Vaughn Reed stepped off of the private plane that had flown him from Dublin to LA. He said his goodbyes to the other members of the session band that had traveled the globe with a pop star whose talent lay primarily in being photogenic and an excellent dancer with a huge social media following.
Not the best gig he’d ever had, but not the worst, either.
More importantly, the gig paid well, and it kept him relevant—a waning commodity since his legendary rock band Sin & Glory had broken up four years ago.
Vaughn had been the reason the band—which had been together for fifteen years—imploded. The reason his personal and professional life had spiraled.
It was a mistake he wouldn’t make again. To ensure that he didn’t, he’d devised a set of rules for himself.
First: Don’t think with your dick. Period. Second: Never get involved with your best friend’s sister. Third: Always consider your career first. Fourth: Never fall in love.
For the past four years, those four rules had served him well. No more awkward or sticky situations. No career-destroying revelations. No public meltdowns. After all, he would be forty on his next birthday. If he didn’t get his shit together now, he probably never would.
Vaughn hopped into his matte black Lamborghini Aventador. Then he made his way onto Hollywood Boulevard toward the empty house in the Hollywood Hills that awaited him.
Vaughn pulled into the three-car garage of the magnificent home that had previously belonged to one of his rock idols. The beautiful home boasted contemporary architecture and gorgeous views of the iconic Sunset Strip, the ocean and the LA Basin. But the house held too many bad memories.
Now that he planned to spend the next few months in LA, maybe he’d finally have time to do a few updates and put the property up for sale.
He’d barely turned off the engine when his phone rang. It was his assistant, Cherry Bingham.
“What’s up, Cherry?” Vaughn tried not to be short with her despite his exhaustion after the grueling eleven-hour flight and disappointment after reading the latest message from his agent. “If this is about Hannah’s email... I already read it. The label isn’t interested in funding a comeback album or tour for Sin & Glory without Steven.”
Vaughn gritted his teeth. Steven Iverson was Sin & Glory’s former lead singer and Vaughn’s former best friend. And he’d made the mistake of dating, marrying and eventually divorcing the man’s younger sister. The breakup of the marriage led to the end of their friendship and the dissolution of the band. Now, Steven was enjoying a mildly successful solo career, and Vaughn and the rest of the band were fighting for a place in the industry.
“Sorry. I know how hard you’ve been working to revive the band. Should I send Steven another certified letter?” Keys clacked in the background.
“He’ll just ignore it like the others.” Vaughn got out of the Lamborghini and unlocked his garage door and entered the kitchen. The house was pristine and smelled like lemons and fresh flowers. “The place looks great.”
“Alonzo cleaned the pool yesterday, groceries were delivered this morning and Anita cleaned the house and put away the groceries earlier today,” Cherry said. “Which brings me to the reason I called—”
“Don’t tell me Anita broke something again?” Vaughn slipped the band from his dark, wavy hair pulled atop his head in a man bun his parents would’ve hated. His hair—long overdue for a haircut—fell to his shoulders with a gentle shake of his head.
“No, this time I’m the one who screwed up.” Cherry’s voice suddenly sounded small. “Anita found an envelope underneath the console table in the entry hall. It must’ve slipped off the pile when I set your mail down there before sorting it. The postmark is from two months ago. I’m really sorry, Vaughn.”
“It’s okay, Cher.” Vaughn set his luggage just inside his bedroom, then massaged his stiff neck and circled his tight shoulders. “Who was it from?”
“A law office in your hometown of Willowvale Springs.” She seemed to be holding her breath.
What could that possibly be about?
“If the delay resulted in any kind of fees or loss, I’ll explain what happened, that it’s all my—”
“Relax, Cher,” Vaughn said calmly, hoping to allay her anxiety. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. Where is it?”
“Your mail is sorted and stacked on the desk in your office.”
“Great. Now back to this thing with Steven... I was hoping we could get everyone on board, but Matt suggested that we move forward without him.” Vaughn rubbed his chin and sighed as he stood at the glass wall in his bedroom overlooking the city. “Steven and I were best friends when we started Sin & Glory. Just a couple of broke-ass kids with big dreams.” He shrugged. “Maybe his reaction to the end of my relationship with his sister was unfair. But it still feels wrong to do this without him.”
“Plenty of other groups have moved on without their iconic lead singers, Vaughn,” Cherry said gently. “Besides, there’s a ton of talent out there. You’ll find someone else.”
“The guys are definitely open to it. But I’m not sure how our fans would take it. Especially since Steven is doing his own music now.”
