Deep in the Heart

by Alexa Padgett

  “Why can’t that piece of scum leave you alone?” Mrs. Olsen asked, her voice unsteady. “He hurt you in high school, and he’s hurting you now.”

  “Hurt her in high school, how?” Officer Briggs asked.

  Jenna turned white and I inched closer, needing to hear the answer to the policeman’s question.

  But another officer stepped over and requested the bat. Jenna handed it to him with obvious reluctance.

  “Will I get that back?” she asked.

  “Did you use it at all?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Then you’ll get it back.”

  “When?” Jenna’s voice shook.

  I’d been right. That bat was her security measure. Damn, I didn’t like her needing a weapon of any kind.

  The officer shrugged. He turned to me and motioned me to then follow him to the back room to answer more questions. My leg ached, and I clenched my teeth against the pain and frustration in missing Jenna’s answer. What had Ben done to her before?

  Much like Jenna the other morning, I needed one of my pain pills and soon. I positioned my chair and stretched out my legs, wincing. I crossed my arms over my chest and kept an eye on Jenna through the doorway as I answered the officer’s questions.

  The officer closed his notebook. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Grace.”

  I leaned forward and placed my palm on the back of the chair he sat in.

  “Can you do me a favor?”

  The officer looked up, waiting.

  “That bat’s awful important to Jenna. Seeing as how tonight went down, I understand why. Bet you do, too.” I paused, waiting for him to nod in understanding. “So, I’d appreciate you giving that back to her. She’ll sleep better knowing that boy’s being held on the charges and her bat’s next to her bed.”

  The officer studied me for a long minute. Probably trying to decide if I was involved with Jenna as more than a client. I kept my easy smile in place.

  “I have a sixteen-year-old daughter. She carries pepper spray and a Taser. Can’t ever be too safe.”

  I patted the crisp blue uniform at his shoulder. “Glad we agree.”

  “I’m a big fan, Mr. Grace. Wish we hadn’t met like this, though.” His eyes skittered toward the door, narrowing at the corners. Judging Jenna—incorrectly, I’d wager.

  Yep, I’d be smart to leave the lady alone. My years of bad behavior, my needs, and my idiosyncrasies, hell even my fame rubbed onto her.

  Jenna already struggled with a past and some unresolved issues.

  I unfolded my arm and reached into my pocket, digging out another Werther’s. I popped it into my mouth. The warm caramel flavor helped, slowed my spinning mind. But not as much as Jenna. For whatever reason, she eased the vicious aches and roils of my brain.

  Jenna raised her head and met my eyes across the room. One beat turned to three, five, twenty and we stared at each other.

  And with each breath, we both relaxed. With each breath, our focus narrowed down to the most important person in the room: each other.

  Hell.

  I wanted this woman. Couldn’t explain why or how she affected me so, especially when no other woman ever had.

  “You ready to go, Mr. Grace?”

  “She’s making me a guitar,” I murmured.

  The officer responded with a noncommittal sound.

  I tore my gaze from Jenna and the rip in connection cut into my soul. The last of the caramel melted over my tongue and I wanted to whimper at the unfairness of the night—at Jenna’s plight. “She’s professional. Best in the business. That’s why I’m here. I’d appreciate you letting your boys know.”

  The officer’s eyes widened and darted toward Jenna only to return to my face. I wasn’t claiming her—wasn’t sure I ever would now that I’d seen what a mess she was dealing with. My publicist would have a fit if I tried. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t offer Jenna some professional cover—a bit of protection such as it was.

  “Now, I’m off to get my PR machine rolling. My publicist is not going to like her late night.”

  “You got that right.”

  This from Chuck, who’d entered the room when the officer brought me back here. He’d stood, arms crossed, the scowl permanently stamped on his face. Chuck smiled. “Well, now. This ought to get mighty interesting.”

  “You would think that,” I muttered.

  “Well, you just threatened to call Brenda after hours—she gets real pissy when you do that, no matter the reason.”

  “I can’t help this attack.”

