Should have kissed her. I really should have kissed her in Yellowstone. Just once.
Lucy turned to face me and lifted her chin. I was beginning to enjoy that defiant little gesture. “Anything else, Sheriff?”
“I thought we agreed to drop the formalities, Ms. Ross.”
Her lips pursed into a thin line. “I’ll escort you out.”
“No need.” I turned and strode out of the kitchen, finding my own way to the front door.
Lucy followed, staying a few feet back with her arms crossed over her chest. Her gaze wasn’t on my ass like it had been at the store this morning. “Headed home?” she asked as I opened the door.
“Not yet. I’m going to swing by my deputy’s house. Drag him down to the bar for a beer and make sure he’s all right.”
Her head tilted to the side as she studied my face. Her eyebrows came together and formed a cute little pucker.
“What?” I ran a hand over my stubbled cheeks. Was there something on my face? The scratch of my whiskers against my palm was loud after having not shaved for a couple of days.
“You’re a contradiction.”
I scoffed. “There’s not much contradictory about me, Lucy.”
She opened her mouth to say something, but then closed it. “Thanks for the pizza. And for not pushing.”
“Make no mistake, I’ll get the whole story from you,” I warned. “But tonight, I think we both deserve a break.”
She dropped her eyes to the floor, then looked up and nodded. “Good night, Duke.”
“Night.” I waved and walked to my truck.
Lucy stood on her porch, watching as I drove away.
She sure was a pretty picture, standing in her bare feet in front of that farmhouse. Her jeans were torn and the flowing white shirt she wore revealed a sliver of collarbone and cleavage. She was sexy without even trying.
Lucy Ross.
It wasn’t my style to let anyone off easy. To let someone dodge a question. Maybe the reason I’d let Lucy off easy was because it had been a miserable day.
Or maybe it was because the minute I learned Lucy Ross’s story, I’d be out of reasons to see her again.
Chapter 5
Lucy
My legs were on fire. My lungs were burning. I was a sticky, sweaty mess.
And I hadn’t felt this good in ages.
This morning, I’d woken up and the prospect of staying inside all day with the television or a book had made me nauseated. Stir-crazy didn’t begin to cover how I was feeling.
I’d cleaned the farmhouse. Twice. I’d explored the boundaries of the property and peeked inside the old barn, deciding the creepy owl gawking at me from inside could live there forever. I’d cooked every meal, taking my time to do the fancy things I hadn’t in ages, like garnishing my plate with parsley and shaving parmesan on my pasta. I’d baked until all that was left of my flour and sugar supply was white dust.
If I spent one more minute in that house, there was a chance I’d burn the place down. So I’d put on my tennis shoes and baseball hat, then jogged down my gravel road. I’d spent so many years working out on hotel treadmills or at the Nashville gym where Everly and I had shared a personal trainer, I’d forgotten how refreshing it was to run beneath the sunshine, huffing in fresh air.
The mountains towered blue in the distance, providing a captivating distraction from the strain in my muscles. Before I realized it, my feet hit the highway and I just kept running.
When First Street came into view, I contemplated going home. But the idea of seeing another face, even from a distance, was too appealing.
My God, I was lonely. Living like a hermit would be an adjustment. It had only been four days since Duke had come to the farmhouse with his pizza, but four days had stretched like an eternity.
Paranoia be damned. I was helpless against the charm of Calamity’s sidewalks.
As I slowed my run to a lazy walk, I passed a few shop owners preparing to open. They were setting out sandwich boards and flipping signs from closed to open. Every person I passed greeted me with a smile and a good morning. Just that little bit of human contact lifted my spirits.
Every smile I received, I repaid with the same. And for the first time in years, I felt seen. Not recognized. Seen.
I wasn’t the talent. I wasn’t rich. I wasn’t even pretty, not with my sweaty hair trapped under a baseball cap and a bright-red face.
I was simply a woman out for a run. I was no one. Nothing special.
