Jacob's Ladder: Gabe (Jacob's Ladder #1)

A barrage of emotions came over Gabe’s face—anger, fear, sadness, panic—before he finally settled on frustration. While I expected a much harsher response, he merely replied, “Thank you for hearing me out.” He then rose to his feet and calmly walked out of my office.

Once he was gone, I collapsed back into my chair. I brought my hands to my head, which was swimming from my encounter with Gabe. What the hell just happened? Had I done the right thing in turning him away? Had I let my past with Ryan sabotage me in the present? “Yeah, keep blaming yourself, Rae. I’m pretty sure Gabe is the one at fault here,” I muttered to myself.

“…there’s not a doubt in my mind that you are my muse, Rae.” Gabe’s voice echoed through my mind. He had been able to write a song for the first time in months. I told him off and left him to fend for himself in the backwoods, and somehow because of all of that, he’d written a song.

A song.

After what had just occurred, there was no way I was going to be able to concentrate on my work, at least not until I headed over to Harts and Flowers and unburdened myself to Kennedy and Ellie. Grabbing my keys, I headed for the door.





For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, Reagan Hart had annihilated me. Of course, I had no one but myself to blame. I had been a glutton for punishment by attempting to see her a second time.

When I started out of Rae’s office and into the service center, I bumped into someone. “Ow,” they cried. Realizing none of the men around would say ow, I glanced behind me. A kid was rubbing his head where I must have beaned him with my elbow.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

As I resumed stalking out of the service center, the boy called “Hey Mr. Renard!”

I whirled around. “What do you want, Opie?”

His dark brows knitted together. “Uh, my name’s not Opie.”

“I didn’t think it was.”

“Then why did you call me that?”

“It’s called sarcasm, kid.” When he continued to give me a blank look, I added, “’Cause you’re a small-town kid like Opie off The Andy Griffith Show.”

“The show in black and white that my Papa watches?”

“That’s the one.”

Opie extended his hand, which I reluctantly shook. “My name’s Linc. Well, it’s really Lincoln, but everybody calls me Linc.”

“Good to know.”

Even though I picked up my pace, he fell in step beside me. “Do you really want to hang out with Rae?”

“I must be crazy as hell, but yeah, I do.”

“But she turned you down flat.”

“How do you know that?”

He gave me a sheepish grin. “I was standing outside her office while you guys were talking.”

“So you’re not only nosy, you’re also a creeper.”

“I didn’t mean to listen. I was waiting for my grandpa.”

“Is there a point to you telling me you’re a snoop?”

Linc nodded. “I was thinking you need a middle man to get on Rae’s good side.”

After the last twenty-four hours of rejection and runaround, my patience was wearing extremely thin. “Kid, I don’t have time for games.”

“It’s not a game, I swear.”

“Then what?”

Linc cocked his head. “If I could get Rae to hang out with you, would you do something for me?”

“You’re serious?”

“Yes sir.”

Crossing my arms over my chest, I said, “And what mystical power do you have over Rae that would make her want to hang out with me?

Linc grinned triumphantly. “I’m her son.”

Holy shit. Rae had a kid? I’d never even stopped to think that she might be a mom, but it went without saying that she was definitely a MILF. Now that I knew Linc was Rae’s son, I could see the resemblance. “How old are you?”

“I turn ten next month.”

“She doesn’t look old enough to be your mom,” I remarked, more to myself than to Linc.

“She was seventeen when I was born.”

“That explains it.” So Rae had been a teen mom before MTV had made it cool.

Scratching my chin, I narrowed my eyes at Linc. “If you know your mom doesn’t want to hang out with me, why are you willing to help?”

“I want a favor.”

“What kind of favor?”

“You see, my mom has this thing about musicians.”

I snorted. “Yeah, I kinda got that.”

“I’ve begged her for a guitar, but she keeps telling me no.” Jerking his chin at me, he said, “That’s where you come in.”

“You want me to get you a guitar?” Of all the things the kid could have asked me for—concert tickets, money, expensive gadgets—I couldn’t help being slightly surprised that he’d asked for a guitar.

Linc nodded. “It doesn’t have to be one of yours or one that costs a lot of money. I just need one to learn on. You see, my friend’s older brother has been teaching me chords and stuff, but I don’t have a guitar to practice on at home.”

“Let me get this straight: you want me to go against your mother’s wishes and give you a guitar so you can smooth things over for me to hang out with her?”

“Exactly.”

“Damn, kid. That sounds a little devious to me.”

Linc’s expression saddened. “Didn’t you ever want something so bad you were willing to do anything to get it?”

“Well, yeah, of course I have.”

“Then can’t you see my point?”

“Yeah, but it’s—”

“I make all As at school, even in math which I’m no good at. I always clean my room and make my bed. I never get into any trouble at school or at home.”

“That’s quite a sell job you’re doing there. I had no idea I was in the presence of such perfection,” I mused.

He grimaced. “Okay, sometimes I get in trouble because I forget things, like when my homework is due.”

“Ah, so you aren’t perfect.”

“You see, my mom’s afraid if I start playing guitar and get in a band, I’m going to turn into a shit like my dad.”

Bingo. I was about to get some insight on Rae’s ex-files. “Your dad’s a musician?

Linc nodded. “At least he was when he and my mom were together.” He shrugged. “I don’t know what he is now ’cause I’ve never met him.”

No wonder Rae hated rockers—she’d been knocked up and abandoned by one when she was just a kid. That would certainly be enough to turn you off to them, as well as leading you to reject any offers to be one’s muse.

“Please, Mr. Renard.”

“Give me a minute to think.” When it came down to it, getting the kid a guitar wasn’t the issue—I had three back at my apartment in Atlanta. It was the problem of going behind his mom’s back. If Rae hated me now, she would be out for my blood when she found out I’d given her son a guitar. There would be no way in hell she would want to be anywhere near me, which would totally screw up my songwriting.

Maybe it would be possible to blow town before she knew what I’d done. I could stay in Bumblefuck for the next week or two, get enough songs for the album, and then get the hell out of dodge. Once Rae realized what I’d done, I’d be safely back in Atlanta.

“Okay, here are my conditions: you get me the hookup with your mom, then after a week or so when I’m done writing songs, I’ll get you a guitar.”

Linc mulled over my words. “How do I know I can trust you to deliver on the guitar? No offense, but I just don’t think your word is enough.”

Jesus, the kid drove a hard bargain. “Would you like me to sign something?”

“Like a contract?”