by D'Ann Lindun
“Only if they want to talk about music, not my personal life.”
“Isn’t selling yourself part of the deal?” She knew it was. Her own book a case in point. Partly, Cowboy wanted to tell his side of his breakup with Teal, and to rub her nose in his happiness, and somewhat a need to talk about his many struggles in the music business. His rise to fame and fortune had not been an easy one.
“I guess, but I loathe the need to peddle my soul so people can hear my music.” Bitterness seeped through his tone.
“I understand that.” Kennedy paused. “Cowboy has said the same thing.”
“It amazes me he wants any part of the press after what they did to him.” Accusation hung in his tone.
“I’m not a tabloid writer, and I don’t condone their actions. Everything I’ve written is documented, either by Cowboy, or the other person in question.” She couldn’t believe she was defending herself to this man, but the indictment in his eyes made her defensive. It wasn’t like she was one of the paparazzi, lurking in the bushes. She had a degree in journalism, and a stellar resume.
“Good.” He didn’t sound convinced though.
“If we’re through here…?” She moved toward the door.
“I think I’ll look around a bit more, go outside. It’s almost as green here as it is back home.”
“Ireland? I’ve never been” Kennedy told him. “I’d like to go someday.”
“Maybe I’ll take you.” He stepped close and touched her hair. “You’d fit right in with all these fiery tresses.”
She froze as his fingers played with the end of her hair like it was a guitar string. Her gaze riveted on his long, elegant fingers and an image of them elsewhere on her body sent a flame torching through her. Startled by the direction her thoughts took, she jerked away from him. “I’ll take myself if I ever go.”
“I could show you all the secret places.” He winked and she didn’t think he was referring to castles or stone circles.
Without answering, she spun away and fled.
As she ran down the staircase, she wondered why he kept coming on so strong when she’d made it clear she wasn’t interested. She supposed he was like most rock stars, and not used to a woman saying no.
Well, she was not only saying no, she was saying it emphatically. Hands off, buddy. This girl isn’t like all the rest of your groupies. I’m not into you.
After she grabbed her laptop, she went to her favorite spot, the sunroom near the pool. She opened her computer and clicked the icon for her document. Although she began to enter the details of the baby’s birth, and who had been there, her thoughts turned to the Irish rocker.
He’d been so angry when he thought she was a reporter. Why? A lot of celebrities resented the press, but his aversion seemed almost obsessive. One way to find out what the tabloids said about him. Her journalist self warred with her curiosity. She knew most of what was read on the internet was made up crap written by anyone with a keyboard, but maybe there was something by a legitimate writer.
Finally, she flipped her screen to a search engine and typed in his name.
Over a hundred thousand hits for Liam Steele, rock god. As she began scanning, looking for a site she trusted, headlines began jumping out at her. Taking a closer look, she saw most were referencing a recent breakup, non-music related.
Kennedy opened a site she trusted. Bypassing the tawdry headline, she read the article. New music star Liam Steele had met eighteen-year-old Whitney Decker at a party for his band, and they quickly fell in love. But, when Whitney became pregnant Liam refused to marry her. Regretfully, she’d made the only choice she could and terminated the pregnancy.
A heartbroken Whitney had turned to the press for a shoulder to cry on. Most had been delighted to oblige her, telling her sordid tale again and again.
None, however, had shared Liam’s side, only Whitney’s tale of woe. Had anyone asked him, or had he refused to talk?
Kennedy leaned back and looked out the windows. She closed the laptop, deep in thought. Who was the real Liam Steele? The lead singer whose haunting lyrics had been Grammy-nominated? Or the bad boy who refused to be tied down by a teenage bride carrying his child?
Needing to know the truth, and not sure why, she picked up her cell phone and dialed a journalist friend who wrote about the music scene in New York. After exchanging pleasantries for a few moments, she got around to what she wanted. “Hey, Alan, what can you tell me about a singer named Liam Steele and some model named Whitney Decker?”
CHAPTER THREE
“Not just ‘some model’,” Alan said. “Whitney Decker came out of nowhere, someplace in the Midwest. One of the major agencies nabbed her and turned her into the next big thing. You know, the flavor of the month, the year, the decade. Her face is everywhere, more so now that she’s baring her broken heart to anyone who will listen.”
“Okay, got it,” Kennedy muttered. “Is this phenom truly only a teenager?”
He rustled some papers in the background. “Barely eighteen, according to her birth certificate.”
“And her parents let her date a rock star seven years older?”
“Whitney does what Whitney wants.” His tone went dry. “And whom.”
“How did they meet?”
“The record company set up a release party for Blue Steele’s first album and she was invited. From all accounts, it was love at first sight. The band also featured her in their video for Rose Full of Thorns.”
A tinge of something—envy?—pinched Kennedy’s stomach, but she shoved it away. She wasn’t interested in Liam as a man, only as a small part of Cowboy’s biography. Liam’s love life wouldn’t be included, so it really didn’t matter. Still, disappointment filled her that Alan confirmed the internet stories she’d read. “But it went bad?”
“Yeah, not too long into it. I’d wager a guess the age difference played a part in their breakup,” Alan said.
