Strummin' Up Love

by Erin Wright

  He looked delicious.

  She sent him a bland smile and said cheerfully, “Is Skyler up already?”

  He blinked a couple of times, his brain slowly processing her words, and then eventually said, “Skyler. Right. No, I’m not sure where he’s at. Is he awake?”

  She decided to ignore his question. He was obviously one of those people who didn’t function until they’d had at least a cup of coffee in their system; maybe even a whole pot.

  “Let’s go downstairs,” she said with a smile, and they headed for the staircase, her skipping down it as he lumbered after her. They could use the elevator, of course – there was nothing saying they had to always stick to the staircase while Skyler always used the elevator – but Louisa did not want to be inside of a small 4’x4’ enclosed space with Zane Risley.

  Nope, not even a little bit. The staircase was much, much safer.

  They walked into the breakfast nook off the kitchen, which she’d found during her explorations the night before, and saw Skyler already there, pulled up to the end of the table, the spot built specifically for people in wheelchairs. He looked up at them as they came in, a weirdly bright smile on his face.

  Louisa knew that face. She’d seen it plenty of times during the course of her life. Five younger siblings, and all of them thought that practical jokes were just hilarious, and liked to see what they could get away with.

  Skyler thought he was about to pull something over on her, she was willing to bet her next year’s paycheck on it.

  “Good morning, Skyler,” she said, her tone friendly and unsuspecting. It was best if they thought they’d won. It made the loss just that much more painful. “Wow, you made us coffee?” she said, looking at the two mugs sitting on the table, steam rising from them, while Skyler had a glass of milk and piece of white bread toast in front of him. “How sweet.”

  Skyler’s grin grew. “Oh yeah,” he said, all but rubbing his hands together with glee. “That mug is yours,” he pointed to his right, “and that mug is Dad’s,” he pointed to his left.

  She felt Zane stiffen up behind her and knew without a doubt that he too was sure her coffee had been doctored in some horrendous way. Skyler really needed to up his game if he thought he could pull one over on her like this. Before Zane could say anything, Louisa quickly snagged her cup off the table.

  “Thank you so much,” she said loudly, drowning out the warning Zane was trying to sputter.

  Had Skyler done this before? Probably.

  Was this why the last aide decided that Idaho just wasn’t for them? Probably.

  She took a tiny sip and instantly, the strong taste of salty coffee invaded her mouth.

  It was, to put it lightly, absolutely disgusting. Salt and coffee were not a good mix. Skyler watched her, the anticipation for the spewing out of her coffee and the yelling about to come, having him on the edge of his seat.

  “It seems like there’s something wrong with this,” she said mildly, pulling the mug away from her lips. “Salt?”

  Crestfallen, Skyler nodded. She hadn’t screamed or ranted or raved or spit out her coffee. That hadn’t been nearly the show he’d been hoping for.

  “I have five younger siblings,” Louisa said bluntly. “If you’re going to pull practical jokes on me, you better step up your game.”

  “Five younger…” Skyler stopped abruptly, the desire to hear more stamped all over his face. He was an only child. Of course he wanted to know more about having five brothers and sisters.

  But he was also bound and determined to hate her.

  Oh, the quandary…

  “Yup. Two brothers and three sisters. Two out of the three sisters are actually identical twins,” she said mildly. “I swear those two were trying to pull pranks on me since the day they were born. It took me years before I could tell them apart. Anyway,” she said, waving her hand dismissively, “now that you’ve made this disgusting cup of coffee, you get to drink it.” She sent him a beatific smile as she set it down on the table and pushed it towards him, and then headed for the coffee pot to pour herself a clean, non-spoiled cup.

  “Drink…?!” He was practically spluttering at the thought. “I can’t drink…Dad!” He turned in his wheelchair and sent his father a look that was a mixture of horror and pleading. “I’m just a kid. Kids can’t drink coffee.”

  “They can if they think that it’s okay to ruin someone else’s,” Louisa put in mildly. “If you thought it was okay for me to drink, then it’s certainly okay for you to drink.” She didn’t even look at Zane for approval. Either he backed her on this, or she was heading home. Screw the contract. She wasn’t about to spend the summer having everything she said countermanded by Zane.

