Sweet Seduction Serenade (10 page)

"Fireworks," I said on a whisper, but the phone system must have been good, because apparently Eric heard me.

"Yeah, Adam's in the dog-box for some reason," Eric shared. Information that I didn't think he should be telling a supposed client. But then, what would I know?

"OK, thanks," I said quickly, hitting the end button, whilst climbing out of the cab. "Adam!" I shouted, making him turn from the server inside the store. "Gotta roll, cowboy. The Texas Ranger's on his way. ETA two minutes."

He knew who I meant immediately, already throwing a couple of crisp notes at the ice-cream girl across the counter, snatching up some tubs and jogging back out to the truck. He handed me mine and ran - and I mean
ran
- around his side, sliding in and starting the engine before I'd even shut my door.

"Hold this, gorgeous," he said thrusting his tub of delicious looking ice-cream in my hand, while he buckled up and then pressing a few buttons on his phone. Eric's voice came back on the line immediately.

"I'm calling in that favour," Adam said before Eric managed to finish his, "You dead yet?" question.

"Aw, come on, Adam. Now's not the time to piss him off."

"Just delay him, distract him with something. You're good at that sort of thing, Eric."

"Yeah, and I like my job
and
my neck just the way they are. What's got into you?"

Adam's eyes flicked to mine, then back to the road.

"She doesn't want him near her, Eric," he said in a serious tone. "Give the girl a break."

Silence met Adam's bizarre, but strangely accurate statement, for several seconds. Adam tapped a finger impatiently against the steering wheel while he waited for the verdict.

"If I get hauled over the coals for this..." Eric said, but Adam finished.

"We'll be even."

"Fucking A." Then the dial tone.

Adam relaxed immediately, clearly thinking Operation Distract Ice-Blue Cowboy Eyes an immediate success. I sat stunned in the seat. What the darn hell was I doing?

"Are you going to get into trouble for this?" I finally found the courage to ask.

"Probably," he said on a shrug, reaching for his tub of ice-cream and starting in on it with one hand on the steering wheel, one on the spoon and the tub held between his thighs. "Eat, it'll make your jaw feel better."

I didn't feel like eating ice-cream. I wanted Cary. I wanted my quilt back in my Nashville flat. I wanted Garth Brooks on my MP3 player and my Martin D28 out under the moon and stars.

"Adam," I started, but he interrupted - he seemed good at that sort of thing.

"Eat, angel," he said and I sucked in a breath, felt tears fill my eyes and I knew - just
knew
- that with that one word:
Angel
, this was
so
wrong.

"Take me home," I whispered, my bottom lip embarrassingly wobbling on the last word.

"Eva?" he asked, concern clearly evident in his tone.

"I'm so sorry," was all I managed to get out in a whisper, before I had to turn in my seat and stare out the window, to avoid bursting into tears and letting all cowgirls down.

He didn't say a thing for the rest of the trip. When he parked outside my Dad's flat, he reached over and took the semi-melted ice-cream in its tub out of my frozen hands and placed it on the dash. Then slipped out of his side of the car, came round and opened my door up for me, then reached into the back seat for the Breedlove while I stepped out.

He handed the guitar case to me silently, my eyes were on the ground, so I didn't know how he looked.

"Listen, Eva," he said softly, from right beside me. "If I've made a mistake and misread the signals here, I apologise." Oh darn it. He was a nice guy. He fell silent on those words and I knew I had to do it. I had to be honest. Adam was one of the good guys, could be an honorary cowboy with ease.

"Eight years I've been gone, Adam," I said, still not looking at him, but no longer looking at the ground either. My eyes were fixed on my father's dark flat. "I barely knew my father, but when I heard he was dying and my brother was in prison and couldn't help out, I came straight back. Left everything I'd worked so hard for. Left a life I'd meticulously carved out for myself, that didn't resemble my childhood at all."

"That must have been hard," he said softly when I stopped talking for a few seconds, leaning back against the SUV next to me.

"My point is, I do have a life back in Nashville and I intend to return to it. So, even if there was something between us, it wouldn't last. You understand? I can't stay here. There are too many painful memories." In more ways than one.

I had been running away when I left for Nashville. My plane ticket already in my hand when I met Nick that evening. But once I'd spent the night in his arms, in his bed, there was more than my family, or my childhood and upbringing, to escape. Nick Anscombe scared me so completely, that I climbed out of his bed, directly out from his warm, strong, safe arms, and ran in my cowgirl boots as fast as I could.

And didn't ever look back.

Nor forget why I left.

"That's a shame, cowgirl. You would have been worth the chase," he said, still talking softly at my side.

I wondered if I was the sort of cowgirl anymore who let herself be
just
a chase. I was changing, and I couldn't figure out why, but it was life altering. And confidence shattering. But I was thinking it was well over due.

"Get inside, Eva," he said. "You'll be safe tonight."

I offered him a brief smile from under my hat, believing him because he seemed so sure and was such a nice guy, and then walked swiftly up to my father's front door.

I was exhausted, truly and utterly, but I needed Garth and I needed to strum. So after checking on Dad, slipped into some warmer jeans - instead of my short denim skirt - chucked on a jacket and headed out to the back steps, to sing to the moon and stars. I always do it quietly, soft strums, soft words. I think all the oldies around here are deaf, so the chances of disturbing them are pretty slim. But still, it was the wee hours of the morning.

I'd made it through
If Tomorrow Never Comes
,
The River
and part way through
Unanswered Prayers
when I knew I was no longer alone. I didn't stop singing or playing, I finished the song softly and sat silently waiting for him to announce he was there. I had no doubt he'd sent Adam away, I just hoped he'd not chewed off his butt in the process.

