by Kait Nolan
It seemed he’d finally found a way to do it, and Abbey didn’t know what to do with that information. Would it be enough to make him feel worthy? To absolve him of the guilt he’d carried for so long?
“Sit right here with me, Butter Bean.”
Grateful for the distraction, Abbey took the chair beside Granddaddy, sliding her arm through his and tipping her head to his shoulder as the assembled musicians launched into a rendition of “Tennessee Whiskey”.
He laid his free hand over hers. “So is it real now?”
“Is what real?”
One gnarled finger traced over her ring. “The engagement.”
Startled, she straightened to stare at her grandfather. They hadn’t told him about it at all. He’d been deliberately excluded from the family meeting for fear he wouldn’t be able to keep the secret. “How did you know… about any of it?”
“Psh. It was my idea. You didn’t really think he came up with that on his own, did you? He’d never have taken that leap without being pushed.”
Abbey stared at her grandfather. “You convinced him to convince me that a fake engagement was the only way to deal with the press?”
“Desperate times called for desperate measures.” Granddaddy squeezed her hand. “I want you to have the kind of happy I was with my Ruthie. I saw the seeds of that with you and Kyle when you were children, but then everything got messed up. If somebody didn’t intervene, you two were going to blow it.”
Moved and more than a little flummoxed, Abbey leaned in to press a kiss to his wrinkled cheek. “Thank you for being a sneaky, sneaky man.”
Granddaddy rumbled a laugh, and they settled in to enjoy the music. It was a round-robin style performance, with musicians hopping in and out, depending on whether they knew the song or not. They trotted out old standards like “Rocky Top”, “Ring of Fire”, and Diamond Rio’s “Meet in The Middle”. By the time Flynn coaxed out the opening notes to “The Devil Went Down to Georgia,” Abbey could see Kyle unwinding enough to really sink into the performance and enjoy himself.
He didn’t automatically hog the spotlight, instead gravitating to harmonies and supporting rhythms that showed off the skill of the other musicians present. But as he jammed with Flynn, sang with Kennedy, and hammed it up with Ari, Abbey saw the joy shining in his face. From what he’d told her, he hadn’t had a great deal of that since he started pursuing professional music. She wanted him to get out of his career what Lewis and Ryder had managed with Forbidden Fruit. She wanted him to really, truly love what he did and recognize that he had value beyond the money he made, beyond whatever restitution he felt like he still needed to pay.
“Is that Kyle Keenan?”
Abbey looked over at the man who’d taken the next seat, a plate of empanadas in his lap. Dimly, she recognized him as one of the guests who’d recently arrived at the inn. “Yes, it is.”
“This isn’t what I expected of him. He’s got a lot more versatility beyond what he’s been allowed to do in Nashville.”
“He’s always been an extremely talented musician.”
“Known him a long time?”
“All my life.”
The guy turned to look at her. “You’re the fiancée. Abbey, right? I’m Harry Cafferty.”
She tensed, hesitating.
Harry lifted his hand and made a little X over his heart. “Not a reporter. Promise.”
“That’s what a lot of the reporters have said.”
“Fair point. I’m just here to listen to the music.”
Abbey hoped that was true.
They both joined in the applause as the latest song ended.
Kyle met her gaze across the room, grinning as he began to pick out the opening bars to one of the duets they used to sing together. He lifted his brows in invitation. Abbey frowned, pointing to herself. Kyle nodded. He wanted her to come sing with him? Was he out of his mind? The idea of it had her heart pounding like a timpani drum. He knew she couldn’t sing in front of people. She’d never really sung in front of anyone but him.
She shook her head, mouthing an emphatic, “No.”
Blowing her a kiss, he let it go. As someone else joined in, Abbey felt a little twinge, wishing she were brave enough to put herself out there. But she wasn’t a performer. Never had been. Singing with Kyle had always been a private, intimate thing. She couldn’t bring herself to overcome the paralyzing stage fright.
