At only twenty-two years old, Shelby Morgan possesses a rare Zen-like calm. She smiles warmly and takes dainty sips of her sparkling water. Every now and then her gaze strays to the enigmatic man watching her from across the room.
You’d never know that she was recently held captive by a mad man.
If this leads you to think the beautiful, up-and-coming country music star is all sugar and no spice, please reconsider.
“I’d rather call out the bullshit than smile my way through it. I did enough of that on Redneck Roadhouse.”
It’s the first time she’s hinted that her experience on the show that launched her career was anything less than perfect. But that’s old news. Today, she’s still healing from being the object of a stalker’s obsession.
“It was the most terrifying event of my life. I thought I was gonna die.”
The article moves on to discussing the kidnapping. What details they couldn’t pull from Shelby, the writer must have tried to gather by interviewing other people. Dawson’s mentioned but he must not have been cooperative because there’s nothing useful there. Whoever the author contacted at the FBI had “no comment on an ongoing investigation.” So-called “anonymous sources” add details about the fire on Dawson’s bus and the fact that Shelby was carried out in her trunk. I assume those “sources” can only be Bane or someone from Dawson’s road crew. Shelby’s band was interviewed but Trent assured me they spoke about the tour more than Shelby’s kidnapping. Doesn’t really matter, I guess. Still hate that all these people are gossiping about Shelby like she’s an amusing tale to joke about over beers and not a human fucking being.
My phone buzzes and I check the message.
Z: I’m swooning over here!
A picture shows up. Z’s big mouth making a ridiculous kissy face at a copy of the same magazine I’m holding in my hands.
Me: Why do you even know the word swoon?
Z: My wife says I make her swoon all the time.
Me: Are you sure she didn’t say suffer?
Z: Definitely swoon.
Me: Since when do you read Glow?
Z: Since my VP made the cover.
Fuck. Great. Just what I need.
“What’s wrong?” Shelby’s voice trembles. “What’s it say?” She reaches for the magazine.
There’s no way to hide this from her, so I hand it over with an apology.
“Oh my God.” Her eyes bug out as she studies the cover. “Logan, I’m so sorry.”
“Why?”
“The club…I thought you didn’t want to bring attention like this to yourself…”
I show her the photo Z sent me. “My president doesn’t seem to have a problem with it. What I’m sorry about is that it took the attention off you and made it about us instead of your music.”
“I never expected them to give a fig about my music. Glow is basically a big ol’ gossip rag these days. They were only interested in a juicy story. Since I couldn’t give them tons of details about the kidnapping, I guess they went another way.” She shrugs. “The check cleared. As long as you’re not mad at me, I’m not worried about it.”
“I’d never be mad at you about something like this.”
She stares at the cover again. “Did I ever tell you Dolly Parton was my hero growing up?”
I huff a laugh and tuck her hair behind her ear. “No, but I can picture that. She’s pretty cool.”
“She’s a national treasure, Logan. Anyway, it always impressed me that she’s been married for more than fifty years. Can you imagine?”
Before Shelby? No, I couldn’t picture wanting to be with the same person that long. My father set the worst example possible in that department.
“They’ve always kept their relationship extremely private. Not a lot of photos or interviews. Her husband never wanted a piece of the spotlight. He never went to industry events or award shows with her. He’s a quiet man and she wanted to protect him because she knew if he got the attention of the media, they’d never leave him alone.”
“Don’t know if that’s possible these days. Everyone with a cell phone camera and a social media account thinks they’re a fuckin’ reporter now.”
“That’s true. Anyway, somehow they’ve made their marriage work all these years. I guess I thought that could still be a thing. I’m sorry.”
She sounds so broken up, I don’t know what to do but reassure her. “Shelby, I’ve known this was a possibility.” I glance at the cover again, hating it so much. Wondering which skeletons from my past might see it. “Okay, maybe not my face plastered on the cover of a national magazine possibility, but everything will be fine.”
I really hope that’s true.
SHELBY
After reassuring Rooster I’m not mad about the article, it’s time to call my momma. Lord knows, she’ll have an opinion or ten to share with me and I want to get it over with early, so I can get ready for tonight’s show in peace.
She answers after one ring. “Guess what I’m holdin’ in my hand?”
Well, she sounds happy—a good sign. “Glow magazine?”
“With my baby girl on the cover!” she gushes.
“I never thought this would happen.”
“How’d Rooster feel about them puttin’ his face on the cover too?”
“Not that great, honestly.”
She hums a noise I can’t decipher.
“He’s not keen on being public,” I add.
“I imagine his club don’t appreciate it too much either.”
“So far, it’s okay. His president seemed more amused than annoyed.”
“Well, that’s good.” She lets out a long, slow sigh. “You knew they were going to want some juicy details about something. I’m glad you didn’t give them much about your ordeal. You don’t need the whole world salivating over those details or, Lord have mercy, some other nutter getting ideas.”
“My thoughts too. Plus, I spoke to a lawyer friend of Rooster’s and she advised me not to say much. And the FBI agent had already warned me not to give details to the press while the case is ongoing.”
“Back up. Rooster’s lawyer friend?”
“Uh, one of his brother’s wives.”
“Huh.”
“He’s done a lot for me, Momma.” I hate the tentative note in my voice. “A friend of his set me up with the public relations person who cinched the interview for me. She’s working on maybe having me attend the Small Screen Music Awards.”
“Oh, honey. That would be so great. I would love to watch you walkin’ as many red carpets as possible.”
“Thanks.”
“How’s Trent?”
“All right. We haven’t had a lot of time for chit-chat.”
“Why not?”
“Uh, well. I’m ridin’ with Rooster.”
“Shelby.” Her voice’s thick with disapproval. Exactly the reason I haven’t told her yet. “You’re a star, you can’t be riding on the back of his bike like some wild child. What if you get hurt?”
“I’m not a star. Not yet, anyway. And I’m not.” I grit my teeth. If she says something nasty about the sweetest damn thing anyone’s ever done for me, I swear I’m hangin’ up the phone and never speakin’ to her again. “Rooster bought…he bought one of those tow-behind RVs and a truck. You know, like the set-up you and Daddy always talked about when I used to sing at the fairs and stuff.”