by Ruby Laska
HEARTBREAK, TENNESSEE
By
Ruby Laska
Copyright 2012 by Ruby Laska
Discover other titles by Ruby Laska at http://rubylaska.blogspot.com/
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Epilog
About Ruby Laska
CHAPTER ONE
“You sure you aren’t from around here?”
Amber shook her head. Even with her gaze fixed on the menu, she could feel the waitress staring at her.
“Just in town for business,” she said evenly.
That earned her a derisive snort. “Somebody gave you a bum steer, sugar. Nobody does much business around here, at least not dressed like that, anyway. But you sure do look familiar.”
“I’ll have the hot turkey sandwich,” Amber said, folding the menu and holding it up with a chilly smile. “And a glass of iced tea.”
Not until the waitress walked away with her order did Amber allow herself a long look around the dank, beer-smelling room.
There he was, of course, as some part of her knew he would be.
She’d been in town less than an hour, and all her carefully-constructed defenses fell away like petals from a rose past its prime, leaving her raw and exposed, her pulse pounding as hard as it had the day she’d left fourteen years before.
Never to return, she’d promised herself.
Amber drank deeply from a glass of water. The icy liquid jolted her senses and started her temples throbbing, but the pain took her mind off him for a moment. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, forcing his image to recede, concentrating on anything, anything else as she slowly opened them again.
The bar was crowded, packed with working men and women stopping for a beer, a sandwich, a chance to trade stories and news at the end of the day. There weren’t very many places to go in Heartbreak, and Buzzy’s had always been the best of them. Of course, Amber hadn’t been old enough to order alcohol, but she used to love coming in for a sandwich and a Coke from time to time. With Mac.
Pushing the thought from her mind, Amber concentrated on the familiar room. Not much had changed. The simple wooden tables and chairs were clean enough, decorated with the rough-hewn initials of decades of amateur carvers. Softball and bowling trophies and team photos served as the only decorations on the dark paneled walls.
Heavy drapes prevented the twilight from coming in the few windows. The anti-smoking craze apparently hadn’t reached Heartbreak, and a thick haze of smoke filled the air, seeming to darken the room even further.
No way he could see her.
He was sitting with half a dozen other men at a long table. Dressed casually in work shirts and pants, they were drinking beer from tall bottles, talking and laughing. A couple of them looked vaguely familiar, and Amber searched her memories, trying to put names to their faces.
“Here you go, Sugar.”
The waitress slid a plate in front of her with a practiced motion and gave Amber another hard look before weaving her way back through the tables to the kitchen.
It was a memory of that sandwich that had caused her to come into Buzzy’s tonight. Passing by the place as she walked in the warm night air, she’d suddenly remembered the tender meat freshly carved and piled high, the gravy like nothing you could get in Nashville—and she’d given in to the memory.
Certainly, for her, nostalgia was a rare enough indulgence.
Now, Amber stared at the steam rising from the plate as her stomach did flip-flops. Her appetite gone, she let her breath out in a long, uneasy sigh.
Crazy, that’s what she had been, to think she could see him again and go about her business unchanged, unaffected, unscathed. Crazy.
Even as she tried to force it back with another icy swallow of water, the knot that was forming in her throat kept expanding until she wasn’t sure she could keep breathing. Acting without thought, she stood abruptly, knocking her chair back so it teetered and almost fell over as she rushed down the dark hallway to the ladies’ room.
Inside, Amber slammed the old wooden door and jammed the latch shut. She leaned against the wall, the painted surface cool through the silk of her blouse. She breathed deeply, trying to get air into her throat.
At last her pulse slowed, and her breath came more easily. She slowly slid down the wall onto a rickety chair wedged in the corner of the tiny room. She held her head in her hands and allowed herself a pair of tears, huge round warm ones that rolled from her eyes down her cheeks to fall into her lap.
But two tears were enough, all that Amber could spare. She hadn’t come back to Heartbreak to see him, or to ignore him or even to burn him out of her memory. Mac McBaine had nothing at all to do with this trip. She had a job to do, and she intended to do it as professionally and efficiently as she did everything. And then she meant to get back to Nashville, where she belonged, and get on with her life.
Amber straightened, and wiped under her eyes with a tissue, careful not to smear her mascara. She stood and appraised herself in the mirror. Not too much damage. She smoothed a strand or two of hair back into place, slicked on a little lipstick, and snapped her purse shut.
It had been a mistake to come here, a mistake she would take care not to repeat, but not one she couldn’t handle.
As she strode back into the bar, she reached into her purse for her wallet in one smooth movement. Tossing some bills onto her table, she eased through the noisy crowd and onto the street without looking left or right.
“But it was your wife, your Honor!”
Mac forced a laugh as Kurt Greenville supplied the raunchy punch line to the long, rambling joke he’d been telling. His laughter sounded hollow even to himself, and he hoped that none of the guys would notice. He wasn’t sure he could trust his face not to give away his feelings at the moment.
