Bounty (Colorado Mountain #7)

by Kristen Ashley

  I did that because Deke knew that song was for him. I didn’t need to make a point of it.

  But it was more.

  In all that had played out, no one was going to get that. That was only his.

  And I wanted to keep that only for Deke.

  For him and for me.

  I’d also sung Rondstadt’s “It’s So Easy.” I did this for Deke too, liking the curve it put on his lips. But, as ever, I also did it for Joss.

  I’d sung others of mine. But that wasn’t the vibe I wanted to give. The slow and the sweet.

  No.

  I wanted to give them Dad.

  So, with his band backing me, we did lots of covers of Dad’s music. And halfway through my set, Lacey, Perry and Terrence (my girl was on after me, Dad’s buds had already done their sets), came out to the crowd going wild, and together we did Dad’s most well-known rompin’, stompin’ rock anthem.

  And now it was time for me to wind up so Lacey could do her thing and then Stella and her boys could finish the night off.

  I drew in breath and looked out into the dark sea of faces.

  Then I said into the mic, “My father was Johnny Lonesome to you. But he was Dad to me. The best dad there could be.” The crowd roared but I kept talking and they quieted quickly to hear me. “I miss him. I’ll always miss him. And part of that is missing the fact that he was gone before he saw that I’d found my peace. But I know he knows that peace is with me. So I figure he’ll like me ending my time with you, singing the words to a freakin’ awesome song to share with you the peace a life of bounty saw fit to give to me.”

  I felt the shift in the crowd as I spoke.

  They knew, with the media all over it for weeks, what Rudy did, how Deke saved me, Aunt Tammy’s haggard face, Uncle Jimmy’s tight one, Tate, Ty, Wood, Chace, Bubba crowding me, trying to hide me from the cameras as they rushed me to and from cars and hospital.

  They knew.

  Everyone knew my bounty.

  I stepped back, looked over my shoulder, nodded, giving the beat, one, two, three and four and…

  I went back to the mic and it was me who flicked my fingernails on the strings for the first notes of Lynyrd Skynrd’s “Simple Man.”

  The crowd went crazy.

  My dad’s band kicked in behind me.

  I shifted my eyes to the right and started to sing that song.

  And that song I sang right to Deke. Unlike “Chain Link,” I didn’t take my eyes from him when words flowed through my mouth.

  Every word, I gave right to my man.

  I didn’t care that twenty thousand people saw. I wanted them to. That’s why I was doing it.

  I was proud to share the best way I knew how, through music, the kind of man I had. How much there was of him. How he made less so much more. How he redefined the word “simple” in glorious ways.

  Dad’s band rocked it while the darkness in front of me lit with the pinprick lights on cell phones.

  And I prayed to God my voice raised to the heavens so my dad would hear each word and truly know just the man who had given me peace.

  That said, I knew he was watching over me.

  So he already knew.

  When the song was over, I pulled my guitar from around my neck and walked sure-footed to the side of the stage. You know, just in case some in the upper decks missed it.

  I got down on my knees, put my guitar on its back to the stage and bent way forward.

  Because Deke was right there.

  His head tipped back, his hand slid into my hair, and I kissed him, long, hard and wet.

  I knew pictures were taken. That would never stop.

  Even with his long hospitalization and recovery, Deke did not escape the fame his actions settled on his broad shoulders. Mr. T gave his most valiant effort, but with what Deke did, the way Deke looked, the perfection that was him and me, to that day, they still hounded us.

  Deke took to fame a lot better than me.

  It happened.

  And at my side, he just kept being Deke.

  When our kiss ended, the roar of the crowd was deafening.

  But me and Deke, we just touched noses.

  I looked into his eyes and whispered, “Bounty.”

  His teeth caught his lower lip and his hand in my hair spasmed.

  I pulled away, got up and sauntered with guitar back to the mic.

