Chapter Fifteen
Everything went still. My thoughts. The room. The world.
All of it.
The pressure of his lips on mine wasn’t enough; I wanted more. I pushed my tongue inside his mouth, eagerly greeted by his. The tickle of his mustache was a sensation I wasn’t ready for, the prickle on my upper lip firing up the need inside of me onto all cylinders.
Confusion plagued my rampant thoughts. I shouldn’t do this. It was going to end badly, but now that my mouth was consumed by Stetson’s, the last thing I wanted to do was stop kissing him.
He grabbed my body, pulling me on top of him. I straddled his lap, the feeling of his body underneath mine only making me desperate for more.
One of his hands lingered under my chin while the other slid down my face, leaving traces of sparks in its wake. My body instinctively leaned into his touch, hyperaware of his every movement, finding it nearly impossible to pull away.
You’re the only one I can trust to be professional about it. Donna’s voice echoed through my head like she’d been speaking through a megaphone.
Shit.
And most importantly, I want this one to be for her. Stetson’s voice rallied right behind Donna’s.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I used my hands to push him away while I obnoxiously shook my head no.
“I can’t,” I breathed, wiping my lips with back of my hand as I abruptly stood from the couch.
“Why?” he asked, calmly grabbing his tea from off the table in front of him as if we weren’t just in the middle of an intense makeout session. He may have been used to shit like this, but I wasn’t, and no matter how many times he’d done this, I really couldn’t imagine it had ever felt like that.
“Why?” I repeated his question. “Where should I start? How about the fact that I’m not young, blonde, and sparkly?” I hissed, my words laced with venom.
“Huh?” he asked. “What does that even mean?”
“Don’t tell me you didn’t see the article online about you and Delilah…”
“Jesus. What did I tell you about believing everything you read?” he huffed. “I don’t read any of those damn articles, and neither should you.”
“I didn’t have to read the article, considering I saw the situation unfolding with my own two eyes.”
“You saw what you wanted to see. Did the article mention that I ran away from Delilah and after someone else? How, after that someone else left me in the parking lot, I got myself an Uber and went home alone, because if she wasn’t coming home with me then no one was?
” His crinkled eyes and firm jaw proved to be just another distraction. “I didn’t think so.”
I wanted to rebut his comment, but there was nothing to say unless I was going to share with him that my stomach was currently doing somersaults knowing he’d gone home solo.
“That was only the first reason this,” I said, and pointed to him, “is a bad idea. There’s a handful of others, starting with the fact that I’m also supposed to be working on an article at this very moment and that’s not happening.”
“Sure, it is. You’re just getting to know your subject. The things that really get him going.” His eyes widened as he chuckled. His laugh was almost as melodious as his singing.
If I wasn’t trying to be serious, I would’ve let myself enjoy the sound of it a bit more. “That’s not funny, Stetson. This is serious. I just got this job, and I can’t risk losing it.”
His gaze locked in on me. “I would never let whatever this is interfere with the article, with your job.”
I cocked my head to the side. “Well, that would be a little tricky, now wouldn’t it? I mean, the whole sleeping with the client thing is the number one no-no.”
“Who ever said anything about sleeping with anyone? But go on.” He grinned. “I’m all ears.”
“We really don’t have to do this,” I suggested, hoping he’d let us move past this and onto the real reason I was here.
“Actually, we do. Because despite the bullshit you pulled Saturday and this facade you’re trying to put on about not being interested, that kiss just said otherwise.”
Irritation galloped over my face. “Okay. You want to go there?” I asked.
“For starters, I’m assuming the bullshit you’re referring to is when I turned you down?
That wasn’t bullshit; that was me protecting myself from you.
I know you try to pretend like you’re a good guy, and for a millisecond, I almost believed you.
But then I overheard you telling Mark that you want to write this whole damn album for some girl.
Meanwhile, you’re hiding out from god knows what in Quincey Falls, doing your damnedest to completely wrap me up in your bullshit.
” The words had sprung from my brain and out of my mouth without my permission.
“Girl?” He stood, walking closer to where I was standing across the room.
Ignoring him, I continued. “And maybe if I were five years younger, hadn’t been humiliated by my ex, and didn’t have a horrible track record with one-night stands, maybe I’d toy with the idea of a spontaneous hookup with the country star who came into town and swept me off my feet. But I’m not any of those things.”
His cowboy boots clanked on the unfinished floor as he stepped closer, leaving only a breath between us.
Even now after all of that, I could feel pieces of me gravitating toward him.
“Not that I owe you this, but for what it’s worth, the girl I’m writing this album for isn’t the kind of girl you’re thinking.”
“Whatever that means,” I scoffed.
But sadness washed over him, catching me off guard.
I watched as his shoulders dropped. “About a year ago, I lost my best friend and his wife in a tragic car accident. They had a daughter. Thankfully, she wasn’t in the car, but she probably wishes she were, because I have to imagine the pain she’s endured since is far worse than dying would’ve been.
That day at their funeral, watching her young body hold so much poise and composure…
it was eye-opening. If she could get through this, then I sure as hell needed to figure out how to get through it, and most importantly, in a way that would make her proud.
So, that’s what I’m doing. I’m writing an album for her, for Ruby.
” He released the last words almost as if they’d finally been freed from within.
There it is.
That was when everything shifted for him. He’d lost someone, and if I said I knew how that could change a person, I meant I really knew.
“Stetson, I—” I rushed to apologize to him, to comfort him, something, but he wouldn’t allow me to finish.
“Don’t worry about it. I’m used to being judged, and hell, I even deserve most of it. I don’t expect you to see me any differently than anyone else.”
