Beck wasn’t impressed. Still, he had no room to judge. Besides, Joplin had always been strong, independent, and determined to forge her own way rather than travel the beaten path. If she said everything with her uncle was copacetic, he would take her word.
“The Razor’s Edge reunion was Danny’s idea?” When she nodded, Beck cleared his throat. “Not to be indelicate, but has the tumor impaired his judgment?”
Beck knew the comment was in bad taste. Resolved, he waited for Joplin to jump down his throat and tear out his liver. To his surprise, she simply sighed.
“I wondered the same thing, especially when he asked me to track everyone down—up close and in person.”
“Over the phone would have been easier. Or better yet, a text.”
“My thoughts exactly.” Joplin rubbed her forehead. “I made a promise though I knew my mission was, at best, foolhardy. Jax said no. Skye said no.”
“I said hell, no.” Beck felt a wave of sympathy. “Morgan’s answer isn’t likely to be different. As for Kane… You up for seeing him?”
“Guess I’ll find out.” Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.
Out of nowhere, an idea popped into his head. He could visit Kane. He could save her the heartache.
Whoa. Beck slammed on the brakes. Save Joplin? He mentally pushed the thought from his head before he foolishly made an offer certain to earn him a kick in a more vulnerable area of his body. Just the idea made him wince.
Rather than risk walking funny for the rest of his life, Beck remembered a piece of his mother’s sage advice. Women can save themselves. No man necessary.
Joplin took a deep breath. Shaking off the melancholy memories, her smile widened, this time accompanied by a definite twinkle in her clear green gaze.
“Forget the reunion.”
“No problem,” Beck assured her.
“For now.” Joplin shrugged. “You didn’t really expect me to give up so easily.”
Beck foolishly forgot how stubborn she could be, the proverbial dog with a bone. As much as he wanted their reunion to end on a happy note, this time, Joplin would have to take no for an answer.
“I won’t change my mind.”
“Okay.”
Suspicious, rightfully so according to his memory, his eyes narrowed on Joplin’s relaxed expression.
“Why the sudden change of tune?”
“Honestly, despite what I implied, I didn’t expect you to agree.” She let out a tired sigh. “Danny’s goal before he dies is to tie up any loose ends, most of which were done with several heartfelt conversations over the phone.”
“I would have hung up if he called.”
“My uncle knows people.” Joplin breathed in and straightened her shoulders, the determination mixed with resignation almost masking the weariness in her voice. “You and I know the idea of a reunion is a crazy pipedream because we were there, we had a front-row seat right to the end.”
“Danny witnessed the destruction from afar.” Beck nodded. Lucky bastard.
“At the time, he had ten acts on tour, seven more in the recording studio, while he continued to scout new talent and deal with his latest divorce,” Joplin snorted. “To say his life was a constant juggling act would be a gigantic understatement. Our lives revolved around Razor’s Edge. To Danny, the band was simply one ball among many.”
In other words, they had barely registered as a blip on Danny’s radar. Hardly surprising news. They hadn’t begun to tap their potential. As history recorded, they crashed and burned before anyone discovered how high they might have flown.
“In five years, can you honestly say your uncle gave us a second thought?” Beck scoffed. “With one exception. Must have rankled like hell when Jax’s solo career skyrocketed without the guidance of the great Danny Graham.”
“Not a subject we discussed.” When Beck raised an eyebrow, Joplin chuckled. “Okay. Danny was livid. Especially when Jax chose Marsha Peete, a long-time rival, as his new manager.”
“And now, with the end of his life in sight, Danny wants to face God—or the devil—with a clean slate?”
“A bit harsh,” Joplin admonished.
“Accurate,” Beck corrected.
Burning the last lingering fumes of his anger felt good. Though he would never be completely free of the past, of Razor’s Edge, he was as close as he ever expected to be, at Joplin’s expense.
“Once again, you’re left with the shitty end of the stick.”
“My hands are clean.” She held out her palms as proof, a teasing smile on her lips. “I chose a profession rife with crap-slinging; at my clients, at me. I became an expert ducker long ago.”
