The Rancher and the Rock Star

by Lizbeth Selvig

  She scanned him thoroughly, halting deliberately several times as if he’d disappear again if she finished looking. Instead, when she reached his beautiful, familiar face, the world felt whole once more.

  “How do you do it?” he asked.

  “What’s that?”

  “Tell him exactly what he should hear without threatening him. I barely get full sentences out without pissing him off.”

  “It’s easy for me. I’m a neutral party.” She wasn’t, but she couldn’t yet put that into words. “You did the right thing, taking him, you know. But I’m glad you’re back, too.”

  “I had to come back and get my money.”

  “Ah. Well, it’s right where you left it.”

  “I’m sorry, Abby.” He moved closer. “It was disrespectful to leave it. I was an ass all the way around.”

  “No, Gray, I was the idiot. I wasn’t mad about the flowers, I—”

  “You were mad for the same reason I was. Our safe haven was gone.” Abby nodded, her eyes burning. “I didn’t plan to come back. I wanted you to stay safe from that scene happening again.” He stood directly in front of her, and his masculine spice blended with the scent of wild asters and columbine.

  “But you had to get your money.” A half-smile teased her lips.

  The instant he lowered his head, hers lifted automatically, happy surprise surging through her veins like adrenaline. The exact moment he parted his lips in invitation, her tongue knew to slip in and stroke his. Their coolness and warmth swirled like the finest wine in her mouth, and she drank, reveling in the powerful shudders diving for her stomach.

  He thrust his powerful tongue deep and then drew it out, pulling the strength from her knees as he bit gently on her lip. Their tongues tangoed again. And a third time. The exploration ended in sync and melded into a succulent kiss. Perfect. Flawless as a choreographed dance, yet unexpected as snow in summer.

  “I see you have the old picture-taker out.” He adjusted her camera strap like he was straightening a collar, trying to look like he could ignore what had just happened.

  “You’re a horrible influence. I should be fixing the screen door.”

  “No, Abby, it’s good you were playing. I’m happy you were.” He lifted her chin and cut off her protest. “I don’t know whether it’s wise to stay, or if I’m even welcome to stay, but I promised Dawson to finish out my vacation.”

  “Oh, all right,” she whispered. “I haven’t rented out your room yet.”

  A long, satisfying silence let her take him in again.

  “So are you, uh, going to develop that film anytime soon?”

  “What’s it to you?” Biting softly on her bottom lip, she just barely avoided his eyes. Her stomach ached with desire that was way-too-suddenly out of control, and liquid sluiced to the aching spot between her legs.

  “I had a short apprenticeship in a darkroom,” he said into her ear. “I’m a fair assistant.”

  A movement and a flash of reflected light from the trees caught her eye, and her reply lodged in her throat. A creepy, watched sensation sent unpleasant shivers up her spine. “Did you see that?”

  He nodded but continued to hold her tightly. “Are you expecting anyone?”

  “No, but I’m pretty sure I saw someone or something over in the trees.” She pulled back slightly in his arms, her brows creasing. “Let’s go find out.”

  “Stop.” He squeezed her shoulders gently and brought her attention back to him. She grinned when he smoothed her forehead with a finger. “You look like a little pit bull. Abby, I had to be told not to smoke around a barn; you need to be told not to go running off after potential people-in-trees.”

  “It’s probably the dog.” She nibbled his earlobe, and he groaned.

  “Probably. The better part of valor is to—”

  “Mom! Mom!! Come quick. Quiiiiick!”

  Kim’s shrill, panicked shriek sent Abby’s heart plummeting to her feet then lurching into her throat. Desire fled. Gray blanched. “Oh, God,” he cursed.

  She pulled away and dragged the Minolta from her neck, dropping it next to the flower bed. A million unspeakable images sliced through her brain, as she and Gray raced down the driveway. Only when she saw Kim standing at the barn door, beckoning wildly, did the picture of her daughter lying broken on the ground from a fall disappear. But Kim’s dusty face was streaked with rivulets of water, her breeches and T-shirt half-soaked.

  “Kim, Kim, calm down, sweetie, what’s wrong? Who’s hurt?”

