Love Song [Instrumental] (Hidden Springs #1)

8. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

Kat Rodriguez closed the file she had been reviewing and rubbed the tension off her forehead. Today was definitely Monday. One of these days she would etch permanent worry lines between her eyebrows, like her mother’s. She didn’t share her mother’s worries. She wasn’t raising a child on her own. However, she did have thirty-six dysfunctional families in her active caseload and the frustrating knowledge that she wouldn’t be able to help them all. Family law was a brutal, thankless corner of her profession. She had become a guardian ad litem for the county by choice, but she would burn out if she didn’t pace herself.

She leaned back in her leather chair and, as Doc Archer had once advised over a beer, mindfully counted her blessings. She felt like an idiot, but she had to admit that it worked. Kevin Archer understood the dark side of her work like few other people, probably because he’d lived it.

Blessing number 1: Independence, in the form of her law practice. Never again would a stepfather or boss or boyfriend tell her what to do.

Blessing number 2: Prosperity, relatively speaking, after so many years of scrimping. Maybe it was wrong to enjoy nice things. Maybe she was overcompensating for growing up with nothing. It didn’t really matter. She didn’t want the Doc to explain it to her. She wanted to enjoy her leather chair and her lake view.

Her window had a great view of Main Street as it rolled downhill toward the water. The road ended at the lakefront park, and the lake stretched into the distance beyond it. A few early bulbs braved the changeable weather, but the view was still more brown than green. The starkness of the landscape, the wet browns and blacks against a pale gray sky, suited her mood perfectly. The world was a harsh, unforgiving place. Only the strong survived.

She watched the wind toy with her ‘shingle,’ which hung above the door and proclaimed “The Law Office of Katherine Rodriguez.” That little piece of wood shouted her success to the world. She thought of the children she had helped so far, the cases where she had made a difference. They were all blessings that she could count, helping to balance the relentless stream of families falling apart.

The movement of a vehicle on the otherwise quiet street caught her attention. She recognized the SUV. Adam was about to step back into her life, but not in the way that she had hoped. She sighed, swallowing her frustration. There were so few intelligent, attractive, single men in her world. Last summer, after wrapping up Danny’s case, she had promised herself that she would wait a year and then, when she was mostly clear of the ethical quagmire, reach out to Adam on a personal level. Dinner. A movie. Adult conversation.

The fantasy faded away as Adam got out of the car. She wondered briefly what he had been like as a teenager. She had grown up on a farm, light years away from the tight-knit summer crowd that gathered around the lake. She had been too busy with chores to realize what she was missing. Kat grabbed Danny’s case file and carried it with her as she stepped out of her office and into the front room. Maybe it was for the best. Maybe they weren’t destined to be together. Maybe….

Adam pulled the door open, which set the bell jangling and filled the waiting room with a gust of chilly air. She smiled, even as her heart sank. There was no help for it. The man was tall, powerful, and gorgeous, and she had a huge crush on him. She would have to lock up her feelings until this case ended, but in this moment—just for one tiny second—she allowed herself to appreciate his gorgeousness and revel in the fact that she had worn her sexiest ‘do-me’ heels today.

“Good morning, Adam.” Kat spoke slowly and calmly though her heart thumped double-time. “I was just looking over Danny’s file. Can I get you some coffee?” He nodded, all business. Clearly his heart rate had not jumped. She waved a hand toward the armchair with its back to the window. He could admire the lake view another time.

Kat took her time getting the coffee, giving her heart a chance to slow down, and giving Adam a chance to appreciate the way her tailored suit enhanced her curves, especially from the back. Maybe there would be a spark between them this time around. Most men found her attractive, but last summer Adam had been completely oblivious. She had chalked it up to his grief and tried not to be offended by his indifference. Ten months later, maybe things would be different.

Kat turned and smiled, the folder tucked under her arm and a coffee in each hand. She crossed the room and handed him a steaming mug, watching him closely to see if he was watching her closely. He wasn’t. She sighed.

Her graceful slide into the opposite armchair turned into more of a plop, complete with a splash of coffee landing on her lap, thanks to the ‘do-me’ heels. She smiled weakly and set down her mug.

“I met with Doc Archer last week,” he began abruptly .

