Ignite Read online

  She rolled her eyes and tossed through what few clothes she’d brought. Granted, she hadn’t anticipated doing anything but hiding under the covers, filling her face with chunky monkey ice cream. The meager collection was nothing to write home about. After surveying the various possibilities, she changed into black jeans, her only pair of cowboy boots and a crimson body-hugging cotton shirt. Enticing the rugged cowboy wasn’t the worst thing that could happen. She stood straight, her shoulders back, her mouth pursed and scrutinized the final selection. This would have to do.

  Jessica waited on the front porch. The storm from the night before had given way to an incredible day, the early evening sky filled with strings of tangerine and iridescent violet. The setting sun gave way to the first hint of the moon. She hoped the stars would be out tonight. Dream a little dream for me. She smiled as she thought about the song her mother used to sing at bedtime. She’d dreamed. Now she had to face reality and heal. If she ever could.

  Stoker arrived in what she knew to be his usual style, fast and furious, five minutes after seven. Breathless, he was dirty, sweat discoloring his muddy tee-shirt.

  “Interesting attire for a date and here I thought I was underdressed.” She heard the disgruntled tone of her voice.

  He cocked his head and frowned. “I’m sorry. Us he-men have masculine duties.”

  She folded her arms, tapping her boot against the ground.

  He gave her a look, his chiseled features even more stoic. “Funny girl. Come with me to my house. I’ll grab a quick shower, feed MacGyver and we’ll be on our way.” When she hesitated, he raised a single eyebrow. “Come on, woman. I’m not going to bite.”

  Huffing, she jumped into the truck. “Who’s MacGyver?”

  Stoker grinned and gave her a once over. “You’ll see,” he said with a smile.

  “Oh, goody.” As they drove past the corral, she noticed the horses, their eyes never leaving the truck. “I hope they’re going to be okay.”

  “I gave them enough food and water until tomorrow. They can look after themselves.” He gave her a glance. Then another. “You look nice.”

  “Nice. That’s akin to ‘you’ll pass for a girl’.”

  “Lordy, woman. You really do have a bad attitude.”

  Her thoughts shifted back to her insane visions, which had followed her into the shower. She wiggled in her seat, her cunt clenching. She was already perspiring and her befuddled condition had nothing to do with the weather. “Habit I learned touring.”

  “Touring? Okay, I’ll bite. You famous or something?”

  “Or something,” Jessica muttered as she huddled in the seat.

  “Have I heard of you?” Stoker asked as he flipped on the radio.

  The country station was yet another reminder of plans that certainly hadn’t been well thought out. “I highly doubt it. No one else has. As far as they know, I’m some washed up singer doing the ‘B’ circuit including backwater fairs and seedy clubs.” When he remained quiet, she took a chance. “Fringe?”

  He raised a single eyebrow and shook his head. “Sorry. Doesn’t sound like anything I’ve heard before.”

  “Figures.” As a large house came into view, the ‘A’ style roofline framed by the sweeping mountains, she leaned forward. The property was surrounded by trees, yet a grassy knoll sloped down both sides. A light breeze flowed through the dense foliage, limbs swaying in a gentle yet sweeping manner. Snow covered the tops of the mountains, the stark color colliding into the evening sky. Even the moon glowed, creating a pearlescent shine on the cabin. She noticed a clearing and could just make out another building, perhaps a barn. She was struck by the beauty as well as the serenity. “Incredible. Is this yours?”

  “All mine. Built a lot of the house myself, with some help from friends. Place is special to me.” Stoker’s voice was soft.

  “I can see why. You’re talented. No wonder Ralph asked you to do some work.” She noticed the exterior was devoid of landscaping details. There were no shrubs, planting beds or flowers. There were no pots adorning the stained front porch or swings hanging from the ceiling, indicating quiet nights shared. Austere was the word and perhaps for the man himself.

  He chuckled as he killed the engine and climbed out of the truck. “Wait until you get a look inside before you say that. I have several half-completed projects.”

  She was surprised when he opened her door. “Chivalry isn’t dead.”