“The fans just really miss hearing the old Sin & Glory songs. I think you’d be surprised by how happy most of them would be to hear that the group is even considering a reunion tour.” There was the clacking of more keys. “There are three petitions going right now requesting a reunion tour. They have a combined total of fifty thousand signatures and counting.”
It was nice that the fans cared that much. Still...
“That still doesn’t address the issue of funding,” he reminded her.
He was doing quite well due to his generally frugal nature—thanks to a modest upbringing. The house in the Hills and the Lamborghini had been among his few splurges. He saved and invested wisely, more acutely aware of the realities of poverty and homelessness than the other band members, some of whom had come from wealthy families. But as much as he wanted to make this Sin & Glory reunion album and tour happen, it would be unwise to use his personal finances to bankroll the venture.
“Fan-funding is an option,” Cherry stated.
“What if it flops? We’ll lose whatever credibility the band has left.”
Cherry didn’t argue the point. “You could try to get a few investors to bankroll the project. Or maybe start playing the lottery.”
“I’ll consider it.” Vaughn chuckled.
He toed off his black-and-white Vans Old Skool Classic Skate Shoes—his preferred footwear for performing. He’d owned just about every color they’d ever made because they were both comfortable and functional when working the foot pedals of his drums.
“But right now, I just want to take a long soak in a hot bath while I enjoy the view, and then crash for a couple days. Could you order the calamari and rigatoni carbonara for me and then whatever you want? Have mine delivered in an hour,” he said. “Then we can meet over breakfast tomorrow.”
“All right, but don’t forget to open that envelope!” Cherry reminded him as he ended the call.
Vaughn groaned. He’d hoped to put off anything other than a hot bath and a warm meal until tomorrow. But Cherry would be stressed about her blunder with the envelope until she knew everything was okay.
He shoved his phone into the back pocket of his jeans, then made his way to the kitchen. Vaughn retrieved his favorite blend of freshly squeezed juice, guzzling from the glass bottle. He sighed contentedly. Every road trip reminded him of the simple joys of being at home.
Then he went to his office to retrieve the envelope.
Vaughn held the brown, craft paper in his hand, and for a moment, he froze. There was something surreal about seeing the words Willowvale Springs in print. He’d lived in Los Angeles for nearly twenty years. Yet, deep down, Willowvale Springs would always be the place that was truly home.
He’d lived there with his adoptive parents from the age of twelve to nineteen when his mother died barely a year after they’d lost his father. He still owned the old farmhouse his parents had left to him because he couldn’t bring himself to sell the place. But he couldn’t bear the idea of the old place sitting abandoned and unloved, either. So he’d been listing it on home rental sites for the past several years.
Vaughn roughly set down the small bottle on his desk, then settled in his chair. He sliced into the envelope with a letter opener and slid the thick document and an accompanying flash drive onto his desk. Then he read the letter paper clipped on top.
Holy shit.
Vaughn went back and slowly read the note from Phil Walker, whom he’d known growing up. Phil had apparently become a lawyer and had his own practice back home. He’d written to inform Vaughn that old Hank Carson—the godfather of Willowvale Springs—had died and left him the old resort ranch.
“This has to be a joke,” Vaughn muttered the words beneath his breath.
Hank wasn’t a relative. In fact, he and Ms. Edith never had children. Nor had they been particularly close. Vaughn had simply worked for Hank as a bellboy and all-around seasonal help at the rustic old ranch for a few summers as a teen. He and the old man had had the occasional conversation. And when he’d given Hank his resignation and expressed his desire to move to Los Angeles to start a rock band, the old man hadn’t been pleased. Still, he’d sincerely wished him the best of luck. A gesture Vaughn had appreciated.
Vaughn opened the flash drive, stuck it into the hub of his desktop computer, then opened the lone file. A video of the old man appeared on the screen, invoking a pained smile.
The man who had always loomed in his memory larger than life had grown thin and frail, ravaged by the effects of age and perhaps illness. Hank went into a hacking cough, then quickly recovered, wiping his mouth with a handkerchief.
“Hello there, Vaughn. I wish we were chatting under better circumstances, son. And that we were having this conversation in person. But I couldn’t leave this earth without telling you how damn proud I am of you. You said you were going to start your own rock band and become famous. Sell out arenas all over the world. I applauded your gumption and your effort. But I honestly didn’t think you had a chance in hell of making that happen.” The old man chuckled, prompting another coughing fit. “But my Edith believed in you. And you did it, son. Made fools out of every one of us that ever doubted you. I only wish your parents had lived long enough to see it. They would’ve been damn proud, Vaughn.”
