Page 13 of Stormswept Colorado (Hart County #3)

TWELVE

Ayla

“Thank you, Ayla. This has been an absolute pleasure.”

I smiled into the camera on my laptop. “For me too.”

“We’ll have to do it again.”

This reporter was from a prestigious magazine, one that managed to hold on to a physical circulation as well as an online following.

I’d been on the cover before. But after my last album’s disappointing numbers, they hadn’t asked me in a while. This was a big opportunity. A chance to get back to the front of the public’s mind. Exactly what I was supposed to want.

“Maybe your publicist will let you answer all my questions next time?” the reporter asked.

“Hey, anything could happen.”

He laughed, almost sounding sincere. Finally, the interview ended and the magazine reporter disappeared.

“That went fairly well,” Cheryl said. She was still on the call. And she wasn’t the only one.

“You were fantastic, Ayla. Just stellar. It’s good to see you back at your best.” Paul Ruxton sat behind his desk.

The floor-to-ceiling windows behind him showed off a view of the beach.

My publicist Beth was there too, hovering at the periphery and tapping at her phone now that the interview was over.

I was currently in the classroom where Emma taught music lessons. At least the interview was done, even though I wasn’t off the hook just yet. I was a pro at putting on a smile when I didn’t feel it. But on less than three hours of sleep? It was hard to care about anything when I was this tired.

Paul’s eyes flicked down, focusing somewhere around my breasts, even though I was wearing a sweater. “We should’ve sent more wardrobe options for you, but the authentic look is good too. Giving your fans a glimpse of the real Ayla Maxwell.”

As if Paul knew the “real Ayla Maxwell,” whatever that meant.

Cheryl stood off to one side behind Paul, her arms crossed. Her bobbed raven hair featured a streak of silver-gray, and she wore a linen suit that straddled sophistication and elegance. She and Beth had gone to Paul’s Santa Monica office for them to monitor my interview.

Paul was the newest and youngest executive at Ruxton Records. The son of the founder of the company. Hello, nepotism . Everything about Paul was slick, from the shiny fabric of his suit to his gelled hair.

He also had trouble keeping his eyes to himself. Female artists used to have to accept that treatment. But things were changing.

I was trying to reserve judgment on Paul, though. Several months back, he worked with another artist on a smash-hit album, far more successful than my last one. The label expected my next to put me back on the top. They claimed Paul would get us there.

And despite my past success in this business, I didn’t have the clout to call my own shots entirely, thanks to the record contract I’d signed years ago. It would be another year before I could negotiate a new one.

Believe me, my team of high-powered lawyers would be all over that. But I had to be patient. No matter how difficult that was.

“You handled the questions about your sister’s death with perfect poise,” Beth said.

“Thanks. Since I’m in Silver Ridge, I figured the reporter would ask.” I had deflected, while still pretending the questions didn’t bother me. “At least yesterday’s fight on Main Street didn’t come up.”

Cheryl’s mouth tightened. “By some miracle, yesterday’s incident has been quiet on social media so far.”

Paul leaned back casually in his leather chair.

“We’re trying to keep a lid on it. I’ve made some calls.

You don’t think the police chief will make trouble about this, do you?

Local cop trying to get attention, make himself look like a hero for showing you mercy and not going through with the arrest? ”

I bristled. So Paul knew all about it. Cheryl probably felt like she had to warn him. “Teller? He wouldn’t do that.”

Paul scoffed. “You’re on a first-name basis with the guy?”

I studied my fingernail, even though my instinct was to defend the chief.

A pretty big turnaround from a day ago. I didn’t feel like explaining it.

“He’s a family friend. Anyway, Bryan will need a ride out of Silver Ridge since he can’t drive.

Cheryl, the agency is sending someone to pick him up, right? ”

“Yes. I’ve spoken to them to make sure.”

Poor Bryan had a concussion. One of Teller’s officers had taken him to the county hospital last night, but there’d been no way I could leave him all alone. He’d gotten hurt defending me. So after the party was over, I’d asked Ashford to drive me to the hospital. Thankfully he’d been sober.

