Staged

by Olivia Cunning

  “Did you find Nightmare’s kittens?” Mom called from below the loft.

  Steve snapped out of his musing, released his grip on Roux’s ass, and started down the ladder. “Six of them.”

  “She always has the best little mousers. I’ll have to take a couple over to our place when they’re older.”

  When he reached the bottom of the ladder, he held it steady while Roux slowly descended.

  “It is a lot scarier going down,” she said.

  Her knees were visibly shaking. He couldn’t help but notice the two man-sized dusty handprints on her butt. Mom must have noticed them too, because she giggled and then pressed her hand under her nose to hide her smirk.

  “Don’t embarrass me,” Steve warned under his breath.

  “That’s what moms are for,” she teased.

  Once Roux’s feet were on solid ground, she turned to face them, a lovely smile of greeting on her lips and in her eyes. Every time she smiled, Steve found it hard to breathe, and this time was no exception.

  “This is Roux. Roux Williams.”

  “What an unusual and lovely name.” Mom reached out and squeezed Roux’s hand.

  “It was my grandmother’s. She was French. And also a redhead.” Roux tugged at a strand of her silky hair.

  “This is my mom, Elizabeth,” Steve said. “Betty.”

  “Pleasure to meet you,” Roux said a bit woodenly.

  “Likewise.” Mom turned her attention to Steve. “Pops says you’re going to make omelets for lunch. He sent Dana to town to get cheese.”

  “So we have a few minutes,” Steve said. He took Roux’s hand, which had turned clammy since he’d last held it. “Let’s go pick veggies.”

  He didn’t miss his mother’s scowl as her gaze landed on his and Roux’s entwined fingers. Mom had been against his marrying Bianca—his entire family had been, truth be told—so she was hypercritical of any woman who came near him. He’d spent several months hiding out here after his divorce, so no one knew better than his family how severely Bianca’s betrayal had destroyed him. But Steve knew Mom would warm up to Roux quickly. How could she not? The woman was everything that had been lacking in his life. And if he could recognize that within weeks of meeting her, surely his wise and wonderful mother would see it almost immediately.

  “Pops says you cut hair,” Mom said to Roux as she grabbed the bucket of eggs and they all exited the barn, squinting as the brilliant late spring sunshine lit their faces.

  Roux laughed. “No. He thought I said I was a beautician, but I’m really a musician.”

  “Oh.” Mom grinned sideways. “I wish I could talk that man into getting a hearing aid. He doesn’t think he needs one. So do you sing?”

  “No, I—”

  “She does and beautifully so,” Steve said. “She just won’t admit it.”

  Roux elbowed him for interrupting her, but he didn’t mind. He liked bragging about her.

  “I sing backup, and I play the keyboard.”

  “Maybe she’ll play us a song after lunch,” Steve said. It was the main reason he’d brought her there. “On grandma’s piano.”

  Mom’s lips wobbled almost imperceptivity. “I think she’d like that.”

  Roux’s brow crinkled, but Steve knew the she that Mom referred to was her departed mother. Mams had always wanted someone in the family to play her piano with the same love and attention she’d shown the antique instrument, but no one had ever taken to it like she had.

  The pack of overgrown pups followed them to the vegetable garden and then darted off after a startled rabbit that had been nibbling on the lettuce.

  “Wow,” Roux said. “This is amazing!”

  As far as midwestern vegetable gardens went, it was perfectly ordinary. He tried seeing it through a city dweller’s eyes. And then a vegetarian city dweller’s eyes. He still failed to see it as amazing.

  “We’ll need bell peppers, tomatoes, onions, a bit of spinach, and whatever else you’d like,” he said, setting her free to find the ripest specimens the garden had to offer.

  “She’s adorable,” Mom commented with a grin as Roux exclaimed over an enormous tomato. He’d have thought it was coated in solid gold if he didn’t know better. “Where in the world did you find her?”

  “In a limo,” Steve said. “Her band is joining ours on tour.”

  “That will be nice,” Mom said. “If you can keep yourself out of trouble.”

