Meant to Be (Whisper Creek #5)(13)

It wasn't happening.

And the kicker of it was … she only cared because her bank account-or lack thereof-made her have to.

The music LolliPop Records was making her put out was complete drivel, to her mind. It was voiceless, mindless, pop-beat crap, sometimes mixed with a rapper-of-the-week who lent his name to her album in exchange for gobs of money she didn't have. She'd been doing it for twelve years-losing a little piece of her soul with every concert-and she wished she could just finish up this tour, go back to Nashville, buy a little farm, and live quietly off her millions.

But her millions had fled faster than her fans, locked up in the same Ponzi scheme that had bankrupted her father. So here she was, with her last contracted record already dropping in the charts, and in debt up to her eyeballs. She was a country girl belting out synth-beat tunes, not believing a single word she was singing.

She was a sellout. She'd known it for years.

What was killing her right now, though, was that Daddy had known it, too. But he'd held his tongue for a long, long time, until she'd broken down and begged for help during their last call.

And what had he done? He'd canceled a show, chartered a plane, and headed straight for her.

But he'd never made it.

And it was her fault.

She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them to stare up at the log-hewn ceiling. If she squinted, she could see tiny cracks and dents where a nail had gone awry or the builder's attention had wavered for a moment, and she thought of the song she and Daddy had written one night in a cabin like this. She'd been eleven, grumbling about the tiny shower and dim lighting, and he'd taken her hand, laid it on the log wall, talked to her about his granddaddy, who'd hauled every one of those logs out of the woods, hand-hewn them, and built them into a home for his new wife.

He'd pointed at the dents, talked about the songs they'd sung in this cabin, and as she'd trailed her hand along the logs, Shelby had practically felt them hum.

She wished this Whisper Creek cabin didn't remind her so much of that one.

But also … she kind of liked that it did.

A rooster crowed somewhere downhill from the cabin, and she put a pillow over her head, trying to drown him out. All she wanted was to sleep, dammit-just sleep till the ache went away. Then her stomach growled. Again. Maybe she didn't feel like eating-or anything else-but her stomach apparently had other ideas. 

She shook her head and sat up slowly, pushing the covers to the bottom of the bed. She tried to tell herself she could do this. She had to. She'd just take it minute by minute for right now. And for the next minute, she could be okay. She could stand up, put on a robe, and go brush her teeth. After that minute, she could go to the kitchen and see if she could talk the coffeemaker into brewing. And then maybe … breakfast.

Eggs. She could cook herself a couple of eggs, couldn't she? How hard could that be?

As she tied her robe, her phone rang, and she took a deep breath as she looked at the screen. It was her father's manager-the man who'd been like an uncle to her all those years ago, before LolliPop Records had scooped her up and molded her into something new.

"Hey, Morris."

"Hi, sweetheart. I hear you've been whisked off to the Wild West."

"Something like that, yes." She looked around the cozy cabin. "Though it's well disguised as an upscale dude ranch. Not so wild."

"Is Nicola there with you?"

"No. She stayed back east to take care of things there." Shelby sighed. "Damage control and all that. I kind of lost it a little bit after the funeral. I think she was afraid I was on the verge of doing something she couldn't spin."

"God forbid. So she sent you far, far away so nobody would figure out you're an actual human under all that glitter?"

Shelby laughed quietly as she pictured Morris rolling his eyes under those bushy gray brows that would look terrible on anyone but him.

"Exactly. But she's just trying to help. She decided I needed space. So … she found me some. Acres of it, actually."

"Did you want space?"

Shelby bit her cheek before she answered, trying to stop her chin from quivering at his kindly tone. He'd been her father's best friend for forty years. He was hurting, too, she was sure.

"I don't know, Morris. I just … don't know. I'm not sure jetting off to a guest ranch would have been my first choice. I'm having trouble putting one foot in front of the other right now, let alone figuring out how to go it alone out here for a month."

"I can't believe she sent you out there without security. Are you okay with that?"

"She wanted to keep things as low-key as possible so the press wouldn't catch wind. I don't even know if anyone here knows who I really am." She took a deep breath. "I don't even know if I know, at this point."