Taming the Country Star: A Hometown Heroes Novella (Entangled Bliss)

by Margo Bond Collins

  But her friend was no longer listening. Instead, she stared over Kylie’s shoulder toward the entrance. “It’s almost a hundred degrees outside,” she said. “So why is that guy all wrapped up in a serape?”

  Turning to follow LeeAnn’s gaze, Kylie caught sight of a man standing outside the door, peering in. He was draped in a Mexican-style blanket, a dark-brown Stetson pulled low over the sunglasses covering his eyes. He balanced a carryout tray with two Starbucks coffee cups on it.

  “Does he think he’s Clint Eastwood?” LeeAnn asked.

  “Worse,” Kylie responded with a sigh. “He thinks he’s in disguise.” When her friend shot a puzzled look her direction, Kylie explained. “I’m pretty sure that’s Cole.” She glanced back up at the pictures of her father, reminding herself that no good could come of being tied to a celebrity and steeling herself against Cole’s charm.

  How could someone draped in a serape still look so damn good?

  Chapter Five

  Cole reached for the door to Cowbelles, quickly taking stock of the situation inside. Through the glass door, he could see her, standing beside the counter, staring up at something on the wall behind it. As Cole pulled the door open, he took off his Stetson, pushed his fingers through his hair, and smiled at her.

  Turning to face him, Kylie’s eyes were huge. She didn’t say anything as he approached the counter. Cole’s gaze swept across the tiny store. She hadn’t been lying when she’d said the shop was full of cowhide and rhinestones.

  He doubted he had ever seen so many sparkles in one place, even when he played in Nashville. Through his sunglasses, items shone back at him, glinting and twinkling from shelves and racks.

  “Hey,” he said.

  Then his scan of the store dropped to the counter itself and his step faltered. She had that damned tabloid spread out in front of her—the one she’d seen when she got back to the States last year. The one that had ruined his plans to tell her everything. And what looked like a brand-new one, too, with pictures from the concert the night before.

  Convincing her to see him again might be harder than he had hoped.

  “Okay,” Kylie’s blond friend said, stepping toward the door. “So. I think I’ll see you later, Kylie.” She sketched a bow in his direction. “Namaste,” she said, and bolted out of the store.

  Kylie stared after her for a moment, then moved away from the counter and started straightening merchandise that was, as far as Cole could tell, already perfectly arranged. She turned to a stand of key chains, bluebonnets encased in melamine with the shape of Texas imprinted on them.

  They rattled when she brushed one of them, and Cole realized for the first time that she was shaking. Was that a good sign? Kylie glanced at him out of the corner of her eye but didn’t say anything.

  “I brought coffee,” he offered.

  “I saw.” Her voice was low and she still didn’t look at him.

  He leaned his hip against the checkout counter, set his hat down, and stared down at the open tabloid. He pushed his sunglasses up over his head. “You get used to it, you know,” he said, flicking one finger against the edge of the paper.

  Kylie turned her back to him and moved to the next display. “The photographers? I’m guessing it helps if you know it might happen.”

  “Yeah.” The word came out on a sigh. He scuffed one boot lightly along the wood floor. “I didn’t mean for you to find out that way, you know.”

  “Find out who you were?” Her voice was tight.

  “Any of it, I guess. Mostly the fact that I wasn’t entirely honest when we met, though.” She worried at her bottom lip with her teeth, and his stomach tightened in an automatic response. God, she was beautiful.

  She finally turned to face him directly. “Why are you here, Cole?” she asked.

  He glanced back down at the tabloid and shrugged. “I was surprised to see you last night.”

  She laughed, a short, harsh sound. “Yeah. I was surprised to be there.” Her glance raked across the serape, took in the hat and the sunglasses. “Is this supposed to be some kind of disguise?”

  For the first time ever, as far as he could remember, he actually felt self-conscious. “Yeah.” Cole shrugged the blanket off over his shoulders. He saw Kylie’s gaze dart to his forearms, covered as they were in a light sheen of sweat. “It’s hot as hell under that.”

