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He had more questions, but couldn’t seem to get them out. What about little Nora?
That regret inside him was starting to get big. So damn big he could barely swallow. He said nothing more and got dressed, and while Ivy gathered the rest of his stuff, his guitar, and some clothes, he emptied the contents of his stomach into the garbage can.
A bodyguard met them outside the suite and helped them carry everything down to the lobby where, even at this time of day, a crowd of fans lay in wait. He ignored them all, which was not the norm, and slipped into a large black SUV that would take him to a private airstrip outside the city. To a jet that would take him back to Montana. Back to the Bridgestone Ranch. To a brother who was broken and maybe dying. To a father he had no relationship with. A family scattered with one sister in Alaska and the other in New York City when she wasn’t galivanting around the world. All of them frayed ends of a thread that was blowing in the wind, unspooling faster than they realized.
Cal was headed back to a past he’d been running from all his life, it seemed. A past rich with heartache and enough tragedy to fuel the songs he wrote. Songs that had made him the number-one country star in the world and gave him everything he thought he’d ever wanted.
And yet as he climbed the stairs of the private plane, bought and paid for with his own money, and took a window seat far from Ivy and his publicist and manager, he couldn’t help but think that he’d gotten it all wrong. None of this felt right or good or satisfying. Because at the end of the day, he was just a cowboy singing songs into the dark, alone.
Always alone.
He took out his cell and ran his fingers over his contacts, eyes lingering on a name, thinking of a woman who disliked him more than anyone on the planet. A woman who had every right to feel that way.
He should just leave her alone. That would be the right thing to do. Wouldn’t it? The plane’s engines rumbled beneath him, and before he could talk himself out of it, Cal hit up a number he hadn’t called since before he’d left Montana. The fact it was still in his contacts said something. It rang several times, and he was embarrassed to admit his relief that it hadn’t picked up. But then the ringing stopped, and he heard a whisper of memory as her voice filled his ear.
“You on your way?” Millie Sue Jenkins was direct and to the point. It seemed some things never changed.
“I’m in Australia.”
“I know. I was the one who called Ivy.” That surprised him. He assumed it would have been Mike Paul, the one person in Big Bend he talked to on a regular basis. There was a pause, a quiet that stretched uncomfortably. She wasn’t gonna make this easy.
“Millie, I—”
“Just don’t come through the front doors of the hospital. We all know you like to cause a ruckus, but this isn’t the time.”
The line went dead, and he stared at it for a good long while. Long enough for the engines to ramp up as the plane began to taxi down the runway. Once they were in the air, he tucked the phone back into his pocket and tried not to think about home and Bent and the ranch. About his dad and all that pain and regret.
Mostly, he tried not to think about Millie—hell, he tried real hard—but as the plane sliced through the blinding sunlight, it wasn’t Sydney Harbor that filled his view. It was auburn hair, sky-blue eyes, and cinnamon freckles that kissed the bridge of a nose he knew better than his own. It was a mouth made for sin or singing or pretty much every fantasy he’d ever had as a young buck. A mouth that used to smile for him.
But that all ended the day he left, and he was pretty sure hell would freeze over before he saw her light up again. At least, not for him.
“Shit,” he muttered. He’d really made a mess of things. He closed his eyes somewhere over the Pacific Ocean and fell into a deep, troubled sleep. He had no way of knowing about the storm he was headed into, because if he had, he might have turned the damn plane around and stayed as far away from Montana as he could. Sent his well wishes to Bent and offered whatever he could from a remote location.
But fate had a way of playing hard with those who leave carnage in their wake, even when they don’t mean to. For those touched by the sun and good fortune and the kind of things Cal took for granted. She had a way of saying,Time’s up, buddy, it’s your turn to deal.
And for Cal Bridgestone, that time was now. He just didn’t know it yet.
CHAPTER2
Millie Sue Jenkinswoke up before the sun was anywhere near the horizon. She rolled out of bed, stubbed her toe on the night table, and let loose some colorful language as she limped out to the kitchen. After a grumpy hello to Mr. Higgins, the overly fat, overly needy cat she’d adopted two years earlier, she attempted to wake up. Millie wasn’t a morning person by anyone’s definition—in fact, she was about as far from Miss Sunshine as her butt was from the moon—so it meant she had to try extra hard on a day like this.
She needed to be on her toes, so to speak. She took her time and downed three cups of strong brewed java, the kind that put hair on your chest if it mattered and sometimes even if it didn’t. Then she made herself a bunch of scrambled eggs, which she pushed around on her plate more than she ate. As the first rays of sunlight began to break open the night sky, she walked into an ice-cold shower. On purpose.For fifteen minutes.
Millie felt she owed it to the general public to at least try to get her shit together before she greeted the day properly. Because the fact of the matter was, her current mental state was cause for concern for a few reasons: a general lack of energy by midday, and a decided lack of enthusiasm for the pile of laundry that covered half her bedroom floor. But truthfully, the fact that she wasn’t exactly a nice person to be around was probably number one. Made worse by all the things she was trying so hard not to think about.
“I’ll try to be nice,” she said to Mr. Higgins as she ran her fingers through her damp ends. They were tangled something fierce and fell over her shoulder.
Dressed in faded jeans and a simple black T-shirt, she grabbed the blow dryer and leaned against the wall as she began the long process of drying her hair. Wasn’t her fault she was addicted toCriminal MindsandGilmore Girls, two shows that ran continuously in syndication (and yes, she’d been made aware on multiple occasions that they were polar opposites of each other, but whatever, she liked what she liked). She’d seen each series in its entirety more than once. In fact, she could quote dialogue and such, which, for a show likeGilmore Girls, was quite impressive. So more often than not, the flickering light from the television played scenes across the wide expanse of windows of the living room until well into the early morning.
Hence the need for strong java.
And the sleeping in until at least nine a.m., which her job running the Sundowner allowed.
But not today. She grimaced and tossed the blow dryer back onto the counter.Nope, not today. She considered gathering up the clothes on the floor for all of five seconds (who was she kidding, laundry wasn’t a strong suit) and then walked over them and headed back to the kitchen, her mind already on something else.
She rinsed out her coffee mug and set it on the counter to dry, then moved to the large living room window. It was bright out there, a robin’s-egg-blue sky as far as you could see, and it took a minute for her eyes to adjust to the glare so she could have a look at the first significant snowfall of the season. Her place was up on a hill that fell away to the road below and then rolled up the other side into a small valley. In the distance, the Rockies were picture-postcard snowcapped beauties, same as always. They never failed to lift her spirits.
She’d bought this place free and clear after her father had passed four years ago, leaving her a sizable inheritance. There wasn’t a day that went by that she didn’t thank him. It had been a dark time, and this gift meant more than he could have known, independence being the main one. Millie Sue wasn’t beholden to a soul, and never would be.