Before someone else could start the next song, Kyle spoke up. “I’ve been working on some new material lately. Would y’all be willing to indulge me and let me try it out?”
The audience whooped and hollered in approval.
“This is ‘Bubble Gum Ring.’”
He began to strum a more complex version of one of the melodies she’d heard him fiddling with over the past week. It was a different sound than the music he’d recorded, and as he fixed his gaze on hers and began to sing, his rich baritone filling the space, gooseflesh broke out along Abbey’s arms.
It was them. Their story. All the good parts. The childhood marriage pact with a bubble gum ring. The teenagers too afraid to act on their feelings. The adults who got a second chance. Each refrain came back to that plastic ring that had meant so much to them both.
“This is good,” Harry muttered. “Very, very good.”
But Abbey barely heard him. She couldn’t focus on anything but Kyle and this very public gift he was giving her. It was a claiming, an acknowledgment, that had nothing to do with maintaining a fiction and everything to do with celebrating what had brought them together in the first place.
When he’d finished, the room erupted in applause. She felt the thunder of it as she rose from her chair and crossed to him. A part of her was aware that multiple people were recording from their phones. The performance and what came after would undoubtedly end up on YouTube and social media before the end of the night. But she didn’t care. She really had to kiss him right now.
He was grinning as she captured his mouth to hoots and cheers. The growl in the back of his throat was a heady drug that made her wish for a helluva lot more privacy. But she’d settle for this public claiming of her own.
Kyle snagged her wrist as she pulled back. “Don’t you run away after a kiss like that.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” She couldn’t even mind that she was breathless. He was worth it.
“You about made me drop my guitar.”
Abbey grinned. “Now that would be a real shame. You play it so pretty.”
“Always for you.” He brought her hand to his lips and lavished a kiss on her knuckles.
Laughing, blushing, she broke eye contact, sweeping her gaze around the room to remind herself of their audience. All eyes were on them, which just made her blush harder. But the weight of one particular woman felt heavier. Drawn by the sensation, she glanced over in time to see her turning away. Abbey didn’t recognize her, yet something in the way she moved was familiar. Maybe a guest or someone else’s client at the spa?
Before she could pursue the thought, Ari was interrupting, linking her arm through Abbey’s. “Excuse me, but if you two are finished making googly eyes at each other, some of us are here to play.”
Abbey looked askance in her direction. “You live for the googly eyes.”
“I’m thinking she’s trying to distract us from the ones she’s making at the dude manning one of the fundraiser tables,” Kyle murmured.
Following his line of sight, Abbey saw the infamous Cullen Walker. “Ah ha.”
“Psh. Whatever.” Ari punctuated the statement with a dramatic teenage eye roll, but she couldn’t stop the blush from staining her cheeks.
Willing to rescue the girl, Abbey patted her arm and held out a hand for Kyle. “How about you take a break and come get some food? I’d like to spend some actual time with my date.”
“Your wish is my command.”
With a simpering smile, she winked. “I’ll try not to let that go to my head.”
Chapter 13
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“Over two hundred thousand views since last night! And that’s just this video. There are a bunch of others.”
From his seat in one of the chairs on the front porch, Kyle grinned at Granddaddy’s enthusiasm. Abbey had taught him how to look stuff up on YouTube on his phone at breakfast, and he’d promptly found the many videos of last night’s unofficial debut of “Bubble Gum Ring” at Jam Night.
“Well, my publicist will sure be happy.” He should probably call Deanna and give her a heads up. Then again, she kept her finger on social media and probably already had alerts set up.
“More to the point, you look happy.”
“I reckon that’s because I am. I’ve got a second chance with the best girl in the world. Everything else is just details.” Details he knew he needed to sort out. But the music was flowing, and he didn’t want to do anything to scare it off.
“I told you the plan would work.”
Kyle chuckled. “So you did.” He’d had his doubts, but it was hard to argue with the end result. He felt fantastic about where he and Abbey were.
