5
B eesting Honey . I slide my nail under the box of hair color I nabbed at a gas station in Red Lodge and pop the top. A quick glance at my reflection in the bathroom mirror tells me my platinum locks need help. They’re fried and lifeless. Exactly how I feel.
In less than twenty minutes, my hair’s wrapped and processing. My hairstylist—not to mention Gavin—will have a fit, but I don’t care.
Even with my scalp on fire, I feel better than I did forty-eight hours ago.
Wrapped in a fluffy white towel, I cross the wooden floorboards. Each groan and creak beneath my bare feet reminds me I’m far from LA. There’s something peaceful—almost safe—about the chalet. And for a small amount of time, I get to call it mine.
I open the back door and stare out into the night, at the forest, swaying in the whipping wind. It would be heaven to find that lake. To go to the water. But the darkness frightens me. Mostly because I already have too much of it inside me as it is.
On a sigh, I shut the door. How long will it take for me to feel like myself again? For this dark hole to go away?
Maybe running was a mistake. Maybe I should have stuck it out. Sucked it up.
But I couldn’t. Absentmindedly, I sweep my hand over my bangles. I don’t want to go back there.
Only where am I now?
No money. No car. No friends.
I think of what I missed today. A private jet to LA. Drinks at Serpentine. Whatever boring meeting Gavin had set up. I laugh to myself. Old Reese would want that. Would be in heaven.
I yawn, dragging in a long breath, and head to the kitchen table. I sit down and fire up my laptop. Gaze on the screen, I type a few keywords into the search engine and instantly get hit with:
Superstar Reese Austin’s Downward Spiral
“Asshole,” I hiss as I scan the article.
Not a surprise. It paints me in a sad, pathetic light and keeps the label off Gavin’s back. It’s also Gavin’s way of punishing me. Just like turning off my credit cards and freezing my bank account. I can’t access any of my funds. I’m essentially on an island. Adrift. Alone.
I cover my face and groan.
How did I get here?
What I’d give to go back in time. Dive bars. Intimate acoustic sets. Stadiums that weren’t sold out. Wearing my old Levi’s and singing songs I wrote. Not dolled up the way Gavin likes, singing the songs he picked.
You don’t need to write your own songs , Reese , Gavin explained. No one cares. Just get on stage and wiggle.
It was a mistake to listen to him, but I didn’t have a choice. I was a poor kid, abandoned by my parents, and scared as hell. He took me in, mentored me and made me a star.
He’s the only one who’s ever wanted me in this world.
Glancing back at the article, something stirs inside of me. A tiny tendril of fear. Guilt.
The last two months, as the tour wound down, Gavin’s behavior changed. He became excessively paranoid about money, my whereabouts.
Sometimes, with Gavin, I feel like a computer chip controls my brain.
Tomorrow—tomorrow I figure out a plan.
But first, I need to face the music.
With shaky fingers, I finally turn on my phone. Instantly, I’m hit by a barrage of texts. My chest seizes up.
I don’t care where you are or who you’re doing. I need your perfect ass back here, Reese.
Babe. What the fuck? I’m never going to get this gig without you.
Don’t make me put you back in Muirwood.
The threat burns into my retinas, and I drop the phone on the table.
I squeeze my eyes shut, breathing through the panic.
I absolutely cannot go back there.
It’s what got me into this mess. Signing that contract and giving Gavin power over me, over my finances, my entire fucking life.
“It’s your fault, Reese. And this is your punishment. Now just sign the damn contract and I’ll take care of you.”
Hot tears spill from my eyes. He’s right. It was my fault.
All my fault.
“Fuck,” I mutter, sucking in a deep breath.
I need to pull it together. Get my contract. Find out what rights I’ve signed away to Gavin. One thing about him, I already know he’s planning to use everything he can against me.
Which is why I have to lie low. Stay here, at least until my car’s fixed. Until Ford Montgomery kicks me out on my ass. It’s clear he wants nothing to do with me. He only sees me as a mess.