  Folding the blanket across his arms, he tried a grin, but Kylie’s mouth tightened as she turned away again and started fussing with a stack of T-shirts.

  His words came out in a rush. “Cozumel wasn’t supposed to mean anything, you know? I didn’t think it would matter if you didn’t know I’m…well, me. You were on the rebound, for Christ’s sake—it was supposed to be your honeymoon. And it was nice to meet someone who didn’t care about…” His voice trailed off.

  “About who you really are?”

  “About what comes with being who I am, at least.” He shrugged again. “What could I have said? Would it have made a difference?”

  She had stopped trying to straighten things and had stepped closer. It was all he could do to stop himself from closing the space between them and taking her in his arms.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe? At least I would have been more prepared.” Now her voice was the one that trailed off as she glanced behind him to the tabloid. “I saw it in the airport, you know. On the way home. It was already on the stands by the time my plane landed.” She spoke so quietly he had to strain to hear her. “I couldn’t believe it when I saw.”

  “I’m sorry, Kylie.” He placed the folded serape down over the tabloid, covering up its incriminating images. “But in my defense, I did try to tell you.”

  “Why are you here, Cole?” Her voice was expressionless, flat.

  “You came to my show last night.”

  “Yes. I went to your show. LeeAnn got tickets, her boyfriend canceled, and I didn’t want to disappoint her.” Her eyes flicked toward the side of the store.

  Cole’s gaze followed hers—and came to rest on a display featuring products covered with his own image. The corner of his mouth tilted up in a half smile. “Really? That’s the only reason?”

  “That’s it.” Her voice was defensive.

  “Dammit, Kylie, you came to me.”

  “No, I didn’t. I came to your concert. Believe me, it’s different.” Her voice rose. “Nothing’s changed.” She tilted her chin toward the hat and serape on the counter. “If anything, it’s worse. At least in Mexico you didn’t have to skulk around like some sort of criminal, hiding behind stupid disguises.”

  “No, there I had to register under a fake name, hide out, pretend to be someone I’m not just to get a little privacy. Here I didn’t want anyone to follow me. Would you rather I brought the paparazzi down on you?”

  “No. I would rather you didn’t come at all.” Her near-shout echoed in the small space, followed almost immediately by the electronic chime of the bell signaling the opening of the door. Kylie’s cheeks had flushed bright red and they both breathed heavily, staring at each other. Kylie broke away first, moving toward the customer who had entered the store, asking in a murmur if she could help the woman find anything in particular.

  Cole turned his back on them and picked up his disguise, staring down at the tabloid he uncovered. He heard the chimes ring again as the customer left the store, but he didn’t turn around, working instead to calm his racing heart.

  “I looked you up online, you know.” Kylie’s voice came from behind him. “When I got back.”

  A barking laugh escaped him. “And I can guess what you found. You’re not the only one who’s been blindsided by the tabloids.”

  The silence was so complete he could hear her breathing, harsh and rasping. Finally, he turned around. “Can we start over?”

  “Start over?”

  “Yeah. Like this: Hi, I’m Cole Grayson.” He stuck his hand out and waited. After a long moment, she reached out and matched his light grip. “I was wondering if
you would be willing to go out to dinner with me.”

  She tried to pull away, but he didn’t loosen his clasp. “It probably wouldn’t be easy,” he said, leaning forward confidingly. “I’d like to get to know you better. But we might have to sneak around. I might even be forced to wear a costume. It’ll probably be really, really stupid.”

  She huffed a laugh.

  He could work with that. “Can I pick you up tonight?”

  “No. Seriously, why bother? It’s not going to work.”

  “I’m not asking for forever, Kylie. Just dinner.” He squeezed her hand and let go. She rubbed her thumb over it, apparently without noticing, and Cole bit his cheek to keep from grinning.

  “Fine,” Kylie said, drawing the word out. “But I get to pick the place. Somewhere the tabloids won’t think to look.”

  …

  What just happened?

  When she saw Cole walk into the store in that ridiculous getup, Kylie fully intended to kick him right back out.

  But now she was going to dinner with him.

  This was a really bad idea.

