A Winter Wedding

“I received a call from that dude who wants to rent the farmhouse.”

“I hope he’s not canceling,” Kyle said. “Noelle keeps asking if she can move in. I’ll be relieved when it’s occupied and she can’t bug me about it anymore.”

“Can’t she just move out of town instead?” Morgan responded. “No one would miss her.”

Yet another reason Kyle forced himself to be decent to her. Despite all the terrible things she’d done—especially to him—he felt sorry for her. She couldn’t seem to avoid screwing up her own life. “She’s trying to launch a modeling career. Maybe she’ll be discovered and relocate to New York or LA.”

“She’s delusional if she thinks anyone’s going to pay her to model! She—”

“What’s your news?”

She scowled in apparent frustration. She was all revved up, and he’d removed her target. “Fine,” she said, shifting gears. “Meade’s no longer coming, but—” she held up a hand so he wouldn’t react too soon “—he wasn’t looking at the house for himself, anyway.”

“Who’s it for?”

“A client he manages.” She grinned. “Are you ready for this?”

“You have my full attention,” he said drily. He liked his assistant, but she got on his nerves occasionally. After dealing with Noelle, he preferred to be left alone right now so he could get some work done. He didn’t want to stay late tonight. He didn’t live far, but he’d rather not get caught in the storm they were expecting. It was supposed to be the worst they’d had in twenty years.

“Lourdes Bennett,” she announced.

The way she’d said the name sounded like ta-da!

“Bennett? Is she related to our police chief?”

“No! There’s no connection. You don’t recognize the name Lourdes Bennett?”

“Should I?”

“She’s a country-western singer!”

“Am I supposed to be familiar with every country-western singer?”

“Not necessarily, but she has several hit songs—and she was born and raised less than an hour away.”

Now that she’d jogged his memory, Kyle realized he had heard of Lourdes. He just hadn’t expected the person who might be renting his farmhouse to be someone truly famous. “In Angel’s Camp, right? This is the Lourdes Bennett who sings ‘Stone Cold Lover’?”

“That’s the one.”

“Why would she have any interest in coming here?” he asked.

“I have no clue,” Morgan replied. “But you’re about to find out. She flew into Sacramento Airport this morning and rented a car. She’s on her way, should be here any minute.”

“Is she coming by herself?”

“Sounded like it.”

Kyle scratched his head. “That seems odd.”

“What seems odd?”

“The whole thing. If she’s from Angel’s Camp, why isn’t she going there? Why would she want to spend the holidays in Whiskey Creek?”

“You’ll have to ask her,” Morgan said. “Unless you want me to show the house. I’d be happy to take over for you.”

He glanced at the clock on the wall. “Sorry, you have a couple of hours before quitting time, which you’ll spend here. I’ll take care of meeting Ms. Bennett.”

She huffed. “Great. I’ll be the one to get tortured by your ex-wife.”

“Just point her to the back corner of the warehouse, where I put that used water heater.”

“I’d like to point her somewhere, but it isn’t to the back of the warehouse.”

He chuckled. “Be careful crossing her. She can be vengeful.”

“You’re too nice to her. She doesn’t deserve a guy like you, even as an ex.” She mimed zipping her lips. “But that’s it. That’s all I’m going to say.”

“Thank you.”

She straightened the cowl of her sweater. “I hope Lourdes Bennett wants the house. Wouldn’t it be exciting to have her in town—on your property?”

He wasn’t so sure. Thanks to Noelle, he’d had about all he could take of difficult women. “Unless she’s a diva. But if she is a diva, I can’t imagine why she’d rent my house. A diva would want something fancier—in Bel Air or the Bay Area.”

“Whiskey Creek may not be as famous as San Francisco or LA, but it’s beautiful here in the foothills. And she’ll love the house. After what you’ve done to the place, who wouldn’t?”

Built in the thirties, it had once been a farmhouse, which was why they still referred to it as the farmhouse. When he’d purchased the land so he could expand his plant, he’d decided to update the house that was there and turn it into another rental. He already had a couple of places he rented out, so it made sense. “The house is only about a thousand square feet.” He’d opened up the kitchen and living room areas and expanded the office, but there were only two bedrooms and two baths. That wouldn’t be conducive to hosting a large group, so if she planned to bring her whole entourage for a Christmas party or something, it wouldn’t work.

