Читать онлайн книгу «A Cowboy For Christmas» автора Rachel Lee

A Cowboy For Christmas
Rachel Lee
A RANCHER WRAPPED IN REDWhen country music star Rory McLane returns home to recuperate, he’s sworn off women to allow himself time to heal and to protect his daughter. But his home’s new caretaker is more appealing than he’d ever imagined. Kind and thoughtful, Abby Jason makes Rory want to hum a love song once again…Abby’s divorce left her reluctant to trust another man – even one as devoted to his family as Rory. But as he and his daughter fill her heart with love, she wonders if the cowboy might just be the one Christmas miracle to change her mind.



Slowly Rory released her.
She wondered if she was imagining his reluctance in the way he let go. At last she couldn’t escape the need to step back.
He smiled at her when she dared to open her eyes, then used a forefinger to tip her chin up. “Thank you,” he said, and bent a bit to brush another kiss on her lips.
Abby sighed, wanting to grab him and draw him close, but knowing instinctively that would be the wrong thing to do. For both of them. A night of romantic play wouldn’t resolve anything for either of them. In fact, it might only complicate matters. Man, she hated being sensible right then.
“Good night.” Then he was gone.
A few minutes later she heard quiet music issuing from the living room piano. Much more peaceful than earlier. Maybe even a bit happy?
But no, she hadn’t done anything to make him happy. No point in deluding herself. Too many clouds hung over his head.
* * *
Conard County: The Next Generation
A Cowboy for
Christmas
Rachel Lee


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
RACHEL LEE was hooked on writing by the age of twelve and practiced her craft as she moved from place to place all over the United States. This New York Times bestselling author now resides in Florida and has the joy of writing full-time.
Contents
Cover (#u49ad287b-08fc-593e-add0-aed974d9907d)
Introduction (#u7e42a048-5b49-5766-a919-a97dfe4a4ee8)
Title Page (#u21d63cb1-eac1-5c8d-bb70-1b2e66817048)
About the Author (#u677f423d-87b2-5793-a101-38356f1b11f2)
Chapter One (#u20f97ec5-242b-5690-94b8-d3913ef6f3ac)
Chapter Two (#ud6a24d67-6da1-5b09-824b-85847bb4cc46)
Chapter Three (#ua2a1cd35-4dea-50e2-bbf3-9e89123450d1)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ulink_8f16c6e5-cdf4-5bba-a087-ee8cccf90846)
From the outside, the ranch house appeared ordinary. Large, from the days of big families, sided with freshly painted white clapboard, with a wide front porch. Inside, the house was anything but ordinary. It looked as if it might have come out of the pages of an interior design magazine.
With Christmas still ten weeks away, at least Abby didn’t have to deal with decorations. And by Christmas, she hoped to have better plans for her future than this.
Abby had spent more than a week cleaning the house, erasing the last detritus of the remodeling, removing dust from every nook and cranny, making sure polished wood gleamed and mirrors provided perfect reflections.
It had been a lot of work, and she was certain she’d used some muscles she hadn’t needed in a while, but at last the house was ready for its new resident.
She wasn’t.
She’d never met her employer. Being hired by someone who worked for Rory McLane had been unusual for her, but probably not for him. He was a big country music star, after all, and could probably afford people to do everything for him, maybe even dress him.
The thought made her giggle, easing a bit of her tension as she waited for her new boss to arrive. She certainly had little enough to giggle about these days.
She didn’t mind the hard work at all. In fact, she’d enjoyed it. Not many jobs provided such a sense of accomplishment that she could actually see. What she minded were the circumstances that brought her here.
And she was uneasy about Rory McLane. With all his fame and money, he was probably puffed up and demanding. Egotistical. She clenched her fists for a moment and reminded herself that it didn’t matter what he was like. She had to put up with it because the alternative was unthinkable. Her husband had run away with her former boss, leaving her jobless and then essentially homeless when he’d sold his family house. Whatever McLane was like, she had to endure it.
Behind the house was a barn that had been refurbished, too, turned into a recording studio that she had only glimpsed. A special crew had been sent in to set that up and clean it. She guessed it required an expertise no housekeeper with a dust rag and mop could provide.
All of it blew her away when she thought about it. She reached out now and touched expensive woods no one around here could afford. She had stepped into a barn that housed not only a top-of-the-line recording studio but a kitchenette and a sitting area. She wondered if McLane might spend most of his time out there.
She hoped so, because she didn’t expect to like him. She couldn’t imagine how having all that money, all that success and all that adulation could fail to go to a person’s head.
She saw dust down the driveway and realized he must be arriving. She’d heard he was flying in his own small plane, but she had no idea if he was coming alone. She half expected to see a stretch limo come up the drive, but instead there was nothing but a brand-new beige pickup truck.
One of the neighbors, maybe?
She drew closer to the front window and watched. Just one truck. And when it pulled to a halt in front of the porch, just one man climbed out.
Abby didn’t follow celebrities, but curiosity had led her to look up Rory McLane on one of the multiple computers scattered throughout the house, and there was no mistaking the man who climbed out of the driver’s seat.
Tall, lanky, wearing jeans, a blue shirt and well-worn cowboy boots. Dark hair a bit on the shaggy side. He turned and pulled out a cowboy hat that didn’t look like any of the ones in his photos. This one had seen some mileage. He clapped it on his head.
This was not what she expected from his publicity photos. Instead of looking like a star, he looked like any rancher coming home.
No entourage. No gorgeous beauties, no stream of people. Just him, looking like an ordinary resident of this county.
Then he walked easily around the truck, dropped the tailgate and pulled out a couple of heavy suitcases. She watched, her mouth growing drier as he brought them up to the porch. Then he went back to the truck and pulled out a guitar case.
Nothing, absolutely nothing, had prepared her for the impact of this man in real life. His face looked a little careworn, but he was built like a stud. Broad shoulders, narrow hips, strong chin, straight nose...and when he looked toward the window he did it with eyes as blue as the Wyoming sky.
She could have stared at him forever. Odd, because he wasn’t perfect. His attractiveness ran deeper than looks.
The guitar case hit the porch with a quiet thud, shaking her out of her preoccupation. He went back to close the tailgate, and she decided it was time to start her job. Such as opening the door for him?
Dreading the first encounter, she walked out into the large foyer and depressed the brass latch, opening the door wide just as he was climbing the porch steps again.
“Mr. McLane?” she queried, as if she didn’t know. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of her instant recognition.
He smiled faintly. “You must be Abby Jason?”
“Yes, sir.”
He paused just as he was about to lift one of the suitcases. Straightening, he put one hand on his narrow hips and studied her. She could imagine what he was seeing: corn-fed farm girl, a little too plump, plain, no makeup, work clothes. She hadn’t dressed to impress.
“Do me a favor,” he said, his voice a baritone that immediately suggested he’d be a great singer. “First names, and no sirs. I’m Rory. Nice to meet you, Abby. Are your rooms okay?”
“Very nice,” she admitted. She hadn’t expected to have her own small suite of rooms at the back of the house. Nicely furnished, too.
“Good. I’d love some coffee if that’s not too much trouble. Just let me carry my bags in. I should be able to find my room since I approved the layout.”
He said that with a kind of humor that surprised her. She managed a nod. “Coffee coming up.”
“Staff of life,” he said pleasantly. One heavy suitcase in each hand, he started past her.
She hesitated. “Should I bring the guitar inside the door?”
He paused. “Thanks. That’s my old baby.”
“Old baby?”
“My very first guitar. Nothing can replace it. Just set it in here, please.”
She grabbed the case, put it in the foyer, closed the door and headed to the most modern kitchen she’d ever seen. Everything gleamed in stainless steel, the kind of kitchen a chef would want. Abby was no trained chef, just an ordinary everyday cook, but over the last week she had come to appreciate the ease of cleaning, if not the ease of removing smudges.
She’d had to read the directions on the coffeemaker, since it did everything except dance, but she’d mastered it. A thought struck her and she ran to the foot of the stairs. “Regular coffee or espresso?” she called up.
“Regular. Just black and strong.”
