Читать книгу Nashville Rebel - Sheri WhiteFeather - Страница 9
ОглавлениеSophie Cardinale couldn’t do it anymore.
She couldn’t be Tommy Talbot’s tour manager, living her life on the road with nothing except the sound of Tommy’s music roaring in her ears. She needed to put down roots, to get a desk job, to have a baby. At thirty-four, her biological clock wasn’t just ticking; it was on the verge of exploding. She’d been thinking about this for the past year, day in and day out. It never, ever left her mind. But she hadn’t told Tommy yet. He wasn’t just her gorgeous, wild, pain-in-the-ass boss; he was also her closest and dearest childhood friend.
Sophie’s father had worked for Kirby Talbot, Tommy’s country-music-legend dad. Her dad had been Kirby’s guitar tech up until the day he’d passed away, a little over two years ago. Sophie had never known her mom. She’d developed postpartum preeclampsia a month after she’d given birth to Sophie and had died as a result. Mom had been the love of Dad’s life. He’d talked about her all the time, reminiscing about how sweet and beautiful she was. Her parents had met on the road, in the mid-1970s, when turquoise jewelry and leather vests reigned supreme. At the time, Mom worked for Kirby Talbot, too, as his wardrobe mistress. They got married, and Sophie had been born a decade later. Kirby had adored both of her folks. They were like family to him.
In fact, after Mom died, Sophie, her dad and her granddad, who’d also helped raise her, lived in one of the guesthouses on the Talbot family compound. That was how she’d gotten to know Tommy so well. According to his mother, they’d bonded as babies when she used to “borrow” Sophie to keep him company in his playpen. But mostly Sophie thought that Tommy’s mom just felt sorry for her since she didn’t have a mom of her own.
During their adolescence, Sophie and Tommy were inseparable, spending their time jumping out of trees, riding green broke horses and speeding around on his dirt bikes together. In those days, Sophie had been a pixie-haired, doe-eyed tomboy who’d had a crush on Tommy, and did almost anything he dared her to do. But she’d calmed down since then. Tommy? Not so much. He was still a daredevil, especially on stage.
Tommy trained with some of the best stuntmen in the business. His most recent act involved riding a mechanical bull on a rising platform. He even stood up and danced on the bull to the opening riff of “Rebel with a Country Cause,” one of his most popular songs. During his dance, the floor below him would erupt into flames.
His stunts weren’t always planned or practiced. If he wanted to climb lighting trusses or do backflips into the crowd or douse his guitar with lighter fluid and set it on fire, he merely took it upon himself to do so.
On this latest tour, the one that had just ended, the pyrotechnics guys kept threatening to quit if Tommy didn’t follow the rules. But it wasn’t Tommy who had to suffer the wrath of the road crew. It was Sophie. Everyone took their complaints to her, expecting her to keep Tommy in line.
In the beginning, working for him had been exciting. She used to get a dangerous thrill out of it. Now, all these years later, she just wanted some peace and quiet.
But mostly she longed to become a mom. She’d already been checking out sperm banks, and soon she would be ready to concentrate on choosing a donor. Sophie had a bad track record with men. She’d given up on finding the right guy, and by now she needed some emotional security in her life. For her, becoming a single mom was the answer, even if it meant quitting her job and finding a new one in order to do it.
So here she was, behind the wheel of her truck, driving to Tommy’s ranch, to give him her notice. Sophie lived outside of Nashville, in the same area as Tommy. She had a modest home on a mini ranch, with two horses and two dogs, all of which she boarded at Tommy’s place when she traveled with him. His spread was huge, boasting a custom-built mansion and a slew of ranch hands and caretakers. By now, Tommy was as rich and famous as his legendary father. Maybe even more so. Whereas Kirby Talbot had been deemed “the bad boy of country,” Tommy had become known as the “the baddest boy of country,” surpassing his dad in that regard. Mostly Tommy had earned that reputation because of how reckless he was on stage. But him being such a ladies’ man was a factor, too, which had never sat well with Sophie.
As she approached the private road that led to Tommy’s estate, she sighed in relief. Thankfully there weren’t any fans at the gate, clamoring to see him coming or going on this September afternoon.