“Speaking of details, when are you gonna make it official for real and ask that girl to marry you?”
The guitar made a discordant squawk as his fingers missed their position on the fretboard. “It’s too soon for that. Way too fast. We just got together.”
Granddaddy slapped the arm of his chair. “Boy, you’ve wasted enough time. It’s not an issue of fast when it’s right. Now’s when you make up for lost time. I’m not getting any younger, and I wanna see my girl go down the aisle.”
Kyle wanted to tease and say he’d live till he was a hundred, but with his condition, that was unlikely to be the case. So instead, he considered what Granddaddy was saying. “It happens, I’ve had a few thoughts on the matter of how I’d propose.” Hell, he’d more or less laid it out in that last interview. Would it mean more to her if he went that route, or should he try to come up with something new?
Before Granddaddy could offer any suggestions on the matter, the sound of a car coming up the drive drew their attention.
Kyle set his guitar aside. “It’s too early for Abbey to be getting home from work. She’s got clients until noon.”
He rose from his seat, trotting on down the steps. It was probably somebody looking for the cidery who’d taken the wrong turn. He’d just give the driver directions.
But his step hitched as he caught sight of the woman behind the wheel.
No.
A mix of panic and fury swirled in his gut, driving him the rest of the way across the yard to where the little tin can of a car had rolled to a stop. She was already opening the door before he could slap a hand against it to keep her inside.
She unfolded from the seat, a bird-thin woman who looked decades older than she had when she’d gone into prison. Her hair was more gray than sandy now, thin and stringy. She was more than a head shorter than him, but that didn’t make her presence any less of a threat.
She couldn’t be here. She’d already done enough damage to this place, these people, and Kyle didn’t want her anywhere near Grandaddy.
Because his hands shook, he curled them into fists. “You get back in that car and get the hell off this property.”
“Is that any way to greet your mother?”
“You’re nothing to me.” She’d been no kind of mother, and thanks to Faye Whittaker and Joan Reynolds, he had occasion to know the difference.
“I gave you life, and you’ll show me the respect I’m owed,” she snapped.
“Respect has to be earned, and you sure as hell never did anything to deserve it.”
“Fed and clothed you, didn’t I? Put a roof over your head.”
“The Whittakers were more responsible for that than you ever were.”
Twyla sneered. “Oh, the high and mighty Whittakers. You always did think you were one of them. Hanging out with that girl always gave you airs. As if you were ever good enough for the likes of them. You’re no better than your daddy and me.”
“I’m nothing like either of you.” He’d spent a lifetime eradicating any traces of his true origins.
“Blood will tell. Blood always tells. You can change your name and how you dress and talk, but that’s all an act. You can’t change what’s down deep inside.”
“You aren’t welcome here. Get in your car and go.”
“I got every right to come back. To see my son. You never even visited me in prison.”
“Why would I? So you could berate me from behind bars? Belittle me from the other side of the plexiglass? You never wanted me. Don’t pretend otherwise.”
“Always so eager to get rid of us.” A cold fury flashed across her face. “Always choosing them over your own kin. You owe us for that.”
Kyle didn’t like the calculating gleam in her eyes. “I don’t owe you a damned thing.”
“You’ve made good for yourself. A good son would share the rewards of his success. Especially after what you did to us.”
“Keep dreaming.”
“You’ve gone to all this trouble to keep everything quiet. What would all those fans of yours say if they knew what you really came from?”
His stomach lurched at the implied threat. She could ruin everything. It was what she did. And he’d built his entire career, his life, knowing it was a house of cards. But he’d thought he would have more time. And maybe the years had made him feel as if he had more control than he really did. But when had he ever actually had control over this woman?
As panic tried to claw up his throat, he remembered what Abbey had said and relaxed a fraction. He had more control than he thought. “My fans aren’t a concern. They’re in it for the music and you can’t touch that. You won’t get a penny out of me.”
