The picture that had changed to Jimmy Lonesome disappeared and the camera centered on the newscaster.
“No word as to if it’s expected the gravely injured Mr. Hightower will pull through. Ms. Lonesome has been sequestered in the hospital and has not been seen. It’s been a difficult year for the Lonesomes, with the unexpected loss to an aneurysm of Johnny Lonesome earlier this year, and now the tragic end of Rudy Lonesome Smith. We’ll report further when we know the identity of the second intruder and the condition of Mr. Hightower.”
She looked to her right, the male newscaster came on with a graphic beside him of a different story, and Wood lifted the remote and switched off the TV.
He dropped the remote to the side, took his boot off the edge of the coffee table and pulled his ass out of the couch.
He went looking for her and found her in the room in the basement where they kept a lot of shit they didn’t use often and a crap ton of the kids’ stuff they’d grown out of, his wife convinced some day one of them might want some of it and she didn’t want it to be gone if they did.
After he opened the door, he leaned against the frame and saw her at the long, folding table he’d set up for her, her sweet, round ass in a steel folding chair, the entirety of the table filled with wrap, tape, ribbon, bows, boxes, the cement floor all around her covered in bags, snippings of paper and ribbon and stacks of wrapped presents.
“You want help?” he asked, only because he knew her answer.
“Like you’re gonna wrap a present,” Maggie replied.
Yeah, that was her answer.
He grinned at her.
Her hands arrested, blade of scissors to the end of a ribbon, her eyes on him, she did not grin back.
“He’s gonna be okay,” she whispered.
She saw right into his soul.
She always did. Christ, even from their first date, he’d felt that.
He’d forgotten it along the way.
Staring in her warm eyes in her pretty face that topped her curvy body, ass to a chair in the basement of his house, back again where she belonged, it was fucking good he’d remembered.
“I know,” he whispered back.
“They’re moving him out of Critical Care tomorrow,” she told him something else he knew.
“I know,” he repeated.
“He’s a strong guy, sweetheart. He’ll be back to normal in no time.”
“I know, baby.”
She gave that time then she asked quietly, “Do you think, Deke finding Jus, all that happened happened, it’s all going to be all right…again…that all the drama is finally going to be over?”
Wood gave his woman the truth.
“It’s never over, baby.”
Still watching him, she gave up on the present, got up and walked to him.
She didn’t stop, fitting her small, soft body into his long one, wrapping her arms around him.
He did the same with her, bending his neck, putting his lips to the top of her hair.
“You wanna go to bed?” she asked his chest.
“Fuck yeah,” he answered.
Maggie tipped her head back and smiled.
And Wood felt better.
Epilogue
“I’ll Crawl Home to Her”
Justice
“You look shit hot,” Krystal declared and I looked through the mirror at my girl walking into my dressing room, Bubba following her carrying Breanne on his hip.
“Krys, shi-ee-oot,” Bubba growled, curling his free hand around one of Breanne’s ears.
She tossed a glance over her shoulder at him. “Worse could happen, her first word bein’ shit.”
“How about we still avoid that, yeah?” he asked.
She turned to me, rolling her eyes.
I looked up to the makeup artist at my side and gave her a grin.
“You’re done anyway,” she muttered. “Come back to do a touch up and put the headpiece on before you go on.”
I nodded.
She wended her way through the bodies crowding my dressing room.
“Champagne, champagne and more champagne,” Jim-Billy called out, having instantly found his way to the refreshment area, a table laid out with snacks and big bowls filled with ice. Bottles of water and soda were stuck in one, champagne in the other. He looked to me. “Got beer, sweetheart?”
“Mini-fridge, Jim-Billy,” I told him.
“I’ll take champagne,” Lexie called out.
“Me too,” Faye said.
“Beer for me,” Twyla grunted.
“Yo.” I heard Lauren greet.
“Yo.” I heard Deke reply and I turned my attention to the couch where Deke had been sprawled since even before the stylist started working on me.
Lauren had thrown herself down close to him, in the opening of his arm stretched at the back.
Once down, he curled it around her.
I found Tate and saw him grinning at his woman with his friend. He felt my gaze and gave his to me.
I smiled.
Tate didn’t smile.
He walked right to me, lifted his hand and slid it inside my hair to the back of my neck. He pulled me down as he bent and I felt his lips touch my forehead.
The pressure at my neck lessened, I drew back and looked up at him.
“You ready for this?” he asked.
I nodded. “It’s gonna be great.”
“Yeah, it is,” he murmured, finally giving me a smile before he slid his hand back out and moved away.
“Just FYI, the rest of ’em are in the VIP section, savin’ us seats,” Krystal informed me.
“Cool,” I replied.
“Can we take beer to the VIP?” Jim-Billy asked.
“You can do anything you want,” I answered.
He gave me a broken grin.
“You decide if you’re gonna announce tonight that you’re recording again?” Laurie asked.