But in a wild way, I did now, at least a little bit. So much of what he’d just said made the little parts of him make far more sense. And now between the kiss and this new information, my body was buzzing from all kinds of emotions.
“Let’s just get back to the article,” he said, his once warm and welcoming body now cold and shut off.
I nodded, pulling my computer and journal from my bag. “Why Quincey Falls?” I asked, shocking myself with how quickly I returned to professional Scarlett.
“Why not?” he responded, a sense of hesitancy filling the space between us. “It’s the kind of town every cowboy dreams about. It’s quaint, quiet, and allows space for good old-fashioned thinking.”
He wasn’t wrong. Quincey Falls was exactly that. And even though we were housing one of country music’s biggest stars for the foreseeable future, everyone had let Stetson be.
Well, almost everyone.
Over the next hour or so, I asked all the basic questions and received all the basic answers. It was almost as if I’d lost the privilege of his vulnerability for the time being, and after everything that’d just happened, I wasn’t going to pry. Not today.
“That should be good for today,” I said, shutting my laptop. “I plan on popping into the studio every now and then to get bits and pieces for the article, if that’s all right with you?”
“You already know the answer to that,” he said, his tone bordering the line between sarcasm and rudeness.
“And if you have anything that you specifically want me to cover, just let me know. I’m definitely open to suggestions. Here’s my number,” I said, handing over a piece of paper. “For article purposes only,” I clarified, holding on to the paper until he acknowledged my comment.
“Article purposes only,” he repeated, very harshly.
I grabbed all my stuff and headed for the door.
“Scarlett—” His voice had returned to its vulnerable state. “Please don’t tell anyone what I told you today. Ruby is very important to me, and so is her privacy.”
I stood silent, my back to Stetson with half of my body through the door.
“It’s safe with me, I promise.”
“And Scarlett?”
It stayed silent until I looked back over my shoulder.
“I prefer brunettes.”
“Scarlett!” George’s bellowing came from across the field as I stepped out of the barn.
The cold air danced across my lips, drawing attention to the tiny traces of leftover kisses. My hand flew to them, hoping to grasp something tangible.
“Wanna go for a ride?” he asked as he rode closer with another saddled up horse next to him. “I was going to ask Stetson, but I probably shouldn’t bother him.”
I dropped my hand. “Yeah, I’d love to. Let me put my stuff in the car and grab my coat.”
I still didn’t know what to make of all of it. Everything felt messier than it had before I got here today. I wanted to be professional, to force down the desire fueling between us, but I was finding that harder to do every time he was near me.
This was our first interview—if you could even call it that—and it’d ended with me straddling the man, for fuck’s sake.
“It’s chillier than I thought,” I said as George and I made our way to the other side of the farm. “Glad I had my jacket in the car.”
“It’s been a below average December; that’s for damn sure. How’d it go with Stetson and the article? Donna seems to be thrilled about the opportunity. She’s been bragging to everyone in town.”
“Bragging? I literally just started today.” I laughed.
“You know how she gets. She loves to make sure everyone knows what’s going on at the Tribune.” He chuckled, a tiny gleam in his eye as he spoke about her. “That woman loves a good article.”
“That she does,” I said.
George’s wife had passed away about ten years ago and he’d been alone ever since. I’d always wondered if he thought about finding someone else to spend the rest of his life with, but I’d never mentioned it.
“The article’s going. I think it will take some time to really figure out what Stetson’s all about and why he chose to come write an album in Quincey Falls of all places. Donna seems to think he’s hiding something, that maybe he’s here for a specific reason.”
“And you?”
“I don’t necessarily disagree, but I also think that man is a very stubborn man. And if he doesn’t want anyone to know the real reason he’s here, then it’s probably going to stay that way,” I admitted.
He definitely wasn’t divulging the whole truth with the crowd, but part of me was okay with that.
Because if I was being honest, the truth scared me a little bit.
If I didn’t know the whole picture, then I had the right to make some of my own assumptions, allowing space for me to give myself reasons as to why getting involved with him in any capacity of the word was a bad idea.
“Or maybe he’s just waiting for the right person to ask,” George said as he stared out onto the bare wheat fields that had been harvested a few months ago.
“Sometimes people come looking for answers in places they’d never imagine, and they don’t really know how they ended up there.
They just know they’re supposed to be there. ”
“I guess,” I agreed. “I just never imagined Quincey Falls would be the place where someone came looking for answers.”
George cleared his throat, calling my attention to him. “Are you sure about that?”
A large lump appeared in my throat. I planned to say something but wound up paralyzed by his comment.
George knew it too because he kept talking, shifting the subject. “Maybe don’t be so hard on him…”
“On Stetson?” I asked.
George nodded, pulling the reins into his other hand. “He’s been through more than most people know. He may act unbothered, but you of all people should know there’s almost always more to the story.”
So many questions swirled around my brain.
How does George know all of this?
“What has he been through?” I asked without hesitation, desperate to know.
George had known me since before I was born. He was practically a grandfather to me, so he and I talked openly. That was an unspoken rule of ours. The truth, no matter what.
“That’s not my story to tell.” He shifted in his saddle. “But hey, you’re the journalist, aren’t you? Maybe you’ll uncover the story yourself.” He grinned, his big white teeth poking out from under his lips.
I gripped the reins, crossing my arms over my chest. “Seriously?” I smirked.
“Don’t look at me like that, darlin’. You know I’ve never been one to share someone else’s story.”
“I know, I know. Cowboy’s honor and all,” I said, defeat riding across my face.
“And don’t go discounting Quincey Falls so quickly. Our little town is the perfect slice of heaven, and sometimes people are desperate for a slice.” He shifted his weight again. “Now come on,” he said, leaning forward and signaling to his horse to pick up the pace. “Show ’em what you got.”