Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Zander
Luck has been a foreign word my entire life. I’m sure some people think I got where I am because of luck, but they didn’t walk in my shoes. But Romy agreeing to go out with me after everything I’ve done to her? Maybe my luck is changing.
That blush on her cheeks… I can’t stop admiring it, wanting to be the reason for her flush again.
Fuck. What am I doing? What’s the end game? What’s my plan? Hell if I know. All I know is that now that she’s back in my life, I feel like a fucking fool for kicking her out of it in the first place. Even if it was the right thing to do.
Regardless, I’ll take what I can get today. I saw her wince when I suggested a horseback ride and the picnic, and I didn’t realize until after the words were out of my mouth how romantic they sounded. I don’t deserve her even entertaining a day with me, let alone a picnic.
She closes up her office and locks the door. I find it funny how she and her family swear up and down that my security detail and DeSoto are ridiculous, that Plain Daisy Ranch is safe, but she locks that door up tighter than a drum every time she leaves.
She steps into the hallway, and I motion for her to go first because though I wasn’t raised behind a white picket fence, I’m not a total douchebag.
Or maybe I am because all I can think is that the view is a nice reward for being gentlemanly.
I remember gripping those plump ass cheeks as she rode me on the bench of my tour bus.
We walk out the back door, and she keeps going.
“Aren’t you going to lock the door?” I ask, searching for a reason why she’d lock her office but not the venue itself.
She shrugs. “My mom will probably come by, and besides, this is Plain Daisy Ranch.”
“But you lock your office.” My eyebrows raise.
She shoots me a smile that feels a little flirtatious. My dick takes notices. “Well, I can’t let everybody know all my secrets.”
She pauses as though she’s going to say something more but turns away from me and walks toward the UTV.
“You sure you can drive this?” she asks, dangling the keys in front of me. “When’s the last time you even drove yourself around anywhere?”
I chuckle, hold my hand out, and our fingers brush. Electricity shoots up my arm. It’s a bad sign. A really bad sign. I can’t entertain something with Romy again. My lifestyle doesn’t afford us anything more than what we already shared. My lifestyle and me.
We climb into the UTV. I place the key in the ignition and turn to her. “Just so you know, I do have a license, and sometimes I even drive instead of DeSoto… all by myself, if you can believe it. There’s a lot more to me than just the singer and the star.”
She holds my gaze. Something tells me to turn around, break our connection.
Romy floors me when she says softly, “I know.”
And damn, I feel more seen in this moment than I ever have. The time I spent with Romy was limited—three dates. Extended dates, but still only three. And somehow, even in that short time, I always felt like she saw a different version of me. One I don’t show anyone else. Not even Beau.
Unbeknownst to me, maybe I let her in a little at a time.
A sliver here and a sliver there. Not through vomiting out my trauma to her, but her listening and observing.
And I think that’s what kills me the most now.
I pushed her away because I didn’t want anyone to know the real me.
Letting someone in means giving them the power to destroy you, and I mastered the lesson of keeping everyone at arm’s length a long time ago.
I straighten, clear my throat, start the engine, and we drive toward The Getaway Lodge. Jensen’s already inside. We both duck in, grab the basket, and get out before anyone really notices—although Darla gave us a second glance from the dining room where the crew is eating.
As we drive, I decide to bring up the horseback riding again to gauge how she feels about it. “Point me in the direction of the stables.”
She hems and haws. “I actually have another spot I want to show you, but we need the UTV cause it’s a little farther away. Is that okay?”
She shifts in her seat, and her gaze shifts away from me.
I’ve been around enough people in my life to know when someone’s lying.
Years of foster care drilled that into me.
The fake smiles, the empty promises. The “we love you, we want you here forever” right before they send you packing for one reason or another.
Romy’s hiding something. But for today, I’ll give her a pass. God knows I’ve kept enough shit from her.
She directs me around the ranch in a more sweeping tour than the introductory one on the day I arrived.
This place is fucking massive. We pass the lake, and she points out the dock and says it’d be a good spot to show the couple splashing around in the water.
