In Nashville the music is louder, the dreams are bigger, and love can bring a cowboy to his knees. Ethan Walker is Nashville royalty. Born to the King and Queen of Country Music, he's spent his life trying to escape the spotlight of his parents' fame, even walking away from his own promising singing career. He's the kind of cowboy who prefers flannel to flashbulbs, hay fields to hit records, and the solitude of his horse farm to the nightlife along Music Row. The last thing he wants is attention, especially when it comes from country's latest star... Chelsea Harris's meteoric rise up the charts and string of celebrity boyfriends mean that wherever she goes, the paparazzi follow. A duet with Nashville's favorite son is exactly what her new charity album needs, but when she approaches Ethan, he turns her down flat. To win the camera-shy cowboy over, Chelsea will have to approach him on his terms. Trouble is, the more time she spends on his farm, the more Ethan wants to keep her there. The Nashville Dreams series: Can't Walk Away Can't Let Her Go Can't Fight the Feeling
Release date:
January 16, 2018
Publisher:
Forever Yours
Print pages:
386
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“Who’s that?” Already annoyed at having to cover a Saturday night shift for one of the bartenders, Ethan didn’t have the patience for Russ going gaga over some woman. The older he got, the more Ethan hated crowds, and Words & Music was packed tonight.
“Chelsea Harris.” Russ leaned against the bar and frowned. “Have you been living under a rock?”
“On a farm,” Ethan grumbled as he set two drafts on a waitress’s tray, wishing he’d been a little less sloppy with the foam. He wiped his wet fingers on a bar towel and moved on to the next order.
“Thanks, Ethan,” the waitress said with a saucy wink before whisking the booze away.
“Welcome,” he mumbled in return. The last thing in the world he wanted to do was flirt with his staff. Sure, most of his waitresses were pretty damn cute. But, as his daddy always cautioned him, he kept work and fun separate. He shifted his focus to Russ. “Okay. You’ve got my attention now. So what’s with this chick?”
“Chick?” Russ let out a snort. “You’re really clueless. The last thing I’d ever call someone like Chelsea Harris is ‘chick.’”
Well aware of Chelsea Harris’s fame—and that she’d breezed in with her entourage about fifteen minutes ago—Ethan had some fun by jerking Russ’s chain a little more. He shrugged. “Then tell me why I should know her.”
“She’s only the hottest thing to hit country music in the past five years.” Russ’s disgruntled tone and emphatic gestures made Ethan fight a grin. “Look over to high-top table eight, dipshit. You can’t miss her. Hell, the woman can’t seem to get a moment of peace.”
Eyes already on the subject of their conversation, Ethan only shrugged again, despite the fact that nonchalant was the last thing he felt.
Chelsea Harris was gorgeous. A mane of long wavy red hair. A curvy figure, the kind he preferred. She seemed entirely unfazed by the way the people around her buzzed with excitement and took her picture with their cells. She was chatting with the two other women sitting at her table, both of whom appeared to be friendly rather than celebrity suck-ups. A rather beefy security guard kept a close eye on her, even though he wore dark clothes and was trying to blend in.
The woman clearly knew her own appeal, and she exuded confidence. From the way she laughed and gave slight nods to anyone who was able to find the courage to make eye contact, she relished her celebrity status.
A queen on her bar stool throne.
Not all stars were that comfortable in their own skin. Many tried their best to hide from press and fans until they chose the time or place to make contact. A concert. An award show. A fund-raiser. In all other aspects of their lives, they usually demanded privacy.
Not the eminent Ms. Harris. One of the reasons Ethan knew so much about her was because the woman lived her life in the open. His famous parents had been of that breed—acting as if every fan should be a best friend.
A person wanted to know where she was, what she thought, who she was with? All he had to do was pull up any social media account. Bam. Chelsea Harris was there. Hell, she was playing on her phone at that very moment, probably doing one of those tweet things.
Hopefully she was telling everyone to get their asses down to Words & Music. The business would always be welcome. If word got out that she’d stopped by, fans would be there waiting in hopes of seeing her the next night. And the next.
As though reading his thoughts, Russ said, “She’s great for business. Hope social media is eating this up.” He let out a low whistle. “She sure is a looker.”
