Heartland (4 page)

He reached for the speeding ticket he’d written that morning lying on the corner of his desk. “Now if you will excuse me, I have work to do.”

Trevor glanced at the ticket and wrinkled his brow. “Emily Kendall? Is she back in town?”

Not liking his brother-in-law’s tone, he leaned back in the chair and studied him, leaving the ticket on the desk. “Yeah. Guess after her last stay at Betty Ford or whatever posh spa rehab and her divorce, she came home.” A memory wiggled to the surface and a surge of irritation not unlike jealousy, which made no sense, scalded his blood stream. “You dated her in high school.”

Trevor stared at the ticket. “No, we never dated. We were nothing but friends. Mama hated her. Said Emily would ruin me. Then she got the record deal and we drifted apart.” He met EJ’s gaze. “How’d she look?”

Like sex in designer sunglasses.

Where the hell did that come from?

EJ distracted himself by shrugging and picking up the ticket. “I guess okay. At least she didn’t look stoned like she did last fall on the
CMA Awards
.”

“Hopefully she’ll clean herself up now that she’s gotten rid of the rock star.” Trevor shifted his feet and looked down at his shiny manicured fingernails--did he polish the things?--with a pinched expression.

Had his suspicions about his brother-in-law’s sexual orientation been wrong? Trevor was a decent-looking guy, but as far as EJ knew, he’d never had a girlfriend. Was the reason not because he was gay, but because he was pining after Emily Kendall?

Trevor seemed to shake himself and looked up at EJ. “I guess I can’t convince you to come to dinner tonight.”

“No. Now get out of here. I have a job to do.”

Trevor nodded and left, but EJ stared at the ticket in his hand. Why did he find Emily Kendall damned intriguing?

He crumbled the ticket and tossed it into the trash. Guess now, he’d have to make sure he bumped into her to let her know he’d lost the ticket before he had a chance to report it to the DMV.

* * * *

Emily struggled to not cry and concentrated on the death grip with which she hugged the cup of tea her mother had brewed for her after their tearful reunion. As she had done when she’d met her father outside, Emily fought the deluge she was holding behind a flimsy thread of self-control, but a few drops slipped by. She sipped the tea sweetened with pasteurized organic honey and savored the flavor. She’d drunk diet crap for such a long time she forgot how much she loved the slight tangy sweetness of honey in her favorite hot beverage.

Her mother sat across the table and wiped at her eyes with a paper napkin. Her long, black braid rested over her right shoulder. Momma’s hair had never been that dark. Had she started dyeing it? The thought that her mother might be going gray made her throat constrict. The tan complexion Momma had inherited from her Native American mother was darker than Emily had recalled it being. She must be working outside more now that she’d taken on raising horses in addition to overseeing the management of the ranch. She may have turned forty years old in January, but she was still as beautiful as Emily remembered.

Her father sat two cups of coffee on the table, then claimed the chair beside Momma. Without his hat, Emily noticed the traces of gray in his strawberry hair at his temples. He’d shaved off the goatee he’d sported for most of his twenty-two-year music career to hide the long jagged scar on his chin. Without the facial hair, he looked even more handsome than he had as a younger man; especially with the crinkles at the corners of his jade eyes, making him look distinguished as well.

His forty-first birthday was coming up on the twenty-fifth--a week away. She wanted to ask if her parents had anything planned, but before she had a chance her mother picked up her mug and asked, “How far along are you?”

Emily choked as she swallowed her tea. After sputtering for a few seconds, she smiled. “I should’ve known I couldn’t keep it a secret for too long with you.”

Dad drew his brows together and looked between her and Momma. “Well, I’m as much in the dark as a burned-out light bulb. Would y’all like to enlighten me?”

Momma grinned and patted his arm. “Emily?”

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Exhaustion from driving all night weighed her down now that some of the tension of the reunion was over. “I’m pregnant.”

