"That would be perfect," she mumbled under her breath. "My book will be a personal tell-all. His memoirs will be completely different, assuming he'll want to publish after I—"
"Well, hey there."
Startled, she spun around with wide eyes.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," Brett said, walking in the front door with Johnny and Cash.
"Uh, hi. Yes, I'm fine," she said hastily. "I'm sorry I missed dinner. After I finished unpacking I laid down for a second and I guess I fell asleep. I only woke up about ten minutes ago and found your note. Were you out enjoying the night air?"
"Yep. I often go out with the boys for a wander around this time. Are you hungry? Would you like a snack? Jasmine always leaves plenty."
"I'd love something to drink."
"I could go for a beer myself. What can I get you?"
"Do you have any white wine?"
"You bet. I'm in the mood to pick up my guitar. You wanna join me in the studio?"
"Sure, and I have a concept for your book."
"Yeah? Cool. I can't wait to hear it. Come on, boys, let's go jam."
The dogs immediately bounded down the hall to the studio door.
"That's so cute," she remarked as she fell into step beside him. "They must enjoy listening to you."
"Sometimes Johnny takes over the vocals."
"Really?"
"Yep. I'll give you a demonstration," he promised as they entered the studio's living room. "There's one song in particular he loves to sing."
"That's hilarious. I can't wait."
"Tell me your idea," he said, walking behind the bar.
"A retrospective of your career. The first chapter you talk about where you are now, then go back to maybe your first big hit, or when you signed your first recording contract."
"Sounds good, but I think I'd like to tweak that a bit," he said, walking across to her and handing her a glass of wine. "I like the idea of lookin' back, but I'd like to start with the first song I wrote that I knew would get me a deal, assumin' I could get someone to listen of course."
"Sure. Which song is that?" she asked, taking a swallow of the wine. "Brett, this is delicious."
"Yeah. Real buttery. Came from the Hunter Valley in Australia."
"I've never tasted wine like it," she remarked, taking another swallow. "Sorry, I interrupted."
"No problem," he replied, dropping into a chair and lifting a beer bottle to his lips.
"Were you right? Did the song get you a deal?"
"It opened the door like I thought it would, but I had no intention of releasin' it back then. I'm not sure I ever will."
"Why not?"
"Let's just say the song is attached to a loose end. If that loose end ever ends tied in a knot, then yeah, I might."
"Loose end," she repeated thoughtfully, then taking another swallow of her wine, she added, "You must like that phrase."
"Because?"
"Last Saturday you asked me if I had any loose ends that needed tying up."
"Yeah, I reckon I did."
"Wow, this wine is already going to my head," she mumbled. "This week has been so crazy it feels good to be a bit buzzed."
"Probably 'cos you're drinkin' on an empty stomach."
"Probably. I don't suppose I can hear the song, can I?"
"Sure. I'm kinda in the mood to play it. I'll fetch my guitar."
"You don't want to go in the studio?"
"Nope. I was gonna tinker on the piano, but I'd rather do this."
She watched him stride through the door, and continuing to sip her wine, she found herself wondering how it would feel to be wrapped up in his strong, muscled arms. She was still trying to push away the seductive thought when he returned and settled on the edge of his chair.
"Johnny, no singin' along with this one, ya hear?" Brett said firmly as the black lab walked up and lifted his paw.
"He wants to join you?"
"When he lifts his paw like that, yep, that's what he wants. You go lie down with Cash. I'll call you when it's your turn."
The dog barked in protest.
"Nope. Not this one. Go on now. Go join your buddy."
Looking forlorn, the dog padded across the room and dropped next to the small terrier.
"Oh, my gosh, that is hilarious," she exclaimed, laughing out loud.
"Wait 'til he serenades you."
"No-one would believe me if I told them about a singing labrador."
"But you won't," he said, shooting her a look.
"No, no," she said hastily. "So, uh, what's the name of this loose end. Hey, Brett, do you think Loose Ends could be a cool name for a song?"
"Huh. I like that. I'm gonna give that some brain time. If I write something with that title you'll get a royalty."
"But I—"
"Came up with it," he said, interrupting her.
"Good grief. That's amazing."
"Nope. Just the right thing to do."
"So, uh, the song."
"Yeah. Callin' My Name."
