Better, he'd treated her as though he liked her.
She hadn't realized how much she needed him and his friendship until she'd crossed the line she couldn't uncross. There had been no mixed signals from her match-o-meter fifteen years ago. He'd been her spring rain shower. Warm and refreshing, but still wet and cloudy. Fleeting. Not meant to last.
Now, though, every time she walked into her house she felt sunny days and rainbows. Yet every time he had to play Billy Brenton-whether it was on the phone, or to tease her, or even when she was at work and someone mentioned him-she felt ice storms and droughts coming.
She shouldn't have given him three weeks. She should've walked away.
And now, she had only two weeks left.
This wasn't his normal life, he'd admitted. He was surrounded by people-by the cameras that taped his weekly BillyVision videos that he put on YouTube for his fans, by his crew, by management team, by his band. And then there were the interviews, the parties, the small gigs in crowded bars and lounges, the benefit shows for charities. He usually wrote songs for his next album on his bus, he said.
His tour bus. A box on wheels. A nice box, by the sound of it, but still a box that was skinnier than a lane in the road.
The thought had nearly given her a panic attack, and he wouldn't even be on said bus during their fifteen days left together.
Even if her match-o-meter hadn't been out of whack, their lifestyles were. So Saturday morning, while he was sleeping-sprawled on his stomach cross-wise on her guest bed, his mouth slightly ajar, his hair still mussed from what her fingers had done to it last night-she gathered a few necessities, and then tiptoed downstairs. She let Wrigley out for a potty break and filled his food bowl, and she'd started a note telling Will that she would be out doing family things all day-a final dress fitting with Nat, then time with Noah to keep her Most Favored Aunt status-when someone knocked on the door.
Lindsey gave herself a quick mental pep talk, then peeked through the decorative window beside her door. She'd wondered how long it would take Mikey to make his way over here. Will hadn't said as much, but Lindsey knew Mikey wasn't a fan of hers.
But it wasn't Mikey standing on her doorstep.
And it wasn't a nosy reporter who had sniffed out Billy Brenton's location.
Nope.
It was a vaguely familiar light brown-haired woman with perfect makeup and perfect clothes, including a perfect red peacoat, and a perfect scowl marring the lips and cheekbones she shared with her brother.
Lovely.
Lindsey squared her shoulders and opened the door. The face, she recognized from fifteen years ago. The new last name she'd learned by reading Will's Wikipedia page.
Mari Belle Truitt-York swept cool, assessing hazel eyes over Lindsey. Her lips pursed, and her grip tightened on her Coach bag. "Once wasn't enough?" she said in her own Southern drawl, more refined and softer than Will's, but still quite effective when it came to speaking volumes without raising her voice.
Lindsey stepped aside and swept an arm in invitation. "He's upstairs, sleeping. Make yourself at home."
Mari Belle's chin tilted. Slightly, but it was enough.
She wanted a fight.
She stepped across the threshold. "Quite adorable," she said.
"Thank you." Forget the note. Lindsey would text Will her plans. "Long flight?"
"Honey, I'm not here to discuss my air travel."
Lindsey almost smiled. "So are you here to see Will or me?"
She didn't answer immediately, instead stopping to study Lindsey's family pictures on the wall around the television. "Whichever one of you can be talked into any sense," Mari Belle finally said.
She'd have the most luck with Wrigley. Except Wrigley had wandered into the room and was eyeing Mari Belle the same way he'd eyed Marilyn Elias the other night.
"Do you know how many families the Billy Brenton empire feeds?" Mari Belle said.
"You'd best tread carefully if you intend to impugn my character," Lindsey replied, her lethal lawyer voice going head-to-head with Mari Belle's verbal sword.
"I don't need to be crass." Mari Belle turned to face Lindsey. "Your little stunt fifteen years ago? It didn't end on that stage. Not for my brother. He was a kid then, no responsibilities, no one to let down. But now? He has people who count on him. He has people who need him. And you mess with his head. Let. Him. Go."