“One has to wonder what Liam was thinking,” Kennedy murmured.
Alan chuckled. “If he was, it wasn’t with the head on his shoulders.”
“Then she got pregnant?” Kennedy prompted.
“According to Whitney, yes.”
The journalist in Kennedy perked up at the undertone in her friend’s voice. “What do you mean ‘according to Whitney’?”
“No one has ever collaborated her story,” he said. “Liam refuses to comment, and her doctor won’t.”
“Of course not.” Kennedy reached for a piece of paper. “No reputable physician would ever discuss a patient.”
“No, but it leaves a lot of unanswered questions,” Alan said. “With no way to prove her version of events.”
“Could she be lying about the entire thing?” Kennedy’s mind raced. “Why? What would she gain by doing so?”
“I have no idea,” Alan said. “But, one day, they’re a super-close couple, happy as larks. Then, the next, they break up and she goes on every entertainment show out there to say the rock star won’t marry her and insists she terminate her pregnancy. She’s the media’s darling, and sympathy for her plight is rampant. Liam’s made out to be the villain. So much so that record sales have plummeted.” He paused. “Unless there’s more to this tale than meets the eye.”
“Such as?” Kennedy couldn’t imagine what else there was to say, but maybe Liam had a different story. If he did, he wasn’t sharing with any member of the press.
“Ask him,” Alan urged. “Every music magazine out there would kill for a scoop like that.”
“I admit I’m intrigued to know Liam’s side of things,” Kennedy said.
A small sound alerted that she wasn’t alone and she looked over her shoulder. Liam stood glaring at her with betrayal and accusation flashing in his blue eyes before he spun away and vanished.
Should she go after him and try to explain? Explain what? That she’d been digging around behind his back? There wasn’t much more to say than that. She thanked Alan and hung up, mulling over what he’d told her as
she walked toward the kitchen. Was there anything to his insinuation that Liam side of things was different than Whitney’s?
A small part of her hoped he did.
Although she believed in a woman’s right to choose, she also respected a man who stepped up and did the right thing by a woman he cared about. Her friend Daisy had just gone on the rodeo circuit with a man who wasn’t her baby’s father, but took on the responsibility anyway. There weren’t too many like him. The rock star obviously wasn’t a man of Clay Norwood’s moral caliber.
Shaking off her thoughts, she grabbed a cola and a container of tuna salad. She fixed a sandwich and carried it to the pool. She often ate out there, enjoying the mountain air. As she rounded the corner, she spotted Liam, apparently dozing, in a lounge chair. As she turned to leave him alone, he spoke.
“You can stay. I’ll leave.”
She hesitated. “You were here first.”
He shrugged and started to stand. “No big deal.”
“There’s enough room out here for a hundred people. I think we can share.” She chose a seat several chairs away from him and bit into her sandwich.
Ignoring her, he picked up his guitar and played something she didn’t know. She liked it very much. The man was crazy talented and it was a shame his career was in the toilet because he’d been foolish with his heart.
Liam wasn’t the first man who didn’t want a marriage, or children, but most didn’t have their decision to remain footloose and fancy-free played out in the press. Part of his vilification had been Whitney’s age, just eighteen. She seemed so young to his twenty-five. But, in reality, it wasn’t that big of a gap.
A small niggle of sympathy for him went through Kennedy, although she thought him selfish.
Maybe Cowboy could help get Liam’s head on straight. He’d shared his plan to do so with her, said he liked the younger singer very much and enjoyed his music too much to see it die an early death. Kennedy suspected Cowboy’s desire to help had something to do with his own tangle with the press after his first marriage broke up. Most of the reports had not been kind to him, reveling in his unhappiness over the bitter betrayal.
Kennedy wondered what he thought about the younger musician’s stance on his refusal to get married and be a dad. Obviously, he didn’t hold Liam’s actions against him so much he wouldn’t help him regain his shambled career.
Liam finished his tune and made a note.
“That was pretty,” Kennedy said. “New?”
“Written, not recorded.” He didn’t look at her, frowning as he concentrated.
“Cowboy going to record it with you?” She didn’t know why she pressed him.
“Hopefully.” He set his pencil down and looked at her. “Why?”
“Just curious,” she said.
“You’re a nosy lass, aren’t you?”
She flinched at his bitter tone. “It’s my job to find out the facts.”
He snorted. “Right.”
“Would you like to share a different version of your story than what’s being printed with me?” she offered impulsively. “I could put it in a good magazine, not a rag…”
For a moment, she thought he might agree. Then he laughed. “So, you can twist reality and turn it into your version of the truth? Not on your life.”
“I offered to listen,” she said stiffly.
“For your benefit, not my own.”
“How would I profit?
“A story to sell, what else? Certainly not to help me.” He sounded so sure she wanted to drag him through the mud she wished the proposal back.
Instead, she said, “The offer stands if you change your mind. There are actually fair-minded journalists out there.”
“I haven’t met one yet.”
She let the insult hang, stood and left him alone.
Jackass!
Inside, she refilled her glass with ice as she fumed. He didn’t know her, or her ethics. She had to admit he’d caught her going behind his back. Would he have told her if she’d asked him first? Doubtful. He obviously thought her just another member of the press who wanted to exploit him.