She smiled at the way her father’s eyes widened. Then a grin spread over his face. “Damn…” She couldn’t help the chuckle at the utter awe in Dad’s voice. “I’m going to be a granddaddy?”

Momma laughed and leaned in to kiss his cheek, then she met Emily’s gaze again. “Now answer my original question.”

“I’m twenty-six weeks.” She suspected her mother was concerned about what the drugs she’d taken might have done to the baby. “I found out when I was admitted to Fernwood.” She told them about the conversation she’d had with Dr. Barton. When her mother asked about the baby’s health, she assured her that Dr. Summers did several tests to determine that she was carrying a healthy baby girl.

“A girl, eh?” Dad sat back in his seat, a grin tugging at his lips.

“I thought about keeping the sex a secret, but figured somewhere I’d let it slip anyway.” She rested her hands over her belly. “I think of her as my baby girl.”

“You never were any good at keeping secrets.” Her mother let a cautious smile slip into her otherwise pensive expression.

Shaking her head, Emily lifted her cooled tea to take a sip. “I know you’re both wondering what Fabian thinks about the baby.”

Her father shrugged and leaned over his arms. “I figured you’d get around to it. How long do you think you’ll be staying?”

She set her cup onto the table and stared into it. “I’d like to make my home here. There’s nothing for me in Nashville.”

“You’re leaving music?” Her mother’s surprise had Emily looking up.

“I haven’t decided yet… But if I do go back, I need to remember why I wanted to be a singer in the first place. I need to find my roots. Where better to do that than here in the heartland.” She glanced around the massive custom kitchen her father had built onto the house after buying it when her grandfather died. The whitewashed cabinets with their sand-colored granite countertops, the large windows overlooking the backyard pool, and the acres of pastures dotted with cattle beyond filled the spaces where homesickness swamped her. However, it wasn’t missing her family and her home that caused the restlessness. She missed the music she grew up listening to.

She met her parents’ expectant gazes. “Right now, my main goal is to raise my baby.”

“I hate to ask, but…is Fabian the father? I thought you were separated.” Momma’s brows beetled.

“Unfortunately, yes, he’s her father.” Emily snorted and finished her tea. “We were separated when I got pregnant.” She looked into her cup and considered her words, and decided to be brutally honest. “But we liked getting high together and we liked…” God, how do you tell your parents you like sex? Honesty was greatly overrated at that moment.

“Sex?” Momma provided.

Her father let out a breath that may have been a gasp of pain. “Abby… Geez, I got the picture without you narrating it.”

Nodding, heat rushed to her face, but she trudged on by answering her mother’s question. No way could she look at her father. “He wants nothing to do with the baby. He never wanted kids. Knowing how he felt, I wanted to be free of him as soon as I found out I was pregnant. Not only because he helped me destroy my life--my career--but for the baby. Reese Goodwin expedited my divorce. Fabian agreed to sell the Nashville mansion, but wanted the Manhattan penthouse.”

She shrugged, remembering the confrontation she had with Fabian yesterday when she’d stopped by his hotel to tell him about the pregnancy. “When I told him about the baby, he raged like a banshee that I’d gotten pregnant on purpose. I simply told him he’d never have to see either one of us again. I think he eventually realized I could have fought for child support during our divorce, but didn’t. Instead, I cut all ties, besides giving him the penthouse, I signed over the rights to the songs we’d written together, both the ones recorded and the few that haven’t been published yet. I don’t want my name professionally connected to his.”

She sighed and it turned into a yawn.

“Did you drive all night?” Dad asked.

She nodded. “Yeah. I’d packed everything up, and then met Fabian at the Marriot yesterday afternoon. After telling him about the baby, I left and headed home.” The jerk had thought she’d wanted to meet with him for drugs and sex despite them now being divorced--until she pushed away his advances to drop her baby bomb.

Her mother stood. “Let me get your room ready.” She turned to Dad. “Why don’t you bring in her things?”

