Make Me Yours (Bridgewater County 5)

“Do they mention us taking her together?”

He read quietly. While I wanted to sit beside him and read at the same time, the phone was too damn small.

“No. Nor our names. Only hers. We’re the ‘mystery cowboys’ who wanted a turn at the rodeo.”

“Fuck,” I growled. I pinched the bridge of my nose. “You really don’t think she paid paparazzi to follow her and take pictures, do you?”

He groaned. “No. She’s not like that. But I was angry and I wanted her to see her accusations were ridiculous. That there were other possibilities. Instead, I made her think I was an asshole. That she’d be the petty bitch she tries so hard to avoid.”

“Yeah, that kind of backfired.”

“Not only do we have to find the fuckers who did this and kill them, then we’ll have to make it right with Lacey.”

Not a small order. I knew nothing about fame or LA or anything crazy like this shit. But Matt did. He’d been a professional baseball player. He could help. I shared my thoughts.

“Yeah, he can help. So can Lacey’s sister.”

“She’s the one who called, who arranged for Matt to come here.”

“Then she’s protective. We need to get her on our side.”

Colt stood, grabbed his keys. “We need to go get our girl. Make this right. Prove to her we love her. Then we’ll claim her so she never forgets. If we have to get the tabloids involved—with the truth—then we’ll do it.”

“Abso-fucking-lutely.”

***

Lacey

“You have to go back to work next week,” Ann Marie said, shoving a piece of popcorn in her mouth. We were on the couch in her great room watching Sixteen Candles.

“Why can’t I have a Jake Ryan?” I asked, swooning over the hero in the 80’s teen flick.

“I know,” Ann Marie agreed. “He’s gorgeous. And the Porsche doesn’t hurt him at all. You had two Jake Ryans.”

She hadn’t mentioned either Micah’s or Colt’s name since I’d been back in LA. She’d arranged for a private jet to bring me from Montana, not telling my PR firm or anyone else, not knowing who’d taken the photos. Matt from Hawk’s Landing had been really nice, intentionally quiet the entire ride into Bozeman. He’d promised he would look into the breach of guest privacy and would get back to me. I hadn’t heard from him yet.

I also hadn’t looked at any newspapers, tabloids or even gone online. Ann Marie had gladly taken my cell and I avoided every computer in her house. She’d told me one of the papers had an article that Chris had moved on. He was old news. How he did with his band was up to him now, or whichever actress he glommed onto next.

I hadn’t gone to my own place. I had no interest. After the party Chris had thrown, I had no idea the condition. Gabe had been great. He’d had a team from his company go in and pack up my personal effects; clothing and the like and bring it here. He’d then worked with a Realtor to put the house on the market.

I wasn’t going back. Not just to my big, empty house across town, but to Chris. Or my job. Since we’d finished filming the end of the season, my contract was up and my agent had yet to send me papers to extend. Everyone had assumed I would return when filming began next week, me included. But my time in Montana had changed everything.

“Yeah, two Jake Ryans,” I agreed. “But for only two nights. It was just a fling.”

Ann Marie turned her head toward me. “You can lie to yourself all you want, but I see how you are. Those guys were more than a fling.”

Gabe came into the room, holding out the house phone. “It’s Matt from Hawk’s Landing.”

He was silent as he waited for me to decide if I wanted to talk to him. It was my choice; they’d spent the week allowing me to decide what contact I wanted to make with the outside world.

Gabe was a few years older than me, handsome in an urban way. Dark haired, he wore a crisp business suit as he’d just gotten home from the office. I used to find him appealing, but no longer. He wasn’t Colt or Micah. I didn’t want the stiff corporate type. No, I wanted my cowboys.

I glanced at the phone, knew that whatever Matt was going to say wasn’t bad because Gabe had screened it for me.

I took it, tucked my feet beneath me on the sofa. “Hi, Matt.”

“Lacey. I assume you haven’t seen the news. Or the tabloids.” The last word he spit out as if it tasted bad.