Lourdes Bennett frowned as she pulled up beside the truck that was parked at the address she’d been given and removed her sunglasses so she could get a better look at the place. The countryside she’d passed through felt familiar—little wonder, since she’d grown up in a similar town not far from Whiskey Creek. And the house, an old-fashioned, wooden A-frame, was charming. A swing hung on the front porch, further enhancing its homey appeal. But Whiskey Creek wasn’t where she’d be if all was well in her life. So far, her exile was self-imposed, but if she couldn’t get back on top of her career, there’d be no point in returning to Nashville for professional reasons.
A man appeared in the doorway. Had to be the landlord. He must’ve heard her drive up.
Quickly sliding her sunglasses back on—as a shield against his recognition of her more than anything else, since that could be awkward—Lourdes opened her door and stepped out. It was starting to get dark, but she could still see.
“You found it okay, huh?” the man said as he came toward her.
The wind had kicked up and tossed her hair, and she held it back. “Just followed my GPS.”
“I’m glad it didn’t lead you astray. GPS can be kind of squirrelly in some places. With all the hills in Gold Country, you can’t always get a signal.” When he drew close, he stuck out his hand. “Kyle Houseman.”
Fairly tall, maybe six-one, her landlord looked a great deal like Dierks Bentley, only with darker hair. She’d played several gigs with Dierks over the years, so she could easily compare them. Not only did they have similar facial features, they also were both fit, both in their midthirties, and they both had million-dollar smiles.
“I’m Lourdes.” She didn’t mention her last name. She preferred not to make a big splash. That was why she’d asked Derrick to handle the negotiations, and why she’d chosen Whiskey Creek instead of Angel’s Camp. Whiskey Creek was as close to home as she could get while keeping a low profile.
“I’m familiar with some of your songs,” Kyle said. “Congratulations on your success.”
Her first album had received quite a bit of radio play, which was more than most aspiring artists obtained. The success had been fun while it lasted, but after the decade it had taken to land a major label, it hadn’t lasted nearly long enough. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’m not looking for that sort of attention—for any attention, really. I just need a quiet place to get away for a few months.” And to try to reclaim what she’d destroyed when she attempted to make it in an even bigger market and switched over to pop music. “You know, without anyone noticing.”
“No problem. Not on my end, anyway. But...” He studied her for several seconds. “You grew up in a small town.”
“Yes.”
“Then you know what they’re like, how people talk.”
“Of course. I don’t plan to be seen much. And this house seems to be off the beaten path. Surely no one would approach me in my home...er, your home.” She couldn’t say the same for Angel’s Camp. After her father died of bladder cancer, her mother had followed her to Nashville. She’d always wanted to be there, since she’d once had dreams of a music career of her own. So, shortly after Lourdes’s two younger sisters, Mindy and Lindy, identical twins, had graduated from high school, Renate bought a nice three-bedroom, two-bath condo not far from Lourdes’s own place. And once Mindy and Lindy had finished college, they’d settled in Tennessee, too. They were currently sharing an apartment. Although her family had never expected Lourdes to help them financially, everyone wanted to be part of the exciting things that were happening to her, to experience something new. Lourdes would’ve liked to go back to Angel’s Camp. She missed it. But her old friends—and her family’s friends—knew her well enough that they wouldn’t even attempt to respect her privacy.
“I can’t imagine they would,” he agreed.
She looked beyond him at the front porch. “Then I like the place so far.”
“It’s small,” he said, as if that would be a drawback for her.
“I don’t need a lot of room. I’ll just be writing some new songs.” Just. That was the understatement of the year. She had to come up with billboard gold...