  For an instant Kim froze. “Gray? Gray! You’re back!”

  “Yes, love, I’m here. But what’s going on? You scared the hair off us.”

  “Ack! It’s the hose in the tack room. I can’t shut it off.”

  Abby tamped down a hysterical urge to giggle and then she was running again, past the hay to the tack room door where she stopped so abruptly Gray banged up against her. Together they stared into a Looney Tunes cartoon.

  A black rubber hose attached to the old washing machine flailed like a demented snake, hissing water that drenched the floor, walls, ceiling and a half dozen saddles.

  “I tried to wedge it in the sink,” Kim gasped, her voice squeaky and breathless. “I was going to wash all the saddle pads, but everything went nuts as soon as I turned on the machine. I turned it off again, but the water kept coming.”

  “Oh, for crying out loud!” Abby rushed forward and grabbed the maniacal tubing, wrestling it safely into the laundry sink. “What would cause pressure like this?”

  “The pressure tank still being full,” Gray replied. “Where’s the water shut off?”

  “In the house, but I’ll go. I’ll never be able to explain where it is. Can you take this?” She transferred hold of the hose to Gray. “Kimmy, wipe the saddles before the leather gets . . .”

  A fart-like sputter emanated from the hose, and without further warning it lost all tension. Two more convulsive spurts left it quiet in Gray’s hands, its slow stream turning to a steady trickle that petered out as they watched.

  “Touch of the master,” Gray quipped and offered a smile, but Abby’s thoughts flooded with sick horror. “Thank goodness, right?” Gray peered at her

  She buried her face in her hands. “No, no, no. No way is this going to be good.”

  The cartoon theme continued when Dawson wheeled in like Wile E. Coyote chasing the Roadrunner. Abby almost heard the screech of his heels sliding to a stop.

  “What’s going on?” His chest expanded and contracted like a wheezing concertina.

  “The washing machine hose went crazy, and now there’s no water.” Kim said. “Hi. Welcome home.” Dawson gave her a sideways smile.

  Gray cranked the knob on the washer and pulled. The machine only buzzed expectantly. Incapacitated with disbelief, Abby searched her mind for a solution and drew a pitiful blank. Gray tested the laundry sink faucets. They were similarly unresponsive.

  He let out a grunt. “Yup, there seems to be a problem.”

  The colossal understatement sent fear through Abby’s body, and she clamped her lips tight against the words in her mind. Yeah, I’ll tell you what the problem is, man who can lay a hundred dollars on the table without blinking. No money—that’s the problem.

  The unkind thought pulled her up short. He’d already apologized for that, and this was not his fault. But why was she standing here like an imbecile? She handled things. She made decisions. A handsome guy showed back up and she went brain dead?

  “Good observation, Dad.”

  Abby sputtered, and the next second she was sobbing, although, mercifully, her choking did sound like hysterical giggles.

  “It’s okay, Mom. It’s okay.” Kimmy put her arms around Abby’s shoulders, and it helped. It was the way of things in their tiny family, and suddenly the two men standing around were no longer sapping the strength from
her. “It’s probably easy to fix.”

  “Are you sure you can’t explain where the pressure tank is?” Gray asked.

  “In the basement.” She sighed. “You know about wells and pressure tanks?”

  He actually looked wounded. “I grew up in rural Virginia. My dad made me learn all kinds of stuff because I might need it someday. I’m not a totally worthless geek.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.”

  “I’m not promising I can fix anything, but it won’t hurt to look.”

  “I appreciate it, I do. But I have a bad feeling. When you can use ‘no water’ and ‘well’ in the same sentence, you’re rarely talking about a problem that can be fixed with duct tape.”

  “We’ll for dang sure do our best, ’eh? C’mon Daw. Let’s go pretend we’re superheroes.”

  “Who has to pretend?” Dawson didn’t crack a smile.

  Despite the valiant turning of dials and adjusting of tubing, the Covey Superheroes were unsuccessful as well as smudged and rumpled when they were forced to give up on restoring water. Despite her heart sinking steadily deeper into panic, Abby couldn’t help but be enamored of the father/son duo working so hard for her. Deep in the recesses of her heart, she remembered what a family could be. But it was too much to dwell on.

