Ronny Lewis, the café’s owner, greeted Scarlett at the door. She nodded toward her aunt. “How long has she been at it?”
Ronny chuckled. “This is her third song. Can your husband really sing?”
“Yes. Why?”
“He hasn’t sung a note since she sat down. Of course, he could be a bit shell-shocked. She stood him in front of Sally Pruitt’s table and told him to raise his shirt to show his tattoos.”
Scarlett covered her face with her hands. “No, she didn’t.”
“Yep.” He wiped off a menu with a cloth. “She and Sally seemed to be particularly fascinated with the one right above his jeans…in the front…below his navel.”
Scarlett held up her hand to stop him. “I know the one.” She couldn’t meet Ronny’s eyes. “I better go save him.” She maneuvered through the tables accepting congratulations as graciously as possible, all the while wanting to crawl in a hole. Honey might love the spotlight, but she hated it.
The upside to the situation with Poppy, if there was an upside, was her marriage to Gavin had been downgraded from biggest mistake of her life to just a plain ol’ mistake. The biggest mistake of her life had been to trust Poppy Sims.
Relief relaxed Gavin’s features when he saw her. A laugh loomed behind her lips, she couldn’t help it. His face was so tortured. By the time she made her way to the pair, she’d gotten her laughter under control.
The song ended to polite applause. Honey continued to play a light tune while she decided on her next number. “Gavin, do you know Love Me Tender?”
“I do.”
Still playing, Honey smiled to the crowd and leaned closer to Gavin. She whispered surreptitiously, “Do you really know it? Because these people expect a certain level of professionalism from me, I don’t want you makin’ me look bad.” She nodded to Peggy Fox and returned her attention to him. “No offense.”
“None taken.” Gavin’s serious face must have conveyed the correct amount of competency because Honey segued into the love song.
When the first strands of the tune began, a low rumble of conversation filled the room. Then Honey and Gavin began to sing. All movement stilled, all chatting ceased. The duo had the entire room’s attention, and even the kitchen staff stopped to listen. Honey’s sweet soprano, with the perfect amount of vibrato despite her age, blended and melded with Gavin’s dry gritty baritone to create something heartbreakingly beautiful.
The melody rose and fell, weaving a spell throughout the room. When they got to the second verse, Gavin took the harmony and deepened the richness of the sound.
Helpless against the pull of his voice, she placed her hand on his shoulder. Zings of pleasure raced up her arm when he wrapped his warm hand around hers.
What was it between them? They’d only known each other a few days, but the moment he whispered in her ear in Vegas, there’d been something linking them together. Was this what it was like for her mother when she met Mr. Right Now in the Stop-n-Shop? The instant connection that went beyond allure straight to the bone and blood of her being.
Ridiculous, a bunch of romanticized crap. She needed to get her head out of the clouds. The real world didn’t work that way. There were rules to life and when people ignored them everyone got hurt.
“Momma? Where are you goin’?”
“Scarlett, Momma’s found the most wonderful man and I’m leaving on a great adventure.”
“But what about me?”
Her mother stopped packing and stared at her. “Darlin’ don’t you want me to be happy?”
“Yes, but can’t you be happy here…with me? You’re supposed to be with me. It’s a rule.”
“Oh, my sweet girl, sometimes you have to break the rules for love and happiness. You remember what I’m sayin’, you hear me?”
With that priceless piece of advice, Mary Kelly walked out of her daughter’s life forever.
She’d remembered, alright. Every step of her life was premeditated, made in the exact opposite direction of her impetuous mother’s life. Tightly controlled decisions to ensure respectability and safety ruled her existence. How was it then, she found herself in the precise spot she’d worked so diligently to avoid?
She flinched at the thought and slipped her hand from Gavin’s. She bowed her head and averted her teary gaze from the room. Maybe they would think she was moved by the melody.
When the song ended, the place erupted into enthusiastic applause. Some whooped and hollered their approval. Gavin rose and kissed Honey’s cheek, then offered her his hand. The two bowed to the audience, accepting their accolades like the seasoned performers they were. One was an international superstar, the other a hometown favorite who’d sung at more weddings and funerals than anyone else in three counties.