  Chuck bumped me with his shoulder—he wasn’t much bigger than I was. We’d always had a similar build, but I’d been his team leader, thanks to good test scores in Ranger School and the bad luck of me wanting a promotion.

  Chuck nudged me forward. “Better get to that call. And get out of here before any of the reporters show up.”

  Jenna’s face was buried in her mama’s shoulder as we passed. Her grandfather stood close, watchful, tense. In case they needed to catch her, I’d bet. I didn’t want to interrupt, but neither did I want to leave without saying goodbye.

  Chuck nudged me forward again, making the choice for me.

  7

  Jenna

  I dropped my keys on the granite of my newly-purchased downtown loft. A perk of being the co-owner of J. Olsen’s Guitar Company included the financial security my position brought. More than that, though, I enjoyed the time with my Pop-pop. He made me laugh, something I didn’t do enough of these days. My attitude improved while at school up in Seattle, but the near-death experience changed me again.

  Not just inside my head, where the doctors loved to map and poke, but my connections with family and friends. Some days I still didn’t understand how much.

  Today I did. My body ached with fatigue, not just from answering the myriad phone calls from friends and reporters who’d read about Ben’s attack last night. I should be at the shop, steaming and molding the wood Cam chose for his new guitar. And I needed to finish three other projects.

  Instead, I cut out after lunch, unable to take the pounding in my head or the worry in Pop-pop’s eyes.

  I leaned my bat—thank goodness the officer gave that back to me this morning—against the island and strolled over to the large windows, looking out at the bustling entertainment district. College students and hipsters meandered through the streets, searching for a bite of good food and an earful of live music. Both were in full supply here.

  Here I was: in the heart of Austin’s trendy downtown, a mere stone’s throw from some of the world’s best live music. One day I’d get out there and go to a concert.

  I snorted.

  No way I’d ever be brave enough to force my feet into another concert venue. Even before meeting and connecting with the guys in Lummi Nation, I’d been traumatized by a concertgoer—namely Ben Wilkins, the boy terror who wouldn’t stay in my past.

  Nope. Not going there again.

  I liked that I could walk or bike to the shop located on Sixth Street—the same location of J. Olsen’s Guitar Company since my great-granddaddy started it back in the 1930s, well before live music lent Austin its vibrancy, and back when country and western music twanged supreme.

  We’d built more guitars for rockers and even folk singers during the last ten years than country music singers—not that country wasn’t a big draw in Austin. It was. But so was folk, alternative, indie, jazz, and just about any other genre of music I could name.

  One large benefit of living within a mile of my job: walking to and from work meant I skipped out on a much longer commute. Austin’s traffic was notoriously bad. Back when Dell and a few other tech companies built their presence in the area, the local politicians and city planners didn’t set up the city’s infrastructure for the coming population explosion. And, in Texas, people liked the liberty of driving their own vehicle.

  But putting millions of commuters on narrow roads led to immediate gridlock, something I didn’t handle well.
I lacked the patience to drive, mainly I couldn’t be still. Stillness allowed my brain to fly in too many directions. Tasks, even simple busy work, solved some of that crazed mind. Some. Not all. Most nights I ran for an hour, sometimes two on my gym’s treadmill, pushing myself until standing proved difficult and exhaustion slammed through me.

  Then, finally, my mind calmed and I slept. Sometimes I even managed several hours.

  My twelve-minute walks to and from work were the grand total of today’s workout, mainly because I found dealing with people, even someone who’d do no more than offer me a towel as they looked at my membership card, to be too tiring.

  No one I knew now would believe I’d been an outgoing cheerleader in high school. My hospitalizations, especially the second one in Seattle, must have changed my brain chemistry. That’s why the doctors liked to map my brain.

  I settled on my couch, enjoying this space. It was simple, clean, safe. Most importantly, quiet. While I’d loved living with my roommate at Northern, I preferred the hushed solitude of my thousand-square-foot palace more. Here, I could breathe.

