Read the first chapter of She's Country Strong before it's published

Chapter One

“Hell on Wheels” by The Pistol Annies

Damien “D.C.” Caldwell’s first thoughts after arriving in Whistle Cove were that this was not a bad place to be banished to. If he had to run anywhere in the world with his tail between his legs, a good bet was that he’d pick a beach town if all things were equal. Probably in Mexico where it was warmer. For a California beach town, the Monterey Bay nestled along the central coast was damn cold for a Texan. It had to be in the fifties this late summer morning.

D.C. parked and unloaded his one suitcase out of the luxury sedan rental. The job here shouldn’t take long. This was his very last assignment as a celebrity image fixer, and after this he’d be headed to the hot plains of Texas. Off the grid as far and as fast as he could get there. Frankly, he was sick of people. Entitled people. Talented people. Rich people.

But he didn’t discriminate. He was also sick of middle-class people. Young people. Old people. Hell, pretty much all people. He realized this didn’t endear him to many, but ask him if he cared. He did his job, was good at it, and received a handsome payday every time he succeeded. He’d been saving and investing wisely for years and had a decent nest egg to retire to his own cattle ranch at the age of thirty-two. This might be his easiest assignment yet, considering the setting, and he looked forward to heading back to Texas and the ranch he’d made an offer on.

“Checking in,” he said to the blonde young woman sitting behind the desk. A small country-western looking sign read: The Wilder Sisters Welcome You to Whistle Cove.

She stood and flashed him a toothy smile. “You must be Damien Caldwell. Welcome to Whistle Cove! I’ve got your room all ready.”

She exuded more enthusiasm than he was ready for at this time of the day, or any time of the day, but he would let that go. He understood she was part of the now defunct Wilder Sisters band and recognized her from all the photos of the CMA-winning, chart-topping band.

She was probably ecstatic he’d come to save her little sister’s butt. Said sister had really made a mess out of her life and career, not to mention her sisters’ careers, with her poor choices.

“Thanks.” He pulled out his wallet and handed over his license and credit card. If she was impressed by his Amex Black Card, she didn’t show it. Good thing he was long past the time of his life when he’d tried to impress women with money.

“Sabrina is so excited to meet you. Oh, I’m Jessie by the way. Jessie Wilder. I was the drummer. Always in the back.” She handed him a form to sign.

He nodded. “Call me D.C.”

“Well, D.C., we’ve put you in our very best room, the Sea Captain, and I think you’re going to love it. It’s got a wonderful ocean view, a new Jacuzzi in the bathroom, and a hand-picked selection of our area’s best wines. Wine and cheese hour is at four o’clock every day in the lounge.” She pointed. “Our large breakfast buffet starts at seven, and you let me know if you need anything!”

“Great. Where’s Sabrina?” he asked, signing the appropriate paperwork.

The sooner he got to work on repairing the girl-gone-wild image that had caused the lagging record sales, and thus the end of the Wilder Sisters act, the sooner he would get to Texas.

Jessie’s smile slipped off her face. “Um, I’m not sure?”

He narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean, you’re not sure?”

“I…I think she was expecting you this afternoon.”

“I’m here now.”

This was his tactic. He arrived earlier than anticipated so he could get a clear picture of exactly what he was dealing with and not just what his clients wanted him to know. Usually made his work go smoother.

“Um, okay, let me…let me just call her.”

Huh. Clearly big sister was covering. Not a good sign.

Jessie picked up a phone and dialed then waited with a frozen smile on her face. And waited. “I’ll…just leave her a message.”

“That’s not good enough. Give me her room number, and I’ll go find her.” If his voice was clipped and edgy, he couldn’t help that. He was beginning to smell a rat though he didn’t want to believe that this assignment was possibly going to take longer than he’d anticipated.

“She lives in one of the cottages around the B&B.” She handed him the map of the B&B property and pointed to an area in the back, not far from the parking lot. She circled a cottage.

“She there now?”

“Where else would she be?” Jessie lifted a shoulder.

D.C. held up his wrist and glanced at his watch. It was nine o’clock, and he’d dealt with his share of musicians who couldn’t rise before noon. But those days were over for little miss country. After dropping off his bags in his room upstairs, which was much nicer than he’d anticipated, D.C. headed to the cottage.