“One person can’t need any more space than that,” Morgan said.

“If it is just one person.” Kyle was tempted to search Google for Lourdes’s name. He sometimes listened to country-western music, enough to be familiar with her song “Stone Cold Lover” as well as one other that he couldn’t remember the title of. But he didn’t know anything about her background, family, age or marital status, and now he was curious. From the pictures he’d seen, she didn’t look much older than twenty-five or twenty-six, but who knew how current those photos were? She could’ve played the bars and honky-tonks for years before getting any serious attention.

He would’ve taken a few minutes to read up on her if he hadn’t been afraid Noelle would arrive before he could leave. That made him decide to use his smartphone instead of his computer, since he could do it off the premises.

Grabbing his coat, he told Morgan he’d see her in the morning and drove over to the rental.

2

This was what all the fame and fortune she’d earned so far boiled down to?

Lourdes Bennett frowned as she pulled up beside the truck that was parked at the address she’d been given and removed her sunglasses so she could get a better look at the place. The countryside she’d passed through felt familiar—little wonder, since she’d grown up in a similar town not far from Whiskey Creek. And the house, an old-fashioned, wooden A-frame, was charming. A swing hung on the front porch, further enhancing its homey appeal. But Whiskey Creek wasn’t where she’d be if all was well in her life. So far, her exile was self-imposed, but if she couldn’t get back on top of her career, there’d be no point in returning to Nashville for professional reasons.

A man appeared in the doorway. Had to be the landlord. He must’ve heard her drive up.

Quickly sliding her sunglasses back on—as a shield against his recognition of her more than anything else, since that could be awkward—Lourdes opened her door and stepped out. It was starting to get dark, but she could still see.

“You found it okay, huh?” the man said as he came toward her.

The wind had kicked up and tossed her hair, and she held it back. “Just followed my GPS.”

“I’m glad it didn’t lead you astray. GPS can be kind of squirrelly in some places. With all the hills in Gold Country, you can’t always get a signal.” When he drew close, he stuck out his hand. “Kyle Houseman.”

Fairly tall, maybe six-one, her landlord looked a great deal like Dierks Bentley, only with darker hair. She’d played several gigs with Dierks over the years, so she could easily compare them. Not only did they have similar facial features, they also were both fit, both in their midthirties, and they both had million-dollar smiles.

“I’m Lourdes.” She didn’t mention her last name. She preferred not to make a big splash. That was why she’d asked Derrick to handle the negotiations, and why she’d chosen Whiskey Creek instead of Angel’s Camp. Whiskey Creek was as close to home as she could get while keeping a low profile.

“I’m familiar with some of your songs,” Kyle said. “Congratulations on your success.”

Her first album had received quite a bit of radio play, which was more than most aspiring artists obtained. The success had been fun while it lasted, but after the decade it had taken to land a major label, it hadn’t lasted nearly long enough. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’m not looking for that sort of attention—for any attention, really. I just need a quiet place to get away for a few months.” And to try to reclaim what she’d destroyed when she attempted to make it in an even bigger market and switched over to pop music. “You know, without anyone noticing.”

“No problem. Not on my end, anyway. But...” He studied her for several seconds. “You grew up in a small town.”

“Yes.”

“Then you know what they’re like, how people talk.”

“Of course. I don’t plan to be seen much. And this house seems to be off the beaten path. Surely no one would approach me in my home...er, your home.” She couldn’t say the same for Angel’s Camp. After her father died of bladder cancer, her mother had followed her to Nashville. She’d always wanted to be there, since she’d once had dreams of a music career of her own. So, shortly after Lourdes’s two younger sisters, Mindy and Lindy, identical twins, had graduated from high school, Renate bought a nice three-bedroom, two-bath condo not far from Lourdes’s own place. And once Mindy and Lindy had finished college, they’d settled in Tennessee, too. They were currently sharing an apartment. Although her family had never expected Lourdes to help them financially, everyone wanted to be part of the exciting things that were happening to her, to experience something new. Lourdes would’ve liked to go back to Angel’s Camp. She missed it. But her old friends—and her family’s friends—knew her well enough that they wouldn’t even attempt to respect her privacy.

