Mac’s Daring Heart: Sweethearts of Country Music, Book 6

by Layne, Sandi

  “Derek!”

  “No, no recent ex-anyones,” he clarified, trying not to smile at her indignation. “So, look. We should talk, maybe? In person. Tomorrow morning’s good for me if you can manage it.”

  Silence reigned for maybe the longest thirty seconds in his memory before she said, “Sure. How about breakfast? Brunch? You can come over here and I’ll cook, okay? Then we won’t have to be on the lookout for unwelcome guests.”

  “Ah, good point. Yes, sure. I can bring something if you want. Any preferences?” He didn’t want to go over empty-handed; he still wasn’t entirely sure about his footing with her, but he was feeling less uneasy now than he had been a few minutes ago.

  “Can’t think of anything right now, but if I do, I’ll text you.”

  * * *

  Micah Cunningham opened the door, his eyes narrowed until he took in what Derek was holding: a Starbucks carryout container. “No way,” Mac’s twin said in a rough voice. “You got it? The grande quad non-fat no-whip mocha?” Chuckling softly, Mike took the coffee order and got out of the doorway. “You are my favorite person right now. I can’t believe you got it. To be honest,” he said, bringing the brown container up and smelling the drinks appreciatively, “I made mine super complicated just to annoy the womb-mate.”

  “If I weren’t here trying to be nice, I’d deck you,” Derek retorted. “What do you normally get?”

  “Frappuccino. The ones in the bottles they sell in grocery stores are just not the same.”

  “A Frappuccino. And you had me get this insane order?”

  Mike held up a hand as they reached the stainless-steel kitchen with its granite counters. “That is not insane. Check Buzzfeed. Someone on there did a survey of insane Starbucks items. Mine barely made it to the page.”

  “I am so sorry!” Mac’s voice floated down from the upper level of the loft apartment. “Micah can be such a jerk.”

  “Says the woman who has to have raw sugar in her coffee.” Mike made a dramatic eye-roll as he unpacked the coffees. “She is so picky.”

  Derek eyed the order receipts on the cups, letting himself relax into the very normal comfort of what was clearly a family brunch for the twins. “She just ordered a caramel mocha with raw sugar, Mike, so she’s a lot less complicated than you.”

  “Should I take that as a compliment?” Mac stepped carefully down the wrought-iron, spiral staircase that dropped her off at the edge of the kitchen counter.

  Derek couldn’t answer for a moment as he looked at her. It had been weeks since he’d seen her in person, and he was kicking himself. She was under his skin, yes, and he had the feeling it was going to be permanent. It wasn’t until Mike cleared his throat and shoved Derek’s cup of coffee into his hand that he realized he’d been staring.

  She looked amazing, from the thick brown braid over her shoulder to the red-tipped toes of her bare feet. She wore a sheer floral shirt over a white tank top and white jeans, and he couldn’t tear his eyes from the uncertainty of her expression. Even as he made an effort to sip at his Breve Doubleshot.

  “Hey,” they said. Simultaneously. Instead of smiling like he always did when that happened, he felt a twinge of pain in his chest. He’d missed this. Had he been truly thinking of letting it go? Letting her go?

  Mike handed his sister her coffee before saying, “So! Breakfast?”

  “Right! Um, thanks for the coffee, Derek,” Mac said, her cheeks obviously flushed. Derek wondered if she was embarrassed due to her brother’s recollection of the reason for this little get-together or if it had to do with reasons far more personal. “I’ve got kind of a basic brunch thing prepped and ready to go. Hope that’s okay?”

  “Absolutely,” he assured her. “I didn’t know you could cook,” he added with what he hoped she understood to be a teasing grin.

  It was confusing and unsettling, really, how he was feeling that morning. Before the Michael-Moment, as he’d dubbed the press interlude during their picnic weeks before, he and Mac had communicated effortlessly, it seemed to him. They laughed at the same things, spoke at the same time, and the chemistry was evident even over the phone. It was his own fault things had become awkward; he knew that. He had to make it right.

  He really did.

  Mike did a quick number on his complicated coffee order before tossing the cup on the counter. “Hey, Bambi?”

