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“You’ll come, then?” he asked, excitement in his voice.
Anxiety twisted in my belly. I hadn’t left here since the band broke up. I lived in relative anonymity, save the occasional paparazzi, but they cared a lot less about me than they did about the contestants for the Ryker’s reality show. I was just a bonus for them. At least I was until Jameson showed up.
“Can I think about it?”
Disappointment flickered in his eyes, and I knew I’d fucked up just like I always did.
“Right. Yeah, of course. Take all the time you need. I’ll just go wash up. I was thinking about heading out to visit Dusty for a little while. Would that be all right?”
“You don’t need my permission. This is your home as long as someone’s around. Do what you want to.”
“All right. Cheers.”
He pushed back from the table and took his plate to the sink before rinsing it off and loading it in the dishwasher. Then with one look back at me, he left, and I sat there kicking myself for not just agreeing to go with him.
Chapter Nineteen
JAMESON
I truly hadn’t expected Killian to not want to come with me. It had been a blow to my confidence, but I also understood where he was coming from. We’d really only known each other for a matter of weeks, and he’d been hurt in the past by misunderstandings. The last thing I wanted to do was rush him into anything.
He deserved to know he was important to me in every way. That I valued our partnership on and off stage. I’d stupidly thought bringing him to LA with me would be the thing that would help him move past his experience with his former band. That it would show him I was serious, that I wanted this—us. And most importantly, that I was all in. But clearly, I had jumped the gun, and instead of bringing us closer, everything between us seemed on the verge of going tits up.
The front door shut, pulling my gaze out my bedroom window. There he was, getting into his truck, then backing out of the gravel driveway and heading somewhere on his own. Nervous butterflies built in my stomach, and I wondered if this was how he felt when I went to play at The Spur without him. It didn’t seem fair to have to feel this way. I needed something to keep my mind off of where the two of us were in the complicated web of our relationship. Making my way downstairs, I spotted a note neatly folded and propped up on the coffee table. Opening it up, I read the sharp, angular handwriting.
Jamie,
I had to go to Whiskey Ranch to help out with an all-hands-on-deck situation. Don’t worry. I’ll be back in time for supper, and we can talk more about your offer.
Killian
Something about the fact that he left me a note eased the worry in my heart. So, I pottered around the house for a few hours, using the time alone to work on more lyrics, catch up on some emails, of which I had many, and interact a bit on my social media pages. Jackie would be chuffed.
Hours later, when he still wasn’t back, I’d grown restless. There was nothing left for me to do here, and I needed to make some decisions about my life and face the very real probability that I wouldn’t be including Killian in those choices.
Returning to the note he’d left me, I grabbed the pen and added my own missive just in case I wasn’t back by the time he returned. Under his note, I wrote,
Cowboy,
I went for a walk. Should be back by the time you get home. But just in case, don’t worry. I’m still here.
J
Then, I put on a pair of boots, a jacket that smelled like the man himself and didn’t ease the situation one bloody bit, and grabbed Killian’s spare hat before I ventured out to explore more of this beautiful ranch. It had been nearly a month, and as much as I loved my home in LA, and the one I kept in London, there was something magical about the wide open sky of Montana. The sunsets quite literally took my breath away, and the night sky was a black velvet blanket strewn with glittering diamonds unlike anything I’d ever seen. Add to that the company of Killian Wilde, and I almost didn’t want to leave.
After my initial riding lesson, Killian and I had gone on multiple trail rides. I’d worked up to being able to manage two solid hours without begging to stop because of the ache in my thighs. I found, just as he’d said, horse riding was almost therapeutic. It gave me time to think, to focus, and to ground myself. I thought it worked because if I was stressed or scared, so was the horse. I had to calm my worry and train my attention on what I was doing.
The ranch was quiet, with everyone seemingly busy helping Whiskey Ranch with whatever problem they were dealing with. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t go for a ride, especially now with the sun just beginning to set. I’d be able to enjoy the wash of color from my favorite spot where Killian and I had gone together and written the lyrics of what I thought might be our very best song. It was called, ‘London days, Montana nights,’ and I was certain it would be our breakout hit.
Dusty poked his nose out of his stall as soon as he realized I was there. Tossing his head, he whinnied as though he was asking me to come see him.
“Oi, you troublemaker. Did you think I was going to ignore you today?”
I’d gotten in the habit of visiting the horse—who seemed to have claimed me as his own—every day. The meow of our little barn cat as he scurried in had me grinning. He rubbed his orange-furred side along my calf.
“You too. What am I going to do with you lot? How am I going to go without seeing you every day when I have to head home?”
As if he understood me, Dusty gave a short huff of disapproval.