Beck had his doubts. Not that he didn’t think Joplin was the best at her job—she wouldn’t settle for anything less. What he questioned was her jaded, seen-it-all attitude. One of her greatest attributes used to be her ability to empathize, to put herself in the other person’s shoes.
“Enough of the past,” she declared.
“Change of subject?” Beck nodded. “Sounds good. What should we talk about?”
“Your wife seems like a good place to start.”
“How did you—?”
“Hard to miss the wedding ring.” Joplin nodded toward the platinum band adorning his left hand.
“Complicated.” Rubbing his neck, a frown creased Beck’s forehead. “I’m not sure where to start.”
“Complicated is my jam.” She settled into her seat, hands crossed, allowing herself to fully relax for the first time since they entered the trailer. “What’s her name? Unless she is a he?”
“She. Sawyer.”
Just saying her name created a burst of warmth in the region of his heart. The sensation was a combination of familiar, inconvenient, uncomfortable, and welcome. At least he could remove confusing from the list. Beck understood his feelings completely.
“I’m in love with her.”
“I should hope so. And congratulations.” Joplin’s smile lit up her face.
“Mm.”
Leaning closer, her see-all gaze locked with his, her smile slowly turned into a frown.
“Whoever said love equals happiness has a lot to answer for.” Joplin sighed. “Then again, how many songs are about heartbreak?”
“Too many.” Beck took a long, thoughtful drink from his beer. “Too damn many. My case is different. Sawyer’s done nothing to break my heart.”
“No?” Joplin didn’t look convinced. “If not, why are you miserable?”
Beck’s head fell back, his gaze landing on the ceiling. Easier to explain the mess he found himself in—a mess of his own making—when he couldn’t see the judgment in Joplin’s eyes.
“Miserable is too strong a word. I’m frustrated because our marriage is—” Realizing what he was about to do, how easily he fell into an old habit, Beck stopped short. He sat up straight. “You’re still so freaking easy to talk to. Another second, and I would have spilled my guts all over your Jimmy Choos.”
“They’re Andi Benedict Originals to be exact.” Joplin held out her foot, turning her ankle one way then the other as she contemplated the stylish pair of chunky heeled boots. “But your point is taken. You don’t want to confide in me because, for all intents and purposes, we’re strangers.”
“But we aren’t,” Beck rushed to explain. “Feels like we’ve been apart five minutes, not five years. Don’t you agree?”
“Strange, but true.” Joplin nodded then chuckled. “Like an old shoe—don’t be insulted.”
Beck understood exactly what she meant. Time and distance were irrelevant, some friendships were forever.
“I was about to burden you with my sins, like old times, but… Wasn’t fair then, sure as hell wouldn’t be fair now.”
“Unfair to whom? Me? Your wife?” Head turned to the side, Joplin gave him a considering look. “My advice? If something is wrong, you should tell her. Unless the problem is that you don’t communicat
e?”
“Sawyer and I started talking the moment we met and haven’t stopped. I can say anything to her; except the one thing she doesn’t want to hear.”
“Which is?” Joplin urged.
What was the point of fighting a losing battle? He needed to unload before he exploded. Who better than an old friend? Someone who could look at the situation with a fresh perspective and an open mind.
Beck didn’t expect Joplin to find a solution—none existed. Right now, he simply needed someone to listen.
“Sawyer married me because she needed help. Actually, she married me because she drank one too many margaritas.”
Joplin didn’t blink at Beck’s revelation.
“And you? What was your excuse?”
“Whiskey—straight up. I never learned to stomach mixed drinks.”
“Okay.” Joplin smiled. “You told me you’re in love with her.”
“First came the I dos. Then came lust—hit me like a sledgehammer.” Beck cleared his throat. “Love wasn’t as obvious. More like a gut-twisting, peace-of-mind-stealing, subtle, sneaky bastard.”
When Joplin chuckled, Beck couldn’t blame her. Give him a couple hundred years and maybe he’d find some humor in the situation too.