His eyes held hers for a fleeting moment, then dropping his gaze to his guitar, he shifted on his chair and began to play.
On hot summer days we kissed by the lake,
Then under the moon we cried.
I knew from your eye what you planned to say.
That night a part of me died.
Friends, just friends, that's what we are now,
and as I pick up my guitar
I'll sing you a song you'll never hear,
as my wound becomes a scar.
You say love's not for you.
You say you have too much to do.
There's no room to have love in your life.
You have no time to be somebody's wife.
But if you could hear my heart.
You would hear it callin'' your name.
If you could free your heart,
You would feel the heat of its flame.
But you won't hear my heart.
You can't hear it callin' your name.
And you won't free your heart.
You'll never feel the heat of its flame.
You say we're too young, but you'll wish I'd stayed.
I know you'll be sorry and want more one day.
You'll reach out to hold me, with tears so wet,
But I'll be gone, and you'll be filled with regret.
'Cos I'm takin my guitar and hittin' the road.
With a heavy heart and a heavy load.
You'll wake up in the night and wish I was there
You'll hit your knees in a heartfelt prayer.
Please God, keep him safe, he was right, I was wrong.
Please God bring him back, it's with him I belong.
But you won't hear my heart.
You can't hear it callin' your name.
And you won't free your heart.
Will you ever feel the heat of its flame?
It's callin' my name, it's callin' my name,
One day you'll wake up, to hear it callin' my name.
Amber couldn't breathe.
Heat burned in her throat.
Tears brimming, her hands trembling, she gripped her glass.
As he strummed the last note and silence descended, he tilted his head to the side and caught her gaze, but unable to look at him, she dropped her eyes and downed the last of the wine.
"You okay, Amber?"
His voice had fallen soft, but the question burned through her soul.
"I'm not sure. The melody, the lyrics, they went right through me."
"I like my work to touch people, but I didn't mean to upset you."
"Sorry. This week has been hectic, I'm still so tired, and I'm embarrassed to say this, but I really am buzzed to the gills," she murmured, then pausing, she added, "Brett, that song is incredible."
"Thanks."
"The person, the girl, is she real?"
"She sure is."
"Wow. I'm blown away. Like, really blown away. Do you know
where she is? I mean, she must know where you are. You're famous."
"Yep. I know where she is," he said slowly, leaning forward, "and if she looked hard enough she'd know where I am."
Speak up. Be heard. Only then will you be free of your past.
Inexplicably the owl's words floated through her head, and though she tried to stop them, her tears broke free.
"S-sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me. I should go. I'm really sorry."
Leaning his guitar next to his chair, Brett moved to her side.
"You wanna tell me what's wrong?"
"I can't. I've never told anyone. You'll think I'm an awful person."
"I've lived a lotta life, Amber. The music business is tough. Real tough. There are snakes in the brush and sharks in the water. I've seen a lot and I've heard even more. There's nothin' you can say that will shock me."
"Your song—it made me think of, uh, my first boyfriend. I—no, I can't say it."
"Damn, girl, this is killin' you. You've gotta get it out."
"It happened in his truck," she mumbled, then turning her head, she whispered, "How can you have the same fucking truck?"
"Sometimes things are down to fate."
"Do you believe in fate?"
"There are times I definitely believe things are meant to be, like how I found this ranch, and Steve comin' into my life, but what happened in the truck?"
"Your lyrics, that's what happened in the truck. I told him we could only be friends, that I had big dreams, and just like your song I said we were too young and I had too much to do. I cared about him so much and I pushed him away. But we were just kids. How can a kid even think about things like love and marriage? Yet I did, and he did too. The whole thing is crazy, but it still hurts, and right now it hurts like hell. I was so mean to him, and I may have been a kid, but I loved him. I did. And I never told him. That's the worse thing of all," she declared, fresh tears spilling down her face. "I never told him, and it kills me. Like your song, I regret so much. Especially that."
"If you cared about him so much, why did you leave him?"
"He was, uh, different."
"Different?"
"I was a cheerleader, my dad had money, and…"
"And he came from nothin'?"
"Pretty much. He was overweight and wore these horrible glasses, but I didn't care. We had something—different. We weren't like other people. He was the best. The absolute best, but my other friends made fun of him and started making fun of me for hanging out with him. I tried to defend him, I did, but it was too hard. I was a coward. I couldn't do it anymore. I hurt him so much, and I've hated myself for it ever since," she sobbed, swept up in a wave of fresh tears.
