Can't Stop the Music (The Soul Mate Tree Book 2)

by C. D. Hersh

  Grabbing her stuff, she walked to the lean-to. The muddy ground sucked at her sandals, threatening to pull them off her feet.

  “I’m River,” the blond said.

  “I’m—”

  River cut the dark-haired guy off, jerking his thumb at him. “He’s Dakota.”

  He gave River a startled stare.

  Her gaze cut between the two guys. “You always talk for him?”

  Scowling at River, Dakota grunted, “No.”

  “Only when it’s necessary to keep him out of trouble,” River replied.

  “River . . . Dakota.” She said Dakota’s name hesitantly, since he seemed to react negatively to his buddy calling him Dakota. “Are those your real names?”

  “Nicknames,” River explained. “Our real names are too square. And you are?”

  For a second, she hesitated. What if one of these hot guys was the soul mate promised by the tree? Shouldn’t she tell them her real name? Willow thought her name square, too. A hip Rosemary might be needed to catch one of these cuties. Better to be cool.

  “Rose.” She dropped to the ground next to Dakota. Her backside hit something hard. She twisted to see what she’d bumped into.

  “Sorry. My guitar.” He shifted, his thigh touching hers as he shoved the guitar case back.

  A jolt of energy ran through her when his leg brushed hers. She swallowed the gasp rising to her lips and stared at him, searching his face for any sign he’d felt the jolt, too.

  His eyes locked onto hers, and her throat closed. “Are you one of the musicians scheduled to play?” she managed to squeak out.

  A slow smile spread across his mouth. “I wish.” He laughed. “I’m a roadie. They hired me to fix things on the stage if they break.”

  Easing her trembling leg away from him, she pointed at the stage. “Did you help build that monstrosity?”

  “Yeah.” He reached behind his hip and patted the instrument case. “I’m also an aspiring musician.”

  She leaned forward, focusing her attention on River, all too aware of the handsome guy beside her. “What about you?”

  “Back-up guitar player,” River said. “I’m hoping to get a fill-in gig with one of the performers. I heard some of their guys are still stuck in the traffic jam. I’m looking for my big break.” He gave her the once-over, his eyes lingering on her chest. “And you?”

  She shivered at his perusal, uncertain if it made her uncomfortable or excited . . . or both. She shifted, blousing her top away from her torso. “Just a music student here for the tunes.”

  “Got a favorite?” Dakota asked.

  “Favorites,” she said. “There’s so many I can’t choose.”

  River frowned. “If you’re here for the music, what are you doing up here? The sound sucks this far away from the stage.”

  “The crowds make me nervous. I needed to get away for a while.”

  “You here alone?” River’s voice caressed the last word.

  Something in his tone set Rose on edge. “No. I came with friends. They’ve got a spot at the front of the stage.”

  “Prime real estate,” Dakota said. “We should go visit them. Would they mind?”

  She smiled. Willow would think it cool if she appeared with two guys in tow. She glanced down the hillside. The dots of people seemed even more crowded than last night. “Still too many people for me.”

  “There’s a second stage the Hog Farmers set up for free performances.” Dakota motioned to the left. “The headliners aren’t there, but others are jamming on it. I could take you there. Might not be as packed as the main stage.”

  “Ahh. How sweet of you.” His concern impressed her. She touched the leaves tucked in her headband. Was the magic working already?

  River leaned forward, commanding her attention. “Or you could go backstage with me. I know some of the performers.”

  “Who?” she asked, intrigued by his offer.

  “Credence Clearwater. The Incredible String Band.”

  Dakota frowned. “I know some of the artists, too.”

  Her gaze cut between the two guys. Were they fighting for her attention? She tried to keep a smile off her face.

  “Sounds great. Why don’t we do it all? I play the flute. The three of us could jam on the free stage. Then we could all go backstage to meet the performers you know. That would be far out.”

