandma and Grandpap arrive. Sadie, inside.”

  For once, both daughter and dog obeyed immediately. The only sound was the harsh breathing of her guest. He looked mad as hell, which put her on the defensive.

  “I’ll thank you not to cuss in front of my daughter.”

  “Keep her away from me, and it won’t be a problem.”

  “I apologize. She said she heard music and went to investigate. My parents are coming to pick her up for a visit in half an hour. She won’t bother you again.”

  “Jesus.” He ran his hands over his face, and Faith realized his shirt was on inside out and his shoes were untied.

  “Can you tell me what happened? I’m sure Piper didn’t tell me the whole story, or you wouldn’t be this angry.”

  “I was working on a song, and it wasn’t going well, so I crumpled up the paper and threw it at the wall. When I looked up, all I saw were these huge blue eyes looking in my window. Christ, it was like that old movie Poltergeist. I jumped up, and she took off running. Damn, that girl can move fast. Then your pet bear practically attacked me, and I almost pissed my pants.”

  “Sadie’s very protective.”

  “I never would have guessed.” He shook his head as if shaking off a thought. “Look, I overreacted. It was no big deal. I ran out of coffee two days ago, and I’m irritable as hell. And I don’t like being spied on.”

  “I don’t know many people who do.” Faith debated with herself for a minute and then relented. “I have a fresh pot of coffee on. It’s not your fancy, fresh-ground beans, but it has caffeine in it. It’ll give Piper a chance to apologize and see you aren’t a crazy mountain man.”

  “That’s debatable at the moment.” He gave her a wry smile. “I’d buy you a new car for a cup of coffee.”

  Faith felt her stomach bottom out as the power of his smile slammed into her. “Do you solve all your problems with money?”

  “Maybe not all, but most of them. I’ve been rich, and I’ve been poor. Rich is better.”

  “Not always, Mr. Castleton.”

  “You might as well call me Sam at this point. I’ve spent more time with you than I did with my last three girlfriends.”

  “You’ve been here barely two weeks.”

  “Sounds about right.”

  Piper looked up, her fork half way to her mouth, as they walked into the kitchen. Her eyes darted to the side as if searching for an escape. She made to slide off the stool, but Faith stopped her.

  “Hold it right there, Miss Muffet. Do you have something to say to our guest?”

  Piper stood in front of the counter, her eyes on the floor and her hands twisted in front of her. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

  “It’s” he started, but Faith stopped him.

  “What was that? Mr. Castleton and I couldn’t hear you?”

  “I’m sorry,” Piper said louder.

  “For what?” Faith pushed.

  “I’m sorry for invading your privacy and looking in your window,” she said with a mini-glare directed to her mother.

  “You scared me. I was already angry, and seeing someone spying on me made me mad,” he said.

  Faith was glad he didn’t just blow off the apology. Piper need to learn her actions had consequences.

  “I liked the song you were playing. It reminded me of the water running over the rocks in the creek.”

  “That’s kind of what I was going for. Thanks.” He smiled again, and Piper’s face lit up.

  “Can you play Chicken Fry? Emily and I love that song. I’m gonna learn to play the piano when I go to school. Maybe you could teach me how to play the guitar, too.”

  “Uh, I don’t really know many country songs.”

  “Pip, he’s not here for your entertainment. Besides, you need to finish your breakfast and brush your teeth before Grandma and Grandpap get here. They have a surprise for you, so they can’t stay long.” Faith handed him a cup of coffee. This close, he was even bigger than she remembered. He seemed to take up her entire kitchen. He smelled of soap and a hint of something woodsy she couldn’t identify but liked. A lot.

  “What type of surprise?” she asked, shoveling French toast into her mouth.

  “You’ll have to wait and see. That’s why it’s called a surprise.”

  “I’m done. I’ll go brush my teeth.” She jumped off the stool and started to dash for the door but stopped before Faith could say anything. “I’m sorry for bothering you, Mr. Castleton, and I won’t look in your windows without permission again. Bye.” She took off out of the room, her feet rapidly thumping up the stairs.

  “Well, it wasn’t exactly a textbook apology.”

  “It’s all good. She’s a funny kid.”

  “She’s a riot, that’s for sure. How do you take your coffee?” she asked, holding up the creamer.

  “Black with a shot of Jack.”

  “Sorry, I only have half a bottle of white wine in the house. I guess you’ll have to do with grocery store beans and no whiskey today.”

  “I’m the one who should be sorry. Black is fine. Better than fine,” he said as he took a tentative sip and let out a groan of appreciation that shot bolts of heat through her. “Are you sure this is from the grocery store? It’s fantastic.”

  “Trust me. I make gallons and gallons of coffee. If I had to use those beans of yours for all my guests, I’d never make a profit.”

  “Probably not.” He took another sip of coffee and sat at the counter. “What is that smell? It’s incredible.”

  “Breakfast. I have plenty of it if you want a plate. It’s Piper’s favorite, pecan-stuffed French toast.”

  “I’d love some, if it isn’t too much trouble.”

  “No trouble at all, I’m used to cooking for my guests. It’s been weird just making enough for Pip and I.” She heated the stove back up and got the leftover filling out of the fridge. She felt better with her hands busy. It didn’t stop her from sneaking glances at him whenever she could. He was seriously good looking, even with several days’ growth of beard on his face and hair that looked like it hadn’t seen a comb in a while.

  Now that the pained expression was off his face, she could see he looked more relaxed than he had the last time she’d seen him. Over the last two weeks, she’d run into him as he’d head out for his daily jogs or catch glimpses of him walking around. They hadn’t spoken much, but he seemed better than he had that first day. His attitude was still a bit standoffish, but he’d warmed up enough to exchange a few minutes of chit chat before he disappeared back into the cottage.

  How sad was it that she looked forward to those brief conversations or the glim
pses of him she’d get through the trees when she was working in the yard? Maybe she needed to get out more if she was mooning over her guest like a teenager mooning over the star football player.

  “How many guests do you have to cook for normally?” he asked.

  “It varies. I have four rooms in the house and the two cottages. During hunting season, some folks double up, so I can have eight or more in the house with another four or so in the out buildings.”

  “And you cook like this every morning?” He indicated the plate she put in front of him with the bacon, French toast, and biscuits.

  “Pretty much. Sometimes it’s pancakes or an egg casserole. Most of the guys aren’t looking for fancy, just hot, fast, and filling. I can do the basics pretty well and make up a bunch of sandwiches in no time flat. It works for my usual clientele.”

  “This is the best breakfast I’ve had all year. What’s this stuff in the middle? It’s fantastic.”

  “A little cream cheese, vanilla, some sugar and pecans. Piper loves how it oozes out when it’s warm and melty.”

  “Smart kid.”

  “That she is.” Faith cleaned the dishes, trying to stay busy and not watch him eat. Something about the way he savored every bite of food—her food—pulled at her low in the belly. She could feel his gaze on her as she moved, which made her clumsier than usual. Heat coiled in her stomach and lower as she caught him looking at her rear end. Tension filled her normally tranquil kitchen, and she searched for something to say to break the silence.

  “You said your writing wasn’t going well, but Piper liked your playing enough to disobey my orders, so it couldn’t have been all that bad.” Oh that’s brilliant. Sit down so you can stuff your other foot in your mouth, Faith.

  “That’s part of the problem. I was just screwing around on the guitar, not doing anything serious. The lyrics I usually write don’t exactly fit water-trickling-over-rocks music.”

  “Maybe that’s your problem.”