The duo made their way to the front door, declining requests for another song. Scarlett followed, a forgotten footnote in the wake of their success. Despite her dark thoughts, a smile tugged at her lips as she witnessed the camaraderie between her husband and aunt.
Once they were outside, Honey grinned up at Gavin. “Good move gettin’ us out of there. Always leave ’em wanting more. You remember that when you play your concerts.”
He winked and slung a tattooed arm around her aunt’s shoulder. “I’ll write it down when we get home.”
From the corner of her eye, she spied Marjorie Sanders and several of her church cronies scrutinizing the whole scene. A kernel of resentment nudged its way into her heart. How dare they judge her…or Gavin? They didn’t know him, and for that matter, they didn’t know her.
The accusations of recklessness hurled at Gavin by the reporters yesterday shifted to the front of her mind. His desperation to be seen differently had driven him to offer to pay her, a virtual stranger, to stay married to him. They weren’t so different, the two of them, both trying to outrun the ghosts of their past.
Gavin glanced back and extended his hand. “You with me, Red?”
She placed her hand in his. “I’m with ya, rock star.”
Chapter 13
He hadn’t touched her in three days. She was glad…she was. It was for the best, they needed to keep their distance from each other. And if she said it a few more times she might start to believe it. If he’d never kissed her, held her, touched her, she could think of him as a temporary roommate. But he’d done all of those things and more. She could no more unremember them than she could read hieroglyphics.
A slow burn slid down her body. Her pulse tap-danced in her neck. Prickly heat spread across her skin and up her neck. Like a carnal slide show, scenes from their time in Vegas streamed through her mind.
His smoky eyes held her captive as he bit her fingers, every nip like the rev of an engine to her overly sensitive and under-serviced libido. Each kiss up her forearm stole one piece after another of her self-control. When he laved the crook of her elbow with open-mouth kisses, she’d become his creation, a reckless creature ready to beg for what she wanted.
The slam of the screen door brought her back to the present. She drew cleansing air into her body and tried to tamp down the desire swirling inside her. She’d been so easy, ripe for the picking. Embarrassment mixed with the lust and she didn’t know whether to run to Gavin or away from him.
She’d lost her mind then and now. But there was something about him.
His rich sexy voice rumbled like thunder on a hot summer day from the next room. She couldn’t make out the words, but it didn’t matter.
The troublemaker who lived inside her skipped around throwing flowers into the air as she sang, I’m married, I’m married, I’m married to Gavin Bain. Scarlett shut her down when the flowers turned to clothes and skipping became pelvic thrusting.
That tramp was seriously inappropriate. And now that she was off her chain, it made it hard for Scarlett to resume her normal routine. Normal. What a joke. She couldn’t even spell the word anymore.
Her neatly organized, purposely productive schedule had been obliterated. Instead, she drifted throug
h the day sneaking peeks at Gavin, waiting for the other shoe to drop with Poppy, staring at the blinking cursor on her computer, and wondering how she’d gotten herself into this mess.
Gavin, on the other hand, had been a perfect gentleman.
He helped her dad with chores, did the dishes, or sat on the back porch writing music.
The music was where she saw the true Gavin. The lyrics were still as irreverent as always, but laced with a rawness she’d never heard in his songs before. Nothing was off limits. The songs told stories of his loneliness on the road, of lost love, or love never had. The songs were living photographs of Gavin’s heart and it made him all the harder to resist.
That’s why she found herself leaning against the wall next to the back door night after night. She’d listen to him weave his tales, always out of sight so she wouldn’t disturb him. Or at least that’s what she told herself. The truth was she didn’t want him to see how his songs, his truth, affected her.
“We’re going to Los Angeles.” The object of her conflicted thoughts barged into her office and plopped down in the chair next to her desk.
“What?” Geez, he smelled good, woodsy with a touch of spice. She lowered her lids and took a big whiff.
