And at the moment, my gut was telling me I didn’t have much time. That before I was ready, she’d be headed to Nashville. We were on a countdown headed to zero.
The last thing I needed were people asking around about the woman holed up in Kerrigan’s latest rental property. They’d get curious. The quilting guild would show up at her front door with a pan of cinnamon buns and a slew of questions, and those ladies were hard to dodge.
But if Lucy was seen around town—specifically, if she was seen with me—the questions would take on a different tone. The gossip wouldn’t be about a single woman, but rather the woman who’d captured my attention.
“Hi, Duke.” Jane came to the table with two pint glasses, foam nearly overflowing the rims.
“Hey, Jane. How are ya?”
“Bar is packed. Can’t complain.” She turned to Lucy and stuck out a hand. “Jane Fulson.”
“Jade Morgan.” Lucy smiled, the fake name rolling off her tongue with the same ease as always.
“Nice to meet you, Jade. You’re living out in Widow Ashleigh’s place, right?”
I fought a grin at the momentary flash of surprise in Jade’s eyes. Maybe she’d thought a week was too short a time to have been noticed. She’d learn soon enough that tabloids and paparazzi had nothing on the Calamity gossip mill.
“That’s right.” Lucy nodded. “It’s a beautiful house.”
“Kerrigan sure fixed it up nice.” Jane looked at me. “You showed her your house yet?”
I grinned. Jane didn’t ask where Lucy had come from. She didn’t ask what Lucy did for a living. No, she was more curious about how serious this relationship was. Exactly as I’d hoped. “What’s your burger special tonight?”
Jane shot me a playful sneer, knowing full well I’d evaded her, then jerked her thumb over her shoulder toward the chalkboard behind the bar. “Classic cheddar with fries.”
“Still trust me?” I asked Lucy, earning a nod. “We’ll take two specials.”
Jane whipped a notepad from her apron pocket, scribbled down our order and disappeared to the kitchen without another word.
“Jane owns the bar,” I told Lucy. And she was one of the reasons I’d chosen tonight to bring Lucy down.
Jane was in her fifties, her white-blond hair always tied up in a messy twist. She had kind brown eyes and a leathery tan, and though she was thin, her stature packed a punch. When Jane Fulson aimed her pointer finger at someone and told them to get the fuck out of her bar, only idiots made her say it twice.
“She’s a little intimidating,” Lucy said.
“Comes with the job. But Jane’s a good woman. And she knows most of Calamity’s secrets.”
“Does she keep them?”
“Depends on the secret. Some she’ll leak when it’s for the greater good.”
Jane heard all there was to hear around town—expected, considering her occupation. Tending bar all day, people gravitated to her when they had a problem to vent.
“If I ever need to know the street gossip, Jane’s is my first stop. In all my years working here as a cop, she’s never once let me down. There have even been a few times when she’s called me with tips about things that she could have just let fly.”
“Is that why you brought me here?”
“It’s one reason. If Jane knows you’re with me, she won’t press for information.”
“And the other reason?”
I took a sip of my beer. “Cold beer and greasy cheeseburgers.”
Lucy giggled, then sipped her own beer, and the two of us sat in comfortable silence, taking a look around the dark bar.
I caught some eyes and gave some waves, but otherwise people—bless them for trying—did their best to not outright stare.
“This is quite the place.” Lucy’s eyes were everywhere, taking in the tall, wooden ceilings and the excess of tin and aluminum signs on the forest-green walls. The lighting was dim. Tables filled the center of the room and booths hugged the walls. The bar itself was on the far wall, the mirrored shelves jammed full with liquor bottles.
Lucy kept scanning, oblivious to—or just ignoring—the people looking her way. When her eyes landed on the taxidermic bison bust beside the stage, her expression flattened. “A buffalo. Great.”
I chuckled, shaking my head as I drank my beer.