  “Time for Lacey,” I told the crowd, lifted my guitar and felt the wave of love hit me. “Thanks for spending time with me. And more.” I put my hand to my chest. “Thanks for being here for my dad.”

  More love blasted over me as, lifting a hand in a wave, carrying my guitar with me, I walked off the stage followed by my dad’s band.

  * * * * *

  Justice Lonesome with her father’s band doing a rendition of “Simple Man” wouldn’t be the video that Mr. T’s people uploaded from that night on YouTube that got the most hits.

  No.

  Because the best was yet to come.

  * * * * *

  I stood backstage, touched up and ready to join everyone else at the end of the concert when we’d all jam to Dad’s “Never Missin’ Home.”

  But I was watching with some confusion as the setup for Stella’s set included the stage lights going purple and the stagehands setting up eleven microphone stands up front.

  I felt someone join me and looked right to see Joss slide in there.

  She never liked to miss anything either so she’d been in VIP.

  “Hey, what’re you doing here?” I asked.

  She just gave me a look I felt in my belly and around the rims of my heart.

  She took my hand just as more fingers slid around my other one.

  I looked left and saw Dana.

  Oh shit.

  “What’s going on?” I asked, my body bracing.

  Dana turned her head toward the stage.

  I looked that way too.

  The stagehands were gone.

  And filing in solemnly were Perry, Terrence, Lacey, Rod, Uncle Jimmy, Aunt Tammy, Stella, and her band, Hugo, Pong, Buzz and Leo.

  They each took a microphone.

  The crowd seemed to sense something was happening. The buzz was low and attentive, when, even after this array of artists took the stage, it stayed purple.

  “Bear with us, folks, we’ve had a request,” Stella said into the microphone. “There’s a man who wants us to sing a song to his gypsy.”

  My vision instantly went watery, but my eyes shot to the right, where I could see the front of the VIP seating.

  Deke was already looking at me.

  That was when the humming started, like a funeral dirge, somber in its beauty.

  And the punctuated clapping.

  A low, perfect harmony.

  My gaze cut back to the stage.

  And beats after it did, a cappella, Rod started singing Hozier’s “Work Song.”

  My knees got weak.

  Dana and Joss held me up, their hands in mine tightening, their bodies shifting into my sides like they felt it happening.

  As for me, I felt. A lot. Too much. Such beauty, making my skin seem too thin to contain it, hold it in. My heart working hard in the effort to draw it deep inside me, absorb it, keep it forever there, filling me. All this as the fat drops of wet slipped from my eyes, gliding down my cheeks and I saw Rod turn his head and sing his words to his wife.

  So beautiful.

  I loved my mom had that from Roddy.

  But still.

  Those words were for me.

  Those that didn’t have hands raised, cell phones up, dotting the sea of dark faces with thousands of slowly swaying stars started to add to the slow clap as well as giving stomps of their feet. Thousands of hands striking and feet landing, the noise reverberating through the arena, each one thumped against my flesh, beating the emotion I was feeling right to the pit of my heart where I’d always hold it.

  Always.

  I looked again right, catching Krystal g
rinning so huge at me, it was like her smile was a flash of a cell phone.

  But I only spared her a glance in my search for Deke.

  He was still watching me.

  Perry sang. And Terrence. And Hugo. And Buzz.

  Everyone on stage sang the chorus and consistent humming.

  Uncle Jimmy finished the song.

  Through it I studied my man’s face. Unsurprisingly, the lines of life had tunneled deeper after he took four bullets for me and had months of painful recovery.

  Now, for the first time since it happened, they were gone.

  His life had smoothed out of his face once again, finally, as he watched me receive the second most beautiful gift I’d ever received…that one and the first both coming from Deke.

  And at that end the song, Deke’s lips moved.

  I watched them form one word.

  Bounty.

  It was a miracle of music. It was a moment a music fan wished for for a lifetime. The kind they’d tell their friends, their kids, anybody who would listen, sharing it over and over until the day they died.