The machine ground its own beans and measured out the water according to the number of cups she chose. Since she had no idea how much coffee he might want, she selected the strongest brew and hit the button for eight cups. At once the beans started to grind, the loudest sound in this house usually. Then the grinder stopped and the coffee began to drip.
Well, she thought with a rare burst of humor, at least she couldn’t screw up the coffee.
Rory returned a few minutes later. Abby stood leaning against the counter, unsure of protocol. Would he be offended if she was sitting at the table when he entered? How would she know? She’d never dealt with the rich and famous before.
He strode into the room. She at once reached for a mug, but he stopped her. “Grab a seat. I can pour for myself, believe it or not. You want some?”
“Please,” she said quietly, because any other answer might have seemed rude, and sank nervously into a seat at the kitchen table, a very nice creation of wood and a tile top with some kind of Native American pattern.
To her surprise, he brought two cups over and sat across from her.
“Quit looking so nervous,” he said. “I never bit an employee yet.”
Again she managed an uncertain smile. So far he’d been okay. She kept waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“I don’t know what my manager told you when he hired you.”
“Very little. I’m to cook and clean, I get one day off and whatever other time you choose to give me.”
He nodded. “You’ll get more than one day off. I’m not exactly incapable of looking after myself. Okay, ground rules.”
She tensed.
“I came here to be alone. Since I’m considered an artist, I get to call it my reclusive period.”
At that she felt another smile flicker over her face.
“Anyway, I really do want to be alone. I need some time away, time to work and find my voice again. I’m not looking for sympathy, just solitude. Get the creative juices going again. So don’t expect me to have a lot of guests. In fact, I plan to avoid that as much as possible, although I’ll probably get stalked by my agent and manager.”
Abby blinked. “Why would they stalk you?”
“They make money when I’m touring. This is not making them money. They’re also worried that my career might wind down if I stay away too long.”
“Oh.” She looked down. “A little mercenary?”
“In all of our interests. I’m not really criticizing, just warning you. They may show up even though I told them not to. Other than that, I’m not expecting anyone. But that doesn’t mean I want to cut you off from everyone, so if you want to have friends over, well, you’ve got your own space, okay?”
She thought that was generous of him, considering he’d just told her he wanted solitude. “Thank you.”
He nodded, took a long draft of coffee. “I’m not easy.”
At that point she stiffened, sure she was about to meet the arrogance she expected.
“I keep weird hours when I’m composing. You can’t plan meals around me. I may wander out to the studio and not be seen again for days. I realize that makes it tough on you, but if you can just make sure there’s stuff in the fridge I can heat in the microwave or oven, we’ll be fine. I might occasionally want to eat like a human being, but if so I’ll let you know in advance. As for the groceries...” He shrugged. “I’m not a picky eater. If I want something in particular, I’ll put it on a list. You got your housekeeping account, right?”
“Yes, your manager took care of that.”
“If it’s not enough, let me know. Money is one thing we won’t have to worry about around here. If something breaks, feel free to call a repairman.”
Relief was so great she felt a little bubble of unexpected laughter rise and escape her. It had been so long since she had wanted to laugh, it felt strange. “So wrap you in cotton wool?”
At that he flashed a grin. “Just pretend I’m a bear in a cage out there. Throw in some meat once in a while.”
At that she laughed outright. “I think I get it.”
“I may get a little more sociable as time passes, but right now...” He trailed off and his blue eyes stared somewhere beyond the room. “Back in Nashville, getting enough downtime is impossible. So call me the recluse of Conard County.”
His gaze focused on her again. “You must have been a tot when I left twenty years ago.”
“I think I was five or six.”
“Couldn’t wait to shake the dust of this place off my heels,” he admitted. “Look at me now. Like a pig headed back for my wallow.”
She drew a breath and dared to ask, “Why?”
He tilted his head. “Some things can wear out your soul, Abby. Mine is worn to rags. I don’t even enjoy my music anymore. That’s got to change.”
“You think being here can do that?”
“It built me. Maybe it can rebuild me.” He sighed. “Guess I’m going to find out.”
He rose and refilled his mug. “No calls. I have a private line and only three people have the house number. Any other calls, just say I’m unavailable and take a message, okay?”
“I can do that.”
“I’m sure you can.” Then he hesitated. “Guess I should give you my cell number, too, just in case. If you stumble on the stairs and break a leg, it might be a long time before you see me. Do you have a cell that works out here?”
She shook her head.
“Get one next time you’re in town. And use your free time however you want. I don’t expect you to be making busy work to fill the hours, and I don’t expect you to be at my beck and call all the time.”
Finally curiosity overwhelmed caution. “What exactly do you need a full-time housekeeper for?” A dangerous question considering she needed the job.
“For all the stuff I let slide when I’m composing. That’ll be plenty.” He winked. “You get to be my buffer against the real world. I’m hoping to be spending most of my time with my Muse. She’s a demanding mistress.”
He rinsed out his mug at the sink, and put it in the brand-new dishwasher. “This is my hermitage and I’m the monk,” he said, facing her. “Just think of it that way. And right now I’m going to go take a walk and see what the wind whispers to me.”
* * *
His booted feet crunched on the desiccated grass of late summer and early autumn. A dry breeze blew steadily. Nashville was greener and more humid, and certainly warmer right now. As he strode out across fields covered with deep, dying grass and occasional tumbleweed, with nothing to block his view in most directions until his gaze ran up against the nearby mountains, he realized just how much he had missed Conard County.
It didn’t take him long to reconnect with the youth who had felt this place was parching his soul. Well, over the years he’d found other ways to parch it. Maybe worse ways.
Long summer afternoons came back to him, when he’d been done with his chores and had hiked out to a quiet place where he could rest his back against a cottonwood and make up his songs with his battered guitar. Hours spent lying on his back looking up at occasional wisps of cloud against a painfully blue sky, listening for whatever whispered to him.
Long winters, frigid cold, when escape had been impossible unless he sat out in the barn with the horses, freezing his fingers until he couldn’t feel the guitar strings anymore.
Surprisingly, he found himself actually looking forward to the winter that was right around the corner. He doubted his manager or anyone else would try to come out here then. By Christmas, maybe they’d accept that he was determined to stay here as long as he felt he needed it.
The breeze gusted a little, and he clapped his hand to his head to keep his hat from blowing away. The same hat he’d been wearing when he left here. Like some kind of talisman. He wondered if he was becoming superstitious.
Over the years, he’d realized how important it was to have creative friends. They’d spurred him on, creating a synergy that had benefitted them all. So what the hell had convinced him he needed to be all by himself again?
He couldn’t reclaim the freshness and optimism of the kid who had left here. Too much had happened over the years. Yet deep inside he felt there was something buried that couldn’t make its way out unless he provided the utter quiet and solitude it needed to be heard. Listening for voices on the wind seemed like a good enough place to start.
Cowboy boots weren’t made for walking, even well-worn ones, and finally he decided he’d better head back. To what, he still didn’t know.
The housekeeper, Abby, had sure caught his attention. He wondered when was the last time he’d seen a woman her age without a smidgen of makeup. Not that she needed any. Cute figure, too, from what he could tell under that loose work shirt she wore. A little plumper than he was used to from a town where everyone seemed to be trying to lose another ten pounds to compensate for the camera. He liked that plumpness. A man could cuddle up to those curves. He liked her long naturally brown hair, too, so carelessly caught up in a clip on the back of her head. It looked silky, begging for a touch. And her golden eyes reminded him of amber.
What he hadn’t liked was the weariness he saw in her. A sorrow that touched her golden eyes and full lips. The way her smile and her laughter didn’t come easily. Seemed as if they both needed some time to cure themselves.
He was curious about her, but stepped down on it. He hadn’t come out here to make new friends or get tangled up in anything. No, he’d come to find his own footing and get his own head and heart sorted out.
Sometimes he felt as if he was dancing all the time to some insane piper. He needed a breather, some downtime, an escape from a pace that never really flagged. Oh, he could get some time by himself, but never enough of it. There was always something he needed to do, friends who wanted to get together...in short a full life. Too full. With one great big gaping hole in it, dug by his ex-wife Stella and her winning custody of their daughter, Regina.
