Wildflower Wedding (26 page)

And yet Cat looked at the flannel stretching across his shoulders and suppressed a sigh. Because she stood at five foot nine, Cat was always attracted to big, tall men. Throw a sexy Southern drawl into the mix, add arresting blue eyes, and he was quite a pleasant package. The dimples and crooked smile were just an added bonus.

Mia had to have known that Cat would find this guy attractive, and she wondered if the location of her rental had anything to do with it. Cat nibbled on the inside of her lip. Surely, her friend wasn't trying to do any matchmaking. Well, if so, Mia's efforts weren't going to work. Although Cat did have an unfortunate knack for ending up with jerks when it came to her boyfriends. Maybe a matchmaker wasn't such a bad idea after all.

Cat watched his long, lazy stride and realized she was staring. She cleared her throat and squared her shoulders. As he approached, she tried to act nonchalant.

“Here you go.” He handed her the packet. “By the way, in all of the commotion I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Jeff Greenfield.”

“Really?” Cat raised her eyebrows. So
that's
why he seemed so familiar. “‘Outta My Mind with Lovin' You'? I was singing along just a little while ago when it came on the radio. I love the lyrics. Did you write it?”

“I did.” Jeff smiled. “Thanks.”

“You're with My Way Records.”

“Yes . . .” Jeff said, and then tilted his head sideways. “Oh boy, wait. You're Cat Carson.” He shoved his fingers through his hair. “Wow, I'm sorry. I can't believe that I didn't recognize you. I guess I was so concerned with you being hurt. . . .”

Cat waved him off. “If you don't mind, I'd like my residence here to be kept under wraps. I'm planning on doing some songwriting, and I'd like some peace and quiet.”

“Aren't you with Wayside Records?”

“Not anymore,” Cat answered darkly.

“Wait. Did
you
sign with My Way Records?”

Cat paused. “Yes, but keep it quiet, please? Rick wants to make an official announcement after I get some songs written and a single ready to release. He's going to team me up with Maria Sully! I am so thrilled.”

“But you just came off of a big year. I don't get why you'd want to switch to a small label when you were with the big dogs.”

Cat shrugged. “It's simple. Rick Ruleman will let me take my music in the direction I want it to go.”

“Which would be?”

“Less pop sounding and more traditional,” Cat answered, and watched for his reaction. He tried to hide it, but she could feel Jeff's slight but sudden withdrawal. She understood. Jeff's music was traditional country, much like legendary George Strait's, and she bet he wasn't a fan of her songs. Old-school country artists often felt as if singers like her were simply jumping on the county bandwagon, and although popular with fans, they weren't taken seriously by the icons in the industry.

“That's . . . um . . . good,” Jeff said but shoved his hands in his pockets and his gaze flicked away. “I mean, I do get it. I wanted complete control over my career too.”

Cat arched an eyebrow. “So, I have to ask, do you switch the station when one of my songs comes on?”

“No,” he answered a bit too quickly. “Why would I do that?”

“Oh, if I might be so bold to ask, do you have a favorite song of mine? Just curious.” She gave him an innocent look and waited.

His mouth worked but nothing came out. “Um . . . ‘Sail' . . . um . . . ‘Moonlight' . . . um . . .”

“‘It's a Sail-Away Summer'?” Just because she wanted to go in another direction now didn't mean she wasn't proud of her beach-themed songs, many of which she had written. Cat just didn't want to do them exclusively.

Jeff rocked back on his heels and nodded a bit too hard. “Yes, uh, that one.”

“Or did you mean ‘Moonlight Dance'?”

“Oh, I like them both.”

Cat suspected he liked neither. “Thank you.”

Jeff nodded but appeared a bit uncomfortable.

Cat gave him a smile that felt rather stiff. She'd certainly felt the backlash of having her star rise swiftly, making some artists feel as if she hadn't paid her dues. And because her music bridged the gap between pop and country, she had a wide following, much like Sheryl Crow, Kelly Clarkson, Taylor Swift, and Carrie Underwood. When she'd been named female vocalist of the year at the CMA's last year, Cat had felt the heat in more ways than one. That's when she started to reexamine where her life and her career were headed and found the need to make changes.

“You have a huge fan base,” Jeff added, as if that would make up for his obvious lack of interest or knowledge of her music.

“I'm lucky to have such loyal listeners.” Cat adored her fans and loved her songs, but she was tired of doing the same themes, which were starting to blend together and feel stale. “I don't want to disappoint them, but I'm going to explore more traditional country with a splash of bluegrass,” she explained, thinking that admission might change the expression that he was politely trying to hide. Although she'd moved to Nashville three years ago, most people thought she was a city girl from Chicago, where her parents still lived, but she'd spent her childhood in South Carolina. “And get back to my Southern roots.”

He only nodded.

“Let me guess.” Cat gripped the arms of the chair. “You don't take me seriously.”

“I didn't say that.”

“You didn't have to.”

“Wow.” Jeff tilted his head to the side. “So you can read minds?”

“It's written all over your face.”

“Really?” Jeff leaned back against the railing. “And maybe you are making assumptions that you shouldn't.”