I nodded my head, though I answered, “No announcement. I think we’ll make it low-key. Drop the album. While Deke and I are on the road, I’ll hit some bars, honkytonks. Nothing planned. Still, it’ll hit social media, create buzz. Mr. T said that when the stuff was downloaded when I played at Bubba’s, my sales didn’t skyrocket, but they did get a push. It’ll be more fun that way and low pressure. I don’t need another gold record, just…” I shrugged, turning my eyes to Deke who had his warm on me, “to make music.”
“Sounds fuckin’ cool,” Twyla decreed.
“Uh, would everyone stop cussin’ around my kid?” Bubba asked impatiently.
“Dude, you’re bringin’ her to a freakin’ rock concert. And whatever Lacey Town does. What’s that called?” Twyla asked me. “Hip hop?”
“R&B,” I answered.
“And that,” Twyla said to Bubba.
“She likes loud music,” Krys declared, moving to her baby girl, putting out a finger that Breanne instantly grabbed. Krys dropped her face in her little one’s, sing-songing, “Don’t you, Bree? You’re like your momma. The louder, the better.”
Breanne giggled her agreement, shaking her momma’s finger excitedly then letting her go and reaching out with both hands.
Krys took her. The handoff complete, Bubba moved to the refreshment area.
He grabbed a Coke and popped it open.
“Lotsa flowers,” Ty muttered, having lounged in an armchair, his arm curled around Lexie’s hips where she was seated on the arm at his side.
“Yep,” I agreed.
“Folks wantin’ you back in the business?” Chace asked.
I shook my head and started pointing, counting them down.
“Dana, for doing this. Joss, to break a leg. Lacey, because we do that, big gig, a massive spray of flowers. I did it for her too. Mr. T, because his assistant sees to that kinda thing for him. Mav, because he’s finally got his head out of his ass.” My voice dipped and I pointed to some exquisite red roses, but my eyes shifted to Deke. “Deke.” I grinned at him before I pointed to the last. “And my g
irl Bianca because she’s not gonna be here but she wants to be here in spirit.”
“This is probably good,” Chace muttered.
“This is definitely good,” Deke muttered back.
In the interim, especially after what happened at my house, calls had been made and texts had been exchanged between me and Bianca. Once Deke was firmly on the road to recovery, a short conversation had been had that didn’t say a lot over the phone because I suspected she couldn’t say a lot over the phone and wouldn’t do it in person either.
But she was keeping her distance. For me, because at first I needed that to see to Deke. Then I’d shared it’d be best simply in regards to Deke.
Not to mention, because Joss had eventually phoned her, chewed her ass out about what happened to me and said she didn’t want to see her face again until she was ready (this, I figured, would last another week or so before they sorted it out and all was good).
And Lacey wasn’t speaking to her at all.
She’d get over it too.
Time.
Time healed.
I looked back to Deke, my eyes skimming his chest covered in a chocolate-brown, button-up shirt that looked hot on him.
Yeah.
Time healed.
“We should have bought her flowers,” Faye whispered to her husband.
“Next time, sweetheart. This time, looks like she’s covered,” he whispered back.
A knock came at the door and Twyla moved to open it.
The gal with a mouthpiece wrapped around her cheek looked at Twyla, swung in, found me and said, “Ten minutes to go time, Justice.”
I nodded. “I’m ready.”
“Grab some brews, we should get to our seats,” Jim-Billy ordered Tate, who now had his own beer and was standing by the mini-fridge. “I don’t wanna miss anything.”
“You need anything, Jussy?” Lexie asked.
I shook my head. “All good.”
“Right.” She jumped from the chair, grabbing Ty’s hand. “Up, Mr. Humongo. I don’t want to miss anything either.”
I slid off my seat, gave out hugs, cheek kisses, and when Krystal came to me, I said, “Love the hair.”
“Had to go rock ‘n’ roll,” she replied and looked in my eyes. “For you.” A pause as the attitude she held up as a shield to hold others back melted clean away and the love she had for me swept in in its place before she finished, “And for Johnny.”
I felt a lump hit my throat, bent into her and touched foreheads.
“Straight up, he’d love it,” I shared.
He would. She’d gone full-on 80’s video vamp, all blonde frosted flips and curls, teased so far out, it was ratted in some places.
She rocked it.
Dad would have loved her hair, but he would have loved her better.
She was his kind of woman.
She shoved her forehead in mine. Breanne beat my chest, Krys pulled back and I shot Breanne a wide-mouth-and-big-eyes goofy face.
She giggled again.
By the time they were all gone, the makeup girl was back and she slid on the headband which was a patterned scarf with a hint of braiding that had long ends that mingled with the back of my hair. The front of that hair was plaited in a fat braid from one temple across my front hairline to disappear behind my opposite ear.
The rest hung long.
While she did this, I didn’t pay attention to what she was doing.
I was alternating between watching Deke grin at me in the mirror and looking at the photo I’d stuck into the side of it, one of the photos from that night months ago at Bubba’s.
The first photo of me and Deke.
The first photo of me with my new family.
The stylist finished up by hitting my cheeks with some dewy peach and doing another swipe of lip gloss before she pulled back, scrutinized me from crown to shoulders and declared, “You’re good.” She straightened and bid, “Kick ass out there.”