  Hell no.

  “Coffee stunts the growth of kids,” Zane said, and at that, Louisa’s eyes did shoot up to meet his. Really? Dammit all, she’d had such high hopes for getting her student loans paid off early. “But one cup won’t make a difference,” he continued smoothly. “You made it, you can drink it.”

  The silence at that was almost palpable. “You…I…Daaaddddddd!!!” Skyler wailed. Zane sat back in the booth and simply smiled at his son.

  Huh. It was going to be a great summer after all.

  Chapter 6

  Zane

  Zane tapped the steering wheel of the Audi Q7 rental, whistling cheerfully under his breath as he drove. He snuck a peek in the rearview mirror at Skyler in the backseat. Yup, still pissed.

  Zane grinned to himself as he refocused on the road. He just had to make it through today so Louisa knew how to get Skyler to the therapy camp, and then after that, he was free. Monday through Friday, 9:00 to 2:00, he would be childfree.

  He turned the radio up louder, just barely refraining from bursting into song. He loved his son. He’d die for his son. But he had absolutely no idea how to manage him, and somehow, he’d lucked out into hiring someone – sight unseen – who did. In fact, after Skyler had whined and moaned and fought drinking the doctored coffee for far too long, threatening to make them late for therapy camp, Louisa had cheerfully poured it into a thermos, after warming it up, of course – “After all, no one wants to drink cold coffee,” she’d said with a perfectly straight face – and then had handed it over with an angelic smile. “Here. This way, when you’re thirsty today, you can have something to drink.”

  In that moment, Zane was quite sure Skyler’s dearest desire had been to dump the coffee over her head, but he didn’t. Instead, he’d dropped the thermos into his lap and snarled something that Zane was happy he didn’t hear, and sped off in his wheelchair. Louisa hadn’t batted an eyelash. Apparently, she was used to patients hurling obscenities at her.

  Yup, hiring her was the best decision Zane had made all summer. Maybe even all year.

  “So, tell me about this therapy camp,” Louisa half-shouted over the music, bringing him back to the present. Even as she talked to him, she was watching out of her window at the passing fields of cows and horses, grazing peacefully on the bright green pastures. “How did you find it, first of all? Aren’t you from Tennessee?”

  She seemed strangely determined to look out the window even as they talked, which he found disconcerting. Did he have something on his face? He discreetly checked the rearview mirror. He looked like he always did.

  Weird.

  “I am. Born and raised in Nashville,” he said, turning the radio back down so they could have a conversation at a decent level. “Almost every kid in my class grew up thinking they were going to be the next Garth Brooks or Reba McEntire. You should’ve seen our talent shows at school – everybody’s talent was either dancing or singing or both. I’m one of the damn lucky few who actually made it in the music world.”

  Finally, she turned in her seat and was looking at him, and he found a sudden urge to watch the road very, very carefully. Best not get into another car wreck, right?

  “Anyway, I ended up here because I found an article about Dr. Whitaker’s horse camp online one day. I like
d that he only worked with kids – no adults would be attending the camp – and in the video that accompanied the article…I don’t know. He seemed like a straight shooter.” He shrugged. “Passionate. Some of my friends thought I was nuts for going out to Idaho for an entire summer, but hell, it wasn’t like I was doing much back in Tennessee.” He tried to laugh cheerfully, as if that was nothing more than a very funny joke, but the laughter came out sarcastic and bitter instead. He hurried on before she could have too much time to contemplate that laugh. “Adam’s been great so far – it’s a good camp.”

  “Who’s Adam?” Louisa asked, her brows knitted together in confusion.

  “Dr. Adam Whitaker. You know, the veterinarian. I thought you were from around here.” Now it was his turn to look confused.

