Page 3 of Trapped with the Growly Rock Star

“Can you walk?”

I nod again. Words areincrediblydifficult to find when this man is next to me.

“Then let’s get our butts inside. I can’t feel my goddamn face,” he snaps, wrapping his arm around me and leading me through the storm.

When we make it into the cabin, he removes his parka and boots, then helps me with my coat.

“Sheriff’s Department?” he asks, glancing down at the logo on my polo shirt. “Go sit by the fire and grab a blanket from the sofa. Warm yourself up,” he orders. “Then tell me what’s going on, Ms. Owens.”

“Call me Hallie,” I say, doing as I’m told.

The fireplace is massive, the sofa something straight out of a design magazine. I sit and remove my boots and wet socks as he leaves the room.

Lennox returns with two coffees and hands one to me. Our fingers brush, sending shivers through me that have nothing to do with the residual cold from the snow.

He sits next to me in a T-shirt and sweatpants, looking like a dream.

Except for that stupid scowl on his face.

“Let’s hear it, Hallie,” he says sternly, and my name in that rough voice sends pools of heat straight to my core, despite his gruff tone. “What is someone from the Sheriff’s Department doing out here?”

I take a deep breath, pulling the blanket tighter around my shoulders. “I need your autograph.”

If I thought he was scowling before, now he’s livid.

“You risked your life, falling from a fucking tree in the middle of a blizzard, for anautograph?”

“Yes, but?—”

“Unbelievable,” he scoffs, looking away. “Okay, once you get warmed up and finish your coffee, you need to leave. I should report you to the Sheriff himself. He gave me his word no one would know I was even here.”

“Please don’t, Mr. Steele,” I begin, my heart sinking. “He knows nothing of this. I found out on my own. I can be pretty ingenious when I want something.”

“So, stalking then?” he supplies dryly.

“Not stalking…” One of his dark eyebrows quirks up skeptically. “Notcompletely.” I sit up straighter. Crap. This is not how I envisioned this meeting would go, but I'm not one to back down easily. “I swear, if you want me to leave empty-handed, I will. But I had to try. The autograph’s not for me, it’s for my little sister, Ciara. She’s your biggest fan. She has JIA—chronic arthritis—and she’s had areallyshitty year. I heard you were in town, and I guess I hoped I could make her Christmas special with an autograph from her idol.”

A flash of different emotions—surprise, wariness, maybe mixed with a smidge of sympathy—crosses Lennox’s rugged features. He considers my words, his gruff exterior softening for a moment. “I’m sorry she’s had a rough year,” he murmurs quietly. “Sure. I'll sign something for your sister. But then you go on your way.”

Relief washes over me. “Oh, thank you so much, Mr. Steele! Ciara’s going to flip?—”

He waves me off. “Call me Lennox. Mr. Steele sounds like some vintage superhero, and I’m anything but that.”

I smile as he gets up to leave the room. “Back in a minute.”

While he’s gone, I look around curiously. The interior of the cabin is modern and luxurious, but it’s clearly a rental. The artwork on the walls is bland without any hint of personality. The only clue that a musician is staying here is the array of guitars—both acoustic and electric—scattered about, some music manuscript paper on chairs and side tables, and a keyboard set up so that when you play you face the huge floor-to-ceiling windows near the back of the house overlooking the snow-covered mountainside.

…The mountainside that is currently getting pummeled with snow. It’s piling up along the side of the house and the sky is crazy dark. Oh man. How am I going to get home inthat?

I’m taking a nervous sip of my coffee when Lennox returns with an old vinyl album of his and a pen.

He sits down next to me on the couch, tucking a long leg underneath him. “How do you spell your sister’s name?”

“C-i-a-r-a,” I say, as he scribbles something on the cover. Then he hands it to me.

My heart throbs as I take it. I recognize it as his debut album, Ciara’s favorite. “She’ll love it,” I murmur, running my fingers over the cover. “This will make her Christmas. Thank you again.” I look up to see him studying me with intense eyes.

“Even though I’m not condoning your methods, you took a risk for someone you love and I respect that. Not many people would have braved these conditions, even if it was for a very good cause.” He pauses. “Fame has taught me that kindness from others usually comes with a price.”

---