  That day eleven legends took the stage and sang the most beautiful love song ever written.

  A song whose astonishing, exquisite words, for me, from Deke, months before came nearly literally.

  So yeah.

  That got the most hits on YouTube.

  Absolutely.

  And Dad would have absolutely fucking loved every second of it.

  * * * * *

  Deke

  Body bent back, knees in the bed, Deke smoothed his hand over the ceiling of his trailer.

  When he was sure all the edges were glued down, no bubbles, what was there fixed there being fixed there until that trailer was no more, he dropped his hand and looked up at the poster for the Johnny Lonesome tribute concert, one of several made up, this one with a picture of Jussy at a mic with her guitar.

  He looked down at her lazing on her back on their bed.

  “Good?” he asked.

  Her eyes went from the poster over their bed to him.

  “Perfect,” she whispered.

  Not exactly, he thought. But it’s the perfect start.

  He twisted and went down on her, taking her mouth.

  Jussy opened for him.

  Deke slid his tongue inside.

  There it was again.

  Perfect.

  * * * * *

  Twang Magazine

  Rock’s Gypsy Princess Makes Miracles

  Justice Lonesome’s comeback tour is not what you’d expect it to be.

  Unlike what came from Lonesome’s debut, Chain Link, after dropping her remarkable second album, The Miracle Mountains, she did not hit sold-out venues and press junket after press junket.

  She went on the road.

  Not on tour.

  Just on the road.

  Apparently, you can be anywhere from sea to shining sea, and if the music stars are aligned, shining on you the fortune of Lonesome, you might be having a beer at a bar and suddenly a woman, sometimes with a full band, sometimes with just a guitar and a microphone, will start singing.

  And that woman will be Justice Lonesome.

  She’ll rock her signature covers of Rondstadt. She might sing any of her father, Johnny’s, songs. However, as old fans and the new ones Lonesome is claiming along the way are avidly keeping track of on social media, she always sings Johnny’s “Never Missin’ Home.”

  And, of course, each time she’ll hand you the jewel that shone in her first album, that album’s title song, “Chain Link.”

  She’ll also do her new stuff and you will not be disappointed.

  Lonesome stamped her talent of penning a rock ballad all over her first effort.

  Spreading her wings, showing growth and maturity, the ballads from The Miracle Mountains are more nuanced, have more passion, more pathos, and clearly demonstrate from debut to album two that Lonesome has honed already epic storytelling chops, including “Knight in Dented Armor” and “(Ev’ry Time I Come Home) Life Begins Again.”

  But The Miracle Mountains gives us even more.

  Emerging from the very long shadows of the two legends who came before her, Jerry and Johnny, Justice Lonesome’s signature ballads this time are mixed with twangy, foot-tapping, knee-bouncing country rock Ronstadt herself set the standard for with Lonesome’s new singles “Pleasure and Pain” and “Gypsy Princess.”

  The Miracle Mountains is not a successful second effort.

  It’s transcendent.

  But it’s not only that.

  It’s the way she’s going about spreading that love that’s refreshing and unique.

  With her current level of popularity and a loyal, solid fanbase who’ve been waiting over half a decade for her second collection, Lonesome could easily fill event centers and smaller arenas.

  Instead, seemingly randomly, with no notice, no promotion, no press, and most surprisingly, no ticket sales, wherever the wind takes her, she’s walking into saloons or honkytonks and letting fly.

  But Justice Lonesome is not crazy nor is she stupid. It’s not just handheld phone video that’s hitting download sites. Professionally shot videos are also spreading wide. Even so, the production is minimal. It’s Lonesome, perhaps backed by her band or just rock ‘n’ roll’s gypsy with her guitar.

  If your stars have aligned and the fortune of Lonesome shines on you and you find yourself in that bar having that beer and Justice Lonesome takes that mic, request her rendition of the Zac Brown Band’s “Free.” Buzz backed by fan video is that it’s wicked good. Added bonus, every time she sings it, her eyes never stray from the man who took four bullets for her, a man who never leaves her side, her fiancé, Deke Hightower.