The freedom was heady, so I shoved any residual fear of being recognized aside and reveled in my nothingness. I delighted with every footstep up First Street, then with those deeper into Calamity.
I wandered down random side streets, rambling on cracked sidewalks shaded beneath lush green trees. The homes in Calamity were exactly as I’d expected—simple and practical. Not one was lavish or gaudy.
They were just normal homes, organized on straight streets, with yards to mow in the summer and driveways to shovel in winter. There were no gated communities to keep people out—or in. The homes sat on the front of their lots, leaving the backyards for playtime and gardening.
It was peaceful here. Quiet. Pleasant. With every block, I fell a little bit more in love with Calamity. I could belong here, couldn’t I?
Maybe when my rental agreement was up in six months, I could buy one of these lovely homes. I’d paint the front door a wild color like tangerine orange or lime green. And Jade Morgan would be someone’s neighbor.
Except how was I going to buy a house? With cash? Lucy Ross had all the money. Jade Morgan would eventually be broke and couldn’t exactly take on a mortgage.
And could I really let go of my real identity forever? Would I still be me if I didn’t have my name?
A well of tears filled my eyes. It was a strange feeling to realize how much of your identity was wrapped up in a name, something given to you the day you were born. But I was Lucy Ross. My parents had given me that name with love, and I was the woman they’d raised me to be. Brave. Affectionate. Loyal.
Trusting.
Faults and all, at least Lucy had history. Jade Morgan had been born from a googled list of baby names. She truly was nothing. Oh, the irony. I’d worked my ass off for years to be somebody. Then I’d thrown it all away.
How many years had I chased my dreams? How much had I sacrificed for my career? How would my parents feel if they saw me now? Were they looking down at me, disappointed?
Was I disappointed in myself?
The music industry was cutthroat. There was so much more to my career than singing and touring. The contracts and the negotiations behind doors were exhausting and endless. The public scrutiny was unbearable and the negative press impossible to fight. Millions of people tried to insinuate themselves into my life just for a piece of fame and fortune.
Some more successfully than others.
I’d been sued five times by people who claimed I’d plagiarized their songs. Never mind that mine had come out years before and their claims were totally off base. It had cost time and legal resources to fight and keep my name out of the mud.
Through it all, the label had told me to smile and wave. Protect the brand. And Lucy Ross was happy. She was bubbly. She didn’t talk about real-world issues or lawsuits or how many false, tabloid trash stories her team had smothered with cold, hard cash.
I’d been battling the media on one front while fighting the label for my creative freedom on another.
A year ago, I’d posted on Instagram how it was unfair that female, black and Hispanic artists earned a fraction of what their white male counterparts did. At the time, I’d been working on a new album and I’d begged to experiment with three songs. My sound wasn’t exactly like it had been when I’d been nineteen. I wanted some flexibility to grow and try new things. My producer and the recording design team at Sunsound had balked at the idea but eventually they’d agreed to one song. One measly song. Two days after my post, one became zero.
Something about pira
cy and album length and market trends and consistency and blah, blah, blah. I’d gone back to smiling and waving.
Until everything had drowned in a river of blood.
My legs were suddenly wobbly, the dizziness in my head seeping into my limbs. My hands were shaking. I scanned the street, searching for a place to sit, and sagged when I spotted a park at the end of the block.
I sucked in a deep breath, checked the empty street for cars and headed toward a flat spot in the outfield of a baseball diamond, collapsing on the grass. Besides me, the place was empty. Later in the day, no doubt the jungle gym would be crowded with kids, but for the moment, it was me, the blue sky and the occasional sparrow streaking from tree to tree.
The hammering of my heart began to fade as I breathed. Maybe running so far and then walking for an hour had been a mistake. Maybe I was spinning myself up with questions that didn’t need to be answered today.
Or maybe this was my body’s way of telling me to stop running—figuratively.
