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She decided not to think about Cal or any of it. She would go home, snuggle with Mr. Higgins, and pretend that her world hadn’t just changed.
If anything, Millie Sue Jenkins was sure good at pretending.
CHAPTER10
Less than a week ago,Cal had been on stage with the band, performing his first of three sold-out dates in Sydney. It had been a triumphant return to the land down under with critics calling his show a once-in-a-lifetime event. His popularity had soared with the release of his previous album, and the new one had sent him into the stratosphere. He was on par with Garth or Swift.
He was grateful. He knew the odds each artist faced when trying to break out in a saturated market were huge. But his work ethic was strong, and as he began to gain traction, he gave as much as he got. And then some. Now, with several albums under his belt, his tour was an event, and Cal played for well over three hours each time he hit the stage. He had the crowd singing along to every song until the final note. And even then, they stayed, hoping for more.
It was a life most folks couldn’t imagine, and one he had a love/hate relationship with. As much as he loved being onstage, feeding off that energy, sometimes when the lights were gone, when his band was holed up in their suites and he was on his own in the dark, he asked himself, when did it get so big?
When did it become this machine?
If Bent hadn’t been in that accident, he’d be somewhere in Europe. Hell, he didn’t pay attention to the details. When Cal was on tour, time melted into moments strung together by highs and lows. He relied on Ivy to get him where he needed to be. But it never failed to amaze him how quickly life could turn. And Lord knows, he’d been hit with that particular hammer more than once. As it was, instead of staring at the faceless crowd of eighty or so thousand souls, singing his heart out and inhaling enough of that energy to get him through the next show, he’d been sitting in the dark for hours, listening to the wind moan and rumble against the windowpanes.
It was the second night of nearly no sleep, and he needed caffeine.
With a groan, he stretched, rolling his shoulders to get the knots out. Outside, it was getting lighter, which meant he had maybe an hour or so before Nora came running down the stairs as if a pack of wolves were chasing her. Who needed a crowd of eighty thousand? He could borrow some of his niece’s energy and be fine.
He slid out of the leather chair that was tucked into the corner of his brother’s office and, running his hands through his hair, made his way down to the kitchen. He was going to have to start sleeping in a bed, or his back would be giving him problems.
Cal found the coffee grinds and made a pot the old-fashioned way—none of those throwaway pods in this Bridgestone house. He’d just poured himself a strong one when a sound caught his attention. He spied Scarlett rummaging through the fridge, the top of her head barely visible over the door. She came up for air, a large orange juice container in one hand, a fist of grapes in the other. After pouring a big glass, she climbed onto one of the tall chairs at the counter and immediately shoved several grapes into her mouth. Her hair was a tangled mess secured to the top of her head with a bright pink fuzzy tie, and she wore a green T-shirt with a pink unicorn across her chest and a matching pair of shorts. The top was two sizes too small, and her swollen belly was visible.
“Sorry, I don’t have any clothes that fit.”
Shit. He’d been caught staring. “You don’t have to be sorry.” His reply was light.
“You haven’t slept yet,” she said, taking a gulp of juice.
“Why do you say that?”
“Because you look like shit.” Scarlett cracked a smile. “You’re not twenty-two anymore, Cal. A man your age needs his rest.”
“Shut up.”
She laughed at that, though her smile slowly faded, and she sighed. On the ride out to the ranch, she’d told him about the man she’d met in Ireland. A man she’d given her heart to. A man who’d smashed it to pieces. And who, after she told him she was pregnant, had accused her of sleeping around and said it wasn’t his. Then he’d dropped the bomb that he was already married. That his wife thought he was traveling for work.
“For four months?” she’d asked him incredulously.
He’d just shrugged and not bothered to answer. They’d been staying at a pub outside of Dublin, and when she woke up in the morning, he was gone, along with all the cash she’d had. His cell number no longer worked. He’d all but disappeared into thin air.
“It’s weird,” Scarlett said softly. “Being here without Bent and Dad and…” She looked down at her hands.
“Without Mom,” Cal replied.
She sat back on the chair. “Have you seen him?”
Cal didn’t have to ask to know who she was talking about. He nodded.
“He’s not drinking anymore. At least he wasn’t when I was here last.”
“So I hear.”
Scarlett pushed her empty glass with her fingers. “Bent’s going to need help. You know that, right? He can’t run this place if he’s not at one hundred percent, even with Dallas. Lord knows he’s got his hands full as it is. And I—” She looked down at her belly. “I don’t know what I can do to help.”
He heard the fear in her voice and reached for her hand. “I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere until this family is back to where it needs to be.”
“Heard that before.”