The tightness in my chest burns, and my gaze drifts to my pills. Dutifully, like Gavin’s hovering over my shoulder, I swallow one down. The weak rattle of the bottle tells me I need a refill.
I’ll go back to my life. I will. As soon as I get better. And this time, I’ll do things on my own terms.
Think for myself. Live for myself.
Be free.
A hammering shakes the door, cutting through the buzz of my dark thoughts.
I jolt and glance over to see a broad form standing at the door, illuminated by the porch light. Inhaling a breath, I wipe at my face, then hurry to the door, yanking it open.
Ford. Scowling.
His dark blond hair is a wild mess, swooping low across his forehead. Gone is the dusty cowboy get-up from earlier. Now he wears soft gray sweatpants, and a white T-shirt stretched tight over his chest and biceps. In his hands: a round Tupperware container.
His eyes widen the moment he sees me, and that’s when I realize that not only am I still wrapped in a towel—there’s also one on my head.
A month ago, I would’ve been mortified if anyone saw me without lashes and lipstick and a tiny dress. Old Reese would’ve flirted with this rude cowboy, teased him into a frenzy, and then left him begging for more.
Kyler’s face flashes in my mind. His hand gripping my thigh while he asked me over and over again until I gave in. Just like my entire fucking life.
I don’t want a man. Least of all this one.
And it’s clear from the stormy look on Ford’s face that he doesn’t want me either.
“To what do I owe this pleasant intrusion?” I ask. “Kicking me out already?”
A muscle jumps in his jaw. “We save the evictions for morning.”
“Great. I’ll be packed.”
He wiggles the knob, and I didn’t think it was possible, but that frown on his face gets even deeper. “In the habit of not locking your doors?”
“Are you the door inspector? Did you come to inspect me?” I drawl it out in a tease.
His gaze roams over me, heating the space between us. It lingers too long on my face, like those deep amber eyes can see my secrets. For one long second, I wish he could.
Ford sighs heavily. Tension pulses in his sharp, stubbled jaw. “This far out here, no one can hear you scream.”
“That’s…comforting.” The man needs to work on his cowboy skills. “Unless that’s what you want. Knock me off, so I’m not your problem.”
His lips twitch. “Believe me, I’ve thought about it.”
I roll my eyes and lean against the doorframe. “What do you want, Ford?”
The porch light catches on the angles of his sculpted face. “I didn’t see you in the lodge, so I brought you dinner.”
“Oh,” I say, as he shoves the Tupperware into my hands. My mouth waters as I’m hit with wonderful aromas. Freshly baked bread. Mac and cheese. I sniff. Shredded chicken.
“I can’t eat all this,” I say before cursing myself. Why did I say that? I could eat it all if I wanted to. I’m no longer concerned with what Gavin thinks or wants. Or demands.
His face reverts to its former hardness. “Yeah, well, try.” His eyes scan my frame and I shiver. “My sister-in-law went to a lot of work for you.”
I have the sudden inclination to smack this bossy cowboy’s arrogant head right off those broad shoulders.
That’s when a furry sensation wraps itself around my legs. I yelp and jump back. As I glance down, I catch sight of a black cat weaving in between my legs.
The cat meows, sounding like the tiniest tea kettle.
I smile and dip down to pet her under the chin. “Hey there.” She flops on her back and lets me tickle her belly. Her green eyes match mine. “Are you the unofficial welcome wagon? You’re much better than the current situation.”
A grunt or a chuckle comes from Ford and he crouches beside me. “Mouse.”
I glance at him. He’s so close I can smell his soapy post-shower scent. “Hate to break it to you, Country Boy, but that’s a cat.”
His lips pull into something resembling a smile. “No. This is Mouse.” He reaches down and flips the cat into his arms. She curls up without protest. “And she’s a menace. Just like you.”
Together, we stand.
