As long as the sheriff kept his word and accepted my bribe, things would be all right.
The bribe.
What the actual fuck had I been thinking? Was I really so jaded toward people that the first thought that had crossed my mind was to throw money at a stranger?
I could have just asked Duke to keep my secret. I could have just said, “Duke, would you please not tell anyone who I am?” But, no. Because after years and years in the music industry, I’d become a suspicious woman who trusted one and only one person on this earth—Everly.
Considering that Duke had accepted the bribe, my cynical side was struggling to see how there’d been any other option.
Everyone else just wanted a piece of me. My money. My music. My looks. My sole purpose in life had been to be the brand.
The Lucy Ross brand.
The irony made my insides churn. I was Lucy Ross and the brand we’d cultivated—that I’d let the record label design—was so far gone from the real Lucy Ross, I’d had to dye my hair black and move to Montana to actually recognize myself in the mirror.
The brand was the reason I’d offered that bribe. Because we protected the brand at all costs. That was the record label’s motto. And for years, it had been mine.
I had protected Sunsound Music Group’s Lucy Ross brand.
Even when I’d been sick to death of having my life managed by other people. Even when I’d lost the freedom to choose my own clothes except bras and underwear. Even when I’d write a song and the A&R division at Sunsound would flip it upside down and turn it inside out so that it fit the fucking brand.
Forget the brand. Maybe I’d offered that bribe from habit, but that money would protect this new life, the chance for me to build new habits.
As long as I could pay Duke.
As long as no one else recognized me.
Shit. What had I gotten myself into? How could I have been so naïve as to think this plan of mine would actually work? I’d been recognized on day one. Granted, he’d had my driver’s license, but still . . .
There was no hiding who you really were.
Not from the outside world.
And not from yourself.
Duke had stayed away from the farmhouse these past two days, but I suspected his need for answers would soon put him on my doorstep. How was I going to keep my secrets if he insisted on knowing why I was in Montana? And that man had insisted. I’d seen the determination in his gorgeous blue eyes.
Maybe I could lie? Except I’d never been a good liar and Duke struck me as the type to see right through a bullshit answer. It was only a matter of time before I had to fess up.
My only hope was that with a huge sum of money riding on his silence, he’d honor our agreement. Was a man who accepted a bribe honorable? It didn’t matter. I was out of options. The bribe had been offered and accepted. It wasn’t like I could call my legal team and ask them to draft an iron-clad contract to solve this problem. My lawyer played golf with Sunsound’s lead council every Thursday, and lately, I’d been questioning everyone’s loyalty, with or without attorney-client privilege.
So I’d pay Duke. And since I wasn’t exactly exercising my fingers on the guitar these days, I’d keep them nimble by keeping them crossed. Because if he knew anything about tabloids, he’d sell me out for well over a hundred thousand dollars.
“Ugh.” I dropped my forehead to the stainless steel of the fridge and groaned. Why, Duke? Why?
The moment he’d accepted that bribe, I’d wanted to scream. He was so . . . disappointing. The noble man I’d met in Yellowstone had been an illusion. Duke Evans was just like the others—in it for the money.
Whatever. I’d spent two days pushing that crushing frustration down deep. Eventually, I’d come to terms with the bribe I’d so desperately offered and I’d pay him to keep those soft, kissable lips shut.
Now I just had to figure out how to get him one hundred thousand dollars without calling attention to my whereabouts.
I’d taken out as much cash as I could manage before leaving Nashville. Ninety thousand had gone to buying my Rover. Thirty thousand had gone into the backpack I’d taken hiking. It had probably been stupid to drive across the country with that much money, but I hadn’t wanted to go to a bank.
Credit cards were too easily traced, and until things blew over, I was sticking to cash.
When I needed to replenish my funds, I’d take a road trip to Seattle or San Francisco or Salt Lake—some S-word city within a thousand miles. I could take ten or even twenty thousand out of my accounts at a time. But how was I going to get a hundred? I’d have to make a few extra trips.
Hopefully Duke would be patient and give me some time to collect. Worst case, I’d sell my car.
My stomach growled again, reminding me that priority one here was food, and I collected my purse from the kitchen counter before walking through the house. Sunshine streamed through the living room window and brightened the already well-lit room. The furniture that Kerrigan had picked was so different from the colorful and eclectic items Everly and I had shared in our apartment. We’d refused to hire a decorator and the furniture had been an odd collection we’d come up with over the years.
This farmhouse was decorated more to Everly’s taste than mine, but she’d always indulged my need for bright colors. She hadn’t cared when I’d bought a bold floral couch that clashed beautifully with a lemon velvet chair. I’d lost control with anything outward facing so I’d clung to it behind closed doors.
But I liked the farmhouse’s look. It was simple and inviting. The modern edge gave each room a coordinating vibe and the pieces made the best of the small spaces. The couch in the living room was a rich caramel, the leather as smooth and buttery as the candy itself. The chair was a tweed fabric, the color a soft oatmeal with flecks of the same caramel as the couch. The coffee table sat on a plush, vintage-style rug with red and cream and black tones that complemented the hazelnut color of the hardwood floors and the red bricks of the fireplace.
Maybe this winter, I’d light myself a fire every morning and write songs in the living room.
Maybe by winter, I wouldn’t be scared of my own guitar.
I pulled on the hat I’d worn in Yellowstone and added a pair of sunglasses before walking out the front door. Then I jogged down the five steps of the porch, checking left and right to make sure I was alone before running to the Rover and locking myself inside.
It was silly. This wasn’t Nashville and the precautions I’d taken there were unnecessary in Montana. But they were yet another habit.
The Rover was parked in the same place it had been since I’d arrived, though the back was now empty. Moving into the farmhouse had barely filled an afternoon, considering all I’d brought were three suitcases and two backpacks.
I cracked the window as I drove, savoring the country air. There was a crisp chill that would probably burn off by midmorning, but at the moment, I was glad I’d tugged on a hoodie when I’d dressed earlier.
Maybe after the store, I’d venture outside for a walk or run. So far, I’d spent my time watching Netflix, avoiding my phone and all things social media. But as the fresh air blew into my face, I didn’t want to spend another day cooped up inside.
Boredom’s claws were coming out, preparing to scratch.
In the past, I’d kept myself occupied with music. Considering I couldn’t even stand the radio now, that wasn’t an option. I added a novel or two to my mental grocery list. I hadn’t had time to read in recent years, not that it had ever been a priority, but my mother had loved to read. I’d like to discover why, if only to feel some sort of connection to her.