  “I only get into trouble when I’m bored,” he said. “And I haven’t been bored since I met her.”

  Roux had spotted the strawberry patch and started picking and eating strawberries right off the plants. “You might want to wash those first,” he called out. And unable to watch from a distance any longer, he left his mother’s side to venture into the garden.

  “I didn’t think. Are they covered in pesticides? I didn’t taste any.”

  “No. Pops believes in organic gardening, free-range chickens, grass-fed beef. He doesn’t realize those are progressive, sustainable practices, so don’t tell him.” He crouched down beside her and winked.

  “So I don’t need to wash them.” She found another ripe berry and plucked it from its stem before biting into it.

  “They’re probably dirty.”

  “A little dirt never hurt anyone.”

  She was so unlike Bianca. Was that why he liked her so damned much? But Bianca had been his perfect woman, so how could one so different from her also be his perfect woman? He spied a particularly large and ripe strawberry and picked it, lifting it to her lips to offer her a bite. Her gaze held his as she bit into it, and a flood of desire heated his groin, stirred his senses into chaos.

  “We need to get these omelets made so I can monopolize your time.” And discover all the ways I can make you climax, he added silently.

  “I’ve got the onion,” Mom called from the other side of the garden. “Do you want me to dig up some potatoes too?”

  “Sounds good, Mom!”

  “You want to hear something weird?” Roux asked. When he nodded, she said, “I feel like I belong here. In this place. Surrounded by all this life. With you.” She lowered her gaze, a blush staining her cheeks. “I guess that was more stupid than weird.”

  He touched her chin to encourage her eyes to meet his. “Not stupid or weird. You do belong.”

  Her eyes went glossy with tears, and his heart panged with regret. He hadn’t meant to upset her.

  “Shh,” he murmured, his thumb stroking her smooth cheek. “Please don’t cry.”

  “I’m sorry.” She pressed the back of her hand to one eye, leaving a smudge of dirt on her brow. “It’s just . . . finding a place to belong is hard for an orphan. And when you find it, but you know you can’t have it, not really . . .” She shook her head and took a steadying breath, blowing it out slowly. “Let’s go to that island.”

  But she could belong here, with his family, with him. He could give that to her. He just wasn’t sure if he was ready to offer it yet.

  “Omelets first, then we’ll return to the airstrip.” He could always bring her back at a later date. He loved the way she looked in this space—sunlight making her hair glow like fire, the breeze blowing the strands to life; smudges of dirt on her face; life all around her. She was right, she did belong here. But he wasn’t sure he did. He’d always wanted to leave. Had grander plans for his life than a midwestern farm could offer. And he’d found what he’d been looking for in California, hadn’t he?

  “Stevie!”

  Dana’s exuberant cry broke Roux’s spell over him, and he shifted to glance over his shoulder. God, he hated being called Stevie, and his sister knew that.

  Dana was all smiles as she hurried across the yard to the garden.

  “My sister,” Steve said, rising to his feet and helping Roux to stand, but not before she plucked another ripe berry from an overburdened plant.

  “Dana, this is Roux,” he said.

  Dana nodded in Roux’s direction, but her attention w
as all on Steve. “You look good.” She slapped his arm. “But you always look good.”

  “Not looking too bad yourself.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Please. We both know who got the looks in this family.”

  “You.”

  She laughed but also blushed. “Stop. Since when do you bring women to the farm?”

  Dana shot a quick glance at Roux. She was probably wondering if Roux would be as mean to her as Bianca had once been. Bianca had taken to calling Dana that hick sister of yours and commenting on Dana’s weight “problem.” What had he ever seen in that woman?

  “A woman,” he said. “Just this one.”

  Roux shifted awkwardly and asked, “Do you get to live out here all the time? It’s so peaceful.”

  “Boring. Steve would call it boring.” Dana waved a hand at their surroundings. “But then he’s always been a partyer.”

  “He does have partying down to a science,” Roux said.