He guessed he had some holes to patch, too. Being shed of Stella was a relief. He just wished the courts hadn’t sided with her when she insisted a young girl needed her mother, not her father. He hadn’t expected that, and regret still dogged him. That was killing him.
So maybe Brian, his manager, was right when he said Rory was running away. But running away had served him once before, and it might again. If it didn’t, he could head back to Nashville in a few months and pick up the rat race again.
But the hollowness had been filling him for a while, and going through the motions wasn’t the kind of life he wanted. He needed to find his music again, the music that had given him meaning and purpose. If he didn’t, then he was nothing but a sham any longer.
He paused, listening to the wind. It had a music of its own, and once it had filled him with creative impulses. But after a few minutes, he gave up. He heard nothing in its sigh, not yet. Maybe he’d lost the ears to hear.
* * *
Abby watched his return, and wondered what to do. She’d made a lasagna that morning, figuring she could heat it whenever he was ready to eat, but Rory McLane had told her he’d eat whenever he felt like it. So what was she supposed to do?
He’d basically left her free to do as she liked, but maybe he didn’t realize how difficult that might be for her. She was acutely aware that she was being paid generously, and felt as if she ought to be earning that check. Part of her job was feeding the man. A man who apparently didn’t want to be fed, at least not on any kind of routine.
Awkward, that’s what it was. Finally, deciding that she needed her supper even if he didn’t, she popped the lasagna in the oven. She was going to take a small portion for herself, then section it up into individual servings either one of them could heat easily. It was the only way she could think to handle it.
She knew she had to try this his way, but she wondered if sooner or later they were going to need to have a more detailed talk about her role. Winging it might work for him, but already she had a million questions about how to best handle things for him.
She heard him come through the front door, and managed to put a note of cheer in her voice. “I just put a lasagna in the oven. Ready in about an hour if you decide you want to eat.”
She heard his steps stop in the hallway and tensed, wondering if he’d remind her yet again that he didn’t want to be bothered with anything.
Then she heard his approach. He stopped in the kitchen doorway. Easy to see how this man had become a heartthrob for millions. Her heart accelerated of its own accord, and she felt the first stirring of long-absent desire. Not good.
“Lasagna?” he said.
“Yes.”
“Sounds good. I may...”
She heard a phone beep and he fell silent as he pulled a cell from his pocket. “Stella,” he said with distaste. “Sorry. Give me a minute.”
He walked out, leaving her alone in the kitchen again. For a guy who didn’t want to be bothered, he was being bothered rather soon. She seemed to recall from her brief research on him that Stella was his ex. She still called him? Her own ex, Porter, hadn’t spared a word for her since the divorce.
Fifteen minutes passed. She considered bringing out the salad she had prepared earlier, then decided it was too soon. Should she set places for both of them in here? Or maybe he’d want to eat alone in his fancy dining room.
Dang, there seemed to be more questions than answers with this job. He made it sound so easy, but as she was rapidly discovering a lack of guidance was anything but easy.
At long last she heard the unmistakable steps of his boots.
“Well,” he said, “your job just got more complicated.”
She whirled to look at him. “Yes?”
“That was my ex. I’ll be leaving tomorrow to go pick up my daughter. It seems she’s too much for Stella.”
Abby could barely keep herself from gaping. “Too much?”
“Running off nannies constantly. Stella’s too busy to deal with it.” Rory astonished her with a big smile. “Hot damn,” he said. “I’m getting my daughter! And not just for Christmas.”
Abby felt her heart sink and the early stirrings of panic even as she appreciated the joy reflected in his smile. And what a smile it was, nearly depriving her of breath. The guy was clearly thrilled about seeing his daughter. That should have touched her.
Instead, the gnawing worry about how to handle this inchoate job burst out of her before she knew the words were coming. “I wasn’t hired to be a babysitter.”
His smile faded a bit. “I’m not asking you to. Regina’s ten. I’m her father. Let me do my job and you do yours.” Then he turned and left. Moments later she heard him head out the back door.
She hurried back to her suite and saw him walking toward the barn.
“Idiot,” she said aloud to herself. What had possessed her to say that when the man was so clearly thrilled? What kind of selfish shrew was she becoming?
But a girl who was driving away her nannies?
All of a sudden this job seemed more complicated that she could have begun to imagine.
Chapter Two (#ulink_e87ec5b0-2e57-5733-b330-e380f8194684)
Abby didn’t see Rory again before he left the following morning. She tried to tell herself he was just being the hermit he had warned her he was going to be, but guilt rode her hard anyway. This was his house, and she’d had the nerve to let him know that she wasn’t thrilled about the arrival of his daughter.
She’d be lucky if he didn’t fire her when he got back. But the truth was, she hadn’t been hired to be a babysitter, she knew next to nothing about kids and a troubled one would be more than she could adequately handle. Maybe she should have waited to bring it up, but concern had pushed the words out of her mouth at the worst possible time.
She wanted to bang her head on something. Porter’s cheating and desertion weren’t that far in the past, and she often felt she was turning into a person she didn’t know and one she didn’t especially like. Bitterness rose often, anger even more often, and resentment was one big mountain inside her.
Maybe worst of all was feeling like an utter failure. She hadn’t been woman enough to keep a husband for two whole years. That meant there was something wrong with her. Right?
Fear, betrayal, failure—they’d become her constant companions. Now she had proved how they were twisting her by reacting to her boss’s joy about his daughter with the most selfish response she could have voiced.
Maybe this wasn’t a new version of her. Maybe this was what she had been all along without realizing it. If she’d been treating Porter the way she had treated Rory, why wouldn’t he leave her?
Everything inside her felt so miserably mixed up she couldn’t figure out up and down anymore. That certainly made her incapable of looking after a child, but she could have been more diplomatic.
Frustrated with herself, she cleaned the whole house again. There were four elaborate guest rooms upstairs, each with its own color theme, but no way to figure out which one Regina might get. Nothing she could do about that.
She peeked into the master suite, a bright sunny room decorated in blues and browns that indelibly stamped it as masculine. She dusted it thoroughly, cleaned the bathroom until it shone, changed the sheets, then left the sanctuary otherwise untouched.
She drove into town to the library to get some books to read, then found herself unable to concentrate on them. She’d done something stupid, and she wasn’t going to know the outcome until Rory returned. If she had a chance, she ought to apologize. Not for refusing to be a babysitter. She knew she wasn’t adequate for that. But for the way she had said it. For her timing.
Except the truth stared her in the face. She hadn’t been hired to care for a child, and if that had been mentioned before she accepted the position, she might have looked for something else. As if jobs grew on trees.
She groaned, being honest with herself. Working at the truck stop hadn’t been quite enough to meet her bills, and soon she would have had no place to go. This job was an unexpected godsend.
She didn’t have anything against kids. It was just that she didn’t feel adequate to taking care of one, beyond maybe cooking and cleaning. She’d never had a younger sister or brother to practice on. She’d never babysat anybody, because she’d always had a job after school. Inadequate, that was what she was, but why should that surprise her?
On the other hand, she knew perfectly well she couldn’t find another job that paid as well as this one. A generous salary with room and board included. If she could hang on for a year, she’d be able to save enough to resume her college education.
But instead of thinking of that, she’d had an utterly selfish and ugly reaction to a man’s joy. Job or no job, she needed to straighten that out as soon as he came back.
Two days later the hour of her reckoning arrived. Rory called, saying they were at the airport but were going to stop at the grocery. Did she need anything?
A polite, courteous call, utterly unnecessary. She didn’t know how to judge this man at all. “I’m fine. Just whatever you and Regina need.”
“Okay. I hope you don’t have a problem with dogs.”
“Dogs?”
“Regina brought her Great Dane with her. Thank goodness he’s a good flier is all I have to say.”
“A Great Dane?” She almost squeaked.
“Yup. I figure I need to buy all the dog food at the feed store before we come back.” Then he surprised her with a laugh. “Don’t panic, he’s a gentle giant.”
A dog and a kid. After hanging up the phone, Abby sat at the table. A huge dog and a troublesome kid. Oh, this could get interesting.
A couple of hours later, she found out. The truck pulled up and almost instantly a coltish girl with her father’s dark hair and blue eyes bounded out of the passenger side, and right after came a dog that was bigger than she was. A Harlequin Great Dane, Abby guessed, given that he was white with black spots. Beautiful.
