SING ME HOME (Love Finds A Home - Book One)

by Jerri Corgiat

  For a moment, their eyes held. Then his gaze dropped, and the tips of his ears reddened. Glancing down, she realized her robe had gaped. She was wearing a filmy nightgown Alcea had given her as a wedding present. The concoction was too pretty to be left in a box, but it covered next to nothing.

  She gripped her lapels. Jon looked away. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. Shaken by the way her body had flushed under his gaze, she was tempted to let the conversation go. But she couldn’t.

  “It’s not just the children. I’m bored, too. I’m not used to doing nothing all day. The only adult I’ve talked with in the last ten days is my mother—over the phone—and Roy or Zeke when you let them off their leashes.”

  “I’m sorry you’re feeling cooped up, but you’ll just have to do the best you can. I can’t let you run off on your own. It wouldn’t be safe. Not for you, not for the kids. You don’t know what those vultures are capable of.”

  “Just because they raked you over the coals when you got a divorce doesn’t mean—”

  “That’s exactly what it means.” Partway to the stairs, Jon turned around, his expression exasperated. “They lie, Lil. They take rumor and innuendo, and they lie. They almost cost me my career. Give them enough rope and they’ll hang the kids, too. The partying you read about? When? I was always working. Force-feeding my wife drugs? Give me a break.”

  “I don’t understand. I mean, lots of musicians get bad publicity.” She searched her memory for what she knew about country singers. Not much. “Didn’t Johnny Cash go to jail? I thought it went with the image. Why would it damage your career?”

  “Outlaw singers went out in the 80s, and Johnny Cash’s sins were against himself. Mine—or what they said I did—weren’t. A lot of my fans are in the Bible Belt. They don’t hold much with corrupting kids. That’s the kind of crap Belinda accused me of.”

  “But nobody could possibly think you could really—” She stopped.

  He looked at her. “You did.”

  She shied from his eyes.

  He hitched his hands in his pockets and stared out the window. “Belinda wallpapered the tabloids with pictures that made her look like Mother Teresa protecting two angels. She made it sound like I’d put the monkey on her back, like I was a beast with the morals of a rabbit in heat—and that I took advantage of some teenage groupie. That shit isn’t going to play anywhere, anytime, I don’t care who you are. She made me look like the antichrist of American morals.”

  “But, still, once people really know you—”

  “Things got so bad, the lies hit papers like the Wall Street Journal. People read it, believed it. Parents believed it. And they foot the bill for their kids, kids who buy a lot of concert tickets and CD’s. Everything I’d worked for almost went down the tubes.”

  “Well, obviously, Belinda did it to get the public on her side, to get your children.”

  “And the money that went with them.”

  “So, if—I mean, since—it wasn’t true, why didn’t you defend yourself?”

  His lips curved wryly at her slip. “Because it was my fault. I should have paid more attention to them. And she stopped all the lying, once she realized she was about to shut off the spigot. I also didn’t want to put Mel and Michael through anymore. They’d gone through enough.”

  “But, leaving them with Belinda…”

  “It wasn’t just Belinda. Her mother was with them. I knew they’d be safe with her Dodo.” He shook his head. “I thought they’d be safe with Dodo.”

  Jon’s stance was tired, defeated and old. Suddenly, she felt an urge to hold him, a fierce need to protect him. It was a feeling she’d never had, not for another adult. Robbie had always been the protector in their marriage.

  “It wasn’t your fault,” she blurted.

  Jon didn’t move, but the glance he flicked at her was filled with cynicism. Vivaldi and the mantle clock ticked off the seconds.

  Feeling embarrassed—what did she really know about any of this?—she gathered herself. “So, can’t you pay more attention to Michael and Melanie now?”

  He flung up his hands. “Jesus, Lil. Give it up.”

  “I can’t give it up. They need more of your time.”

  “Look, celebrity comes at a price.” He turned toward the stairs.

  Tight with frustration, she murmured at his retreating back. “Maybe. But the children shouldn’t have to pay it.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  JON KNEW the wiser move was to continue up the stairs, but Lil was worse than a starving dog with a meaty bone—she wouldn’t let it rest. And he needed nothing but rest, dammit.

