Chapter Two
E va shaded her eyes, tilting her head back so she could take in the full width and height of the old Clarke grain elevator. Her laser measure told her it was one hundred and twenty feet high by forty-two feet wide, but it seemed much larger. Its timber boards were silvered with age, some still boasting the faded, peeling remnants of barn-red paint.
She’d have to sandblast the whole south-facing wall before she could even think about painting, and prep it with a suitable sealer and primer to ensure the longevity of her work. Any rotten boards would have to be pulled out and replaced.
But what a canvas it would make, truly heroic in scale.
She could feel the thud-thud of her heart within her ribcage as she absorbed the potential of the site. So many possibilities, and no matter what the subject, the finished work would be imposing.
Maybe even inspiring.
The late afternoon sun beat down on her as she walked back to the van to grab her digital camera and tripod. The one advantage of having driven Big Bertha all the way from LA was that she hadn’t been forced to be stingy with her gear, which would have been the case if she’d flown. Setting up the tripod, she took a series of shots of the elevator, trying to capture a sense of the structure in its environment. Later, she’d download the images and use them to finalize her pitch for tomorrow’s meeting.
Her stomach did a nervous loop-the-loop as she thought about how important the next twenty-four hours would be for her career. Her whole life, really. If she could convince the Marietta Chamber of Commerce to take a chance on her, she was off and running. If she couldn’t… She didn’t want to think about the hard choices she’d have to make if she couldn’t get someone to believe in her.
She needed to make this work. Needed to bring her A game and put her best foot forward.
And yet annoyingly—distractingly—an image kept insinuating itself into her thoughts as she worked: Casey Carmody stepping out of the shadow of the barn and walking toward her, his lean, hard body showcased to perfection by worn jeans and a plain black T-shirt.
It had been more than two hours since that moment in the Carmodys’ yard, but every time she thought about it, Eva experienced an echo of the visceral jolt she’d felt when she’d looked into his eyes for the first time.
She lived in LA, surrounded by some of the most beautiful, manicured, sculpted people in the world, but she was pretty sure she’d never seen a man as beautiful as Casey Carmody. Not in the flesh.
And yes, beautiful was the right word, even though there was nothing remotely feminine about his features. He had the same true green eyes as his sister, the same dark hair, but his jaw was clean cut, his cheekbones chiseled.
And then there was his body—broad shoulders, flat belly, lean, muscular legs. Pretty much every woman’s fantasy cowboy, really.
Eva had had trouble focusing on what Sierra was saying, she’d been so caught off guard. And now here she was, thinking about Casey Carmody when she should be concentrating on her work.
You don’t have time for this kind of crap, King .
She so didn’t. Not to mention she was still licking her wounds over her breakup with Dane. She honestly hadn’t had a sexual thought or urge in months—until Sierra’s brother had walked out of the shadows and she’d had a whole, messy bunch of them all at once.
Crazy, and stupid, and more than a little inappropriate. And it was going to stop now , because she needed to concentrate.
Shaking her head, she removed the camera from the tripod and took a number of atmospheric landscape shots, focusing particularly on including majestic Copper Mountain with its snow-capped peak. It was so much a part of the landscape, it would be criminal not to include it in her pitch document. Then she drove into town and tried to capture the essence of Marietta within the frame of her camera. She shot the stately courthouse, with its curved dome, along with the Main Street Diner, inside and outside. She shot the grand library, and the well-tended park, and the neat, charming storefronts on Main Street. She felt like she’d hit the mother lode when she stumbled on the deserted fairgrounds on the other side of the river, home to the town’s annual rodeo, using up a large portion of her memory card on a bronze statue of a horse and rider she found there, and the empty concrete bleachers and shuttered concession stands.
She made a final stop at the supermarket to pick up some bits and pieces for dinner, then made her way back out to the Carmody ranch.
There was no sign of any of the Carmodys as she parked and gathered her things. Eva shot a glance toward the low, ranch-style house with its wraparound porch, noting the row of roses that grew along the front and the huge yellow pine that shadowed the rear corner of the yard. Sierra said she lived her with her two brothers. She hadn’t mentioned any wives or partners. So did that mean Casey was single?
None of your freaking business, idiot .
Annoyed with herself, she hefted her shopping bags and started across the yard. She was here in Marietta for one purpose, and one purpose only. End of story.