Big.
Regina went tearing off over the open landscape, the dog racing along with her. Rory stood watching for a minute, then went to the back of the truck and began unloading.
Abby decided there’d never be a better time to apologize to him, so she hurried out. “Can I help?” she asked.
“Groceries, if you don’t mind. Apparently certain foods are necessary to the survival of ten-year-olds. As for the dog food, unless you want to heft forty-pound sacks, leave that to me. I guess I can keep them out in the barn.”
“Didn’t she bring anything for herself?”
“A duffel. The rest will be shipped.”
She reached for some of the cloth grocery bags, then said quickly, “I’m sorry for how I reacted when you told me Regina was coming. I know you must be thrilled.”
He paused as he reached for a sack of kibble. “It’s okay, Abby. You weren’t hired to be a nanny, and frankly from what I’ve been hearing, that’s not what she needs. I think those nannies got run off because Stella was ignoring her. For a kid, any attention is better than none.”
Abby, too, paused and dared to look at him. His blue eyes seemed quiet, like deep pools. “That’s sad,” she said finally.
“I agree. Anyway, she needs me.”
“Considering you came here to be a hermit, your life could get difficult.”
“Not because of her. We stopped and signed her up for school. She starts tomorrow. She also understands my work habits. If she wants, she can spend time in the studio with me.” He cocked a brow. “Unfortunately, now she’s talking about getting a horse.”
In spite of her lingering nerves, Abby laughed. “That’s a job and a half.”
“No kidding. I used to take care of them. Well, we’ll see. I expect we’ll jolt a while before we all settle in somehow.”
He looked after his daughter and the running dog. “What I said about your job changing?”
She tensed again. “Yes?”
“I meant only that now there’s somebody who has to get regular meals.” Then he flashed a grin at her. “And I don’t mean the dog. General is her job.”
“His name is General?”
“Rally for short. And no, don’t ask me to explain. It just is.”
Abby helped with the groceries, then began stowing them as Rory took the rest of the dog food out to the barn. One forty-pound bag had taken up residence on the floor of the spacious pantry, however. Along with two stainless steel bowls on a stand.
Shrugging, Abby put the stand in one corner of the kitchen with a rug under it and filled one of the bowls with water. That dog must need a good drink by now.
She heard the girl and dog burst in through the front door before Rory had finished putting the dog food away. Apparently General, or Rally, knew exactly what he needed and where it was. The clacking of claws on wood alerted her, and Abby backed away to a safe distance. Moments later, the Great Dane skidded through the door and found the water bowl. He was not a neat drinker.
Regina followed more hesitantly. “Hi,” the girl said. She looked so much like her father but with a heart-shaped face.
“Hi,” Abby answered. “I’m Abby.”
“I figured. Lots of people call me Gina, but I like Regina better.”
“Regina it is.”
A shy smile. “Rally’s a good dog. You don’t need to be afraid of him.”
“He looks as big as a horse.”
“I’m sorry he’s so messy.”
“It’s just water.”
Regina gave a little laugh. “He drools, too. Lots of big dogs do. But it’s my job to clean up after him.”
“Is he allowed on furniture?”
Regina nodded. “He likes to take up a whole couch. I hope Dad has two.”
“Dad has plenty,” Abby answered wryly, thinking of the huge living room with its equally huge furniture, including two oversized sofas and full-sized piano. White carpeting. She wondered how often she’d be spot-treating it.
Just then Rory came in the back door and joined them.
Rally drained the bowl and looked around.
“Does he need more water?” Abby asked. “I can get it.”
But Rally seemed to have another interest. He walked slowly over to Abby, who tried not to shrink. Heavens, she was almost eye-to-eye with him.
“Rally, sit,” Regina said mildly.
The dog obeyed, but Abby had to laugh because even as he sat in front of her, his tail was wagging like mad. “He does seem friendly.”
“Hold your hand palm up and let him sniff you,” Regina said. “Then you can pet him and you’ll be friends for life.”
Friends for life sounded like the best alternative with an animal so big. She glanced at Rory and found him watching with amusement.
Still unsure but determined not to show it, Abby held her hand out as directed. Rally leaned his head forward and sniffed at her hand. His breath was powerful, matching his size, she guessed.
“Now you can scratch him behind the ear,” Regina said.
Abby did so and enjoyed the way the dog suddenly grinned and wagged his tail even harder.
“Friends for life,” Rory said. “But seriously, Abby, Regina cleans up after him and feeds him.”
“Right,” Regina said. “Can I see my room now? And you said you have a big studio. Am I allowed in there?”
“Any time you want.”
The two of them headed upstairs to pick the girl’s room, but Rally remained behind. Abby stood looking back at him, wondering if he wanted more petting, more water, or just to hold her prisoner. She had no idea.
Drool started to drip from his jaw. He extended a big tongue to slurp it away. And for some reason that made him look less dangerous to her. Big, sappy dog, she thought.
She extended her hand again, and this time he leaned into it, encouraging her scratches. Okay then. Not a prisoner.
Almost laughing at herself, she moved. He backed away, watching with his head cocked. After she refilled his water bowl, he drank half of it. Apparently satisfied now, he amazed her by loping for the stairs, following Regina’s voice.
This could work, Abby thought. Well, it kind of had to. And thank goodness this was such a big house. The dog had made this huge kitchen feel small. Briefly.
Regina seemed nice enough, a great relief since she’d been expecting a hellion. Of course, that could change, but right now everything appeared to be all right.
She caught herself as she started pulling out the ingredients for dinner. She had developed a terrible habit of expecting everything to turn out badly. Everything. She didn’t even know that child, but here she was making assumptions that it would all go to hell.
“Thank you, Porter,” she muttered to her absent ex-husband as she began to slice thawed chicken breasts into small cubes for chicken Alfredo. She needed a major attitude adjustment of some kind. She just wasn’t sure how to do it.
For what seemed like ages she’d been living in a sea of pain and betrayal, and it wasn’t as if she could wash it away with a shower. Trust had been shattered, suspicion had become a way of life and apparently so had the belief that everything would go south eventually.
Not a very optimistic outlook for a twenty-six-year-old woman. She had a lot of years left, and unless she wanted to become a paranoid recluse, she needed to get over this hump.
Hump? Right now it looked bigger than the Rocky Mountains she could see out back.
* * *
For over a week, everything went well enough. Regina came home from school, grabbed a snack and either disappeared to her bedroom or out to the barn to do her schoolwork. She pretty much left Abby alone. While Regina was at school, Rally hung out with Rory, whether he was in the barn or walking the fields. Abby grew sick of cleaning the same bathrooms and bedrooms and doing the laundry and keeping up with the dust.
Dust ended up everywhere, not surprising given that autumn had dried out the area and quickened the breeze, but on so many polished surfaces, from kitchen to floors to railings, it was a nuisance to keep up with and couldn’t be ignored.
She served Rory and Regina their dinner in the dining room, and ate her own in the kitchen before she cleaned up the dishes. Usually Rory showed for dinner, and she could hear him and Regina chatting and laughing. A couple of times he didn’t return from the barn, leaving his daughter to eat alone. She didn’t seem to mind.
For the first time it struck Abby that this job could bore her to madness. She needed something to do for herself, a project or a hobby. She’d always had a job, but nothing like this one that made so few real demands on her.
Every room had a TV tucked somewhere, including her own, and a satellite dish outside provided a wide selection of viewing, but TV couldn’t occupy her for long.
She was used to being much busier. Except for cooking, this job could have been handled in two or three days a week.
Well, Rory had told her she was free to do as she liked, so she could go to town and visit friends who would probably only try to sympathize with her about Porter and Joan, or question her about the habits of her famous boss. Neither appealed to her.
Standing in the middle of the stainless-steel kitchen that desperately needed something to bring it to life, she looked out the wide window over the sink. In the distance she could see trees tossing in a freshening wind and tumbleweeds rolling like gigantic bowling balls. Toward the mountains, she saw heavy, dark clouds building.
A change in the weather would be nice. Any change would be nice. “Gah!” she said aloud.
