Solstice Song

by Colleen Charles

  Her head snaps up, and she tailgates my gaze with her own. “I know it’s a mess, Ronan. I’m used to having my people look after me.”

  That part, I can understand. Although I do for myself most days and can be independent, I don’t deny it’s comforting to have Caris or Mary do some of the women’s work. Once I do take a wife, I won’t be cooking or doing laundry and cleaning ever again.

  But the ease of not having to perform menial tasks comes with its own set of troubles. Women and their damn emotions and moods that change with the shift of the wind. If truth be told, I’ve avoided the leg-shackling because I just don’t want the trouble. I like my simple and provincial life and a wife is going to mess with my hard-won peace. My way is law here.

  “Just how many people do yer ‘av?”

  She frowns in concentration. “I guess if you count Stevo, it’s ten total.”

  “Ten?” I stare at her, wondering if I heard her right. I also wonder if I should be worried since Stevo sounds like a gyppo name. “And just who is this Stevo?” The question comes out harsher than I intend, but the very thought of a man being in her life stokes a fire deep inside me.

  “He’s my gardener. I have two personal assistants, and—’

  I interrupt before she can explain. “Stall the ball, woman! Two helpers, did yer say? What do they do all day?”

  A muscle pops in her jaw, and I know I’ve vexed her. “As I was saying, I have two personal assistants, a trainer, a chef, a makeup artist, a hair stylist, a publicist, a manager, a housekeeper, and Stevo is my gardener.”

  I snort out a laugh even though there’s nothing comical about this conversation. I imagine Stevo as a shitehawk pikey, and that helps but only for the moment it takes me to inhale. “Well, yer couldn’t possibly be expected to go without Stevo, now could yer, lass?”

  She holds up her hands and flashes them at me. “Do these look like the hands that engage in physical labor? Besides, I’m on tour nine months out of the year. Am I supposed to just let my house turn into an overgrown hovel while I’m gone? I’m not supposed to take any pride in my residence?”

  I tap a finger to my temple and pretend to consider it. Of course, I can’t even imagine having a bevy of staff to cater to my every whim. Well, maybe a staff of one.

  “I guess not.”

  I step over her to put the load of laundry into the wicker hamper Caris insisted upon when Savanah stays my leg with her tapered fingers. I tingle everywhere she touches.

  “Stay here. I want to show you something.”

  Just as Savie pulls another costume out of her bag, a loud knock sounds at the door. Shite the bed, Caris would just walk on in. Who’s the fecking swamp donkey interrupting my alone time with my woman?

  Dread travels up my spine because I think I know his identity before I get visual verification. It’s a man with a death wish and a huge pair of plums.

  I swing the door open, and, sure enough, Cos rushes past me, stopping to stand in the middle of my living room. “Where is she? Where’s the famous molly yer ‘av holed up in here, thicko?”

  I look him up and down from his heaving chest to his red face. “Are yer shitefaced?”

  “Nay, the way yer talk, Rone, folks would think I’m a piss artist just like my feckin’ da. Don’t yer know any better than that? Yer been hangin’ ‘round this townie and her fun bags too long?” He narrows his eyes and gives me a look most men don’t have the stones to give me. “Gone over to the dark side, eh?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Savannah

  A knock at the door snaps my head up from Helen. I’ve perched my ass in the living room and snuggling into Ronan’s sofa seems the ideal thing to do since none of my promised transportation out of Wintervale have made it into town. It’s almost like God wants me stuck here for all eternity. Like the big man—or woman—is conspiring against me.

  Even though I don’t want to admit it to myself, staying here a little longer and continuing to partake in the rough and sexy buffet that’s Ronan O’Farrell appeals to my baser emotions. I haven’t really even missed playing in front of a live crowd since I’ve been in Wintervale. I’m completely content with my crowd of one. For some reason, his lone approval means more than thousands of raving fans singing along with me to every word by rote.

  I almost wish he was married already. If there was another woman around here, one he’d already claimed, I wouldn’t get this rush of lust-laced adrenaline every single time he inserts himself into my personal space like an insidious yearning of toxic temptation causing me to scratch and claw for a relationship that can never come to pass.

