Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
D ella’s first few days in small-town captivity were filled with silence punctuated by the whir of a drill or the pounding of a hammer as Ward installed security devices around the house.
Della spent most of her time in the living room. The cozy comfort of the space let her pretend everything was normal, and the books were a surprising treasure trove of escapes.
She’d never considered herself a reader. She’d been too busy going from concerts to parties to after-parties to events. She never sat still long enough to sink into anything longer than a magazine article. Now she had all the time in the world, so she selected a romance from the shelf, curled up on the couch, and lost track of time. By the end of the week, she’d read three and started a fourth.
She’d really been missing out. No wonder Piper always had a book queued up on her phone.
A knock on the door frame startled her out of a particularly steamy scene. She hugged the book to her chest like a kid caught in the act. “What?”
Ward leaned against the doorframe. He’d rolled up the sleeves of his dark gray shirt, and there were streaks of dirt on his jeans. He looked a little more guy-next-door cute and less like a one-man army.
“Tomorrow’s my brother’s birthday.”
“Okay.” She waited for the punchline, but he didn’t seem inclined. “You make that sound like a bad thing.”
“It’s bad timing.” He gave a resigned sigh. “There’s a party. Since we’re in town, my family is expecting us to be there. They’re excited to meet you.”
A cautious smile crept onto her face. The idea of getting out of the house and being with people instantly thrilled her.
At the same time, she felt a stab of fear. The last party she attended had sent a man to the hospital. “Is it a little get-together at their house, or is it a take-over-the-theme-park kind of party?”
“Neither. It’s Mason’s eighteenth, and it’s at my dad’s bar downtown. There’ll be free booze, so…” He shrugged as if that explained everything.
“So the whole town will be there.” She curled her knees up to her chest. “I can see how you’d hate that. You’re such a hermit it would be like torture.”
“What I like or hate isn’t relevant.” He paced across the room to the fireplace, then turned. “It’s a lot of people, which means exposure and an infinite number of ways things could go wrong.”
“A lot of people.” Excitement and anxious dread tied knots in her stomach. She really, really, really wanted to go. What he saw as a bad idea, she saw as a chance to feel normal. “It’s your brother’s eighteenth birthday. You have to go. But…maybe I should stay home?”
She tried hard to keep the hopeful longing from seeping into her tone.
“No.” It looked like the decision put a bad taste in his mouth. “I’m not leaving you alone, and if we don’t show up together, it’ll cause too many questions.”
She levitated off the couch and clapped her hands together. “Okay. So we’re going to a party. What’s your dad’s place like? What should I wear? I think we need to go shopping. Annie didn’t send me with party clothes.”
Ward’s attention wandered to his phone. “What you have on is fine.”
“It’s not fine.” Della plucked at her shirt. It was plaid flannel which was not party material. “This is a bum-around-the-house outfit, not a go-out-and-be-seen-by-anyone-you-care-about outfit. And there’s no way your actual girlfriend would go to a birthday party for your brother looking like she just spent a month alone in a log cabin.”
“That would blend in around here.”
“I seriously doubt that.” She eyed him with suspicion. “Did you bring your brother a present?”
“I’ll give him cash.”
“Cash,” Della repeated. Was he serious? The blank look on his face said yes, yes he was. “Oh my God. You give your brother cash as a gift? I know I’ve accused you of being a robot, but I didn’t actually think it was true.”
“Every teenager likes cash,” Ward said, sounding perplexed.
She crossed her arms the same way Lizzie did when pointing out the obvious. “A gift should be personal. It should mean something. It should be wrapped and presented with flair so that the person you’re giving it to knows you thought about them and that you care .”
“Nothing says care like cash. He can get what he wants with cash.”
“How much cash?” She waved both hands. “You know what, it doesn’t matter. You can’t give your brother pieces of green paper for his birthday. Besides, tomorrow’s Sunday. The banks are closed. Do you even have enough cash on you?”
“No. I’ve been focused on something else lately.” He gave her a look that said he thought her priorities were completely out of whack. “I can give it to him later. It won’t matter if he gets it a day or two late.”