So much for small talk.

“Did something happen at school?” she asked. Kat scooted forward in her seat and almost dumped the case file on the floor. She set that carefully on the table in front of her and gave Adam her full attention.

“No. Danny’s fine,” he answered, his face difficult to read. “But the Doc wanted to let me know about the report he had been asked to prepare for the court—for you.”

“I hope the request didn’t surprise you,” she responded cautiously. “Kevin will have a unique perspective on Danny’s progress. He sees Danny almost every day.”

Kat could read the tension in Adam’s body. Professionally, she was under no obligation to reassure him, but she would try anyway. She would do her best to keep all the players calm in this high-stakes game. If she didn’t, Danny would recognize and absorb their anxiety, and that was a step in the wrong direction.

“I see Danny every day, too,” said Adam.

“I know,” said Kat, “and I was planning to reach out to you after reviewing Kevin’s report. Your call simply made that happen sooner.”

He didn’t look reassured.

“Look,” continued Kat. “I understand how frustrating this must be for you. But think about it from the perspective of Danny’s grandparents. Their hands are tied. They watch from the sidelines, and they see no progress. They’re concerned that Danny needs more than you can give him.” She held up a hand to forestall Adam’s objection. “If your positions were reversed, you would have raised an objection long before now.”

That shut him up. She could tell he was still frustrated, but she couldn’t help feeling some frustration of her own. After working together last summer, didn’t he know her at all? Had she not earned his trust by being open and honest and fair, and—most important—by putting Danny’s well-being above everything else? His impatience and distrust rankled, and made her itch to prove him wrong.

“So what’s our next step?” demanded Adam. “What can I do to demonstrate that Danny is where he needs to be?”

Had it been anyone else, Kat would have walked Adam gently through her process, explaining each step in detail and why it was important, but she had learned last time around that Adam had no patience for detail. He wanted the facts, only the facts, and he wanted them yesterday. This didn’t bother her. She appreciated the directness of her interactions with him, and the challenge of communicating succinctly. It did make her wonder what it would be like to go on a dinner date. She suppressed a smile, imagining the rapid-fire exchange of personal details and pertinent medical information. Would he be as direct in the bedroom as well? Squelching that line of thought, she responded to his question.

“I’ll spend time with each of the major players in Danny’s life. I’ll talk with one or more psychologists to get their thoughts on his situation. I’ll review Kevin’s report and discuss it with him. There will be no hearing until I fully understand Danny’s situation, and you can rest assured that I will only recommend action that’s in Danny’s best interests.”

“And in the meantime I’m supposed to just wait?” He looked like he might explode. Kat resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Where Danny was concerned, Adam could be intense.

“Of course not. You’re supposed to continue to work with Danny. There is a simple way to solve this problem, you know, and it doesn’t involve lawyers.”

Adam gave her a skeptical look.

“I didn’t say an ‘easy’ way,” she continued. “I said ‘simple.’ If you can get Danny to start talking, and to express an opinion about his future, this problem goes away. That assumes he expresses a preference for staying with you. If he would rather live with his grandparents, well…then you’re screwed. ”

Kat adapted her style to her clients, and Adam seemed to understand her better if she spoke plainly and swore for emphasis. To be honest, it was a nice change from the rest of her Rated G life. Most families needed gentle hand-holding, or compassionate mediation. Adam, in contrast, needed a kick in the ass. He had built up some thick armor—as well as a boatload of money—during his years in the brutal world of financial deal-making. He wasn’t accustomed to taking advice from other people.

He smiled wryly, which was a long way from the spark of interest she was hoping for, but it was a start.

“If something doesn’t change soon with Danny, then I’m screwed anyway. Might as well go down fighting.”

She smiled back at him. “My thoughts exactly. Did Kevin have any useful suggestions for you?”

“That depends on how you define ‘useful.’” He shook his head. “Only one way to find out.”

Kat laughed at that. Watching this strong, capable man struggle to connect with a silent eight-year-old boy struck her as both funny and heartbreaking at the same time. Both were smart and both were stubborn. She knew better than to offer advice before Adam asked for it, but when the time came, she would give him an earful. In the meantime, he and Danny could continue to butt heads and see whose cracked first.

