Emily McKay – Always On Her Mind: Playing for Keeps / To Tame a Cowboy / All He Ever Wanted (страница 2)
To the charter members of “The Tree House Club,” karaoke singers extraordinaire:
Johnny, Tom, Elena, Lori, Mike, Vicky, George, Jerry, Linda, Shawn, Chris, and Daphne.
Midway through the junior-high choir’s rehearsal of “It’s a Small World,” Celia Patel found out just how small the world could shrink.
She dodged left and right as half the singers—the female half—sprinted down the stands, squealing in fan-girl glee. Their footsteps rattled metal risers and squeaked on the gymnasium floor, the stampeding herd moving as one. All their energy focused on racing to the back of the gymnasium where
Malcolm Douglas.
Seven-time Grammy award winner.
Platinum-selling soft-rock star.
And the man who’d broken Celia’s heart when they were both sixteen years old.
Celia hefted aside her music stand before the last of the middle-school girls rushed by, oblivious to her attempts to stop them. Identical twins Valentina and Valeria nearly plowed her down in their dash to the back. Already, a couple dozen students circled him. Two bodyguards shuffled their feet uncertainly while more squeals and giggles ricocheted into the rafters.
Malcolm raised a stalling hand to the ominous bodyguards while keeping his eyes locked on Celia, smiling that million-watt grin that had graced CD covers and promo shots. Tall and honed, he still had a hometown-boy-handsome appeal that hadn’t dimmed. He’d merely matured—now polished with confidence and about twenty more pounds of whipcord muscle.
Success and chart-topping wealth probably didn’t hurt.
She wanted him gone. For her sanity’s sake, she
He wore his khakis and designer loafers—sockless—with the easy confidence of a man comfortable in his skin. Sleeves rolled up on his chambray shirt exposed strong, tanned forearms and musician’s hands.
Best not to think about his talented, nimble hands.
His sandy-brown hair was as thick as she remembered. It was still a little long, skimming over his forehead in a way that once called to her fingers to stroke it back. And those blue eyes—heaven help her—she recalled well how indigo-dark they went just before he kissed her with the enthusiasm and ardor of a hormone-pumped teenager.
There was no denying he was all man now.
What in the hell was he doing here? Malcolm hadn’t set foot in Azalea, Mississippi, since a judge crony of her father’s had offered Malcolm the choice of juvie or military reform school nearly eighteen years ago. Since he’d left her behind—scared,
Even though he showed up regularly in the tabloids, seeing him in person after all these years was different. Not that she’d gone searching for photos of him. But given his popularity, she couldn’t help but be periodically blindsided by glimpses of him. Worst of all, though, was hearing the sound of his voice crooning over the radio as she changed the station.
Now, across the room, he pressed a paper against his knee to sign an autograph for Valentina—or Valeria. No one could tell them apart, not even their mother sometimes. Totally beside the point, because watching Malcolm with the young girl twisted Celia’s heart with what could have been if somehow, against the odds and all better judgment, they’d been able to keep and raise their baby.
But they weren’t sixteen anymore, and she’d put aside reckless dreams the day she’d handed her newborn daughter over to a couple who could give the precious child everything Celia and Malcolm couldn’t.
She threw back her shoulders and started toward the cluster across the gym, determined to get through this surprise visit with her pride in place. At least the nine boys in the choir were sitting on the risers, making the most of the chance to play with video games banned during class. She let that slide for now and zeroed in on the mini-mob collected by a rolling cart full of basketballs just under a red exit sign.
“Class, we need to give Mr. Douglas some breathing room.” She closed in on the circle of girls, resisting the urge to smooth her hands down her sunshine-yellow sundress. She gently tapped Sarah Lynn Thompson’s wrist. “And no pulling hair to sell online, girls.”
Sarah Lynn dropped her hand to her side, a guilty flush spreading up her face.
Malcolm passed back the last of the autographs and tucked the pen in his shirt pocket. “I’m fine, Celia, but thanks for making sure I don’t go prematurely bald.”
“Celia?
She didn’t intend to delve too deeply into those murky waters. “We went to high school together.” His name was etched on the sign that proclaimed “Welcome to Azalea, Home of Malcolm Douglas” as if the town hadn’t once tried to send him to jail because of her. “Now, let’s get back to the risers, and I’m sure Mr. Douglas will answer your questions in an orderly fashion since he disrupted our rehearsal.”
She shot him a censorious look that merely prompted an unrepentant grin in return.
Sarah Lynn stayed glued to Celia’s side. “Did you two date?”
The bell rang—thank God—signaling the end of class and no time for questions after all. “Students, line up for your last class.”
And wouldn’t you know, both the principal and the secretary stood in the doorway as starstruck as their students in spite of the fact that both ladies were happily married and grandmothers. How had he gotten into the gym/auditorium without causing a riot?
Celia led the students to the double door, her sandals slapping the wood floor. Step by step, she realized the pair of guards inside were only a part of Malcolm’s security detail. Four more muscle-bound men stood outside in the hallway while a large limo lurked beyond the glassed front entrance. Additional cars with majorly tinted windows were parked in front of and behind the stretch limo.
Malcolm shook hands with the principal and secretary, making small talk as he introduced himself, ironic as all get-out since at least half of the free world knew his face. “I’ll leave autographed photos for your students.”
Sarah Lynn called over her shoulder, dragging her feet on the way down the hall, “For all of us?”
“Miss Patel will let me know how many.”
The last of the students stepped into the corridor, the door swooshing closed after the administrators left. How had their departure managed to suck all the air out of the massive gym along with them? She stood an arm’s reach away from Malcolm, his two bodyguards looming just behind him.
So much for privacy.
“I assume you’re here to see me?” Although she couldn’t for the life of her fathom why.
“Yes, I am, darlin’,” he drawled, his smooth baritone voice stroking over her senses like fine wine. “Is there somewhere we can talk without being interrupted?”
“Your security detail makes that rather moot, don’t you think?” She smiled at the bulky duo, who stared back at her with such expressionless faces they could have been auditioning for positions as guards at Buckingham Palace.
Malcolm nodded to the stony-faced pair and without a word they both silently stepped out into the hall. “They’ll stay outside the door, but they’re here for your protection as much as mine.”
“
“That’s not what I meant.” He scratched the back of his neck as if choosing his words carefully. “I hear via the grapevine there have been some threats made against you. A little extra security’s a good thing, right?”
Perhaps some security from the temptation of having him around disrupting her well-ordered life, not to mention her hormones. “Thanks, but I’m good. It’s just some crank calls and some strange notes. That kind of thing happens all too often when my dad has a high-profile case.”
Although how in the world had Malcolm heard about it? Something uneasy shifted inside her, a stirring of panic she quickly squashed down. She refused to let Malcolm’s appearance here yank the rug out from under her blessedly routine existence. She refused to give him the power to send her pulse racing.
Damn it all, she was a confident adult and this was her turf. Still, her nerves were as tight as piano strings. Fighting back the urge to snap at him for turning her world upside down, she folded her arms and waited. She wasn’t an indulged, impulsive only child any longer. She wasn’t a terrified, pregnant teen.