Understatement of the year. Her thick hair caught the lights exactly right, making it appear like waves of fire rippling down her back. Her gaze swept the room, settling on the bar. When her eyes caught his, he sucked in a breath, unable to stop a physical reaction to the woman.
With a shake of his head at his own weakness, Ethan turned away and drew another draft.
“Heard she’s unattached again,” Russ commented. “Kicked that pretty boy actor to the curb from what I saw.” He let out a chuckle. “Probably wrote a song about it. She has every other time she broke up with a guy, and they’re always hits.”
“Saw? Saw it where?”
Russ rubbed the back of his neck and glanced away. “On Nashville Chat.”
“You watch that garbage?” The show was nothing but gossip pretending to be news. Ethan knew it as Nashville Shat since that’s what he and his other partner, Brad Maxwell, called it.
“Sometimes…”
With a snort, Ethan turned his back and sliced an orange to garnish one of the foo-foo drinks. He was so preoccupied thinking about Chelsea Harris and that gorgeous hair that he nicked his finger when a feminine voice broke into his reverie.
“Ethan Walker?”
“Shit.” He grabbed the bar towel again to hold against his sliced index finger. A quick check showed it wasn’t serious.
“You okay?”
The melodious voice made him glance up to find himself face-to-face with the object of his new fixation. She leaned down, resting her forearms on the bar, giving him a nice view of her cleavage. Most of the patrons seated at the bar were gawking at her.
He was dumbstruck. Her eyes were to blame. Such a sparkling green, but it wasn’t the color that had him transfixed. It was the intensity he found in those depths, an intensity that put him immediately on his guard.
Despite all the people staring at her, this woman was on a mission.
“You’re Ethan Walker,” she said. “You own this place.”
Since she hadn’t asked a question, he saw no need to reply.
“I’m Chelsea Harris.”
Several people laughed in response to the statement, as though she had stated something so obvious it was comical. He had to resist the urge to do the same.
“I know.” Those were the only words he would spare until he figured out her angle.
Her gaze wandered slowly around the cavernous Words & Music. “This place is amazing. I never saw it before—you know, when your parents ran it. But…wow. You’ve really done well.”
“Thanks.” Better to let her lead so he could figure out exactly why she was chatting him up and plying him with compliments. While she seemed genuine, he didn’t trust someone with her fame.
She gestured to the two women who waited at her high-top table. “We were all talking about how great sound carries in here. And you’ve got that fantastic dance floor…”
He took a quick look at the people learning a new line dance from one of the club’s dance instructors. “Thanks,” he repeated.
Her lips drew into an annoyed line, but she quickly obliged a patron who’d worked up the guts to slide a pen and napkin in her direction for an autograph. She even murmured her thanks for the way the lady was gushing over her songs.
The security guard took a few steps forward, but Chelsea stopped him with a quick flip of her hand and a shake of her head. Then she turned her attention back to Ethan. “You really should be proud of this place.”
“I am.” He pulled a new drink order up on the point-of-sale screen and went about filling it. His partners—his friends—often told him he had a way of irritating just about anyone he came across. At that moment, he couldn’t help himself. Her increasingly exasperated reactions at his clipped answers were far too entertaining.
Chelsea put her elegant hand on the bar and began to drum her bright red nails against the wood. “Do you tend bar here a lot? Or is this just a one-night stand?”
He snorted. “Definitely not a one-night stand.”
“So you’re here a lot? Tell me this…do you hire the talent, or is that the Hitman’s job?” she asked.
“Brad hates it when people call him that,” Ethan cautioned.
“Everyone in the business calls him that.”
“Not to his face.”
Her fingers quickened their pace.
So there was a temper to go with that red hair.
Time to end the baiting game.
After setting a glass of white wine and a beer on an empty tray, he finally directed his full attention to her. “I’d really like to know something.”
“And what is that?”
“What exactly do you want from me?”
* * *
The man couldn’t be any ruder if he tried, and something in Chelsea told her that was exactly what Ethan Walker was doing. Trying to aggravate her.
Well, he’d succeeded. Problem was she couldn’t show him what she truly felt. Not if she was going to get her way. No, she needed Ethan’s cooperation. From what she’d been told, that cooperation would be a hard-earned prize.
