The Rebel and the Cowboy (The Carmody Brothers Book 2)

by Sarah Mayberry

  “Hit us with the lyrics,” Wyatt said after the first run-through, making a gimme gesture with his hands. “We know you’ve got some, so don’t be a holdout, Carmody.”

  Casey fought the urge to squirm. “Like I said, it’s personal.”

  “All the best songs are. Talk to Clapton about ‘Tears in Heaven,’” Wyatt said.

  Casey knew the other guys would let it drop if he really put his foot down, but the truth was that the musician in him wanted to hear his song at its best. Already it had taken on a life of its own, and he knew from past experience that it would only get better, because his bandmates were awesome collaborators.

  “All right,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I don’t want any shit, okay? One word and this is over.”

  He kept his focus on the neck of his guitar as he started from the top again, steadfastly refusing to meet any of his bandmates’ eyes.

  “Skin like velvet, body made for sin, she walks in the door, I forget everything…”

  When he got to the chorus, he caught sight of Wyatt’s grin out of the corner of his eye.

  Fine. Whatever. He was crazy about Eva, and now they all knew it.

  He played the final notes, then set his guitar down and stood to face his friends.

  “You’ve heard it now, so let’s do some real work,” he said. “Do we still want to change the set list for our next gig?”

  Danny shook his head. “Oh, no, my friend, it’s not gonna be that easy. You think we’re just gonna let that song slip away?”

  Rory swapped his bass guitar out for his Rickenbacker electric, his expression thoughtful. “I freaking love the grind in this song, Carmody. Did you ever think about getting some slide in there, really muddy it up with more sustain?”

  He demonstrated, playing the bridge, and Casey felt his spine get straighter as he heard what the new sustain did to the song.

  “Oh, yeah, baby,” Wyatt said, clapping and laughing. “That is insane.”

  Which was when Casey understood that his friends were not going to crucify him for his song celebrating all things Eva. They were engaged by the music, as always, their focus on making it better, giving it The Whiskey Shots signature sound.

  “You really want to waste more time on this?” he asked.

  “It’s not wasted time. This is the best thing you’ve ever written, Case. And you’ve written some of our best songs.”

  Wyatt and Rory were both nodding.

  “Seriously?” Casey asked, thrown.

  “Oh yeah, man,” Wyatt said. “This song gets under your skin. This song is sex and lust and love and all the good things, with a side order of obsession.”

  Casey laughed, feeling self-conscious. “You trying to tell me something?”

  “Hey, we all saw her. We get it,” Wyatt said, slapping Casey on the back. “I look forward to playing at your wedding.”

  Casey flinched. “That’s not gonna happen.”

  “This song disagrees,” Wyatt said. He focused on Rory. “The slide rocks. What if we save it for the chorus, really make it pop?”

  For the next hour, they worked on the song, workshopping arrangements, shifting things around. Finally Danny played a little drum roll on his snare, finishing with a single hit to the crash cymbal.

  “Gentlemen, we are ready to record. Let’s do this,” he said.

  Casey frowned and shook his head. “What? No. What are you talking about?”

  The other Shots looked at him as though he’d hit his head and was talking stupid.

  “Recording the song for the KUPR competition,” Rory said, hands spread as though the answer was obvious.

  “I thought we were all putting a song forward and voting?” Casey asked.

  Rory shrugged. “We hadn’t heard this when we said that. It’s memorable. People will get an ear worm after listening to this.”

  “I’m with Rory. This is the one we should enter,” Danny said.

  “Ditto,” Wyatt said.

  Casey blinked and shook his head. “Wait. Hold up a moment. I can’t put this song out there like that. No one was ever supposed to hear it.”

  “Dude,” Wyatt said, looking at him over the top of his glasses. “You were always gonna share this song with us. At least be honest with yourself. You know how good it is.”

  Casey couldn’t hold the other man’s eye. The truth was, if he’d really wanted to keep Eva’s song private, he would never have played a bar of it in this space, let alone spent almost the whole of their weekly practice session polishing it.

  But that didn’t change the fact that it was a deeply personal song. Anyone who knew him and Eva would know exactly how he felt about her the moment they heard it, and he wasn’t sure he was ready to parade his feelings around in public like that yet. And then there was Eva. He had no idea how she’d react to hearing he’d written a song about her. Just the thought of telling her made the back of his neck hot with embarrassment.

  Not that he was ashamed of his feelings—he wasn’t. But it was early days for them—very early—and he didn’t want her to feel pressured. They’d only just acknowledged that this was a lot more than casual sex for both of them.

  “What’s wrong?” Danny asked.

  “Eva doesn’t know I wrote this,” he admitted.

  “Ah,” Rory said. “Okay. I guess that’s a different issue altogether.”

  The guys looked at each other, then Danny shrugged. “Okay, we go with another song. ‘Been Too Long’ is a great song, too.”

  “Sure. It’s a toe tapper. People will want to dance to it,” Wyatt agreed.

  “They won’t want to fuck to it, but that’s okay,” Rory said, and they all laughed, the small moment dissipating some of the tension.