He knocked on her door. Once. Twice. Three times. Finally, the door opened, and a young woman with bed hair squinted at him. She wore a long tee that barely covered her thighs, thick socks, and nothing else. He realized this because her perky nipples were saluting him from behind the thin cotton of the worn tee. At any other time, this might have distracted him.

“Who are you?” she asked, pushing a lock of hair back.

Jesus. She looked sixteen, not twenty-six. “You always open the door to a stranger, kid?”

“You were knocking. A lot. And I have a headache, so I needed that to stop. Who are you, again?”

Shit. Was she hung over? He hadn’t been notified of any substances abuse problems but family sometimes got it wrong. The drinking and the partying would be over with today, but if there was an addiction involved, this assignment would go from two weeks to six months. Not happening. He considered informing her he was her worst nightmare, but that would be too off-putting, and he needed her to cooperate.

But why wouldn’t she want to revitalize her career and get back to Nashville? Her sister Lexi was already living there with her fiancé, Luke Wyatt, the latest country music sensation, and she wanted to get her little sister back in the business. He understood this was what Sabrina wanted, too. The jobs were always easier when his client cooperated.

“I’m Damien Caldwell. Luke Wyatt hired me. Get dressed and meet me in the breakfast area.”

“Okay.” She rubbed an eye. “When?”

“Now.”

“Now? But I just got up. I need to shower, I need to…have coffee.” Her voice got small and weak, leaving him to recognize all too well the pitiful sound of shame.

“Fine, do all that. Then meet me. I don’t have any time to waste. We need to get to work.” He hooked his thumb toward the B&B.

“Right.” She quietly closed the door.

D.C. had a bad feeling about this. Every one of his nerves went on high alert. Sabrina’s image needed an overhaul Luke had explained over the phone. She needed help dealing with the media in the wake of her sex scandal. The same one that had derailed the career of the Wilder Sisters band. Take a young girl and get her ready for a comeback since there was already interest in her brewing in Nashville. Easy job. Should have said no. Should have known better. Just his luck.

This wasn’t going to be easy or simple.

Not this girl.

Not easy at all.



“But we had a meeting set for this afternoon!” Sabrina complained to her sister Jessie on the other end of the phone.

She’d missed a call from Jessie just before the devil incarnate had arrived dressed like a billionaire in a business suit. Damien was the perfect name for him. Who was this dude? Where did he get off ordering her around and calling her a “kid”? He didn’t look that much older than her.

“Next time, answer your phone when I try to call and warn you!” Jessie said. “You’ll want to be nice to him. He’s here to help you.”

Their older sister, Lexi, wanted to help Sabrina get back to Nashville. This time, she’d be on her own since Lexi had joined Luke’s band, and Jessie was not interested in anything but running the B&B. For a real shot at a comeback, she needed to repair her image for her fans.

Big time. It had all been a huge misunderstanding anyway. Texting a photo of herself topless to a guy she’d thought she could trust had been an epic mistake. Huge. Not that she wasn’t used to making them, but boy that one was a doozy. She thought she’d never live it down. Blowing up her career was one thing, but she’d torpedoed her sisters’ careers, too.

Sabrina missed singing and dancing. Performing. Missed the true-blue fans who’d never turned on her. But now, she was a little scared. Right after the photo had surfaced, she’d been hurt that someone had played her. Hurt was quickly followed by dismay that she, who’d only slept with one man in her entire life, had been slut shamed by the media. Anger followed dismay.

And she’d been afraid since the first hate mail had started to come in. It had been her first look at how horrible some people could be to complete strangers. She didn’t understand how her life, and a bad choice she’d made, had made people she didn’t even know irate. She understood her sisters being angry, Gram and her mother, too. Instead, they’d rallied to her corner, being supportive even if she’d let everyone down.

Coming back to their hometown of Whistle Cove was what they’d all needed. Together, she and her sisters had worked at the B&B that had originally been run by their grandmother Wilder. Now Gram was semi-retired, dating Sir Clint, a British Clint Eastwood lookalike, and playing golf in Carmel. Lexi was back in Nashville. Mom kept saying she would move up from Palm Springs, but that hadn’t happened yet.

Sabrina was told she’d get a makeover of some kind. Image repair by an expert. Sabrina didn’t like the idea of being repackaged and refurbished like some kind of product. Or a car. But she’d go through all the hoops because if that’s what got her back to singing, that’s all that mattered.

She showered, dressed, and made a cup of coffee in the kitchen. Just enough to get her to the buffet where she’d load up on the stuff. Getting up before noon was for the seagulls. Or squirrels.