  And at this point, the coffee he brought her was cold. She took a drink anyway, waving as Cole darted out the door, glancing both ways and jogging off, the stupid serape fluttering out behind him.

  The serape and her stomach had a lot in common at the moment.

  She spent the rest of the day alternately ignoring the odd mix of anxiety and excitement trembling through her at the prospect of going out with Cole, and giving in to the desire to daydream about their time together on her honeymoon. Had their connection been a fluke? A rebound, as he had suggested? Or would they be able to re-create it here, in the midst of their normal (or in Cole’s case, not-so-normal) lives?

  How stupid was it to even try?

  Dinner. Not forever. Right. Get a grip, Kylie.

  And she’d thought waiting for the concert had been agonizing.

  Chapter Six

  “You can’t wear that.”

  “Why not?” Cole ran a finger around the neckline of the mask that covered his entire head. It was even hotter than the serape had been, but sweating through the black, red, and silver Lycra might be worth it for the look of sheer horror on Kylie’s face.

  “We’re going to a Mexican restaurant,” she said.

  “Then it’s perfect.”

  “You cannot wear a Mexican wrestling mask to a Mexican restaurant. It’s…it’s…” Kylie spluttered, clearly trying to find a word bad enough to cover his actions. “It’s disrespectful.”

  “It’s a lucha libre mask,” Cole said in a haughty tone. “And it’s not disrespectful at all. I love lucha libre. This mask was given to me by El Diablo Demoníaco. He’s a fan. And a hell of a wrestler.”

  “Seriously? The Demonic Devil? What kind of name is that?”

  “A famous one in certain circles,” he said, dropping back into his normal voice. He reached up and pulled the mask off one-handed. “And apparently a sweltering one, if this mask is anything to go by.” Cool air from the vent brushed across his head and he turned his face up toward it.

  “Really? You traded being a famous guy for being a famous guy in a mask?”

  He laughed. “Different fan groups. Anyway, I didn’t put on the mask until right before I walked in the door. I’m pretty sure I’ve ducked the paparazzi for the moment. I’m staying at the Worthington, but my tour bus is parked outside a Hyatt.”

  “Does that actually work?”

  “For a while.” He shrugged. “My manager, Billie, is staying there, and says there are photographers hanging around. They’ll catch on eventually, but in the meantime, I think I could probably go without the mask. And anyway, maybe you could be the one in disguise,” he suggested. Kylie laughed and shook her head, but he persisted.

  “I get it,” he said. “Wrestling’s not really your style. How about”—he glanced around and plucked a hot-pink cowboy hat with “I heart Texas” across it in rhinestones—“this,” he said triumphantly, dropping it on her head.

  “No, no, no.” Kylie removed the hat and put it back on the stand, but she was smiling, too.

  “You’ll need something to cover your face, too, of course,” he said, holding out the wrestling mask.

  “Not that,” she protested, still laughing. “I’ve got some old Mardi Gras masks in the back. I much prefer feathers to sweaty old Lycra.”

  “Oh, really?” Cole’s eyes darkened.

  “I don’t want to have to wear a mask at all. I don’t want to have to hide.” Kylie’s voice came out huskier than he expected, and he hid a smile as she cleared her throat. “Let me grab my purse,” she said, moving away from him, toward the storeroom.

  When she came back out, he was staring up at the Talk of Texas display. He had folded the mask and tucked it into the back pocket of his jeans, letting half of it dangle out behind him.

  “That’s Trent Andrews, isn’t it?” he asked, gesturing toward the center photo.

  “My father.”

  “I remember seeing him in the nationals when I was a kid. He was one hell of a rider. Kind of nice to see my own face up there next to his.”

  Kylie’s answering smile was strained, her eyes shadowed.

  “So why ‘Talk of Texas’?” he asked.

  “Alliteration,” she said. “A touch of irony, maybe, given the tendency you’ve both demonstrated to land me in the tabloids.” She pursed her lips as if considering whether or not to continue. “I was going to call it ‘Hometown Heroes,’ but since this isn’t your hometown…” Her voice trailed off.