  Casey could see they were all prepared to move on, and he knew the other song was good. But he also knew that the song he’d written for Eva was special, because it had come from a raw and primal place inside him.

  The guys were right—it was their best chance of winning the KUPR competition, and it would feel as though they were sabotaging themselves if they entered anything else.

  He pinched the bridge of his nose, barely able to believe what he was about to say.

  “Let’s record it now, and I’ll talk to Eva, see how she feels,” he said.

  His response was a chorus of hoots and backslaps.

  “Yeah, all right, calm down. It’s just a song,” Casey said, even though he was both amused and warmed by their belief in his music. “And if she’s not comfortable, there’s nothing you guys can say that’s gonna change my mind.”

  “We got that, loud and clear,” Wyatt said.

  Danny was already heading for the cupboard at the back of the garage where he kept his recording equipment.

  “Let’s get it down before he changes his mind, boys.”

  Shaking his head, Casey set his guitar aside and went to do his bit.

  *

  Eva jumped up from where she was waiting on the porch steps the moment she heard the low, familiar sound of Casey’s truck. Sure enough, his pickup appeared around the corner of the drive a few seconds later and she couldn’t keep the smile off her face as he pulled into the yard.

  “Hey,” he called out the open window. “Sorry I’m late. Did Sierra hold dinner for us?”

  “Nope, I told her not to, because I’m taking you out for dinner,” Eva said.

  Casey looked confused until she pointed at the picnic basket near the front door.

  “Are we going on a picnic?” he asked, looking both bemused and amused.

  “We are. Wait for a second while I get the cold stuff from inside,” she said, turning on her heel and running up the steps.

  By the time she got back, Casey was sliding the picnic basket into the bed of his pickup. She was just in time to catch him lifting the lid to take a peek inside.

  “Hey, no previewing. It’s a surprise,” she said, and he dropped the lid and held his hands up to let her know he’d gotten the message.


  She passed him the cooler and the blanket. “Sierra said there’s a lantern in the barn that we might want to take, and that you’d know where to find it.”

  Casey tilted his head. “This is sounding like a very elaborate picnic.”

  “Cowboy, us city girls don’t do things by halves,” she said.

  “I have noticed that,” he said, his gaze sliding over her tight tank and denim mini skirt.

  “Go get the lantern,” she said, giving him a little shove on the hip to get him moving. “But save that thought for later.”

  A couple of minutes later they were cruising down the drive, an old Dolly Parton song playing quietly on the radio.

  “Turn left when you hit the highway,” she instructed, and he shot her a speculative look.

  “I don’t get to know where we’re going, either?”

  “Not until we get there,” she said, even though she knew the odds were good he’d guess long before then. He was the local after all, not her.

  “International woman of mystery,” he said, smiling faintly, but he turned left as she’d asked and followed the rest of her instructions without objection until she told him to pull over on the side of a single-lane gravel road.

  “This is the Daltons’ land,” Casey said, peering out the window at the lines of well-established apple trees marching away from the road.

  “I know. Sierra made a call, and we are welcome to enjoy their orchard this evening as long as we take our trash home.”

  “This is like a military operation. Did you pull all this together today?” he asked, pushing the car door open.

  “Sierra helped me,” she admitted.

  “Of course she did.”

  Together they walked to the rear of the pickup to collect everything. Eva hefted the cooler and blanket, while Casey took the basket and lantern.

  “I assume you know where you’re going?” Casey said, gesturing for her to lead the way.

  “I do.”

  She lifted the cooler through the post and rail fence alongside the road before following it through, and Casey followed suit with the basket. Then they walked through the trees, heading down a gentle slope until the faint sound of water was audible.

  “Almost there,” she said.

  “I know this place. We used to swim here when we were kids,” Casey said as they stepped out from beneath the trees and onto a broad swathe of wild grass that sloped gently down to a slow-moving creek.

  “Apparently the sunsets are to die for out here,” she said.

  “We won’t have too long to wait,” he said, glancing toward the horizon where the sun was already a glowing red ball above the mountains.

  “That’s why we needed the lantern,” she explained.

  “Like I said, a military operation.”

  Together they chose a good spot and she spread the blanket out before Casey set the basket on one corner.

  “Okay, now you sit back and enjoy,” she insisted.

  “I can’t let you do all the work.”

  “Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not exactly sweating over a hot oven here,” she said.

  Opening the cooler, she pulled out two bottles of Dalton’s Sweet Bite cider.

  “Seemed appropriate,” she said as she flipped the cap off one of the bottles and passed it over.

  “Hey, I love this stuff,” Casey said.

  She sent up a silent thank you to Sierra for the excellent intel.

  “I know.”

  She opened the picnic basket next, pulling out two enormous meatloaf hoagies and slices of the Diner’s famous pecan pie.

  “You got me a meatloaf hoagie?” Casey asked, his delight more than obvious.

  “I did. Flo even included extra green tomato relish for you because she said you always ask for more.”

  Casey gave her a warm look. “Babe. You have knocked it out of the park.”

  She smiled, ridiculously tickled. “Good. Now you have to endure a few seconds of discomfort because I want to propose a toast.”

  She lifted her own bottle of cider, the amber glass cool and slippery with condensation.