“I will,” I assured.
She took off.
I twisted my seat to Deke who was still in the couch.
“So?” I swept up a hand to indicate me.
My outfit consisted of rust-colored short shorts that had a subtle gold glitter to them, but that subtlety would be lost when the lights hit them onstage. Also a lacy cream bra. None of this was seen very well because I was wearing a huge smock that hung down below my shorts with a scalloped hem that was made of a netting of delicate lace. It had a gathered, scooped neckline and scalloped, full sleeves that hit at my elbows. There were cut outs at my shoulders.
I’d accompanied this with lots of dangling necklaces, long hoops in my ears, as well as the studs up the shells, lots of bracelets on my non-strumming wrist, a thick band of Native American beading at that wrist and my beat-up, fawn suede cowboy boots.
“You wanna wear that top anytime, gypsy, without the shorts and bra, feel free,” Deke replied.
Approval.
I felt my mouth curl up, slid off the seat and went to him.
I put one knee in the couch at one of his hips, the other on the other side and settled down, straddling him, my hands to either side of his neck.
“You decide if you’re gonna stay backstage or go to VIP?” I asked quietly.
“VIP, Jussy,” he answered, his eyes lighting. “Don’t wanna miss anything.”
He wanted to watch me perform, be out there where the beauty happened.
I got that.
“Then you best go,” I told him.
He nodded. “Yeah.”
“You can’t mess anything up,” I warned at the look in his eye. “There’s twenty thousand people out there and my lip gloss has to be just right.”
This was less about Deke messing up my hair and makeup and more about him having that look in his eye, me wanting to give into it, which meant the start of a huge, multi-act concert in tribute to my father would be indefinitely delayed.
He shook his head, his eyes still lit, and then ducked it, going in to kiss my throat.
He pulled back, rested his head on the back of the couch and whispered, “Love you, Justice.”
I knew he did. I knew it before he’d nearly died for me.
Now, I knew he did.
“I love you too, Deke.”
“Proud of you, baby.”
My voice was husky when I replied, “Thank you, honey.”
“Like that girl said, kick ass.”
“I will.”
Suddenly, we were both up, Deke surging out of the couch, his hands on my waist lifting me with him.
He put me down on my feet and I bent my head way back to keep his eyes.
He dipped his chin deep into his neck to keep mine.
Then he lifted his hand, forefinger extended, so he could slide the tip of it from the top of my throat along the soft skin under my jaw to the point of my chin.
I drew in breath and held it.
He’d touched me, a lot.
A lot, a lot.
But he’d only ever done that to me once before.
The night we met.
In Wyoming.
He remembered.
Everything.
“Give ’em hell, baby girl,” he said softly. “See you on the other side.”
Baby girl.
He’d called me that only in Wyoming too.
“Yeah, Deke.”
His eyes crinkled, one side of his lips hitched up, and I pivoted as I watched him walk out of the room.
I drew in breath and stared at the door.
Twenty thousand people.
I’d never played to a venue that big.
All of them were there for Heaven’s Gate. Let. The Chokers. Uncle Jimmy. Aunt Tammy. Lacey. And the final act who came in after I’d asked their band leader: Stella and the Blue Moon Gypsies.
All of them were there for my daddy.
A knock came on the door, it opened before I called out and Mav swung in.
“They’re ready for us, Jussy,” he said.
He took my hand when I got close.
We wound our way through some serious backstage activity to the side stage.
Dana was standing there.
She turned and smiled at us. Reaching out a hand.
It wasn’t me who moved us forward to take it.
It was Mav.
For several long moments we all did nothing but stand there, linked together, looking at each other, holding on tight.
And then, at Mav tugging Dana and my hands, we started to move onstage.
But something made me look back.
When I did, emerging from the shadows and hubbub backstage, Mr. T appeared.
He had eyes on me.
And my heart squeezed when I saw on his lips that he was smiling.
Out and out smiling.
I shot my smile back and then faced forward.
And the three people who meant the most to Johnny Lonesome in his life at his death walked onstage hand in hand to start a kickass party.
* * * * *
I looked back to Dad’s band, smiling so huge it hurt my face, as we all lifted then fell to the final note of one of Dad’s most kickass songs.
I turned back to the crowd of screaming, clapping, shouting fans, the chant of, “Lonesome, Lonesome, Lonesome,” coming in a beautiful wave, undulating all around me.
I swept my smile through them, but at its end, I looked home.
This being to the right side of the stage, cordoned off, fitted with padded seats that were all empty because everyone was standing.
I saw a lot of people I knew who didn’t belong to me.
But with Deke, I saw a lot of people who did, including ones who hadn’t come in to check up on me and raid my mini-fridge: Max and Nina, Sunny and Shambles, Wood and Maggie, Dominic and Daniel, Ham and Zara, Decker and Emme.
Home.
My smile lingered on them before I moved back to the standing microphone.
I’d already sung “Chain Link,” glancing at Deke occasionally throughout as I did.
Bounty (Colorado Mountain #7) Page 55