Page 12 of Sweet Obsession (Honeysuckle, Texas #5)

The worn cowboy hat Alice had pressed on him the other day felt surprisingly natural, a low-profile disguise that, combined with the dusty ranch truck, should have been enough to dodge any unwanted attention—not that it had done any good hiding from the town, but it should be enough to avoid any lurking reporters.

Just in case, Blake had left the ranch immediately after breakfast at zero dark thirty.

Most of Main Street was still sleeping. Pulling into the lot at Miller’s Dry Goods, he took a front parking space, figuring the best hiding place was right under everyone’s noses.

No one would expect him to show his face if he was hiding.

Adjusting the brim of his hat, he slipped on his sunglasses and headed down the cracked sidewalk toward his parents’ street.

Only a few blocks away, he opted to cut through the back alley.

It was one thing to park out in the open in a grocery store parking lot, it was another to march up to his parents’ front door for all to see.

If Alice Sweet and Iris Hathaway were correct, by midday today the reporters would have their answers, a story to file and print, and be on their merry way back to any big city in search of some other seedy headline.

His plan was simple: slip into his parents’ backyard, give them the story before they heard it from the town gossip mill, and slip back out.

Somehow, calling to inform them that he was now dating Jillian Sweet and expected to marry her soon—very soon—felt wrong.

Even if this was a business deal at heart, after all, the Sweets financial struggles were not his to share.

But if he were going to make this feel real, he knew an announcement of this magnitude was something he’d tell them in person.

He vaulted the low wooden gate into his parents’ yard, the same one he’d jumped a thousand times as a kid.

The yard was empty, quiet. He crept up the back steps, his boots silent on the weathered wood, and peered through the screen door into the kitchen.

His mom stood at the stove, his dad in his spot at the kitchen table. Perfect.

Inching the door open, his mother’s face brightened instantly. “Blake.” A moment later, he found himself in a bone crushing hug. Anyone would think she hadn’t seen him in months or years, not just the other day.

“This is a surprise, son.” His father wasn’t the touchy feely sort that his mother was. The man smiled, and raised his coffee mug. “Would you like a cup?”

“Sounds good.”

“You sit down.” His mother patted his arm and nudged him toward the table. “I’ll get it for you.”

“What brings you around?”

“Is this about Jillian?” His mom slid a cup of coffee in front of him a knowing smile on her face. “And you?”

“You heard?”

His mom’s head bobbed up and down so fast that he almost told her to stop for fear it might fall off. He knew that the town gossip mill was fast, but he didn’t think they’d be this fast.

“Iris called last night. Said that she and Alice found you and Jillian on the porch, kissing under the stars.” His mom sighed. “So romantic.”

Well, this was going to be much easier than he thought. “She’s really something special.”

“You don’t have to tell us.” His mom pulled out a chair and sat at the table. “Alice and I couldn’t be happier.”

“You talked to Ms. Alice?”

“Just got off the phone with her. I’ll admit, we’re both a little surprised that you’ve become an item so quickly, but if we’ve seen anything the last few months with Jillian’s siblings, it’s that when love is right, it’s right.”

Blake didn’t know what to say. He’d thought this was going to be a hard sell. “I guess so.”

“You guess?” His father looked at him over the brim of his mug. “You’d better know. If you ask me, everyone’s gone mad. This isn’t one of those love at first sight romance novels.”

“Well, no, but it’s not exactly first sight either. I’ve known Jillian her whole life.”

His father set his mug on the table. “How old was she when you left town?”

“I don’t know. Just a kid, but even then there was an intensity to her when she’d watched us play.

As if she knew more about life than any of us knuckleheaded boys.

I’ve never forgotten the way she listened to me playing the guitar when I wrote ‘Honeysuckle Moon.’ I’d swear the awe in her eyes made me believe in myself.

” Not till this minute did he realize just what her presence that day had meant to him.

His father cocked a brow at him.

“Is it so hard to believe that a man could fall in love with someone like Jillian? She’s smart, and caring, and loves her family, and this town. She’s amazing.” To his surprise, he realized that he meant every word.

“See, dear.” His mother elbowed his father as she stood. “Told you he was in love.”

In love? Before he could fully wrap his mind around that concept, a sound from the side of the house stopped him cold—first just a rattle quickly followed by a clattering.

“What the heck?” His father turned to the sink window just as his mother pulled the shade.

Another clattering and crash and he knew someone was at the trash cans.

As much as he’d like to think it was nothing more than a stray cat searching for scraps, or a neighborhood kid searching for a lost ball, he knew the source was most likely not four-legged or Lilliputian. “Are the blinds open or closed?”

“Closed,” his mother responded quickly. “With all the ruckus of reporters yesterday, we never bothered to open them and ignored the knocks at the door.”

“They were knocking at your door?” He didn’t know why that had surprised him.

Padding softly across the house, he peered out between the slats.

Holy hell. It wasn’t just one reporter, it was a swarm.