“Any chance Sawyer feels the same?”
“No,” Beck snorted. “Sawyer likes me, but she’ll never love me.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Her heart belongs to her first husband. Her dead husband. Loved him since they were teenagers.” Hard to hate a ghost—a freaking saint—but Beck found the task easier with each passing day.
“I see.”
“Do you?” Glad someone did, Beck scrubbed a hand over his face. “Do me a favor and explain cause I’m in the dark.”
“I need more information.” Joplin stood, stretched, and retrieved another bottle of water from the refrigerator. “You know I love a good story.”
“Where should I start?” Beck sighed.
“Easy. Start at the beginning, when you and Sawyer met.”
Sounded simple enough. Beck closed his eyes, pictured the moment, and smiled.
“The first time I met Sawyer Hale, she was covered, head to toe, in chicken shit.”
CHAPTER THREE
♫~♫~♫
SIX MONTHS EARLIER
Beck pulled his truck to a stop, taking the only open parking spot on Main Street. As he slid from the cab, his booted feet hitting freshly laid asphalt, he took a moment to admire his surroundings.
The town of Eatonville, Nevada—where he was born and raised—was the definition of small. However, the residents trended toward wealthy rather than middle class. Not his family, mind you. He came from generations of work your butt off, get your hands dirty, sweat for a living people.
However, Las Vegas was only a short car ride away and years ago, long before Beck’s newlywed parents settled their lives here, the population swelled with Sin City spillover; people who frequented luxury hotels and expected the same upscale amenities in their day-to-day lives.
Merchants quickly adapted to their growing clientele’s deep pockets learning flash plus substance equaled success. Spruced-up storefronts, eye-catching window displays, clever advertising slogans and soon, the whole town prospered.
Like anywhere, Eatonville experienced its share of economic ebbs and flows. Currently, they were flowing upward, and Beck did everything in his power to make certain his business rode the high end of the wave.
Kramer Construction had more work than they could handle. Not that anyone would hear him complain. He was proud of the company his mother built while he was off chasing his rock star dreams.
When the dream became a nightmare, she provided him with a place to land. Soft and easy instead of with a thud.
At first, Beck saw the construction job as a stopgap while he decided what to do with the rest of his life. To his surprise—and his mother’s delight—he settled into the abrupt change in lifestyle like a duck to water. Within a few months, he took over the work side while she crunched numbers.
Beck loved the outdoors, the wind and sun in his face. And he loved every step of the building process. He studied and applied for his contractor’s license, and the rest was history. With each passing year, the business and his ambition grew.
Kramer Construction was in demand and on the rise. With Beck’s drive combined with his mother’s head for business, he saw no reason they shouldn’t take their company to the top. Sky’s the limit.
“Beck Kramer,” a familiar voice called out.
“Morning, Mrs. Redtree.” Beck rushed to open the car door for the woman who taught him in the first grade. He counted himself lucky to be a member of the last class she oversaw before retiring at the still spry age of seventy-six. “Fresh from the beauty parlor?”
Ninety-nine, sharp as a tack and living proof that vanity and the art of flirting didn’t fade with age, Eliza Redtree patted her freshly coifed hair, sending Beck a wink.
“Haven’t missed my weekly appointment in close to eighty years. Outlived four beauticians and three manicurists.” She held out her hand tipped by glossy fire engine red nails. “What do you think?”
“The men at the retirement home won’t know what hit them.”
“Those old farts?” Mrs. Redtree scoffed. “Think because women outnumber them four to one, we’re desperate. Expect us to turn a blind eye to their lack of manners and rampant STDs.”
Beck snorted, covering his laugh with a cough.
“After living a clean life, I’m not gonna enter year number one hundred with a case of the clap.”
“Mother!” Arlene Strickland—Mrs. Redtree’s octogenarian daughter, beauty parlor companion, and designated driver—gasped, giving Beck an embarrassed smile. “You’ll have to forgive her. She’s—”
“Did I say something wrong?” Mrs. Redtree addressed her question to Beck. “Something requiring an apology?”
