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.
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