I’d sat up with Bryan for half the night while the doctors ran tests. They insisted on keeping him there for observation, given his past history of concussions and his worsening symptoms. Then Ashford had to come pick me up again before he, Emma, and Maisie took off for Hartley.

I’d been on my own for the last few hours. Packing my things, then dealing with the magazine interview.

But in the background of my mind, ever since last night, there had been one constant refrain. Like a melody that appeared out of nowhere and I hadn’t figured out yet.

Teller Landry.

“I hear there’s bad weather headed to Colorado,” Cheryl said. “Are you sure you don’t need another driver? You’re all set?”

“Yep, I am.” She didn’t need to know Teller was driving me personally. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I always worry about you. Especially when I sense there are things you aren’t telling me.”

Paul perked up. “Keeping secrets from us?” Beth’s brow creased.

I forced a laugh. “No, there’s nothing.”

“You almost got yourself arrested yesterday,” Cheryl said with a frown. “That’s not nothing.”

“Emphasis on the almost .”

Cheryl looked at the window, as if she was calming herself by staring at the ocean view. A feeling I knew well. But I didn’t like to feel that I was the source of her anxiety. I had enough of that on my own.

Paul’s gaze remained directly on me, and I resisted the urge to squirm. “If anything else comes up, you’ll let us know, right?” he asked. “Anything at all. We care. We’re here to help you, Ayla. Help us help you .”

How did Paul manage to make kind words sound so empty?

“I’ll let you know when I get to Hartley,” I said. “And I’ll see you when I’m back in LA on Monday. Bye, everyone!” I rushed to end the call.

Gah .

Cheryl looked out for me, and I had to be grateful for that. My whole team looked out for me. I just didn’t want to share anything about Teller, and certainly not in front of Paul. My record label didn’t need to know every last thing about me. Though they clearly felt entitled to that.

I didn’t want to think about Paul and his casual sleaziness. Teller could be infuriating, but he was ten times the man Paul Ruxton would ever be.

My impression of Teller had changed completely since yesterday.

Especially after seeing him on the roof with his nephew.

The love between them had been so clear.

And it seemed especially poignant since Teller wasn’t Ollie’s dad.

Instead, he was stepping in because Piper’s ex-husband wasn’t the father Ollie deserved.

If only every kid had someone like that.

It made me wonder why Teller wasn’t a dad himself. That was a deeply personal decision, of course. None of my business. Maybe he wasn’t interested in having a traditional family. Or maybe he had a girlfriend and was getting ready to propose to her. How would I know?

Except nobody in Silver Ridge had mentioned Teller having a girlfriend. There had been some kind of spark between us yesterday. Would I have felt that if he belonged to someone else?

“You’re ridiculous,” I said to myself aloud.

I pushed back from the piano, putting the cover over the keys and grabbing my laptop.

I barely knew Teller Landry. And even if I wanted to know more, what was the point? He lived in Silver Ridge. I lived in LA, and I traveled constantly. We barely had anything in common.

Yet I couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d said yesterday on the roof. Let me take care of this for you. He’d been straightforward and sincere. Everything a guy like Paul Ruxton wasn’t.

I believed Teller. It felt really good to believe him.

Suddenly, music notes danced like snowflakes in my head. Pure and clear and just as fleeting.

That wasn’t half bad.

I rushed to the piano, pushed back the cover, and let my fingers move. At first it was a quick repetition of notes. The beginnings of a melody. And then, it grew. Took on shape and dynamics.

“There you are,” I murmured. “Stay with me.”

Reaching for the sheet music I’d been using earlier, I flipped it over. Shit, a pencil. A pen. I needed something to write with. Frustration itched beneath my skin because I had to get this out. When inspiration hit me, it was a physical need. Undeniable, even painful if I ignored it.

Wait, my laptop. Yes .