  “She’s in the livin’ room,” that deep voice rumbles from the front door. A shiver travels up my spine just from the memory of it growling into my ear.

  Caris walks through the front door and moves toward me, her trademark smile lighting her eyes. “Good mornin’, Savannah. Doin’ some songwritin’?”

  I hug Helen to me. “Just playing around a bit. I don’t want to get rusty while I enjoy my forced vacation.”

  It’s hard not to sound a little bitter. Caris just shrugs it off and sits down beside me, an eager expression on her face.

  “Actually, that’s exactly why I’m here.”

  I wonder at her cryptic words. Caris leans back against the worn sofa, crossing her arms over her chest. The fabric used to be a brilliant shade of blue, much the color of Ronan’s eyes. Now, it’s just the faded hue of a noncommittal sky.

  “It is?” I’m anxious to find out what playing my guitar could have to do with my being forced to remain in Wintervale. I hope she doesn’t ask me to teach lessons to the local kids. I’m okay with children, but I’ve never had the patience needed to teach music to anyone. I’m mostly self-taught.

  Caris can’t hide another small smile, and it tugs the corners of her lips upward. I admire her beauty and youthful spirit. It seems a shame to have her languishing away in this remote part of Ireland while she runs the local inn. She’s such a talented cook, I can see her really making a name for herself in a more populated area of Ireland.

  “We’d be honored if yer sing in the Solstice Festival,” she says, blue eyes twinkling with excitement. “What do yer think?”

  I stare at her. “Sing? In the festival?”

  My mind races. I won’t be here for the festival so I’m not sure why she’s asking me this. I’ve already missed two important dates that had to be cancelled, and since I don’t live in Europe, I’m not re-scheduling anything that can’t be squeezed in before I jet back home in a couple months. I don’t even want to go into how much money my promoters lost over this bus break down. Since it wasn’t our fault, insurance will cover it. But still…I’m not the flighty or irresponsible type.

  “We’d be so honored.” She’s so animated, and I like the woman so much, I hate to tell her that I can’t.

  “I won’t be here, Caris,” I remind her as gently as I can but still feel guilty when her face falls into a mask of sadness. “My publicist sent another car today. I’ll be leaving tonight at the latest.”

  She worries her lip with her teeth, and my stomach drops to the vicinity of my feet.

  No, no, no. This can’t be happening.

  I know what she’s going to say before the words even leave her mouth. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear that a deranged fan had it in for me, and their favorite punishment is sending their victim to Ireland to languish for all eternity.

  “About that. I—”

  “Would yer ladies care for a cup of scaldy?” Ronan’s deep voice stops me from hearing the news that I know will keep me in Wintervale at least one more day. “I picked the herbs meself. ‘Tis me latest concoction. Good for soothin’ the nerves, ‘tis.”

  He hands me a steaming cup of something that smells like heaven. It’s so aromatic and lush, my mouth waters in anticipation. If I had more time, I’d contemplate how he’s the first man in my life who hasn’t panted at my feet like a lap dog, wanting nothing more than to plea
se me until I pat his head in response. Still, he seems to know what I need right when I need it. Then, he provides it, no pats on the head necessary.

  “Thank you,” I say, my hand trembling a bit as I accept the tea. I hope he doesn’t notice. “You were going to say something about my car, Caris.”

  She sips her tea and stares at me over the brim. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear she had something to do with the car sabotage because there’s a twinkle in her eye that can’t be denied. But that can’t be the case. There’s no reason for her to keep me here outside of her being a lukewarm fan. When we’d talked at the pub, she hadn’t even known all of my number one songs. Caris O’Farrell is not a superfan stalker.

  “Well, last I heard ‘tis over at Declan Breigh’s place with a broken windshield.”

  I set my tea down on the coffee table with a resounding smack of china against wood. My eyes sweep the room, and I notice that Ronan has already fled the scene. Does he know something about this? My temper threatens to explode, so that probably isn’t a bad idea on his part.