Regina should be the one bored to death, she thought, but the girl seemed quite happy. Also willing to ignore Abby. She thought about Regina’s room, and while it was beautifully decorated, it was rather Spartan in an emotional sense. It lacked personal belongings, other than a few things she had brought with her. Was that how she had lived with her mother?
If so, she felt sorry for the girl. She wondered if she should offer to take her to town to get some decorations to make the room her own. But maybe that would be overstepping.
It was almost a relief to hear the front door open, even if it meant only that Regina would race to the pantry, grab a snack and a can of soda from the fridge and vanish again. Movement. She needed movement. Life. Activity. More than dust and bathrooms, laundry and cooking.
Regina popped in as always, with a shy, “Hi,” then headed for the fridge.
Abby broke the routine. “How was your day?”
Regina paused, can of soda in hand, and turned to look at her. The refrigerator door swung shut behind her. Then she smiled, that same heart-melting smile her father sometimes displayed.
“What’s up?” she asked Abby.
Now how was she supposed to answer that? Finally Abby grabbed what little courage she had left and spoke the truth. “I am bored with cleaning, cooking and washing. There’s not enough to do. So I asked how your day was.”
Regina tilted her head to one side, then a giggle burst out of her. “Dad said I wasn’t to bother you.”
“Oh, please bother me.”
Regina’s giggle turned into a laugh. “Okay.” She pulled out a chair at the table and sat. “My day was great. I’m making some friends, although I think might be because of who my dad is.”
The statement shocked Abby. That a girl this age should even have to wonder about such things? It wasn’t right. “Or maybe they just like you.”
“I don’t know. That’s the problem with having famous parents. You can’t be sure.”
Abby stepped closer, sympathy rising in her. After her own experience, she completely connected with what Regina was saying. Lack of trust had entered her own life, too. “I never thought of that.”
“I have to. I’ve watched people suck up to my parents because of who they were, and not all of them are nice. So you have to be careful, that’s all.”
“That’s sad.”
Regina popped the top on her soda. “It’s worse for my dad, I think. He can do stuff for people. I can’t do anything for anyone. Do you want one of my Cokes? I mean pop. That’s what everyone calls it here, I guess.”
“Thanks. I have coffee.” Abby grabbed a mug and came to sit cautiously at the table. “I didn’t mean to hold you up. I know you have homework and stuff.”
“Rally’s maybe wondering where I am, but there’s not a whole lot of homework. So you’re bored? I wondered.”
Abby tried to smile, feeling like a bit of a fool for even mentioning it to the girl. It wasn’t her problem. “Was it that obvious?”
“Well, I haven’t talked to you much, but cleaning all the time would get pretty boring for me.” She furrowed her brow. “No hobbies?”
“Not yet. I used to be busy all the time. This is new for me.”
“I guess it’s new for both of us. When I lived with Mom, she had me signed up for everything. I like being able to choose what to do with my time.” Again that head tilt. Abby wondered if she’d learned it from Rally. “That could change, I guess. Do you like to do stuff on computers?”
Abby thought about it. “You mean like go online? I was never much into that, although maybe I should poke around. I might even learn something.”
Regina giggled again. “Well, Dad’s got plenty of computers. Maybe you should look around and see if there’s something you like. You can even take classes online if you’re desperate enough.”
“Really?”
“Really.” Regina rolled her eyes. “Where have you been hiding?”
“In a marriage and a job. And with friends. Like I said, busy all the time.”
Regina grinned. “Maybe I should stop straightening up my room.”
“Don’t you dare. More cleaning is not the answer.” But Abby had to laugh. She was really liking this child.
“I can’t wait until my stuff gets here,” Regina remarked.
“Your stuff?”
“Yeah, Mom’s supposed to send all my clothes and other things. There was a limit to what I could get on Dad’s plane, especially once I said I was bringing my dog.”
“He would take up a lot of room.”
“And weight. So yeah, I only brought a few things with me.”
Abby hesitated, feeling her heart go out to the child. “Are you glad you came? Or are you homesick?”
“Oh, I’m glad. I never saw my mom anyway, and I hated those nannies. I had to be perfect all the time, and a lot of them didn’t like General. If you don’t like my dog, you don’t like me.”
An interesting perspective, Abby thought. She could appreciate it, though. “Rally’s a good dog.”
“Yup.” Regina stood up. “I need to get out to the barn before Dad looks up and notices the time. Or before Rally starts driving him nuts cuz he knows I ought to be there now. Heck, Rally probably heard the school bus even inside the barn. He’s good at that. Grab yourself one of the laptop computers. I’m sure Dad won’t mind, and they’re all hooked up to the internet.”
She grabbed a small bag of chips, said a cheery goodbye and headed out back toward the barn. Not five minutes later Abby saw girl and dog racing around outside with the sheer joy of being alive and together.
Maybe she should have been born a dog. Nothing she could do about that now, so she went to get a laptop from the front room. Looking around the web might lead her to something interesting.
An hour later, she set the table for dinner. Two places in the dining room, her solitary one in the kitchen. Spaghetti and meatballs, homemade sauce. Crusty garlic bread and a tossed salad. She wondered how many would eat.
Before she could fill serving dishes, however, she heard the back door open. A minute later, Regina entered the kitchen carrying two plates that she put on the kitchen table.
“What?” Abby asked.
“This is silly” was all the girl said. In another minute, she had three places set at the kitchen table.
“But your dad...”
“Doesn’t mind,” said the deep familiar voice of Rory. He stood in the kitchen doorway, smiling. “Do you?”
“Of course not.”
“Good, because I was starting to feel like a feudal lord in that dining room. All I need to fill it are about twenty minions. Tonight you sit. Regina and I will wait on you.”
Abby felt her cheeks heat. “That’s not...”
“It’s perfectly right,” he said. “Now sit down, Abby. Regina is looking forward to this.”
Abby looked at Regina, who was beaming. “I am. I never got to do this at Mom’s. You might have to give me instructions.”
“I can do the instructions,” Rory said. “I wasn’t always a too-big-for-my-own-hat superstar, you know. I grew up on a ranch and everyone pitched in. I even used to cook and wash dishes.”
Regina giggled. “You do dishes?”
Rory pretended to scowl at her. “I do indeed.”
“This I want to see,” his daughter answered pertly.
Deciding she really had no choice in the matter, and honestly not minding it because it was fun to watch, Abby sat at the table while Rory and Regina worked to serve the meal. Rory gave gentle instructions, but only when needed, allowing his daughter to do most of the task. Abby’s help was needed only when they didn’t know where to look for something, such as the ladle.
“Really sorry, that’s me,” muttered Rory. “I ought to know what’s in my own kitchen.”
Regina answered. “Your head’s too busy filling that hat.”
He laughed. But then Regina turned and gave him a big hug around his waist. “You’re cool, Dad. And the important thing is writing your songs. I like that new one you’re working on.” Then she went back to serving dinner.
“It’s giving me fits,” he admitted. “Long ago, before I made it, I used to have more melodies and lyrics floating around in my head than I could use. Feels like the well went dry.”
Which, thought Abby, was probably what he’d meant about this place rebuilding him. He’d lost something essential, and he wanted it back. She knew the feeling all too well, except in her case she’d finally reached the point where she didn’t want any of it back. But for him it had to be different. This was not the kind of divorce any artist wanted, she was sure. Watching him move around the kitchen, he didn’t appear troubled, but he sure appeared attractive. The background sizzle he always elicited in her had arisen again. Attracted to her boss? Not good.
Soon they were gathered in a cozy group around the kitchen table. Abby complimented the food generously and Regina said, “I’d like to learn how to make the spaghetti sauce by myself. I could have my friends over for a spaghetti party.”
That caused Rory to lift his head. “So you’re making friends?”
“Of course. It’s easy when your daddy is Rory McLane.”
Abby tensed, watching Rory’s reaction to that. Sadness seemed to flicker over his face. “Sorry, kiddo.”
Regina shrugged. “They’ll get over it soon enough. Then I’ll find out who’s for real.”
One corner of his mouth lifted. “How old are you again?”
She giggled. “Old enough. It’s okay, Dad. And actually, I like it. Here I’m meeting kids who don’t have famous parents. It’s different.”