She shook her head. “He’s your brother . It’s his eighteenth . You can’t be late and you can’t just shove a wad of twenties at him like he’s a stripper. You have to give him something real. Something he can look at later and think wow, my brother must really love me. Something that means something.”
He rubbed his face. “What, exactly, do you think I should give him, and can we find it within a thirty-mile radius in the next hour?”
She felt like she’d won a major victory. She beamed at him. “I don’t know yet. Let’s go shopping.”
The next morning, Della popped out of bed with a sense of purpose she hadn’t felt in ages. She spent an hour putting together an outfit she thought Lucy wouldn’t mind wearing to a meet-the-boyfriend’s-family event.
She paired dark jeans with a navy boat neck T-shirt, a cropped jacket—no rhinestones or glitter of any kind—and black ankle boots, then studied the effect in the mirror.
The redhead looking back at her was a stranger.
Della wore sparkly dresses and heels to parties.
Lucy wore plain denim and boots.
She turned this way and that to check out the effect from all angles.
Lucy looked pretty damn good. Definitely girl-next-door hot, even if the fiery red curls did give her an edge not usually seen in a small town.
It wasn’t the kind of hot she normally went for, but she could see it growing on her.
Satisfied that she would fit in at Ward’s family gathering, Della went downstairs.
Ward wore a similar outfit to her own: a navy pullover and dark jeans. It made him look younger and less intense.
“Hey, we match,” she told him. “We’re one of those couples.”
His eyes narrowed.
Was that disapproval? Irritation?
She didn’t know why she’d wanted or expected him to be pleased about how she looked. It wasn’t like they were actually dating.
“It’ll work.” He hefted Mason’s birthday gift, a Gibson guitar in a custom case complete with carrying strap, onto his shoulder. “Still can’t believe I let you talk me into this thing.”
She toyed with the enormous red bow, making sure it lay exactly right. “It’s perfect.”
“It cost more than my first car.” He opened the door. “This has to be the most expensive guitar ever made.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said as she led the way to the truck. “It’s the cheap side of acceptable. A professional guitar costs three times what you spent. Minimum.”
“A professional makes a living with their guitar. They should pay more. This is Mason’s hobby, not his career.” Ward placed the guitar on the seat between them.
“You don’t know that. He’s barely eighteen. What if football doesn’t work out?”
Ward backed out of the drive and turned down the road toward town. “I don’t think starting a band is his fallback. He’s going for a business degree.”
“Boring.” It struck her that she’d never even considered doing anything else with her life. She’d stepped onstage when she was eight and never looked back.
It was a fantastic life. She had her sisters and music, and there was always a party somewhere.
As she watched the asphalt turn to cobblestones, and concrete strip malls shift to red brick storefronts, she wondered what her life might have been like if she hadn’t picked up that first microphone.
“Did you like living here?” She didn’t know why she’d asked, but now that she had, she really wanted to know. She shifted in her seat so she could see his face.
He checked his side mirror. “Sure.”
“That doesn’t sound very enthusiastic.”
He shrugged. “It was home.”
“Everybody here has a work-all-week, then go-out-on-Friday-night kind of life, don’t they?”
“Most do. City or small town, makes no difference.”
“I guess.” Cities always felt like they were in a constant state of change, which suited her. She’d grown up in a hundred different towns, on a thousand different stages. Life in motion had always felt right.
But now, driving through this town, she couldn’t help but wonder what it would have been like to stay in one place. It seemed so foreign, but it also seemed nice. Like a spa day. “What was your high school like?”
“Same as any other. Classes. Homework.”
“I never went to high school.”
He eyed her. “How’d you get around that?”
“We spent a lot of time on the road, so I was homeschooled. I always wondered what it would be like to go to class and hang out after school. I also really wanted to go to a school dance. I always thought prom would be cool.”
“I skipped it,” Ward said with a don’t-ask finality that hit all of Della’s curiosity buttons.
“Rachel let you get away with that?”
“She didn’t get a say.”
“Bet she loved that.” Della eyed him. Something was behind that glare. “So why’d you skip it? You can’t dance?”