  Dakota rose and grabbed his guitar case. “The rain’s let up a bit. Why not go now?”

  Standing, she shouldered her backpack. “Works for me. Is it okay if I leave my sleeping bag here? Your lean-to will protect it from the rain.”

  “Fine with us.” River hauled his guitar case to his shoulder and started down the hill.

  “Ladies, first.” Dakota gestured with a sweep of his hand.

  She stared at River’s disappearing back, then smiled at Dakota. “You’re not much of a Sixties man, in spite of how you look, are you?”

  He flipped his long, black hair over his shoulder and hitched up his tie-dyed jeans. “My momma’s from the South and my grandma’s from the old country. Italy. They taught me to be a gentleman, hippie or not.”

  Her fingertips stroked the leaves secured in her headband. Things were looking up.

  Chapter 4

  Dakota watched Rose’s hips sway as they made their way down the muddy slope. He wanted to know this girl better. His sandal slipped on the hillside. Yanking his gaze from her to the brown muck underfoot, he checked his footing.

  Silently, he cursed River for saddling him with a nickname. He should have spoken up and given his real name. He’d been hanging around River too long. The dude’s bad habits were starting to wear off on him.

  Lying about real names was only one of the things they disagreed about. River thought free love should come with no strings attached, including your real identity. In case things didn’t go well. And with River they hadn’t, any number of times. When it came to the opposite sex his buddy’s philosophy was take what you want, cut, and run. Bad news for women.

  He, on the other hand, thought love had consequences. A man should stand up, be a man, and face the results of his actions. He studied Rose as she made her way down the slope. There was something different about her. Something that made him think she wasn’t a one-night-stand type of woman. That intrigued him. As soon as he could, he’d tell her who he really was. Grandma would smile at his declaration.

  Rose hiked the hem of her wet skirt to her knees, revealing shapely legs. His gaze drifted to the vision in front of him. As he did, he lost his footing, landing butt first on the ground. The wet grass hurled him downhill, his guitar case bumping behind him.

  “Rose!” he shouted as he skidded toward her.

  She turned as his feet hit hers, throwing her into the air. She landed on his chest with a whump and a scream. With his free hand, he grabbed her, hugging her to him. They shimmied down the muddy hillside in the missionary position. Every rock in the grass jolted him, grinding his hips against hers. If he hadn’t been so frightened they’d get hurt, the ride might have been enjoyable. When they hit level ground, they splashed into a mud puddle.

  For a split second neither of them said a word, as much as from lack of breath as shock.

  Then Rose burst out laughing. “Are you hurt?” she asked between peals of mirth. She rolled off him, into the middle of the puddle. Mud splashed onto her peasant blouse in broad paisley patterns.

  Straightening, he lifted his guitar overhead. He glanced at Rose, covered in brown sludge. Even through the dirt, her gorgeousness shone.

  Then he checked his muddy guitar case. “Glad I had my guitar in its case. I’d hate to think what all this muck would do to my Martin.”

  “You have a Martin?” Her eyes rounded. Then she shouted with more laughter. “Your h
air’s muddy brown now.”

  He plucked a clump of dirt from the top of her head. “And you’re a dirty redhead.”

  Suddenly, her hand flew to her headband. “My leaves!” She plucked around in her muddy hair, her eyes frantic.

  A set of light green leaves waved on the top of her head like feathers on an Indian’s war bonnet. Plucking them, he held them out. “These what you’re looking for?”

  She snatched them, inspecting the leaves as if they were precious children. “Oh, thank you,” she breathed.

  He watched her actions with curiosity. What was so special about a bunch of leaves?

  Most of her hair had come loose in their wild ride down the hill. She shoved the unruly strands into her headband. Then she gently tucked the leaves under the mud-streaked fashion accessory.

  “You two done playing in the mud?” River asked with a scowl. He reached his hand toward Dakota.

  “Ladies first.” He motioned to Rose.

  River pulled her from the ground as Dakota extricated himself from the mire.