  “Someday, I will figure out a way to get you to stop calling me that,” Mac shot back, eyeing her twin from under a lowered brow. “What?”

  “Is there enough of your stuff, there, for me to take a plate to Beth? I thought I’d clear out so y’all can, ahem, talk.”

  Derek wanted to pull at the open collar of his denim shirt, but he settled for a quick, restless tug at the hem of it where it draped out over his tan chinos. Casual brunch attire, he figured, even for being in someone’s home for a private kind of meal.

  Privacy with Mira Cunningham. Could it really happen?

  She told Mike that she could bag up two meals, “But you’d better bring back the plates or you will be sorry.”

  “Anything I can do to help?” Derek inquired, looking about the kitchen as Mac swiftly laid out fresh brown eggs, some pre-made rounds of dough, sliced vegetables and three covered bowls of different grated cheeses.

  “I’m making breakfast pizzas. So, yes, this is an assembly line and you can totally help.” Her smile was, finally, bright and beautiful, lighting up the entire kitchen in a way that the sun streaming in from the huge living room windows utterly failed to do for him.

  They baked the crusts for just a few minutes before adding layers of their preferred breakfast pizza toppings. Banter bounced back and forth between the three of them and Derek felt the pressure in his chest ease as Mac’s smiles became more frequent, her teasing more playful, and the threat of a food fight made her giggle. When the pizzas were done, Mike dug out some glass pie plates and covered them before putting them in something that looked like a picnic basket.

  “Wait, you’ve got a picnic basket?” Derek wanted to know.

  In the process of layering dirty cookware into the sink, Mac looked at him over her shoulder, her hazel eyes alight. “Yep. We like picnics.” Her expression faltered in the instant before she turned back to the sink and flipped on the faucet.

  “Good luck,” Mike murmured under the sound of running water. “I mean that.”

  In just a few minutes, Derek had to take a fortifying breath as he and his hostess settled at a small square table made of what looked to be reclaimed wood on a steel base. The table was, like basically everything in the place, of top quality without being at all ornate. Kind of like the lady herself. “Smells fantastic,” he heard himself say.

  She smiled at him and flipped a cloth napkin over her lap. “You helped!” They started on their pizzas in companionable silence, but she broke it before too long. “This is killing me, I gotta say.”

  Uncomfortable edges of thought sent jagged paths throughout Derek’s awareness. “The pizza?” At her half-annoyed stare, he shrugged. “Sorry. Yeah. So . . . I’ve missed you.”

  “You, too.” Abandoning her pizza, she slid over a small bowl of fresh fruit and stabbed a bit of pineapple with a fork. “I’ve never had to deal with this before.”

  “This?”

  “What we have? What would you call it?” Her cheeks flared with heat again and he took a long swallow of his cooling coffee while she recovered her poise. “Stupid, maybe, to be thinking it has a name.” She snorted. “It could be a song, you know?” She slipped into a spoken-song cadence.

  “Saw him at my front door one day. Smile as bright as all the sky.

  Started talking and we laughed all the night away. And then I had to say goodbye.

  Don’t know what’s come over me. Don’t know if I want to know.

  All I know is that it makes me happy and sad inside,

  Every time I come and every time I go.”

  This time it was his face that burned with emotion. He
swallowed. Hard. “Wow. That was. Wow. Mira-Mira on the Wall, who’s got the best ideas of all?”

  “Stop it,” she muttered, grabbing her coffee as if it were a pillow to hide behind.

  He had to go to her. She’d said all that and all he had was Wow? No. With slow, deliberate movements, he stood and came around the small table, hand outstretched.

  “You’re brilliant. Gifted. I know you don’t write music,” he went on, drawing her up to her feet and pulling her into a light embrace such as they’d never yet shared, really. Her lips parted and her eyes went wide as they seemed to hold his own in their golden green depths. “But you have a soul that brings it out of you and shares it. Even with idiots like me who don’t know quite how to handle all that you are.”

  Brown brows furrowed. “No, you’re just not used to it. Heck, I’m not used to it.”

  “I want to try.” It was a statement of intent, sure, but he’d known as soon as he’d seen her text in the earliest hour of the day that he was going to make it. “I’ll just need some help.”