  “Oh no. I’ve only been up here a few times myself. My parents were born here; my aunt Carmelita has lived here all her life; my grandparents lived here practically for forever; but when my parents got married, they moved to Pocatello.” At his blank look, she clarified, “One of the larger cities in Idaho – on the other side of the state, though. Anyway, my dad got a job with the state transportation department and has been in eastern Idaho ever since. We’ve come to Sawyer a handful of times for family events and such, but I’ve never lived here.”

  “So, do any of your other aunts or uncles still live here, or just Carmelita?”

  “Only Carmelita is still here. My aunt María lives outside of Seattle and Aunt Consuela lives in American Falls, only a few miles from my mom’s house. No uncles. Four girls on my mom’s side, and my dad was an only child. Carmelita didn’t have any kids but my aunt María and Consuela sure did, so I grew up with lots of cousins, and of course, five younger brothers and sisters. Life was…never boring, let’s put it that way.” She gave him a rueful smile.

  Before Zane could probe more – he was sure more than a few insane stories were hidden behind that smile – he realized they’d already reached the therapy camp. “We’re here,” he said with a cheerfulness he didn’t feel as he pulled to a stop in front of the barn.

  He didn’t want to stop talking to Louisa. She was simply so damn easy to talk to. She was…

  Well, she was…

  Before he could come up with just the right word that captured her verve and personality, though, he realized that he was leaving the hardest part of the whole camp experience for Louisa to do by herself. Getting Skyler in and out of the SUV – well, and getting him on and off the horses – was a damn struggle. He’d almost dropped his son on his head last Friday, a fiasco he was sure Skyler was never going to let him forget.

  With an inner groan, he forced himself out of the SUV and around to the passenger side to help Louisa get Skyler out of the car. This was–

  “What the hell?!” he blurted out. He hadn’t meant to say that, of course. He just…

  Louisa looked up at him, her expression quizzical, as she helped Skyler arrange his legs on the footrest of the wheelchair and his hated thermos of coffee in his lap, before he took off for the barn like a scalded cat. She’d already gotten him out of the SUV and into the wheelchair in the time it took Zane to walk around the vehicle. How was that even possible? He knew she had a lot of experience transferring patients in and out of places, but still…

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, but her gaze wasn’t on him. Her eyes had followed Skyler and he could tell she was anxious to be closer to him, in case he needed help. Skyler was already disappearing in through the open barn door.

  “Nothing,” he said quickly. “I didn’t mean to keep you from him.”

  With a brief, professional smile, she took off after Skyler, her J.Lo ass swinging enticingly with every step.

  Kids today would call that a Kim Kardashian Ass. You’re showing your age, old man.

  Whatever. He didn’t care. He preferred Jennifer Lopez – who actually had talent and a good heart – over Kim Kardashian any day of the week.

  And, more importantly, he really shouldn’t be checking out Louisa’s ass, no matter how J.Lo-esque it was.

  Hands off the help, asshole.

  He began to follow after that enticing ass when he stopped. He didn’t actually have to go in there and stand amongst all of the other parents and pretend that they weren’t staring at him and whispering behind their hands, while they pretended that a huge country music star wasn’t standing in their midst. With Louisa there, she’d make sure Skyler was taken care of, and he could…

  He looked around the place curiously. Well, he could find something else to do until they were done for the day. Then after today, he’d be free every day. He could create music and sing and decide what in the hell he was doing with his life. Really get his head screwed on straight.

  With a cheerful refrain from his last album running through his head, he headed for a pen that had the oddest noises coming out of it. His curiosity was almost irresistible, and he could only hope that the Whitakers wouldn’t be offended by him poking around into parts of the farm they probably weren’t intending him to see.

  He folded his arms across the top of a dilapidated fence and looked down over the other side, spotting a small flock of chickens, all scratching in the grass, their butts pointed towards the sky, clucking and talking amongst each other as they worked to catch the worms.

  Oh. So that’s what chickens sounded like in real life. Somehow, he’d always imagined them more raucous than this. Instead, they were content, at peace with the world, like they knew exactly what needed to be done and were doing it without another thought or concern.

  What would it be like to be so sure about what I was doing? What if I was this focused?