  “What on earth happened to it?”

  “Do yer remember that giant tree on the edge of the town square?”

  I think back, imagining its snow-covered limbs from a few days ago. The massive Douglas fir towered over the entire width of the main street into town. “Who could forget it? I remember thinking it looked haunted. Like I wanted to write a song about it.”

  “Well, the heavy, wet snow caused a branch high above to snap off, and would yer believe it happened just as that fancy black car drove underneath it. The driver’s lucky to be alive, since he almost got creamed in the process. Branch went right through the glass and landed in his lap. Had quite a fright, he did.”

  “That’s horrible,” I say, meaning every word. “Damn storms. The moody weather has wreaked more havoc than any other time I can ever remember. I knew I hated snow.”

  Caris smiles and sips her tea again. “In spite of the calamities, we’re glad yer here. The whole town’s buzzin’ about how the great Savannah Starr has graced Wintervale with her presence. Yer breathed new life into our ancient grove.”

  I chuckle and take another sip of the delicious homemade tea, wondering what’s in it and vowing to ask Ronan about it later. Maybe he’ll even pack me a care package to take with me. And if that care package included him, that wouldn’t be too bad either.

  “I’m not sure whether I’ve breathed new life into the grove or sucked the last breath of life out of it. Seems I’ve been nothing but trouble ever since I arrived.”

  She laughs outright and reaches over to clasp my hand in her warm one. I inhale and allow the gift of friendship to flow over me. Part of me wishes I had more time for all female relationships. True friendships. But with the amount of notoriety and money I have at my fingertips, I never know if I’m wanted for myself or because of the trappings that come along as partners to my fame.

  “Ach, that’s ballsch, and yer know it.”

  I’m not so sure.

  “I’m glad you feel that way.” I clutch Caris’ palm as if it’s a lifeline that I don’t want to let go of yet. Her feminine touch soothes me and makes me feel like everything’s going to turn out alright. “I’m sure there are others who feel my coming is a curse.”

  “I doubt it. Yer not like the rest of those spoiled celebrities. Not that I know any of ‘em, mind yer. Yer speak from yer heart. Yer may ‘av more money than most, but yer ain’t let it completely go to yer head.”

  I let the compliment wash over me, drinking it in. It’s heartfelt and genuine, something I’m just not used to. All of the citizens of Wintervale that I’ve had the pleasure to meet are exactly the same, with no improper pride or ruses of superiority. Except maybe Cosgrove Magee. That moron accosted me outside the pub the day Ronan and I rode into Wintervale on Mateo. And he’s only an idiot who thinks he’s a player when he’s actually an ignorant dipshit. Same douche, different country.

  I smile as I think of most of the people I’ve met here. Most are just a welcoming, honest bunch. I imagine them walking down Hollywood Boulevard. It would be the Irish version of the Beverly Hillbillies. Just like the Clampetts, they’d never last a second in a fast-paced society. And part of me yearns for that same kind of anonymity and naivety.

  It might do you some good to slow down, Sarah Strauss.

  I see stars in front of my eyes as I struggle to draw a breath. It’s been so long since I called myself by my real name, I forgot the way it feels to plummet into reality and out of the persona I’ve held close to my heart for so many years. For a fleeting moment, I drift back to my idyllic childhood in Arcata and ground myself back into my body as my true self.

  “Are yer feelin’ a bit touched, Savannah?”

  Sarah, I want to shout. My name’s Sarah!

  But I don’t.

  From her vantage point on the sofa, Caris regards me with concern. I wonder what I’d see if I looked at myself through the eyes of this woman, a few days ago merely a stranger and now a friend. A real friend who I think sees me as a person and not a walking wallet.

  What I need is someone who cares about me, not what I can do for them. It hits me like a thunderbolt that I might have actually found it here in this sleepy little town.

  Does Ronan care about me too? I just don’t know. He keeps his emotions locked so deeply within himself that I wonder if he could even identify them if they flew up from his heart and slapped him in the face. I imagine myself underneath his hulking body, on all fours as he pounds his massive cock in and out of me. But in my recurrent fantasy, I can never see his eyes. And I want to.

