Crazy in Love (Blue Lake #3)(58)

She glanced over his notes. “Cole, I think those few days in the boondocks have gone to your head. You’re a rock and roll performer, not a country musician.”

“I know that, but I think there’s a way to mix both. The rock will be in my voice, deep and raspy over the notes, and the guitar will soften things. It’ll take away the smoke and mirrors, the fireworks and killer drum solos and give the crowd something personal.”

“Personal,” she repeated, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “Can’t believe you’re throwing this at me now.”

“This is going to happen,” he said. “I can’t keep singing songs that aren’t mine. I’ve been keeping the fans arm’s length away and they know it. They’re so desperate to feel something personal from me that they’ll believe anything they read in the gossip magazines.”

“It’s not right for you.” She handed the notebook back. “It won’t work.”

“It will work,” he demanded. “Whether you continue to manage my career or not, this is going to happen. If something doesn’t change, I’m not going to have much of a career to manage anyway.”

She paused, measuring him with a pissed-off glare.

“Okay, Cole,” she said finally, breaking the stand-off between them. “The way I figure it, you don’t have anything to lose.”

“Thanks Rita. I think.”

“Do the first set my way and nail it, and you can perform these two songs at the end of the show. I’ll instruct the showroom manager to dim the lights and focus the spotlight on you. Don’t choke,” she said, pointing into his chest. “You’re hot as hades and you can perform one hell of a show, but you’ve got a ton to prove when it comes to your singing, especially after Houston and the first show at StoneMill. Without the band backing you up, your tone, pitch, everything, has got to be spot-on. You better get tears, Turner.”

“Don’t worry,” Cole said, as lyrics ran though his head. “This will be like nothing they’ve ever seen.”



* * *



Blue Lake had gone from quiet, peaceful town to three-ring circus in less than twelve hours. Cole had been right. The media had descended on the town like a plague of locusts. They took pictures of everything—meaningless things like the antique lampposts and wine barrels lining the sidewalks—and interviewed everyone, whether or not they’d even seen Cole around town. Three blacked-out Lincolns parked across the street from the inn—they’d showed up at dawn and hadn’t moved since—and the moment Rachael stepped outside, the windows rolled down and huge camera lenses popped out.

She sighed, tightened the scarf around her neck and waited for Joey. He told her he’d pick her up at eight sharp.

It was five after.

As his lifted red pickup truck came into view and circled in front of the inn, the sound of pictures snapping hit her ears. Was the media really so desperate for one shred of information about Cole? He’d already left. There was nothing going on. And she was probably the least interesting woman on the planet.

She reached for the handle but didn’t get far. Joey had hopped out the truck and ran around to open her door.

Always the gentleman.

More pictures clicked from the direction of the Lincolns. Joey nodded and waved, smiling politely as if they were here to see him.

He wore a flannel shirt popped at the collar and rolled up at the sleeves, and a pair of loose jeans with cowboy boots. She’d seen him in the same outfit—different colors, of course—for years. He was a firefighter by day and a country boy by night. It was one of the things that had first attracted her to him. She’d always liked the strength of his profession mixed with his laid-back country feel.