“I can’t imagine they would,” he agreed.

She looked beyond him at the front porch. “Then I like the place so far.”

“It’s small,” he said, as if that would be a drawback for her.

“I don’t need a lot of room. I’ll just be writing some new songs.” Just. That was the understatement of the year. She had to come up with billboard gold...

“You’re planning a new album?”

“I am.” Did he know how badly Hot City Lights had tanked? That would depend on how well acquainted he was with the music world. Although the critics had liked the album, it hadn’t sold. Everyone who really counted understood that she was losing everything she’d established. She needed to win back her fans and prove to Derrick that he hadn’t bet on the wrong girl. And she didn’t have a lot of time. The further she went between releases, the harder her comeback would be. Timing might be even more critical to her relationship with Derrick. He’d recently acquired a new client, an up-and-coming artist named Crystal Holtree, whom the media had dubbed “Crystal Hottie.” Lourdes had seen the way he looked at Crystal, couldn’t help remembering when he’d looked at her that way—

“Something wrong?” Kyle asked.

Hitching her purse higher on one shoulder, Lourdes returned her attention to her prospective landlord. “No. I apologize. I was daydreaming. Shall we take a look at the inside?”

The house was every bit as wonderful as the photographs she’d seen online. It was old where old was preferable, with tall ceilings, hardwood floors, heavy framed windows and moldings, plus the original doors, complete with fancy hardware. And it was new where new was preferable, featuring an expansive kitchen, two large bedrooms, each with a walk-in closet, and completely updated bathrooms. Best of all, there was a beautiful set of French doors leading to an office, which she’d use as her music room.

Although he might have had help, her landlord had even done a halfway decent job of furnishing the place. There weren’t any window coverings, but the location was secluded enough that they weren’t necessary.

Derrick had been right; it was perfect.

So why had he decided, at the last minute, not to come with her?

Because he preferred to be with Crystal. As much as he denied that, Lourdes could feel it in her soul...

She was on her own for the first time in years, without the man she loved, who was also the manager who’d promised to take her back to number one, and without real hope that she’d be able to reclaim the momentum she’d lost in both her personal and professional lives.

Still, she had her guitar. That was all she’d started with when she moved to Nashville at eighteen, wasn’t it? If she could come up with a handful of songs that were special—no, groundbreaking—maybe it wouldn’t be too late to turn her luck around. And this place, isolated and yet familiar enough for her to feel comfortable, would offer just the refuge she needed.

“I’m ready to sign the rental agreement,” she said.

* * *

Lourdes Bennett had arrived at Kyle’s farmhouse only a few minutes after he did, so he hadn’t had time to read about her. He’d barely pulled her up on Wikipedia when he’d heard the sound of her car and shoved his phone in his pocket. But now that he was home and could surf the internet at his leisure, he’d spent over an hour visiting her website as well as exploring several other links that contained less official information.

He hadn’t been nervous about approaching a woman in a long time, but when she’d gotten out of the car, and he’d caught his first glimpse of her, he’d suddenly—and against all expectation—gone a little weak in the knees. He didn’t care about her fame. His best friend had married a major movie star, so he knew someone far more famous. It was that she was so attractive. Usually the pictures people posted looked a lot better than the real thing. That wasn’t the case with Lourdes Bennett. Her blond hair had fallen about her shoulders in a thick, wavy mass. Her skin was pale, but she also had the smoothest, creamiest complexion he’d ever seen. And her eyes! They reminded him of the azure color of the Caribbean Sea.

“Of course she has a boyfriend,” he muttered when he found a picture of her at the Country Music Association Awards posing with none other than a man identified in the caption as Derrick Meade, her manager. Apparently, her relationship with Meade went beyond business. The same caption indicated that after Derrick had helped America “discover” her, the two had started dating, and they’d been a couple for six months, even though he had to be at least twelve to fifteen years older.