His smile faded again. He looked as if he wanted to say something, then decided against it. Regina didn’t miss the cues, though.
“I know,” she said. “Mom was into the whole scene. Who I could hang out with, all that. I almost never got to meet ordinary kids.” She twirled her fork in her spaghetti. “How can I ever be ordinary if I’m always in a box?”
“A box?” Rory asked.
“A box. That’s how I felt.” But she didn’t seem to have any other way to describe it.
Abby listened to this, both troubled and amazed. She had never before considered what it might be like to be Regina, to have two famous parents. She wished she could ask questions, but Regina had moved on to talking about other things, like getting a horse, leaving Rory to look vaguely troubled.
* * *
After dinner, having been dismissed from dish duty, Abby followed her usual custom of disappearing into her suite at the back of the house. It was a cozy space, decorated pleasantly in warm yellows and blues, clearly designed with a woman in mind by the decorator.
She had a bedroom, a sitting area with a small kitchenette and her own bathroom with a separate shower and a walk-in whirlpool tub. Elegance beyond any she had ever known. All by itself it was a livable apartment, and from the windows in the sitting area she had a beautiful view of the mountains and the barn where Rory was working. She even had her own private entry from outside.
Nicer than any dwelling in her entire life, and even though she enjoyed it, sometimes she felt a bit like an impostor. She didn’t come from wealth and saw herself as an outsider looking in. She wondered if Rory ever felt that way.
Her parents had owned a small catalog store that had thrived for many years, but had eventually gone broke with the upsurge of internet shopping. Abby had started college a few years late as she tried to help them through the hump, but finally her dad had found a job in Colorado Springs and they had moved away. They’d sent small sums to help with her school expenses, then she’d met and eventually married Porter. When she’d had come back here as a new bride, she’d been hired by Joan to look after Joan’s dress boutique, a small business with a select and limited clientele. Everything had seemed perfect.
Until Porter announced he was leaving with Joan. She supposed, in those moments when she was able to find some gratitude, that she was lucky they’d decided to leave town. Joan sold her boutique, Porter found a job as a clerk with a big law firm in Idaho and the two had vanished...after Porter sold his family house in town.
Since his betrayal, she’d been working as a waitress at the truck stop, nursing her wounds, unable to see the possibility of ever getting herself unstuck, emotionally or physically. She’d had to rent a small apartment, all she could afford, and the community college offered no classes beyond the ones she’d already completed. She’d been looking at a bleak future until she saw the ad for this job.
Now she could sock away enough money to go to the state university. If she could hang on long enough.
She wished she hadn’t told Regina how bored she was. She ought to be feeling awfully grateful, boredom aside. Life had given her a stepping stone to a brighter future, even if she no longer knew what she wanted that future to hold.
Sitting with Regina and Rory at dinner tonight had awakened some old dreams. Or maybe they’d been illusions. Illusions of long years with Porter, of children of their own, of happy family gatherings. Of having a family again. Her parents were now so far away she could only afford to drive down to see them once in a great while, and her dad had a heart condition that prevented him from attempting the trip.
So here she sat, stuck in Conard County, with a whole bunch of unhappy memories. All of it her own fault, she supposed.
It had been sweet of Regina to include her in dinner tonight, but she couldn’t expect that to continue. She was an employee, and her employer had been frank about coming here for solitude.
Given that, though, it was kind of surprising how happy he’d been about getting his daughter. She’d have loved to know the story behind that.
She stared at the stack of library books beside her bed, but didn’t feel much like reading. She remembered the computer out in the living room, and in a moment of genuine curiosity about her rooms, she started investigating spaces she hadn’t yet really looked at.
Oh, she’d put away her clothes in the dresser and surveyed the kitchen appliances and utensils, but she hadn’t examined the desk in one corner of her sitting room. It looked like a simple writing desk with one bank of drawers up the side, but she hadn’t needed a desk yet.
Rising, she went over and began to open drawers. The top one, which appeared merely to be a decorative front and had resisted her efforts to pull it open, turned out to have a tip-down front. When she did that, it slid out and revealed yet another laptop. Regina hadn’t been kidding about them being all over the house, like the TVs.
This one was hardwired into a wall connection, but the cord was long enough that she was able to pull it out and set it on top of the desk. The drawer then closed most of the way and she pulled the secretarial chair back in front of it.
This could be cool, she thought. Maybe she’d research those online courses Regina had mentioned, in case she had enough money to take one before long. Maybe she could get a head start on going back for her degree.
Her heart leaped a little at the prospect.
She should have checked this out sooner. But ever since coming here, housekeeper or not, she had felt a little like an interloper and had tried to respect privacy. She didn’t open drawers outside the kitchen. She didn’t poke into closets. Sooner or later she supposed she’d have to or the closets would get dusty. She needed to ask Rory what her limits were.
Just as she was about to turn the laptop on, she heard a quiet knock at her door. It was so unusual that she started. Immediately she wondered if Regina needed help.
Jumping up, she went to answer it and found Rory standing there, the fingers of one hand tucked into his jeans pocket. He stood back a foot in the short hallway, as if to give her space.
“Sorry to intrude,” he said, smiling, “but I wondered if you could give me a few minutes. Out in the living room.”
“Sure,” she answered promptly, oddly relieved that he didn’t want to come in here, although she didn’t know why. Too intimate? That was silly. He owned the place.
Then she got nervous. Had she done something wrong? Was he going to fire her? Other than her one ugly, incautious remark, she couldn’t imagine that she’d done anything terrible.
Of course, not having done anything wrong didn’t mean much, as she had already learned the hard way.
“Want some coffee?” he asked as they passed the kitchen.
“No, thank you.”
“Grab a seat. I’ll be right with you.”
She perched on the edge of one of the heavy, large armchairs. Built solidly of wood with blue cushions, their massiveness helped counter the immense size of the room, as did the two huge couches and the piano in one corner. You could probably play basketball in here, she thought, trying to keep a sense of amusement. She was failing miserably.
He wasn’t long, returning with a mug of coffee. He looked around. “You know, this isn’t exactly a cozy room, is it? We could shout from opposite ends of it.”
Her tension began to ease, and a small laugh escaped her. “Good for entertaining.”
“I didn’t come here to entertain, although I suppose it could happen. This is what happens when you hand a contractor and a decorator a few ideas and cut them loose.” He shook his head. “Kitchen?”
“Please.” Maybe there she wouldn’t feel so tiny and insignificant.
They adjourned to the kitchen table and sat facing each other across it.
“This feels almost human-sized,” he remarked. He leaned back in his chair and regarded her over the top of his mug as he took a sip. She felt the attraction again, the way something about him seemed to draw her. It wasn’t just that he was good-looking, although he was, but some other aura that made her feel the stirrings of passion that she had tried to cut out of her life. No wonder Rory McLane was a superstar. Every woman probably felt the same way about him.
She dared to ask, “Did you really just cut them loose?”
“The builder and decorator? Yeah. See, that’s been part of the problem. I’ve been so busy all the time with everything I’ve had to do that I haven’t been writing any decent music of my own, or running any other part of my life. So this is where I get to. A hermitage that could double as a small hotel.” He shook his head a little. “I shouldn’t complain. I’ve been damn lucky.”
“Talented, too,” she suggested.
“Well, lately I’ve been wondering about that. But that’s not what I wanted to talk with you about.”
Anxiety returned, creeping along her nerve endings. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No!” He appeared startled. “Nothing like that. I just thought it might help you to understand some of what’s happening here. Yes, I know the ground rules I originally set out. You pretty much go your way and I go mine. But now there’s Regina, and a dog, and things got a little more complicated for everyone. The way things are going, there’s probably even going to be a horse or two, some slumber parties, some other parties....” He paused, looking momentarily overwhelmed, then continued. “So I thought you might be more comfortable if you knew some things, rather than spending your time wondering what the heck happened.”
As her anxiety eased, she was able to smile. “You make it sound like an invasion.”
“It probably will be, by the time all’s said and done.” His smile was a little crooked. “Just another way for Stella to get even.”
“Stella?”
“My ex. Regina’s mother. Do you keep up with country music?”
She shook her head, feeling inexplicably embarrassed. “No, sorry.”
