One Wild Night

by Melissa Cutler

  Remedy chewed her lower lip for a breath, then braced her hands on Skye’s shoulders. The look in her eyes was intense and searching at the same time. “I know you, which is why I know I need to say this. You didn’t do anything wrong. The crash was not your fault.”

  Shit. Skye really didn’t want to go there. Because it was her fault. She made her own choices—and they’d been terrible choices. But dwelling wasn’t going to fix any of the problems she’d created, the pregnancy included. “Doesn’t matter. What’s done is done. All I can do is move on and try to change.”

  Remedy’s thumbs started a slow massage of her shoulder. “No change necessary. Listen to me. We’re all entitled to some fun sometimes. That’s not why the accident happened.”

  If that was true, then why did it sometimes feel like a sense of impending doom was eating her alive?

  They were interrupted by one of the dancers. He smiled suggestively at Skye and held out his dinner-plate sized hand for her to shake. “Excuse me, Remedy, but I couldn’t take my eyes off your friend here, so I figured I’d come introduce myself. We haven’t met yet. I’m Julio.”

  Unbelievable. Her face was visibly bruised and scraped, and she was wearing a cast on her arm. And certainly he’d noticed her limp, hadn’t he? Then again, maybe not. Damn spell. As annoying as Skye’s love life had become, she had to give her mom begrudging respect. Who would’ve guessed her mom was that powerful in the old ways?

  “Aw, geez. Give it a rest, Julio,” Remedy muttered.

  Julio’s gaze never wavered from his perusal of Skye’s body. “When I see such a beautiful woman, rest is the last thing on my mind.”

  “Down boy!” Remedy gave his bare shoulder a push toward the rest of the dancers, who were all watching Julio’s pathetic pick-up attempt and chuckling to themselves. “Don’t you need to go light your torches or”—she grimaced at her palms—“oil yourself down again before show time?”

  Only with great reluctance, and great prodding by Remedy, did Julio leave them alone. As soon as Julio was out of earshot, Remedy wiped her hands on her dress. “You’ve got to get your mom to reverse that love potion.”

  “I wish, because I am so over men.”

  Remedy snorted. “I’ll bet. But speaking of which, have you seen him yet? Are you okay with him being here or does that make it harder? I need details, woman! We haven’t talked in way too long.”

  “Who? Eddie?” Because that had sucked. It’d sucked hard. And if he was at the resort today for whatever reason, she’d do her best to avoid him. “No, he and I never even made it to a first date.”

  And it wouldn’t have mattered anyway, because she was pregnant. The truth would have outed itself soon enough and then they would have been over. And the stupid love spell wouldn’t have mattered because nothing said classy like dating around while she was pregnant with another man’s child—whom she couldn’t bring herself to tell yet. That kind of soap opera drama only happened in Mama Lita’s telanovelas.

  Remedy cringed and wrung her hands together. “Not Eddie. Gentry Wells.”

  The sound of his name did weird things to her insides, even after all they’d been through. “He’s not here. In the hospital, I told him I needed some space. I’m sure he’s back home in Tulsa.”

  “You mean, your mom didn’t tell you? Or any of your family? Oh, honey. Oh, my God.” Remedy smacked her forehead.

  “What are you talking about? Tell me what?”

  “Apparently, Gentry didn’t listen to you because he’s been staying at the resort all week. He rented out the same villa he was in before, this time for two months.”

  “He what?” It didn’t make sense. She’d told him to leave. How dare he disrespect her wishes like that?

  Remedy shook her head. “I can’t believe nobody told you. I would have told you, but I figured you already knew.”

  “I most certainly did not. And please don’t feel bad. It’s not your fault that I didn’t know.” But Skye knew exactly whose fault it was, which meant she couldn’t decide who to yell at first. She could march—or limp, rather—to her mom to ream her out or go pounding on Gentry’s door demanding answers.

  Her mom.

  Definitely.

