Chapter Twenty-One
Surprisingly, the next few hours were spent actually working.
Through a slow and therapeutic tune, it illustrated a life full of love, happiness, and parents that would do anything for their only child’s dreams. A child who wanted for absolutely nothing, but only at the expense of his parents who both worked blue collar jobs and picked up other odds jobs on the side to create a sense of stability for their son.
A stability that instilled hard work, responsibility, and respect, but also fueled his dreams of becoming a country artist.
The song was called “Only Child.”
It was catchy and real; the lyrics were laced with vulnerability and nostalgia, providing me with even more insight into exactly who Stetson was and how he became Stetson Walker, the country music star who so many people adored.
It was an honor to watch the words of a song play out like a movie.
A movie about how one man could be raised up right but still lose touch with his values and beliefs in the blink of an eye.
How a quick shot to the top made him basically unrecognizable.
Was fame really that wicked? And was the loss of his best friend the gut-wrenching wake-up call he needed to put things into perspective and revive his old self and pull himself out of the darkness?
I feverishly scribbled in my journal, saving questions, thoughts, and snippets of ideas for later so I wouldn’t lose the little strands of inspiration that danced around my head as I invested myself in the ending.
As I sat in the control room, I watched him in his element, strumming his guitar, scribbling words down on a small piece of paper in front of him, and it was only then that I realized I was witnessing the evolution of this man.
The fascinating story of how he went from the boy in the song to the twenty-some kid in the headlines to the man sitting right in front of me.
The man who, despite my previous notions, I was beginning to admire, and that scared the hell out of me.
Especially now.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” he said, then tossed the pen onto the table in front of him. “It’s been a hard day’s work, I think we both deserve a drink.”
The words left his mouth and entered my sphere, reeling me back into focus, back into the present.
“I have to admit, that was impressive. I was not expecting you to crank out basically an entire song—and a really good one at that—in such a short amount of time,” I said, noticing how my compliment changed his posture.
“You’d be surprised what I can do in a short amount of time.” His suggestive tone once again sparked the tiny fire in my belly that desperately wanted to be lit.
I quickly doused it with water. Not now. Not yet.
“I can only imagine.” The sarcasm in my voice danced around the subject as I plucked my bag from the ground. “Too bad we have somewhere we need to be.”
I threw my bag over my shoulder and moved to the door, knowing I had to tread lightly. He’d allowed me to see so much more of him today, the side of him that had started to allow all the pieces to fall into place, and that was enough to have me forgetting everything else.
His guitar case clicked shut behind me, and within seconds I could smell his familiar, intoxicating scent surrounding me as he stood directly behind me.
Subconsciously, I reached for the doorknob and twisted it, but didn’t get the door open before his hand overpowered mine.
My body was paralyzed waiting for his next move.
His head dropped into crook of my neck, the hair from his mustache prickling my ear. An army of shivers marched down my spine. “There’s always tonight.” The hum of his voice bounced through my chest.
Don’t turn around. Don’t even think about it.
He spun the handle until the door popped open. The tension-filled air rushed out, allowing me to exhale.
“Do you wanna just ride with me?” he asked casually, as if the ungodly amount of sexual pull between the two of us wasn’t trying its best to drown us.
“Sure,” I replied automatically. “I just need to grab a few things from my car.”
I tossed my computer and work bag onto the passenger seat, replacing it with my tan suede purse that was only big enough to hold my wallet, keys, phone, and a single lip gloss in my favorite honey-colored shade.
My Jeep was parked next to a large but subtly tricked-out black Ford Raptor, one I could only assume belonged to Stetson.
Stetson beat me to the passenger door and pulled it open, stepping aside and extending one of his hands out while the other fell to the small of my back. “A gentleman always gets the door,” he said.
The stability of his hand resting on my back filled me with comfort and I instinctively reached for his other hand as he helped me climb in.
The slam of the door released a burst of air, his signature scent engulfing my senses.
Even his truck smelled good. The inside was pristine—not a single thing cluttered the floorboards, no empty water bottles in the cup holders, not even a stray piece of trash.
The truck looked like it had just been pulled from the dealership parking lot.
I gazed around, looking for anything that might tell me more about this man.
The chestnut leather was a stark contrast against the rest of the black interior.
My eyes landed on a square picture clipped to his visor, the well-known but terribly outdated watercolor blue background signaling it was a school picture.
The clip holding it in place hid the face of whoever it was, but after hearing him talk about Ruby, I could only guess it was her.
“You okay?” he asked. “You seem a little off.”
“I’m good,” I lied.
“All right, just making sure. Ready?”