Lindsey's heart hammered in her throat. But she held Mari Belle's glare without flinching. "None of us are kids anymore." She lifted a finger and twirled it about the room. "And he's not a captive here. This is his choice."
"Not entirely."
Lindsey folded her arms and lifted the lawyer brow.
Mari Belle gave the eyebrow back, with a little Southern spunk thrown in. But then she heaved a sigh big enough to rattle the windows. "You don't know, do you?"
A shiver prickled Lindsey's skin from her toes to her tailbone and all the way to her scalp.
Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. "Did he have my secret baby?" Lindsey deadpanned.
"If you care about him at all, you'll make him leave, and you'll make him think it's his idea."
"And why am I going to do that?"
"Because I don't want to lose him again."
It wasn't Mari Belle's I that got to Lindsey. Nor was it her lose him.
It was the again.
"We're not kids anymore," Lindsey repeated.
Mari Belle gestured to her own face, to the subtle lines of age. "Here, yes. But here?" She fisted a hand over her heart. "Nurture can't fix the nature he got from our momma. And he has too many people counting on him for you to do him like our waste of a father did her."
There hadn't been details on Will's father in the Wikipedia article. Nor did Lindsey know the details on how his mother died.
She dropped her arms. "I think you're overestimating-"
"No. I'm not."
There went Lindsey's shivers again.
Fifteen years was a long time to hold a grudge. But if Mari Belle's theatrics were based in even a fraction of truth, perhaps Lindsey didn't have the full story.
A furry, warm body nudged her leg. She absently settled her fingers into Wrigley's rough fur. "This is a temporary arrangement, and he knows it," she said to Mari Belle. "There's not much more I can do."
"Do your little psychic matches change?"
There was a hitch in her voice-a small thing, but enough to be noticeable. Enough to make Lindsey wonder if she wasn't asking purely for Will's sake.
Lindsey had, after all, included Mari Belle in her public declarations that night in Colorado about who didn't belong together.
"On rare occasions," Lindsey said.
"And has it changed with my brother?"
It had changed.
It had most definitely changed.
"I've been very clear with Will about what I can and can't offer him. And he's been very clear with me about what he wants too. Perhaps it's time you trusted him." She turned and reached for her coat. "Enjoy your day, and stay as long as you need. There's coffee in the kitchen. I'm sure Will will be glad to see you."
Honestly, she had no idea as to the truth of that. But she did love killing people with kindness. They never expected it out of a cutthroat divorce attorney, and they looked like fools if they got snotty back.
Mari Belle obviously appreciated the tactic, because her lip curled and her eyes went flat, but she replied with a sugary sweet, "That's too kind of you," that made Wrigley growl.
Lindsey rubbed his fur again. "Be nice, boy." She nodded to Mari Belle. "Excuse me. I'm late for my bridal gown fitting." And she would've left her house with a smile, except she was too worried Mari Belle was right.
Chapter Fourteen
WILL WAS VAGUELY aware of being on his tour bus, the motion rocking and lulling him, making him want to sink deeper into sleep. But there was a giraffe in ninja clothes staring at him from atop his childhood dresser in the corner, and the back end of the bus was open, with Vera flying on a string behind.
He reached for her, but his hand found soft denim over firm flesh instead.
The rocking stopped, but then a feminine voice spoke. "Remove your hand from my rear end. Where do you think we're from, Arkansas?"
Will bolted awake, and bright green assaulted his senses. Bright green, dinosaurs and an unmistakable Mari Belle glare. He squeezed his eyes shut again. Everything but Mari Belle made sense.
"I have to say," she said, "for the way the rest of the house looks, I wouldn't have expected this of Lindsey's bedroom."
And Mari Belle was still here. Wasn't a dream after all. Will grunted. He rolled off the bed and smothered her in a hug, pushing her face into his T-shirt to muffle the oncoming talkin'-to. "Good to see you too, MB."
She pulled back with a near-smile. "You find your brains, I might return the sentiment. Wanna tell me why she has a wedding dress fitting today?"
Will wasn't the quickest banjo player in the band, but he knew that sentence was meant to terrify him.