  “Okay,” she whispered. Her focus dropped to his mouth and he felt his stomach relax a bit as he gathered her even more closely to himself. “So will I, you know. The girls have all had to do this to one degree or another.”

  “Mm-hmm.” Her skin was soft as he moved one hand to lightly cup her throat. So soft beneath his thumb. Her pulse danced under his touch and he leaned in slowly, making sure she was cool with what he was doing.

  He heard her take a shallow breath. “You should come to a rehearsal. Meet everyone.”

  “I will. Hush,” he said as she seemed about ready to speak again.

  “Make me,” she taunted.

  So he did. Sliding his lips along her jaw at first, he almost laughed in sheer appreciation when she caught his jaw in her hands and brought him front and center. And then, he felt the flower-petal softness of her lips, the way her whole body melted into his almost immediately, and the sigh she made as he flicked his tongue lightly over her mouth.

  It was the best first kiss in the history of first kisses, he was pretty sure. And when it ended, he pressed her firmly against his chest, uncaring that she’d feel the racing of his heart. “Sorry for freaking out about it all,” he murmured into her hair.

  She laughed; no tension evident anywhere in her entire body. “Forgiven. So long as you promise not to do it again without me, okay?”

  “Deal.”

  * * *

  INTERLUDE VI

  Micah & Derek

  Micah: Do I have to punch you, now?

  Derek: She’s smiling, so I think we’re good. No violence.

  Micah: Good! So, we need to talk business, then. Who handles your portfolio?

  Derek: Wait! Whoa. Not on the phone

  Micah: Right. I’ll make an appointment.

  Derek: Thanks.

  Micah: You guys and me and Beth oughta go on a double date. Beth is kind of weirded out that my sister’s in a band.

  Derek: Sure! We’ll have to coordinate with Mac’s schedule, though. The CMA Fest is coming up soon and she said she’s going to be real busy.

  Micah: That OK with you?”

  Derek: We live in the 21st Century, Mike. FaceTime is our thing.

  Micah: I do NOT wanna know!

  * * *

  Mac & C.C.

  Mac: I want to invite Derek to a rehearsal or a studio hour or something. So he can get a better feel for everything besides getting pounced on by the press.

  C.C.: So . . . you’re an item, now?

  Mac: Haven’t got a name on it, but yeah. :-)

  C.C.: Congrats! You were the last one, you know.

  Mac: I know, I know. The pressure was intense! LOL

  * * *

  Derek & Andrew

  Andrew: Hey, Derek

  Derek: Hey! How’s married life?

  Andrew: Don’t know why I waited so long, to be honest.

  Derek: Lynda is a very patient woman.

  Andrew: I know it! Which brings me to the reason I had to get in touch with you.

  Derek: ??

  Andrew: Mira. Micah said you two were dating.

  Derek: Not another obligatory threat, Andy? C’mon. I know, okay?

  Andrew: Just a caution. She’s never been really stable in terms of her goals and all that, and I know that you’ve always been a planner.

  Derek: So?

  Andrew: Be flexible, man, that’s all.

  Derek: I’ll start a Pilates class Monday.

  Andrew: I’m serious! I don’t want either of you the worse for wear when it’s over.

  Derek: When? Thanks for the vote of confidence, Cunningham.

  Andrew:

  Derek: . . .

  Andrew: Sorry. I didn’t know it was anything more than a spring fling or something. I know you wouldn’t disrespect Mira, Derek. Don’t get me wrong. But I guess Lynda and I figured on someone else for you, is all.

  Derek: That is part of the plan.

  7

  “You’re nervous,” Derek murmured over her head as they got out of her car at the studio. There were recording rooms here, but also rehearsal rooms, soundproofed to a fare-thee-well, and Outlaws was a small enough group that the accommodations were sufficient.

  Mac hefted her gig bag over her shoulder and met Derek’s eye. “Who, me? Okay, maybe a little.”

  “Why?”

  She shook off his hand as he tried to be all gentlemanly and carry her gear for her; she honestly never let anyone take her stuff in unless they’d had her own personal Equipment Seminar. And anyone who played roadie for the band had had her equipment seminar. “Okay, so you said you’ve read about us, right?”