The words seemed to catch in Hank’s throat, and he dabbed his eyes with his hanky.
Vaughn was stunned.
Hank Carson had never been given to displays of emotion—though his adoration for his wife had been quite clear. So his words—uttered with such deep respect and heartfelt affection—made Vaughn’s eyes sting and his throat burn. Especially the kind words about his parents. Arthur and Carolyn Reed had been well into their fifties when they’d rescued him from the foster system and decided to take him in and raise him as their own.
He’d been lucky to have had two sets of parents who’d truly loved him. But he’d also had the unenviable distinction of burying both sets before the age of twenty.
“You know Edith and I never had kids of our own,” the old man continued. “But the children of Willowvale Springs were our family. A few of you made quite an impression on us. So as I face the time for me to leave this world, I’d like to leave each of you something. And to you, I leave the Willowvale Springs Resort. You were much more than a bellboy or a stable hand. You were a hard worker. Conscientious. Cared about the guests and the animals. It never felt like it was just a job to you, son. I’ve seen how you held on to your parents’ farmhouse and how you’ve cared for the old place—even from a distance. So I’m leaving you the resort to do with as you please. I know you’ll make the right decision, Vaughn. Good luck, son.”
The screen went black, leaving Vaughn staring at the blank space, stunned. So many emotions churned in his chest. All the words he’d never get to say to Hank ran through his head. He was grateful for Hank’s thoughtful gift and his belief in him. But he had no idea what he would do with the old resort. He didn’t even want the farmhouse he currently owned in Willowvale Springs. He simply hadn’t had the heart to let go of the old place. Not even when he’d been struggling to make it in LA before his career had taken off.
Vaughn dragged a hand down his face and headed to the luxurious bathroom that afforded views of the entire LA basin while offering him privacy. He ran water in the tub and sprinkled in the lemongrass and lavender bath salt his housekeeper made for him because it helped him sleep. Then he stripped out of the clothing he’d been wearing for nearly twenty hours. He submerged himself beneath the warm, foamy liquid, soaking his hair before reemerging.
He wiped the water from his face, leaned against the cushioned headrest and squeezed his eyes shut, truly relaxing for the first time in weeks.
Vaughn had nearly drifted to sleep. Then his eyes shot open and he bolted upright, splashing water onto the white-and-gray Carrera marble tile floor.
Maybe he didn’t need to play the lottery to fund a comeback album for the band. Hank Carson had seen to that.
Within minutes, he’d dried off, gotten dressed and called Cherry to make arrangements for him to meet Phil in Willowvale Springs. Then he called his childhood best friend, Reynaldo Price, whose family owned Price Construction. Because if the Willowvale Springs Resort was anything like he remembered, it would require a complete overhaul if it was going to generate the money he needed to get Sin & Glory’s next album made.
Vaughn pulled his rented Audi Q7 SUV into the drive of the Willowvale Springs Resort at the edge of town. He’d spent summers working there as a teen. Then after high school, he’d worked at the resort full time. He hadn’t seen the place in twenty years. And when he’d scanned the photos on the bare-bones website, it looked like the lodge had been stuck in a time capsule.
He exited the truck, slid his bôhten shades atop his head, and surveyed the main building. The tired photos had actually been quite generous. Not only had the place not been updated since he’d worked there nearly two decades before, it clearly hadn’t been maintained for at least the past five years.
When he’d worked there, the old man was a stickler about ensuring regular maintenance was done. No wonder the resort was barely hanging on. It appeared about three steps from being condemned.
Just how long had Hank been ill?
Vaughn climbed the rickety old steps that led to the large, front porch. The old porch swings were still there but needed a fresh coat of paint and new chains. The decor framing the door looked the same as when he’d been there.
Vaughn stepped inside and made his way to the front desk. He’d been thinking that the old place looked as if it was in some kind of twilight zone where time had stood still.
He was wrong.
Instead, it felt as if he’d been transported back to the sixties...the 1860s. If he didn’t know better, he’d think he was on the set of his parents’ favorite old show, Bonanza. That Ben Cartwright, Adam, Hoss and Little Joe would appear at any moment.
“Vaughn Reed?” An older woman glanced up from the front desk, her head cocked. “My word! I haven’t seen you since...since your mama’s funeral. My gosh, that has to be ten or fifteen—”
“Twenty years ago,” he said. “It’s good to see you again, Mrs. Halston.”