  Stoker exhaled and shook his head. “Christ, woman. You’re one tough lady. Aren’t you? Tell you what. You can drop the act with me. I’m not one of your fans or road crew. I’m not going to buy your album or pine away for your next release. What I will do is show you a good time. If, that is, you can have one.”

  The words were tough, cantankerous and damn spot on the money. “Haven’t heard the term album in a long time.”

  Huffing, he shook his head. “I stand by my earlier statement. A taste of discipline would do you some good.”

  Her mouth dry, as she attempted to step out of the truck, she tripped, falling straight into Stoker. “Shit!”

  “Then there’s that mouth of yours.” Catching her before she hit the ground, he pulled her into a stiff embrace, his sentence trailing off.

  She had her hands on his chest, her fingers wrapped around his shirt. The intense scent of sweat and testosterone was a heady combination, drawing her into a heated haze of desire. She was tongue-tied, unable to give one of her snarky comments. The worst part about her condition was that she wanted to have the guts to ask him for the taste of discipline.

  “Whoa, girl. Careful.” His eyes twinkled as he lowered his head.

  Was he going to kiss her? She tilted her head, anticipating the moment when she heard what had to be a dog barking. “MacGyver, I assume?”

  “Yup. That’s Mac. You ready to meet my boy?”

  She kept her grip, longing to break through the ice between them, but reticent because she wasn’t here vying for a boyfriend. “Sure.”

  “Hope you love big dogs.”

  When MacGyver came bounding out of the front door, Jessica was certain the golden beast was going to maul her to death. When he stopped short, his tail wagging, his eyes imploring, she nearly melted. “You’re beautiful.”

  “Handsome. He’s my baby. All I have.”

  His words were so haunted, so filled with loneliness that her heart ached for him. She was weary of playing the wounded rock star, but was uncertain how to drop her guard. She’d become so jaded over the years. “I can see why you adore him.” She hunkered down, allowing the furry baby to plant his paws on her shoulders.

  “Careful, boy. She’s a bit of a fighter. We’ll have to tame that one if you want to spend time with her.”

  This time she did give him the finger then smiled seeing his expression of utter amusement.

  “Come on. Make yourself at home. I think I even have some wine on the counter. Don’t have many guests, but you never know.”

  Jessica closed the door and stood in awe. The cabin was made of various species of wood, beams exposed all along the cathedral ceiling. In the middle of the room was a floor to ceiling stone fireplace, the opening oversized and exposed on two sides. The floor was an exotic hardwood and every piece of furniture was made of leather, adorned in yet another dense but very intricate woodwork. The rug in front of the fire was made of animal pelt, bear or perhaps elk.

  She chuckled as she moved closer, Mac close on her heels. While the decorations were sparse, what pictures he did have were photographs, beautiful depictions of mountains in several seasons. She caught a glimpse of the kitchen, gleaming stainless steel and granite counters. The man had impeccable taste.

  “My humble abode,” Stoker stood watching her.

  “Your daddy has an incredible home,” she whispered.

  Mac moved to the rug, sitting down on his haunches and wagging his tail. He didn’t bark, but his soft woofing sounds seemed like an invitation.

  Jessica tingled as Stoker�
�s eyes bore into her and could almost feel his breath skipping across her skin. Her breath shallow, she gave him a waning smile. “This is one of the most beautiful places I’ve seen in a long time.”

  “Thank you,” he said quietly. “I’ll just be a few minutes. Okay?”

  “Take your time.” The words were strangled, difficult. At least Maggie would be pleased. She’d met a real live cowboy, a sexy and enigmatic cowboy. Groaning, she debated asking for a glass of wine. Better to keep her wits about her. She waited until Stoker walked away then exhaled and turned toward MacGyver. “You going to show me around, big boy?”

  Mac woofed once but didn’t move.

  “Okay. Have it your way.” Turning in a circle, she was drawn to a corner of the room and found herself salivating as she neared the gorgeous piece. An acoustic guitar set on a stand, far enough away from any window that it was protected, as if Stoker knew how to take care of an instrument. She glanced over her shoulder before touching the neck, the tip of her finger running down the length of one string.