She buzzed the intercom and announced her arrival, and his security chief let her through. She’d already texted Tommy and told him to expect her. But she hadn’t revealed the nature of their meeting or what it would entail. It wasn’t going to be easy—of that she was certain. Tommy wasn’t going to want her to quit. He wouldn’t be happy about the reason she was quitting, either. Babies had become an anxiety-ridden subject with him. Earlier this year a woman named Kara Smith, with whom he’d had a one-night stand, claimed that he might be the father of her unborn child. He wasn’t, as it turned out. Tommy was extremely careful about practicing safe sex. But the possibility that the protection could have failed still scared him and had taken an emotional toll on his bachelor, happy-go-lucky lifestyle.
After Sophie parked in the circular driveway, she exited her vehicle and smoothed the front of her tank top over her flat stomach. Hopefully a few months from now, she would have a cute little baby bump.
She rang the bell, and Dottie, the woman who ran Tommy’s house, answered the door. She was the nicest lady, a grandmotherly type, who fussed over Tommy as if he was her own. But she wasn’t a pushover, either. When the pigheaded superstar needed a tongue-lashing, Dottie was more than willing to do it, even if her reprimands didn’t make a bit of difference.
“Hi, Dot.” Sophie entered the colorfully tiled foyer. “Will you let Tommy know I’m here?”
“He’s already waiting for you by the pool.” When Dottie smiled, her friendly blue eyes crinkled beneath her glasses. Her salt-and-pepper hair was fixed in its usual short-and-simple style.
Sophie had a mass of long, wavy brown locks that never behaved. She was considering cutting it. Not now, but maybe after the baby was born. The baby she hadn’t even conceived yet, she reminded herself. She needed to hurry up and plant that seed.
“Do you want me to bring you something cool to drink?” Dottie asked. “Or some lunch, perhaps? Chef already has chicken salad with cranberries and walnuts ready to go.”
“Thanks, but I’m fine. I don’t need anything, except to talk to Tommy. I’ll just go see him now.”
She headed for the backyard, with its gigantic, lagoon-style grotto pool. Beneath the center waterfall was a waterproof cave, which had an entertainment room with rock walls, stone floors and a glamorous sitting area, complete with a spectacular sound system, a big-screen TV and a tiki-type bar. Tommy had built that room for his guests. For himself, he’d created a private apartment, accessible from yet another waterfall, for when he wanted to be completely alone and relax beneath his pool. No one except him had ever been inside it. He didn’t even take his lovers there.
She saw him lounging in the sun, listening to music on a portable device, the earbuds planted firmly in place. His eyes were closed, and his light brown hair was still damp from a recent swim.
She was lucky that he was wearing trunks. Tommy had no qualms about nudity, and skinny-dipping was one of his favorite pastimes. Tempting as he was, whenever he stripped down in front of her, she tried to avert her gaze from the parts that mattered. She also made darn sure that he’d never seen her naked. Even when they were kids and splashing around in the stream on his daddy’s property, she’d never peeled off her swimsuit in front of him—no matter how often he baited her to do it.
Sometimes he still baited her to get naked with him. And not just for swimming. Thing was, Tommy had been trying to hook up with her since high school. Yet even during their teenage years, he had too many other girls around him. After they graduated, Sophie had gone to college, while he focused on his music and gained notoriety. She’d earned a business degree and started working for him. She’d never considered the boss/employee aspect of their relationship a problem. In her own sinful way, she thrived on his playful flirtations. But since she was supposed to be the voice of reason, she made sure that he knew her boundaries. Nonetheless, she also fantasized about having a ridiculously steamy affair with him. Of course, that didn’t mean she was going to act on those feelings. Her concern was his inability to settle down.
Tommy used sex like a weapon, a gun he never quit firing. Mostly he partook of groupies. On occasion, he had regular girlfriends, too. But he never made commitments to any of them. Brunettes, blondes, redheads: they were all his playthings.
Not this brunette, she reminded herself. She wasn’t going to share his bed, no matter how exciting the experience might be.
Suddenly, he opened his eyes and stared straight at her. Funny how he sensed her presence at the very moment her mind was immersed in sex.