  “You both need a bath before we get onstage.” River crooked his finger. “Follow me.”

  He led them to a backstage area. Just outside the chain link fence surrounding the massive main stage, sat a panel van painted with bright pink, yellow, and orange swirls. He opened the vehicle’s rear doors and retrieved several plastic gallon jugs.

  “Stand there,” he ordered Rose, nodding toward the grass beside the van. “Ready for a shower?”

  She set her backpack a few feet away and nodded.

  After uncapping the jug, River threw water on her. She gasped when the liquid hit her body.

  “You’re a jerk, River. That’s no way to treat a lady.” Dakota grabbed the jug. Shoving River aside, he gently poured the water over her shoulders, rinsing away the mud.

  As the dirt sluiced away, the wet, white peasant blouse exposed her body underneath. Behind him, River’s breath hitched as he moved into his peripheral vision, leering at her chest. Dakota sidestepped, blocking his friend’s view.

  He twirled his finger in a circle. “Turn around, Rose, so I can get your back and hair.”

  She obeyed, tipping her head and removing the leaves. Slowly, he poured water over her head until it ran clear.

  “Your turn,” River said.

  A torrent of liquid hit Dakota in the back. He whirled, ready to beat the crap out of River, but he scurried out of reach. He stepped toward his sneering buddy.

  “You’ve got a chick already,” River said, his words soft and menacing. “Don’t think she’d be happy if she knew you’d taken a ride down the hill with Rose sprawled all over you.”

  Dakota scowled. “Get your mind out of the gutter. What happened was an accident.”

  River’s gaze cut to his hips. “Guess that’s an accident, too?”

  “The body doesn’t always pay attention to the mind. You’re a man, you ought to know.”

  “Yeah, but babes don’t. Yours won’t think so, either.”

  “You know I’ve been trying to figure out how to break up with her for weeks. I don’t know how to without hurting her.”

  “Who cares? Just do it. That’s what free love is all about.” River nodded at something behind him.

  Dakota glanced over his shoulder. Melody marched toward them like a general ready to harangue the troops. He poured the remaining water in the jug over his groin. The cold liquid quenched the fire that had risen during his and Rose’s racy ride.

  Rose watched the heated exchange between the two guys. What was wrong with them? Were they friends? Enemies? Or just acting like idiots? She squeezed the excess water from her skirt. Dakota had shielded her from the lurid leers his buddy cast her way once the water exposed her body. Clearly, both were attracted to her. At the moment, she preferred Dakota.

  He had strength. His arms kept her safely tucked against him as they slid down the hill. After the initial impact that knocked out her breath, she hadn’t been frightened one bit, cradled in his embrace.

  He was handsome. His shock of shoulder length, nearly black hair, and olive complexion screamed Italian. His chiseled features put him in the god category.

  And he behaved like a gentleman. The ‘ladies first’ attitude. Calling his friend out for assaulting her with water. Blocking River’s leer. Dakota hadn’t once taken advantage of her see-through clothing. Instead, he’d instructed her to turn away.

  A love-struck sigh escaped her chest. She tucked the leaves into her headband, caressing them. The tree hadn’t wasted any time finding the right man for her.

  A piercing female voice split the air, breaking her thoughts. “Where have you been? I’ve been searching all over for you.”

  Dakota spun on his heel, at least as fast as anyone could spin in muddy grass. “Melody.” His tone hit a note somewhere between frustration and welcome.

  Heart sinking, Rose’s gaze swung between the couple.

  Marching over to Dakota, Melody threaded her arm in his and presented her cheek to him.

  Dakota’s with someone? Her gut twisting, Rose grabbed her backpack, preparing to leave.

  “Melody.” Dakota rotated the girl to face her. “I’ve got someone I want you to meet. This is Rose. We’re headed to the free stage to jam, and we want you to come sing with us.”

  Eyes narrowing, Melody swept a haughty gaze over her. “Does she sing?”

