Head Over Spurs: Hell Yeah! Page 3

  “You know it.” Jacob grinned. “He’s walking now and his vocabulary is bigger than mine.”

  “That’s wonderful.” Tanner knew how loved the baby was. He’d been surprised to learn that Jacob wasn’t the little boy’s biological sire, but he certainly was his father in every way that counted.

  “Yea, and Jessie’s pregnant. We just found out a couple of days ago. We’re going to tell the family at Christmas.”

  “Congratulations!” Bowie hugged Jacob. “This is going to be the best Christmas ever.”

  “I’m glad both of you are happy.” He didn’t have the same hope for his holiday. He’d made no plans. Frankly, he just didn’t feel like celebrating. They visited for a few more minutes before putting up their tools.

  Once his friends were gone, he set out to chop the wood for his guest. There was only one. Most people traveling this time of year stayed with family. Taking a swipe at a piece of rich-lighted pine, he cut up some kindling. Since this was a woman alone, she probably wouldn’t know how to build a fire, but he’d leave word at the office that she could call him if she needed any help. Tanner didn’t know her story, and he didn’t need to. All of the bookings were done online, and his neighbor, Mrs. Foster, checked people in and out. She also kept the cabins clean for him. Her husband amused himself by helping Tanner take care of the cattle. He couldn’t pay the old couple a great deal, but they seemed happy and so was he. This arrangement worked well when he was off on a tracking mission. It wasn’t necessary for Tanner to have any contact with the guests if he didn’t want to, but he was always ready to help if he was around.

  As he landed blow after blow with the axe, Tanner worked up a sweat. Glancing up at the sky, he couldn’t believe the reports that they might have a white Christmas. Stopping to get a drink of water from the cooler on the back end of his truck, he flipped the accessory power switch so he could play the radio. Taking a swig, he found a country station and Elvis’s I’ll Have a Blue Christmas rang out. He leaned for a few minutes on the tailgate, thinking how appropriate the song was to his current situation.

  Tanner was just about to go back to work when he heard it. If he’d been a contestant on that old game show, Name That Tune, and the first three notes of this song was his clue, he would win the game. A tingle of chills swept over his skin as Desiree’s beautiful voice began to sing My Christmas Wish.

  When I think of home, I think of you.

  Anytime I’m still, I dream of you.

  I pray we’ll meet again someday.

  Please believe me when I say

  My Christmas Wish is to be in your arms again.

  Tanner had to steel himself to keep listening. As much as he tried to deny it, the years hadn’t lessened the longing he had for her. Even her rejection hadn’t killed what he felt. Every year around the anniversary of the day he’d saved her, she’d sing the song White Knight at some concert or televised show and give that same plea for him to come to her, to contact her. Like some lovesick fool, he’d finally given in and responded to her request. Tanner had traveled to the Grand Ole’ Opry to see her perform. He’d been just one in the crowd and with the lights up and bright, she hadn’t seen him. The stagehands wouldn’t let him backstage, but one had carried a note from him to her that read: Desiree, this is your White Knight. I’ve driven all the way from Austin to see you. I hope you have time for a drink.

  He’d waited, anticipating the moment when she’d walk around the corner and see him – a full grown man. Tanner had been twenty-three at the time, five years after he’d last seen her. He’d waited until they turned out the lights and someone came to tell him they were locking the building. He told the man he was waiting for Desiree Holt and he’d laughed and said, “Son, she left two hours ago. Those big stars don’t hang around signing autographs.”

  Tanner still listened to the music and he still dreamed of her, but he no longer had any foolish illusions that fate would bring them together. Nope. Desiree was a queen of country music. She’d won more CMA awards than he could count, and had more gold records than her wall could probably hold. Several of her songs had won Grammys and one of her religious numbers earned a Dove award. The woman he used to sneak into bars to see perform had achieved amazing success and he was proud of her. Hell, he’d learned to play guitar just so he could sing along with her music. Even worse, Tanner had written a song for her – not that she’d ever hear it…

  Years had passed since he’d tried to contact her and the time had come to put aside childish things. He was a man now, with an adult understanding of just how the world worked. Reality and dreams were not the same. One day, he’d find someone to love – one day.