*
“Sorry I’m late, got held up,” Casey said as he swung through the door of his friend’s garage.
He’d heard the rest of the guys jamming as he drove up, and they kept playing as he unpacked his Gretsch acoustic guitar, Danny throwing him a smile to let him know they got it.
All four members of The Whiskey Shots had full-time jobs they had to put ahead of their music, and they’d all been late to practice one time or another.
“All right, let’s get this show on the road,” Wyatt said, his fingers stilling on his Yamaha keyboard as Casey settled his guitar strap over his shoulder. “You got any updates on ‘Been Too Long,’ Carmody?”
Casey pulled copies of his latest effort from his back pocket and handed them out to Danny, Wyatt, and Rory, watching their faces as they quickly scanned the pages.
“Hey, I like what you did with the bridge,” Rory said.
“Yeah, cool chord progression. Why don’t we play it out and see how it sounds?” Wyatt suggested, pushing his black-framed glasses back up his nose.
“Let’s do it,” Casey said with a shrug.
It might be his song, but he wasn’t against making changes or trying new arrangements. None of the Shots ever let their egos get in the way of finessing a promising song. It was one of the reasons they worked so well together—they’d all agreed early on that egos and bullshit would be checked at the door. None of them wanted to get caught up in drama when they could be making music.
Danny counted them in, tapping his drumsticks together to find the beat, then they all jumped into the opening verse.
“It’s been too long, baby, and there’ve been too many miles between us, too many nights I’ve spent drinking on my own…” Casey sang.
He felt the familiar tingle at the back of his neck when the song built momentum as they headed for the first chorus. Rory caught his eye, grinning and nodding, and Casey’s chest seemed to expand as the music swelled and Wyatt added his backup vocals to Casey’s.
“Something’s gotta change, because I can’t live with this pain, something’s gotta change around here…”
The beat drove them all forward, everything coming together, and by the time he was singing the final verse Casey knew they’d found their next song. It wasn’t perfect, but it was close, and they were all silent for a long moment when the song was finished. Then Danny hit the crash cymbal and gave the bass drum a mighty kick.
“That was fucking awesome,” he said, grinning ear to ear, and Casey could only laugh in agreement.
“Did it again, Case,” Rory said, patting him on the back.
Casey was already pulling out a pencil and making notes on his copy. “Still not completely happy with that bridge. Felt like we lost something there at the very start. What do you boys think?”
The rest of the session flew by as they noodled around with his song some more before finalizing the set list for their monthly gig on Thursday night at Grey’s Saloon. They were still arguing over whether to end with a ballad or Casey’s new song when Wyatt announced he had to go.
“My turn to do dinner, and you know Louanne will destroy me if I’m late home,” he said.
“It pains me to see you scared of your own wife, man,” Danny said, shaking his head in mock commiseration.
“It’s true, I’m a pitiful creature,” Wyatt said, beaming happily.
Everyone knew he didn’t mean it, not for a second, and they were all smiling to themselves as they began packing away their instruments. Since it was Danny’s garage, this meant simply tossing an old bed sheet over his kit before helping himself to a beer from the battered fridge in the corner.
As always after a session, Casey felt loose and light and just a little wired. Music had always had that effect on him, even from a young age. Which explained why he couldn’t let it go, even though he knew his energies would probably be better directed elsewhere. The ranch could always absorb extra man-hours, and if he was less engaged with his music, it stood to reason he’d be putting in more back home.
The thing was, he couldn’t imagine his life without this time with the boys, without songs in his head, and the itch to pick up his guitar to flesh out an idea. Didn’t want to imagine it.
“You boys got anything exciting going on for the rest of the week?” Rory asked as he wound up the cord for his amp.
“Nothing exciting this end,” Danny said with a shrug. “Case?”
For some reason the memory of a woman with deep cornflower blue eyes and slight yet provocative curves filled Casey’s head.
“Same old same old,” he said. “You know.”
“You guys kill me,” Wyatt said. “I’d be out every night if I was a free man, making the most of my youth.”
“Dude, do you have any idea how old it makes you sound when you say crap like that?” Rory asked.
“Yeah, you’re twenty-nine, only a year older than me and Casey. Get a grip on this Old Father Time routine,” Danny said. “Next thing you know, you’ll be wearing thermals and talking about getting enough fiber.”
