There were probably already a dozen cars in the drive when Marty Donahue maneuvered her old red RV far to the edge of the asphalt lane. Wow. Somebody must be having a party.
Marty couldn't hold back a snort. Why was she surprised? After all, this home did belong to Jake Stryker, bad boy superstar of country music. And it's exactly what she'd been worried about when she took this job. If this guy lived up to his reputation, she would never have any peace and quiet while she worked.
A big orange cat rose in the passenger's seat, arching his back and eyeballing his mistress with his one good eye. Marty had no idea how he'd lost the other one. He'd been like that when he forced his way into her RV at a home in Nebraska where she'd been painting a mural. He'd never left her, keeping her company as she traveled from job to job in Big Red.
"Well, Gruff, it looks like it's going to be as bad as I expected. It's a damn good thing he's paying me big bucks and those kids have a sad story or I'd say goodbye faster than I'd say hello." She reached out and scratched between his ears, earning herself a head rub and a deep, rumbling purr.
Really it was because of the kids' story she'd taken this job. When Sarah Sawyer, a former client, had called her and told her the job was for Jake Stryker, her immediate answer had been no. She wasn't crazy about most men, and she especially disliked musicians. Her father had been in a not-very-successful rock and roll band, always on the road, spending more time partying than he did making music. He spent most of his money on drugs, booze, and other women, leaving her mother to basically raise her child alone. When he had died from a drug overdose when Marty was 13, she wasn't surprised.
But when she'd heard the story of the 4-year-old twins who had lost their mother due to domestic violence her heart was touched. Their father had beaten their mother to death right in front of them. Those poor babies. If she could bring some joy into their lives with her paintings then she needed to do that.
Since no one had seemed to notice her arrival, she took a few minutes to freshen up. She was tired. She'd driven here from Chicago and her head was aching. She pulled the band from her ponytail and shook it loose, running her fingers through her mass of red-gold waves. Quickly she drew a hairbrush through it then added a dash of lipgloss. She certainly wasn't out to impress Stryker, but he was her client. She ought to at least look presentable when she met him.
She hadn't been supposed to arrive until tomorrow but finished up her job in Chicago early and headed out. She'd texted Stryker but hadn't heard back from him, so here she was at nine o'clock at night not even knowing if she was expected.
She stepped out the door and stretched her back. It had been a long drive from Chicago to Tennessee. The deep blue cotton sundress she wore was wrinkled but it would have to do. She wasn't going to put on a show for this guy. He'd just have to take her as she was.
Marty had to stop and admire the setting. The big log house stood before her, two stories tall in the center then long and rambling. A wide porch wrapped around the building, rocking chairs and wooden benches adorned with blue and white checked cushions placed invitingly here and there. The yard was park-like, broad and expansive with beds of blooming flowers scattered here and there and tall trees gracefully towering overhead. From here she could see several log outbuildings, including a barn where horses were housed.
Well, she may not admire Jake Stryker, but she did admire his taste in residences. The place was gorgeous, especially with the sun just beginning to set, shimmers of rose and coral ribbons tinting the western sky. Even as she surveyed the vista a deer and two fawns made their way across the pasture, seemingly without fear. Her breath caught in her throat as she watched the delicate creatures tiptoe across the field and disappear into the woods.
Straightening her shoulders Marty started up the walk. Time to meet the bad boy of country music. She couldn't help but roll her turquoise eyes at the thought. Might as well get this over with.
Marty rang the bell and got no response so she raised her hand and knocked. Still nothing. She was just getting ready to rap again when the door jerked open. A huge redheaded man loomed before her, a beer mug in one hand, a blast of music coming from behind him.
Before she could speak the big guy beat her to it.
"Hello, darling. Jake said no strippers, but I guess he was just joshing us." He ran his eyes eagerly over her figure. "You may be little, but you sure are pretty. Come on in." With that, he grabbed her wrist and tugged her so forcefully into the house that her feet threatened to fly out from under her. "Hey, fellas, guess who's here? Stryker was bullshitting us after all. It's a stripper!"
Marty tried to resist, she honestly did, but this guy was an unstoppable force. Her feet barely touched the floor as he pulled her along, pulling her across a massive living room. She had time to note a huge river rock fireplace, hardwood floors, and cathedral ceilings towering overhead before she was dragged down to a big lower level game room filled with men. Lots and lots of men.
She looked around, her eyes round and panic threatening to shut off her air supply when she didn't see another female in sight. Holy crap! Who were all these males with beers in their hands and smoke coiling around their heads?
Marty found herself pinned beneath the curious gazes of more than a dozen men. They ogled her boldly, and a few of them let out catcalls and whistles. A couple of them rose to their feet and headed her way, eyeballing her like the grand prize at a turkey shoot.
Hot color suffused her cheeks and a sickening feel twisted in her gut. What the hell had she walked into? She flashed her gaze around the room. Stryker wasn't here. She'd seen enough pictures of the man that she knew she would recognize him. She was alone with a pack of drunken males who thought she was a stripper. Good God, what the hell should she do?