I opened the computer and launched my favorite songwriting software as I hummed the melody. The notes started to become words as I worked. A story about a girl losing someone irreplaceable and eventually opening up to love again.

I only had the very beginning. No clue where it was going. But I always had an instinct when a song might be something special.

This one had promise. I just had to follow where the inspiration would lead.

I stood up to stretch and rolled out my neck. How long had I been sitting there? It felt like coming out of a daze. But when I was in the flow, I was hardly aware of anything except the music. Sometimes I forgot to eat or drink or use the bathroom for hours at a time.

Once, I was baking cookies in my Malibu kitchen, got distracted by a song idea, and almost burned the house down.

But it had been a while since that kind of inspiration had struck me. It felt amazing. Like the best high no drug in the world could ever replicate.

I was never happier than when I was creating.

My phone buzzed. I checked and found a message waiting from Teller. Oops, make that another message. He’d written me several.

Storm’s coming in faster than expected. You free? I have some updates.

We’ll get to Hartley. I’ve been working on a modified route. No worries.

Free soon? We have to leave ASAP.

Sparks of anxiety hit my stomach. But I’d already packed my suitcase, and I had the rest of my stuff downstairs.

I was about to write him back when I noticed a new email message in my inbox. It came from someone who’d put Biggest Fan as their first and last name. Very few people even had my email address, which I rarely used for anything except business.

The subject was: Smile for me .

Dread slowly rose inside me like dark water. But at the same time, I had to see what this was. I had to know.

I clicked on the message.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Smile for me

Dear Ayla,

Someday you’ll smile like this for me. And only me. Until then, I’ll be watching.

Love, your Biggest Fan

Below the message was a photo of me standing inside the baby boutique, smiling at Bryan. This photo had been taken yesterday, clearly through the shop window. Had this person been out there in that crowd?

My stomach flipped. The blood rushed from my head. Distantly, I heard a door open. Footsteps.

“Ayla?”

Teller walked toward me in his police uniform. I looked up at him, and the room seemed to swim and blur.

“What’s going on? ”

My knees went weak. I couldn’t make my voice work to respond. He gripped my upper arm, while the fingers of his other hand touched my neck. “Your heart is racing. Can you tell me what happened?”

“I’m…I’m okay.” I pushed the fear way, way down. I didn’t want to think about it. Couldn’t think about it.

“You don’t seem like it.”

My phone was still clutched in my fist. Then it was suddenly gone, and when I blinked, it was in Teller’s hand.

His thumb flicked over the screen. “What in the hell ? Who sent this to you?”

I grabbed the phone and turned it dark. “You had no right to do that.” I tried to push away from him, but Teller held me there with a firm grip on my arm.

“Do you know who sent it?” he asked, so quiet and yet infinitely dangerous.

“It’s a prank. Just someone looking to get a reaction from me.”

“Seems like he got it.”

“I forgot to eat lunch. That’s why I was lightheaded.” I stepped back. “Please let go of me.”

Teller lifted his hands. But his pale-green eyes were still scrutinizing me. As if he saw right through me.

I had to smile. Perform. Make him believe it.

“Really, it was nothing. I get creepy messages sometimes.”

“This has happened before?”

“It’s an unfortunate reality of my job.”

“It shouldn’t be.”

“How did you get inside? I thought I had the door locked.” An aftershock of fear rippled down my back. What if the person who’d sent that message was in Silver Ridge? What if he’d gotten in?

“The electronic lock on the main door,” he said. “I know the code. ”

I nodded rapidly, crossing my arms over my chest. Stop , I told myself. Breathe .

“Do you have a stalker, Ayla?” Teller asked softly.

I wasn’t sure how to answer, so I just shook my head.

“If you want to talk, I’m here.”

“Nothing to talk about. My stuff is ready. I just have to grab my suitcase from upstairs. Then we can go.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Just forget about it. Please .”

At best, Teller would think he could fix this. Like I was a project. An obligation. At worst, he would find out how scared and alone I really felt and look at me with pity.

I couldn’t deal with either one.