Sophie squinted at him, and he smiled. He had a lopsided grin that made him look like the troublemaker he was. Only his wildness wasn’t fueled by anything except his hot-blooded nature. Although he threw some extravagant parties, Tommy never drank alcohol. He didn’t do drugs, either. His father was a recovering alcoholic and addict, and Tommy vowed to never be like him, at least not in that regard.
She moved closer. The drink holder in the chair’s armrest held his beverage of choice: a bottle of berry-flavored sparkling water. When he was on the road, she made sure that his hotels, dressing rooms, tour buses and private jet were all stocked with it.
He removed the earbuds. “Hey, Sophie-Trophy,” he said, using one of the many nicknames he’d given her. Anything that rhymed, he used. Mostly he had to make up words. There weren’t a lot that rhymed with Sophie or Soph. Or even Sophia, for that matter.
She sat in the chaise longue next to him and greeted him with a simple “Hello.”
Idiot that she was, she stole a glance at his navel and the line of hair that disappeared into the waistband of his trunks. If he’d been naked, she never would have dared to look that low on his body. But for now, she took her fill. Or thrill. Or whatever.
Luckily, she’d worn shorts and sandals today. She didn’t feel out of place sitting by the pool. But that didn’t make her any less nervous about revealing her agenda.
Before she got the chance to start the conversation and spin it her way, he said, “I hope you came by to talk about extending the tour. I know it’s supposed to be over, but I was thinking we could add more dates.” He frowned into the sun. “I’m already going bonkers sitting around here and we’ve only been back for a few days.”
She frowned, too. Not at the sun, but at him. “I know how stir-crazy you get when you’re not on the road, but adding more dates is the last thing I’ve been thinking about.”
He grabbed his water and took a swig. After he swallowed a noisy gulp, he asked, “So what’s the deal, then? Why did you call this meeting? Am I in trouble? Is the insurance company threatening to raise my rates again?”
“No, it’s nothing like that.” She steadied her voice. But then she got antsy and just blurted it out. “I’m giving you my notice. I’m quitting so I can get a job with regular hours and less travel and have a baby.”
If the pavement had just opened up and swallowed him whole, he wouldn’t have looked more surprised. “Damn, really? You’re pregnant? By who?”
He sounded offended. Or annoyed. Or frustrated. But he always acted that way when she was dating someone. As reliant as he’d become on her, he got jealous when she gave her attention to someone else. So much so that he tended to butt heads with her lovers. Not that she’d had many men. She’d never been in a relationship that was worth a damn. Her last boyfriend, a record exec, had cheated on her with his twentysomething assistant.
“I’m not pregnant yet,” she replied. “But I plan to be.”
A muscle tightened in his jaw. “Did you and Cliff get back together? Are you going to marry that jerk?”
She shook her head. “Are you kidding? I’d never get back with him, not after the way he betrayed me. I’m not planning on having my baby with anyone. I’m going to be a single mom.”
He had a confused expression. “The last time I checked, it takes two to make a baby.”
Sophie rolled her eyes. “I’m going to use a sperm bank.”
“You’re picking the guy out of a genetic lineup? Come on, Soph. That’s crazy.” He frowned again. “Besides, when did you get so maternal? I never knew you wanted kids.”
“I’ve been thinking about it for a while now. And at my age, I can’t wait forever. The older a woman gets, the more steps she needs to take to ensure a healthy pregnancy.”
Tommy sat a bit more upright. “Have you cleared this with your doctor? You’re not at risk for what your mom had, are you?”
“There could be hereditary issues, but they can’t predict whether it would happen to me. Either way, my doctor assured me that they would closely monitor me for any signs of a problem. My mother didn’t report her symptoms when they first appeared. She wasn’t aware of how serious it was.”
“Yeah, but still. Maybe you should just forget the whole thing.”
“I can’t.” She craved the wonderment of being a mom. It was especially important since she’d never known her mother, and with her dad being gone a few years now, she missed having a family. Her grandpa had passed away a while ago, too. Sophie was all alone. “I’ll never feel complete if I don’t do this.”
He winced. “So you’re determined to go through with it?”