Dropping any prevarication, Twyla firmed her jaw. “You’ll pay, or I’ll go to the press. Tell them everything.”
The idea of it terrified him. But Kyle understood that if he gave in to her demands and paid her once, it would establish a pattern that would never end so long as both his parents were living. They’d always think he owed them something, and he wasn’t locking himself into that kind of devil’s bargain. Besides, she couldn’t be ready to act. She’d leave here, lick her wounds, maybe consult with his father. Then she’d be back with some other offer. It wasn’t her pattern to choose the nuclear option first. His daddy had always been the decisive one.
“You’ll get nothing from me but a boot up the ass.”
“Get off my property.” Granddaddy’s voice shook with rage.
Kyle swung around to find him standing just a few feet away, arm draped over one crutch. His face was an alarming shade of red.
“Hello, Roy.”
“Don’t you hello me, you harpy. You get the hell away from here. You got no business coming back here.” He hobbled forward, and Kyle leapt close to keep him from toppling on shaky legs.
“I’ve got this, Granddaddy.”
But Granddaddy ignored him. All his focus was on Twyla. “You were terrible employees. Terrible parents. You never treated Kyle right. Never loved him the way you should.”
“How we raised our boy was no business of yours.”
Granddaddy raised his crutch, as if about to strike out with it. Kyle snagged it before he could swing. That was the last thing they needed. His mother would absolutely press assault charges.
Before anybody could say another word, another car came up the drive. Kyle recognized the sound of Abbey’s Honda before it came over the hill and into view.
Twyla apparently decided adding someone else to the mix was too much because she edged back toward her own car. “Think about it. I’ll be in touch.”
Abbey skidded to a halt in the middle of the driveway and leapt out, racing toward them. But Twyla was already in the driver’s seat and backing up.
Granddaddy waved his crutch, shouting incoherent threats after her as she drove away.
“What the actual hell is she doing here?”
“No
t now, Abs.” Kyle had his hand on Granddaddy, doing his best to keep him stable. He didn’t like the older man’s pallor. “We need to get him inside and calmed down.”
Evidently realizing there was nothing more to be done about Twyla, Abbey turned her attention to her grandfather. Together they got him back inside and into the recliner. As soon as he was settled, Kyle paced away, desperate to find some distance and control.
Abbey quietly shut the door to Granddaddy’s room. The entire encounter had left him drained, and she hoped he’d nap for a while. If they were lucky, he’d have forgotten Kyle’s mother by the time he surfaced. If they weren’t… well, they’d deal with it. For now, she needed to do damage control with Kyle himself.
But she took a moment in the hall to slow her breathing and find some calm. She was more than a little rattled herself to have Twyla back in their lives. This woman was one of the two people who’d all but ruined her family. There was little Twyla could do directly to them now, but she could still attack Kyle. The woman knew exactly how to stomp all over his insecurities. She’d created them, after all. Abbey knew that, in whatever time she was here, Twyla probably slid right back into those toxic patterns, attacking his worth, stoking his shame. She just had to hope that her own hold over him was stronger.
Kyle stood in the living room, knocking back a glass of some kind of alcohol. It was barely past one in the afternoon. He glanced at her as she came into the room. “I’m sorry.”
Her gut clenched as she wondered exactly what he was apologizing for. The resolute lines of his face said he’d made some kind of decision. She was terrified it would be about them. But she kept her tone quiet and neutral. “For?”
“This is all my fault. She would never have come here if not for me. Granddaddy didn’t need that. He could’ve been hurt—or worse—trying to protect the child I used to be.”
Relaxing a bit, she crossed over and took the glass from his hand, sipping at the amber liquid herself. The bitter smoke of whiskey hit her tongue, and she grimaced. “This wasn’t all about your mother. We’ve been really fortunate since you’ve been here that he’s had mostly good days. This is one of the bad. They happen sometimes. You’ve just never seen it before. That doesn’t mean it was your fault.”