That picture had been taken two years ago, before her last album came out. Kyle couldn’t find as many public appearances after the release of Hot City Lights, and nothing more about her and Derrick. But he guessed they were still seeing each other. It was Derrick who’d called to line up the farmhouse, wasn’t it? That meant he’d probably be joining her periodically—maybe on weekends—and certainly for Christmas...

Disappointed in spite of all the reasons he shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up, he went into the kitchen to crack open a beer. Then he jumped. Someone was at his window, peering in at him!

A second later he realized who it was. Noelle.

With a curse, he put down his beer.

“What are you doing here?” he asked as he swung open the door.

She threaded her way through his shrubbery to reach the porch. “My, aren’t you in a good mood.”

“What did you expect? You were peeping at me!”

“Oh, don’t flatter yourself. Your truck’s in the drive, so I was trying to see where you were. I knocked but you didn’t answer.”

“Because I didn’t hear anything.” He must’ve been too absorbed in researching Lourdes Bennett. “What do you need?”

“I couldn’t get someone to help me with the water heater until after your office closed. A.J. and I have been trying to get in, but—”

“A.J.?” That wasn’t a name he’d heard around Whiskey Creek.

“Yeah. He works with me at Sexy Sadie’s. He took Fisk’s place when Fisk moved to Vegas and a job opened up at the bar.”

Once upon a time, Kyle would’ve known all the bartenders at the local pub. He’d hung out there quite a lot over the years. There weren’t many other places to go for fun in a town of only two thousand. But now that nearly all his friends were married, he spent most of his weekends working.

“I was hoping you’d lend me the key,” Noelle said. “We’ll bring it back after we grab the water heater.”

No way would he ever trust her with access to his office. “I’ll drive over and let you in,” he said. “But...why didn’t you just call me? I could’ve met you there.”

“Check your phone,” she said. “You didn’t pick up.”

His phone hadn’t rung; it hadn’t even buzzed. But when he pulled it from his pocket, he could see why. He’d inadvertently turned on the “do not disturb” feature.

Or maybe he’d done it subconsciously. He really didn’t want to be interrupted tonight, especially by her.

“Give me a minute. I’ll be right out.”

He went to his bedroom to retrieve his coat before scooping his keys off the counter.

It took longer to load the water heater in A.J.’s truck than Kyle had thought it would. A.J. needed to clarify the instructions on how to install it—again and again. Kyle almost offered to do it himself. Obviously, A.J. wasn’t mechanically inclined and wouldn’t be much help to Noelle. But then Kyle got a text from a number he didn’t recognize that said:

This is Lourdes. I can’t get the furnace to come on, and it’s freezing in this house.

“What is it?” Noelle asked.

He lowered his phone so she wouldn’t be able to read the message. “There’s a problem with my new renter. I’ve got to go.”

“So that Meade guy took the place? The farmhouse has been leased?”

He hesitated at her assumption. His tenant wasn’t the man he’d mentioned to her earlier. But Lourdes didn’t want to be bothered while she was in Whiskey Creek. And if he told Noelle they had a famous country singer in their midst, she’d spread the word all over town. She might even show up at the farmhouse, claiming she was his ex and therefore had some right to the property.

He couldn’t allow that to happen. “Yeah. It’s a done deal,” he said.

“That was fast!”

“He was serious. He had me furnish it, remember?”

She didn’t seem to mind that A.J. was tying down the water heater without her help. “I remember,” she said. “But what does someone from Nashville want with a house on a remote piece of land outside Whiskey Creek? This isn’t exactly Tahoe. If it was, maybe I’d have a shot at being discovered,” she added wryly.

If only she would move to Lake Tahoe or LA. Or New York. The farther, the better. But her lack of resources precluded it.

“He’s looking for some solitude,” he said. “An escape from the demands of his usual life.”

“How long’s he staying?”

“For a few months, like I told you.”

“That sucks. You should’ve rented to me.”

Kyle felt his eye-twitch coming back. “The duplex you’re living in is fine. What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s a dump compared to the farmhouse.”

“Maybe you can find something you’re happier with after Christmas,” he said, but for once, placating her didn’t seem to be necessary. He could tell by her expression that she’d already switched gears.

“How old is he?” she asked.

“About our age.”

“Is he handsome?”