She’d tried to learn as much as she could before setting out to tackle her plan for her newest project. Although her assistant was supportive of her plans, she’d told Chelsea that she was crazy to even try to recruit Ethan Walker. His aversion to ever being a part of the country music world again was legendary.
From the moment she’d heard the duet he’d sung with Savannah Wolf, Chelsea had known that he needed to sing with her. God, the man had the most amazing voice. Besides, she didn’t understand why he should be different than any of the other people she was enlisting. So far, most of the offspring of former stars had been on board and rather enthusiastic about her plans.
Of course, none of them had Ethan’s reputation—a reputation that was twofold. First, he hated being reminded that his parents were Nashville stars. Second, after walking away from a budding singing career years ago, he hated anything to do with performing or recording. Period.
And yet…he was friendly with Brad Maxwell’s fiancée Savannah. She’d gotten her start at Words & Music, and Chelsea had been so mesmerized by the video of Ethan singing with Savannah that she’d watched it too many times to count.
So he would perform.
But on what terms? Did he only pick up a guitar for a friend, or would a good cause—a great cause—be enough motivation?
He threw her a fierce frown. “Are you going to answer my question, or can I get back to work?”
The ill-mannered man didn’t even wait for her reply and started tapping at the computer screen, all but dismissing her.
No one dismissed Chelsea Harris.
Sidling around the bar, she savored the surprised expressions of the people sitting close enough to watch her. She glanced at the drink order he’d been reading and then plucked two margarita glasses from the freezer under the counter. As Ethan stared at her, she went about preparing the drinks, much to the amusement of the crowd. Muscle memory kicked in as she found the margarita mix and ice, blended the mixture, and then salted the rims of the glasses. After pouring the drinks, she garnished them with lime wedges and set them on an empty serving tray, earning herself a round of applause.
With a smug smile, she touched the screen to pull up the next order. While she wanted to see his startled expression—to savor it—she focused on the libations she needed to make.
“What in the hell are you doing?” Ethan demanded. Thankfully, his tone was more amused than irritated despite his choice of vocabulary.
“I would think it was obvious.” She flashed a smile at a few people who laughed in response.
“I mean, why are you pretending to be a bartender?”
Chelsea let out an indignant huff. “Pretending?” She nodded toward the drinks the waiter was carrying away, wondering if pictures of her acting as the bartender at Words & Music would’ve hit social media yet. “Those are damn good margaritas, if I do say so myself. You know what? Name a drink.”
“What?”
“Name a drink. Any drink. I can mix it.”
As he continued to stare silently, she pulled three draft beers, poured two glasses of wine, and whipped up a screaming orgasm. After passing them off to a waitress, she folded her arms under her breasts and grinned at Ethan.
He grinned back, and damn if her stomach didn’t plummet to her feet. The man was too appealing for her peace of mind. Her preference went toward long hair on guys, and his dark brown hair was pulled back. If it were loose, it would probably brush his shoulders.
Sublime.
The first thing she’d noticed when she’d approached him were his eyes. Not only were they a warm mahogany, but they sparkled with intelligence. Even better than his obvious physical appeal, she had no doubt that should the two of them match wits, she’d find herself with an adversary who rose to her level.
“Where’d you learn to bartend?” he asked.
“It’s how I survived after college until I got my break in the business.”
“You’ve still got the touch. You can work here if you ever need a job.” He gave her another stomach-flipping smile.
“Thanks.” She poured two more glasses of wine and then whipped up a whiskey sour.
“Hey, Chelsea!” a guy shouted. “Hold up the tray with the drinks so I can take your picture.”
With one of her practiced smiles, she obliged the man. “Be sure and say where I’m at! Words and Music, one of Nashville’s best hot spots.”
“Thanks for the plug,” Ethan said, although his voice was devoid of true appreciation. A shame since the man had a smooth, seductive voice.
Always one to possess a wild and far too active imagination, Chelsea had to smile at the thought of how Nashville would react should she and Ethan ever hook up. The son of “Crawfish” and Dottie Walker—Nashville royalty—and the hottest female star in country music?
Reporters would be tripping over one another to get to them the same way people were now crowding around the bar to watch their exchange.
