Sherryl Woods - The Cowboy and His Wayward Bride

In one way she was grateful. It had made it easier to say goodbye, to head for Nashville without looking back. She’d dug in her heels, too, even when the going had been tough and she’d been waiting tables to make ends meet. Knowing that he’d welcome her back with an I-told-you-so smile had driven her to stay the course.

It had been two long, lonely years before she’d been discovered by her agent, but then things had happened so quickly it had left her reeling. She’d captured the Horizon Award for up-and-coming stars with her first album, a Grammy and a CMA Award with her second. She’d gone from a show-starter for the superstars to a concert tour of her own that had broken box-office records. In no time, it seemed, every single debuted at the top of the charts and every album went gold.

Only then, with rave reviews and money in her pocket, had she gone back to Los Piños. It was the only time she’d seen Harlan Patrick in the five years since she’d left. She was home just long enough to discover that the chemistry between them was as explosive as ever and that he was every bit as bullheaded as he’d been the day she walked out. He’d actually thought that she’d be ready to walk away from it all now that she’d proved to herself she could do it, as if it had been some cute little game she’d been playing. The man could infuriate her faster than anyone else on earth.

Then, just a few weeks after their reunion, she’d discovered she was pregnant. From that moment on, all she’d been able to think about was keeping the baby a secret from Harlan Patrick. She’d been able to walk away from him not just once, but twice. Could she do it again, especially with a baby in the picture? She wasn’t sure she’d have the strength or even the will.

For the first few months of her pregnancy, it had been simple enough to avoid his calls and keep the secret. She was either in Nashville or on the road and she was extremely careful that no one—not even the very discreet Val—had any idea she was going to have a child. Val knew only that she had no desire to speak to one Harlan Patrick Adams, which pretty much assured that there wasn’t a chance in hell he’d get through to her. Eventually he’d gotten the message and given up. Not even Harlan Patrick was stubborn beyond all reason. Nor was he a masochist. It hadn’t taken all that long for the Adams pride to kick in and assure her of a reprieve from his pestering.

When Laurie could no longer disguise her expanding waistline, she had scheduled five months in seclusion at her home on the outskirts of Nashville. She’d let Val and no one else in on the secret and let her assistant run interference.

“She’s working on songs for her next album,” Val had told any and all callers, including Laurie’s agent. That had kept him, if not the media, satisfied.

Now she had Amy Lynn to remember her childhood sweetheart by, and it was both the most miraculous blessing on earth and a painful reminder of what might have been. When she thought of how Harlan Patrick would have adored their precious child, she hated herself for keeping silent. And yet, what choice had she had?

None, she assured herself. Handsome as sin, but stubborn as a mule, Harlan Patrick had given her none. The man didn’t know the meaning of compromise . He’d made it impossible for her to do anything other than exactly what she had done.

After Amy Lynn’s birth, she had scheduled recording sessions for the next two months. There’d been a short break, barely long enough for her to catch her breath while the album had been rushed to market, followed by the grueling pace of a concert tour set to coincide with the album’s release.

By then, those closest to her knew about the baby, but they’d all been sworn to secrecy and they had united to protect both Laurie and the baby from the glare of the spotlight. It couldn’t last forever, but it had to last long enough that Harlan Patrick wouldn’t connect her child with that last visit to Los Piños.

It meant sneaking in and out of concert halls and clubs, using hotel back doors and heavily tinted limo windows, but the worst of it was over. One more month, mostly in small towns and out-of-the-way clubs to which she owed a debt, and they’d be home again. She could drop out of sight completely there, live in seclusion with her daughter. Just thinking of it was enough to have her sighing with relief.

They were halfway down the hall when Val muttered a curse. “I left that package of autographed pictures in the office. Wait for me at the back door, and I’ll check the alley before you go out.”

It was an established routine. When Laurie had the baby with her, Val always preceded her to make sure the coast was clear, that there were no paparazzi or overly zealous fans lurking in the shadows. Sometimes it was Val who carried Amy Lynn tucked in her arms as if the baby were her own.

Tonight, though, Laurie was thinking only of crawling into the back of the limo, resting her aching head against the smooth-as-butter leather and catching a ten-minute nap on the way back to the hotel. That was how bad it had gotten. Even ten minutes of uninterrupted sleep sounded heavenly.

She was so anxious to reach the car and settle in that she opened the door of the auditorium without waiting for Val. The instant she did, a photographer’s flashbulb exploded in her face. Panic had her whirling to shield the baby, but she knew in her heart it was too late. The man had had a clear shot in that instant before she’d been aware of his presence and time to click off a few more shots while she’d been temporarily blinded by the first brilliant flash of light.

“Oh, God, no,” she murmured, imagining the picture splashed across the front of every tabloid in the country. Tears slid down her cheeks even as Val exited the building, saw what was happening and took off after the photographer with fire in her eyes.

To Laurie’s relief, Val caught him at the end of the alley, but all of her pleading and cajoling could not make him relinquish the prized roll of film. Nor could the swift kick she aimed at his shin or the knee she tried to place deftly in his groin, but Laurie had to admire her courage in trying. She vowed to give the woman a raise for going way above the call of duty, even if her efforts had failed.

Defeated, Val returned to the limo. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I should have checked the alley.”

“It’s not your fault,” Laurie reassured her wearily. “I should have waited. I was just so tired.”

“Maybe he was just some local guy and the picture won’t make it beyond here,” Val suggested hopefully.

“Ever heard of wire services?” Laurie inquired, wishing she could believe Val, but knowing that she was doomed. Harlan Patrick was going to see the picture. Sooner or later someone would bring it to his attention, and then, no matter what conclusion he reached when he saw it, it was going to rip his heart in two.

Then, she thought with a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach, all hell was going to break loose. It was just a matter of time.

* * *

“I say we buy up all the copies in town and burn them,” Sharon Lynn said vehemently, tossing the offending tabloid onto her parents’ kitchen table. “If Harlan Patrick sees this, he’s going to freak out.”

This was a half-page picture of country-music superstar Laurie Jensen with “Her Secret Love Child.”

“He’s finally over her,” Sharon Lynn said of her brother. “He’s not even playing her songs on the new jukebox down at Dolan’s anymore.”

“No, now he plays them on that boom box he carries with him everywhere he goes,” her mother said. “We have to show it to him. Maybe this will finally close that chapter in his life. He’ll have to move on once he sees she has a child.”