We pass the horse stables, but don’t actually go in.
She introduces me to their ranch mascot Bessie, a Guernsey cow they all tell their problems to.
She is super sweet as we stand by the fence line.
Then Romy shows me the flower shop, the greenhouse, the bee area, the vineyard her uncle tends to, and a lot of the land where the cows graze.
As we drive past Daisy Hill, she directs me up another path. “I don’t know if Scarlett mentioned this, but please don’t film anything on Daisy Hill.”
“I figured when your mom mentioned paying your respects. Is it a family cemetery?”
“Yeah, my Aunt Daisy, who the ranch is named after, died young. She’s buried there, as well as all my grand and great-grandparents. I get that it would probably be great for the video—”
I place my hand on her thigh. “It’s off-limits. I got it.”
Her body relaxes under my touch, and as much as I don’t want to pull my hand away, I do. “Thanks.”
“I get it.” And I do. She’s so rooted in family. While I’ve mostly been on my own my entire life, I can spot it easily. Probably because it’s something I grew up wanting.
We head toward a creek and an open field.
“Is this the spot everyone wanted us to use?” I ask.
She smiles. “Yeah, but there’s a better one. At least I think so. I like to keep it to myself, but I’ll share it with you. Only because I think it’s the best spot on the ranch.”
“I’m honored.” I cover my heart with my hand.
It’s a nice change of pace, having the freedom to drive around the ranch with her next to me and not having to worry about people’s assumptions.
After a while, Romy directs me to drive up a hill and park the UTV. We step out and—
“Holy shit,” I breathe. “You’re telling me nobody else knows about this spot?”
She shrugs. “Not that I know of. I’m sure some of my family do. But no one’s ever said anything. I found it by accident one day when I needed some space.”
My head swims with questions about when she needed the space and time to think. Was it after I pushed her out of my life? No. It had to have been way before that.
Jensen packed a blanket with the basket. We spread it out, and I put the basket down to stop the slight breeze from turning up the corner, and we both sit down. She slips her shoes off and extends her legs, leaning back on her arms.
There might not be a creek here, but it’s a full view of the ranch with the sun shining across their land.
“I can’t believe you’re sharing this with me,” I admit, feeling unworthy.
She shrugs, which seems to be her thing when she doesn’t want to give me any more information.
I’m undeserving of sharing her sacred spot.
The one she goes to in order to think. God, did she come here after DeSoto told her she wasn’t welcome backstage that night?
I treated her as though she was disposable.
And now she’s giving me the gift of this view and a piece of her to share with the world through my video.
“It’s amazing here. I can’t believe this is where you grew up.”
She pulls her knees to her chest and rests her chin on them, staring out at the view. “I know. I’m lucky. I had an amazing childhood.”
Romy glances at me. I catch a flicker of pity in her eyes.
My spine straightens, and I feel my defenses snap into place, but I swallow it down.
Maybe it’s okay if she feels bad for me.
Maybe that’s just who she is. The truth is, I liked that she was always searching for more from me than what it was like to be Zander Shaw, country music star.
How many women didn’t ever ask me anything, didn’t care about me?
They just wanted to tell people they got on my tour bus and made it into my bed—even if they hadn’t.
She goes quiet, then murmurs, “I’m sorry you didn’t have this.”
I laugh. It’s a nervous and automatic response, not genuine laughter in the least. My past isn’t something I like talking about, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t haunt me daily. “You aren’t any of the people who didn’t want me.”
“I know, but I think everyone should have a place where they feel safe.”
“Everyone is dealt a different hand. Mine was shit, but I can’t complain. I bet on myself, and it paid off.” I doubt Romy agrees with me because I have a lot, but other than Beau and maybe DeSoto, I don’t really have the kinds of things in my life that she’s referring to.
We stay on the hill, the only sound the long grass below swishing in the breeze. Eventually I open the picnic basket to keep my mind from wondering what it would have been like to grow up somewhere like here, rather than the way I did.
Jensen did good. Chicken salad sandwiches, apples, even little pumpkin bars.
“He really is an amazing chef,” I say. “I’ve enjoyed everything he’s prepared.”