“Let’s do it.”
“Scar! Hi!” Maggie shouted from across the bar the moment I stepped foot inside The Wheel, inviting a handful of people to bring their attention to Stetson and me.
I wanted to be mortified, but that would be a lie. Instead, I watched as eyes widened and jaws dropped while the two of us moved toward the bar.
“Hi!” I responded, wrapping my arms around her as she jumped up from Booker’s lap to greet us.
Her yellow hair cascaded down her back in waves of voluminous curls. The sparkle in her brown eyes was no doubt from the man she clearly had wrapped around her finger.
“Hey, Stetson, long time no see,” she said.
“It’s been a while, hasn’t it,” he agreed, leaning in to hug her. “Hey, man,” he added, throwing his hand out for Booker.
“What’s up? How’s the album coming?”
Stetson’s body turned toward me as though looking for confirmation. “Actually, it’s coming along a lot better now.” The words were for Booker, but they were said while he stared at me. “Thanks to this one.”
“You’re ridiculous. I’ve just been there for moral support,” I joked, swatting his forearm.
“Speaking of, I owe you a drink. What can I get you?”
“I’ll take a whiskey grenadine,” I said, having to remind myself to remove my hand from his arm.
He cocked his head. “A whiskey grenadine? Like that’s it? Nothing else?”
“Don’t even ask. This girl is ride or die for her whiskey grenadines. You’ll never change her mind. It’s the weirdest thing,” Maggie piped in, finding herself back on Booker’s lap.
The taste of jealously stung the back of my throat. I’d touched Stetson, but not like that, not intimately.
Focus, Scarlett.
“Hey, now! Sorry I know what I like,” I bantered.
“Do you want ice in it?” he asked, still not confident enough to place the order with the bartender.
“Oh, yes. Sorry. Just whiskey, grenadine, and ice, please! Thank you.”
“Maggie, do you need a refill?” he asked.
“No, I’m good,” she said, holding her half-full glass up.
Stetson took a seat on the barstool to the left of Booker and Maggie. Maggie hopped up from where she’d been nestled, encouraging Booker to join Stetson and then propped her back up to the bar, using it as a backrest.
“So, when you are you gonna fill me in about this?” she interrogated, her eyes darting up and down Stetson’s body.
My eyes widened and with little control, my words escaped quietly. “I know why Stetson is really here.”
“What? Why?” She stepped closer to me.
“You know his best friend that I told you about, the one who died in a car accident?”
She nodded.
“Well, he had a daughter, one that Stetson had shared was the inspiration behind the new album.”
“Okay…” Her voice lingered, like she knew the other shoe was about to drop. “But I’m not following why that would bring him to Quincey Falls.”
“She was adopted,” I whispered, making sure no one else could hear me. “He’s looking for her parents.”
“Oh. Holy shit,” Maggie practically croaked. “Shit, Scarlett. Did you tell him?”
“About me? Hell no. I couldn’t,” I admitted. “I mean, I can’t. At least not right now.”
“That’s fair,” she said, giving me a little comfort knowing she agreed.
“Honestly, Scar, you don’t have to tell him at all if you don’t want to.
You’re writing an article about him; it’s not like you’re going to marry the guy.
” Her sarcasm forced a laugh out of her mouth, until she realized what she’d said. “Shit, I didn’t mean—”
“No, it’s okay, I know what you meant,” I interrupted. “But that’s just the thing. The more I learn about the man, the more I want to keep learning.” My honesty was refreshing but also a little alarming. I threw my hand over my mouth.
“It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see the chemistry between the two of you.
” She slipped her drink to her lips, taking a long swig.
“Don’t let the thought of your past interfere with the present, not now, not until you figure out whatever the hell this is.
” She waved her hand back and forth between Stetson’s back and me.
“Let this be a future Scarlett problem, at least for a little while longer. Deal?”
I desperately wanted to, so I’d try, both for Maggie and myself.
“Deal,” I agreed, lifting my glass to my mouth and allowing the last bit of liquid to seal the deal I’d just made. The sting of whiskey at the back of my throat snaked through my entire body. “Whew,” I blew out.
My head lifted back up as Maggie’s eyes shot past me toward a burst of whoops and hollers that emerged from the front door. Both Stetson and Booker swiveled their barstools around to glance too, but the bartender demanded their attention back.
In a matter of seconds, Maggie had ripped the drink from her lips; a look of absolute panic filling her expression. “Oh shit.” Maggie’s tone was a stark contrast to the one she’d greeted us with. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
“What?” I asked, tracing her gaze to the front door.
If only I’d known what I was going to see, I never would’ve looked.