She needed to shift this conversation to a new topic, something unrelated to Danny. If she hoped to have a personal relationship with Adam a year from now, they would need to begin building the foundation now. The first step would be casual conversation before or after their discussions about Danny. It was too early in the day to suggest going to lunch, and a dinner invitation would be inappropriate. Damn it, the coffee had been a mistake. She should have skipped it, leaving an opening to suggest coffee at the diner next door. Now that would have to wait for another time .

As she opened her mouth to transition the conversation, he stood. She was losing him.

“I should get back to work,” he announced.

“Of course,” she replied, standing too quickly and swaying on her heels. “I wish you luck with Kevin’s suggestions.” She groped for something clever to say, something professional yet personal. “If there’s anything I can do to help, legal or…otherwise, please let me know.”

Adam stood as well, holding out a hand. She shook it. One of these days she would get past the handshake.

“Keep me posted on any new developments,” he said as he put his coat back on and moved toward the door.

“Likewise,” she said, holding the door for him. She watched him leave, ignoring the cold air and the jangling bell, thinking instead about her plan. The power of ‘the plan’ had carried her this far in life, one step at a time. Adam might not know it yet, but he was now a part of her plan.

‘Small steps,’ she reassured herself, tottering back toward her desk and the work that waited there. As she sank into her leather chair, she kicked off her shoes and smiled. Patience and planning would never let her down.

Callie sank into the comfy cushions of the wicker chair and admired the cherry sheen on her freshly painted toes. Not a bad job, considering she hadn’t painted her toenails in years. Now all she needed to do was sit still long enough for the polish to harden. It shouldn’t be difficult, if she could convince Roscoe to stay off her feet. She had her guitar at hand, a cup of tea on the table beside her, and nothing to do but stare out at the water. Her father was back at school today and her mother had retreated to the attic to paint. Callie planned to do a lot of nothing, apart from some songwriting, out here on the porch. The combination of direct sunlight and airtight storm windows made it the the coziest room in the house.

She reached for the guitar and settled it into her lap, checking the tuning as she mentally reviewed her songs-in-progress. She toyed with a few melodies, but the soothing warmth of the sun soon relaxed her into a reverie, any residual tension disappearing with the morning mist.

Callie floated in a sleepy haze as the sun climbed up the sky. Then she heard the rumble of a vehicle engine, the scrape of tires on the gravel drive. She ignored it. As far as she was concerned, she was not at home. She heard the open and shut of a car door, a few footsteps on the gravel, and then the ringtone of a cell phone, a muffled voice as the new arrival paused to take the call.

Roscoe growled. They both knew that ringtone, and that voice. Brian had come looking for her.

As her stomach sank, Callie opened her eyes and sighed, lifting the guitar off her lap and placing it back in its case. In a way, his intrusion was her own fault. She had ignored his calls and voice-mail messages, replying only with a text message to say that she had arrived safely and she would see him in a month. Something urgent must have come up, something so important that he had left Nashville to come after her. Like an owner chasing down a runaway puppy, he had come to clip on the leash and lead her back home.

But what if she didn’t want to go?

She took one last look at her cheerful toes, then rose to go deal with him. A cloud passed in front of the sun, taking with it the vestiges of her warm and fuzzy contentment. As she walked through the house toward the kitchen and the mudroom, Roscoe padding along beside her, she wished that she had taken a shower. With her hair twisted into a knot, wearing old sweats from high school, she felt defenseless, without the armor she needed to face Brian. Not that it would have helped much. He knew her too well. But still, she hated handing him the advantage.

Callie reached the back door in the mudroom and opened it, getting her first good look at Brian through the storm door as he finished up his phone call in the driveway. She could see the impatience in the lines of his body as he gestured to the unfortunate individual on the other end of the line. He must have flown to Chicago or Milwaukee and rented a car—actually, a truck—because she didn’t recognize the vehicle. Only Brian would find it necessary to rent a pickup truck. Any normal person would have thought about the expense and chosen something more modest, but with Brian it was all about image. Whipcord lean, he wore his leather jacket and distressed jeans like a model. From his cowboy hat to the tips of his boots, Brian telegraphed ‘rising star of country music.’ It was all part of the act.