  Here, I could, maybe, finally learn to be Jenna Olsen again. Whoever the hell that turned out to be.

  I settled deeper into the larger of the two sofas and shut my eyes, too exhausted after last night’s sleeplessness and today’s constant requests to worry about finding myself wherever I was locked up.

  The sound of my phone ringing shocked me back to consciousness. Without much thought, I snatched it out of my pocket.

  “What? Where?”

  A deep, rough chuckle greeted my ear. “Don’t tell me I woke you.”

  “Kay. I won’t.” I yawned. “What time is it?”

  “A little after six. I called to apologize for running out last night. I had to get with my PR team and start the spin machine. I hope you haven’t been bothered.”

  I snorted.

  Cam chuckled. “Too much to hope for, huh?”

  “I left at two-thirty with a phone system that couldn’t accept more calls and nearly three hundred unread emails. I’m sure it’s worse now.”

  There was a pause. I wondered if Cam was shifting his weight onto and then away from his bad calf. He didn’t seem to notice he did that. “I’d tell you I was sorry for the trouble I caused, but I’m not sorry I was there last night, Jenna. Because that hunk of human excrement wanted to hurt you.”

  “Hunk of human excrement?” I asked, amused.

  “Seemed nicer than what I wanted to call him, you being a lady and all. My mama doesn’t allow cussing around ladies.”

  “I’ve learned a few bad words in my day,” I said. “And not all of them from my brothers or father.”

  “Nothing wrong with that. But we’re off task. Talked with your grandfather earlier when I stopped by.”

  “When was that?”

  “’Bout four, I guess.”

  “Sorry I missed you. We still need to meet to finalize those details.”

  In an honest moment, I admitted I wasn’t ready to deal with Cam—and my growing feelings for him tonight.

  “Can we meet tomorrow? I’m not at work, and I can’t seem to wake up all the way.” No way I was going to tell him that I had never been so desperate to have him like me.

  “We could, but I have an idea I want to go over with you. Came to me this morning when I was in the shower.”

  Great. Now, on top of everything else, I was going to have the image of Cam, naked, in the shower covered in soap, branded in my overwrought brain.

  Damn brain created one hell of an image, and I needed to fact check its veracity.

  “I’ll throw in dinner to sweeten the deal,” he said.

  My heart flipped at the idea of going on a date with Cam. He was so sexy. And a bigger star than Kai and the rest of his band, meaning we’d get mobbed by fans. That was rule numero uno of no-go in Jenna-Land: no crowds equaled minimal freak-outs.

  “I’m not up for an evening out.”

  “Didn’t think you would be after last night. I’ll bring food to you. You like ’cue?”

  “Am I from Texas?” I retorted.

  Cam chuckled. “Want pulled pork or brisket?”

  “Um…both? With a loaded baked potato.”

  “More of a Pappa’s girl, huh? Sacrilege to my true-blood Stubb’s. I’ll throw in some ribs.”

  “Whatever,” I said on a yawn. “If you bring ribs, be prepared to see me covered in sauce.”

  Cam groaned. “Really? Not an image I needed.”

  “Not one I meant to send,” I said with a smile because yes, it was. To get even for his oh-so-not-innocent shower comment. “I have some Beerworks Peacemaker my brother left here when we were watching the game.”

  “You like college football?”

  “Cam,” I said on a sigh. “We’ve established I’m from Texas. I have two older brothers. Yes, I like football, both professional and college. As if there’s another sport I’d watch.”

  “All good points. I have an older brother, too. A whole eleven minutes older. See, we have tons in common, Jenna. Now, text me your address and I’ll be there in…”

  “At least an hour,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Sugar plums are made faster than you’ll pick up an order at Stubb’s.”

  “Oh, ye of little faith. I’m taking that as a bet.”

  “What? Whoa! I don’t bet. I never said anything about a bet.”

  “Too late.”

  My heart rate kicked up to that of a galloping horse. “No, siree with a cherry on top. Nope.”

