19. Walker
Chapter 19
Walker
M y phone rings before the sun’s even up. I groan and reach for it. I’m a night owl, and this is too early for this shit.
I stare at the screen, already knowing who it is before seeing the name.
Will Maren. My manager. And the guy knows I work nights and sleep in the mornings. If he's calling me this early, he must have a reason.
I exhale sharply, dragging a hand over my face before answering.
“This better be good, Maren.” I groan. I think I’ve only been in bed for a few hours at this point.
Will’s voice is too damn smug for this early in the morning. “Oh, it’s good, alright.”
I rub my temple, already regretting this. “Tell me you have the dog.”
“The dog’s coming through Wyoming on a tour bus this week. I don’t have an exact day or time.”
I sit up straighter. “What? What tour bus? ”
“Kelsie Turner’s bringing him. She’s another one of my artists.”
I blink, trying to catch up. “Kelsie Turner? The Kelsie Turner?”
She’s a huge country music star. Sold out stadiums huge.
Will snorts. “Relax, Walker. She’s doing a couple of shows out west and offered to take a minor detour to bring your delivery.”
I groan. “She can’t come here.”
Will is silent for a beat. “Do you want the dog or not?”
I grit my teeth. He knows damn well I do. I asked for this. And I appreciate him doing it.
“We got him,” Will says, like this was a casual favor, not a logistical nightmare, which it probably was. “You’re welcome by the way. I don’t think that guy was very nice to him, so it’s probably a good call that we got him out of there. He was a mean little shit at first, but now he’s growing on everyone. Kelsie even brought him on stage on her show last night. That dog likes music, apparently. He'll fit right in out there with you.”
I run a hand down my face. “Where’s the drop-off?”
“She’ll be passing through Bridger Falls in a couple of days. You can figure out a way to be discreet.”
I scoff. “There’s nothing discreet about Kelsie Turner in a town this small, and you know it.”
Will chuckles. “That’s your problem, Walker. Not mine.”
I exhale, rubbing the tension out of my neck. “You are a pain in my ass.”
“And yet, you called me for this favor that you’re now complaining about,” he reminds me. “Which brings me to my next point.”
I frown. “What now?”
There’s a pause. Then, in a tone too damn careful, he says?—
“Do you even know who Violet Wilson is? ”
Something in my stomach goes cold. Because, honestly, I don’t.
I sit up and ask, “Why?”
Will sighs. “She was with Royce Records. And she's a talented musician. How did you find her, anyway?”
The words hit like a punch.
My grip tightens around my phone. “What did you just say?”
“She was signed to Royce.”
I curse under my breath, pressing my fingers against my temple.
Royce Records.
My ex-wife’s label and my old label. The same label that damn near ruined me.The same label I swore I’d never be within a hundred miles of again.
“She was dropped,” Will continues. “Don’t know all the details yet, but it wasn’t pretty. Word on the street is that she left town, and no one knows where she is… well, except you, apparently.”
I stand, pacing the length of my office, my pulse thudding.“I don’t like this, Will. Fuckin’ Royce Records?”
“Yeah, well,” he says, tone dry. “You’re the one who hooked up with her.”
I grit my teeth. “That’s not what’s happening here.”
Will laughs like I’m full of shit.“Keep telling yourself that. You had me commit a crime for her. Which you still owe me for, by the way.”
I don’t respond. Because I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to say. I'm still shocked. I had no idea.
My past and whatever she is to me now have collided in a way I never saw coming.
And the worst part?
I have no idea what to do about it. But I'm in deep now.
By the time I get moving for the day, I’m still a mess.
Royce Records.
Violet Wilson was signed to Royce.
It’s not saying much. Royce Records signs so many artists. They’re running a scam. They’re known for treating their artists like garbage. Like they're a dime a dozen. False promises and using their artists.I’ve seen them do so many dirty things, it’s not even funny.
The name makes my blood run hot, a thousand old wounds threatening to open.
I should’ve seen it. Should’ve known the moment I first heard her sing and play the guitar.
But I didn’t.
And now, I don’t know what the hell to do with it.
I rub a hand down my face as I step inside?—
And freeze.
Because the house doesn’t feel empty.
There’s music playing, the warm scent of something cooking curling through the air, and laughter—Mack’s laughter—coming from the kitchen.
My chest goes tight at the warmth pulsing through me. My house feels like a home.
I round the corner and find Mack sitting at the kitchen counter, her schoolwork spread across the surface.
Maggie’s in the nook by the window, sorting through a stack of paperwork.
And Violet’s at the stove, barefoot, singing softly as she stirs a pot.
Violet Wilson, a musician, one good enough to be signed to a label, casually cooking dinner for my family in my kitchen.
I lean against the doorway, taking in the scene .