  I want to see all of him. I want to see into his soul.

  “Sure. Except for the fact that I’m stuck here and disappointing my fans night after night, everything’s just peachy keen. Thank God, I can’t look at my Instagram. I probably have hate messages all over my social media.” I wonder if Caris even knows what I’m talking about. “The kind of hate we creative, sensitive types can never recover from.”

  I tamp my emotions back down into the depths of my body, knowing I’ll pull them all out again tonight, ruminating over each and every one. Analyzing and reviewing. And judging.

  “If ‘tis any consolation, the folks of Wintervale want yer here. And we want yer to sing at our festival if yer can. We’ve embraced yer and I hope we’ve made yer feel welcome and safe. In turn, yer captivated all of us with yer style, grace, and music.”

  I’m not sure if I ever received such a beautiful compliment.

  “I don’t think I’ll still be here. But if I am, of course I’ll play for your festival. Anything in particular you want to hear?”

  The prickles on the back of my neck let me know that Ronan’s come back into the room. He pours hot water over my tea bag, freshening my drink.

  “Yer should play that new song yer wrote, Savie. ‘Tis a bag ‘o swhag, lass.”

  A bag of what? I have no idea, but I’m guessing it’s a good thing.

  “I’ll think about it,” I say, smiling up at him. He doesn’t smile back. He just stares and everywhere his eyes touch, I burn.

  I try to drop my gaze, but it’s melted onto his.

  Thank the pagan God you pray to, Ronan O’Farrell, that I won’t be here. Because if I stay even one more day, I might never, ever want to leave.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Ronan

  “I’m comin’!”

  Another knock sounds even after I shout out my displeasure. Whoever’s on the other side of that door is going to get a dressing down. I can only move so fast. If it’s Cos again, dumping his ballsch on my doorstep and offending Savie, I’m going to smack that neddy.

  I swing the door open only to find a bespectacled and flustered Declan Bleigh on the other side.

  “Sorry to bother yer, Ronan. Is Ms. Starr here?”

  I step back and make a sweeping gesture with my arm so the man isn’t left standing out on the front porch in the cold. “Nay, she’s in town with C
aris. My sister hoodwinked her into helpin’ with the festival. Since Savie…Savannah is bored out here, she agreed to go into town for dinner at the pub and some female chit chat. Why?”

  The man glances around the room as if my words are nothing but lies. What the feck?

  “’Tis of a sensitive nature.”

  I cross my arms over my chest. “Declan, yer a mechanic. Exactly what do yer ‘av to tell Savannah that’s of a sensitive nature? Did yer use the wrong wrench to tighten her lug nuts?”

  He tries to smile but it comes across as a grimace of agony. “’Tis not a message for her, ‘tis a message about her. For yer. Somethin’ yer need to know.”

  In the space of a second, my heart begins to race. I can’t even imagine what Declan thinks I would need to know about my current house guest. Is she some kind of criminal? I imagine her lush body moving underneath mine, taking every single thing I give her…and more. The memory is a strange kind of thing, given to exaggeration and glorification. What if mine is all wrong? Nay, that can’t be true. I’ve had my cock balls deep in many women since I lost my virginity at thirteen, but I’ve never had the feeling of completeness that I enjoy with Savie.

  Not once.

  “What about her?” I ask. Declan blows right by me to land in the middle of my kitchen. He paces back and forth, practically wearing a path into my hardwood floors. I stand there, confused and with rising ire.

  He reaches inside the waistband of his pants like he’s going to show me his langer, and I get the impression something is about to go horribly wrong. I wave a hand through the air, staying him. All of a sudden, I don’t want to know. Whatever it is, it’s bringing up lingering emotions from my past, when women have betrayed me and blown my world into the depths of hell. Even if Savie’s about to do the same, I still want her with a passion that’s mindless, careless, and devoid of all sanity.

  “Yer ‘av to know this, Ronan.”

  I feckin’ give up.