Roscoe planted himself beside her, growling every time Brian spoke into the phone. His support gave her the boost of courage that she needed. She reached down to rub his head, then pushed open the storm door.

Brian glanced up, still on the phone. He didn’t smile, but Callie didn’t really expect it. Given the circumstances of her departure, she expected him to go on the offensive and find a way to make everything her fault. He finished the call, then turned his full attention to Callie. In his eyes, she had done something wrong, and he was angry. Disappointed. She could see it in the hardness of his eyes and the tight line of his mouth. He would wait for her to speak first. To apologize. This was part of the game.

Callie sighed. She knew as well as he did how this would play out. She was the water. He was the rock. It was her role to go with the flow, to bend around his immovability, to fill in the gaps and smooth the way. After ten years, she had worn down a nice, deep stream bed for herself, and now she needed to lie in it. She breathed deeply and let the cool air brace her.

“Brian,” she said. “I wasn’t expecting you.” She would play her role without groveling. “Would you like to come in?”

“No, thanks,” he answered, crossing his arms and leaning back against the truck. He wore a leather jacket, while she was barefoot. Of course he preferred to keep her out here, where she would be cold. Always looking for the advantage. She chose to stay put, holding the storm door open, rather than leave the sanctuary of the house.

She glanced down at her defiantly red toes, then met Brian’s eyes. The rage that had fueled her long drive through the night had cooled over the weekend and now froze into a kind of obstinacy. She no longer wanted to flow. She no longer wanted to bend. Brian needed something, and she found she was not inclined to give it to him—whatever it might be. In the past she might have asked him what he wanted or why he was here. Today, she simply waited.

When he realized she wasn’t going to speak, an odd expression flickered across his face. But then he gave her a half-smile, as if he were on to her tricks, and reclaimed the initiative.

“I was surprised by your abrupt departure on Thursday,” he began. “You left a lot of unfinished business behind. It’s not like you to be so…unprofessional.”

Callie swallowed the flicker of outrage, refusing to let him bait her. He knew, better than anyone else, how much she valued professionalism, how it drove her crazy when the other members of the band blew off paperwork and rehearsals because they ‘just didn’t feel like it.’ Brian was one of the worst offenders. It was a constant source of friction, and a button he was trying to push.

“You expected me to stay?” She tried to strike the right tone—offhand, casual, mildly surprised .

“I expect you to do your job.” His voice lashed out at her, completely at odds with his relaxed stance.

The images flashed through her mind before she could shut them out: Brian naked in the studio, flesh to flesh with the three new backup singers. In one of the photos he had looked directly into the camera, unashamed. The girls had alternately posed for the camera and hidden their faces like naughty little children. And really, that’s what they were. Technically adults, but so young they still thought life was a game.

So much for Brian’s promises. So much for ‘respect’ and ‘discretion.’

“And what exactly is my job?” she demanded. It sure as hell didn’t include naked rehearsals. That phase of their relationship had ended years ago.

“It’s whatever I say it is.”

The cold fury behind his words knocked the breath right out of her. Buttressed by the doorway of her childhood home, she could feel in her bones how far off course she had gone. She sensed the shadows of her nine-year-old self and her sixteen-year-old self standing behind her, both shocked that she would let her boyfriend—let anyone—talk to her this way. Why was she speaking with him at all? But neither of those former selves could understand the complex web of relationships that bound her to Brian. Her professional existence, her career in the music industry, everything about her future depended on navigating these rough waters and charting a course forward.

“You may not be able to sing right now,” he continued in a more measured tone, “but you can still carry your weight.”

She noted the masterful use of another of her favorite phrases, another button pushed. When he paused for a response, she simply raised an eyebrow and kept her mouth shut.

“You need to come back to Nashville with me today. There’s a mountain of work to be done getting ready for the tour and wrapping up the album. It’s all hands on deck, babe. No slacking.”

He sounded so reasonable, so rational, and yet—

“Besides, the new girls need a lot more rehearsal before they’ll be ready for the tour.”

Brian was still Brian. He wanted to dump all the shit work on her so he could spend more time ‘rehearsing’ the new talent. Well, he could screw them all he wanted, and he could screw himself as well.

