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I love making her laugh.
Chapter Nine
Callie
“What do you mean you’re taking me to the main house? I’ve never even heard of a house referred to that way.”
“There are multiple houses on the ranch,” Wade says, walking beside me as we close in on the truck. “Each of my brothers has one—they’re all huge and extravagant. And to answer your question before you even bother to ask, no. I don’t have one there. I have no desire to live out on the ranch with them. I don’t see the need for such a thing. I don’t need the family money to have anything—and I don’t see the point in living near a family that doesn’t really include me.”
“They seemed really happy to see you, Wade,” I point out, thinking of the way his mom’s face lit up when he entered the room. “But I get it. I do.”
“Yeah, well, you just got here,” he huffs, opening up the front and back passenger side doors of the truck for Bear and I. “It’s not that they’re bad people. It’s just me.”
My brow creases. I don’t even know how to take what he just said, being that he seemed to be the distant one between them all. But then again, I don’t know what’s all transpired between them over the last several years.
“How far is the ranch from here?” I ask, changing the subject as he pulls out of the parking lot. “I could probably use a little time to work. I haven’t worked since we left Arkansas, and I know that’s only a couple days, but I have terrible writer’s block right now.”
He snaps his head over at me, so quickly that it nearly startles me. “Me, too.” He grins, his whole demeanor shifting back to normal. “I’ve gotta write an album and nothing is coming together for me.”
“You’re a rockstar, I didn’t think you wrote your own songs,” I admit, a little surprised by the common denominator between us. “But it’s good to be in the presence of another writer.”
“Yeah, I write about ninety percent of them. Can you sing?” Wade asks me, tilting his head. “You mentioned on the drive wanting to pretend to be a backup singer—that must mean you can sing, right?”
“Uh...” my voice trails off. “I can, but I’m not professionally trained or anything. I can’t even harmonize that well. Someone has to sing the notes for me first.”
“A lot of people are like that,” Wade says, his voice bright. “Will you sing for me?”
“What? No way,” I shake my head. “Why on earth would I sing for you? You should be the one singing for me.” I smirk. “What’s that one song of yours—oh yeah, Love, Sex, or Drugs. I think I’d like to hear that one. Serenade me, Wade.”
He presses his lips together in a straight line. “Well, first of all, I didn’t write that song. In fact, I hate that song—it’s trashy.” He laughs. “Also, why do you want to hear me sing? You already know what I sound like,” he reasons, speeding out onto the highway. “Besides, there’s nothing sexier than a woman with a good voice.”
“Yeah, I’m sure. But I’m not one of those women.” I laugh, feeling my heart sink. “Let’s be honest, you’re probably surrounded by beautiful women who can sing. You really don’t want me to ruin that for you. I mean, you could probably walk out on Broadway in Nashville, throw a rock, and you’d hit one.”
“True, but they’re not you,” Wade counters, his words sending me into all kinds of emotions. “I’m talking about you.”
“You said women,” I tease him.
“I meant you,” he shoots back, not even giving it another thought. “I just wanna hear you sing.”
“Okay, if you say so.” I take a breath and belt out the words to Happy Birthday, purposefully talking instead of singing.
The look on Wade’s face makes it all worth it. “You’re not actually singing, Callie—that’s more like talk-singing.”
“I told you I can’t sing,” I say with a shrug, giving him a smirk.
“You’re something else, Callie Walker.” He chuckles, shaking his head at me.
We ride in silence the rest of the way to the massive three-story ranch house sitting off a gravel road outside of Roberta, Texas. It’s a gorgeous house, but the real showstopper is the landscaping. The house is enveloped in a lush, green garden with winding pathways and large flower beds spilling over with beautiful blooms of every color imaginable. There are vibrant pink camellias, cheerful yellow roses, and even some rare white azaleas that seem to sparkle in the sunlight. It’s early autumn, and the leaves on the trees are just starting to turn, painting the landscape with shades of red, orange, and golden yellow.
Wade lugs our bags inside and I’m amazed at how the inside is just as freaking spectacular as the outside.
“I feel like I’m in a museum.” I gasp as I look around, the paintings are large and expensive. The massive grand entry staircase is a thing I’ve only seen in movies. It’s like a couture ranch.
He probably thought I was poor.
“This isn’t my style,” Wade remarks, completely unmoved by the sight. “Come on, our rooms are on the third floor.”
“The third floor,” I echo him as I climb the stairs in awe. “This is just crazy to me. How do you not get lost?”