“Here’s a deal—I’ll stop acting old if you two start acting young,” Wyatt said, indicating Casey and Danny, both of whom were single. “Next time we’re at a gig and the girls come up afterward, take down a few numbers.”
“Thanks for the dating advice, Grandpa,” Danny said.
They all cracked up.
“Fine. Have it your way. I’m going home to my wife and children,” Wyatt said.
“Whoa, before you go,” Rory said, reaching out to grab Wyatt’s arm to haul him back. “Did you guys hear they’re running a competition for undiscovered bands out of Radio KUPR in Billings?”
Danny’s eyebrows went up. “Yeah? What’s the prize?”
“Time in a recording studio and ten thousand cash. Plus all finalists get air play, regardless of who wins,” Rory reported.
Danny and Wyatt glanced at Casey, waiting for his reaction. Like it or not, as lead singer he tended to be the default leader of the band.
“Don’t look at me. What do you guys think?” he said.
“We could always enter, just to see what happens,” Wyatt said, feeling his way into the idea.
“Be kind of cool to hear one of our songs on the radio,” Rory said. “And the studio time would come in handy if we want to start selling stuff online.”
Again, they looked to him, and Casey shrugged, even though his heart was sinking. The Whiskey Shots were his escape, his happy place, an indulgence he allowed himself to feed the part of his soul that needed music. He’d never harbored dreams of the band hitting it big because he’d always known they’d need to go on the road to build a profile to get anywhere, and he wasn’t in a position to walk away from his obligations on the ranch. He’d thought the other guys were in the same place—they’d explicitly talked about being a local band and having other commitments when they first formed two years ago.
And yet right now there was no doubt that all three of his bandmates were keen to take a shot at the big time if the opportunity presented itself.
“Hey, if you guys want to put a song in, let’s do it,” he said, but even he could hear the lack of enthusiasm in his own voice.
“You don’t want to?” Danny asked.
Casey shrugged again. “I don’t lie in bed at night dreaming about us selling out stadium concerts. That was never what the Shots were about for me.”
“Sure, none of us jumped into this with stars in our eyes, but the Shots have been pulling bigger and bigger crowds. You honestly telling me you don’t feel a bit of an itch to see how big this thing could get?” Danny asked.
Casey could see they didn’t understand where he was coming from. He was loath to reveal too much about private family business, but he felt as though they deserved an explanation for his tepid response.
“We’ve got some money problems out at the ranch at the moment.” He could feel heat rising up his neck as he spoke, but he owed the guys some background so they understood where he was coming from. “We’re pretty much cutting everything to the bone. I can’t afford to take time out to do anything more with the band than what we do now. I can’t let Jed, Jesse and Sierra down like that.”
“Sorry, man. I didn’t realize,” Danny said, looking about as uncomfortable as Casey felt.
“We’re not exactly shouting it from the rooftops. And we’ll come good. It’s just tight right now, you know?” Casey said.
Wyatt was nodding as though he understood. “Louanne’s father has been saying the same. Lost too much feed to game during the winter, and the market’s been low for too long. It’s a bad combination.”
“And don’t get me started on the tariffs,” Rory said.
Danny held up his hands to stem the flow. “Don’t ruin my post-jam buzz, boys.”
Casey laughed along with the others, but he felt bad. He didn’t want to be the handbrake holding everyone back.
“Fuck it, let’s put a song in. Just to see how we do, like a benchmark,” he said.
He didn’t say it out loud, but there was bound to be plenty of competition. Worrying about winning was pretty much the definition of putting the cart before the horse.
“We’ve said for a while it would be cool to be able to make our stuff available online,” Rory said. “I know we can record on Danny’s setup here if we really have to, but some real studio time would be good. If we win, we can just blow off the huge recording contracts we’ll be offered left, right and center and tell Garth Brooks we’re not interested in touring with him.”
The guys all laughed again.
“All right, I’ve gotta go, but we should all have a think about what song to put in,” Wyatt said, shouldering the strap for his keyboard carrier.
“Everyone picks one song, and we’ll vote. Deal?” Rory suggested.
“Cool,” Casey said.
He walked out to his truck with the guys, waving them off before reversing out of Danny’s driveway and heading back to the ranch. As always, he felt himself get tense as he approached the spot on the state highway where his parents had died thirteen years ago. It had been fast—a head-on collision—but Casey never drove this way without thinking about them and that night.