  The longer she could put off another confrontation with Gentry, the better. What was he even doing in Dulcet? Not just in Dulcet, but at her place of business? For two months? She’d been crystal clear that she needed space. She didn’t need another person looking out for her. She didn’t need another goddamn man inserting himself in her business. Above all, she had zero need for a swaggering, bad boy musician with a chip on his shoulder and a restless heart. She didn’t need Gentry Wells.

  Actually, you do. This baby needs its father.

  “Shut up,” she grumbled. At Remedy’s wide eyes, she added, “Not you. My conscience. It has an agenda that doesn’t line up with mine at the moment.”

  “Been there, done that. Hang in there.”

  With that, Skye took off to find an unused golf cart.

  “Hey,” Remedy called after her. “Don’t go wearing yourself out by pitching a big fit. There’ll be time for that later, after you heal. Right now, you need rest. Plus that limp doesn’t make you very ferocious.”

  True, that. But she was too fired up to sit on the information.

  She was passing between the villas and the swimming pool when she spotted Annika in her golf cart. She waved, but that seemed to send Annika into a panic spiral. Her golf cart surged forward, blocking the gate to the villas. “Oh. You’re back,” she said, trying to sound casual even though she was suddenly, mysteriously out of breath.

  The villas hadn’t been where Skye was headed—not until after she reamed out her mom, anyway—but Annika’s attempt to keep Skye out of the villas and away from Gentry was like lemon juice in a cut. “I’m back,” she said through her teeth. “And Gentry’s staying here in the villas.”

  Annika had the stones to act surprised. “He is?”

  Skye’s fight wasn’t with Annika, or any Polished Pro employee. They’d merely been doing what the company owner had required of them. Skye had never come so close to thinking of her mom as a bitch, but it had a certain ring to it today. “What kind of boss tells her employees to lie?”

  Annika’s eyes widened.

  Skye hadn’t meant to say that last part out loud. “Forget that. Out of my way please.”

  Looking pale and nervous, Annika raised her radio to her lips. “Yessica, you told me to call you if Skye came around the villas.”

  * * *

  Gentry sat on the front patio of his villa and stared out at the lake nestled among bluebonnet-carpeted hills that stretched out before him like a storybook come to life. A fat brown duck and four yellow ducklings paddled along the shoreline, and a slight breeze rustled the reeds and cattails. Spring looked good on the landscape of Texas’ Hill Country. A man could get used to this.

  Only the day before, a full three weeks after the accident, he’d gotten a voicemail from Neil. The message was a huge fuck you all wrapped up in a guise of sympathy and support. I’m a fair man, he’d said, So I’ll tell you what. I’ll extend it another month because of your injuries. Good luck. I can’t wait to see what Gentry Wells, singer-songwriter, comes up with. Then he laughed. He fucking laughed.

  At that sound, Gentry’s self-pity crumbled. He’d already decided he was going to teach himself to play left-handed, but he’d written off his music career, at least with Neil’s label. But when he heard that laugh, all he could think was challenge accepted.

  He was not only going to relearn how to play the guitar with his opposite hand, and with the help of his physical therapist, but he was going to write and deliver a polished album to Neil well in advance of this new deadline. He had more than enough material, having single-handedly set fire to his life and with a baby on the way.

  Hence, why Gentry had a pick in his left hand and a brand new customized, left-handed guitar resting on his thigh. On the small glass table beside
him sat a notebook full of the song lyrics that Skye had inspired before the accident. The only trouble was, he wasn’t a bullshitting, fake-ass party boy anymore. He felt like he’d aged a decade in the past two weeks. And all the songs he’d written before seemed irresponsible and immature now, the blueprint of a crash and burn. A blueprint for disaster.

  He set down the guitar and pick and opened the new spiral notebook he’d picked up at the grocery store, pressing his pen to the top line of the first page. In slow, meticulous printing he wrote, A Blueprint for Disaster.

  He frowned down at the words. So depressing—and so very wrong. Because this wasn’t a disaster. More important, that wasn’t the attitude he wanted to welcome his child into the world with. He was alive, and Skye was alive and unharmed, as was the child she carried. He still had all the resources of his successful career—the manager, the world-class producer, the money, and fans. What the fuck did he have to complain about? His new songs should be a celebration.