When he didn't say anything, I decided I'd get the ball rolling.

"He thought he was doing the right thing," I said, looking up at the stars.

Nick appeared out of the shadows and on silent feet crossed the lawn, to sit beside me on the steps.

"By disobeying an order," he said just as quietly.

Not good. He didn't seem irate though, but it was hard to tell if he was keeping it that way for the sake of the old pensioners living next door or was just that good at hiding his mood.

"I'm sorry I'm mucking up your normally orderly life," I said, thinking I was being a nice cowgirl apologising for the inconvenience of sitting beside me and taking him away from his fiancée’s warm bed. Not to mention, the hassles he was having with staff because of me, Adam at the top of that list.

"You seem to have a knack for stealing the show," he said bizarrely.

"Always did know how to perform," I admitted, still going for nice cowgirl here.

Nick leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, boots spread wide on a step a couple below where we were sitting. And then didn't say a word. I waited, but after a minute, my fingers just started idly strumming the Breedlove - have guitar, will play - then somehow found their way into another Garth Brooks song - not a hardship of course - and before I knew it I was singing
Burning Bridges
.

It was entirely subconscious, I had no idea it was the song that would come out. I just started strumming, then the first few chords fell into place and before I knew it I was singing,
"Yesterday she thanked me for oiling that front door, this morning when she wakes she won't be thankful anymore.
" It wasn't until I reached the chorus,
"Burning bridges, one by one, what I'm doing can't be undone,"
and Nick's head turned - his body staying forward, resting on his elbows on his knees - to watch me play. A strange look in his ice-blue eyes. That I realised what I'd done.

I managed to sing the song to completion, because I'm a professional of course and this was a Garth Brooks and Stephanie C Brown song that deserved everything I had to sing it. So, despite feeling like an absolute tool singing
that
song - which clearly was a little too close to the truth right now - I gave it my best, albeit in a soft singing voice so as not to wake the pensioner neighbours, all the while Nick sat right beside me, an arm's length away, and watched. A strange intensity burning in those beautiful ice-blue cowboy eyes.

It seemed way too quiet when I stopped. As though metropolitan Auckland was holding its collective breath along with me. I hugged the Breedlove and stared down at the ground with a frown.

"Steal the show," Nick whispered at my side.

I flicked my eyes up to his, still not breathing and I was sure still frowning. He smiled, I'd forgotten just how mind-blowingly handsome this man could be when he smiled. Thank God he wasn't laughing, because my battered heart couldn't handle
that
. He reached up and ran his fingers down my cheek, then finished along my bruised jaw. Gentle, so careful. My eyes closed without me telling them too.

"Get some sleep, angel," he whispered, then his hand was gone and when I opened my eyes, he was too.

My cowboy ghost. There one minute, gone the next. But leaving the warmth of his touch behind.

For the next three nights I dreamt of my ghost cowboy. It wasn't intentional, but having him in my face, picking me up and dropping me off,
every single night
since Wednesday - three nights in a row, so much for me being
on roster
, roster obviously meant "Nick" - reminded me of what I had left behind. The fact that I had other matters to be dreaming about, such as my "boyfriend" arriving from Nashville tomorrow morning - thankfully having had a twenty hour layover in Sydney due to connecting flights -  didn't even register when I shut my eyes and lay my head down for the night. But this dream wasn't a
memory
of my ghost cowboy, it was pure fantasy. My desire brought to life in vivid imagery through a dream.

I woke up utterly turned on, my hand already between my legs seeking release. Confusion reigned for all of ten seconds and then with a shrug I decided to go with it, and for a brief half wakeful moment, live out the fantasy with the help of my fingers and hand.

Things were getting pretty darn good when it dawned on me that I
hadn't
been woken by my lustful state. Sure, that was all good, but it wasn't enough to pull me from the exquisite dream I'd been having. When a scrape came from the vicinity of my bedroom window I recognised the sound. It wasn't the first time it had been made. And with heart pounding realisation I put two and two together. Someone was trying to get in my window and had woken me with the scraping noise their efforts had made.

I shot upright in bed, all thoughts of my dream and what I had been doing - visible through the open curtains on my window, which I'd been too tired to contemplate closing at two in morning when I stumbled into bed - leaving my head. A huge, dark shadow blocked out the light from the moon. I couldn't make out the features, but I was sure they could make out me. Moonlight filtered around their head and shoulders, and landed across my bed, bright enough to be able to pick out patterns on the crocheted blanket I'd found in Dad's closet to keep me warm at night.

I reached for my cellphone on the chair beside the bed, thoughts of dialling the police the only thing now in my head, but a tap on the window and low spoken words stilled my hand. And also confirmed that the intruder could see every little thing I was doing.

"I wouldn't do that, Eva." Bailey. It was Bailey's voice. "I just wanna have a chat."

"What about?" I semi-shouted back. If I woke Dad, then maybe he'd use the phone next to his bed to call the cops. Yeah, right.

"Open the window and we'll chat," he insisted.

"Not happening!" I shot back and knifed up out of the bed, grabbing some track pants lying on the floor in the corner and slipping them on under the Kenny Chesney T-Shirt I had on.

"Don't make me break your god-damned window, Eva!" he snarled, rapping twice on the pane of glass.

"Piss off, Bailey. It's," my head swivelled to look at the time on my phone beside my bed, "five in the morning. Go home to Mummy, before I call the cops on your dumb ass."

By the time my head came back from looking at my cellphone, he'd managed to pry the window open. They don't make council flats like they used to, especially council flats in Eden Terrace. I frantically searched the room for a weapon to whack him over the head with. I knew Bailey - and the rest of the Russell boys - there would be no chat, Bailey was here for one reason only: to make me call Nick's guys off.