15
W ho knew that sunlight could clear the mind of its troubles? Or that a shortage of whiskey and midnight dips in the lake could work wonders. That watching a bare-chested, broody cowboy hauling hay would bring its own sort of peace. Oh, and the sex.
All the sex.
The summer heat makes people do all kinds of crazy things. Like me, for example. Doing Ford Montgomery.
A month ago, I was surviving. And now? Now I feel relaxed for the first time in my life. My credit card came through. I have my first paycheck. Money I made. A PI is on the hunt for my contract. Thanks to Ford.
Ford.
I bite my lip, watching Ford and Wyatt toss hay bales with pitch-perfect precision. As I pass by on my way to the chicken coop, I catch Ford’s eye, and he tilts his cowboy hat, giving me that charming smile.
I flush.
Birdie .
He calls me Birdie.
A crank turns on in my heart, like it’s pumping extra blood, winding up emotions I thought I’d buried. Emotions—no chance of shutting those off.
Because Ford is a winning combination. Funny and sexy, confident without the cockiness. He doesn’t take himself too seriously. I always laugh when I’m with him, and I haven’t done that in a long time.
Still, we’re not anything serious. We’re doing casual naked things for the summer. For the feral horniness that comes over me whenever I’m around him. For the plot.
I can live with that. I need that. When I’m with Ford, he makes me forget. He’s a steady, reliable, handsome distraction in my life. When I’m with him, I don’t think about my music, my contract, or my hovering black hole. I think about myself.
We’ll fool around for the summer, and when it’s over, I’ll go back to the city and leave this country boy alone. Because even though he’s a cowboy, my life isn’t a country song. There’s no hero. I have to save myself.
Every step on the ranch is me moving forward. Every heartbeat means I am alive.
Chicken squawks greet me when I reach the coop.
I smile. This is one of my favorite chores. The chickens are smelly and loud, but they’re free and curious, which I find fascinating. They squabble and cluck without a care in the world. We should all be so lucky to be chickens.
Humming, I step inside the coop, the two-way radio bouncing on the side of my hip. Instantly, a barrage of chickens peep and purr in my presence. I say hi to my favorites, giving them extra-long pets.
“I’m so sorry for stealing your babies,” I say as I collect their eggs. “I truly would not blame you if you pecked my eyes out.” With that, I loop the basket around my wrist and step outside.
I freeze.
Standing outside the chicken coop is a tall, broad-shouldered man with jet-black hair and a scar slicing down one cheek. He looks like a brutish Clark Kent.
The man steps into my space.
“Employees only, sir.”
He moves, blocking my path. “Reese Austin, right?”
“Sorry.” Anxiety bubbles in my stomach. Press or fan, I can’t tell. I keep my head down in case he tries to snap a photo. “You must have me confused with someone else.”
“No, I don’t,” he says simply. “I’ve been looking for you.”
Panic flares to life inside of me. I’ve had stalkers before, but they’ve never gotten this close. “I’m working. I can’t give autographs.”
“I don’t want an autograph. I want you.”
My heart races as I take a step back, boxed in by the chicken coop and the man. Thinking quickly, I drop a hand to my hip and bring the two-way radio to my mouth. “Help,” I say into the receiver. “Ford, help.”
There’s a crackle of static. Silence. Then, Ford.
Across the pasture, I watch him drop the hay bale and whip around, finding me instantly. He must see it all over my face because he leaps off the baler, and races toward me at a dead run.
A flash of gold tooth. “You don’t need help, Reese. What you need is me.”
His raspy voice makes me shiver.
When Ford reaches me, he grabs my arm and pushes me behind him.
“Ford…” My breath hitches.
He remains rigid, his hands fisting at his sides. “Who the fuck are you?”
The man chuckles. “I’m your fairy fucking godfather.”
It’s eerily quiet in the lodge. Mid-afternoon, most guests have already checked in and out on tours for the day.
At the dining table in the cantina, Bo Bosko, the private investigator Ford hired, sets up a makeshift office. Files and laptops spread out over the long surface. With his crisp three-piece suit, slicked back black hair, and gold tooth, he’s professional, if not slightly terrifying.
Now that I know he’s not a stalker or here to kill me, I’ve relaxed. The same can’t be said for Ford. His face is mutinous. He’s all clenched fists and gnashing jaw, prowling and protective, pacing behind me like an anxious wildcat.
“He’s here to help,” I remind him. “You hired him.”
Ford crosses his arms. “He should have called.”
“It ruins my entrance,” Bosko says blandly. He sets aside a stack of papers and closes his briefcase.
I lean in. “Why do they call you The Poacher?”
Bosko grins. “Because I steal things.”
I’m deciding if that’s a good thing or a bad thing when Bosko slides a copy of my contract across the table to me.
“Here it is,” he proclaims. His Marine Corps pinky ring catches the light from a nearby window.
I stare down at the contract like it’s a mirage. When I glance up at Ford, his scowl has melted away and now he looks worried.
“You can stay,” I tell him.
“You sure?” he asks, thumbs hooked through his belt loops.
I nod. For some reason, I want him here.
Pulling out a chair, he sits beside me.
I flip through the pages. There’re are some clauses I remember, but the majority of the document is redacted. Long passages have been blacked out. When I get to the end, I frown.
This contract is hereby effective immediately and expires gfgffffffffffffffffff .
I tap the signature line. “It looks like it’s missing a part.”
“It is.” Bosko shuffles the papers around. “A lot of parts. This contract was marked Reese . Which makes me think this marked-up version is the one your manager’s been showing you.”
Ford, reading over my shoulder, says, “Hell, even our MLB contracts weren’t this fucking confusing.”