And the charity album would go platinum.
A chuckle slipped out.
Ethan’s mouth fell to a frown. “Are you laughing at me?”
“Not at all,” she assured him, absentmindedly turning toward the crowd and signing a few more autographs. The action had become so perfunctory, she hardly thought about what she was doing anymore.
“Then what’s so funny?”
He’d never understand how happy she was at the thought of her new album being a huge success, so she shook her head.
The frown became a scowl. “Why are you here?”
Knowing Ethan was in no frame of mind for her to even broach the topic of his recording a song with her, she scrambled for something to say. She wished they had a bit of privacy, but that was in short supply whenever she was in public. “I…um…” She nibbled on her bottom lip, flustered that his gorgeous eyes and handsome face had erased every bit of information she’d gathered on the man; information she’d hoped would help her in this important quest. “Let’s see…I—”
With a shake of his head, he gently pushed her aside so he could get to his computer.
She’d lost him before she’d even asked for his help. To rescue the situation, she was going to have to lay all her cards on the table at the start of the game. This man wasn’t going to be charmed or cajoled, but maybe he could be convinced if she told him the real reason she was there.
The truth was that she needed him, she needed that rich baritone singing his parents’ biggest hit with her.
“I came to ask for your help,” Chelsea announced.
“Finally!” Ethan set a longneck he’d just opened on a tray. “She can answer a question.”
The snickering around them made her sigh. Was nothing in her life private?
“All right,” she said, a bit peeved at him and at the eavesdroppers. “I deserved that.”
“Yep.”
His superior tone grated on her. For a man everyone described as kind and helpful, he seemed to know exactly how to irritate her. “My father passed away last year.” The memory still felt like a knife to the heart.
“I’m sorry for your loss.” Those brilliant eyes found hers, and they were full of compassion. There was sincerity in his tone.
“Thank you.”
“What does losing your father have to do with me?” he asked.
“He died of cancer,” she replied. “I want to do something big to honor his memory.”
Ethan encouraged her to continue with a flip of his hand.
After a bracing deep breath, Chelsea said, “I’m putting together an album to raise money for cancer research. I’m singing duets with the kids of former Nashville stars, and I’d like for you to cover one of your parents’ songs with—”
“No. Way.” Turning on his heel, he stalked away.
Chapter Two
Chelsea blinked a few times before acknowledging that Ethan wasn’t coming back. She’d been prepared for Ethan’s initial resistance, but she sure hadn’t expected him to act like a horse’s ass. Had she hit some kind of nerve?
Most kids of stars had no problem riding their parents’ coattails. She’d heard Ethan was different, yet she didn’t think he’d be so opposed to singing with her.
There’s more than one way to catch a fish.
But was this particular fish worth the effort?
She had a sinking feeling he was going to require a hell of a lot of work.
The sad fact was that if she wanted the album to be a huge success, she needed him. With the exception of the rather cheesy pop tunes he’d released when he was a teenager, Ethan Walker had never recorded a serious song. Sure, there were some pirated copies of a duet he’d performed with Savannah Wolf on his own stage, but to get that man into a recording studio would be a coup that could help her earn a crap ton of money for cancer research.
Three more drink orders popped up on the screen. Her first inclination was to go back to her friends and get out of the place. It would serve him right to leave his customers waiting for their beverages. Maybe it would teach him a lesson about his rudeness. The problem was that if she stomped away angry, she’d lose any chance of Ethan ever changing his mind and singing with her and she’d look like a fool in front of the fans who were now crowed around the bar watching her intently. If she stayed and kept churning out drink orders, he might see it was a goodwill gesture and reciprocate by helping her out.
“As if…” The man hadn’t been even remotely coy in his refusal. Her mixing a few mai tais probably wouldn’t overcome his rather adamant refusal.
“As if what?” a man asked as he came up beside her.
She glanced up to find a real cutie, although he wasn’t her type with his blond hair buzzed into a military cut. His body was a bit too muscular, but his smile was sincere. He’d been talking to Ethan earlier and wore a red polo shirt with the Words & Music logo embroidered over his left pec, so she assumed he worked there.
