Because at the moment, alone—truly alone—for the first time in years, I was desperate for any kind of connection.
My parents had been my shelter and since they’d died, I’d felt lost. I was a woman running through a storm, searching for a haven against the onslaught of rain. For a time, I’d thought I’d found a place with Sunsound. Turns out, all I’d found was a leaking umbrella.
I reached the end of the gravel road and my anxiety spiked, shoving away thoughts of my parents and the label.
“Quick trip,” I told myself as I turned toward town. I’d be in and out of the grocery store in a flash. I’d be gone an hour, tops. I didn’t have to change my plan entirely. Duke had agreed to take the bribe and my secret was safe. I just had to be careful, right?
Just because Duke knew who I was didn’t mean I had to move. Yet.
I slowed as the highway became First Street. Most of the diagonal parking spaces were empty as I rolled into town, the businesses not open yet. The shops in the downtown area were themed like something from an old Western movie. Square, barnwood façades. Red brick and mortar walls. On some, the original name of the business was still painted on the buildings in barely-there white letters, like the Candy Shoppe and Calamity Trading Co.
Yet restaurant sandwich boards boasted free Wi-Fi. Neon signs glowed from both of the town’s bars. There was a Tesla parked in front of the bank.
Calamity was like a ghost town restored. An odd and eclectic mix of a forgotten world and modern-day society.
As I continued farther, more and more vehicles appeared. Every space in front of the coffee shop was taken and the same was true in front of the White Oak Café.
My fingers clenched the steering wheel, my heart in my throat, as I drove at exactly the speed limit to the grocery store at the opposite end of town from the farmhouse. It was the largest building on First with the exception of the hardware store across the street. It was also the most unique grocery store I’d ever seen. It was shaped like a barn and painted a loud crimson.
Thankfully, the lot was mostly empty and I parked in a space close to the front. Get in. Get out. I was hurrying through the sliding doors, looking for a cart, when I nearly collided with a buffalo.
I gasped, slapping a hand to my racing heart. “Stupid statue.”
The animal was painted in a swirl of green and blue from horns to hooves. I’d seen other bison like this one when I’d explored town the other day, though all had been decorated differently. Was the bison Calamity’s mascot?
That would take some getting used to.
I shot the statue a scowl and continued on to the row of parked carts. With the brim of my hat pulled even lower and the hood of my sweatshirt shrugged up my neck, I took off my sunglasses, realizing it would probably be more suspicious to leave them on. Besides, my hair was draped everywhere and I hoped it would be the feature people noticed most. I’d be that woman, new to town, with the long, black hair.
Jade Morgan.
I’m Jade Morgan.
It had taken me the almost-two-thousand-mile drive from Nashville to Montana to start answering to that name when Everly used it. She’d forced me to practice, and without her here, I was on my own to rehearse.
It was nothing more than a stage name, really. Because this was all a performance.
If I could win a Country Music Award for Entertainer of the Year, I could master Jade Morgan.
I set out into the store, my hunger growing exponentially as I neared the bakery. I splurged on a dozen maple bars along with a loaf of bread. I bought the essentials from the produce section—bananas, apples and celery sticks.
Then I went up and down every aisle, filling my cart to the brim. The corners became harder and harder to maneuver by the time I made it past frozen foods to dairy for some milk.
“Morning.” A man wearing a red polo smiled and nodded as he passed me down the aisle with a clipboard tucked under his arm. His nametag read General Manager.
“Hello.” I tensed, waiting for any sign of recognition, but he didn’t slow or spare me a second glance.
I grabbed my gallon of milk, then pushed my overflowing cart to the checkout line.
“Good morning.” The cashier wore the same red polo as the manager, but his was covered in a black apron. “How are you today?”
“I’m great, thanks.” Once my haul was on the conveyor belt, I let my gaze wander to the magazine rack.
And my own face stared right back.
Oh, shit.
It was a picture of me from my last concert. I was smiling into the microphone. My hair was blond, curled and poofed six inches at the crown. Golden eyeshadow extended past my eyes and across my temples, dusting my hairline. My lips were colored a dark red.
I fumbled to take the first magazine down, then tried to nonchalantly put it back, this time the front cover turned inward. Before the cashier could notice what I’d done, I hurried to the end of the aisle and began bagging groceries, wanting as much distance between me and the magazine as possible.
“Anything else, ma’am?” the clerk asked as he rang up the last item.
“No, thanks.” I waited for the total, then gave him a wad of cash from my wallet.
With the change in my pocket, I pushed my cart outside, the plastic sacks rustling in the breeze along with the wheels on the asphalt. I opened the back of the Rover to unload just as a deep, gravelly voice filled my ears.
“You didn’t want the latest copy of People?”
I froze. My reprieve from Sheriff Evans was over.
Duke stood by the handlebar of my cart. The magazine from inside was in his hand. His eyes did the same thing they had with my driver’s license, darting between the cover photo and my face. Then a line formed between his eyebrows, like he couldn’t decide which version he liked better.
I sidestepped the cart and began transferring bags into my car.
God, I wanted to like him. I wanted to trust him. I wanted to laugh with him and smile with him like we had in Yellowstone. But then he’d taken my stupid, stupid bribe and revealed his true colors.
Would I ever learn how to read people? At least I was consistent. I’d read Duke wrong, like I had many, many others.
“Are you following me, Sheriff? Because if you’re worried about your money, there’s no need to stalk me around town. You’ll get paid.”
“Stalking? No.” His jaw ticked and he lifted his other arm. There was a gallon of milk in his grip that I hadn’t noticed before. “I was out of milk and I eat cereal for breakfast.”
“Oh.” In my defense, I was sensitive to being watched. It was too fresh and familiar.
Been there, had the letters to prove it.
Not that Duke was anything close to a stalker. No, the shivers he sent down my spine were of an entirely different brand.
The heat of his blue gaze made my pulse race. Duke was dressed for work, but he hadn’t shaved this morning and the morning sun caught the stubble dusting his jaw.
My belly clenched. I was so hungry I could eat him for breakfast.
His hair was still damp and the silky strands of that tawny brown were separated in thick chunks, probably from combing it through with his fingers. And his eyes . . . those eyes deserved a song, even if the man himself didn’t.
Why? Why had he taken the bribe? Why had I offered it to him in the first place?
I hated that he wasn’t the real-life hero I’d needed and wanted to know.