  He flipped back a few pages in his notebook and reread the first draft scribbles of “Make Me Your Mardi Gras.” He thought about the way Skye looked that first night on the horse and then on his bike, the freedom he saw in the wild whipping of her hair in the wind, her outstretched arms. He conjured a memory of the fire in her eyes that night together in the stable as she crowded against him for that first kiss.

  What he and Skye had shared wasn’t a disaster. It was perfection. She was perfection. Beauty in its best and purest form. She was the only woman who’d made him yearn for more in his life, who awakened a hunger in him for adventure and truth, and who pulled him up out of his inner darkness with her own blinding light. She’d stirred his creative energy up and turned his imagination electric.

  The woman I never knew I needed, he wrote in the notepad. His throat tightened. The baby I never knew I wanted.

  The woman. The baby. The life he never knew was waiting for him down a windy back country road in the Texas hills.

  He wrote the word Oasis. Then he circled it. That was Skye, his paradise in the middle of the desert that his life—his heart, his very soul—had become. Sometime soon, tonight perhaps, he would seek her out. Although he was determined to let her tell him about the baby herself when she was ready, he would let her know his intentions and that she wasn’t alone.

  The peace of the lake was broken by the sound of women’s voices shouting as though in argument. Gentry felt a duty to make sure all was well. Standing, he pocketed his pick, set the guitar just inside the front door, and went to see what the fuss was about.

  The argument was happening on the far side of the villas’ gate among three women—and one of them was Skye. His heart gave a painful pulse. She looked tired, and her arm was in a cast, but she was full of life. He had to hope that her presence at the resort meant that the road rash on her legs was healing. The fire in her eyes was back and directed at her mother. The two of them were shouting at each other in rapid Spanish while a young maid looked on, squirming anxiously.

  When Mrs. Martinez noticed him, she stomped up, getting right in his face. “Don’t you stand there and look at my daughter like she’s fresh bait. You don’t belong here. You’ve done enough harm.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I know.”

  “You’re nothing but a user. A womanizer.”

  Skye put herself between Gentry and her mom. “Mom! Leave us.”

  “I’m not leaving without you. Do you think it’s been easy, watching you get hurt by all these men? Do you think it’s been easy to watch you dream and pray about love and starting a family of your own year after year? It breaks my heart, mija. I’ve worked too hard for this family for too long to allow my daughter to throw away her future for some flashy snake-oil salesman.”

  “Mom, you’re not helping. I’m going to handle this, but you and Annika need to let me by giving us some privacy.”

  Mrs. Martinez looked like she wanted to argue that point, but after opening and closing her mouth a couple times, she nodded. “Fine. Don’t let me hold you back.”

  With her back to Gentry, Skye watched her mom walk away, then she spun around and stormed past Gentry and through the villas’ gate. “We can talk in your villa,” she snapped, not waiting for his reply.

  He probably should have been nervous about their impending conversation, but he couldn’t get over how strong and healthy she looked, her tentatively taken steps notwithstanding. “Last time I saw you, you were in a wheelchair,” he said when they’d reached his villa. “Your legs, they’re healing okay?”

  Skye whirled to face Gentry, her eyes even angrier than they had been when she’d been arguing with her mom. “You didn’t listen to me. I told you I needed space, but here you are. Go back to Oklahoma where you belong.”

  “And if I told you I belonged right here in Dulcet?” It was all he could do not to look at her belly.

  She flapped her arms with a huff, totally out of steam. “You can’t just barge into the place I work and the town I live in and make yourself at home.”

  “See, that’s the thing, Skye. I feel like I am home. I’ve felt that way since that first night in the stable with you.” And he meant every word. He could feel the truth in that statement all the way to his bones. This was his new home. Nothing had ever felt so right. “I’m not trying to upset you or do you harm. I just…” How could he break down her defenses without letting on that he knew about the baby?