  The approaching State Fair gig, the late summer release of their new CD and the upcoming tour of Europe kept him churning in fifty directions at once. Hell, sixty. If that wasn’t enough, rehearsals hadn’t been worth shit last night. He should know better than to try to slide a new song into the line-up now, but he wanted to give China Blue Eyes some play time. If the crowd bought the tune, he’d use it as a cut on their next CD. The piece was less country and more soft rock than what Van Castle normally gave their fans. If he knew his stuff, though, he had another first-rate, crossover hit on his hands. That is, if he could finish the lyrics. They lay frustratingly, tantalizingly out of reach. Last night the road musicians and backup singers (humming what he hadn’t written yet) had taken their first shot at it—and they’d missed the target completely.

  He was frustrated, irritated, and he needed sleep, not a harangue from his wife.

  Wife. He almost snorted. After that second day on the boat, the easy way they’d gotten along during their engagement and the way she’d responded to him when he’d kissed her at the altar, he’d hoped… Hell, he didn’t know what he’d hoped. But he knew he didn’t have the right to hope for squat. Nor should he. So he’d done his best to duck her, afraid of the feelings she torched, afraid he wouldn’t keep his side of the bargain.

  Yet here she was, her blond hair mussed, that ragged yellow bathrobe—the only piece of clothing she’d convinced Sidney to let her keep—giving him glimpses of things he didn’t dare lay his hands on, badgering him to spend more time with her and the kids. Couldn’t she see his avoidance kept her safe?

  Looking for his notes on China Blue Eyes yesterday before he’d headed to rehearsals, he’d stumbled across a scene on the deck that had frozen him in his tracks.

  A hose dripping from his hand, Michael had stomped barefoot through the water pooling on the planks, then unleashed the nozzle and pointed the spray straight at Mel, stretched on a deck chair and reading, as usual. She’d shrieked and rocketed up in a tangle of legs. From stage left, Lil rushed forward and grabbed the hose. Bending over, she met Michael nose-to-nose, presenting Jon with a long length of tanned limbs topped by a bottom clad in stretchy peach shorts. Her lips moved in a scold, although the hint of a smile played around the edges of her mouth. Lil. The name played like fine wine over his tongue. His notes forgotten, he sucked in his breath and felt his groin tighten.

  Lil rubbed Michael’s damp hair into spikes with a towel. Michael howled in protest, and Lil laughed, a melodious sound. That fetching dimple peeked in and out. Her shorts and top were now soaked and clung to mind-tripping feminine curves. Her hair curled in ringlets on her flushed cheeks. She’d looked good enough to eat.

  But right about now, it looked like she was ready to tear her teeth into him. She still perched on the chair, holding herself unnaturally straight. Her jaw was clenched. He wanted to shake her. He wanted to hold her. He wanted to do a million things to her, but most of all, he wanted her to leave him alone so he could go to bed.

  He closed the distance between them in a few short steps, so he didn’t need to raise his voice. Last thing they needed was Michael zinging around the room chanting ad-speak.

  “Dammit, Lil, I’m doing the best I can. My job, like it or not, takes a lot from me and out of me. Van Castle didn’t get where they are without a helluva lot of hard work. Part of my responsibilit
ies, as I see it, is to support these kids. And I can’t do it while I’m bandying them on my knee.”

  That argument didn’t soften her a bit. If anything, she grew taller where she sat. “They don’t need more money. What they need is more of your time.”

  He bit the inside of his cheek in frustration, wishing he could smoke. “Look, unlike some folks, I didn’t grow up cradled in the bosom of some loving family. I have only memories of a mother and an old man who said I would never be man enough for anything. He beat me six ways to Sunday every chance he got.” He clamped his mouth shut, it had been more than he’d meant to say.

  Her eyes lost that icy look. “Why didn’t somebody stop him?”

  When he didn’t answer, she touched his hand. He realized both hands were shaking and stuffed them back in his pockets. “Jon?”

  “I—” He hesitated, then plunged in. If she wanted the truth unvarnished, he’d tell her. “He was a mean drunk, with a shotgun full of buckshot he used on trespassers. Even the sheriff stayed back. When I was older, Judge Dougherty tried to help, threw the old man in jail a few times. Best days of my life. Dodo tried, too. Whenever I was too scared to go home, she gave me a place to stay. I don’t have a helluva lot of experience with parenthood, you know? So, I’ll repeat, I’m doing the best I can.”