  And since I’m not a hero? Ouch. Well, that will have to change. For now, though, time to change the subject.

  “So where are we going?” he asked. “You promised me a tabloid-free dinner.”

  “Azteca. It’s about two blocks away. You sure you can make it there without a disguise?”

  He glanced around the store. “You got any sunglasses?”

  “With or without rhinestones?”

  “Preferably without. But I’m the man who was willing to wear a superhero wrestling mask to be able to go out to dinner with you, so really, either is fine.”

  “Nice of you to be so accommodating.” She leaned over the cash-register stand and reached into the cabinet behind it. He admired the curve of her hip as she bent sideways and down, twisting to grasp at something beneath the register. One foot came off the floor as she balanced across the counter.

  “Where’s LeeAnn when I need her?” Her muffled voice floated back toward him. “She makes this kind of thing look easy.”

  “Here. Let me help.” He stepped forward and placed his hand on her hip to balance her. She froze when he touched her, and heat sparked from his palm. They remained perfectly still for one breathless moment.

  Then Kylie wiggled back across the counter.

  He held his palm motionless so that her body skimmed lightly under it as she stood back up, then left it at her waist when she stopped moving, enjoying the warmth through her shirt.

  “Here,” she said, slightly breathless. “One pair of rhinestone-free sunglasses.”

  “Thanks.” His own voice was rough. He didn’t move to take the glasses until Kylie pressed them into his fingers. With a mental shake, he straightened them across his face.

  “There,” he said. “Disguise in place. Ready to go?”

  “Wait.” Kylie snagged a red baseball cap with “Texas” embroidered across it. She stood up on her tiptoes to tug it down onto him. “There. Now you’re ready.”

  …

  Sweat beaded across Kylie’s upper lip as she pulled the door to Cowbelles shut and locked it behind her. The Texas heat was certainly part of the reason for it—the sun hadn’t set yet, and it was still almost a hundred degrees outside—but Cole’s presence was contributing, too. She could still feel the imprint of his hand on her hip, the track of heat it left behind, gliding up to her waist.

  As she turned to face him again, a ragged piece of the poster by the doo
r fluttered in a momentary breeze. Cole’s gaze followed her own, and his eyebrows lifted as he recognized the remains of his concert advertisement.

  “Your handiwork?” he asked.

  A hot flush crawled up her neck and she shrugged. “When I first opened the shop, I petitioned to have the no-flyer ordinance extended another block. I lost.”

  “You saying you take down all the posters?”

  “Maybe not quite so vehemently.”

  “Vehemently,” Cole echoed with a chuckle. “That’s one word for it.” He lifted a tattered poster remnant with the toe of his cowboy boot. “I don’t know that I’ve ever been quite so thoroughly defaced.”

  “Can we go now?” Something about his easygoing reaction to her poster desecration provoked equal parts embarrassment and attraction in Kylie. And his low laugh at her obvious discomfiture went straight to her abdomen, setting up a quiver that she quickly tried to smash back down.

  Cole followed as she crossed the brick-paved street and moved down the sidewalk, but he kept talking. “I don’t get it,” he said. “You rip my concert poster down outside your store, but inside you’ve got a whole display with my face all over it.”

  Kylie shrugged. “Your stuff sells. The concert poster doesn’t do me any good.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “Not necessarily true. A concert poster outside could bring customers in.”

  Her face burned. “I’m changing the subject now.”

  “Okay.” His voice was pleasantly bland, but it didn’t match the look in his eyes, dancing with amusement as they were.

  Air conditioning blasted out the door of Azteca when Cole reached around her to open it, contrasting with the heat of his arm brushing against hers.

  “We seat ourselves,” Kylie said. She waved at the owner, Benito, who was standing behind the dark-paneled bar, polishing a glass with a bar cloth. It was still early, so the restaurant was relatively deserted, but Kylie steered them toward a booth in a dark corner anyway.

  Benito tilted his chin toward her in response and draped the towel over his shoulder. Gathering menus from the wooden box attached to the end of the bar, he met them at the booth as they slid in.