“It’s essentially a conservatorship,” Bosko explains. “You signed over a majority of your rights. Guardianship. Control over your career.”
Shame sweeps over me. “I know.”
“You were sixteen?” Bosko asks.
I nod and look back down at the contract. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have signed it—”
“Not your fault, Birdie.” Ford gives me a gentle look. “You were a kid.”
Bosko gestures my way. “And you were at Muirwood—”
“I was,” I say sharply, cutting him off. Every muscle in my body tightens. “I signed it when I was there. After—after everything that happened.”
“Wait.” Now Bosko looks interested. “You signed the contract at Muirwood?”
“Yes.”
I can feel Ford watching, curious, but he says nothing.
God, I’m beginning to wish I hadn’t asked him to stay.
I don’t want him to think I’m crazy like Gavin does. What if I show too much of myself to him, and he runs? I’ll lose him like I’ve lost everyone else in my life.
Even though he’s temporary, he’s still my friend, and I don’t have many of those.
As if he can read my hesitation, Bosko nods. “We’ll come back to that.”
I nod, sick to my stomach.
“Everyone who’s seemingly employed by you is paid by Gavin. Everyone answers to him. Lawyers, doctors, publicists, your record label. Not you, Reese. You have no power. You have no say.”
“Fuck me,” Ford mutters under his breath.
It’s like a bucket of icy water splashed in my face. I sit there and absorb the blow.
Bosko’s right. I have never had control. I lost myself so long ago, I’ve forgotten who I am. All because I handed my life over to Gavin on a silver platter.
“I also found a strong possibility Gavin’s been mismanaging your financials.”
“What are you talking about?” Over and over, I twist my bangles on my wrist. When I see Bosko’s shrewd eyes on me, I drop my hand and reach for Ford’s. I need him like I need air.
“Reese, you’re a superstar. According to Variety , you’re worth two hundred million. Yet you have no money?”
I blow out a breath, my frustration rising. “Well, Gavin cut off my cards and access to my bank account.”
Bosko gives me a long, squirm-inducing stare. Finally, he speaks. “No. I mean you have no money. Zero. It’s mostly gone.”
My stomach sinks, and I’m mortified to feel tears pricking my eyelids. It just keeps getting worse.
Gavin always allotted money to me, like an allowance. Which is bullshit because it’s mine. I earned every cent. He always said it was part of the process, that it was coming, but he had to have the accountants divvy it up first to those who needed their cut. Tours, merch, album sales—where has it all been going?
“Gavin.” The words drip from my mouth. “It’s been going to Gavin.”
“Exactly. I think he’s stealing from you.”
My jaw drops. “Based on what?”
“It’s a hunch. But I’m working to pull some statements,” he says calmly. “You followed your hunch and left. Why?”
I grip the edge of the table, thinking of the black hole that’s shrunk since I’ve been at the ranch. “I don’t—I don’t know. It felt bad. Dark.”
“You trusted your gut,” Bosko says, and I immediately feel vindicated. “Have you spoken to him?”
“I called him—”
“You called him?” Bosko sighs like I’ve royally fucked up.
“Once. Just to check in.”
“How did he act?”
“He wanted me to come back.” I bite my lip. “We’re supposed to sign a contract…he wouldn’t tell me what.”
“Does he know where you are?”
“No.”
“Keep it that way.” Bosko’s craggy brow furrows. “He said he’s going to help you?”
“Yes.”
“He ever said that before?”
A shiver of paranoia runs through me. “All the time.”
Bosko nods and taps my contract. “The key’s in this. The end date.”
I stare at my loopy sixteen-year-old signature. The Old Reese who didn’t know what she was doing. But I know now. I can fix it. I can be the woman she needed back then.
“My advice.” Bosko’s clipped voice has me looking up. “Sign nothing the man puts in front of you without your own lawyer. This contract is something you need out of, Reese. At first glance, it’s fraudulent, not to mention abusive.”
Ford squeezes my hand. “She’s here for the summer.”
The gesture of solidarity is so sweet my eyes flood. He’s on my side one hundred percent. It feels incredible.
“Excellent. That gives us some time. I’ll dig around.” Bosko’s blue-eyed gaze lands on me. “Meanwhile, Reese, you start hiring your own team. Lawyers, publicists. I have a list of people you can trust. I’ll send them over.”
Ford stands from the chair and hustles over to the front desk to help a late arrival.
Bosko opens his briefcase. “You get to decide how you live your life, Reese. What you did in the past doesn’t make the future.”
“Can you really do all this by the end of the summer?” I ask, feeling overwhelmed. This was supposed to be a break, but now it feels like an escape.
“I move fast,” he says, his voice low and dangerous.
“Muirwood.” My eyes flick to Ford, handing over a key to a family of three. “You know.”
“I do. But it’s your secret, and I’m in the business of keeping those close.”
I smile. Bosko is creepy, but he’s also charming. He gives me hope, while also making me feel like he’ll break someone’s legs.
“You don’t deserve what happened to you, and you don’t deserve someone taking advantage of it.” Bosko stacks his papers and laptop in his glossy black briefcase. “If you signed under duress, it should be easy to get you out of your contract. Just hang tight. Try not to give Gavin any indication of what you’ve been up to. It’s safer that way.”
“She ain’t safe?”
Ford stands there, his eyes on us. His voice has dropped into sub-zero temperatures.
Locks click on Bosko’s briefcase, and he stands. “Just keep her here,” he tells Ford. To me, he says, “Whatever you do, don’t go back with Gavin. Delay. Lie if you need to buy yourself time. And remember that you make the calls now, Reese. You have the power. Stay here. Stay out of trouble.”
Goose bumps prickle on my arm.
I hope it’s that easy.