Apparently, she and A.J. didn’t have anything going on romantically, or she wouldn’t be asking such obvious questions with her helper in hearing distance. “I couldn’t tell you,” Kyle said. “I’m not used to judging other guys in that way. But it doesn’t matter. He’s with someone.”

“He’s married?” she asked.

“It might not be that official, but he’s been with the same woman for a few years. So enough with the nosy questions. My renter isn’t an option for you.”

“You’ve gotten ornery,” she complained.

“What are you talking about? I just solved your hot water problem.” And he was standing outside, freezing his ass off because of her when it was about to snow.

“You comin’?” A.J. called as he jumped to the ground and circled around to the driver’s side.

“Yeah, I’m comin’,” Noelle said. Then she surprised Kyle with a hug. “You look good, you know that? You look real good. God, I miss you.”

Before he could react, she released him and turned away. But as she got in with A.J., she called over her shoulder, “Think about what I said before. You’ve got to be lonely. Now even Riley’s getting married. Who will you hang out with when he’s as pussy whipped as your other friends?”

“Baxter’s moving home,” he said. He’d been consoling himself with that news for several weeks...

“Baxter’s gay, Kyle.”

“You think I’m not aware of that?”

“You’re not being realistic. I doubt he’ll be interested in going places where you can meet girls.”

He frowned as he gazed at the wind-tossed branches of the trees. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m just saying I’d be happy to be your buddy if you want me to.” With a wink, she shut the door.

He could never be that desperate. If only he hadn’t been stupid enough to get involved with her in the first place, he’d be married to Olivia. Instead, Olivia was married to Brandon.

He waited until Noelle and her bartender friend drove off before taking out his phone to respond to Lourdes’s message.

I’m on my way, he wrote back.

* * *

Lourdes was wearing a holey Budweiser T-shirt she’d inherited from a member of her stage crew, a pair of Victoria’s Secret sweat bottoms and a belted, big-collared sweater her mother had given her a year ago for Christmas. None of it matched, including her fuzzy socks. She’d bought those for their softness alone. Too bad they weren’t as warm as they looked. She’d forgotten her sheepskin slippers at her estate in Tennessee, which was a mistake. The weather outside was reminding her that even parts of California could get cold.

Since she was waiting for her landlord, she considered changing. Not only was she wearing frumpy, shapeless clothes, she’d removed her makeup and piled her hair on top of her head. But she was too depressed to care. So what if Kyle Houseman was handsome? He was probably married. Even if he wasn’t, she was in a relationship.

A knock alerted her to his arrival. She went to answer the door but paused after peeking through the peephole. Was she really going to let him see her like this? It wasn’t just that he was so good-looking; she’d grown accustomed to maintaining her image. Being famous meant that people had certain expectations of her, and those expectations weren’t always realistic.

But this was exactly the type of pressure she’d come to Whiskey Creek to avoid. For her own sanity, she had to escape the need she felt to compete—in the music world and in her personal life with the incomparable, and much younger, Crystal. She needed to be a regular person for a while. Needed to take a step back and root out the panic and neuroticism that was taking hold and turning her into someone she no longer recognized.

After tightening the belt of her sweater, she opened the door. “I’m sorry I had to bother you,” she said, stepping aside to let him in.

“Sounds to me as if you had every right. I’m sorry you couldn’t get the furnace to work. It’s a brand-new unit, so I can’t believe there’s anything terribly wrong. I’ll try to figure out what’s going on.”

He had a tool chest in one hand, which he put on the floor while he fiddled with the thermostat.

Instinctively, she folded her arms across her chest. She was wearing so many layers he’d never be able to tell she hadn’t put on a bra. But there was something about him that made her more aware of him than she should be. “So you handle your own repairs?”

“Only the easy ones.”

She wasn’t sure why she was feeling self-conscious; he’d hardly looked at her.

“To be honest, I’m no handyman,” he added. “But it’s after five, so I’m all we’ve got for today.”

He had a nice skin tone. She also liked his dark five-o’clock shadow, which contrasted with his kind eyes and the laugh lines around them. It made him look a little uncivilized. “Then what do you do for a living? Besides own rental property?”