  “No. She plays the flute. You’ll be the lead singer.”

  Melody’s faced brightened. “Oh. Sounds like fun. I’m in.” She wrapped her arm around Dakota’s waist, tugging him forward.

  River sidled close to her as the couple sauntered away.

  “What just happened?” she asked.

  “Dakota saved you from a cat fight. Melody’s crazy jealous. She goes after anyone she thinks is interested in him.”

  As they moved away, she studied the pair’s body language. Dakota held himself stiff, upright, and sidestepped away from Melody, who curled against him with every evasive motion, slithering around him like a boa constrictor around prey. One of them was in love. The other, not so much.

  She fell into step with River. “They’re a couple?”

  “Madly in love.” His lips curled into a smarmy smile.

  Her heart sank at the comment. That didn’t bode well for her magical ending, even though her eyes told her different.

  He slipped his arm around her waist.

  She let it stay.

  “Who do you want to see backstage when we’re done at the free stage?”

  Matching his stride so their bodies wouldn’t bump, Rose gave him a tight smile. “Doesn’t matter. Whoever you know will be good.”

  Chapter 5

  At the free stage, three hand puppets frolicked behind a curtained platform, delighting children and adults. Dakota signed them up for a slot while Rose and River found a not-too-crowded spot on the wet ground in front of the entertainment. River scrounged a damp piece of cardboard from a couple who were leaving, motioning for her to sit on it. She accepted the offer gratefully. He slid onto the cardboard beside her, too close for her comfort.

  She didn’t expect him to sit in the mud after finding a barrier from the muck for her, so she scooted over to give him room. Melody dropped onto Dakota’s lap the second he sat, shoving him an inch deeper into the muddy grass.

  “Get off,” he ordered.

  “But there’s no place to sit where I won’t get muddy,” she whined. “I don’t want to appear on stage all dirty like Rose.”

  He sighed and let her stay.

  Melody eyed her, no doubt measuring the perceived danger of her relationship with Dakota. “Have you known River and Dakota long?”

  Beside her, River whispered, “Told you. Be cool.”

&nbs
p; “Just met them this morning. They were kind enough to let me sit under their lean-to to get out of the rain.”

  Melody stared at Dakota. “What lean-to?”

  “Mine,” River said. “I pitched it on top of the hill last night. Thought sleeping under the stars instead of in my van would be fun. I invited Dakota to join me.”

  Melody’s attention returned to her. Over the top of Melody’s head, Dakota mouthed, Thank you.

  For what, she wasn’t sure.

  Melody pouted. “You should have included me. Dakota and I could have slept under the stars together.”

  “You hate camping. You won’t even sleep on your mom’s screened porch,” Dakota said.

  “But it would have been so romantic.” Then Melody pinned Rose with a glower.

  The claws were out for sure. No peace and love coming from this flower child. She gave the catty female a saccharine smile. A jealous snit of a girl would not make her kowtow. She’d done nothing wrong.

  “I didn’t know you’d arrived.” River shrugged.

  “Well, now you do.” Melody studied the man trapped beneath her. “What are we going to sing?”

  “What can you play on the flute?” Dakota asked Rose.

  “Classical music. Can you sing classical, Melody?”

  Beside her, River snorted.

  “Do you know any folk songs?” Dakota asked.

  “Sure. Lots. I can play almost any folk song or create a counter melody to them. Do you know any Peter, Paul, and Mary songs, Melody?”

  The girl sniffed, her lips curling into a snooty posture. “Of course. Whatever you can play I’m sure I can sing.”

  River poked her in the side. “Don’t jab the snake,” he hissed under his breath. Raising his voice, he spoke to the others, “We should do ‘If I Had a Hammer.’”

  “There’s a lot of children here. Why don’t we do ‘Puff, the Magic Dragon?’ Kids love that song,” Rose suggested. “How long are we going to have to wait, Dakota?”