After a string of calming breaths, the strength returned to my legs. The fog lifted from my head and my pulse stopped racing. My fingers were steady as they splayed into the spears of grass at my sides.
Tomorrow marked one week in Calamity. The unknowns could wait another week. Another month. Hell, they could wait a year.
Maybe the life I’d known was over. Maybe it wasn’t. But for now, the only thing I wanted was to let the sunshine warm my face.
More freckles would pop up on my nose if I did this every day. Jade Morgan liked her freckles. Though, so did Lucy Ross. There was no need to choose which person I wanted to be quite yet. Since Duke was the only person here who knew my identity, I had time—thanks to one hundred thousand dollars.
Why had Duke taken that money?
Of all the questions I’d asked myself this morning, that was the one I actually wanted to answer.
My crush on him was growing with each of our encounters. Fight it as I tried, the man was endearing. I’d spend the past four days thinking about his visit and what he’d told me about that car accident.
He’d probably seen something horrific. He’d probably been through hell. Yet he’d still thought to bring dinner. And his biggest concern had been for his deputy. He’d left my porch after a hellish day and instead of retreating home, he’d gone to check on a member of his team.
Duke Evans was a good man.
Except for the fact that he’d taken my goddamn bribe.
The warmth on my face disappeared as a shadow appeared. I cracked my eyes, expecting to see a cluster of clouds over the sun. Instead, a man stood above me with a baseball bat perched on his shoulder. A glove was hanging from the handle.
“Morning,” Duke said.
God, that voice. Could he sing? Because if he could carry even a mediocre tune, I wouldn’t care at all about his slightly crooked moral compass. Nope. Not. At. All.
“Morning.” I pushed myself up to a seat as he dropped to a crouch.
“Decided to venture out into public, eh?”
“How did I know you’d rub that in?”
A grin stretched across his handsome face. “Couldn’t resist.”
He’d shaved this morning. His skin was stubble-free and I dug my hands deeper into the grass so I wouldn’t be tempted to run my fingertips over that strong jawline.
“Not working today?” I asked. It was Friday, right? The days had blurred together.
“Day off. I have a standing appointment every Friday morning in the summers.”
My eyes locked on the bat. “An appointment, huh?”
He stood and held out a hand to help me to my feet.
My palm slid against his and his fingers wrapped around my hand, engulfing it in his own. His skin was warm and rough. His hand was so much bigger than mine. Was everything about Duke large?
I stifled a groan at the absurdity of that one but couldn’t get the idea of his penis out of my mind. Seriously, Jade? Lucy hadn’t thought about a man’s, well, manhood in ages.
“You okay?” Duke asked.
“Yep,” I lied, not letting my eyes drift across his jeans as he hauled me to my feet.
I hid the flush in my cheeks by keeping my face to my legs as I brushed the grass from my leggings. “Baseball, huh? I would have pegged you for a football guy.”
When Duke didn’t answer, I looked up.
Those blue eyes were glued to my ass, exactly where my hands had just been.
I fought a smile. “Duke.”
He blinked, tearing his eyes away, then cleared his throat as he looked anywhere but at me. “Baseball and football. I like them both. Uh, what are you up to today?”
“Since I don’t have appointments these days, I went for a run and decided to wander around town.” I glanced around the perimeter of the deserted park, searching for a street sign. “To be honest, I’m not exactly sure where I am.”
“First is about twelve blocks that way.” Duke pointed straight ahead.
I really had gotten turned around. I would have guessed it behind us. “You don’t work Fridays.”
“Nope. One of my deputies has his kids on Saturdays and he needs it off. Rather than stick someone else on every weekend, I just cover Saturdays myself.”
There he was, being that good guy again, making it hard for me to stay irritated that he’d taken my bribe. Maybe my standards were too high.
Even my dad hadn’t been without flaws. Dad had always left the toilet seat up. He’d driven my mother crazy by never putting away his morning coffee mug. He’d loved to bicker with Mom, though I could count on one hand the number of times I’d seen my parents truly fight. Their arguing had typically been adorable, good-natured teasing laced with humor.