“No, ma’am,” he assured her. “Nothing wrong with speaking the truth.”
“Exactly. Getting old doesn’t mean you have to settle for less. I’m after younger blood.” Her sharp gaze looked Beck up and down. “What you up to next Saturday night?”
Taking her hand, Beck helped the lady into the front seat of the boat-like late seventies Cadillac. Skin as thin and delicate as tissue paper. Mrs. Redtree’s grip was firm and steady.
Beck, his arm resting on the open car door, waited while she buckled her seatbelt.
“Well? Speak up,” she urged with a sharp sideways glance. “My dance card fills fast. You snooze, you lose.”
“How do dinner and dancing sound?”
“Ha! Think you can ask because I won’t jump at the bait? What would you say if I took you up on your offer?”
Certain he’d have more fun with Mrs. Redtree than his last dozen dates combined, Beck half-hoped she would say yes.
“Tell me what time to pick you up. I’ll be there with bells on.”
Obviously pleased by his answer, she beamed and patted his hand.
“Always were a sweet boy. Too sweet to be alone. Why aren’t you married?”
Beck smothered a sigh. He wasn’t opposed to matrimony, under the right circumstances, with the right woman. However, the faster he approached thirty, the more his single status became a topic of conversation he couldn’t avoid, no matter how hard he tried.
One saving grace. His mother hadn’t joined the choruses of you need a wife. She could have applied some pressure, guilted him with not-so-gentle reminders about his only child status and her desire for a grandchild or two. But, bless her, Sandy Kramer kept her thoughts on the subject to herself. Just one of the many reasons Beck loved her.
“Find me a woman like you. I’ll snap her up in a second.”
“Sweet and a charmer.”
Grinning, Beck moved to shut the door, but Mrs. Redtree wasn’t through.
“The right person might be just ar
ound the corner,” she informed him. “Or, hard at work at her new business.”
Beck’s gaze followed Mrs. Redtree’s to the eye-catching storefront across the street. Painted a sunny yellow with a sky-blue trim, the doors opened a short four months earlier, but already, Hale’s Nursery had become the go-to place for flowers, plants, and gardening advice.
The woman who owned and operated the eponymous shop had caused almost as much of a stir as her high-quality, long-stemmed roses.
Though Beck had yet to meet the lady, he heard the talk. Rumors swirled like the wind in a small town. From gentle breezes to raging tsunamis, the intensity varied from situation to situation, person to person. Because Sawyer Hale was new, she rated the latter as the long-tenured residents decided if she was Eatonville material.
From what Beck understood, the consensus seemed to be a hearty yes.
“Trying your hand at matchmaking, Mrs. Redtree?”
“Please,” she scoffed, patting her blue-washed curls. “I never interfere in other people’s personal lives.”
From her spot behind the steering wheel, Arlene Strickland let out a disbelieving snort. The sound earned her a cool, raised eyebrow from her mother. Unconcerned, she inserted the key into the ignition. The perfectly maintained engine came to life with the roar of an old but feisty lion.
“As I was saying,” Mrs. Redtree continued, side-eyeing her daughter. “Sawyer Hale is young, single, and smart as a whip.”
“Pretty, too,” Arlene chimed in as she adjusted the air conditioning.
“Some might say gorgeous.” Mrs. Redtree nodded. “Though Beck, a highly evolved member of his sex, wouldn’t care about something as shallow as a woman’s looks.”
Recognizing sarcasm when he heard it, Beck wisely limited his comment to a respectful, “Yes, ma’am.”
“Minute she hit town, the eligible men lined up to date her. And a few not so eligible ones,” Arlene quipped.
“Mm.” Mrs. Redtree frowned with disapproval as if thinking about the residents of her town who considered their wedding vows of fidelity, taken before family, friends, and God, more a vague suggestion than a solemn promise. “Point is, Sawyer hasn’t dated since she arrived in Eatonville.”
ALMOST BLUE Page 4