Ten minutes later, gravel crunched beneath the wheels as he turned into the driveway. Band practice had pushed their houseguest from his mind and the sight of her beaten-up black van in front of the barn made him blink with surprise.
Kind of funny, given how much he’d been thinking about her, on and off, ever since he’d met her this afternoon. Despite his best intentions.
He figured it was because she was so different from the women he knew locally. Her skin was city-pale, and her tattoo and short hair marked her out as a rebel. Then there was the frankness in her gaze, a quality he found undeniably hot.
He parked beside his brother’s truck, then grabbed his guitar and headed inside. Jed was in the kitchen making himself a coffee when Casey entered and he raised his eyebrows and lifted the jug, silently asking if Casey wanted a cup.
“Thanks, I’m gonna grab a beer,” Casey said, helping himself to a bottle from the fridge.
“How’d practice go?” his brother asked, stirring sugar into his coffee.
“Good. Same as usual. Fine-tuned the new song.”
“The one you’ve been working on lately? It’s a good one.”
“Thanks, but it still needs work.” He took a pull from his beer, then did his best to sound casual. “You met our houseguest yet?”
“You mean our tenant? Yeah, she came up to the house to talk to Sierra after you left.”
“Kind of interesting,” Casey said.
“In what way?”
Suddenly Casey felt incredibly transparent. He shrugged casually. “Apparently she’s an artist, or something like that.”
His brother gave him a long look before hiding a half-smile behind the rim of the coffee mug. “Yeah, I heard that.”
“I’m going to go check on the horses,” Casey said.
Before he exposed himself any more.
“I’m turning in after this,” Jed said, raising his mug. “So I’ll see you in the morning. Still set to go into town first thing?”
“Yep, all good.”
Casey exited via the kitchen door, stepping onto the porch. His boots were loud on the wooden planks as he made his way to the steps at the front of the house.
Why on earth did he bring up Eva King with his brother? So he could talk about her? Fish for more information?
Dumb. Now Jed was going to give him hell. And God help him if Sierra ever got wind of him being interested in their temporary tenant.
He didn’t bother switching on the light in the barn, not wanting to disturb the horses unnecessarily. He did a quick check on their two pregnant mares, making sure they had enough feed and water. He was rubbing the swollen side of a heavily pregnant mare when he registered the faint sound of music coming through the barn wall. He cocked his head, trying to discern what it was.
The syncopated beat clued him in before he discerned the lyric of Chet Faker’s “Talk is Cheap.”
Interesting choice.
He pictured Eva in the trailer, listening to Chet Faker while she did…whatever it was she did. Painting? Drawing?
He shook his head, turning toward the door. He seriously needed to stop thinking about Eva King. He was starting to come off as desperate, even in the privacy of his own mind.
He stepped out into the dark yard and was just in time to catch sight of something in his peripheral vision before their new tenant walked into him with a startled yelp.
“Oh my God. You scared the crap out of me,” she said.
The only light source was the stars overhead but he could see she had one hand pressed to her chest, as though checking to make sure her heart was still in residence.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.”
“No, it’s my fault. Normally I would have used the light on my phone but the reason I’m out here is because I need the charger and I left it in the van,” she said with a self-deprecating laugh.
She’d changed out of her jeans and T-shirt into a tank and what looked like a pair of men’s boxer shorts. The laces on her Chuck Taylors were undone and he guessed she’d been ready for bed when her phone died.
“There’s a switch in the trailer for the barn lights. And another one just here. Sierra should have pointed them out to you.”
He indicated the waterproof switch to the left of the main door to the barn.
“She probably did and I forgot. Sorry for the drama. I had no idea my voice could get that high.”
“No drama. Grab your charger and I’ll show you the switch in the trailer,” he said.
She hesitated a fraction of a second before responding. “Sure. Great. Thanks.”
She walked the final few feet to her van and unlocked the side door, pushing it wide on its sliders. An interior light came on, bathing her in a yellow glow. She leaned into the van, one foot propped on the floor, rummaging for the charger.
He allowed himself a single brief glance at her toned legs before looking away.
“Got it. Was starting to think I must have left it in Salt Lake City last night,” she said, sliding the van door shut.
He watched as she carefully locked it again.