Duke might be taking this money to pay for a sick parent’s medical bills. He might be planning a large charitable donation. Was I really going to let this bribe be a deal breaker?
It was on the tip of my tongue to ask why he wanted the money. I opened my mouth and . . . chickened out. “Is there a baseball game today?”
“Nah. Just batting practice.”
“Are you a coach?”
“Something like that.”
“I like baseball,” I said, falling into step beside him as we walked toward the infield. “When I was a kid, I used to sing the national anthem for our local farm team. Then my parents and I would stay for the game. We’d eat popcorn and hot dogs and ice cream.”
“How old were you?”
“When I started singing? Ten. At least, that’s when I did it for any kind of compensation. Baseball tickets included. But I sang at recitals and events long before that. My mom used to say that I started making up songs as soon as I learned how to talk.”
“How did you go from baseball fields to the Grand Ole Opry?”
“Luck.”
“Luck? I don’t buy it. I’ve heard your music. I think talent might be the better word.”
I smiled, watching my feet as we walked. I’d won nearly all of the awards possible for a country music singer, but Duke’s compliment gave me goose bumps. “Thank you.”
“Why do you say luck?”
“I caught a break. My senior year, I made a deal with my parents. I’d take a gap year between high school and college to try music. If it worked out, great. If not, I’d get my business degree so I had something to fall back on.”
They’d wanted me to stay home and live with them to save some money. I’d agreed because, besides Everly, my parents had been my best friends and I’d wanted that time with them before venturing into the world on my own.
If only we’d had that time. How differently would my life have been? I wouldn’t be in Calamity, that was for sure. The minute there’d been trouble, my parents would have collected me from Nashville and brought me home.
“I was living at home, working as a receptionist at a gym and writing music and recording demos,” I told Duke. “Everything I wrote, I put on YouTube. I didn’t go viral like Justin Bieber or Shawn Mendes, b
ut I did catch the eye of a producer. Long story short, Scott is the head of Sunsound’s A&R division—they do all the talent scouting and artistic development and album design. He found my videos and brought me into the label. It’s never too early to sign, as they say, and I did at nineteen. Then he basically put my career on the map.”
Scott Berquest had been my hero. He’d stood by my side during the worst moments of my life. He’d been in the wings, clapping and cheering during the best. He’d championed my songwriting and my singing.
Then he’d betrayed me.
Scott was as good as dead to me now.
“Do you miss it yet?” Duke asked.
“No.” I missed the urge to sing and write and wondered if my love for music would ever return. But right now, I didn’t miss that life.
Too much had happened.
Too much had changed.
“You’re quite forthcoming this morning,” Duke teased.
I laughed. “It’s the endorphins. They’ve put me in a chatty mood.” That and these were safe questions.
When we reached the chain-link barrier behind home plate, Duke set down the bat and glove, then gave me all of his attention. “I’m curious.”
“Yeah, I know.”
He chuckled. “Is Lucy Ross your real name? Or is it a stage name?”
“Why do you ask? Gonna look me up?”
“Maybe I already have.”
I shook my head. “No, you haven’t.”
“How do you know?”
Because if he’d looked me up, if he’d have made phone calls to the Nashville police department, his questions would be entirely different. “Let’s call it a hunch. Cops believe in hunches, right?”
“That we do.”
“What’s your hunch about me?”
“That Lucy Ross is your real name.”
“Ding, ding, ding.” I smiled. “You’re correct. I considered a stage name, but because I’d had some success on YouTube under my real name, the record label didn’t want me to change it.”
And after my parents had died, it had become a way to honor them. I’d taken their last name and made it known across the globe. Mom especially would have loved to see my name in lights. According to her story, she’d fought Dad through her entire pregnancy for the name Lucy. Dad had wanted to name me Rose Ross, and thank God he’d had a change of heart after seeing Mom in labor for twenty-one hours.
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