Good Girls Don't Date Rock Stars(44)

GEMMA’S PHONE RANG at six in the morning, and she picked up the horrible screeching contraption with a gravelly, “Hello?”

“Gemma, its Sam at the police station.”

The words permeated through Gemma’s sleepy haze. “Hey, Sam. What’s going on?”

“Well, see, we got your husband down in the drunk tank, and I need you to come get him.”

Gemma sat up with a snap. “My what?”

“Your husband? Travis? He told us to call you.”

Gemma wanted to throw something. That was all she needed, for everyone to find out that they were married before she had a chance to tell Charlie or . . . Mike.

Shit. “What did he do to end up in the drunk tank?” Gemma asked.

“Kicked the shit out of the Coulter brothers. Broke Wayne’s nose and busted a couple of Walter’s fingers. Don’t worry, though; they aren’t pressing charges. Eric and I talked them down.”

Holding her head in her hand, she counted to ten before she said, “Thanks, Sam. I’ll be there soon.”

Hanging up the phone, she called Gracie’s coffee shop. “This is Gracie.”

“It’s Gemma. Can I drop Charlie with you?”

“Sure. What’s going on?” Gracie said.

“Short version is, Travis got into a bar fight and I have to go pick him up at the police station, where apparently he’s been telling everyone about our impromptu marriage.”

“That’s all I get? What is with you, not calling me when drama unfolds? You are in so much trouble, you don’t even know!” Gracie said.

“I am calling you.”

“And yet you refuse to give me details!”

“I promise to give you all the nitty-gritty details, but can I do it later? I have to get him out before the story starts spreading, and tell Mike before someone else does.”

“Fine, drop off Charlie, but you owe me a long, drawn-out explanation with plenty of details and diagrams,” Gracie said.

“Fine, whatever you want.”

“And I want those cute chunky earrings you got at Sweet Tart’s Boutique last week,” Gracie said.

“You diabolical fiend,” Gemma said, laughing.

“Muahahahaha! I kid. Just bring Charlie boy over. I’ll watch him while you spring your man from the joint,” Gracie said.

“He’s not really my man, but thanks. You’re the best,” Gemma said.

“This I know.”

Gemma hung up the phone and flopped back onto the bed, groaning. What the hell was she going to do? One omission had led to a web of lies that had her trapped with no escape. How was she going to fix this?

First things first. She had to bail her husband out of jail.



IT HADN’T BEEN hard getting Charlie up once she’d mentioned a chocolate chip muffin at The Local Bean. After dropping him off, she headed down the street to the police station, which only had seven officers and two cells. If anything major happened—which never did—the prisoners were transferred to Twin Falls.

Gemma got out and walked inside the square brick building, her stomach in knots as Sam stood up and came over to the counter. He was a nice man, with sandy brown hair and a good old boy smile that made most people underestimate him in the field, but she’d seen Sam take down men twice his size. With her, though, he’d always been like a big brother, maybe because he’d been friends with her brother, Drew, and had stood up for her more than once.

“Hey, Gemma girl. Guess congratulations are in order.”

Gemma wished Sam wouldn’t talk so loud. He was a good guy, but for crying out loud, he had a voice like a megaphone. “Thanks, Sam. Can I just get him, please?”

“Sure, although I don’t know why you didn’t just get married here. We would have gone all out. Vegas is like you didn’t want any of us to know.”

That, and I was lost in a drunken dreamland at the time.

“It was a spur-of-the-moment thing.”

“Yeah? Well, why don’t we plan a reception for you? Hope makes the best cheddar mashed potatoes in the county. We could have some BBQ and get one of the local bands. Hell, we can do it at Buck’s, if you want.”

Gemma, well aware of how good Sam’s wife’s potatoes were, found herself losing patience. All she wanted was to grab Travis and get the heck out of there. “Maybe. I’ll talk to Travis, okay? But right now, I really want to get him home.”

“So, is he staying with you, then? Or are you two lovebirds thinking about moving to Nashville or something?”

“We aren’t moving anywhere. Can I please go get Travis?” Gemma yelled.

“Yeah, sure, come on back,” Sam said, and when she passed by, he muttered, “Don’t have to get all snippy.”

She ignored the chastising, rounded the corner, and saw Travis lying on the small cot, his eyes closed. The left side of his face was a purple puffy mess, but she caught her gasp of sympathy before it escaped.

“Travis, your wife is here to get you,” Sam said, unlocking the cell.

Travis opened his eyes and sat up, blinking at her with bleary, bloodshot eyes and smiling mockingly, his mangled face making him look more like Frankenstein’s monster than the handsome heartthrob women swooned over. “Well, hi, sweetheart. Thanks for coming.”