“I’m good. G’night Will.”
“’Night, Ethan.”
He went to his truck, got in the passenger side, and pushed the seat back as far as it would go. Then he reclined it as far as possible, and wished he’d thought to bring a blanket. He heeled off his boots and turned onto his side, drawing his knees up, because there wasn’t room to stretch out.
There was a tap on the window. He turned the key on and put the window down.
Willow stood there with a bedroll. There were always stacks of clean bedding all bundled together in the bunkhouse closet.
“Thanks.”
“You really oughtta go back to the house for the night. Or just come inside. Lily won’t know if you’re there or on the moon. She’s sawin’ timber in there.”
But he would know. “I’m fine. G’night.”
“’Night.”
He rolled the window up as she walked away. He thought that going to the ranch house for the night would be hurtful to Lily. It would come off like a rejection. Nope, he was gonna be in the kitchen brewing coffee when she opened her eyes in the morning.
And then, he supposed, if his female cousins were anything to go by, Lily would want to talk about all that kissing. It floated into his mind that maybe she wouldn’t remember, but he’d been in a lot of barrooms, and the blackout drunks were easy to spot. She’d only had a few beers. Got herself into a state of silly and put her inhibitions to sleep. But she wasn’t likely to forget.
Besides, if those kisses had felt to her the way they’d felt to him, they were well and truly burned into her memory. He’d never forget them, that was for sure.
Son of a gun. Staying in Quinn was a bad idea. He’d break that little gal’s heart if he stayed, and Willow was right. That could drive a wedge into the closest family in Texas.
He’d best sell Manny’s Cantina just as quick as he could and get back to his career. Lily would be hurt, no doubt about it, but if she was gonna be hurt by his leaving now, how much worse would it be later?
If he stayed, they’d be together. He couldn’t keep saying no to her forever. He was a flawed human male, and he wanted her more than was reasonable. But his life couldn’t be in Quinn, as an upright and noble Brand. The farther he went from home, the less his surname meant to anyone. There was no reputation to uphold—or fail to uphold. Being a one-hit wonder was okay out there. Here in Quinn, it was probably the talk of the town.
There he is, Garrett Ethan Brand the Second, a wanna-be country star.
We expected so much more of him.
Certainly not livin’ up to his name, is he?
Could be worse, he thought. At least the locals didn’t know his real father had been a criminal, a murderer.
Yep. He had to sell. He’d make sure the cantina went to someone decent, someone local. He’d make it a private contract between him and the buyer, no bank loan necessary—give someone from the community a leg-up.
That was it, his mind was made up. He rolled onto his side, sure he’d be able to go to sleep now that he knew what he had to do. But the minute he started to drift off, a voice—Lily’s voice, inside his head—whispered, That stage could have built-in amps, top of the line. It would save visiting bands setup time and provide quality sound even if the band is just starting out.
The suggestion was accompanied by an angelic look in Lily’s big blue eyes. Now he knew this wasn’t Lily’s idea, but his own. His subconscious was just choosing to give it to him in Lily’s voice.
“Irrelevant,” he told the thought, “since I’m sellin’ it. I’m fixin’ to call Cat Shaw first thing tomorrow mornin’.”
Before or after you make me coffee and we talk about all that kissin’? Mental Lily asked in a Texas twang she’d never used.
“One problem at a time.” He rolled onto his opposite side, tried to straighten his legs and his knee hit the console. “Dang.” He rubbed the pain away, wishing it was enough to distract his mind. He tried the method his aunt Chelsea had taught him when he’d still been a pup, counting backwards from seven, seeing each number as a color. Seven, red, he thought. Six, orange. Five, yellow. Four, green.
You could get the best equipment there is for the recording studio. Can you imagine, recording whenever you feel like it instead of on someone else’s schedule?
“Yeah,” he muttered. “Midnight inspirations, I could lay a quick track down.” Then he popped his eyes wider. “Except that I’m sellin’ the place in the mornin’.”
Lily woke up reliving those moments alone with Ethan out by the campfire. At first, she was relishing the memory, and then as she came more fully awake, she was mortified. “Oh, no,” she whispered, and she sat up fast. Too fast. Her head spun, and her stomach knotted up. “Ah, hell.” She sat there in the bunk, upright, legs still under the covers, in her shiny dark-blue tank top and underpants. She’d brought an overnight bag and hadn’t even opened it. And she’d kissed Ethan full on last night. Twice!
And he’d kissed her back.
Raising her head slowly brought another wave of pain, but she peered around the bunkhouse through squinty eyes. She saw him about the same time she detected the smell of fresh coffee. He was in the kitchen. He’d already showered up. His hair was still wet. Then she looked at the other bunks. They were empty.