With her inspection over, Lucy gave me her attention, leaning her forearms on the table between us. The high-backed black vinyl booth blocked our conversation from prying ears. That and the jukebox was blaring. Still, she lowered her voice. “So . . .”
“So.”
“You took off on me earlier today, Sheriff.”
“Did that on purpose.”
“Why?”
“Because I assumed you’d want to talk.”
“Don’t you think we should?” She blinked. “Casual sex is—”
“That was not casual.”
Her breath caught. “It wasn’t?”
I leaned in, holding those green eyes. “I knew you’d want to talk and probably downplay what happened between us, so I left. Gave you some time to think and freak out.”
Her expression read guilty. She’d definitely freaked.
“We aren’t casual, Lucy.”
She dropped her eyes to her glass.
It would shock the hell out of me if she wanted casual. I wasn’t going to agree so it didn’t matter, but still, my heart stuttered as her silence lingered. Lucy had to know that whatever was happening here wasn’t casual.
“Okay,” Lucy whispered, lifting her gaze.
I let out the breath I’d been holding. “Glad that’s settled.”
The corners of her mouth turned up in a shy, sexy smile. “When was the last time you dated?”
“I’ve been on some dates. Nothing serious. Last long-term relationship I had was with Travis’s mom. You?”
“No one serious since high school. If you can call a high school boyfriend serious. A year ago I dated Blake Ray for about two minutes but he’s a tool.”
“And his music sucks.”
She burst out laughing, covering her smile with her hand. “You just made my night. We were both with the same record label and everyone was always blowing smoke up his ass. But he’s consistently pitchy and can’t remember the lines to his own damn songs.”
“Who are your favorite singers?” I asked, wanting to learn everything there was to know about her. I didn’t press for any information about Nashville. We’d discuss it eventually, but tonight I only wanted her relaxed and at ease, talking about nothing.
We talked until our burgers arrived, then we ordered another beer and ate, soaking in the noise of the room and the good company.
I was finishing off her uneaten fries when the house band arrived and began to set up on stage. “They have a band every Friday and Saturday night. They’re good.”
“Mind if we stay for their first set?” she asked.
“Not at all.” We could stay as long as she wanted because when we left here, we were going to the same place—her bed.
The band started right after Kelly swung by to collect our empty plates and bring us each a glass of water. As long as I’d known the guys who played at Jane’s, they’d never given themselves an official band name. Two of the guys were Jane’s nephews, and besides the occasional wedding, they only played at their aunt’s bar. Everyone just referred to them as Jane’s band.
Despite that, they were good. They had toes tapping beneath tables and by midnight, the dance floor would be packed with people doing the two-step and jitterbug.
Lucy seemed lost in the music, a soft smile on those perfect lips. When the band announced they’d been working on something new, she whispered, “Dear Fool,” before they’d even finished the first bar.
It was one of her songs—my personal favorite. It wasn’t the most popular of her hits, but it was fast-paced and the lyrics were funny.
“I love this song,” I said.
Her eyes lit up. “You do?”
She nodded. “On a bus driving from Tallahassee to New Orleans.”
The room was into it and energized. After tonight, the guys would add it to their regular set list.
Lucy didn’t hum as the band played. She didn’t drum her fingers on the table or move her head to the beat. She just listened with a proud tilt to her chin.
She wasn’t the only proud one at our booth. My chest swelled and my eyes were locked on her, honored to be sitting across from this talented woman.
“Well?” I asked when the band wrapped up her song and took a break. “How’d they do?”
“I approve.”
“You ready to get out of here?”
Her eyes flashed and her tongue darted out to her bottom lip. “I’m all yours.”
Music to my ears.
I dropped three twenties on the table and slid from the booth, holding out a hand to help her out. Her dainty fingers curled, soft and gentle, around the callouses of mine.
Jane waved goodbye. I nodded to a table of Jane’s regulars in the middle of the room who were watching us leave. And when we stepped outside, the parking lot was dark, lit only by the bar’s lights, neon signs and the moon.
