“She’s out cold,” her mom answered my thoughts, wiping her hands on her thighs. “What happened to her face?”

I swallowed. “It was a misunderstanding.”

“A misunderstanding?” She nodded absentmindedly. “My friend and I carpooled together last week. She thought I was meeting her at the store across from our church. I thought I was meeting her at the church across from her store. That was a misunderstanding.” She turned her blue eyes on me. “All I want to know is who beat on my daughter and how much you hurt him.”

“Her,” I clarified. “It was a woman.”

“A woman?” She shook her head, sighing angrily. “Over a man?”

It was my turn to shake my head. “Not at all what it sounds like.”

“It never is. Especially where she’s concerned.”

I fought my urge to glare at the woman in front of me. “Do you have internet access?”

“I’m out in the middle of nowhere, but I do have modern comforts. I don’t read about her anymore, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“Your friends don’t tell you what they’ve heard?”

“My friends don’t recognize her. The Georgeanne they knew ran away years ago and never came home. Molly Ray is just some singer some of them might listen to.”

This was a mom worried about her child. I understood completely. “There was a problem at the after party last night. A woman attacked Nate. Molly got in the way before I could stop her. It was a mistake that won’t happen again.”

She watched me for a second before nodding. “I’m going to check on dinner.” She reached for my mug. “You go get your shower.”

I watched her walk away, confused by the talk we’d just had. She had been genuinely happy to see Molly when we got here. I had no doubt about that. But there was something there, something that made me uncomfortable. Maybe we wouldn’t stay as long as I’d planned.

Chapter Eleven

~ Molly ~

I was home.

That was the first thought I had when I opened my eyes. It had been a long time, but some things, like the feeling of waking up in your childhood home, never change. It wasn’t my bed, or my room, but it was home.

I’d been having the best dream, and although I couldn’t remember all the details, I knew it was a happy one. About Mike. I stretched out, arms above my head, toes pointing down, only wincing a little at the ache in my back when I realized I was incredibly warm. It was always hot in this room during the summer, but I was burning up. As my mind cleared, I began to notice little things—like how I was now under a blanket, even though I hadn’t covered up before I laid down. There was a bottle of Tylenol and a glass of water on my nightstand, and my bag was on the chair next to my bed.

Mike.

As if he had a sixth sense and knew I was awake, the door opened and heavy footsteps hurried up the stairs. Sitting up, I smiled as he stepped into the room. He startled when he saw me.

“I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak. He was fully clothed, but it was clear he’d come straight from the shower, his dark hair a damp mess, as if he’d just towel dried it. He smelled heavenly, a mixture of sandalwood and something else I couldn’t distinguish without sniffing the air and giving my intentions away. And the look he gave me? It was enough to wet a nun’s panties.

His face fell suddenly. “You okay, kid?” He hurried over to me, plopping down next to my legs, and grabbed my chin in his fingers. “What’s wrong? Headache? Your back hurt?”

I cleared my throat and said, “I’m sore, but I’m fine. Sorry.” I offered a weak smile as I rubbed my eyes. “I just woke up and I was confused for a second.”

“I was a little discombobulated when I first woke up.” He didn’t take his eyes off mine. “You sure you’re okay?”

The man couldn’t be more perfect if he tried. He was a package of funny and sweet mixed with serious and sour, all rolled into one hell of a hot shell. I stared back at him, trying to figure out why I’d never noticed. He’d been attractive before, all the boys on the tour were cute in their own way. But now, with his new hair color and the scruff he seemed to constantly sport, he was beautiful.

“Why did you really dye your hair?”

Mike arched a brow as a smile tugged at his lips. “Why did you?”

Asshat. “I needed a change.”

“I could say that I needed one, too. Or maybe I just wanted to be someone else for a while. Try things I’ve never done.” As he spoke, his eyes drifted down my face, landing on my lips as his teeth dragged across his own.

“That makes sense.” I swallowed and leaned back, pulling away from him. I needed space, being this close to him was fucking with my mind. “What time is it?”

“Dinner time.” He chuckled. “Your mom sent me to get you.”

I grinned. That sounded like her. “There’ll be hell to pay if we keep her waiting.” I pushed off the bed and bounced down the stairs, stopping at the bathroom. “Tell her I’ll be right there?”

I slammed the door and stared at myself in the mirror, telling the woman gazing back at me that whatever she was feeling, whatever bit of attraction she had toward him, it was all fake. It was circumstantial. The last few days had been strange, even for a woman who was used to living in a fog and shuffling from city to city.

I was overly tired and sex deprived.

That thought immediately merged with one of the two of us naked, wrapped up together. I turned on the cold water, splashing my face. Mike was not an option. He was my friend and employee. Plus, he was in love with the woman who I considered my dearest female friend. Crossing those lines with someone on your payroll was morally wrong. Getting involved with a man who was taken, even if he was technically single, was not smart.

It could never happen.

Glancing back up at my reflection, I narrowed my eyes and criticized my imperfections. Did Mike even want someone like me? Yeah, we’d had a few moments. But I wasn’t even close to being as beautiful, or as interesting, as Lia.

It was my turn to be startled when I opened the door a few minutes later and found him leaning against the wall. “What are you doing?” I asked.

Christ, that sexy smirk would be the death of me. “Waiting for you.” His hand found the small of my back as I walked past him, and he led me down the stairs and through the house, only moving his hand when I reached my chair.

“Meatloaf.” I squealed, more than excited by the idea of eating my favorite meal. No one made meatloaf like my mom.

We ate in relative silence, my mom and Mike trying—and giving up—to make small talk. When Mom offered me seconds, I hesitated. I wanted more. Hell, I could probably eat the entire pan. But Eli’s words were never far from my mind, warning me that fat singers never got anywhere, and I shook my head.

Mike accepted the pan she offered him, cutting a large piece out. Before I could object, he dropped it onto my plate. “Eat.”

I glared at him for a second, but he ignored me, turning to my mom and telling her how great the meal was. I thought about putting it back, or not eating it, but it smelled too good to pass up. I could always go for a long run later. And do yoga before bed. I shrugged, shoveling a piece into my mouth.

Mom refused to let me do the dishes. After we helped her clear the table, she kicked us out of the house with instructions for me to show Mike the property. “Take him down to the falls,” she said, waving a dish towel at me.

We walked side by side down the road, each lost in our own thoughts. At the little wooden bridge, we turned south and followed Clifford Brook until we came to the falls. Not only was it absolutely beautiful to see, but the lower falls lead to a water-carved section of rock that is an amazing swimming hole on hot summer days. Days like today.