  She didn’t flinch. She just reached out, pulled gently until she’d freed his hands and then wrapped them between her warm ones, her touch featherlight. Amazed at himself, at her, his throat thickened, and he looked away. He had some friends. He had wealth. He had power and talent and crowds who chanted his name. He’d had kindness in Dodo and the judge. But he’d never bumped up against much tenderness. Until he’d met her.

  “It’s all over,” she murmured. “You grew into a fine man despite everything that happened. You could have become cruel or bitter, but you rose above it. There aren’t many people who do that.” Leaving his hands laying in one palm, she reached up to touch his chin, guiding his head with her fingertips until he had to look at her. Her eyes were compassionate. “You’re worthy of your children, Jon. Let me help you be their father.”

  Help him? Help him, how? He was afraid she wanted more from him than he had to give. And he was afraid he’d disappoint her. Frustration balled itself inside him, rose up, had him yanking back from her touch. Blinking, she let her hand drop back in her lap.

  “Lil—”

  Her eyes lanced up at him, then away. “Don’t take them for granted, Jon.”

  Outside, sparrows and finches took up their morning calls. He stood before her, hands dangling at his sides. Then in one restless movement, he slumped on the sofa again.

  As though swallowing her own frustration, Lil took a deep breath and rose from her chair. Rounding the table, she knelt in front of him. “Stop believing all those things your father said. You did amount to something. You’re not worthless. You’re a huge success and a good man. The children wouldn’t love you if you weren’t. They want more time with you, that’s all.”

  “Just get over it, eh?” he said dryly.

  “Well…yes.”

  He smiled, studying her until she pinked and dropped her gaze. She was so sweet, so…Lil. His hand hovered on the verge of curling her hair behind the cusp of one rose-tinged ear, but he wasn’t sure how she’d take it. “All right. I’ll try.”

  At that lukewarm agreement, she looked up again and clasped his knee. Underneath her hand, his flesh burned. “You could start this evening. Take them on a walk and deliver the invitations to your crew.”

  Heat made its way up his thigh. He didn’t move, didn’t breathe. Ah, Lil. How could he concentrate on— He frowned. “What invitations?”

  “For Michael’s party.”

  “What party?”

  She removed her hand, and he released his breath.

  “His birthday’s tomorrow. They’ve been talking about nothing else. Haven’t you noticed?”

  “Uh, sure.” With her looking at him like that, he’d pretend anything. A yawn caught him. He vaguely recalled Roy bundling in balloons, construction paper and streamers, which Lil had happily informed him were for crafting decorations. There was also an unskillfully iced, chocolate layer cake resting on the kitchen counter. God, he wished she’d put her hand back. He’d have to ask Lydia to get Michael some kind of present.

  He dropped his head against the back of the sofa. “Michael’s birthday. Of course.”

  “My mother’s bringing Daisy, Hank and Rose out around one tomorrow and—”

  “Listen, can we talk about it later? I’m asleep on my feet, ass, whatever.” His eyes closed but not before he saw her shoulders slump. “Lil?”

  Like a whisper, he heard her rise. “What?” Her voice seemed to come from a distance.

  “Tonight.” He blinked, then his eyes closed again. “I promise I’ll start spending more time with the kids tonight.”

  In answer, she picked up his feet, swung them up on the sofa and covered him with an afghan. He burrowed into leather heaven.

  Some hours later, his eyes shot open. Thoughts and words tumbled through his mind. Confused for a moment, he listened. Nothing and nobody stirred. Lil must have taken the kids to the pool.

  He swung his feet to the floor and grabbed a pad and a pen from the table. Within minutes, the lyrics that had bedeviled him ever since he’d met Lil were laid out in stark black and white on the paper beneath his hand. He read them and smiled.

  Standing up, he stretched, then grabbed the pad and headed to his bedroom for a few more hours of shut-eye. When he next woke, it was to a call from his Nashville producer that left him huddled through chow time with Zeke. One of the backup fiddlers had broken a finger. They needed to find a replacement for hurried re-recording of some tracks on the CD. Since time squeezed, they scribbled a short list, and he called the music men himself, instead of leaving it to his producer who’d feel he’d need to go through their agents. The high demand for good studio musicians sometimes required the personal touch. Rehearsals loomed by the time he finally snagged the guy he wanted.