“Do you think anyone recognized me?” Lucy asked as we strode to my truck. “Those guys were staring as we left.”
“They’re just wondering who the hottest woman in the bar was tonight and how I got to her first.”
She smiled, leaning her temple into my arm. “Thank you. For tonight. I’m starting to like being Jade Morgan.”
We reached my truck and I pushed her against the cold metal, bending low so my breath whispered against the shell of her ear.
Her hands came to my sides, gripping the starched button-up shirt tucked into my jeans and belt.
“In public, you’re Jade. But behind closed doors, you’re—”
“Lucy?” she breathed.
I shook my head. “Mine.”
Chapter 9
Lucy
“I gotta go.” Duke dropped his lips to mine.
“Not yet.” I latched on to his roped triceps, holding him before he could leave, and dragged my tongue across the seam of his lips.
He growled, dropped the bag he’d been holding and framed my face in his hands, taking the kiss to the next level.
I melted into him, wishing the sun weren’t up and he didn’t have to go to work.
Duke tore his lips away and dropped his forehead to mine. “Tonight. My house. I’ll text you the address.”
I panted. “Okay.”
“And we’re going to talk.”
I held back an internal cringe and nodded.
He kissed me once more, then swiped up his backpack and walked across the porch, jogging down the steps as I watched from the doorway.
I waved as he reversed his truck out of the driveway and down the gravel road.
My lips were raw. I was sore in places I hadn’t been sore in a long time. And I was unabashedly sated. This would be the perfect Thursday morning if not for the growing pit of dread in my stomach.
“Because Duke wants to talk,” I muttered, closing the door.
And I most definitely did not.
Sex had been an excellent way to avoid conversation this past week.
That or maybe Duke sensed I needed a reprieve and wasn’t ready. He’d given me time and so many orgasms I’d lost count, but his patience had been waning over the past few days.
Maybe if I showed up at his house wearing a coat and only a coat, I could buy myself just one more day.
Probably not.
Tomorrow was his day off and the one-week mark to our relationship. We hadn’t gone to his house yet, but I suspected he was going to trap me there until he knew everything there was to know about my past and why I’d come to Calamity.
I went to the kitchen for another cup of coffee, then took my mug to the living room, curling up in the couch and looking out the front window. Sunbeams streamed through the glass. Birds chirped, welcoming the new day.
Sleep had been sparse the past week thanks to Duke, and my eyes were heavy. He’d stayed here every night since the bar. He’d go to work during the day, then come here for dinner and spend the night exhausting me into a dreamless sleep. Despite the coffee, I’d been falling asleep in this exact spot every morning, indulging in a pre-breakfast nap.
One of the hidden gems in this whole run-away-from-your-life-and-create-a-fake-identity scheme was that I had nowhere to be. My habit of being perpetually late had cured itself thanks to the circumstances.
I closed my eyes, savoring nature’s peaceful morning song, and was ready to snooze when my phone rang in the pocket of my hoodie. I jolted up, sloshing a dollop of coffee onto my lap.
“Damn.” I blotted it with my sleeve.
Duke hadn’t learned about another one of my habits, that I spilled on myself constantly. That I’d made it through a cheeseburger and fries at the bar unscathed had been a miracle—though I’d refused to go anywhere near the ketchup bottle.
I dug out my phone, not surprised to see Everly’s name on the screen. The device only had two contacts, hers and Duke’s.
“Hey.” I smiled as I answered.
“You’re not dead. Then you’d better have a good explanation for not calling me yesterday or answering my texts last night.”
Oh, shit. “Sorry. I was, um . . . preoccupied.”
Everly and I had agreed to keep contact to a minimum, at least while I was getting settled and the media storm around my disappearance was blowing over.
