A Winter Wedding. Brenda Novak
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Kyle got a text from a number he didn’t recognize that said:
This is Lourdes. I can’t get the furnace to come on, and it’s freezing in this house.
“What is it?” Noelle asked.
He lowered his phone so she wouldn’t be able to read the message. “There’s a problem with my new renter. I’ve got to go.”
“So that Meade guy took the place? The farmhouse has been leased?”
He hesitated at her assumption. His tenant wasn’t the man he’d mentioned to her earlier. But Lourdes didn’t want to be bothered while she was in Whiskey Creek. And if he told Noelle they had a famous country singer in their midst, she’d spread the word all over town. She might even show up at the farmhouse, claiming she was his ex and therefore had some right to the property.
He couldn’t allow that to happen. “Yeah. It’s a done deal,” he said.
“That was fast!”
“He was serious. He had me furnish it, remember?”
She didn’t seem to mind that A.J. was tying down the water heater without her help. “I remember,” she said. “But what does someone from Nashville want with a house on a remote piece of land outside Whiskey Creek? This isn’t exactly Tahoe. If it was, maybe I’d have a shot at being discovered,” she added wryly.
If only she would move to Lake Tahoe or LA. Or New York. The farther, the better. But her lack of resources precluded it.
“He’s looking for some solitude,” he said. “An escape from the demands of his usual life.”
“How long’s he staying?”
“For a few months, like I told you.”
“That sucks. You should’ve rented to me.”
Kyle felt his eye-twitch coming back. “The duplex you’re living in is fine. What’s wrong with it?”
“It’s a dump compared to the farmhouse.”
“Maybe you can find something you’re happier with after Christmas,” he said, but for once, placating her didn’t seem to be necessary. He could tell by her expression that she’d already switched gears.
“How old is he?” she asked.
“About our age.”
“Is he handsome?”
Apparently, she and A.J. didn’t have anything going on romantically, or she wouldn’t be asking such obvious questions with her helper in hearing distance. “I couldn’t tell you,” Kyle said. “I’m not used to judging other guys in that way. But it doesn’t matter. He’s with someone.”
“He’s married?” she asked.
“It might not be that official, but he’s been with the same woman for a few years. So enough with the nosy questions. My renter isn’t an option for you.”
“You’ve gotten ornery,” she complained.
“What are you talking about? I just solved your hot water problem.” And he was standing outside, freezing his ass off because of her when it was about to snow.
“You comin’?” A.J. called as he jumped to the ground and circled around to the driver’s side.
“Yeah, I’m comin’,” Noelle said. Then she surprised Kyle with a hug. “You look good, you know that? You look real good. God, I miss you.”
Before he could react, she released him and turned away. But as she got in with A.J., she called over her shoulder, “Think about what I said before. You’ve got to be lonely. Now even Riley’s getting married. Who will you hang out with when he’s as pussy whipped as your other friends?”
“Baxter’s moving home,” he said. He’d been consoling himself with that news for several weeks...
“Baxter’s gay, Kyle.”
“You think I’m not aware of that?”
“You’re not being realistic. I doubt he’ll be interested in going places where you can meet girls.”
He frowned as he gazed at the wind-tossed branches of the trees. “Don’t worry about it.”
“I’m just saying I’d be happy to be your buddy if you want me to.” With a wink, she shut the door.
He could never be that desperate. If only he hadn’t been stupid enough to get involved with her in the first place, he’d be married to Olivia. Instead, Olivia was married to Brandon.
He waited until Noelle and her bartender friend drove off before taking out his phone to respond to Lourdes’s message.
I’m on my way, he wrote back.
* * *
Lourdes was wearing a holey Budweiser T-shirt she’d inherited from a member of her stage crew, a pair of Victoria’s Secret sweat bottoms and a belted, big-collared sweater her mother had given her a year ago for Christmas. None of it matched, including her fuzzy socks. She’d bought those for their softness alone. Too bad they weren’t as warm as they looked. She’d forgotten her sheepskin slippers at her estate in Tennessee, which was a mistake. The weather outside was reminding her that even parts of California could get cold.
Since she was waiting for her landlord, she considered changing. Not only was she wearing frumpy, shapeless clothes, she’d removed her makeup and piled her hair on top of her head. But she was too depressed to care. So what if Kyle Houseman was handsome? He was probably married. Even if he wasn’t, she was in a relationship.
A knock alerted her to his arrival. She went to answer the door but paused after peeking through the peephole. Was she really going to let him see her like this? It wasn’t just that he was so good-looking; she’d grown accustomed to maintaining her image. Being famous meant that people had certain expectations of her, and those expectations weren’t always realistic.
But this was exactly the type of pressure she’d come to Whiskey Creek to avoid. For her own sanity, she had to escape the need she felt to compete—in the music world and in her personal life with the incomparable, and much younger, Crystal. She needed to be a regular person for a while. Needed to take a step back and root out the panic and neuroticism that was taking hold and turning her into someone she no longer recognized.
After tightening the belt of her sweater, she opened the door. “I’m sorry I had to bother you,” she said, stepping aside to let him in.
“Sounds to me as if you had every right. I’m sorry you couldn’t get the furnace to work. It’s a brand-new unit, so I can’t believe there’s anything terribly wrong. I’ll try to figure out what’s going on.”
He had a tool chest in one hand, which he put on the floor while he fiddled with the thermostat.
Instinctively, she folded her arms across her chest. She was wearing so many layers he’d never be able to tell she hadn’t put on a bra. But there was something about him that made her more aware of him than she should be. “So you handle your own repairs?”
“Only the easy ones.”
She wasn’t sure why she was feeling self-conscious; he’d hardly looked at her.
“To be honest, I’m no handyman,” he added. “But it’s after five, so I’m all we’ve got for today.”
He had a nice skin tone. She also liked his dark five-o’clock shadow, which contrasted with his kind eyes and the laugh lines around them. It made him look a little uncivilized. “Then what do you do for a living? Besides own rental property?”
“I’m a solar manufacturer. You can’t see the plant from here, because of the trees and the rolling hills in between, but if you drive east about half a mile, you’ll reach my factory.”
“No