I pushed my hoodie sleeves up. I’d gone for comforttoday in a sweater, soft leggings, and a pair of slides. After lunch, I’d come outside to write, hoping the mix of spring and summer would rouse my muse. The damn thing had hung around for two and a half songs and slid back into her cave.
I hummed a few more notes.
Useless.
I closed my eyes. This album had to happen. I had a solid fan base, but fame was fickle. Their ruined expectations would set me back. I was in my thirties, but I was still seen as a starlet. That came with connotations of innocent but also amateur and unpredictable, which somehow led people to question if I had any true talent.
Professionals in my field, and even a lot of fans, never looked at the male singers and saidBut can they actually sing? Can they entertain a crowd and deliver a set at the same time? How do they hold up under pressure?
I would not flake on my release date.
“Can I hold up under pressure,” I sang and ran the pick down the strings. “Or will I be consumed?”
What a dismal fucking lyric.
Sighing, I set the guitar aside and propped it against the exterior log wall. I scribbled down my new lyric on a fresh page, then gazed at the land around me.
Spring was in the mountains. The land was alive. I’d seen deer run through the valley this morning. My muse might be hiding, but I didn’t want to be. I’d been steeped in sad songs for years. Were these songs harder to write when a blue sky soared overhead and birds sang from the trees?
The sound of an engine coming up the hill gave me pause. Summer had said she and Teller were going to stop by and run through the contracts for the next year.I continued to plan around a tour I wasn’t sure would happen.
But the pickup that came into view was Rhys’s red Chevy. Flutters erupted in my belly until I spotted his flashing gaze. The hard cut of his bearded jaw was visible through the dappled shadows of leaves on the windshield as he drove under the trees.
I walked to the railing and leaned my elbows on it. The girls weren’t with him.
He parked and got out, shutting the door hard. I jumped, the sound echoing against the slopes backing the house.
He stalked toward the porch stairs. “I thought you were hiding up here.”
“I am.” I folded my arms, the earlier thrill at seeing him gone.
“You’re all over the news. Wren showed me your feed. Lots of updates.”
I notched a brow up. “At least once a day.”
That gave him pause. “This isn’t some PR stunt?”
Anger ignited hot in my stomach. “When have I ever done a PR stunt?”
“When your concert bus broke down on the way to a venue, but it turned out you and your crew had already flown to town and were setting up the entire time the news fretted over your safety and whether the concert would get canceled. That sure as fuck got a lot of attention on your tour.”
The media had tracked our movements to each town. It had become a game of spotting June Bee and her crew. “We flew because the bus wasn’t doing so hot. The driver thought it was fine to make it, but mypromoter didn’t want to risk it. We had fun with the attention. It was harmless stuff.”
“My kids can’t be part of your harmless fun.”
“What are you talking about?”
He wiggled his phone. The screen was black. “You’ve been posting every day. Some from Copper Summit.”
I gawked at him. “Are you telling me that you have an app on your phone that’s not about the weather or market prices?”
His expression turned flat. “I’m not joking.”
“Neither am I. You’re quick to accuse me of shit when you don’t know how it works. Wynter suggested I hire Ruby from the Bozeman location to post about me once a day. I gave her some videos, and at one of the photo shoots, Wynter helped me out. I haven’t seen a thing, but as long as Wynter isn’t sounding an alarm, I don’t care.”
His jaw flexed. Between Rhys’s size and his good looks, even as a kid, no one had stood up to him. But I was used to three older brothers towering over me. I wasn’t intimidated by an irritated Rhys.
What he’d said earlier finally registered. “What do you mean I’m all over the news?”