And what, exactly, were those feelings? The shock from the moment he’d recognized her had subsided, giving way to waves of emotion that pounded him like lead weights. Astonishment, anger, panic and—though he struggled to beat it down—desire pummeled him even as he raised his bottle to his lips and tried like hell to shift his attention back to his friends.
He’d nearly missed spotting her. She must have made her way in through the knots of people standing near the billiard tables, hidden in the pockets of darkness between the pools of light cast by the few old fixtures. But she’d hesitated briefly before she found an empty table, and in that moment Mac had happened to look her way, as his gaze traveled lazily over the faces of his friends and neighbors, gathered here in a place as familiar to him as his own living room.
She’d have caught any man’s eye, that was for sure. New faces were rare enough in Heartbreak, let alone flat-out beautiful female faces attached to equally stunning bodies.
But it wasn’t just any unfamiliar attractive woman who managed to glide almost unnoticed into Buzzy’s tonight. It was her. Sure, she looked a lot different. She had changed her hairstyle, her clothes, her makeup, even the way she carried herself, stealthy and careful, like a jungle cat. In fact, he wasn’t even sure he could put his finger on what it was that convinced him it was Amber: a gesture, perhaps, that clicked in his brain and triggered memories long since buried; a glimpse of her profile, her features in silhouette as they’d appeared in his dreams hundreds of nights over the years.
In the moment he saw her walk by, Mac felt the surge of years of accumulated memories forcing their way out of the depths of his subcon
scious, where he’d kept them locked away. But as Amber settled into the shadows of her out-of-the-way table, he garnered all his will and forced himself to turn away, to return his attention to his friends, even as his mind raced with thoughts in a dozen different directions. Why had she come back? What did she want? Did it—and he cursed the thought even as it faded away—could it have anything to do with him?
Not likely. Not after the way she’d left. The memory of that night hit him hard, low in the gut, leaving him with a bitter taste in his gullet. Finding her gone had been the single worst blow he’d ever suffered, worse than the death of his father, worse even than the relentless, chilling loneliness he endured day in and day out, even when he was surrounded by friends.
Narrowing his eyes, he steeled himself before glancing back in her direction, cautiously, barely inclining his head. The guys were busy giving the middle-aged waitress a hard time, and she was dishing it right back at them, an idle flirtation honed over the years to a familiar repartee as comfortable as a favorite pair of sneakers. No one would notice that his attention had strayed.
Amber was older, of course; Mac did a quick calculation and realized she would turn 32 this year. She’d been successful in re-making herself almost beyond recognition. Gone was the coltish, rangy creature with the endless slender legs and the wild mane of red curls tumbling halfway down her back, replaced by a grown woman who wore her beauty subtly and moved with incredible grace.
It had been 14 years since she left, a few days shy of her high school graduation.
He couldn’t take his eyes off her, studying her while she looked down at the table waiting for a waitress, her expression carefully neutral. Her look was refined, expensive. Soft fringes of hair framed her face. Clearly her hairdresser knew what he was doing with a pair of scissors, but he’d wisely left the color untouched, a red like a deep garnet with highlights the color of a new-minted copper penny.
Amber had gained some weight, adding womanly curves to a body once sinewy with hard work. She was dressed in a simple blouse of navy silk, the deep color setting off her skin, which was as pale as ever, practically luminous in the dim light of the bar.
At her ears were gold hoops, a little too large for the rest of her outfit, the only hint of her old look. Amber used to love big earrings and wrists full of jingling bracelets. She’d worn rings on nearly every finger, inexpensive baubles Mac bought at the costume jewelry counter at Sears. He’d never been able to afford the real thing, the gold and jewels he longed to shower her with.
Except that one time...
Mac shook his head angrily and turned his attention back to his friends. He had no business allowing his mind to wander that way, drawing crazy conclusions on the faintest of sensory evidence. The woman bore a slight resemblance to Amber, that was all. It had been too long since he’d been in a real relationship, and his body was responding, drawn to an attractive woman. He’d allowed the thought to get way out of control, spinning into the kind of fantasy he’d worked so hard to put behind him. He needed to be careful or he’d plunge into the dark moods he’d suffered for years after she left.
Maybe it was time once again to let his friends set him up with a warm-blooded, willing local girl. He’d try harder this time, make more of an effort to keep up his end of the relationship. How hard could it be? You meet a girl, find a few things in common, go on a few dates. Take her home and kiss her on her doorstep. Marry her, if things went well. Hell, most of his friends already had a couple of kids by now.
Of course, none of his friends had ever been with Amber. And Mac would have been willing to bet that if they had, they wouldn’t have found it so easy to move on with their lives, either.
The beer tasted bitter as Mac felt that old familiar tug at his heart. He cursed her for ever coming into his life. During the two years they’d had together, his nineteenth and twentieth, he was barely a man. But he had been old enough to make a man’s pledge and to feel a man’s pain.
If only they’d never met.
But it was pointless to dwell on it. A man who didn’t know peace could waste an entire life envying those who did.
Amber pushed open the door and welcomed the warm, moist June air on her face. It brought back a thousand nights just like this one, nights when her hair stuck to the back of her neck and a thin dew of moisture was ever present on her face and long limbs as she pedaled her bike home, from sleepovers, Girl Scout meetings, after-school jobs.