  Unlike her grandfather, Jerry, who worked the road and the business with smarts, screaming talent and downhome sensibility, earning his crown as a rock god. And unlike her father, Johnny, who took up the family mantle, followed his father’s path and soared even higher, earning his own reign. In one fell swoop, Justice Lonesome has seized a new crown: Rock’s Gypsy Princess.

  Long may she reign.

  * * * * *

  Heart

  Out in the middle of nowhere, nothing there but silver steel blinking in the bright sun, the door to the Airstream opened and the woman stepped out, the heavy waves and curls of her beautiful, long, dark hair lifting at the sudden warm wind that swirled around the trailer.

  She wore a flowy, sleeveless, lacy top that hung down low over her hips in four points. Cut-off shorts frayed at the hems. Square-toed, dark-brown motorcycle boots on her feet, flowery socks you could see over the top rims.

  She hopped down and a big man followed her, his beard thick, his hair long, pulled back in a mess, fastened at the back of his head.

  The man stopped, one hand in hers, the other one lifting to lock the door of the trailer.

  Dipping his chin, he looked down at her as he turned, tugging her along with him as he moved them both to the motorcycle parked six feet away.

  He strode.

  She skipped.

  He grinned.

  She giggled.

  Positioning her out of the way, he threw a long leg over first, lifting the bike from its stand, kicking that stand back.

  She mounted behind him with practiced ease, instantly pressing close, wrapping her arms tight around his stomach.

  He fired up the bike, lifted a hand. Pulling some shades from the collar of his white tee, he flicked them out, slid them on.

  She unearthed her glasses from that mess of hair and positioned them over her eyes.

  Blue-lensed Ray-Ban aviators.

  The Heart approved.

  The man bent slightly to take hold of both grips.

  The woman went with him.

  His hand moved minutely and a fog of dirt kicked up as the bike shot forward, roaring out of the dirt right to the road.

  The Heart moved.

  Hovering in the middle of the road, he leaned forward and blew lightly.
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  Another gust of warm wind raced down the road, hitting the man and woman in the back, blowing her hair even more wildly than it was already moving around the man’s face.

  The man smiled white at the horizon.

  The woman rested her chin on his shoulder, pressed tight and sighed deep.

  The Heart watched.

  And he watched.

  And when they were no longer a dot on the horizon, the rider and his gypsy disappearing into the sun, the Heart looked up.

  And he went home.

  The Colorado Mountain Series will conclude

  with the story of Wood and Maggie.

  * * * * *

  Read an excerpt from For You,

  the beginning of Kristen Ashley’s The ‘Burg Series!

  Angie

  Until that day, I’d made an art out of avoiding Alexander Colton.

  All my work would be for nothing, all because of Angie.

  Poor, sweet, stupid, dead Angie.

  * * * * *

  Martin Fink and Christopher Renicki were the first two uniforms who responded to my call. I’d known Marty and Chris for ages. It was good they were partners. Chris was smart; Marty, not so much.

  We were out in the alley, Chris doing crime scene stuff, Marty standing by me. A couple of squad cars with their lights silently flashing had pulled in on either side of the dumpster. Other uniforms had been dispatched to hold back the growing crowd and the crime scene tape was secured by the time Alec showed up.

  He’d parked elsewhere and didn’t come through the bar like I expected him to. He had keys to the bar, for one. For another, he knew the bar nearly as well as I did and not only because he spent a good deal of time sitting at the end of it, my brother standing inside the bar in front of him, both of them drinking beer and talking about shit I couldn’t hear because I stayed well away.

  Another surprise was he also didn’t have his partner Sully with him.

  I watched him as he walked up to Marty and me.

  The detectives in town, not that there were many of them, wore ill-fitting, inexpensive suits or nice trousers and shirts with ties.