At this point, Whitney’s story all was old news. But if his side differed from hers, that would be newsworthy.
But, if he had a different version, why hadn’t he spoken up?
Too untrusting?
Been burned too many times?
Or, was it all true? Whitney’s tale, and he had nothing to add? Alan’s insinuation that he did stuck in her head.
Kennedy trusted the other journalist. As far as she knew, his reporting was above board. She’d hoped Liam was more like Cowboy, or Clay Norwood—a good man who stood by the woman he loved—than someone who used a woman, then threw her away when she needed him most.
Deep in thought, she wandered into the living room, where she sat on one of the luxurious velvet couches, and looked out the windows toward the mountains. A movement caught her eye, and looking closer, she recognized Liam. He walked across the pasture, head down, hands stuffed in his pockets. He looked forlorn, lost.
What filled his mind as he strolled? The beauty around him? Or, his crumbling career? Maybe the mistakes he’d made with Whitney? None of it? Perhaps he was forming a new song.
Kennedy longed to talk to her best friend, Daisy, but she’d just left town with Clay to go on the rodeo circuit. They could speak on the phone, or Skype, but it wouldn’t be the same as a face-to-face chat over coffee.
The house seemed so empty without Cowboy and Montana in it. With a sigh, she rose and wandered into the kitchen to get another soda. She should work on her book, but she wasn’t in the mood.
Her conversation with Alan, then Liam, left her unsettled. Something wasn’t being said, and the journalist in her was intrigued. But, who other than Liam, knew the truth? Whitney? She had made her side of things clear. Maybe some of Liam’s bandmates. If they were like Cowboy’s band, they would be absolutely loyal to their leader.
Trying to talk to one or more of them would only make Liam madder at her. What did it matter? It wasn’t like they were friends. She owed him nothing. Still, she hesitated. Going behind his back again seemed dirty.
Cowboy would know, and talking to him wouldn’t feel like a betrayal, but just a conversation between friends.
She’d talk to him when he came home.
Until then, she had a book to write.
~*~
Liam did what he always did when upset—headed for a private place. In this case, the pastures around the mansion called him. No one was around but horses. The green was different than home, and the blue Colorado sky much deeper than Ireland’s.
As he walked, his mind went back, to the party where he’d been introduced to the girl with the face of an angel and the soul of a devil. He ambled across the field, head down, thoughts on Whitney. He’d been struck by the gorgeous blonde from the minute he met her. Her beauty pulled him toward her as if she were a siren.
She was funny, smart and vain as hell.
He’d fallen for her like a boulder into the Irish Sea.
But, he knew in his heart they wouldn’t last. He hoped for it to be different. Prayed, even. When the band booked their tour, she wanted him to give up his career, stay as her lapdog. When he told her no, he had to go, she did the unthinkable.
He wished to God that he’d never met her and avoided the hell she’d put him through. At this point he wondered if there was a woman alive, other than his mum or sister, he could trust. Not Kennedy. Obviously. He’d judged her correctly—she was another member of the flesh-eating-soul-sucking press.
If she wanted to know about him, why hadn’t she just asked instead of going behind his back to spy on him? What did she plan to do with the information she was gathering? Sell it? Call one of the TV shows that loved gossip, but not fact checking?
He’d never defended himself, allowing Whitney to drag him through the mud because he didn’t want to expose his sins to the world. Now, he wondered if he’d made a mistake
by taking the high road.
He wandered through the lush green pastures, his mind filled with ghosts of the past, and Kennedy’s offer to shine a light on them. He was gun-shy because of the beating he’d taken from the press. Could he trust her to be fair? No one else had been. But, he hadn’t spoken, either, preferring not to put his personal life on display for everyone in the world to dissect.
If he marched inside and told Kennedy his side, would she believe him? Or would she still think him the bad guy, along with most of the world? Why did it matter? She was just another so-called journalist, although Cowboy obviously believed in her. He, too, had been raked over the coals by the press. If he trusted the woman, then Liam probably could, too.
He paused by a downed log and looked around while he pondered. Acres of green fields, dotted with horses, led to pine-covered mountains in the distance. A creek ran through the endless pastures, glittering like diamonds in the late afternoon sun.
Absolutely stunning, although much different from home with its many stone fences everywhere.
No wonder Cowboy had left the craziness of L.A. for this paradise. Montana and their baby the cherry on top. The rock star deserved everything good that came his way. Liam could only pray his own life would turn around and he’d someday find similar peace and happiness.
He hoped to someday find a woman like Montana, someone he could build a life with. Whitney had been all about Whitney with no room for anyone else in her life.
His thoughts flashed to Kennedy and he snorted. The lass was gorgeous, no doubt about it, but she was as dangerous as Whitney.
If he kept a low profile, recorded some new music and stayed away from women, he might just pull his career out of the flames. It amazed him in this day and age so many people hated him for Whitney’s choice. He hadn’t forced her, as she claimed, but he hadn’t stopped her by giving into her emotional blackmail, either.
Something he would regret for the rest of his life.