And later, evenings spent with Mac.
Her mother had put fans in the bedroom windows of their little house, blowing the batiste curtains and circulating the air in the comfortable familiar rooms. The drone of the fans through the summer nights had been as much a part of life as breathing.
She hadn’t realized how much she missed the sultry, humid evenings of her childhood. Her apartment in Nashville was sleek and modern, and climate-controlled. Winter or summer, the sophisticated system kept the place at a constant, comfortable temperature. The windows opened only an inch or two, the noise from the street below drifting up as though it were miles away.
Amber was still shaking a bit from the shock of seeing Mac, but she chose to ignore it. She stood on the sidewalk a moment, trying to decide if she should head back to the hotel or continue her walk to clear her mind and settle her stomach.
As she deliberated, she heard the door of the bar open behind her, the old hinges creaking. She stepped quickly out of the way and turned her back squarely to the door. She didn’t feel like being recognized again right now. Tomorrow would be plenty early to revive old acquaintances, painful as it might be. At least Sheryn would be there, and the attention would all go to her, allowing Amber to stay on the sidelines, minimally involved.
If only her emotions would follow suit.
“Amber.”
She froze. His voice. Mac’s voice. A little deeper, a little rougher, as though it had rusted over the years.
A warm, rough hand circled her arm and drew her, gently but firmly, around. She stared resolutely forward, her gaze resting on the hollow beneath his chin.
Mac was a tall man, and he seemed somehow even taller now, though she was sure it was an illusion. Long ago, she’d loved how his arms had encircled her, holding her to him easily, as though she were at once weightless and delicate, making her feel like a precious thing, a treasure.
Mac lifted the wrist he held and examined it, turning it over. The gesture was neither rough nor tender. Immediately Amber understood what he was looking for: something to prove it was really her. The crescent-shaped scar, a burn from hot grease when she was waiting tables at the truck stop. It had been painful, but Mac had bandaged it so carefully, so tenderly that night.
Finding it, Mac let her arm fall.
“So it is you after all. What are you doing back here?”
Amber lifted her chin, forcing herself to look into his eyes. They were as blue as ever, steel blue like the sky over Boone Lake on the rare long summer afternoons years ago when they both had a day off, sunbathing and floating, the old wooden boat rocking gently, lulling them alternately to sleep and to passion.
“Business,” she said, forcing her voice to be even and cool. “It’s good to see you, Mac. I wish I had time to stop and catch up on things. It’s been a lot of years.” With effort, Amber forced a smile. She was practiced at that; her features were elastic, betraying nothing more than she was willing to reveal.
She looked down at her watch. The gesture was just for show. She couldn’t even see the numbers on the dial, her vision clouded by the tumult of thoughts and emotions. She was aware of Mac’s eyes on her; they never left her face.
“But our schedule’s jammed,” she added. “I’m sorry.”
“Our schedule,” Mac said, realization dawning in his voice. “You’re here with Sheryn Sawyer.”
“Yes,” Amber said, surprised. She scanned his face. “How did you know?”
“Oh, come on, Amber. The minute a country music star and a beautiful compan
ion checked in over at the Two Pines Motel, you can bet phones were ringing all over the place. Wasn’t half an hour ago Pat Thoroughgood stopped by our table and filled us all in. We don’t get a lot of news here—as you might recall,” he added, his voice faintly tinged with sarcasm.
“I see.” Amber swallowed. On top of the shock of seeing Mac, she now felt unsettled, out of her element. She’d forgotten so much—chosen to forget, she mentally corrected herself.
Of course, news traveled in Heartbreak at speeds unmatched in any bigger city. She of all people should have known that.
The door opened again, and a couple of men emerged from the bar, laughing at some shared joke. Their voices were cut short when they noticed Mac and Amber.
“Evenin’, Mac,” one of them said. “Ma’am,” he added, lifting his hat a fraction of an inch. The two of them lingered, making no bones about appraising Amber. Obviously they were waiting to be introduced. She stepped back, putting some distance between herself and Mac.
“Gentlemen,” Mac said, his tone clipped. His meaning was clear, and they glanced once more from one to the other, then made their way down the street, resuming their boisterous conversation.
Mac gazed at Amber, his features easing. “Look,” he said, stepping forward so they were once again separated only by inches. “It doesn’t make much sense for us to stand out here talking. Come sit in my truck a minute.”
Amber didn’t miss his meaning. He must have picked up on her reluctance to be recognized. She softened a little, and hesitated. “I’ve got a big day tomorrow—”
“Just for a minute.”
Before she could protest further, he took her arm, gently this time, and steered her a few yards down the street.
“This is your truck?” Amber couldn’t keep the amusement out of her voice. The big, powerful-looking vehicle parked at the curb was tomato red, its sleek lines emphasized by custom striping and a generous amount of chrome. There wasn’t a spot on it.
Mac cut a glance her way, but didn’t stop walking. “You remembered.”