  “I’ll call Orv at Barrett’s Well Service,” she said. “I’m sure he’ll know exactly what needs to be done.” And how big a loan I’ll have to take out from the Bank of Someone Who Doesn’t Know Me.

  The weight of Gray’s hands on her shoulders almost loosened the hold she’d grasped on her tears. Dirt stained his shoulder, and a dark, wet spot spread down his thigh. His blue eyes offered sympathy in the dim light of the musty old basement.

  “Is there a quiet spot in town or nearby, where I can take us all to dinner?” He massaged gently, imperceptibly with his fingers. “We can’t cook without water.”

  “Beefaroni.” Her voice dulled even though she intended to joke.

  “As much as I love Beefaroni,” he smiled at their memory, “I think you need a break.”

  “I don’t know. Are you sure you want to chance it?”

  “Yes, to get you away from here for a little while.”

  “We could go to the Loon Feather,” Abby said. “It’s mid-week so it should be pretty quiet. I could call Karla and ask for the booth.”

  “The booth?” Gray’s grin widened. “This is a big place, then.”

  “Huge for a town of eight hundred.”

  “Let’s do it.” He slapped his thigh and did a ridiculous jig. “C’mon kids we’re all going to the big city.”

  Dawson gaped as if his dad had grown an extra nose, and Kim’s slightly horrified stare gave a rare indication that she thought Gray had returned from his trip as the totally un-coolest-dude on Earth.

  “Welcome back,” Abby said dully. “Don’t I know how to throw a homecoming?”

  An hour later, at the Loon’s door, Abby checked Gray with a hand on his arm.

  “We should miss the dinner crowd, but I won’t be able to keep you a secret from Karla.”

  “Listen.” Sincerity laced his words. “The only reason I care is because of you and Kim.”

  A scrabbling of little bird feet, along with Lester’s rewarding wolf whistle, greeted them as they entered, and Gray, delighted, bent to the cage. “Hey, now there’s a great greeting!” He adopted his best DeNiro. “You talkin’ ta me, sweetheart?”

  Dawson rolled his eyes. “Will you quit being such a dork?”

  “This is Lester,” Abby chuckled. “And his mate, Cotton. Howdy Stranger.” She cooed at the white bird and explained the rules.

  Kim repeated the line, and Cotton stared indifferently. Gray gave a try, and Cotton merely fluffed her feathers.

  “Give it up, you losers.” Dawson stepped forward with a swagger, and Abby winked at Gray. “Howdy Stranger. Hey Cotton. Howdy Stranger.” He sounded ten years younger and paid no attention to his dad’s curious stare.

  The doleful gaze vanished from the white cockatiel’s face, and she opened and closed her beak, jumping a quarter inch forward on her perch. “Ha, Ha,” she gurgled.

  “Howdy stranger. C’mon, girl, you can say it.”

  “H, how.”

  “One of these days, buddy,” Abby nodded, feeling strangely proud. “This is the closest anyone gets to enticing her. She took a liking to Dawson right away.”

  “She thinks he’s cu-ute.” Kim stuck her tongue out, and Dawson threw an elbow at her.

  Abby’s heart swelled. The emotional warmth of a squabbling family freed her momentarily from the weight of a broken well. She glanced around the nearly-empty café and led the way across the floor. “Karla’s probably in the kitchen. We can go sit.”

  Lester accompanied them with “Colonel Bogey.” Gray turned to stare. By the time they’d reached the booth, Lester was on to “Andy Griffith.”

  “That’s one talented bird.”

  “See if you think so by the end of dinner.” Kim grimaced. “You’ll be whistling ‘Colonel Bogey’ from your padded cell.”

  Gray laughed out loud. “Funny girl.”

  Kim giggled and bumped purposely into his side. Abby sighed, wishing her daughter still thought he was dorky.

  “Abby!” As she and Gray settled into the booth, backs to the door, Karla bustled out of the kitchen all swinging pony tail and endless smile. “Kim, Dawson, how are you guys?” She reached the table and settled her gaze on Gray. “And this must be Dawson’s . . .”