  But something she said was rattling around in his mind, about him barging into her place of business. She’d told him before that her involvement with him while he was a guest at the resort had been in violation of her company’s contract with Briscoe Ranch. He could have put her out of business. If he was trying to turn himself into a man who was good for her, then making her lose her job sure wouldn’t help.

  “I don’t want to cause you trouble with your work. I really don’t. I hired a realtor yesterday. I’m planning to buy a house nearby, but that takes time. Do you want me to relocate in the meantime?”

  “You can’t do that,” she said breathlessly.

  “Relocate?”

  She shook her head. “Buy a house in Dulcet.”

  “There’s nothing for me in Oklahoma. My ranch, it never felt like home after my ex-wife—”

  “You’re divorced?” She spit the words like the sin it was.

  How little they knew about each other. He’d gotten to the point in his fame that he assumed the people around him knew his history. His divorce had made the front page of a lot of tabloids.

  He motioned to the table and chairs on the patio in front of his villa. “Let’s sit. I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

  To his relief, she accepted the invitation, eyeing his guitar as she sat.

  He settled into the seat across from her. “I’m learning to play left-handed. And I’m going to finish that album.”

  She blinked, looking stunned. “I guess I’ve been so wrapped up in myself since the crash that I didn’t really think about your hand and your music.”

  “Yeah, it sucks. But I’m grateful for this second chance, grateful to not be hurt any worse and that you’re not hurt too badly. About my divorce … Look, Skye, I wasn’t trying to hide from you the fact that I was divorced. Hell, all you would’ve needed to do was a Google search to get all the dirt on my past. I was married, for five years in my twenties, to an actress. We weren’t right for each other and we knew it, but we stayed together for the sake of our careers. Which, looking back on it, was soul crushing.”

  When he thought about all the many ways he’d contorted himself and his life for the sake of his career, it made him sick to his stomach. All those wasted years trying to be someone he wasn’t. The more he embraced his future with Skye and their baby, the less of a deadbeat, commitment-phobic wanderer he felt like. What if his failure in all his past relationships wasn’t because he wasn’t the staying kind, but because he wasn’t being true to himself? It was as though the drive to be a successful musician had poisone
d every aspect of his life.

  Then he found it, the perfect way to inch him and Skye closer to the truth that was churning between them. “At least we didn’t bring kids into that disaster of a relationship.” He paused, choosing his next words carefully. “I never thought I wanted to be a father, but that accident brought me right up against my mortality. I saw my future flash before my eyes and now I know I got it wrong before, about living fast and loose and commitment-free. That isn’t me anymore. I want be the kind of man my family and my children can count on, the staying kind.”

  Skye looked at him. Her lips parted. She wanted to tell him. He could feel it. But as quickly as that desire pulsed through her, it was replaced by fear. He reached across the table and took her hands.

  “It’s all right, baby. I’m gonna prove it to you. I’m gonna prove that you can trust me to stay. You can take that to the bank.”

  She pulled away from his touch and stood. “Stop it. Please. I can’t…” She covered her eyes and forehead with her hand, and he had the sneaking suspicion it was to hide the tears that were gathering in her eyes. “The accident brought up a lot of shit for me and I’m trying. But I can’t yet—with you, with this thing between us. I need space.”

  This thing between us. She might have meant the baby, but Gentry knew it was more. Today he finally understood that the ties that bound them went beyond having a baby together.

  “Take all the time you need. I’ll leave a light on. And my phone on too. Anything you need, anytime, you just give me a call.”

  She nodded, but he could tell that her mind was already far away. Without a word, she left back down the path. He watched the swish of her long skirt as she walked and sent up a thanks to God that only three weeks after watching her tumble over a cliff, she was upright and safe and so, so strong. And then he was alone, just him and his new guitar and a cluster of ducks in the lake.

  He grabbed his guitar, then fished the pick out of his pocket. It slipped through the gap in the fingers of his left hand. He stared at the purple plastic triangle on the concrete between his boots. Yeah, he had a lot of work to do if he was going to learn to play again. Which he most certainly was. To hold himself accountable to that goal, he found his phone in his pocket and dialed Neil’s number. It went to voicemail, as expected.