“I had somewhere else to be.” His lips pressed down in a tight hard line.
“Where?”
“The Marines.” His jawline was so tense now that she could see the muscles flexing along his neck.
“Lucky for me, then.” She kept her tone light. “If you hadn’t, I’d be facing this all on my own.”
He snorted. “I doubt that.”
“Well, maybe not totally alone. I’d have my sisters. And Greg.” She turned away from him to look out the window. “I doubt they’d have been as fanatical as you about keeping me safe, though.”
She saw his hands tighten on the steering wheel in his reflection. “I’m not a fanatic. I’m a professional. You’re safe with me, Lucy.”
He said it like a fact. Like he was the brick wall, or the mountain.
Like no matter what happened, he would stand between her and danger and make sure it never touched her.
Nobody had ever said anything like that to her before. Nobody had ever made her feel that protected.
She hadn’t even known she needed it, until now.
Wires Crossing’s town square was a literal square bordered by the four main streets of town coming together. In the center stood a large red-brick building with arched doorways and a bell tower with a clock straight out of Back to the Future .
The streets on all four sides featured cute little boutiques, antique shops, restaurants, and people.
Every tree and old-fashioned streetlight was wrapped in fall-colored leafy garlands and flags featuring pumpkins. Stacks of hay bales had been placed in each corner, and here and there, scarecrows with funny faces perched on benches, on the hay, or hung from a lamp.
They passed under a banner that read “AppleFest, October 22 & 23, Costume Contest, Pie Contest, Art Vendors, and More!”
“That sounds like fun.” Della pointed at the sign. “We should go to that. If we’re still here, I mean. Will we be?”
“Thought you’d want to get back to the city as fast as an airplane would take you.”
Della watched a teenage couple pause to sneak a kiss. It was so delightfully normal. The entire town had a nothing-bad-happens-here atmosphere. “I wouldn’t have to go that fast. If you catch the guy tomorrow, I could take a few days. I’m on break after all.”
Ward turned down a side street next to a store called The Catwalk with a window display of sweaters that looked perfect for the crisp fall air.
Lucy, she decided, liked to shop. She’d have to convince her warden to take her there.
They pulled into a parking lot in front of an old, serious-looking building with County Courthouse engraved in the stone above the door.
Ward found a spot under a tree wearing brilliant red and orange leaves and turned off the engine. “You ready? Remember your cover?”
The reason she needed a cover story to begin with sent a now-familiar stab of anxiety. She deflected it by pointing at her hair. “It’s not like I can forget.”
Ward reached across her lap to flick open the glove compartment.
For a wild second, she thought he was going to reach for her , and a little thrill raced through her.
He pulled a small blue box from the cubby hole that might have come from a nice jewelry store and handed it to her.
She stared at it. “What’s that?”
“Open it.”
“Gee, you shouldn’t have. I didn’t get you anything,” Della mocked as she opened the lid. Inside, she found a simple gold chain with a round gold pendant engraved with a star and what looked like a tiny diamond embedded at the center.
She picked it up and let the pendant dangle from her hand. The diamond caught the light.
“It’s not your style, I know. But I thought you might like having it around.”
“It’s really pretty.” She looked up at him, touched by his almost apologetic tone. “Thank you.”
He took the necklace from her and undid the clasp. “It’s not jewelry. It’s a panic button.”
“A panic button,” she repeated, oddly fascinated by the way his fingers moved.
“Here.” Ward gestured for her to turn.
She shifted in the seat until her back was toward him. Her hands lifted automatically to move her hair out of the way, except she didn’t need to do that now.
Unsure of what else she should do, she let them drop into her lap and sat very still as he slipped the chain around her neck, then worked the clasp. She was hyperaware of the way his fingers brushed against the back of her neck.
He had a deft touch, and the warmth of him sent little shivers into body parts they had no business lingering in. It put ideas in her head. Ideas that involved the truck and a lookout point above the river and a lot less clothing.
She shouldn’t be thinking like that.
There was nothing remotely seductive about her current situation.
Nothing at all.