At least half a dozen of them were camped out on the street in front of his parents’ house, their long-lens cameras pointed like sniper rifles.

One was at the neighbor’s holding a microphone under the owner’s nose and another was standing halfway up the drive.

No doubt the trash can culprit. This was not the plan.

The story was supposed to give them breathing room, not tighten the noose.

He backed away from the window, pulled his phone from his pocket, his only thought—to warn Jillian. Before he could press the button, one of the reporters was knocking at the front door. Oh hell. This was so not supposed to happen.

Jillian stood behind the counter of Heaven Scent, pretending to organize a display of honeysuckle candles that was already perfectly arranged.

The shop’s familiar, soothing scents did nothing to calm the frantic buzzing under her skin.

Through the large plate glass window, Main Street had transformed.

What had started as a handful of reporters last night had morphed into a full-blown media encampment, turning her quiet hometown into the set of some bizarre, unwelcome reality show.

This was not the plan. The story of a simple visit home sprinkled with a little possible romance was supposed to be a firebreak, a way to give Blake some privacy.

Instead, it had become a wildfire, and she was standing at its center.

When Iris and Mildred, bless their gossip-loving hearts, had spread the word yesterday that Blake was just visiting, catching up with old friends, that he deserved some romance after working so hard on tour, it was supposed to give the reporters a simple story and send them packing. Instead, it had the opposite effect.

Now, the whole world, or at least the part of it that subscribed to celebrity news alerts, wanted to know: who was the woman?

From her vantage point, Jillian had been watching the interrogations for the better part of an hour.

The way she figured it, there were twice as many reporters as yesterday, maybe more.

They’d spread out like ants, stopping every single person who walked down the sidewalk.

She could hear fragments of their questions through the glass: “Do you know Blake Kirby?” “Have you seen him with anyone?” “Can you tell us about his love life?” “Who’s the local woman he’s been seen with? ”

Jillian watched in a state of suspended disbelief as Mildred McEntire strutted down the sidewalk in full bling, rhinestones sparkling in the morning sun, heading straight for a cluster of reporters near the diner.

Jillian couldn’t hear what she was saying, but judging by her animated hand gestures and the way the reporters were frantically scribbling notes, Mildred was giving them quite the story.

On the other side of her shop, a ponytail-wearing reporter shoved a microphone in Iris Hathaway’s face.

Never one to miss a moment in the spotlight, preened and grinning like the Cheshire Cat, she practically snatched the microphone from the startled reporter.

“Our Blake has always had a good heart. It’s high time he found a nice, down-to-earth girl to settle down with.

” She was playing her part perfectly, a loyal town elder protecting her own while feeding the machine just enough to keep it purring.

The reporters were relentless. They were stopping everyone.

A cameraman nearly tripped over one of the corn hole boards in the park, trying to get a shot of a group of teenagers who were likely making up fantastic stories just for the fun of it.

This was getting out of hand. The town was treating it like a festival, but Jillian felt a knot of dread tighten in her stomach.

This was insane. Honeysuckle had never seen anything like this.

The quiet little town was being invaded by people with cameras and microphones, turning their peaceful Main Street into something that looked like a movie set on steroids.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, the vibration a welcome distraction. Glancing at the screen, she ducked into the small back office, needing the illusion of privacy.

“It’s a war zone out here,” she said, her voice low, sinking into her desk chair.

“You’re telling me.” Blake’s voice was tight with a stress that echoed her own. “They’re camped out at my parents’ house. Knocking on the door, trying to talk to the neighbors over the fence, I think one of them was rummaging through the trash cans. We really stepped in it this time, didn’t we?”

Jillian leaned her head against the cool leather, closing her eyes.

She could picture it perfectly: his parents, trapped in their own home, their peace shattered by the chaos, chaos she was now a part of.

“Iris and Mildred might have overplayed the deserves some romance angle a bit. They should have stuck to the original story and said he’s hanging around to get to know me better.

Now the reporters are on a full-blown mystery woman hunt. They just interviewed Iris Hathaway.”

“Oh, Lord, what did she say?”

“That it’s high time you found a nice, down-to-earth girl.” Despite the complexities of the unexpected situation, a wry smile touched her lips. “I think she was auditioning for the role of your official town spokesperson.”

“Great. Just great.” He let out a heavy sigh that crackled through the phone. “We have no choice but to stay put. You stay in the shop. The last thing we need is for them to see you and me talking and put two and two together then start camping out at the ranch. We’ll never get rid of them.”

“Well, we wanted to give them something to chew on.” Maybe now would be a good time to hide under a rock for a day or two hundred.

“I was thinking a little appetizer, not the entire menu.” She was glad to hear a hint of humor in his voice.

“Eventually they’re going to get bored and leave your parents and the rest of the town alone, right?”

“Maybe. Or they’ll dig in their heels until they find someone to spill the…” his voice trailed off and it took only a moment longer for Jillian to follow his train of thought.

At the same time, he muttered, “Grams,” Jillian voiced, “Sara.”

Aw, hell. Could this get any worse?