Her small cottage was similar to her sister Jessie’s in that it was one of the former service personnel housing. She had a small living area with French doors that separated the one small bedroom, a kitchen in the rear of the house, and one bathroom. It was perfect for one person, and for now, it suited Sabrina’s needs.

The only issue was closet space. She had quite a wardrobe, accumulated over years of performing, even if she hadn’t used any of those clothes in a while. Mostly this past year, she’d used disguises. For a while, the paparazzi had hounded her, trying to get a photo of naughty Sabrina “in seclusion.” Thank goodness that was mostly behind her, and no one had bothered her in a while. Still, the costumes were actually fun at times. A little like performing.

A few minutes later, she entered the large breakfast area that had one floor-to-ceiling window facing the ocean. She saw Damien sitting alone at a table near the window, wearing a blue button up with the sleeves rolled up, revealing sinewy, strong forearms. She’d been surprised by how tall and imposing he was, like a football player and not a corporate drone. His Rolex watch caught a ray of sunlight just now spilling through the fog. Clearly, like her, he liked bling and could afford to have some. In-te-res-ting.

She sat in the chair across from him, and he gazed at her from under long dark eyelashes.

He took in her outfit and went from zero to sixty in seconds. “What the hell is that?”

“What do you mean?” She glanced at her outfit.

“Is this some kind of a joke?” His sensual upper lip curled to the side, and his rather impressive jawline tightened to granite.

“Don’t you like it?”

She might have been pushing his buttons to wear her hippie costume, complete with blue tinged shades and white platform boots. But hey, he’d asked for it by barking at her before noon.

“Let me get one thing straight with you right now. I’m here to help, but if you don’t want my help, tell me, and we’ll both save ourselves a little time.”

“Okay. I’m sorry, I—”

How to tell him that she’d started dressing in costumes when she was such a reviled person that she hated being recognized? And yes, it had been fun for a while. A little bright ray of light in the darkness that had been her life when everyone hated her. Plus, she didn’t think she looked that awful in this. He ought to see her pilgrim lady costume.

“Do you want my help, kid?” Though framed as a question, he made it sound more like a demand.

“Absolutely.” She nodded her head vigorously. “I sure do.”

And don’t call me kid. She’d save that for later. He didn’t look receptive to suggestions from her at the moment.

“All right.” He stirred his coffee and met her gaze.

His eyes and short wavy hair were dark, a chocolate brown that reminded her of brownies. She didn’t know why because he didn’t look sweet. At all.

“Were you drinking last night?” he asked.

“What? No!”

“Any drugs?”

“Of course not!”

Despite her denials, with no warning, he reached across the table, took her elbows in his big hands, and then examined her arms. He was…looking for needle tracks? Who did this man think he was dealing with? She was a Wilder, from the sweet and clean country music band that had won CMA awards and topped the charts. Make one little mistake and suddenly she was a heroin addict?

She pulled her arms back. “What are you doing?”

“Can’t ever be too careful. You looked a little hungover this morning. And if you were an addict, I’d have to cancel this assignment.”

She scowled. “Well, I hope you’re happy now that you’ve manhandled me!”

Sabrina shifted a little in her seat, hating the sensation of being weighed and measured by this dude. It probably didn’t much matter what he thought of her, since he simply had a job to do: shape her up into someone Nashville would want to work with again. It had something to do with image and learning how to deal with the press after her little “incident.”

Having been a country music girl since she was a real kid, she liked casual and flirty. Boots and flip-flops. Skirts and jeans. Beachy. She didn’t know what he had in mind and hoped he wasn’t going to mold her into a Pretty Woman clone. That just wasn’t her.

“So what do I have to do?”

“You have to listen to me. Do everything I tell you to do with no arguments. We’ll be fine then.”

She sucked in a breath. “Wow. Okay. Whatever you say, Damien.”

Talk about a power trip. Plan to take over the world much, Damien?

“Call me D.C. Everyone does.”

“Humph.” She preferred Damien, son of the devil. Fitting.

“I’ll let you have tonight off. Tomorrow morning, we get started. Meet you bright and early, seven o’clock,” he said.

“Seven? You mean in the morning?”

There was the look again, scary calm, like he might strangle her. “Yes.”

She hated mornings. She would hate them even more with this guy riding her every step of the way.
But if this was what she had to do to get back to performing, she’d do everything the devil in a business suit said.