“Lock your door,” Ford orders. “Eat your food.”
Then, with Mouse in his arms, he crosses the space between the chalet and the wild woods before climbing onto the UTV and taking off.
I leave the door unlocked. Just to spite him.
The next morning, I blink away the fog of sleep. Relishing the silence, I stretch cat-like in the cool sheets. Just me. No hangover. No strange man in my bed. No Gavin barking orders.
I smile at the ceiling.
I can do this.
As I slip into a sparkly dress, I realize how poorly I packed. But shimmery showgirl attire is all I owned—all I grabbed in my haste to get out of Nashville. After dabbing my cheeks and lips with dusky-rose blush, and adding mascara to my lashes, I stare at myself in the mirror. My hair, now the color of honey and ash, tumbles in unruly waves.
I chance a smile. I love it.
Ready for the day, I retrieve the slender gold bangles I bought myself after Muirwood from the nightstand and slip them on my wrist. With that, I step onto the front porch, instantly enveloped by the sticky morning heat. No eviction notice in sight, but Ford was right. There is nothing around me, and seeing as they don’t have Uber out here, I’ll have to walk.
I look down.
In heels.
As if to solidify my terrible fashion choices, when I step off the porch, my heels sink into the soft earth.
My heart thuds and I close my eyes.
I can do this.
But first, I need every ounce of coffee in the entire world. I need to go into town. I need to call Gavin too, but that is a problem for a caffeine-medicated Reese.
With a grunt, I rip my heels from the earth and start moving, breathing deeply until the noise in my head quiets.
For a second, I forget about the trek ahead of me, and lose myself in the moment. The birdsong in the trees. The sunlight on my bare skin. Emerald fields filled with horses. It feels like summer, and a sunrise builds in my chest. The ranch is stunning. There’s something about seeing it on a new day that bolsters my hope.
How long has it been since I looked at the world with fresh eyes? Breathed clean air?
It’s like taking my first step into a life I’ve never met.
It’s the wild burn of freedom.
A cowboy on a black horse thunders past me. A group of people, fishing poles held in their hands, trek toward the forest with a guide. A white van stenciled with Runaway Ranch on the side putters up the gravel drive to the wrought iron sign in the distance.
I stick on dark sunglasses so no one recognizes me. The last thing I want to do is give away my cover, though most people wouldn’t expect Reese Austin to be at some Podunk ranch in Montana.
By the time the fifteen-minute trek is over, I’m at the Lodge. After grabbing a town map, I wander the building. Today is less busy, and I’m not preoccupied with a search for whiskey, so I’m able to pay more attention. The common area is a western sanctuary with plush leather armchairs, a rock wall fireplace, and spectacular views in every direction. There’s a cantina and a gift shop next to the front desk. Across the way, a small alcove with a sign above that reads THE CORNER STORE.
I duck inside.
It’s adorable. Like a cowboy bodega. While I explore the tiny store, I scan the shelves. Cans of soup. Boxes of cereal. Bottles of soda. Tampons and blue boxes of macaroni and cheese. A sign posted in the window says HELP WANTED. My mouth waters over the iced coffee machine, surprisingly fancy for the ranch. I need a strong pick-me-up for what’s ahead of me.
I open my wallet, and my stomach drops when I see the lone twenty-dollar bill. The only money I have until I can replace my credit cards and access my banking account. I worry my lower lip between my teeth. How long will it last? How long can I?
I cringe at the thought of how much I’ve wasted on stilettos and designer clothing. How foolish I’ve been to give Gavin control of my accounts, my money.
I need a job. And a lawyer.
But first, I need my contract.
And I don’t even know how to get that.
Before I can slip into a full-blown panic spiral, a voice behind me says, “I love your hair.”
I whirl around. It’s the girl from the bar, the one who worked with Ford yesterday. She has an entire garden in her tousled strawberry blonde strands. In her violet sundress patterned with honeybees, she looks like summer come to life.