A tiny voice in the back of her mind chuckled. Oh really? There ’ s nothing seductive about a hot, sexy bodyguard willing to put his life on the line to keep you safe?
Her mental voice sounded suspiciously like Piper.
“If you feel unsafe, or we get separated, just squeeze it for three seconds,” Ward said. “Go ahead. Squeeze. I want you to see how it feels.”
Della felt a little flicker of disappointment, which was ridiculous. They weren’t really a couple. It wasn’t jewelry.
This was just pretend.
She dutifully pressed the pendant.
A loud, un-ignorable alarm, like an angry foghorn, filled the truck. Della jumped and squealed.
Her hand fluttered around the necklace in a desperate attempt to make the noise stop.
“It’s me.” Ward showed her his phone. A red hazard sign showed on the Lock Screen, along with a message. Lucy sent an emergency alert.
Below that, a small dot flashed on a map of the downtown area where they were sitting.
Ward hit the Silence button to stop the alarm.
“You could have warned me,” she said a little too loud in the sudden stillness. Her heart pounded loud enough to use as a drum solo. “That scared the crap out of me.”
“Sorry.” He actually sounded like he meant it.
The necklace lay heavy and serious against her chest. “That sound will send any nearby dogs into fits.”
“The necklace is silent,” Ward assured her. “Nobody will know you triggered it but me and my team, so don’t worry about where you are or who will hear it.”
Ward showed her the app screen. “It’s a GPS locator accurate to within two feet, monitored twenty-four seven. The second you send the alert, we all leap into action. Don’t look for us, don’t try to find us, and whatever you do, do not engage the enemy. Just run and hide. We’ll find you.”
“The enemy.” She touched the pendant with soft fingers and thought about what that meant. At this point, the enemy could be any man she saw. Her stalker was faceless and nameless, and he was out there. Somewhere. “Do you think he knows where we are?”
“No. Not yet anyway.” Ward put a soothing hand on her shoulder. “This is just for backup. But I want you to wear it at all times. Don’t even take it off in the shower. That way if you need it, you’ll have it.”
“Help, I’ve fallen and I can’t get up,” Della chimed in an effort to lighten the mood. Adrenaline coursed through her body, spurred on by the way his hand warmed her shoulder.
“Something like that.” Ward reached for the keys, then opened the door like he hadn’t just turned her insides into a jumbled mess of confused electrical impulses looking for a place to zap. “Let’s get this over with. Remember, keep it low-key and stay with me. Don’t go wandering off on your own.”
“I won’t.” She hopped out of the truck.
Ward picked up Mason’s birthday present looking like a man going to a tribunal, not a party.
Combined with the alarm she could still hear blaring in her ears, it made her nervous.
She couldn’t remember ever being nervous in a crowd. She adored crowds. She loved being around people. The energy was contagious.
But Ward’s constant surveillance and serious attitude put her on edge. It reminded her that there was something to be nervous about.
She grabbed his free hand and laced her fingers through his. “Please lighten up.”
He squeezed her hand reflexively. “This is light.”
“Really? Because this face?” She drew a circle in the air around his face. “It’s going on a death march. If you don’t smile at me every now and then, people will think we’re fighting. Next thing you know, it’ll be all over social media. People love posting drama. They rarely post about happy people. Trust me.”
“Well, I guess you’d know all about that.” Ward flashed her something that didn’t come close to a happy expression.
She felt the sting of his remark, but refused to rise to the bait. She kept a bounce in her step as they made their way across the parking lot. “That’s not a smile. That’s a grimace. Try again.”
He bared his teeth at her. “Better?”
“No.” A snort of laughter escaped.
“And I was trying so hard, too.” He dropped the fake smile into something that was a little less angry, a little more neutral.
“Better,” she told him with an approving nod. At least he no longer looked like he was about to shoot someone.
She forced her shoulders to relax. Today, there was no stalker.
Today, she was Lucy, Donovan Ward’s girlfriend.
Lucy didn’t have a stalker. She was just a normal girl, on her way to a party where she was going to meet her potential in-laws.
How was she supposed to feel about that? Nervous? Intimidated? Delighted?