“Most definitely.” She wasn’t giving this up for anything. “I haven’t put any feelers out there for another job. I wanted to give you my notice first. But I know enough people in this industry to find something suitable.”
“You don’t have to stop working for me. I can get you set up in the management office. You can join Barbara’s team. I’m sure she would be happy to have you on board. She’s always singing your praises, going on about how you’re the only person who’s truly capable of handling me.”
“I certainly try.” As for Barbara, she was his business manager, and the poor woman had her work cut out for her, trying to get Tommy to follow her advice. But she stuck by him, was loyal to the core. Of course, Tommy had offered Barbara a lucrative deal to represent him, making him her one and only client.
“Are you interested?” he asked.
“Yes, actually, I am.” She would rather stay with his organization than start over somewhere new. But she had certain conditions if she was going to remain with him. “I’ll call Barbara and arrange a meeting with her. But I want the same pay and the same benefits I have now, with Monday-through-Friday hours. No overtime, no mandatory weekends and no gigs. I’m not attending any of your shows, not even the local ones.”
“Yeah, right,” he scoffed. “You say that now, but I know what a workaholic you are.”
“I mean it, Tommy. I’m not going to babysit you anymore.”
“All right, all right.” He held up his hands, Old West style, as if she was preparing to shoot him. “You can have whatever you want.” He lowered his hands. “I just don’t want you to go off and start working for someone else. It’s going to be tough to replace you, as it is. I need you, Soph.”
His words sent a jolt of heat through her veins. Damn, she hated it when he had that effect on her.
He raised his water bottle in a mock toast, his hazel eyes locking onto hers. “You’re my go-to girl.”
She forced herself to hold his gaze. The unwelcome heat was still attacking her body, but glancing away would be admitting defeat. She didn’t want him to know he was making her weak.
“You mean ‘woman,’” she said.
“What?”
“Go-to woman. I haven’t been a girl since you put that rubber snake down the front of my shirt.”
He burst into a reminiscent laugh. “You’re right—you’re all grown up now. Damn sexy, too.”
Well, hell. Could he make it any worse? Struggling to form a response, she tried a joke. “Yeah, and I’m going to be one hot mama, too.” She made a big, sweeping motion over her abdomen. “Just wait until you see me then.”
He kept staring at her. Only now he was looking at her as if she was a specimen under a microscope—a pretty little organism he didn’t quite understand.
“I’ve never touched a pregnant woman’s stomach before,” he said. “When the kid is kicking, will you let me feel it?”
The heat intensified, deep in her bones. “After your recent baby scare, I’d think you’d be more shy around pregnant women.”
He shifted in his chair. “I’m just lucky they were already able to do a paternity test.”
“Yes, you got lucky.” Kara wasn’t due for four more months, but there was no reason to wait for the baby to be born. They’d agreed on a NIPP, a noninvasive prenatal paternity test, where their blood had been collected to do a DNA profile on the fetus. They’d done it just nine weeks into her pregnancy. Tommy’s brother, Brandon, had suggested the procedure. He was Tommy’s attorney. Overall, everything had been kept quiet. Kara hadn’t gone to the press, so Tommy had dodged that bullet, too.
He tugged a hand through his hair. “I’m just glad that poor kid didn’t get stuck with me being its dad. Not just from an emotional standpoint, but with the way I travel, too. I’d feel awful if it was waiting around to see me, like Brandon and I used to do with our dad. I don’t know how I’d cope with the distress it would cause. Some people take their kids on the road with them, but I couldn’t fathom doing that, either.”
“Me, neither.” Sophie’s mom had been prepared to stay home to raise her, but she’d died before she had a chance. “I want to be a traditional parent, tucking my son or daughter into his or her own bed every night.”
“Yeah, I’m sure you’ll do great. But at some point, your kid might wonder who its father is.”
“I’ve already considered that.” She’d spent every waking hour contemplating her options. “But I’m not sure if I want to use an open donor or not.”
He sent her a blank look. “Open?”
“It’s where the donor is open to contact with the child. But it can only occur after the child turns eighteen, and only if he or she requests to meet him.”