I touch my hair, suddenly self-conscious. “Thank you.”
“Don’t worry,” she says. Her blue eyes sparkle. “We won’t tell anyone you’re here.”
I attempt to smile.
“I’m Ruby.” With a bounce in her step, she crosses to me and sticks her hand out.
I lift my sunglasses and shake her hand tentatively. “Reese.”
She tosses me a curious look. “Do you need something?” she asks.
My gaze lights on the iced coffee machine. I’d kill for an iced coffee, heavy on the cream and sugar, but I think of the meager twenty in my wallet. “Oh, I…I don’t know.”
“Give me a list, and I’ll have it delivered to your room.” Her smile brightens. “With the biggest iced coffee you’ve ever seen.”
I shake my head. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Of course I do.”
Sudden tears prick the backs of my eyes. It’s been a long time since I’ve had kindness.
“Are you okay?” Ruby asks, looking concerned.
I shake my head, tamp down the dampness in my eyes. “I just think you’re my new favorite human.”
Ruby blushes and grins.
“Don’t worry about it,” she says when I reach for my wallet. “We’ll charge the groceries to your room. No rush.”
After scrawling a small list on the back of a receipt—mostly junk food and pasta—I hand it over.
Ruby pockets it, then tilts her head. “Do you need Ford?”
Ugh. No.
“Yes,” I say.
“He’s in the garage.” Ruby laughs. “He’s not so bad. Don’t let him scare you. He’s all bark.”
I flash her a grin. “Good thing I can bite.”
Within minutes, I’m at a building situated about fifty feet from the lodge.
As soon as I step inside, a strong gasoline odor hits my nostrils. A glittering blue Chevy pickup sits in the center of the garage. Along one wall, a low work bench overflows with a jumble of tools and cinnamon candies. Above it, a pegboard wall pinned with baseball cards. Music drifts from an old-school radio, and a baseball game plays on the wall-mounted TV. A cup of black coffee sits forgotten on a bright red toolbox.
Curious, I approach the baseball cards. Mickey Mantle. Babe Ruth. Joe DiMaggio. And—
I blink.
It’s Ford.
The text reads Ford “Flamethrower” Montgomery . He’s wound up in a typicalpitching stance, a resolute expression on his face. Phoenix Renegades is emblazoned across his jersey in bright colors of royal blue and orange, and his baseball cap has a pair of fiery wings.
Damn. The audacity of that uniform. Tantalizingly tight and accentuating all the right angles.
Against the better judgment of my brain cells, my mind rewinds to last night—Ford shoving food into my hands before abruptly bolting to get away from me. And the way he looked in those gray sweatpants… My stomach flip-flops.
No. It doesn’t matter what he did.
Sworn enemies until the day we die.
Movement across the floor catches my eye.
I smile. The black cat from last night is on the hunt. Mouse has her nose pressed close to the cement floor as she stealthily stalks her prey. I follow her deeper into the garage, where she climbs a stack of tires and curls up inside, sunbathing in the light streaming from an open window.
I run a hand over her glossy black fur, and a purr vibrates from her slender frame. “Pretty kitty,” I croon. I’m mid-pet when the squeak of wheels hits my eardrums.
Ford slides out from beneath the truck on some type of bench with wheels on it. It takes a full ten seconds for me to realize he’s been there the entire time.
He sits up slowly, peeling his long, lanky body off the bench. He’s shirtless, in nothing but a pair of greasy blue jeans. His lionlike mane of dark gold hair curls around the sides of his baseball cap.
When he sees me, his eyes dart to my hair before settling on my face. His frown deepens to a scowl.
I eye the ridges in his abs, the streaks of grease across his chest. Heat creeps into my stomach and takes up residence. It’s only intensified when he stands and prowls toward me. A solid wall of muscle. Of man.
I back up, but I slam into the workbench. A wrench drops from the backboard, mocking me.
