Free Country Heaven by Ava Miles Page B

growled, “and put a stop to it.”
    “I think you should let me handle this.”
    “No. I brought her on. I’ll take care of it. Bury the rest of the story, Clayton. I don’t want anyone to start talking about Hollinswood and Meade.” His past fit his image about as well as if he’d decided to wear his old blue and white striped seersucker pants.
    “Don’t outright accuse her. There’s legal—”
    “Did we or did we not attend the same law school?”
    “You dropped out,” his friend reminded him. “I didn’t.”
    “It was three weeks before graduation. We’d covered everything by then.” And the memories of tort law and all of the other kinds of law he’d studied made him shudder. He was so glad those days were over.
    “Rye, I’m sorry about this, but let’s look on the bright side. Maybe this will help your image. It might be good for everyone to know why you responded to that man’s harassment like you did.”
    After ending the call, Rye yanked on a pair of jeans and a shirt. Maybe Clayton was right, but he frankly didn’t care. He didn’t want any talk surfacing about his past. His record label had done everything in the beginning to bury his roots, using their influence to shape his image into a low–country bad boy.
    All this talk did was churn up more hurt inside him.
    His past needed to stay buried where he’d left it.
    ***
    Tory was humming and removing cornbread from the oven when Rye walked into the kitchen. She had on a plain white apron over jeans and a green T–shirt.
    He studied her, still shocked by the thought that she’d probably sold him out. But what did he really know about her? While he was getting dressed, he’d come to the conclusion that she’d intentionally made those ribs Texas–scorching hot. Wasn’t that additional evidence that he’d pissed her off with his little speech in Minneapolis? Talking to the tabloids might have been another form of revenge, and Clayton was right. She did need the money.
    But it still didn’t fit with what he knew of her, with the way she’d treated him when he was feeling poorly. She’d been nice. She was nice. But still, he didn’t trust anyone except a handful of people who’d proven themselves to him time and again, and other than Georgia and Amelia Ann, there wasn’t a single woman in the mix. All the other women he’d known had tried to use him at some point.
    “Looks like you’ve made yourself at home, darlin’.”
    She turned to face him. “Don’t call me ‘darlin’,” she said, scrunching up her nose like she smelled something bad.
    “Honey, I’m from the South. I call every woman I meet darlin’. It’s not personal.” He waited a beat. “But it seems you might have something personal against me.”
    “Like what?” she asked, planting her hands on her hips.
    “I’m gonna ask you straight out, and I want the truth. Did you tell the tabloids that I was upset over a family matter on the day of the charity event?”
    Her mouth parted. “Of course not! I would never do that.”
    “Then do you want to tell me how they got wind of it? How an article saying that very thing was printed right after I pissed you off by using you for good PR?”
    “No, because I don’t know anything about it,” she said, eyes narrowed. “And I can’t believe you’re accusing me. I’ve been nicer to you than you deserve after everything you’ve done to me.”
    Studying her, he couldn’t detect a trace of deceit, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t there. “But you need the money, and when I told you that in the diner, it was the only time…” And then he trailed off. That waitress had been there too. Myra.
    “Don’t you even think it,” Tory said, making a chopping gesture with her hand. “Myra would never do that. She loves you.”
    He sighed deeply. “Well, Myra didn’t know to keep it secret, did she?” Rye mused. “You didn’t until I had you sign that confidentiality agreement.”
    Her hand trembled when she