Free Shameless by Ann Major

because of her early losses and pain, she couldn’t trust him or herself or their love. Some part of her thought it would all go away. Still, she couldn’t stop her feelings for him any more than she could stop the music in her soul. It was as if he’d claimed a part of her, and she’d never be free again.
    If she let this go any further, they’d fall in love all over again. Someday she would have to choose. If they stopped now, maybe they wouldn’t have to hurt each other again.
    She studied the hollows beneath his cheekbones. She caught the faint scent of laundry detergent from his freshly washed shirt. She wanted him so much, she ached. And she loved the wild loneliness of his ranch.Maybe he really was tired of war. Well, she was definitely tired of lousy gigs and cheap apartments with rented furniture. It was so nice here with him where she felt safe, where he made her feel beautiful and special. But was he enough for a girl like her? Wouldn’t her dream always be there between them? Would the bright lights beckon her again after a few more months?
    Confused and lonely as she was, it would be too easy to lead him on, to live here under his protection until she felt safe and had enough money to pursue her real dream, which had always been singing. But she wanted him. Oh, how she wanted him.
    She stared at his dark, tanned face, into his wild silver eyes that carved out her soul. In this moment she wanted him even more than she could ever imagine wanting to be a star. But when he leaned down and tried to kiss her again, she shook her head sadly and bit her lip.
    Lifting her guitar from the rocker, she began to sing to him, “Without you, I’m on the road to nowhere…”
    â€œSo that’s how it is!”
    â€œThat’s how it has to be,” she whispered.
    â€œMaybe we’re both on the road to nowhere.” He lashed out, suddenly angry at her rejection. “When you came back—you put me in hell. Did you know that? You think I’m made of iron? That I’m some kind of cold-blooded killing machine?”
    â€œI didn’t mean for it to be like that.”
    â€œYou’re so damned beautiful. So damned sweet. You! It’s always about you! Stay away from me—you hear!”
    He stomped into the house and slammed the door so hard the whole house shook.
    â€œI’ve been trying to!” she yelled.
    Alone on the porch, she felt as if the big desolatelandscape had swallowed her alive. She sucked in a breath. Panic tore through her.
    â€œI—I didn’t want to hurt you. That’s the last thing I wanted.” She went to the door and then clenched her fingers and sank to the porch floor. “Why do we always end up hurting each other?”
    She put down her guitar and fought her tears.

Four
    P hillip turned the window unit in the kitchen up full-blast to drown out Celeste’s plaintive voice. When he could still hear her singing, he splashed two shots of bourbon onto ice in a short glass and quickly gulped it down, coughing when the stuff burned like acid. Not that he felt it as he began to pace.
    A message light blinked on his answering machine. Welcoming any distraction, he strode over to the phone and punched the play button. Justin Wainwright’s deep voice came on instantly. Justin was the local sheriff, and with Phillip’s help, he was investigating the cow killing that had terrified Celeste.
    â€œThanks for all your input, Westin. Afraid I still can’t pin that dead cow to the Gonzalez character you mentioned even though the FBI is taking your concerns very seriously. The feds are sending an agent to check outour theory about Gonzalez smuggling guns out of Mission Creek—”
    Phillip deleted the message, turned the machine off and moved toward the air conditioner so he could watch Celeste through the window. Her golden head was lowered over her guitar, and he realized she was crying as she sang