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faltered a little bit when she thought of the staff who no longer worked for her. While Cat hadn’t fired any of them, her move to small-town Cricket Creek, coupled with taking her career in a new direction, had her crew staying in Nashville. And honestly, Cat thought there likely was some pressure from her former record company for her staff not to follow her. This meant that her manager, personal assistant, and road manager were no longer working with her. Cat took a sip of coffee while feeling a little stab of guilt. She wasn’t just Cat Carson, country singer, but a franchise. A lot of people’s livelihoods had depended upon her success—probably the reason that Cat had taken one album too many to seriously consider making some life and career changes. She cared about all of them, which had made her final decision a difficult one.
    Cat stared down at her coffee and swallowed some emotion. She missed them, especially Amy Peterson, her personal assistant. Not only was Amy a sweet person, but she helped Cat keep her scatterbrained ways under control. Cat took solace in that she’d given them all glowing referrals, and the last she’d heard they had all found employment. In the meantime, the front desk secretary at My Way Records, Teresa Bennett, had taken on the task of keeping track of Cat’s mail, appointments, and personal appearances. She would have to eventually hire a new staff, but for now all she wanted to do wasconcentrate on her songs and get the opportunity to do more charity work, perhaps with Mia and her Heels for Meals in Cricket Creek. She also felt huge satisfaction from visiting fans going through a tough time. Just the month before she’d been a prom date for Colby Hughes, a high school football star diagnosed with leukemia. Putting a smile on Colby’s face made her legal troubles seem trivial.
    Cat knew that she was being portrayed as a stubborn star by Matt Stanford, president of Sweetside Records. He claimed she was difficult to work with and the tabloids were having a field day. His unfounded words hurt. Cat trusted in Matt as a father figure with her best interest at heart, but in the end all he cared about was money, not her as a person or artist.
    Although his unfair portrayal of her still stung, it only reiterated that she was doing the right thing by stepping back and reevaluating where her career was going. Being in the limelight came with the territory, but losing control of her creativity had made her feel as if the life was being sucked right out of her. Rick Ruleman of My Way Records understood. After a hit record, he’d been pigeonholed into hard-core rock and roll when his real love was ballads and bluegrass. Rick had lived a life pretending to be something he wasn’t, and Cat didn’t want the same scenario to happen to her. All she wanted was control of her destiny, and Rick had promised he’d hand the creative reins over to her.
    Just when Cat had decided to go out onto the deck to drink her coffee, she heard a knock at her front door. Her stomach did a funny little lurch when she wondered whether her visitor might be Jeff, since there weren’t too many other people it could be this early in the day. She glanced down at her attire and winced, but then squared her shoulders and headed toward the door. What did she care how she looked? She wasn’t about to let her judgmental neighbor get to her the way he did last night.
    Lifting her chin, Cat swung open the door so hard that she sloshed hot coffee onto her bare feet. “Oh . . . damn!” she blurted, and then felt heat in her cheeks when she glanced up at . . . Jeff. Of course he had the nerve to appear calm, cool, collected and oh so sexy in worn jeans and another faded flannel shirt.
    “Not the reception I was hoping for, but I guess I sort of deserve it,” Jeff admitted with a slight grin. He held up a tinfoil-covered plate. “I brought a peace offering in the form of homemade coffee cake.”
    “You baked a cake