I’d promised to check in every Wednesday, something I’d forgotten yesterday because apparently regular naps and sex were not only a good way to avoid conversation but also to forget you hadn’t called your best friend.
“Preoccupied?” she asked. “With what? Last week you said you were bored out of your mind.”
“About that. I sort of found something”—someone—“to fill my time. Do you remember Duke?”
“The hot cop from Yellowstone? Yeah. His face is a hard one to forget. Wait. Did you leave Montana? Are you in Wyoming?”
“No, still in Montana. It turns out he’s the sheriff here in Calamity.”
“No. Way.” She laughed. “Only you. So I assume you two are hooking up? You were getting laid last night, weren’t you? That was why you didn’t answer my texts.”
I giggled. “I was most definitely getting laid.”
“Bitch. How do you go into hiding and land a hot cop the first week? You and your lucky breaks.”
Everly was teasing but that didn’t stop the twinge of guilt from hitting hard.
When it came to my career, I’d had lucky break after lucky break. Everly and I had both wanted to be singers. As little girls, we’d sung together while playing on the swings or combing our Barbies’ hair. I’d found my way to the spotlight, thanks to luck. Meanwhile, she was chasing the same dream, and luck had given her the cold shoulder. But she hadn’t let it get her down. She worked her ass off and wasn’t giving up.
Maybe if I wasn’t there to catch the breaks, they’d fall into her lap instead.
I hoped so. Everly was a talented singer. She had the pipes and the natural talent. She wasn’t into songwriting like I was, but she loved to sing, and if she found a song to take her to the top, she’d soar.
And the horrors I’d survived, the ones she’d witnessed firsthand, would keep her from making my same mistakes. From trusting the wrong people. From letting the world turn so upside down that her only choice was to run.
Run far. Run fast.
I was lucky though. I’d run straight into the arms of a good man.
“There’s more,” I said. “He, um, knows who I am.”
The line was silent. I pulled the phone away from my ear waiting for the—
“What?” she shrieked. “How could you tell him? That went completely against our plan. What were you thinking?”
“I didn’t tell him. He pulled me o
ver the day I got here.”
“Christ, Lucy. Running late?”
“Yes.” My best friend knew me well. “Duke won’t tell anyone.”
“How do you know? He could be feeding you to the tabloids for a check. Do you have an exit plan? What are you going to do if a bunch of reporters shows up in Montana?”
“No, I don’t have an exit plan. But Duke isn’t like that. He won’t tell.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” There wasn’t a sliver of doubt in my mind.
Duke wouldn’t betray me.
“He doesn’t know what happened yet,” I told her. “But I’m planning on telling him.” Tonight, unless I could barter orgasms for more time.
She blew out a deep breath. “I don’t like this. I’m not trying to be mean here, so don’t get mad at me for what I’m about to say.”
“What?” I braced.
“You’re too trusting.”
She meant Meghan. And she wasn’t wrong. I had been too trusting.
Everly had never liked my assistant. I’d chalked it up to best-friend jealousy because Meghan and I had been close, but I should have listened.
I opened my mouth to tell her that Duke was different, but no matter how much I defended him, Everly would still worry. “I’ll be careful.”
“Don’t be mad at me.”
“I’m not.” I sighed. She was only looking out for my safety. “Anything else happen lately?”
“Nothing new. I’m still getting calls from reporters and I’m just sticking to the story.” The story that we’d invented together on our living room couch—I’d moved out and Everly wasn’t sure where I’d gone. “I don’t know if people are buying it but eventually they’ll get sick of the same answer.”
“Sorry for making you deal with it.”
“I don’t mind. You’ve dealt with enough,” she said. “Scott called. Five times.”
“He can go to hell.”
She laughed. “Funny. That was exactly what I told him too.”
“Ev. You can’t do that.”
Scott wasn’t her producer, because she wasn’t with a label, only singing freelance at the moment, but he was famous in Nashville. And he could crush her career, blacklisting her at any label with a single email.
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