  It wasn’t until he’d grabbed his Fender, the lyrics, and was on his way to the skate rink that he remembered his promise to Lil.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  AT THREE-THIRTY on Wednesday, Lil seethed. He’d promised. Where was everyone? Where was he? In the airy brightness of the cabana’s kitchen, she paced to the window, looked up and down the drive, then glanced at her watch for the eighth time in two minutes. He knew Michael’s party started at three—everyone knew Michael’s party started at three—the invitations were specific. So, where were they?

  She turned back toward the table where five small faces wearing party hats wavered in various shades of hope and disappointment. An orange cone perched in her curls, Zinnia watched her thoughtfully, sucking on a chocolate kiss from a bowl on the table.

  Michael’s birthday had dawned bright blue, bold and hot. Through the morning, he’d been a small hurricane. She tried to shush him so he wouldn’t wake Jon, still asleep behind his bedroom door. She finally gave up and took both kids to the pool again. When they returned, she’d expected to see Jon yawning over his coffee, but he’d left.

  She set the children to work blowing up balloons, but after he learned his dad had left without so much as a happy birthday, Michael tended to pop, stomp or drop kick every other one. They hadn’t made much progress by the time Zinnia arrived with Patsy Lee’s children.

  Daisy, dressed in pink shorts and a turquoise shirt that matched her eyelids, still bubbled with enthusiasm from her own birthday the day before. She chattered a blue streak, shared her new Hibiscus Heaven lip gloss with Melanie and tossed her new soccer ball to Michael who hurled it straight at his cake. A surprising header from the usually dreamy Hank narrowly saved the confection. Rose kept her distance, Twinkle clutched under her arm.

  After that, Zinnia had corralled the kids for a game of duck-duck-goose, while Lil had called every cell phone number she could find in the booklet Roy h
ad left by the phone, growing increasingly agitated when nobody answered. Phones were either off—likely Jon’s edict for rehearsals—or out of service, a habitual problem in the Ozark hillsides.

  Now she stood, hands on hips, and surveyed the ring of children. Her gaze paused on Michael. Using a fork, he methodically punched holes in the construction paper cutouts he’d made yesterday to decorate the table. When he looked up, his eyes swam.

  Something inside her snapped. So what if Jon had experienced a crummy childhood? He had no right to treat his son this way.

  She forced a smile and spoke gaily. “Okay, everyone, let’s get this show on the road! We’re off for a day on the town.”

  The children scrambled to their feet and made a rush for the door, Daisy in the lead.

  “We’ll take your van, okay, Mother?”

  “Now, Lil, didn’t you tell me Jon said you’re not to go anywhere without—”

  “I don’t care what Jon said.” She grabbed her purse and slung it over her shoulder. “It’s his son’s birthday! You’d think he could take one measly hour out of his oh-so-important schedule to spend it with him, but no, not the busy superstar. I’ve tried. I arrange our schedule around him, but even when he’s with us, which isn’t often, he’s distracted and distant. I don’t even think he knows I’m—I mean, we’re—there.”

  “Why, Jon didn’t strike me as a man who’d—”

  “Forget his son’s birthday,” Lil snorted.

  “—ignore his new bride.”

  Her mother’s words silenced her. In her anger, she’d forgotten her part in the charade. She darted a look at her mother, wondering what she thought. Fishing for her car keys, Zinnia’s nose was in her dumpster of a handbag, and Lil couldn’t see her face.

  Her mother surfaced with the keys and winked. “We’ll show him then, won’t we?” She snatched off her orange cone and replaced it with her straw hat.

  After they’d piled in the van, Lil chose the Shawnee Bay Outlet Mall, specifically the Toys ‘n Stuff Store, as their destination. Rolling through the green overhang of the woods to the main drag, they sang at the top of their lungs to old Beatles recordings she’d found in the glove box. As Lil joined the mismatched harmony, some of her anger dissipated in the sheer enjoyment of being free of the resort’s confines.