  The guitar hadn’t gathered dust so either Stoker played or the piece was revered. She wrinkled her nose, debating, then gingerly lifted the instrument from the stand. The strap was made of leather, inlaid with colorful carvings. She rubbed her hand across the supple leather, drinking in the intense aroma. Someone had used the strap at least a few times. Closing her eyes, she envisioned being on stage, a single blue spotlight highlighting a wooden stool. She could imagine playing to a hushed audience, men and women mesmerized by her songs.

  She walked to the hearth, sitting down and placing the guitar on her lap. Using just the tips of her fingers, she rubbed down the length of the guitar. A string of fractured words filtered into her mind. They were the first hint of a song. Taken aback, she was overcome with emotion until her breath caught in her throat.

  After strumming, she adjusted the strings, the guitar only needing a fine tuning. While she had the feeling it was never played, Stoker kept the instrument in top notch condition. The sound was incredible, rich in tone with a baritone ring. Music to her ears. She hadn’t realized just how much she’d missed writing and playing. Once, music was her heart, every note, each word of her songs infiltrated with aspects of her life, her wishes to find true love – her hero. Somewhere along the way she’d been commercialized, allowing others to pen what so many called caustic anthems. She wasn’t that girl and never had been. She still believed in the knight in shining armor, even if he was a terrible myth.

  She realized her hands were shaking and she wasn’t certain why. Could this ignite the woman inside who longed for a different life? Could she create a safe place to begin again? Dare she dream? She tried to connect the words, creating a tune, but she was tense, afraid. A song from her past found its way into the back of her mind and she began to play, slowly at first, her memory foggy given the length of time since she’d played.

  When she was more comfortable, she played in earnest, strumming and picking, losing herself in the music. She hummed to the tune, having forgotten many of the words, but the music flowed, her fingers working the strings in a practiced orchestration of body and spirit. She became one with the guitar. The melodic sound filled the air, creating vibrations as she continued. She closed her eyes, tension easing.

  She was aware Mac had crawled closer, could swear his breathing was in tune, tiny snorts in time with the rhythm.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  The harsh words dragged her out of her moment of joy. She jerked up, almost dropping the instrument. Seeing the infuriated look on Stoker’s face surprised her. She hadn’t done anything wrong, or so she thought. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d mind.”

  “Well, you thought wrong.” He stormed into the room, yanking the guitar from her hand.

  She winced and bit back every word that came to mind. While he didn’t look her in the eye, he didn’t have to for her to see his expression of wretched and very deep anguish. “Stoker, I apologize. Our conversation. You reminded me that I used to play and I just thought that…” She had no idea how to end the sentence. Every minute they’d been together had been difficult, yet she’d opened up to him, almost more than she had to anyone. He’d been receptive, encouraging at least for a few minutes. This was another man.

  He slid the guitar back onto the stand but kept his hand gripped around the neck, his shoulders heaving up and down. He stood silently, his head lowered. When he finally turned, his expression had changed, his features softened. “No, I’m sorry. I had no right to bark at you like that. There are aspects about my life you don’t understand.”

  “I wasn’t trying to interfere.” She realized Mac was at her feet, his head lying on her boot, a low slung guttural noise coming from his throat. He was afraid for his daddy, worried. Why was the pup staying by her side?

  “No, you weren’t.” He touched the neck again, this time caressing.

  She noticed his state of undress, his torso wrapped in only a towel, water trickling down his back, zigzagging around the muscles of his arms. She bit her lip to keep from moaning. There wasn’t an inch of him that wasn’t gorgeous.

  Stoker offered a half smile. “I haven’t had anyone play the guitar for a long time. Reminds me of the past, something I don’t want to revisit or I thought I didn’t.”

  “The guitar doesn’t belong to you?”

  “She does,” he said under his breath. “I named her Matilda. Long story.”

  “Well Matilda has a beautiful tone.” She forced herself to look away, but was drawn back, wishing he would confide in her.