  It happened. Karla’s smile froze into a distorted comedy mask, her eyes shining with a slightly crazed light of incomprehension. Abby had never seen the live reaction. If she’d imagined it would be cool, it wasn’t. Just awkward.

  “Dawson’s dad.” Gray filled the silence. “That’s me. And you must be Karla, the mastermind behind Kabbagestock. I’m Gray. Very pleased to meet you.”

  Dang, he’s so good. “Karla, breathe.” Abby poked her friend in the hip. “Yes, it’s him, so get it over with—whatever you have to do.”

  “Oh, gosh, I’m sorry.” Karla recovered and adjusted her glasses. “This is . . . this is, uh, amazing. Gray, it’s a real honor to meet you. I’m a huge fan.”

  “That means a lot, Karla. I appreciate it. And I’m sorry we’ve sprung this—me—on you with no warning. I don’t like to do that.”

  “I . . . well, I guess now the great mystery of your whereabouts has been solved.” She smiled with false calm at Abby. “You are in serious trouble.”

  “I’m always in trouble with you.” Warm affection filled her as Karla continued to search for equilibrium. “You can see why I couldn’t tell you. We really need your help to keep this a secret. At least until he leaves.”

  “You know I’ll do everything I can. But what kind of help?”

  “Keep this to yourself. And if anyone comes around looking for Gray, give me a call?”

  Karla’s giggle was high and girlish. “Unbelievable.”

  “Yeah, I know. It is.”

  “Can I ask how long you plan to stay?” Karla focused on Gray with the steadiest look she’d managed so far.

  “We’re still figuring that out.” Abby caught his quick glance in Dawson’s direction. “I’m supposed to go back to work next week.”

  Dawson’s reaction was unreadable. They hadn’t been back long enough to discuss what came next.

  “Aren’t you playing a show in St. Paul at the end of July?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “I promise you’ll be one of the first to know if they blacklist me.”

  Karla blew out a deep breath, but her wide-eyed smile wouldn’t quite disappear. “Tell you what. If you need a change of venue, we’ll put you onstage at Kabbagestock in a heartbeat. Don’t think that wouldn’t get the city council to pony up some bucks.” Her cheeks pinken
ed as she belatedly realized what she’d said and to whom. “Phew, sorry, Gray. I’ll put my waitress hat back on and be professional now, okay? I assume you came to order dinner, not have me act like a groupie.”

  Abby had to give Karla credit. She’d recovered from her fan-shock with a perfect combination of appreciation and self-deprecation.

  “Groupies are entirely different from appreciative new friends.” Gray’s schmoozy smile was appealing when it wasn’t aimed at her, Abby thought. “I’ve heard about this camp you organize every summer. If you weren’t working I’d make you sit and tell me how it works.”

  Karla’s embarrassed pink turned to pleased-and-flustered red. “Gosh! Thanks, but you don’t want to get me going, much as I’d love the chance.” She composed herself with a warm smile. “Now, tell me what I can get you to drink.”

  When she’d scurried back to the kitchen, Abby caught Gray’s eyes. “Whatever kind of fan she was before, she’s a lifelong one now, Mr. Covey. You do know how to schmooze.”

  Gray scrubbed a finger along the crease of his nose, more embarrassed than Karla had been. “Now, there’s a skill to be proud of.”

  Lester let out a brand new wolf whistle and followed it immediately with the theme for Mayberry’s finest. He halted mid-song, let fly another whistle, then started Andy’s theme anew.

  Abby peered around the bench. Dewey stood at the doorway. “Good grief, doesn’t he ever work?”

  “What’s wrong?” Gray asked.

  “Don’t look around.”

  She pushed him further into the corner of the booth and squeezed more tightly next to him, hoping Dewey wouldn’t see her before he sat down. Dawson leaned out from the table. “It’s Dewey,” he said unnecessarily. “He already knows Dad is here.”

  “Excuse me?” Abby glared at him.

  All at once some great secret stood between Dawson and speech. Abby turned to Gray. He tossed back a beatific smile and arched his brows as he fingered the sleeve of her T-shirt. “How you doin’?” he asked like a Brooklyn letch.