“Not a lot of grand theft auto around here,” he said. “You probably don’t need to stress about security.”
“Old habits die hard. I grew up in Detroit.”
“You still live there?”
“I’ve been based in LA for the last few years,” she said.
She was standing a few feet away, but the darkness made their conversation feel oddly intimate. He was acutely aware of her bare arms and legs, as well as his own reaction to her presence.
Gut tight, senses heightened, pulse a little fast.
Get a grip, dude .
“I’ll show you the switches, for next time,” he said, gesturing toward the barn.
“Cool. Thanks.”
She followed him as he walked to the waterproof switch mounted to the left of the barn door.
“This’ll give you light here and down the pathway,” he said, flicking it on.
She laughed as they were bathed in light from the gooseneck lamps mounted either side of the door.
“That was almost Biblical,” she said.
“The miracle of electricity.”
She shot him an appreciative look, her mouth curling at the corners.
“So there’s another one of these in the trailer?” she asked.
“Next to the fuse box.”
She fell in beside him as he walked past the barn and down the gravel path beside it.
“So what do you guys farm here? Or grow. Is that even the right term?” she asked.
“We’re a cattle operation, mostly, but we also breed horses for ranch work. Crop-wise, we grow our own feed as much as we can, but that’s about it.”
“So next time I’m eating a steak, I should think of you guys?”
“If you like,” he said, glancing across at her.
She looked at him at the same time and their gazes clashed and held for a long beat before she broke the contact. They’d reached the Airstream and he paused at the foot of the steps.
“Okay if I go in?” he asked.
“Hey, it’s your trailer, not mine,” she said.
“It’s yours for the next two nights,” he reminded her.
He opened the door and stepped inside.
“This box set into the wall is the fuse box. And this switch here turns the barn lights on and off,” he explained.
Eva stopped just inside the doorway, her attention focused on the fuse box. “So it’s a two-way switch, then?”
“That’s right. You can turn it off here, I can turn it on at the barn, and vice versa,” he said, demonstrating by flicking the light off.
With the loss of the barn lighting, the only illumination came from the reading lamp above the bed and Casey was suddenly acutely aware of how alone they were, and how close she was.
“Thank you. I promise I won’t ambush you in the dark again,” she said.
He turned the barn lights back on, and the shadows—and intimacy—receded.
“No harm done,” he said, turning to go.
He expected her to step back, out of the doorway, but she didn’t immediately move and for the second time that night they were standing too close. He could smell her perfume, something sweet and earthy, and couldn’t seem to stop his gaze from sliding from her face to her body. Which was when he made the discovery she was braless beneath her tank top, her nipples clearly visible against the fabric.
He forced his gaze back to her face and knew she’d caught him looking. The world seemed to still as they stared at each other, the silence thrumming with a hundred unspoken thoughts, most of them dirty. He’d wondered if she was as aware of him as he was of her, and now he knew.
She’d thought about him in the hours since they’d met, in the same way he’d thought about her. He could see it in the way she swallowed, the slight flush to her cheeks, and the barely visible flutter of her pulse at the base of her neck.
He’d never felt so drawn to a woman before, so compelled and fascinated. Everything in him wanted to close the distance between them but at the same time the sheer intensity of his need made him hesitate. And then she stepped back down the steps, retreating outside, and the potential of the moment drained away like water from a bathtub. Taking his cue from her, he exited the trailer.
“Thanks for your help. I appreciate it,” she said.
“You have a good night,” he said.
Lifting a hand in farewell, he walked away from what could have been and didn’t stop until he was in the privacy of his own room.
Sinking down onto his bed, he reviewed what had just happened and let out his breath on a frustrated sigh, annoyed with himself for not following his instincts.
She’d wanted him. He’d seen it in her eyes.
Then he ran a hand through his hair and sighed again, his shoulders dropping a notch. The truth was, he’d never been a fast mover with women like his rodeo star brother, Jesse. Not that he was lacking in experience or anything, he’d just never been the kind of guy who’d pursued a woman just to get her into bed. For him, it had always been a package deal.
But maybe he’d just never met a woman he really wanted to fuck before. Because that was pretty much all he could think about when he was around Eva King.
Might as well own it, since it was true.
Anyway. He hadn’t made his move, and she hadn’t, either, so there was no point dwelling on it. Standing, he went to brush his teeth and prepare for bed.