  * * *

  Leaving the hills of Tennessee behind, Desiree welcomed the miles as they passed by her car window. She’d chosen to drive rather than fly. If a panic attack hit while she was in the car, there was no problem pulling over and finding a place to walk till the anxiety passed. On a plane…well, there was really no place to go. She’d found that out the hard way. Returning to Texas was her last ditch effort to reclaim her life. If she couldn’t find peace in the Hill Country, there was no peace to be had.

  No one knew where she was going – no one. Not her agent, not her manager, not her assistant or her band. To be sure she wasn’t followed, Desiree had disguised herself and rented a car for the trip. She wasn’t even staying in Austin. Instead she was headed to the Lost Pines Ranch where she’d rented a cabin until after the New Year. Being a celebrity had its rewards, obviously. But there were downsides. Unwanted attention and tabloid lies. Desiree hadn’t even registered at Lost Pines in her own name, she’d used an alias – Mona Shields.

  Recalling the attack from years ago, Desiree shivered. At the time, she thought she’d come out of the ordeal remarkably unscathed. Sure – she’d had nightmares, but remembering her White Knight’s intervention had offset those fears. Unfortunately, the attack in Austin hadn’t been the only one she’d endured. At some point during her career, Desiree had acquired an overzealous fan. It had started out fairly innocent, him sending gifts backstage for her. At first, the brief notes had only been statements of admiration and good wishes. When they’d escalated to propositions and threats, her manager had made a policy that no notes be delivered to her at all. But that policing effort hadn’t stopped the stalker. Over time, he became bolder and bolder, even climbing the fence surrounding her Nashville home and breaking into her house. It had been odd, no matter where she went, he was there, she couldn’t outrun him, sometimes it seemed he was capable of being in two places at once.

  About six months ago, the situation came to a head, when the stalker, Elliot Stark, followed her tour bus, catching her as she emerged from a filling station restroom. Desiree had a thing about not doing anything on her bus that would leave a smell, so she did her business elsewhere when possible. This time though, her self-consciousness was a tragic mistake. Stark slipped up behind her, clapped a hand over her mouth and pushed her against the wall. Desiree struggled, fighting back, but he’d managed to rip her shirt and fondle her breasts. She pushed and shoved, screaming when he thrust his hand down her panties and began mauling her sex. When Desiree raised a knee to his crotch and bit his hand, Elliot turned violent and hit her in the face, knocking her to the ground where she was rendered unconscious, striking her temple on the side of the curb.

  Desiree awakened in a hospital with her head swathed, disoriented. Her manager informed her that she’d been rushed to the hospital, undergoing surgery for a skull fracture and a blood clot. All of her hair had been shaved off, but other than that the doctors assured her she’d make a full recovery. Desiree begged her manager to keep the attack and subsequent operation out of the news, and he’d succeeded. The change in her hairdo was drastic, but she explained that away as just a whim. Her hair came back all one color, she lost the contrasting darker streak that reminded Desiree of her mother. She’d been heartbroken and almost dyed it back to the way it was before – but soon she
realized she had a much bigger problem.

  It didn’t happen all at once. The first couple of weeks, she’d taken it easy, sleeping most of the time, recuperating. Then one day, it started. Desiree felt an overwhelming sense of panic overtake her. She couldn’t be still, she felt as if the walls were closing in on her. Over the next few months, the symptoms increased until Desiree lost the ability to lie down to sleep. When she would try to get in a bed, the very act of shutting her eyes and surrendering to oblivion became impossible. Anytime she shut her eyes a wave of panic would assault her. She went to her doctor who prescribed Xanax, and when that didn’t seem to work, she saw a therapist.