“No apology needed. Suffice it to say, my ex is a big deal in her own right, only she eats it all up. The only person she saw more than me and her band during our marriage was her hairdresser and her plastic surgeon.”
Abby couldn’t help it. She clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle her laugh.
“Exactly,” he said. “I probably shouldn’t sound so critical. Me, I can age gracefully. She’s a woman, and youth and beauty are part of her trade. Sorry comment on society, but that’s the way it is. Anyway, when we split, there was a custody fight and I lost. The judge was sympathetic to the idea that a girl needed her mama more than her dad. I figured I had to wait until Regina was old enough to decide who she wanted to live with, and put up with our long separations.”
“But something happened.”
One corner of his mouth lifted. “You could say Regina happened. She created more trouble for Stella than a pack of weasels let loose in the house.”
This time Abby let the laugh escape. “She doesn’t strike me that way.”
“Me, neither. Oh, I’m not gonna claim she’s perfect. What kid is? But the constant loss of nannies finally became enough to make Stella forget how mad she was at me.” He shifted, looking down. “I often think the only reason she wanted full custody to begin with was because it was another way to get back at me. Guess I was right. So Stella gave me full custody and I have my daughter back.”
Everything inside Abby softened. “I could tell how happy that made you. I’m glad.”
“Me, too. She’s out of that plastic, over-regimented environment. Stella is all about appearances, and I was afraid she’d make Regina that way, too. Hasn’t happened yet, evidently.”
Abby decided not to address that. After all, today was the first time she’d really spent any time with Regina. She liked the girl, but she didn’t really know her yet.
“Anyway,” he said, “that brings us to the invasion. I’m sorry if it put you out.”
“It hasn’t put me out at all,” Abby said swiftly. She almost squirmed as she remembered her initial reaction and how that must have felt to him. “I’m sorry I blurted that out about not being hired for childcare.”
“Well, it’s true, you weren’t. Don’t worry about it. And I’m not asking you to step up to that plate now. That’s not why we’re talking. I just want you to know the background, because it must have felt like a whirlwind hit.”
“It was a surprise, but not that momentous. I like Regina.”
“If she bugs you too much, let me know.” He leaned forward and put his cup down. “I’m not the world’s best dad. I get lost inside my own head sometimes. Well, I’m trying to. Been a while since I had time to do that. But I’m going to ask you something.”
She waited, trying to look anywhere but right at him. She was afraid he would read her reaction to him all over her face. Appalling to realize she wanted him. A man who could have any woman in the world. A man who saw her as nothing but a housekeeper. Did she have a nose for trouble, or what?
“If she lets you know in any way that she feels I’m neglecting her because I get too absorbed in my composing, will you tell me?”
Abby nodded. “Okay, I can do that.”
“Thanks.”
She thought that would end their conversation, but instead he rose, refilled his mug and returned to the table.
“So what’s your story, Abby?” he asked, his tone surprisingly kind.
It was that kindness that got to her. It felt like a long time since anyone had expressed a truly kind interest in her. Her friends had grown angry on her behalf, and too many people had been trying to avoid looking at her, as if she made them uneasy. His frankness, the gentleness of his tone...well, they made her throat and chest tighten.
Oh, man, she didn’t want to start weeping. She tried to draw some steadying breaths, and finally managed to say, “Old familiar story. Husband runs off with another woman. Who happened to be my boss until then. Nothing unusual in that, I guess.”
“Maybe not, but that doesn’t make it any easier. I’m sorry.”
She couldn’t answer. She became fascinated by the pattern on the tabletop. Easier than looking at him and perhaps seeing pity.
He astonished her by reaching across the table and lightly covering her hand with his. “We all have some healing to do,” he said quietly. “Maybe this place will help us find some peace. Good night, Abby. Thanks for listening.”
She didn’t move until she heard him reach the top of the stairs. Then she stood and turned off the coffeepot, rinsing it out so that it would be ready for morning.
As she turned out the kitchen light and walked back to her rooms, she wondered what to make of what had just happened. The guy had reached out to her, shared some of his problems, asked about hers. Then he’d gotten up and walked away.
Had she repulsed him somehow? She wouldn’t be surprised considering the way Porter had bailed on her. Something about her had to be very wrong. She just couldn’t figure out what it was.
Much to her amazement, before she could close her suite door behind her, Rally trotted in. Still afraid to get into a disagreement with an animal so big, she readied for bed, leaving the door open, and finally climbed beneath crisp sheets and a puffy comforter.
The dog leaped up beside her and put his big head next to hers and his paw across her waist.
A hug from a dog. This might be her absolute nadir, but she didn’t care. He comforted her.
And maybe that was what she really needed.
Chapter Three (#ulink_e8a058d0-8cec-5d98-9ce3-8364fb4f557e)
The clouds that had lumbered over the mountains moved through without dropping any rain or snow, but they left a deep chill in their wake. Frost covered the ground in the early morning hours and Regina started bundling up before heading out to catch the school bus.
Rory had returned to spending his days in his barn studio, and Abby spent her free time online, looking for classes she might be able to afford that would give her transferable credits for when she returned to school.
A kind of anticipatory excitement began to fill her, and all her gloominess and boredom blew away. So many subjects interested her, and she enjoyed looking into the requirements for a number of majors, trying to decide what might suit her best. It was a step toward a future, the first real one she’d taken since Porter’s betrayal.
Her improved outlook brightened everything around her, and when she looked up from her computer to realize that Regina was already returning from school one afternoon, she was astonished at how the time had flown. She hadn’t even started dinner, and her mind immediately shifted gears as she glanced at the clock and tried to decide what she could manage quickly.
Regina had taken to popping in to say hi when she got home, spending only a few minutes in the kitchen with Abby. Today was no different. She grabbed her can of soda and a bag of pretzels and sat down at the table, indicating the laptop.
“Getting anywhere?”
“Your suggestion about looking for online classes was great.”
Regina screwed up her face. “I can hardly wait to be done with school.”
Abby felt immediate concern. “Something bad happen?”
Regina shook her head. “Just boring. I’d rather be riding a horse.”
Abby laughed. “I keep hearing that.”
“Dad isn’t listening so well.” Regina flashed a grin and shrugged. “He will eventually. Every girl should have a horse.”
“I’m sure most girls your age would agree.”
“Did you have one?”
Abby shook her head. She’d had a period of infatuation with horses, a lot of girls did, but she’d lived in town and her parents couldn’t afford it. They’d taken her out for a few trail rides at the Ironheart ranch, but that had been it. “Not possible.” Then she shifted the subject purposefully. She didn’t want Regina to try to drag her into the middle of her campaign for a horse. That was solely between her and Rory. “I need to come up with a quick dinner. I lost track of time.”
“I won’t die if we eat late,” Regina said, grabbing another pretzel. “Who knows if Dad will even surface?”
He’d been doing a good job of it most of the time. Given what Rory had said when he’d first arrived, Abby was surprised by how often he turned up for dinner. Of course, since Regina joined him in the studio most days after school, he probably found it hard to forget time.
She wondered if that was giving him any problem with his composing. She hoped not.
Regina picked up her bag of pretzels. “I’d better get out there. Rally is probably getting frantic.”
Just then, as if in answer to her thoughts, Rally’s feet could be heart clacking and padding down the hall from the back door. He zoomed into the kitchen and began to lick Regina’s cheek. She shrieked a giggle.
“Somebody was missing you, girl,” Rory called from the hall, sounding amused.
“Sorry, Dad, I was talking with Abby.”
Abby felt pleasant anticipation humming along her nerves. She always enjoyed seeing Rory, however rarely or briefly, and she was growing more impressed with how ordinary he seemed. Fame and wealth hadn’t gone to his head as far as she could tell. But more than that, he filled out jeans and a Western shirt better than any man she’d ever seen. Broad shoulders, narrow hips, just the sight of him seemed to zoom straight to her core.
But that was the only way he was ordinary. She felt almost guilty the way everything inside her seemed to leap at the sight of him. Guilty and maybe a little silly, like a fan with a crush. She’d even sneaked online to listen to a couple of his songs, to learn something about the music that was so important to him. Listening, she had wondered how she’d managed to miss this phenom for so long.