The woman had been working the front desk at the ranch for as long as Vaughn could remember. She’d been Willowvale Springs very own version of Dolly Parton. Her blond hair was now gray and her sparkling blue eyes weren’t quite as clear as they’d been when he’d had a killer crush on her as a teen. But she still had an amazing figure and dressed like she’d stepped out of a fashion magazine.
“It’s Mrs. Weinstein now.” She chuckled with a glint in her eyes. “Barry died about five years ago. God rest his soul.” She glanced up at the ceiling. “But call me Barbara. And my goodness, let me give you a hug.”
Barbara came around the desk and enveloped him in a bear hug before releasing him. “What brings you here, sweetheart?”
“I’m the new owner of the resort.” Vaughn practically held his breath as he said the words.
Barbara had been running the ranch for twenty or thirty years. Surely, she would’ve expected Hank to leave the place to her.
“Thank goodness!” Barbara pressed her hand to her chest, flashing her bejeweled nails. “Been terrified that the old buzzard was gonna leave this place to me like he left the general store to Mabel Miller. Mabel wanted the store, mind you. Me? Not so much.”
“Why not? I mean...you’ve probably worked here longer than anyone.” He should just be grateful Barbara wasn’t upset about Hank leaving him the place.
“I’m a grandmother now.” She smiled proudly. “Got three grandkids and one on the way. Plus three bonus grandkids from Barry’s kids. I like getting out of the house and doing things. But these days, I’m wanting to spend more time with the grandkids and travel. I’ve been waiting to find out who the owner is so I can—”
“You’re quitting?”
“Not quitting...retiring.” She patted his arm. “But don’t you worry none, sugarplum. I won’t leave you high and dry. I’ll stay on as long as you need me to get you acclimated and to train my replacement. In fact, I’ve got time if you’d like a tour of the old place right now.”
Vaughn was still trying to process the information that he needed to staff the place and oversee things until he could find a good replacement for Barbara.
He glanced down at his watch. “I have about fifteen minutes before I’m meeting with a designer and a construction project manager to discuss renovations.”
“Well, hallelujah!” Barbara did praise hands and quickly scanned the room. “Lord knows this place could use it.”
Vaughn chuckled, glad the woman didn’t oppose taking a wrecking ball to the outdated floor plan and antiquated decor.
“Think we’ll have time to squeeze a quick tour in before they get here?” he asked.
“No, I don’t.” Barbara nodded toward the door.
Vaughn followed the woman’s gaze to a pair of sexy, tan-and-black leather booties with a stacked heel and side buckles stepping through the door attached to a pair of shapely legs. The creamy brown skin shimmered and glowed.
Dayum.
Vaughn hadn’t returned to Willowvale Springs to find a hookup. But the woman who sashayed toward him—hips swaying in a black, midthigh-length blazer dress that perfectly accented her Coke bottle shape and thick thighs—could definitely get it.
“It’s good to see you again, Vaughn.” The woman placed a palm on his chest and leaned in and kissed his whiskered cheek. Her voice was slightly husky and oddly familiar. Her vibrant scent—like pomegranate, lilies and something spicy—lingered as she pulled away.
“I’m sorry but do I know...” His voice trailed off as he studied the woman’s gorgeous face, taking in the familiar mischievous dark eyes, button nose and cheeky grin. “No...no way.” Vaughn covered his mouth and shook his head. He turned toward Barbara who was more than amused by the exchange. “There is no way that this is little Allie Price.”
“It is. Only our little mischievous squirt had the audacity to grow into a lovely and incredibly talented young woman.” Barbara beamed as if she’d raised Allie herself.
Then again, in Willowvale Springs, you didn’t just belong to your parents. You were claimed by the whole damn town.
“Well, I can certainly see that.” Vaughn laughed. He held out his arms to give his childhood best friend’s little sister a proper hug. “It really is great to see you again, Allie.”
He hugged her, trying his best to shut down his dick, which stirred in response to Allie’s buttery soft curves cradled against him.
Refer to Rules #1 and #2. Not gonna happen, bruh. Not in a bajillion years. So calm the fuck down.
Vaughn pulled out of Allie’s lingering hug, cleared his throat and shoved a hand into the pocket of his rag & bone jeans. He diverted his gaze slightly, so as to at least give the pretense he was making eye contact with the stunningly gorgeous Afro-Latina woman who’d once been that adorable little snaggle-toothed girl who’d had an innocent crush on him. Because the thoughts he was having about her now were anything but innocent.
“So are you here to introduce me to the designer and the project manager?” Vaughn rubbed his chin.