“Of course.” He followed to his feet. “You couldn’t have gotten much in that car.”

She shook her head, and with a tired breath, she stood to lead her father out to the driveway. “No. Gabe is bringing the rest of my stuff. He should be here by the weekend.”

“Gabe?” Dad paused at the door. Gabe McKenna was her father’s best friend, and she’d long ago started thinking of the fellow country singer as an uncle.

“When Trish told me he was in town laying down the last tracks for his next record, I gave him a call.” Her manager had once been Gabe’s personal assistant before she became a talent manager with her father-in-law’s firm. The two of them were still good friends. “He was more than willing to drive a rented van back to Texas. I think he was thrilled I was finally getting my head screwed on straight.”

Dad wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close after they stepped onto the porch. “You could have called me.”

“I could have. But Gabe had long ago told me if I needed anything, to call him. Besides, I wanted to surprise you and Momma. I think Gabe wants to talk to you about something.”

Before she’d left to tell Fabian about the baby, she’d took her last walk through the mansion she’d listed the day after getting out of rehab. She’d contracted a consignment company to sell the furniture after the sale of the estate. Everything else she’d given to charity. Packing up what she’d wanted to bring with her to Texas surprisingly hadn’t taken long.

Her father hefted the suitcase from the trunk of the car. The rest of her stuff, which consisted of some of her other clothes, her favorite guitars, a banjo she’d taught herself how to play, and all of her awards, were in the van she rented for Gabe to drive to the ranch on his way home in Bluebonnet Creek in Brown County. The trip was out of his way, but he’d refused to accept any payment and seemed more than happy to take on the burden.

“Gabe is trying to convince me to go in with him and form our own record label.” Her father closed her trunk.

“Are you thinking about it?”

As they headed up the walkway to the porch, he said, “I am, but there’s a lot at stake. We’ll have to put a lot of capital into the venture I’m not sure either of us have.”

“I think it’s a great opportunity. Look what Show Dog Records has done for Toby’s career.”

“I know there’s money to be made. Thing is I’d hate to leave Midland Records. I’ve been there since they first signed me twenty-two years ago. Paul Calabrese has been good to me and signed a lot of the acts I’ve brought to him. Like you and Gabe,” he said, referring to the president of Midland and another close friend. Paul’s friendship with her father was what probably saved her ass from being dropped like poop from a flock of pigeons when Trish asked for an indefinite extension on her production deadline for her current record.

He opened the screen door into the kitchen. “I also know where Gabe’s coming from. We’re both getting old.”

She moved into the kitchen and shook her head. “You’re still making number one records. Gabe is too.”

“True. But there will come a time when we’ll stop selling out stadiums and stop racing up the charts. There’s a lot of young, hot talent out there.” Grinning, he looked over his shoulder at her as they headed down the hall to the stairs. “I know what it’s like to be upstaged by my opening act. I don’t want that to happen again.”

She laughed because she’d been that opening act. “What can I say? Sorry I stole your fans.”

At the painful thought that none of those fans were hers anymore, she lost the smile. People still wanted her autograph, and she couldn’t go anywhere without someone noticing her and making a fuss, but most of her earlier supporters had deserted her. The groupies and media following her now simply wanted a piece of her because she was famous.

Swallowing, she turned to him at the open door of her old bedroom. “Dad, I think you’d make a wonderful music executive. You have a great ear for talent and you care about what people want to hear.”

He set her case inside her room, then drew her into his arms and kissed her forehead. “I love you, sunshine.”

“I love you, too, Daddy.” She had to swallow the lump forming in her throat as the tears she’d been holding in came rushing back.

Her mother finished fluffing her pillows and moved in beside them. She took Emily into her arms after Dad stepped away, hugging her close and hoarsely whispering in her ear, “I’m happy you came home. I love you and I’m proud of you.”

“I love you.” She clung to her mother. The torrent of tears was too much, and they gushed from her hot and utterly liberating. Why had she held them back?