  He used to be. He used to be driven to be on top. To beat everyone else. And he had been beating everyone else. If only they’d made it to the CMAs, he would’ve found out while sitting in the audience that he’d won Male Vocalist of the Year. He would’ve gone up to the stage and given the acceptance speech he’d been practicing since he was five years old.

  But he hadn’t made it to the CMAs and when he’d been told later that he’d won the most prestigious award in country music, it hadn’t meant a thing to him. That night, all of his drive, his ambition, had simply disappeared. As he’d tried to explain to Jacob, a close friend and fellow musician, a couple of months ago, it was like his tank had run out of gas and no matter how hard he pushed on the pedal, nothing happened. He was stuck in place, and didn’t know how to get out.

  Maybe, he thought, the noises of the chickens lulling him into some quiet moments of serenity, he’d actually acted on the horse therapy impulse because there was something or someone here who he needed to meet, or do. Maybe he was supposed to move forward in his life this summer when he hadn’t been able to for the last 18 months.

  Or maybe he’d gotten literally stuck in place – not moving from Nashville, not touring, not traveling, his grief wearing him down – and this trip across the country was exactly what he needed.

  He wasn’t much for believing in fate or destiny or God – especially not after Skyler lost his ability to walk and his mother at the same time – but maybe it didn’t matter if he believed or not.

  Maybe it was all true anyway.

  A loud squawk jerked him out of his thoughts and he looked up to see one light brown chicken running as fast as her short legs would carry her, a squirming bug grasped tightly in her beak as another chicken, this one a black-and-white striped one, tore after her, clucking and squawking indignantly.

  Zane chuckled to himself. Well, there went the theory that chickens led a zen life. God, he was losing it. He’d been starting to feel like chickens had it more together than he did, and just what did that say about his life?

  Nothing good?

  Shit. He’d once been on top of the world. Unstoppable. Unbeatable. Untouchable. Every kid in rural America had wanted to be him. He’d get that back someday. Now that he had Skyler taken care of, it was time to take care of himself. He—

  “Hey, Zane Risley?�
�� a man’s voice said behind him, jerking him out of his thoughts. He spun on his heel and saw a man about his age or so striding towards him, his hips loose like every real cowboy Zane had ever seen. He wasn’t as tall as Zane, but he was as muscular. He had a presence about him – a sureness of who he was without being cocky – that Zane instinctually liked.

  “That’s me,” he said with an easy smile, holding his hand out to shake. “And you are?”

  “Declan Miller.” The guy’s handshake was firm and strong, his face open and honest. There was an air about him that told Zane he wasn’t there to pester him into signing autographs or take pictures or get an unguarded quote that could be used in a tell-all article. Zane prided himself on being an excellent judge of character, and everything in him said that this guy was a-okay. “I heard you were bringing your kid over to Adam’s place for his therapy camp and thought I’d welcome you to the valley. Lots of good people here. Everyone been making you feel welcome?”

  “Sure,” Zane said. Not a lie, but not the truth either. Some of the other parents – specifically, the women – had been trying to walk that awkward line between being too friendly and butting into his life, and being standoffish and pretending he didn’t exist. It’d been a while since he’d hung around “normal” people, and found that humanity hadn’t changed at all – it was rare to find people who could walk that line and do it well.

  “Good, good.” Declan looked at the pen full of chickens – they’d calmed down and were back to pecking away in the dirt, their fat butts pointed towards the sky again – and chuckled. “Chickens are some funny creatures. Watchin’ them is almost as interesting as watchin’ pigs, although pigs are a hell of a lot smarter.”

  Pigs are smart? This was certainly a revelation to Zane. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask Declan if he was a pig farmer, when Declan continued, “Anyway, just thought that while you were in the area, you might want to go and hang out with the guys. Me and a bunch of my friends go down to the bar some Friday nights and just shoot the shit. Our wives get together and bitch about how we drop our dirty socks on the floor and never think to pick them up, and the local high schoolers take the kids off our hands and make some extra cash. Works out well for everyone.” He shot Zane a friendly grin. “If that sounds like somethin’ you’d be interested in, we’d love to have you along.”