“I wonder how much of a difference that would make. I guess it would depend on the type of guy the donor turned out to be. I think having no dad would be better than having a bad one. Or one who is barely around, or drunk or stoned, like my old man was most of the time.”
“At least Kirby is trying to make amends and be a better father to all of you.”
“He still has a long way to go, especially with Matt.”
Sophie nodded. Matt Clark was the half brother in Texas whom Tommy and Brandon had never even met. Kirby had fathered Matt with one of his mistresses while he was still married to Tommy and Brandon’s mother, which eventually resulted in their divorce. It was a long and sordid story that was going to be revealed in a biography Kirby had sanctioned about himself. In a strange twist, it was Matt’s fiancée writing the book. She’d met and fallen in love with Matt while she was researching it.
Now that Tommy’s tour had ended, they were supposed to have a family gathering at the Talbot compound sometime within the next few weeks to get acquainted with Matt. His fiancée was already there, working with Kirby on the book. Both Tommy and Brandon had met her a while back, when they’d agreed to be interviewed for the biography.
No one had asked Sophie to be part of the book. But she hoped that she could attend the upcoming gathering. She was curious about the son Kirby had kept hidden away from the world. At one point, he’d even abandoned Matt.
“So how does it work?” Tommy asked.
She blinked at him. “I’m sorry. What?”
“Choosing a donor.”
She quit thinking about his family and focused on his question. “Sperm banks have websites with their donors’ information. So all you have to do is search their catalog for donors who fit your criteria. In some cases, they’ll provide childhood and adolescent photos of the donors. Some will even let you see adult photos. If the donors who fit your criteria are keeping their profile pictures private and you want your donor to resemble someone specific, you can send the sperm-bank photos showing what you want him to look like. Then they’ll go through your donor choices and rank them by how closely they match.”
“Really?” His lopsided smile resurfaced. “You should send in some pics of me.”
“That’s not funny.” She swung her legs around and kicked his longue chair, rattling the base of it. She wasn’t pleased that he’d put the idea in her head. She wouldn’t mind if her child resembled him. He was beautiful to look at, with his straight, easy-to-style hair, greenish-brown eyes and ever-playful lips. There was also a gentle arch to his eyebrows, lending his features a comforting quality—when he wasn’t making faces. She’d known him for so long that everything about him was familiar.
He leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees. He had an artist’s hands, with long fingers. He played a mean guitar, but her favorite songs of his were ballads he’d mastered on the piano, with hauntingly romantic lyrics. He sang about being painfully in love, even if he didn’t know the first thing about it. Sophie had never been in love, either, not where it tormented her soul or ripped her heart apart.
“Maybe I can help you choose a donor,” he said.
She all but flinched. His suggestion caught her off guard, making her wonder what sort of nice-guy stunt he was trying to pull. “You want to help me select the father of my baby?”
“Sure. Why not?” He tilted his head nearly all the way to the side, as if he was sizing her up somehow. “Remember when I used to help you with your chemistry homework?”
“Yes, of course.” He was good with numbers. Math and science came easily to him. “But this isn’t a school project.”
“I know.” He righted the angle of his head. “But we’re like family, you and me. The least I can do is support you on this however I can.”
“Thank you.” Suddenly she wanted to touch him, to put her hands where they didn’t belong, to skim his exquisite jawline, to run her fingers through his still-damp hair. “That means a lot to me.” More than it should. It even made her imagine him being the donor, which was about the dumbest thought she could’ve had. She wiped it out of her mind, but it spiraled back, undermining her common sense.
He asked, “Should we do it tonight?”
She struggled to comprehend what he meant. Her brain wasn’t behaving. She was still stuck on the stupid notion of him being the donor, which was complete and utter lunacy.
“Should we do what?” she finally asked.
“Look through the sperm-bank sites. I’ll ask Chef to make a batch of his double-chocolate-chip cookies, and I’ll bring them with me. I know how chocolate helps center you.”
“Yes, let’s do it,” she said, finally managing to rid her jumbled mind of the idea of having his child. “Let’s go through the sites tonight.” She needed to find a donor, a stranger.
And she was going to make sure it was someone who looked nothing like Tommy, someone who didn’t have the slightest thing in common with him.