  Hey. The conversation was not supposed to turn to—or rather, turn against—him. “Roux is a rock star herself.”

  Roux snorted. “Yeah. Huge rock star over here.” She raised her hand. “That no one has ever heard of.”

  “That’s about to change,” Steve said.

  “So you thought you’d corrupt her before someone else could claim that honor.”

  “She’s incorruptible.”

  “Boring,” Roux said. “Anyone would call me boring.”

  “I’ve never been less bored in my entire life,” Steve said. He cringed when Dana burst out laughing.

  “You’re so cute when you’re in love,” she said, poking him hard in the chest.

  “Shut up. I’m not in love.” He was. God damn it, he knew he was. Fuck. How? Why? His gaze shifted uncomfortably to Roux, gauging her reaction to his sister’s claim, and the moment their eyes met, his heart skittered several beats. He knew how. Roux was perfection—inside and out. As to why . . . Why not? He wouldn’t mind settling down. Partying like a rock star was so last week.

  “Did you get the cheese, Dana?” Mom asked when she joined their group. She held a pair of onions and several dirty potatoes in her hands.

  “It’s in the house.”

  “I’ll go find a bell pepper,” Roux said, retrieving the tomatoes she’d picked earlier and handing them to Steve.

  “Good luck. It’s early in the season for peppers. I’ll see if the spinach is ready,” he said, wanting to get this task over with so he could find that alone time with Roux.

  As soon as they went inside, Roux insisted the family farmhouse reminded her of the big brownstone in Boston. Though it wasn’t nearly as old or as opulent, it did have thick wooden doorframes and baseboards, a pocket door between the living and dining room, and the high ceilings of homes once heated with fireplaces and lacking air conditioning. In the kitchen, Roux helped him chop veggies while his family—sans Dad, who worked in a local factory during the day—settled around the kitchen island to talk loudly among each other. Every few minutes, Roux would glance at him, and he could practically feel the ache of longing coming from her.

  “Do you have any siblings?” Dana asked Roux once she’d finished arguing with Pops about the superiority of John Deere tractors. Pops hated the John Deere brand, and Dana loved to get him riled up over it.

  “Uh.” Roux licked her lips and concentrated on finely dicing an onion rather than meeting Dana’s curious gaze. “I have twelve foster sisters,” she said quietly.

  “Twelve!”

  Steve wasn’t sure whether Dana hadn’t heard or hadn’t understood the foster part of Roux’s answer, but he was glad she hadn’t fixated on it.

  “There are four older than me,” Roux said. “Eight younger.”

  “She and four of her sisters formed Baroquen—the band she’s in.”

  “That’s fun,” Mom said.

  “I had six brothers,” Pops said. “They’re all gone now except one.”

  Roux reached across the counter and squeezed his wrist. “I’ve lost siblings,” she said. “It’s not something you ever get over.”

  Change the subject, Steve thought, his mind reeling to find a safe—less emotionally devastating—topic.

  “So which tour stop in Europe are you most looking forward to?” Steve asked Roux. “Have you been to Europe?” He didn’t know even that much about her.

  “No.” There was an undercurrent of how in the hell could I afford that in her tone. “I think I’m most looking forward to Italy. Will we have time to do any sightseeing? Iona says we’ll be too busy working to enjoy our time there like a vacation.”

  “I’ll take you sightseeing.” Why not? His plans to party across Europe with Zach had been completely obliterated. “Italians know how to party, but those Germans? Bring on the beer.” As soon as he spoke, he remembered that Roux didn’t drink. He shrugged. “If you’re into that kind of thing.”

  “Italy is amazing,” Dana said. “But I had the most fun in Spain. Steve sent me to Europe with a few of my friends for my twenty-fifth birthday. Occasionally he can be nice and thoughtful.” She nudged Steve’s arm.

  “Occasionally?” He circled the counter and nudged Dana back, hard enough to send her teetering on her stool.

  “You hardly ever visit,” she said. “I’d rather have seen you than Europe, you moron.”

  Steve rolled his eyes. “No need to lie to impress our guest.”