“You alright?” One side of his mouth kicked into a cocky grin.
“Simply resting my eyes.”
“Uh-huh.” He dragged the word out like he didn’t believe her at all.
She bit the inside of her lip and glared at him. “What were you saying?”
“You’re so full of it.” He laughed. “I said, we’re going to L.A. to meet with the Storm Side execs.” He beat out a rhythm on his thighs.
That got her attention. She swiveled away from her computer. Might as well, she wasn’t making any progress on the new idea for Carousel. “Do I have to go? I have work, and my family needs me here. Plus, the agreement states we will live here for the duration of this marriage.”
“The agreement also states we will be seen in public as it benefits one or both of us. Jack thinks it’s a good idea for you to go with me to the meeting, and so do I.” One black brow hiked up his forehead.
Leaving her comfort zone where she had a modicum of control wasn’t appealing. And fear of what Poppy might do hung over her head, but what choice did she have? They had a stupid contract. “Fine. Oh, but not on Sunday.”
“Okay, but why?”
His confused expression made her grin. He got a cute wrinkle between his brows when he frowned. It looked like a ‘w.’ “We have church on Sundays, Gavin.”
“Um…alright. Any day but Sunday will work?” He fiddled with some pens lying on her desk and wouldn’t meet her eyes.
She chuckled. “Don’t worry, Gavin. You’re not expected to attend.”
“I don’t mind.” Now he stacked her sticky notes into a pile. He would have sounded more convincing if he’d said he invented cheese.
“Really, Gavin, it’s fine. I have to teach Sunday school anyway.”
Relief colored his face when he peeked up at her. He gave her his get-out-of-jail-free grin. “Okay, I’ll let Jack know.”
His discomfort amused her, and the thought of The Delinquent in church…too weird to contemplate.
A tremor jolted up Gavin’s arms as he jammed the post-hole digger into the ground. The hard Texas soil resisted, then relented. He yanked the sod from the ground with an agitated grunt and flung it aside. When Floyd said he could use some help digging holes for a new fence, he’d jumped at the chance to work off some frustration. His earlier conversation with Scarlett had him tangled up in his feelings. Again.
She knew he’d been uncomfortable with the whole church thing, and, instead of making him sweat, she let him off the hook. He had no idea why it messed with his head or heart so much.
Sweet and funny, every day he liked her more than he should. But she’d taken the money—Stop!
He was sick to death of this emotional Ferris wheel. She was a money grabber, but nothing about her made that true. If it weren’t for the damn arrangement, he’d jump on the next plane out of Texas and be gone.
That’s what you do, Bain. You run. You’re such a coward.
He rammed the ground harder this time. Maybe he could jar loose the self-disgust crusted over his soul. When Johnny died, he ran and hid for almost a year and a half. If it hadn’t been for finding Johnny’s letter, he’d still be hiding. Strong emotions scared the living shit out of him and one thing he could say about Scarlett, she evoked strong emotions.
“Um…Gavin.” Joyce’s son, Brody, stood with his hands jammed into his pockets.
“Yeah?” He grabbed the bottom of his shirt and wiped the sweat from his face.
“I was…ah…I was wondering if you…that is if you have time—”
“Spit it out, Brody. What do you want?” Great, now he’d snapped at a kid.
“Could you give me guitar lessons?” Brody’s face flamed bright red.
Gavin’s throat constricted. The guitar had saved his life. When Johnny taught him to play, he was living on borrowed time. He’d been close to going over the edge, but music pulled him back and gave him a reason to do something other than ruin his life. Johnny told him he could pay it forward one day. But nobody had ever asked him to teach them, until now. It was an honor.
“I know you’re busy and probably have more important things to do, so it’s cool.” The kid pivoted on his boots to retreat.
“Yes.” It was all he could manage to say with the elephant sitting on his lungs.
The boy turned back to him and his face transformed. “You mean it?”
He swallowed, trying to get moisture to his voice box. “Sure, I mean it. My best friend taught me to play, and I’m happy to teach you.”