  He walked toward her, his eyes searching hers. “You play beautifully. I had no idea of your talent when you were talking about your band. Do you sing?”

  “Yes. I am or I was the lead singer. I no longer have a band.” Jessica snorted, saying the words out loud for the first time.

  “I don’t know what you had to go through, but I can tell you this. You need to sing. Only angels have a melodic sound like you do.”

  Jessica opened her eyes wide. “Thank you, cowboy. I hope I can again one day.”

  He said nothing else, but stood in the same place, as if waiting for another comment. “I should finish getting dressed.”

  “You should. Yes.” She darted her eyes down, her gaze falling on his crotch. No. Stop. A series of torrid thoughts threatened to give her away. She was hot, every inch of her covered in perspiration.

  He grunted as if in reply and walked back toward the hallway.

  She dared another look, catching him removing the towel just as he walked through the doorway. The picture was almost complete, long legs and a carved ass. Exhaling, she fanned her face and smirked at Mac. “Your daddy is something else.”

  Stoker couldn’t get the sound of her voice out of his head. Jessica had managed to slide through a slender crack, creating a fissure deep inside. Lashing out at her had been his usual reaction to anyone defying the sanctity of his space, but he’d invited her into his home. He’d allowed her to meet his baby. Why? Why would be do such a thing if he didn’t want her to get close?

  He gripped the steering wheel. Every few seconds he darted a look at Jessica. She was observant, realizing he needed space in order to collect himself. She didn’t deserve the full-bore behavior. The silence was awkward, intolerable. He cleared his throat as he pulled out onto the main road. “I’ll take you to some of our vacation spots one day. I don’t know if you like the outdoors, but we have hiking, mountain climbing, horseback riding, skiing, water sports. Almost anything you can imagine you can find here.

  “You’re like a tourist brochure,” Jessica mumbled as she continued to look out of the passenger window.

  “So, you don’t like the outdoors.”

  “I love the outdoors. I just never had much of an opportunity to experience much.”

  “Because of touring?” he asked. She’d clammed back up and he didn’t blame her given his surly attitude.

  She looked over, her expre
ssion blank. “Because of an asshole boyfriend.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t keep saying you’re sorry. You don’t know me. You don’t know my life. You have nothing to be sorry about. I know you don’t like me much and I promise I’ll stay out of your hair.”

  Stoker sighed. “I am sorry and that’s the truth. I shouldn’t have snapped at you for playing the guitar. I’d love to hear you play again, if you’ll consider it.”

  “Then tell me why it bothered you so much.”

  “Tell you why?”

  Twisting, she yanked the seat belt, inching closer. “Trust me enough to explain why the incredible instrument is polished on a regular basic, tuned frequently and kept in a perfect location so that sunlight or extreme temperatures aren’t able to cause damage. Tell me why a man who is so hell bent on pushing everyone out of his life has an amazing demeanor with a dog, who obviously worships the ground you walk on. Trust me enough to explain why you purposely create friction in your job, one that you eat, breath and sleep for. Stoker, I’m not going to hurt you. Just trust me. You have to trust someone in your life.”

  Blinking, tears formed in his eyes, the words ringing in his ears. No. This wasn’t going to happen. She was a stranger, a woman who had no understanding of the man inside, yet she was shoving away every one of his defenses. “The guitar was given to me by a very special man, a friend I’ve had since childhood. We did everything together, football in high school. We went through smoke jumping training together and worked side by side for a few years. We joined the Marines at the same time, then trained for their elite group of Blackhawks, working side by side to save men behind enemy lines.” My God, he’d blurted out the words.

  Headlights zoomed past him and while he was cognizant of where he was going, he was locked in a vacuum.

  Jessica slid her hand onto his arm, her touch light. She remained silent, almost unmoving.

  He shrugged. “We were so close. He gave me the guitar as a birthday present one year. I even learned to play.” Snorting, he rubbed his mouth. “Play isn’t the word. I sucked at it, but he loved music and was so damn good. He would sit for hours playing the keyboard or a guitar, humming a tune. I always thought he could make it pretty big, but that wasn’t the life he wanted.”