The warm glow of the overhead lights.
The sound of Mack scribbling notes and chewing on her pen like she always does.
The easy, unhurried rhythm of it all.
I don’t say anything at first.
Just watch. And damn if this doesn’t make me happy to come home to.
Mack looks up first, smirking when she sees me. “Hi, Dad. Did you know Violet can sing?”
She says it like it’s some earth-shattering revelation.
Like it’s a fact that should change the world.
If only she knew.
I shift my gaze to Violet, who pauses for half a second before recovering, shooting Mack a playful glare.
“Mack,” she warns, stirring the pot. “I told you it’s no big deal.”
Mack grins. “Yeah, it totally is.”
I cross my arms, watching her closely. “How’s your homework coming along?”
Violet doesn’t look at me and continues to focus on whatever she’s cooking like it’s the most fascinating thing in the room.
I spent the entire drive home thinking about her.
Thinking about what it means that she was with Royce Records.
Thinking about who hurt her and made her feel like she had to come here and hide her music. And then I thought about how I could find them and make them pay for hurting her.
Because I have no doubt that she was hurt.
You don’t get dropped by a record label like that without scars. And especially that record label. Something happened. And now I want to know. But if I try to find out, it opens me up to having to answer questions for her.
Maggie clears her throat, breaking the moment and waves a handful of papers in the air. “Alright, I have news.”
Mack perks up. “Good news?”
Maggie’s eyes sparkle. “I’m going to rebuild The Dogwood even better than it was before.”
Violet pauses, turning to face her fully. “You are?”
Maggie nods, spreading the papers across the table. She gestures for me to come closer, and I do, glancing at the blueprints, the notes, the sketches.
And damn if it isn’t impressive.
She’s not just rebuilding it—she’s making it a hell of a lot better. The Dogwood needed an upgrade, that's for sure. As old as it was, I'm not surprised it burned down. Everything was falling apart in that place. So much needed to be updated and brought up to code. It was a disaster waiting to happen.
“I thought about just retiring,” she admits, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Thought about taking this as a sign to slow down.”
She looks up, eyes warm and determined.“But this place is my home,” she says. “And I’m not done yet.”
I scan the plans, the layout, and the small, thoughtful details Maggie always includes in everything she does.
A wraparound porch by the office. A bigger kitchen. Twenty additional rooms. A small swimming pool.
A guest house on the property—one that wasn’t there before.
I raise an eyebrow. “You’re adding a guest house?”
Maggie shrugs, but I see the way she looks at Violet.
“I enjoy having company.”
Violet’s eyes go soft.
Mack nudges me. “You’re not gonna cry, are you, Dad?”
I shoot her a dirty look. “No. ”
But I don’t say anything else. Because the truth is—this moment does something to me.
Seeing Mack happy.
Seeing Maggie excited about something again.
Seeing Violet here, in my house, looking like she belongs. When I see her with Maggie and Mack, I know she didn’t deserve whatever happened to her before she came here.
I’m not jealous.
I’m not.
But this friendship between us? It's bullshit. I thought I could do it. I thought it would be fine until I saw her with him.
I’m just… observing . Yeah. Observing the situation across the bar where one of our regulars, Mason Carter laughs way too hard at something Violet said.
And she’s laughing too. Way too much. Like, what the hell is so funny? That guy is definitely not funny. He’s not even remotely funny.
Mason leans closer, his stupid white smile flashing in the low bar lights. His hand lands on her arm, and Violet doesn’t pull away. No. She smiles . Then they laugh again. And I'm trying not to come unglued.
My grip tightens on the glass I’m holding. I should probably stop before I smash it into oblivion, but I can’t.
“She looks like she’s having a good time,” Maggie says from across the bar. Her voice is casual, but I know better. Maggie loves stirring up trouble more than a raccoon loves a trash can.
I ignore her. I’m not taking the bait.
Next to her, Cami smirks into her wine glass. “She sure does,” she says. “Violet’s practically glowing.”
I clench my jaw. Glowing? What does that even mean? She doesn’t glow. She—okay, maybe she’s glowing a little. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes are sparkling, and—dammit—she’s flipping her hair.
This motherfucker needs to go.
“She does look happy, doesn’t she, Cami?” Maggie drawls, eyes dancing with amusement.
“Ecstatic,” Cami agrees, nodding sagely. “Maybe Mason’s her type.”
I snort. “Yeah, right.”
Maggie perks up. “Oh? And why’s that?”
I shift, wiping the same damn spot on the bar for the fiftieth time. “He’s...too polished.”
“Polished?” Cami chuckles. “Like he showers regularly? Dresses nice? Real deal-breakers there, bud.”
“He looks like he moisturizes.” I throw the rag down and grab a glass to polish instead.