How would Rachel handle this situation?
She suppressed a snort. Rachel would glide in and command instant attention. Rachel was a diva.
It takes one to know one , she thought wryly.
But unlike Rachel, Della had learned to share the spotlight. Maybe it had taken losing everything that mattered to teach her to do it, but she could.
So she wouldn’t command attention. But did that mean she had to be quiet?
Surely not. Lucy was an actress. Used to being in front of people.
Lucy was an extravert, she decided. She wasn’t a diva, but she wasn’t a shy wallflower either, and she was looking forward to meeting Ward’s…Donovan’s…family.
The sidewalk grew so thick with people that they could barely navigate toward the door of a place with Sevens etched in red old-fashioned script along the top of one long window.
She’d seen crowds like this in New York, except this was Sunday afternoon, not Friday night, and everyone wore denim in one form or another instead of sequined cocktail dresses.
Della gave herself an inner slap on the back for how well her outfit blended in with the locals.
“Well, if it isn’t Stormy Weather rolling into town lookin’ all badass!” a bald Black man half a block away called out.
Ward pulled her to a stop. His shoulders relaxed, and if she wasn’t mistaken that was a genuine smile on his face.
Just like that, her opinion of Ward jumbled up all over again. The stoic soldier who found no joy in life vanished. In his place was a man with a friend who made his eyes light up.
She had a sudden, insane urge to kiss him. She actually gripped his hand and tugged to make him turn toward her, then realized how idiotic that was and wound up stumbling over her own feet.
Which earned her a confused glance from Ward.
“Sorry. Clumsy.” She looked away before he could see the flush she could feel coloring her cheeks.
The guy who’d caused that rare display on her warden’s face was built like an Olympic bodybuilder. His heavily tattooed arms were so big that his T-shirt strained at the seams, and his tight jeans revealed muscular legs that could do real damage in a fight. He had an easy ship-coming-into-harbor walk and a friendly, open expression. Everyone he passed called out his name in greeting.
“Maybe I should start calling you Stormy instead of Donny,” Della teased.
“You shouldn’t call me either one,” Ward said as he waved the large man over. “Brick. Good to see ya, man.”
They gave each other a half-shake, half bro-hug that caused Ward to fumble the guitar case.
“You starting a band?” Brick asked as he eyed the case.
“It’s for Mason,” Ward said.
“Interesting.” The word was loaded with innuendo Della didn’t understand. “Where the hell have you been and why haven’t you called? I gotta find out you’re in town when I see you like everybody else?”
Amusement put life into Ward’s eyes. “You’re not my wife.”
Della found herself grinning along with them.
Brick laughed. “Damn good thing. We’d be divorced.” He pointedly looked down at Ward and Della’s clasped hands. “Who’s this?”
“Basham Hudson, meet Lucy Carmichael.” Ward gave her a look filled with warning.
It was her first test.
“Good to meet ya, Lucy.” Brick held out a hand for Della to shake. “Call me Brick. Everybody does. ’Cause I’m built like a wall.”
“Got a head like one too,” Ward said.
She shook Brick’s hand with what she hoped was a friendly smile. “It’s great to meet you. You’re one of Donovan’s high school buddies, right?”
“Hell, I’m more than his bud. You telling me you ain’t told her about my legendary skills on the field yet?” Brick feigned offense with a hand over his heart. “That hurts, man.”
Ward slapped him on the back. “Didn’t want to steal your thunder. I know how you like an audience.”
“Yes, I do. I really do. First round’s on me.”
“First round’s always on the house for a private party,” Ward said.
“Fantastic,” Brick said with a sly grin. “I can get you something cheaper later when you’re liquored up and won’t notice. Hope you put your name on that pretty present. Mason might not realize it’s from you.” Brick gestured for Della to go first.
“There’s a card,” Della assured him. “Under the bow.”
The crowd parted to let them through the door to Sevens and into the front part of the bar. Della was taller than average for a woman, but it was so packed she couldn’t see much beyond a sea of faces. It was so loud she’d have to shout to be heard.