Callie cleared her throat, feeling oddly as if she were about to experiment with cliff-diving. Had she ever refused a direct command from Brian? She felt light-headed as she opened her mouth, wondering if the word would come out.

“No.”

“You don’t think they need rehearsal?” Brian couldn’t seem to connect her response with his statements. She smiled, and her voice came out stronger this time. Hoarse, but firm.

“No, I won’t be going back to Nashville with you.”

His mouth tightened. He seemed to consider his options, and it was a moment before he responded.

“I’m disappointed, Callie. I never thought you would be the one to let us down.”

Callie’s smile widened at that. Who exactly had done the letting down?

“I’m sure you’ll recover nicely,” she replied. You always do , she added silently.

“It’s not me I’m worried about,” said Brian. Callie didn’t like the calculating look in his eyes. He wanted her to ask, and she couldn’t help herself. She caved.

“What, then?”

“If you want to breach your contract, that’s your business, of course,” he drawled, “but I’m surprised you’d walk away. After all these years playing shitty little clubs, barely scraping by, it’s finally time for the payoff. We’re opening for one of the biggest acts of the summer. Big venues. Big money. And big-time promo for the new album. Opportunities like this don’t come around twice. It seems like a strange time to quit.”

The words ‘breach your contract’ pierced Callie straight through the heart. He might use the code word ‘quitting’ but she knew a veiled threat when she heard one. Was he crazy? She was a founding member of the band. She wrote all their material. She had earned her share of the band’s success, and she damn well wasn’t going to let him run her out just when they were hitting the big time.

“I didn’t say I was quitting.” She managed to keep her voice steady.

He lifted a shoulder. “That’s what it sounds like to me.”

“When Ron and Curry needed time for rehab, did you assume they were quitting?”

Brian said nothing. Callie could feel her indignation growing.

“When Ash had to do thirty days in jail, did you assume he was quitting?”

Brian pressed his lips together.

“No, you didn’t. You told me to suck it up and pick up the slack. Remember?”

Still no answer from the self-styled King of the Band.

“Well it’s my turn now, and you all can suck it up and pick up the slack.”

She felt the thrill of defiance and wanted more. Her words, spoken in a weak, wounded voice, had power. They hung in the air, and she couldn’t un-say them, even if she wanted to.

“Your professionalism overwhelms me,” he responded.

Brian had retreated into sarcasm, and she enjoyed the unfamiliar sensation of holding the upper hand.

“As does yours.”

“So how long do you plan to hide out up here ‘healing’? ”

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes when he made air quotes around the word ‘healing.’

“At least a month.”

He nodded curtly.

“And you plan to sit on your ass for a month?”

“If that’s what it takes,” she answered.

Brian considered her answer for a moment, then pushed away from the truck, taking a few steps toward her. She held her ground. It felt good, standing firm. She also liked standing on higher ground, looking down on Brian from a few steps up. For too long she had been tip-toeing in his shadow. Roscoe inched forward, his growl growing louder. Brian stopped at the foot of the back steps.

“June first,” he said curtly.

She nodded.

“Full rehearsals for the tour start on the first. You have a month.”

He looked at her for one last moment, then turned his back, returning to the truck. He opened the door but paused before climbing in.

“If you’re not back on the first, I’ll assume you’ve decided to walk away.”

“I’m not walking away,” she said calmly.

“Right,” he said. “Just hiding.”

Before she could respond, he climbed into the truck and slammed the door. He fired it up, peeled out, and left her in a cloud of dust. Roscoe chased the truck halfway up the drive, barking all sorts of insults and threats at Brian’s retreating back.

“See you in a month, Bri,” she called after him, grinning like a fool. As tightly as her future was tied to his, it felt good to loosen the knot and run free, if only for a little while. He would reel her back in soon enough.

The package arrived two days later. Funny how ten years of professional and personal history could fit into a single box. The accompanying note was brief: ‘Sort this, then send it back. Record label attorneys need to review our past contracts, make sure all is go for launch. –B.’

Brian always had to have the final word. He had found a job she could do while ‘sitting on her ass’ and the note practically dared her to defy him again. She considered sending it back, but the thought of escalating the conflict exhausted her. Instead, she pushed the box into the hall closet. Brian would have his paperwork, sooner or later. Right now she was thinking ‘later.’