  “To you, Casey Carmody, for being my rock through the past week. Even when we barely knew each other, you looked out for me, and you have been so sweet and kind, organizing for your poor brother and sister to sit through my presentation so I could practice, and driving me to my meeting. And let’s not forget that you are the genius who pointed out that this state is literally littered with abandoned grain elevators. Pitching the idea of an art trail is what got me over the line, and I will never, ever forget that that idea came from you,” she said. “So this is my way of saying thank you, and letting you know that I appreciate your thoughtfulness and generosity more than I can ever say.”

  Casey’s eyes remained steady on hers throughout her little speech, and she could see he was both touched and a little embarrassed by the acknowledgment.

  “Don’t make me out to be too much of a saint,” he said. “I really didn’t do much.”

  “You cared. You made me feel like what I wanted was important. That’s everything to me, Casey,” she said, her voice thick with sudden emotion.

  “Of course I care. I want you to be happy,” he said.

  “I know. Ditto. And I’m going to make you very happy once you’ve finished your hoagie,” she promised him.

  “Oh yeah?” he said, his expression arrested. Then his gaze cut over her shoulder to consider the privacy of their surrounds.

  “The main house is miles away, Sierra tells me,” she said.

  “It is. A long, long way away.”

  “That’s what I figured.” She reached for one of the hoagies and passed it to him. “Eat up, you’re going to need your strength.”

  “Only if you come sit by me,” he said, patting the blanket beside him.

  She obliged, and they spent the next half hour talking and laughing and marveling at the astonishingly vivid colors of the sun as it set behind the mountains. Maybe it was the fresh air, but Eva couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten such delicious food. Twilight was starting to take hold by the time they’d both washed their pie down with a second bottle of cider and all the summer insects erupted into a noisy chorus.

  Eva leaned her side against Casey’s and enjoyed the solid strength of him as she breathed in the warm night air.

  “I can barely remember what my life in LA is like,” she said dreamily. “Traffic jams and fancy coffee and spin classes and show openings… It almost seems like a different world out here. The sky goes on forever and the air smells like it’s newly minted and people smile at you on the street. Did you know that?” She sat up so she could see his face. “I was walking into the diner today and this nice couple I didn’t know from a bar of soap commented on what a nice day it was and we talked about the weather for a couple of minutes. That never happens in LA.”

  “Welcome to Marietta,” he said.

  She laughed. “Yeah. I’m glad I get to stay longer. With you.”

  She took a deep breath then, because there was another reason she’d wanted to have this picnic tonight. It seemed to her that she and Casey had both been pussyfooting around their feelings, neither of them prepared to name what was happening between them. And that was fine, she didn’t want to rush into anything, but she did want to know that they were at least headed in the same direction. She thought they were, but she’d been wrong in these matters before. And the only way to be sure was to use her words, as scary and vulnerable as that might be.

  “I don’t know if it’s occurred to you or not, but if I can get interest from other towns in the region, there’s a chance I could be busy here in Montana for a while. Months and months. If it happens fast enough, I might not have to go back to LA at all, maybe.”

  He was suddenly very still, his gaze very focused.

  “That’s true. I hadn’t thought it through that far. If the art trail ideas gets traction, you’d need to stay local.”

 
“I would. Which, for the record, I would be really happy about, for obvious reasons.” Suddenly she felt ridiculously, unaccountably nervous. “I know neither of us signed up for a relationship. I wasn’t looking for one, and I can only assume you weren’t, either, and maybe I am reading way, way too much into this whole situation, but I just wanted you to know where I was at.”

  Casey frowned slightly, a bemused smile on his lips. “You know how I feel. I’ve been pretty obvious I’m crazy about you.”

  “I know you like fucking me. And you listen to me and laugh at my jokes. I know it’s not just about sex.” She shrugged, unwilling to put more words in his mouth.

  Casey shifted on the rug, and she realized he was pulling his phone from his back pocket.

  “Please don’t tell me you’re about to phone a friend,” she said, only half joking.

  “I was going to talk to you about this tonight, for different reasons. But this’ll answer your questions better than anything I can say.”

  She frowned, confused, as he tapped the screen, bringing up what looked like a music app. Then he hit play, and a song started to unfurl into the dusky night, a dirty, grinding song with a demanding beat. She looked to Casey, confused, and then his voice came in over the music, singing about a woman with skin like velvet, his voice low and deep and raw.

  “Oh, wow,” she whispered as it hit her what she was listening to.

  He’d written this song for her.

  Holy shit.

  The lyrics spoke of desire and need, fascination and delight, tenderness and possessiveness, while the twangy guitar and boozy bass evoked dark nights and tangled sheets, whiskey shots and whispered words.

  All too soon Casey’s soulful voice faded into silence and Eva was left feeling overwhelmed, unable to even begin to process what she’d just heard.

  She was aware of Casey watching her, waiting for her response, and she tried to marshal her thoughts.

  “I don’t know what to say. It’s beautiful. And so sexy—you have no idea how much I want to tear your clothes off right now.” She stared at him, shaking her head again. “I can’t believe you wrote it for me.”