Maggie’s eyebrows shoot up. “Moisturizes? Since when is that a crime?”
“Does Red go for guys like that?” I gesture toward Mason, who’s currently showing Violet something on his phone. She leans closer, and I swear my blood pressure spikes. “He probably irons his jeans.”
Cami chokes on her drink. Maggie bursts into laughter.
“Oh my God.” Maggie wipes her eyes. “Walker, you are so jealous.”
“I’m not jealous,” I clip.
“Jealous as a rooster locked outside the henhouse,” Cami adds, grinning. Then she makes a rooster noise that makes me glare at her even more.
“I’m concerned . She doesn’t know Mason like I do.”
“Right,” Maggie says, smirking. “Because you’re obviously just worried about her safety.”
“Exactly!” I point at her with the glass. “That guy’s too smooth.”
Maggie arches an eyebrow. “You sure you’re not worried he’s got a little too much charm?”
"Nope," I lie.
“Oh, sugar.” Maggie pats my hand. “Bless your heart.”
Cami's laugh turns into a snort. “You’ve been scowling for the last twenty minutes like Mason just stole your girl. Face it, man—you’re jealous. And the entire bar knows it.”
I glance around. Sure enough, half the regulars are sneaking looks my way and whispering. A couple of guys from the pool table actually give me an encouraging thumbs-up.
Fantastic.
I grit my teeth and turn back toward the bar. “It’s not jealousy. I’m just protective.”
Maggie hums into her wine glass. “Sure. Protectively jealous.”
My glare does nothing to dim her amusement.
Across the room, Mason says something else that makes Violet laugh. Then she rests her hand on his arm.
That’s it. I’m done.
I slam the glass down and march around the bar. Maggie cackles behind me, calling out in encouragement, “Go get your girl, Walker!”
I don’t stop. I’m too busy stomping across the floor toward Red, who’s now twirling a lock of hair around her finger while Mason leans even closer.
I come up behind her and rest my hand on her back. She startles and looks up at me, wide-eyed.
“Hey, Red,” I say, my voice low. “Can I steal you for a sec?”
Mason opens his mouth to protest, but I don’t give him the chance. I slide my hand into Red’s and tug her toward the back hall.
She stumbles after me. “Walker, what the hell?— ”
We reach the hallway near the storage room, and I stop, turning to face her.
She’s breathless, eyes flashing. “Why did you just drag me away from Mason?”
My voice comes out rough. “I needed to talk to you.”
“Why?”
I rub the back of my neck, searching for words that won’t make me sound like a possessive idiot.
“You looked like you were having fun,” I say eventually. "With him."
She blinks, confused. “I was. Until you turned into Captain Caveman.”
I blow out a breath. “Yeah, well...I didn’t like it.”
Her jaw drops. “You didn’t like it? What didn’t you like? Me laughing? Talking to someone who doesn’t shut me out on the important details of their life?”
“I didn’t like seeing you with him.” The truth slips out before I can stop it. "And you're one to talk. You keep things from me, too."
The hallway goes dead silent. Red’s mouth opens, but no sound comes out. She's got me. I just admitted to keeping things from her and here we are. A fork in the road.
Finally, she asks, “Are you...jealous?”
I lean a hand against the wall beside her head. “What if I am?”
Her breath catches. Her eyes drop to my mouth, then snap back up. “Then maybe...you should do something about it.”
Heat licks through me. My pulse pounds in my ears.
I don’t give myself time to overthink it. I close the gap and kiss her. Not like last time. This time I take my time. I savor her.
She lets out a soft moan, but she doesn’t hold back, either. Her hands fist in my shirt, and she grips me like she’s afraid I’ll pull away and she needs me right now .
And I need her.
I take her deeper, tilting my head, pressing in, tasting her. She’s sweet like honey and vanilla, warm, and when she sighs a contented sigh against my mouth, I groan, dragging my hands up her body, framing her face like she’s my prize I’ve just won.
She meets me right there in the moment, pressing up onto her toes, her lips parting even more for me as I take my time exploring, my tongue sweeping slowly against hers, teasing her, and tasting her.
Her body melts into mine, and hell if that doesn’t make me grip her even tighter, my chest burning with a need I can’t even begin to describe.
I stroke my thumb along her cheek and feel the way her body trembles beneath mine.
She’s breathing hard, lips swollen, and when she pulls back, and looks at me with those green eyes, I nearly come undone.
Because this wasn’t just a kiss. It was the kiss.
Somewhere in the distance, I hear Maggie yell from across the bar, “Called it!”
Red rests her forehead against mine.
“Your fan club’s proud of you,” she whispers.
I grin and kiss her again. “Yeah. But that was great. Even if we did have an audience.”