And maybe she was suddenly tired and sore and grumpy. “Right. Listen, I can get things from here.”

“Don't be stu—silly. I'll get your suitcase. You'll have a tough time getting it up the steps.”

“Watch me,” Cat boasted, knowing she sounded stubborn and childish. “Thanks for your help,” she added but didn't sound all that thankful. What was wrong with her?

“No way. I won't allow it,” Jeff insisted, and turned on his heel.

“‘Won't allow it'? Are you kidding me? Did you really just say that?” Cat stood up, but when the blood rushed down her legs, she sucked in a sharp breath. She was going to be so sore tomorrow. She knew she was overreacting, but she'd been pushed around enough for the past year, and she wasn't about to be told what she couldn't do any longer.

Jeff turned around and gave her a concerned frown. Well, she was standing now, so she was invested. Gritting her teeth, she took a tentative step forward. Not too bad. Apparently, she was just going to have massive bruising—not that bruises were anything new. Cat had a knack for running into things. Being tall and gangly all of her life had something to do with it. Her choreography onstage remained minimal for that reason. With a bracing intake of breath, she moved forward, brushing past Jeff, but had to grab onto the handrail for dear life.

“What exactly are you trying to prove?”

More things than she could begin to count. “That I don't need your help.” Petulance wasn't in her nature, but she just couldn't stop.

“This sudden burst of anger is all because I don't know your songs?”

Are you that vain?
remained unspoken, but Cat felt it when Jeff glanced over at her. She was used to having people make assumptions about her family, her music, and her life in general, when the reality of her daily existence was nothing remotely close to the rumors or gossip. Cat also tended to be outspoken about issues that she believed in and that also sometimes landed her in hot water. She usually had fairly thick skin, but for some reason, Jeff's apparent judgment put her on the defensive.

When he folded his arms across his chest and looked at her expectantly, she refused to dignify his question with an answer.

“Thanks again for your help, but you can leave now. I've got this.” Cat felt his eyes on her as she walked stiffly across the lawn to the suitcase. Her legs did hurt in an achy kind of way, but she did her best to ignore the discomfort. Carly Simon's song “Haven't Got Time for the Pain” filtered into her head, and Cat had to smile. Her mind continually revolved around lyrics, sometimes making her feel as if she were living in her own personal musical. Her brain was a Wikipedia of songs, and she could give anybody a run for the money with music trivia. There was so much more to her than catchy beach tunes, and she longed to prove that she had more depth and talent than people were giving her credit for.

Grabbing the suitcase's handle, she raised it upward and rolled the heavy thing awkwardly across the lawn, hoping Jeff would get bored with the embarrassing situation and decide to leave her to her own devices.

Of course she was wrong. With his arms still folded across his chest, he leaned against the railing looking all smug. And hot. No! Scratch the hot part. Cat paused at the first step, gathering her waning strength. This was silly. She should allow him to help, and yet she couldn't bring herself to give in and ask for it.

After taking a deep breath, Cat muttered a silent prayer, but before she could even begin to try to lift the suitcase, Jeff swiftly descended the steps and grabbed the handle from her.

“Hey!” Cat protested but was secretly so very glad for his help. “I could have managed,” she added, trying not to admire his nice butt in his Wrangler jeans.

“I have no doubt.” Jeff positioned the suitcase close to the front door and then turned around to face her. “But my mother taught me to be a gentleman. Put some ice on those bruises.” He waited until she nodded. “My number is listed in the contacts in the packet. If you need ice packs or anything, please don't hesitate to call, okay?”

“Sure.” Cat nodded, but she wasn't about to call him.

He hesitated and then said, “It wasn't my intention to insult you. I'm really not like that.”

“And it isn't in my nature to be so stubborn.”

“Really?”

“Maybe a teensy bit.” She held up her finger and thumb to demonstrate.

His slight grin and the appearance of the damn dimples got to her in ways she couldn't begin to understand. Cat pressed her lips together, suddenly feeling oddly vulnerable, needing a hug so badly that she took a quick step backward and knocked the suitcase over. When it landed with a loud thud, she yelped and then felt super-silly yet again. Cat closed her eyes and sighed. “Look, it's all good,” she assured him, but when she attempted a smile, to her horror, it wobbled a bit. She hoped he didn't notice. “It's just been a long day.” She faked a yawn. And a long year.

Jeff's expression softened even more, and when he stepped forward, Cat thought for a heart-pounding second that he was going to give her the hug she so sorely needed. But he moved past her and righted the suitcase. Cat swallowed hard and tamped down her disappointment.

“Can I help you get the suitcase or anything else inside?” he asked.

“No, I can manage. Well, from here, anyway. My clumsiness knows no bounds.”

“You don't look clumsy.”

“Trust me, I can trip over my own shadow. But I've got this from here.”

He looked as if were about to protest but then nodded. “Welcome to Cricket Creek, Cat.”

“Thank you, Jeff,” Cat said, and watched him walk away. She inhaled a deep breath. “Well, that was an interesting little welcome wagon,” she whispered, and then reached inside the packet to retrieve her keys and open the door to her new life.