  “You afraid? C’mon, I’ll make it easy on you. If I can get there faster than an hour, I get to take you out on a date. Day of my choosing but in the next week.”

  “This is stupid…”

  “And if you win, you get to take me out on a date.”

  “Win-lose ratio’s off there, buddy.”

  But he’d already hung up. Somehow that didn’t surprise me. Camden Grace got what he wanted—when he wanted it. All those fans, hits, and money created that alpha personality. Or maybe he was always the top dog and could now enforce his desires.

  “What did you get me into, Pop-pop?” I tossed my phone back onto my coffee table and rubbed my palms over my face.

  For now, Cam seemed interested in spending time with me. And I might…yeah, for better—probably worse—want to see him, too.

  8

  Cam

  I hadn’t told Jenna I’d called ahead and placed an order for all the things we discussed. Definitely helped to have her grandfather’s blessing—and his willingness to share Jenna’s favorite foods. I finally understood why he hadn’t told me Jenna worked with him. Over the past couple of years, I’d heard all about the pretty little gal who was the apple of her pop’s eye, but the wily bugger never once mentioned she was his protégé—or such a well-respected artisan in her own right.

  He knew that would have intrigued me even more. And Jenna needed to recover, to build her portfolio and self-worth. To learn to trust again.

  I chuckled, shaking my head at Mr. Olsen’s brilliance.

  If Jenna refused to see me, or if I’d read the signs wrong last night during our epic, intense stare and she wasn’t interested, then I’d be eating quality barbecue for the next couple of nights. Nah, I’d drop some off with Katie Rose. I liked being in the same city as my baby sister again. At least for a few weeks…until my gig schedule kicked back into gear.

  That’s why getting this guitar finished by July 4th rocketed to the top of my priority list. My calendar was blocked off with performances in and around Austin for a few weeks as I prepped for a winter tour that would set me up for the South by Southwest Musical Festival in March.

  A smile tugged the corner of my mouth, and I was pleased to know I surprised Jenna and planned to spend multiple hours in her company over the next week.

  Something about this woman called to me—on a deeper level than even Kim had.

  No need to get in over my head and realize I was drowning once I c
ouldn’t get back out of the ocean. Nope, this time I’d play it smart. Starting with a simple meal together. I’d keep the physical stuff that I’d fantasized about to a minimum to see if the sweet bite of need held on through another conversation.

  I knocked on Jenna’s door forty-nine minutes later, hands laden with canvas sacks filled with food. She opened the door and her eyes widened.

  So did mine but for different reasons. Her just-out-of-the-shower hotness lit a fire deep in my belly. Her skin still held the faint flush of hot water, bringing out the blue from the gray in her eyes, and her wet hair—still bright gold—slicked back from her face, dampening the cotton of her Lummi Nation T-shirt. For some reason, seeing her in another musician’s shirt caused jealousy to slam back through me.

  “Wow. You must be hungry,” Jenna said.

  “Or I really wanted to spend more time with you.” I smiled and leaned forward a little instead, liking the whiff of fresh that wafted up from Jenna’s damp hair. It was soft and sweet, but not cloying. Maybe some kind of fruit—pear? Yeah, pear. I liked it.

  She smiled at that, eyes dancing. “Since you brought payment, I’ll let you over the threshold.”

  “Thanks. And you better be hungry. I got some of everything.”

  She held the door open, closing and locking it after I made it into her large loft. The exposed bricks were a mix of local yellow and a mellow red. The ten-foot ceilings were studded with thick, dark wood beams echoed in the floors. The large Oriental rug in creams and blue brought together the light tan leather couches. A distressed round oak table and four matching chairs in the same warm cream as the rug sat nearer the open kitchen with its maple cabinets and rich blue granite countertops.

  The space was airy with a hip, urban vibe—totally different from my folks’ dated farmhouse or the terrible tent conditions we’d lived in during most of my second tour.

  More like my new-and-improved cabin I’d built toward the back of the family ranch.

  “Nerves take away my hunger.” She looked down at her bare feet.