“Goin’ somewhere?” he asks.
His languid drawl sweeps over me, and I force my gaze to his.
A mistake. The deep amber color hitches my breath. Beautiful .
Shaking my head to chase away my traitorous thoughts, I stand tall. “Yes.” I sniff. “I’ll take my car. To go, please.”
“You mean my little brother’s car?” He looks amused, lazily rolling a candy around in his mouth. I’m hit with the scent of cinnamon as he says, “It’s not ready yet.” His lip curls. “Had to order the part. Could be awhile.”
I flap a hand. “Look, I know you tell time by the passing of the seasons, Country Boy, but how long is a while?”
He gives his cat a scratch. “One to two weeks.”
“Great,” I mutter.
Ford saying it out loud makes my situation seem so hopeless. I am stuck out here in bumfuck Montana without a car. Without money.
I think of that little girl busking on street corners, singing in dive bars with my parents. We made it work. We survived. I can do that too. I’ll make my own money again. That way, Gavin has nothing to offer me.
“I need money,” I say.
He shrugs a broad shoulder, cleaning his stained hands on a rag. “Can’t help you there.”
“Listen, Ford.” I step up to him, conjuring my flirtiest smile. “I can work for it.”
“Christ.” He draws back, face creased in shock.
On instinct, I slam a hand against his rock-hard chest. Heat shoots through my fingers. Ford stiffens, his eyes never once leaving my face.
“Not like that, pervert.” Needing a better place for my hand, I prop it on my hip. My heart thuds at the loss of contact. “Look, you have a Help Wanted sign in The Corner Store. I can clean bathrooms or pour coffee. Anything. I just really need to make some money.”
I’m too desperate to be angry. To do anything other than beg.
He stares at me for a long, hard beat.
“You got any other clothes?” he asks.
I cross my arms. “Does it look like I have any other clothes?” I let out a weary sigh. “I grabbed what I could.”
The cinnamon candy cracks between his teeth. “Should have planned better.”
“I don’t plan.”
He grabs a T-shirt and shrugs it on, effectively ruining my prime view of his body. “That much is apparent.”
Cheeks flaming, I stare at him for a stomach-sinkingly long time. He won’t help me. I should have expected that. But here I am, arguing with a man who’s given me shit since I arrived. He thinks he knows me. Well, he’s wrong. I don’t need him.
“You know, whoever taught you to be a cowboy failed miserably.” With a flip of my hair, I turn on my heel and stalk toward the exit.
“Hold up a sec,” he orders, sounding weary.
I pause at the garage door. “What?”
His nostrils flare. “If you want work, you can work.” The second he says it, it looks like he regrets his decision. With a grunt, he grabs a two-way radio from a shelf and hooks it to his waistband. Two big stomps and he’s moving past me to disappear out of the garage.
His lope is long, and I have to scurry after him.
“Wait, where are we going?” I ask when I finally reach his side. I stumble on my heels and press my palm against his corded arm to steady myself.
He tenses at my touch. Keeps trudging ahead. “You want a job. You can work on the ranch.”
My stomach drops. I stop in the middle of the gravel road. “The ranch?”
For my first real-world job, I was thinking of something less harrowing. Inside. Comfortable. I’ve never worked outdoors, let alone squatted behind the backend of a cow.
“Funny enough, I’ve been assigned the job of being your babysitter,” he says as if it’s the most painful thing in the world. “So, what you’re going to do, honey, is work alongside me this summer.”
I flinch.
Ford’s upper lip curls. “What’s wrong? Can’t hack it?” He says it like it’s a dare.
I glance down at my thousand-dollar cherry red Louboutins, bidding farewell to good heels and common sense. Then I blow out a determined breath, steel my shoulders and meet those stunning amber eyes.
“No. I can.”
Ford simply grunts and heads for the barn.
Money , I remind myself. Freedom. No black hole.
It’s all a gamble, but I have to take it. Even if I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.