  Dana rolled her eyes right back at him.

  With two pans on the stove, and a very helpful sous chef in Roux, Steve was able to churn out five omelets and a mess of country fried potatoes in record time. Which was good, because as much as he loved his family, he was ready to leave.

  After a brief argument over who should be allowed to sit on the remaining stool—Steve insisted the guest should sit, while Roux insisted the hard-working chef should sit—Roux settled onto the stool next to his mother and took her first bite. Steve was left standing but didn’t mind. He’d won.

  “Mmm,” Roux murmured as she chewed and then swallowed. “Everything tastes so fresh.”

  “Brings new meaning to farm-to-table,” Steve said. He leaned over his plate to scoop a bite into his mouth.

  “The garden really takes off in July and August,” Dana said. “You’ll have to come back and visit us then. I make a mean ratatouille.”

  “It’s about time to butcher a beef,” Pops declared. “I’m ready for Betty’s prime rib.”

  Roux paled slightly but didn’t chastise or preach. Steve had just witnessed firsthand how much she loved animals. Normally he would have paired their omelets with a side of bacon or sausage, but not even Pops had complained about the lack of meat.

  After brunch Steve left the dishes to Dana and gave Roux a quick tour of the house. She liked to touch things as he pointed them out. He hoped that meant she was a tactile lover. The only thing he enjoyed more than touching a woman was being touched by one.

  In the back parlor, which was seldom used now that Mams had passed away, he showed her his grandmother’s cherished antique Steinway grand piano. Pops kept it dust free, and the mahogany gleamed from a recent polish.

  “Oh,” Roux said with a moan of longing, “it’s absolutely gorgeous.”

  “It would mean a lot to me if you’d play it,” Steve said.

  “I couldn’t,” she said, but her fingers were already clenching and unclenching as if they were dying to press the keys.

  “Jenny wouldn’t mind,” Pops said. “You go ahead and play her piano, sweet girl.”

  Steve spun around to find his grandfather smiling sadly in the doorway. Mom was at his elbow, and Dana was right behind, drying her hands on a dish towel.

  Roux turned a worshipful gaze to the hulking instrument. “If you’re sure,” she said hesitantly.

  Steve had only seen one other person gaze at that piano with such adoration. Now that he was older, he wished that he hadn’t been so adamant about not allowing his grandmother to teach him to play anything more challengin
g than “Jingle Bells.” Maybe Roux would teach him now and allow him to lay that regret to rest.

  With a deep breath, Roux settled onto the bench. Memories of Mams sitting in that exact spot haunted him, and he saw his mother reach for her dad’s hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

  “What should I play?” Roux asked, flexing her fingers over the keyboard. “Something classical or more modern?”

  “Do you read music?” Pops asked, hurrying over to a short bookshelf near a matching set of burgundy wingback chairs in the corner.

  “Yes.”

  He tugged a battered notebook from the shelf, but Steve didn’t know why.

  “She wrote music her entire life,” Pops said.

  She had? That was news to Steve.

  “But was too uncertain to ever share it with anyone but the family.” Pops opened the notebook and set it on the music stand above the fallboard. “Seems a shame that no one but us ever got to hear it.”

  “I’ll try to do it justice,” Roux said, her eyes scanning the page of neat, handwritten notes drawn across the staves. “Very nice,” she whispered to herself just before her fingers played the first note.

  Steve couldn’t move as a familiar song filled the room. He’d always thought some masterful composer had written that song. He supposed one had. His Mams had obviously been talented; he’d just never recognized that until now. By the time Roux came to the end of the cheerful tune, Mom and Dana were fighting over the dish towel to dry their tears.

  “That was truly lovely,” Roux said, flipping the page. “What else has she written?”

  She’d played through half the notebook when Steve’s phone rang. He wanted to ignore it and stay suspended in this moment of remembrance for a while longer but decided the call might be important, especially when he recognized it was from Jordan. But would it be such a tragedy if they had to spend the entire weekend there? Steve’s libido cried out a resounding yes.