  “Yeah.” He reached a glass door and opened it for her. “And?”

  She entered and lowered her voice so that it would only reach his ear as they paused after the door closed on the air-conditioned bliss of the studio. “Everyone’s paired off in the last year or so, and they’ve been kind of waiting for the other shoe to drop for me. Only single chick in the band and all that.”

  He cleared his throat and made a formal gesture as if he were dusting off a tuxedo. Since he was wearing his usual button-down shirt and chinos, it was kind of amusing. She smiled at him, sighing happily to see the artificial lights catch in his richly hued hair and loving that he’d left her a bit of scruff to swoon over that day. Impulsively, she set down one bag and reached up to brush her fingertips along his jaw. Sandpaper was sexy. It really was.

  “You’re too good to me,” she murmured with a smile.

  He caught her hand and held it there against his skin, his smile tangible as well as visible. “Same goes, hon. Same goes.” After brushing a quick kiss on the inside of her wrist—which made her insides melt a little—he let her hand go. “So? You’re not single anymore, are you?”

  The question caught at her breath, holding it in a soft grip as she studied his dark brown eyes. “I guess not.”

  He grinned, that warm grin that sent heat right through her. “Good. So, introduce me!”

  She opened the door to their assigned workspace for the day, and every single pair of eyes focused on the tall, handsome redhead who followed her. “Everyone, this is Derek Blakemore. Derek, this is everyone.”

  Laughter layered the room before the girls took a moment to shake his hand. Of course, Derek knew who was who; he followed them all on social media, he had read up on the band’s origins, and he’d heard her talk about their sleep patterns and quirks over the past several weeks. So, when Rissa approached him, eyes twinkling, he could address her by name and she did the same.

  Mac offered C.C. a playfully warning look, though. “Be nice, Ceece. Derek, this is Cecilia.”

  Derek nodded respectfully. “Never insult the drummer,” he quipped. He shook her hand briefly, and Mac appreciated that he gave her friend plenty of personal space.

  “You can pull up a chair over there in the corner,” Mac suggested, nodding to a simple wooden chair that looked as if it bel
onged in a decades-old elementary school. He did and she smiled once again at him before getting set up to rehearse. This involved unpacking the gig bag, communing with the amp, and checking in with C.C. before doing a quick set of chords to make sure all was well with her Ibanez. A low-level chaos reigned over the room while each member of the band did the same, more or less. Sound check for Katie Lyn’s mic, the background mics for the rest of them, shared or not shared, the mufflers on the drum set, Cinnamon’s banjo twanged through a warm-up routine, Taylor on the piano, and Rissa on her own acoustic.

  Mac remembered to check in visually with Derek, exchanging a smile and nod as he gave her a Wow! face complete with an open-mouthed smile and delight flashing in his eyes. She hoped he’d still feel that way in an hour when they’d gone over the same six bars of music or whatever the needs would be for the session.

  Val got everyone’s attention and they focused on her. “All right! So. Mac, the Instagram Insta-moment thing you did at the Wild Horse was a hit, so bring your phone onstage again. Lots of shares and congratulations and we sold a record number When Karma Comes Calling tracks. Good call.”

  Mac nodded and tried not to blush. “Glad it was a good thing. It’s okay to do it at Misses-Sip, then?” Misses-Sip was a new country music festival that had asked them to be their featured performers, as it was a festival geared to showcase the talents of female-led groups. Mac thought the festival organizers were also trying to draw people in with other entertainment. There would be an emphasis on locally crafted spirits and there were rumors of a barbecue taste-off happening as well.

  For an inaugural year, it was good to have different draws, Mac figured.

  Val waved her phone, which she used almost incessantly during rehearsals. “I checked. They want us to take audience shots and so on, hoping to get a better search engine rating with a lot of hits.” Mac was tickled that Lipstick Outlaws would get to appear at the venue before the CMA Fest in June. It would be like a dress rehearsal, as it took place barely a week before the signature Nashville event that would bring their band a huge number of new listeners and, hopefully, new fans. “If you do what you did last time, you’ll be fine.”