Romy smiles. “Yeah, sometimes I think it’s strange. He should be famous and long gone from here, but that’s not Jensen’s style.” She crosses her legs and turns to the basket, peering inside.
“Do you think it’s a family obligation for him? To stay here? Like maybe that’s why he hasn’t left?” I hand her a chicken salad sandwich.
Part of being raised the way I was made it easy to cut ties and live life on the road.
I was out of the system as soon as I was eighteen and never looked back.
I had Beau of course, and we just kept pushing to make my music career happen.
Sometimes I feel like we should stop and look back at everything we’ve done, appreciate it a little more.
Take the foot off the gas, but… those what-ifs are hard to push aside.
Romy thinks on my question for a while. “I’m not sure that’s it.
I think we all just want to be here. I know some people would call us crazy because they want to get as far as they can from their family.
And some of us have left. Bennett moved away for college, lived in California for a while, but he came back.
Ben left to play football but returned after his retirement.
I don’t know… I just can’t imagine not living here…
having my kid grow up somewhere else…” Her voice fades.
Again, she looks away. There’s probably something personal she doesn’t want me to know. The realization that I can’t be the person who hears her hopes and dreams hits me square in the chest, like a knife between the ribs.
“What were you going to say?” I ask, pressing in the hopes that she’ll share.
“Nothing. It’s just—” She turns to face me, and I watch her chest rise and fall as if she’s gaining the courage to share something with me.
This is it. She’s going to tell me off. Tell me how badly I hurt her and how undeserving I am to talk to her about anything other than this video. How I don’t deserve to know the phenomenal woman who hides under the layer of hurt I painted her with.
“Zander. There’s something I think—”
But she stops again. I’m desperate to get something from her, even if it’s her wrath. If she lets it out, we can move on maybe.
Then I hear the click of a camera shutter.
I whip around to find a photographer ducking behind a tree.
“Fuck,” I say. “We gotta go.” I shoot up off the blanket, quickly pack up what’s left of the food, and lead her back to the UTV.
Who did I think I was out here? Some average Joe who can just roam around? Of course, the paps are going to find a way onto the property and search me out. But it’s not only me. Now I’ve put Romy in this shit situation.
Obviously, word’s gotten out that Zander Shaw is at Plain Daisy Ranch.
I drive fast and get us back on the path in enough time that I’m hoping he didn’t get too many decent shots. By the time we get back to a more public part of the ranch, where a photographer wouldn’t dare push their luck, I’m fuming.
The UTV rattles idle outside The Knotted Barn as I turn to her. I will not allow them to ruin our conversation.
“What were you going to say?” I ask, keeping one hand on the steering wheel, the other braced on my thigh.
She shakes her head, ponytail slipping over her shoulder. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it. I just… I hate that we got interrupted.”
The cool breeze whips through the open cab. “Me too. It’s the price you pay for this life, I guess. They’re just trying to make a living.”
“Yeah, but they’re preventing you from having a life in order to chase theirs.” Her voice is edged with frustration. The UTV rocks slightly as she shifts in her seat. “They could do something else to earn money.”
I glance past her toward the barn. “I’m not going to fault someone for trying to feed their family. I put myself in the spotlight. I made that choice. Knew the deal. I have to deal with the consequences.”
She takes me in, gaze sharp. For a second, it’s as if she can see past every wall I’ve ever stacked up.
“That doesn’t mean it’s right or fair to you.” Her hand curls tightly around the grab bar. “So you should sacrifice your life because you make music?”
“All I said is, it’s the price you pay.” My voice is steady. I fought the paps and the shitty, dishonest reporters for a long time. And I lost every time, so now I try not to put myself in that situation.
Her eyes soften. “You pay a lot to be who you are, Zander. Will you ever stop paying for it?”
The engine ticks after I kill it. There’s not much to say. She doesn’t understand the day to day, but I really want to know what she was going to tell me earlier. It felt important.
Before I can press her, she climbs out.
I stay behind the wheel, watching her walk away, and just like that, the perfect day I had with her… is over.