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“Keep your distance, Krystal,” her daddy warned. “If you can’t hear him, he can’t say anything to set you off. And we both know the man lives to set you off.”
“Fine by me,” she replied.
And that’s when their mother spotted them. For a split second, her mother looked at her. In that blip of time, there was no doubting her mother’s excitement. Or her smug little smile of victory. Whatever CiCi King was up to, Krystal was at the center of it. And since Mickey Graham was smiling her way too, she was pretty sure she wasn’t going to like it. Not one teeny tiny bit.
“Hank.” Her mother held out one perfectly manicured hand, diamonds sparkling. “You look good, honey.” She tipped her face so Daddy could give her the obligatory kiss on the cheek.
He did. “CiCi, ladies.” He was all smiles for the women circled around his wife. But he turned his back to Mickey.
And Krystal loved him for it. So, so much.
“Wanna drink?” Travis asked, steering her away from her parents and Mickey.
“No,” she said, arm tightening. “And don’t you dare leave me.”
He sighed. “Can we at least walk to the bar then, maybe talk to some people?”
“Sure.” She followed his lead and gave it her all. If Mickey knew she was ready to pounce, he’d love it. And she didn’t want to give him any more power over her. She was done with that. With him. At least, she thought she was. Until Momma dragged him back into the mix.
Forget about Mickey. She smiled and turned all her attention to the fans and their questions. No, she’d never been to Alaska, but she was sure it was mighty cold in the winter. Yes, she had seen the new Tom Cruise movie but thought it was overrated. She did still have her three-legged Chinese crested dog, Clementine—an Instagram star with a huge following. And she was excited about the tour and how well tickets were selling.
At the moment, she wished she were back home in the rolling Texas hill Country. She could use a little peace and quiet, a long ride on her blue mare, Maizy, and lots and lots of wide-open space.
“Bad news about Josephine and Frankie.” His name badge said John. “Did you see it?”
Krystal had no idea what he was talking about. “Did I see what?”
“The arrest?” name badge Irma added. “Backstage, right before you went on.”
She blinked. Arrest? Josephine and Frankie? They were the opening act, a sweet couple who played a unique blend of bluegrass, folk, and classic country. They were low drama, something that was a rarity in the music world. “No…no, I didn’t see a thing.”
“It was all over the news, livestreaming,” John said, launching into the drugs found on their tour bus. Lots of drugs apparently.
“Who will be opening for you now?” Irma asked.
“No idea,” she said, but as soon as the words were out, she knew. No. No. No. Her momma wouldn’t do that to her. Mickey? She couldn’t. She was her mother, for crying out loud. The blood drained from her cheeks. Daddy wouldn’t let it happen. Surely. Her gaze flew across the room, searching for him.
Mickey Graham winked at her. He winked. And he smiled that lopsided smile that used to turn her insides to goo. Now it made her want to throw up. Preferably on his favorite pair of calf-skin boots. He loved those damn boots.
“Pictures,” Emmy said, leading her to the step and repeat wall. A drape of royal blue fabric, their logo—a cowboy hat with a hatband covered in crowns—and “The Three Kings” repeating every few feet. She, Emmy Lou, and Travis took at least a dozen pics before she noticed her father. He was angry in his own way. He didn’t scowl and yell. No, his cheeks turned red, his blue eyes narrowed to slits, and the muscle in his jaw locked tight. Like now.
When the cameras stopped and people started saying their goodbyes, she made her way to her daddy’s side. “You okay?” she asked, smiling up at him.
“Krystal,” Mickey Graham said, sneaking up from behind. Like the snake he was.
Her daddy squeezed her hand in warning.
She nodded, then sucked in a sharp breath. “Mickey,” she said, refusing to look at him.
But her mother pulled him around, into her line of sight. “Oh, sugar, isn’t it nice that Mickey stopped by to see the show?” her mother asked, watching her closely.
Krystal didn’t say a word.
“I’ve always been a fan, you all know that.” Mickey’s aw-shucks twang was too much. How had she ever dated him? Thought she cared about him?
“Of course you have.” Her m
other was still smiling, still watching. “It’s been quite a night. First the whole drug bust, then Jace Black, and now, you.”