But it was her guilty secret and pleasure. She didn’t want to lose her job because she acted like a star-struck fool around him, nor did she want to cause the kinds of problems Regina had mentioned. She did wonder, however, if he felt as used as Regina had sensed. That would be awful.
She ought to know. She felt she had been used by Porter and Joan. How long must they have been carrying on behind her back? Using her for cover to prevent talk? She had no idea, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.
Bad enough that she felt branded by shame. She wasn’t going to make it worse be allowing herself to go overboard about Rory. She was just a housekeeper. She needed to remember that.
But Rory didn’t come into the kitchen. She heard music coming from the piano in the living room and perked up, listening. It was a gentle melody, almost mournful, yet achingly beautiful.
Regina fell silent, listening, too. Then she hopped up and went to the living room.
Abby didn’t feel she had the right to follow, but the melody, soon accompanied by some minor chords, held her riveted.
A weight fell on Abby’s thigh and she looked down to see that Rally had laid his head there. Not since that one night had he come into her room, but now he looked up with those sad eyes, as if asking for something.
She scratched his huge head. His tail wagged, but only a little. Was he hungry? Regina always fed him at dinnertime and it was still too early. Maybe a treat?
The melody still drifted from the living room, but the dog’s intervention broke the spell and she rose. There were treats in the pantry, and no one had told her she couldn’t give one to the dog. A soft bacon chew settled him down, then she leaned against the doorway listening to the music.
She could hear the stops and restarts as Rory seemed to be searching for something just right. She heard no voices, just the music. It would have been nice to keep on listening, but inevitably she remembered she had a job and needed to figure out a fast dinner.
Sighing, she began to hunt in the refrigerator and pantry when she would have vastly preferred to creep into the living room and just sit and listen.
Magic was being created out there, and she wished she could be part of it.
Dinner was a tossed-together affair. Rory didn’t return to his studio, but instead staked out the living room and piano. Eventually Regina popped into the kitchen to say good-night. That was Abby’s cue to head for her apartment.
But just as she was turning out the light, Rory’s voice startled her from across the foyer. “What do you think?”
She paused, her hand on the switch. “The music?”
He smiled faintly. “The almost music, yes.”
“It’s beautiful. I love it.”
“It’s mournful.” He paused. “Sometimes I guess you need to mourn. Unless you’re busy, come and sit with me. I’d like your reactions.”
Her reactions? She knew nothing about music at all. But the desire to be with him overrode every other consideration. “Coffee?” she asked.
“Yeah, I’ll probably be up most of the night. Thanks.”
So she brewed another pot and ten minutes later carried two hot mugs into the living room. He was sitting at the piano, staring into space, noodling some keys. She wondered where to put his coffee, but he pointed to a nearby end table without saying anything. Then she sat in one of those huge chairs with hers.
He continued to stare at nothing, probably more involved with what was going on inside him as he touched occasional keys as if trying them out. He seemed lost in another world, and she wondered why he needed her at all.
She rested her coffee on the end table, then closed her eyes and let her head fall back. Interrupted though the music was, often changing to random notes as if he were seeking something, she found it easy to let it carry her away. A while later he spoke.
“Abby?”
She opened her eyes without moving her head. “Yes?”
“Were you sleeping?”
“No, I was listening.” She turned her head just enough to see him, thinking how gorgeous he was. She hadn’t met many men who looked like a feast for the eyes. This one did.
“What do you think? Is it like a dirge?”
That popped her head up. “Not at all. It’s melancholy, but a beautiful melancholy. It’s kind of like...” She hesitated. “I shouldn’t say anything. I don’t know music.”
“Most of the people I play and sing for don’t know music. They know what they like is all. I’m not asking a technical question. I want to know how it makes you feel.”
She rolled her head a little more. “Play the melody part again. With the chords.”
So he did, letting the notes ripple through the room. It stopped too soon.
“So?” he asked.
“It makes me feel like I’m drifting on a warm, slow river all by myself. It’s pretty, but kind of lonely.” Making those statements seemed awfully bold, but they were as true an expression as she could find.
He nodded. “It’s not my usual,” he admitted. “But it’s my heart.”
Touched, she felt an unexpected sadness for him. So he felt lonesome, too? But then she wondered if everyone didn’t at times. As if something was lacking or missing. She gathered her courage. “It’s like looking for something you can’t quite remember.”
His smile grew. “That’s it. That’s what I was trying for.”
“Then you succeeded because I think it’s going to follow me into my dreams. It’s...haunting.”
“It’ll drive my manager and agent crazy.” He sighed and turned back to the keyboard, running through it again, his fingers delicate on the keys. A rippling current of music and magic ran through the room.
“There’s a part of me,” he said as he played, “that vanished a long time ago. That’s what I came back here to find.” As he spoke, his baritone began to echo the music. Not lyrics, not yet, but she guessed they were starting to come to him.
He stopped playing and held out an arm toward her. “Come sit over here with me,” he said. “I think we’re both a little mournful and wistful.”
Nervously, but feeling a kind of hope anyway, she rose and walked over. He drew her down on the bench beside him until their shoulders were touching.
“Lost long ago. Homesickness for something we can’t quite remember. Dreams?”
She wasn’t sure how to answer. He began playing again, and she watched his hands glide over the keys. This time he played the haunting melody more strongly, and this time he didn’t pause as missing notes seemed to spring from his fingertips. When he finished, the last notes trailed slowly away.
Then he smiled at her, causing her heart to leap. “You’re a great Muse,” he said. “And I’ve stolen your evening. Sorry.”
“You just gave me a wonderful gift. I loved it.” The words came straight from her heart. She felt blessed to have shared this with him, to have entered however briefly into his creative process and to have been one of the first to hear a truly incredible piece of music.
Much as she didn’t want to, she rose to go to her rooms. She sensed he wanted to be alone now. The haunting notes of the melody followed her all the way down the hall to her quarters. She was reluctant to leave them behind, but since she’d taken to leaving her door open a few inches since Regina’s arrival, she didn’t entirely close out the music.
Changes had begun to happen inside her, she realized. They frightened her a bit. Little by little she was exposing her heart again, to a man and his daughter.
She ought to know better after Porter. She thought she had known better, but apparently not. Somehow she had to quell her growing desire for him.
If there was one thing she was sure about, it was that there could be no future with Rory McLane, so why have a messy present?
* * *
Rory was sorry to see her go, but he knew he’d intruded on her evening. He’d never meant for her to be at his beck and call round the clock, and considered her evening hours to be sacrosanct. Yet tonight he’d intruded.
It wasn’t just the music, although that had been part of it. He occasionally liked some feedback from a naive listener, and from what she’d said, he gathered Abby didn’t know much about who he was or his music.
That was fine by him. Running back to Conard County he had hoped to escape a lot of that. Oh, he had friends in the business, people who shared all the highs and lows, the stresses, the good times and bad. But it was like a closed loop, and one day he’d realized that it had closed him in and cut off part of him.
Maybe it was ridiculous of him to want to reach back in time to a boy he’d once been. After all, life happened to everyone, changed everyone, and twenty years had happened to him, for better or worse.
But that feeling of being homesick for something you couldn’t quite remember—that was a powerful feeling. Abby had nailed that one. It had been troubling him more and more until he had decided that he needed to get away for a while.
But even here in his hidey-hole, life wasn’t what it had been when he was sharing a ranch with his parents as a kid. No, he was surrounded by luxury, living a self-indulgent life. How many people had the choice of throwing over their work for months to take a sabbatical? Not many.
He was a lucky man and he knew it. Luckier now that he had custody of Regina. Lucky that for the first time since the divorce he’d have her for both upcoming holidays.
At least Abby hadn’t seemed to mind being called upon to be his audience for a while. He wondered if the song was going to be about her, because he sensed in her many of the same discontents and sorrows he knew. Undoubtedly a different degree, undoubtedly not exactly the same, but still he felt an emotional recognition of something in her.
The little bit she’d said about her marriage made him wonder about her. Deserted by her husband for her former boss? Ugly. Wounding. He couldn’t imagine the skein of bad feelings that must have left her with. At least with Stella, he hadn’t been either surprised or especially wounded when she decided to move on. Except for Regina it would have been a clean, cheerful split.

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