With a glance back to the point-of-sale screen, Chelsea sighed. “As if the bartender is coming back. I think I pissed him off too much and orders are piling up.” She scrolled through the six new drink requests and sighed as flashbacks to her old job filled her mind. The scents of the booze and fried food filled her nostrils, giving her a touch of déjà vu. Rolling up her sleeves, she went to work.
The guy came around the bar and frowned at the screen. “Shit.” His blue eyes were full of worry when they locked with hers. “Think you can do these?” He glanced at the crowd. “With an audience?”
“I do everything with an audience.” She flipped the caps off two longnecks and set them on the bar. “I can do this, but I’ll need a little help to catch up. Know much about bartending?”
“I’m a bouncer, not a booze slinger.” After staring at the orders for a moment, he went to the small sink and washed his hands. “I’ll do what I can, but…the fancy stuff’s beyond me.”
Chelsea breathed a resigned sigh. Although he hadn’t asked in words, he’d practically begged with his puppy-dog eyes. At least this man would appreciate her help. “Fine. You take the beers and wines. I’ll do the rest.”
“Sounds good, Ms. Harris.”
As she grabbed the ingredients she needed for the first order, she addressed the obvious. “Call me Chelsea. Please. But you’ve got me at a disadvantage. You obviously know my name, but I don’t know yours.”
He let out a little snort. “Of course I know your name. My name’s Russ Green.” He set two drafts on a tray. “I’m one of the owners of this bar.”
“This place is amazing.” The blender drowned out any other conversation as she got down to business.
There was work to be done, and maybe, just maybe if she kept thing running and charmed his partner enough, she’d get a payoff in the form of Ethan Walker agreeing to sing with her.
* * *
All Ethan wanted was a few moments to let his temper cool, so he stalked to the office, went inside, and slammed the door behind him.
“You break the frame, it comes out of your salary.”
Scowling at his other partner, Brad Maxwell, Ethan flopped on the couch since the desk chair was otherwise occupied. “I don’t get a salary, jackass.”
“Okay, your profits then, numb nuts.”
The comment didn’t deserve a reply. Money wasn’t a problem for Ethan. His parents’ legacy was more than he could ever spend, even if he was extravagant, which he wasn’t. Hell, they sold more records since their deaths than before, especially since the car accident that claimed their lives had seemed so damn tragic. Two of Nashville’s biggest stars dying at the same time? Reporters drooled for stories like that.
Ethan scowled at the memory. Had his father not been trying to get away from some bastard photographer, the accident wouldn’t have happened. For once, Crawfish wanted a bit of privacy instead of feeding the monster press, and it cost him and his wife their lives.
Fucking reporters. Still running stories after fifteen years—stories about the mess they made.
Had it really been that long? He’d bought the horse farm for himself when he was twenty, only a few months after he’d lost his parents. He was never able to show his father that he could make it on his own.
That thought soured his mood even more.
“What’s got a bee up your ass?” Brad asked. “You look ready to bite someone’s head off. What happened?” He shot a worried glance at the door. “And who’s minding the bar?”
Ethan shrugged. “Beats me.”
Brad raked his fingers through his hair. “Now, I know I’m only one of the owners of this place, but it seems to me you might’ve gone to the effort to get someone to fill in if you needed a break.”
“Cut the sarcasm.”
“I can’t, and you know it. Seriously, Ethan…who’s tending bar?”
“Maybe that woman will keep it running.” That thought made Ethan smirk. No way would a superstar like Chelsea Harris bail him out—especially after he’d turned down her request.
Brad pitched his pen on the desk. “That woman? I should’ve known. Did you already sleep with whoever it was, or do you just want to?”
“Stop being so judgmental, you sanctimonious—”
“Oh, come off it. You know you’re a player.”
With an acerbic chuckle, Ethan said, “Takes one to know one.”
“Not anymore. I’m a happily engaged man now, as you know.”
Dismissing his partner with a wave of his hand, Ethan had better things to think about.
Such as Chelsea and why she irritated him like a bad case of poison ivy.
Women never got under his skin. Never. Love ’em and leave ’em and don’t look back. That had always been his philosophy. And Brad’s for that matter…The two of them had enjoyed a wild ride through their twenties.
Twenties?
No, their c. . .
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