“That explains why you wanted to take pictures of this old place.” Barbara shook a finger at the younger woman, her eyes twinkling as if Allie was a naughty teenager who’d played a trick on her. “Vaughn hired your family to handle the renovations. Well, we simply couldn’t be in better hands. Been watching the work you’ve been doing over at the horse stables where I board my Molly. Your family does some amazing work.”
“Thank you, Ms. Barb.” Allie sifted her manicured fingers through her shiny, curly, shoulder-length tresses, tugging them over one shoulder.
Vaughn squeezed his free hand into a fist, aching to run his fingers through her hair. His eyes met Allie’s again. It had been accidental. Yet, he couldn’t tear his gaze away from hers.
The phone rang, and it seemed to shake them both from the awkward moment.
“I’d better get that,” Barb said. “If either of you needs anything, just give me a holler.”
“Will do. Thank you, Barbara,” Vaughn said. He shifted his attention back to Allie. “So...the designer and the project manager...”
“You’re looking at her.” Allie held her hands out, the way she often did when she’d put on some sort of show for them as a kid.
“So you’re the interior designer?” Vaughn frowned as he folded his arms, resting his chin on a closed fist as he studied her.
“Yes.” Her reply was less cheery with a hint of indignation this time.
“Okay. Great,” Vaughn said, only slightly sarcastically. “What about the project manager?”
“Again...you’re looking at her.”
“Wait...” Vaughn dropped his arms at his sides and stood to his full height. He wasn’t particularly tall, but he was at least half a foot taller than her. “You’re handling both jobs?”
He realized that he was a local boy and no longer a member of one of the world’s bestselling bands. But he expected to get at least a little star treatment.
Rey knew that this job was important to him, that he needed the place to look its absolute best, and that he was on a tight turnaround. And what did he do? He’d sent his little sister to play both designer and project manager.
Well, he was going to have a few choice words with his childhood best friend as soon as he sent little Allie packing.
“Look, I appreciate your time, and I don’t mean to be rude. But I made it clear to Rey just how important this job was and that I’m on a really tight schedule. So if he’s not taking this seriously—”
“That’s it.” Allie cursed in Spanish and slapped a nearby high-top table. She set down her colorful tote bag. Allie folded one arm over her chest and massaged her temple with the other. “Why is it that every good-looking man has to go and open his big fat mouth and completely kill the illusion?” she muttered. “This is pretty disappointing behavior from a man who has written some truly empowering ballads for female artists. Not to mention that you actually referred to yourself as a feminist in that Rolling Stone article.”
That article interview had been at least ten years ago. Did she really remember that?
Vaughn wouldn’t let Rey’s gorgeous little sister with her killer body and glowing brown skin sidetrack him. Maybe he’d been a little brusque, but he was still the customer, wasn’t he?
“If this is how Price Construction treats their clients, maybe it’s better if I go with another firm.”
Allie snorted and cocked one hip. Which wasn’t helping his attempts to not notice the delicious curves she’d acquired over the years. His cheeks and forehead felt as though they’d suddenly burst into flames.
“Suit yourself, pal.” Allie snatched her bag off the table and glared at him. “But good luck finding anyone else around here to handle this project on such short notice. There’s been a construction boom in the area. All of the other contractors in the region are just as slammed as we are. Rey sent me because I’m the best person to handle the design job. I’m also handling the project management because we are completely booked. If you’re too sexist, pigheaded and generally chauvinistic to recognize that you are incredibly lucky to get to work with me, then you don’t deserve the designs I’ve been working on day and night for the past three days. I’d say good luck, but we’d both know I don’t really mean it.”
Allie turned on her heel and strutted her fine ass toward the front door.
Vaughn groaned and cursed under his breath. “Allie...wait!” He followed her, grasping her hand before she could escape.
He could swear a bolt of electricity traveled up his arm and exploded in his chest. It was the kind of instant attraction he hadn’t experienced in a long time. A feeling that this jaded old rocker suspected he was incapable of anymore. But those butterflies eventually led to heartbreak and worse, they’d blown up his career.
Maybe you couldn’t teach an old dog new tricks, but he was damn well going to try. He had no intention of making the same mistake twice.
Allie swiveled around, her dark eyes filled with fire as she glared at him expectantly.
Little Allie Price had grown up to be fucking beautiful, smelled like heaven, and had full, lush lips that sent erotic fantasies about their feel and taste spiraling through his brain.
But gorgeous or not, friend or not, Vaughn needed this job done fast and done right. And whatever happened, he most definitely would not make a move on the still annoying little brat who’d apparently morphed into an incredible goddess.
Copyright © 2023 by Roxanne Ravenel