“I already know some chords. I need help putting them together. Honey said she’d teach me, but…” Brody’s shoulders shook with a shudder.
Gavin laughed, and it felt good. “She makes you uncomfortable?”
“Yes. She says weird stuff sometimes, and I never know if she’s kiddin’ or not.”
“She doesn’t have much of a filter, it’s true.” Gavin clapped the kid on the back. “Let me finish this and shower, then we’ll get started.”
The boy smiled and practically bounced out of his skin. “Do you need any help? I’m pretty good at diggin’ holes.”
“Nah, I’m good. If you have any homework or chores, go finish them and meet me on Scarlett’s back porch in an hour.”
“Ok.” He turned and then stopped. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it, man. It’ll be fun.”
Gavin didn’t know when he’d had less fun. He fought the urge to cover his ears when the boy butchered another chord. Terrible. Yes, he knew most of the chords, but all thumbs didn’t begin to describe him.
Had he been this bad when he started learning? Probably. He did remember Johnny calling several of their lessons short because he needed to do homework. Thinking back, he should have known that was code for, Dude, you suck.
“Remember Brody, don’t lift your fingers too far off the fret board when you change chords.
“Like this?”
No, I’ve seen polar bears with better dexterity.
“Try this.” Gavin demonstrated the proper technique.
“Oh, I see.” Brody tried again and did the exact same thing he did the first time.
“Yeah. That’s great.” He was going to hell for lying, but he couldn’t bring himself to crush this kid’s excitement. “It takes a lot of work, you’ll get it. I think I’ve given you enough to work on for today. What do you say we get back together next week? In the meantime, you should practice. A lot.”
Gavin rose and placed Patsy in her case. Scarlett’s back porch overlooked a small pond with a dock extending out into the muddy water. A very peaceful spot. He spent time out here writing and hoped the events of the last hour hadn’t killed the creative vibe.
Brody put his guitar in its case too. “I’ll practice till my fi
ngers bleed, promise.”
“Right on.” It seemed only fair since his ears were bleeding.
Gavin’s phone rang and he pulled it from his pocket along with the piece of foil Scarlett had given him. A little squashed, but it still seemed to work. All his calls to Jack had been crystal clear. He leaned his hip against the railing and noticed the boy’s confused expression. What was he staring at?
Whatever. Kids were weird.
“Hey, Jack.”
“Hey, Gav. Did you talk to your wife about meeting the Storm Side guys?”
“Yeah, any day but Sunday is good.” Why did the boy continue to stare?
“What’s happening Sunday?”
“We have church.”
Jack laughed. “Are you shitting me?”
Gavin grinned and ran his hands through his hair. “No, man. Evidently, we go to church on Sundays.”
“That’s priceless. I’ll drop a hint to the media. They’ll love this, and so will the record execs.”
He turned away from Brody’s probing gaze and lowered his voice. “You can tell Storm Side but not the media. Church is special to them, and I don’t want to do anything to embarrass the family.”
Jack snorted. “I’m sorry. I thought I was speaking to The Delinquent.”
“Yeah, well. I like the aunt, and I’m pretty sure having a media circus at the church would upset her. So don’t do it.” He emphasized each word and hoped Jack got the message.
“Ok. How’s it going otherwise?”
He considered his roiling emotions related to Scarlett. “Fine.” He squinted into the sun. “It’s complicated.”
“We are not doing complicated. Do you hear me, Gavin? You’re supposed to get in and get out. Period.”
“I hear ya.”
“I’ll text you the details about the meeting. Hey, how’s Luanne? Has she mentioned me?”
“No, Jaqueline. Would you like me to pass her a note in study hall?”
“Would you?”
Gavin glanced over his shoulder and noticed Brody still staring. “No way, dude, she scares me. Not your type at all, a total badass. She’d have you for lunch and then ask for seconds.” Jack went for sweet, docile women, who never had an original thought of their own.
Brides on the Run (Books 1-4): Small-Town Romance Series Page 13