  At first, the psychiatrist tried to focus on the attack itself. There was a question of whether or not she’d been raped. Desiree had no memory of any sexual assault and the doctors told her there was physical evidence she’d been violated. The best they could come up with was that the anesthesia she’d been administered during surgery had flipped some kind of chemical switch in her brain. Antidepressants were what the therapist recommended, but Desiree balked at that. She accepted a sleeping pill called Trazadone and she played with herbs like valerian and St. John’s wort.

  Nothing seemed to work.

  Concerts were difficult, especially when the lights went down but she managed to fulfill all of her contracts. So far, nothing about her ordeal made the papers and she was grateful for that one consolation. Suffering in silence was much better than her troubles being broadcast far and wide, like they had been when Brad Atkins sold his story about their intimate encounter. She still endured questions about his lewd accusations.

  Worse than performing was when she had to travel on her bus. The last few times, she’d worried the driver to death, making him stop so she could take walks every few miles. There was no way she could handle the cramped space. And when the time changed and it started getting dark by five-thirty, she thought she’d go insane.

  Sleep became a precious commodity and Desiree felt blessed when she was able to get two or three hours a night. She slept best sitting up and if she could be outside, it seemed to help even more. Several times she’d slept in her car in a mall parking lot like a homeless person, but safety was always a concern.

  All of this was why she’d cleared her schedule and decided to disappear for a few weeks. What she hoped to accomplish was to find some semblance of calm. By the photos she’d seen on the web, Lost Pines would be just the place to achieve it. She would be alone and isolated, away from photographers and fans. The only thing she was worried about was the weather. With her still having to sleep outside, or at least with a window or door open – she’d probably catch her death of pneumonia.

  When she passed through Austin, heading south to Bastrop, memories of the young man who’d saved her crossed Desiree’s mind. Even though he never contacted her as she’d asked – and she didn’t know why, couldn’t judge – fond memories still remained. She hadn’t known him, and most of what she felt was all probably built-up from her own imagination, but no man she’d ever encountered came close to him in her mind.

  Yes, she’d had a few relationships, although none had been long-term and the last one had been almost five years ago. Desiree had a reputation for having a warm heart for her fans and charities, but of being a bit of an ice queen when it came to love. The truth was, she’d just never found anyone who touched her heart, no one who made her crave his touch. Some men she turned down accused her of being frigid – and, maybe she was. Or at least that was the moniker Brad Atkins hung on her. He’d given graphic examples to the tabloids, saying how she couldn’t respond, couldn’t orgasm. According to him, the only thing she could give a man was frostbite.

  Desiree had been humiliated, but all she could do was go on. Perform. Record. Write. Luckily, most of her fans loved her for her voice – not her sexiness.

  Oh, well. None of that mattered at this point in her life, what was really important was regaining her sense of normalcy. She’d always been a night owl, loved to stay up and read or just stare at the stars. And now – heck, now she dreaded the dark. The blackness seemed like it was about to choke the life from her. In the past, she loved to curl up some place warm for a nap, but now as soon as she closed her eyes, her heart would start pounding and her eyes would pop open.

  Hopefully, she could work through all of this and be better after the New Year. If not, Desiree didn’t know what she would do. This was no way to live. She didn’t even know if she wanted to live if her existence would be plagued with such unreasonable and uncontrollable fear.

  Checking the position of the sun in the sky, she shivered as she saw how late it was getting to be. It would be dark by the time she reached her destination. A wave of loneliness almost took her breath away. Lately, she longed to have someone to talk to. But not someone who was with her only because she was a singer. Desiree wanted someone who could see behind the sparkle and spangle and want to know the person she really was inside. She wanted someone who could prove Brad wrong – make her feel something. Turning up the heater, she offered a little prayer skyward. I know it’s impossible, but if you can spare one – I sure could use another white knight.

  * * *

  “Here you go.” The older lady handed the keyring to Desiree. “The cabin is fully stocked with groceries, just as you asked…Ms. Shields.” It was obvious the woman recognized her. Even without make-up or fancy clothes, her face was fairly familiar to most people – at least if they listened to country music.