It was like a concert, except she didn’t have a microphone, and nobody was even looking in her direction.
Brick muscled his way through the throng of people, with Della and Ward traveling in his wake.
Both men fist-bumped and back-slapped everyone within arm’s reach on the way through. They knew everyone, and everyone knew them.
Here in small-town America, she drew interested looks, but only in a who’s-the-new-girl way. Nobody gave her much of a second glance.
Della couldn’t remember a time when she’d gone unrecognized at a party. She was usually the center of attention.
Ward’s evil plan to erase her had worked.
Della squeezed his hand a little tighter.
He gave her a questioning look. “Everything okay?”
She tucked her free hand around his arm and nodded. “Nobody knows me.”
Ward lifted his chin at someone. “That’s the point.”
She watched three more people greet him like a long-lost friend.
The pressure was all on him. She didn’t have to worry about anyone pushing in too close, getting handsy, or cameras flashing in her face. She didn’t have to hope her dress wasn’t see-through. She didn’t even have to pose.
“It’s just that it feels different,” she said. “I feel…free. I like it.”
She thought she saw surprise widen Ward’s eyes just a little, but it was gone so fast she might have imagined it.
Brick led them through the bar to a set of French doors that opened onto a romantic cobblestoned courtyard straight out of a painting.
Literally.
Someone shouted Brick’s name, and he sauntered toward a small temporary bar on the right.
“Something wrong?” Ward said, tension edging his tone.
“This is the painting in the living room.” Della stared at the place she’d thought only existed in a picture. It was all here, exactly the way his mother had painted it, except someone had added enormous sunflowers everywhere. It was like golden carpet of sunshine had been spilled over everything. “I didn’t know it was a real place. It’s beautiful.”
He didn’t respond for so long that she thought he was going to ignore her. Or maybe he just hadn’t heard.
“It’s just that when I saw it, I kind of wished I could go there,” she continued. “I pictured myself sitting right there, on that bench.”
“My mom painted that a long time ago, when it was Smokey Joe’s,” Ward said. “There used to be a barbecue pit where the fountain is now, and the back wall was covered with stacks of wood instead of ivy.”
“She painted something that wasn’t here?” Della watched with awe as the crowd moved through what felt like a sanctuary.
He looked around as if he’d surprised him to find it there. “She painted what she thought should be here.”
Della processed that. Someone had taken his mother’s fantasy and turned it into reality. Someone who loved her very much. “Your dad built this for her.”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Just after she died,” Ward said. She could hear the pain underneath the flat tone, now that she knew to listen for it.
Like the house, this place was a tribute to his dead mother.
Unlike the house, it was full of life.
An upbeat country song played in the background, but it could barely be heard over the laughter and chatter.
Two couples occupied the long bench in front of the ivy-covered wall. The open-air bar carved out of rich dark wood from the painting was right where it should have been. A twenty-something guy in a Sevens shirt laughed as he poured a beer for an older lady with short white hair. The fountain in the middle of the courtyard spilled water over multicolored balloons that floated in the basin.
A banner stretched across the fountain read “Happy 18th, Mason!”
She did the mental math between the brothers’ ages.
His dad had built this place, remarried, and had a child about a year after Ward’s mother died.
That meant his stepmother had to have been a part of all of it. “Your stepmother is okay with your dad doing this?”
“She was Mom’s closest friend. They built it together.” He shifted as he caught sight of someone. “That’s her, next to the dessert table by the back wall.”
Della caught a glimpse of a blonde woman in jeans with a white shirt that made her look a little like Martha Stewart.
She had a kind, warm smile as she offered a slice of cake to someone.
Della realized that Ward’s stepmother was hosting a party in a place crafted as a monument to her husband’s first wife, and she did it with a smile on her face. That said all kinds of things about her.
“This place is incredibly special.” Della glanced at Ward. “And your stepmother must be amazing.”
“She is.” Ward gestured toward the courtyard. “Ready to meet the family?”
Adrenaline jangled along her nerves, and her hand went involuntarily to the pendant. She took in a deep, calming breath like she did every time she walked onstage. “Ready.”