  “I know you know who I am. I just hope you’ll let this be our secret. I came here to get away from the crowd, not to attract one.” Self-consciously, Desiree gazed around to make sure they were alone. The directions she’d received said to stop at the first house on the right after turning off on the ranch road. “Is this your home, Mrs. Foster?” The place was old-fashioned, reminding her of her grandmother’s house. There were lots of what-nots and lace doilies and the smell of gingerbread filled the air. A large decorated tree set in the corner, reminding her that Christmas Eve was only three days away. The thought made her sad, she used to love the holidays, and now it would be just another day.

  “Absolutely. Of course.” Mrs. Foster laid her hand over her heart. “I won’t breathe a word. You just make yourself at home and you call me if you need a thing.”

  “Is the cabin private?” There was no way she could demand that there be no other guests. Not unless she’d booked every cabin. Desiree frowned. Maybe that was exactly what she should’ve done.

  “Yes, ma’am. There are only three cabins on the property and none are even in sight of the other. Only one other is occupied and I can promise you that your privacy will be protected.” Mrs. Foster folded her hands in front of her, clearing her throat. “But I would like to say what a big fan I am. You are tremendously talented.”

  Desiree never took a fan’s admiration for granted. Fame was fleeting, as they say. “Thank you, so much.” She reached over and patted the older woman’s hands. “I’ll get you some CD’s before I leave,” she offered, knowing the woman probably didn’t download her music. Older people liked to hold things in their hand. She probably read paperback books instead of ebooks also.

  “Oh, thank you!”

  Mrs. Foster walked Desiree to her rental car, pointing the way to where she’d be staying for the next few weeks. She had a concert scheduled for the second Saturday in January. Until then, she’d be here in the ‘lost pines’ of central Texas.

  After pulling into the road, she turned on her high beams and was surprised to see a rather large animal cross in front of her. It was too far away to tell if it was a small deer or a large coyote. To reassure herself, she assumed it was a deer. Tonight she might end up sleeping in the car since she didn’t know what outside furniture the cabin offered. But she was fairly certain she wouldn’t be able to sleep in the bed. Oh well, she’d keep her fingers crossed.

  Just like Mrs. Foster instructed, Desiree followed the road for three miles before taking
a smaller dirt road that veered off to the right. The trees were thicker here, forming a canopy overhead. And the temperature dropped several degrees. Desiree realized it was because she was traveling over earth instead of asphalt. When her headlights illuminated the cabin, Desiree had to smile. It looked like something out of Little House on the Prairie. She could even see gingham curtains in the windows.

  Pulling the car up fairly close to the porch, she was grateful to see there was a swing, a couple of chairs and a chaise lounge she could sleep on. Hopefully there’d be some nice thick quilts to stave off the chill. Taking the key, she opened the door and jumped a bit when it let out a low mournful squeak. Someone needed to oil the hinges. She couldn’t complain though, they’d left the front porch light on and there was a lamp burning in the next room. At least she didn’t have to walk into a dark house. Feeling along the wall, she flipped on the front light and immediately a very comfortable and well decorated interior warmed her heart. This would be nice.

  A soft looking chintz covered couch and chairs sat in front of a fireplace already loaded with wood. Kindling and a long fireplace lighter sat on the hearth. Taking the hint, she went over and started the fire. After she’d warmed her hands, she took an opportunity to check out the rest of the cabin. There were only six rooms, which included the kitchen, a living room, the breakfast nook, two bedrooms and one bath. Everything was tasteful, comfortable and country-themed. Desiree rolled her suitcase to the edge of the closet and laid it over on the side. Tonight all she wanted was her warm gown and a robe. Unpacking could be left for the morning.

  The bathroom was small but surprisingly functional and nice. After she showered and dressed, Desiree padded to the kitchen and put on some milk to warm. A nice cup of hot chocolate would hit the spot. As she gazed out the small window, she saw lights in the distance. As the wind blew through the pine branches, the lights would flicker. The sign that someone was so close by gave her an odd feeling of security. She had no idea who they were or if she could count on them for anything, but a warm feeling filled her soul as she stared at the tiny dots of illumination.