"Kid pressure. There's nothin' worse than bein' bullied," he said softly, putting his arm around her shoulders. "We all just wanna fit in. What happened to him?"
"I don't know."
"You didn't think about him, or tried to find him?"
"Of course. He's been like this shadow that follows me around, but whenever I reached for the phone, the hurt and guilt would swallow me up. I was too scared to face him. I'm sure he must hate me, but sitting here now, telling you this, I'd give anything to see him again. To tell him how sorry I am. Your song, you could have been writing about David and me. Shit. I haven't said his name in a really long time," she sniffled. "Now you know and I'm sure you think I'm a horrible person, and you'd be right."
"I don't think that, not for a second."
"I'm really sorry. I can't believe I told you all that."
"I pushed you."
"I may be almost drunk, but I just realized something," she sniffled, wiping her face with her hands. "I need to find him. I won't be able to rest until I do."
"Yeah, you do," Brett said softly. "Then you'll both be free."
CHAPTER SIX
Amber sat silent for a moment, then looked up and caught Brett's gaze, her eyes searching for answers.
"We'll both be free," she softly repeated. "He's probably spent all these years wondering what he did wrong."
"Could be, or he could've moved on and put you behind him."
"Do you think so?"
"If he had any sense, but when it comes to matters of the heart, logic tends to take a back seat. You look pretty beat up. Why don't you call it a night?"
"I think I will."
She rose unsteadily to her feet.
Seeing her teeter, Brett stood up to catch her.
He didn't mean for it to happen.
He'd resolved to keep her at a distance.
But reason fled.
In a flash his arms wrapped around her, and fisting her hair he sent his lips against hers. His heart's drumbeat thundered in his ears, and as she yielded to his hold and her mouth urgently responded, a craving hunger surged through his body. Sweeping her up, he carried her across the hall and into her room, laying her down as Benny scampered out of the way. Pulling the thin T-shirt over her head, she frantically fumbled with the buttons of his shirt.
"No, darlin', this isn't right," he suddenly panted, jerking back to sit on the edge of the bed. "I'm sorry. You're not thinkin' straight, and I lost my head for a minute."
"I may be a bit drunk, but—"
"How will you feel in the mornin'?" he asked solemnly, cutting her off and turning to stare at her intently. "I know I'll be thinkin' I took advantage, and you might too."
"I feel something for you," she whimpered. "Maybe I shouldn't, and I know this makes no sense, but I do, and it's real. I don't care about who you are, or your records, or this place, or anything like that. I feel something for you. Something…innate."
Dropping his head in his hands, he rubbed his face, then abruptly stood up.
"We've gotta let this be for now. I'm walkin' away for both of us," he said with a heavy sigh. Though every part of him wanted to stay, as he leaned forward and softly kissed her, he knew he was doing the right thing. "If this is meant to be, this will happen another night," he whispered, then striding from the room, he found Johnny and Cash waiting in the hall. "Let's take another walk."
Their tails wagging excitedly, they followed him to the foyer. Grabbing his jacket, he stepped outside and headed to his sacred garden. The crisp air soothed his soul. He'd always been a night owl. He could work on songs until the early hours of the morning, yet wake up energized and ready to face the world. On tour the members of his band joked that he must have vampire blood running through his veins. He'd laugh along with them, but secretly he had a love of the occult.
He'd seen the light.
Literally.
He'd died on an operating table.
The experience had profoundly changed his life.
An almost full moon shed its shadowy silver light, and walking the path he'd ridden with Amber the week before, in spite of his solemn mood he had to smile. She'd been mortified when he'd suggested the trail ride to the top of the mountain on the other side of the canyon. The tease had been too tempting to pass up. So had watching her struggle as she'd tried to mount up in brand new, skin-tight jeans.
"I'm beginnin' to think I'm more confused than she is," he mumbled, staring up at the totem pole as he entered.
Sitting on his favorite stone bench, the low trilling of an owl welcomed him, and in spite of the wall he could hear the sounds of nocturnal creatures in the brush beyond. He also heard footsteps.
"Hey, Loki," Brett said, patting the malamute's thick fur as the dog trotted across to join him. "How ya doin, buddy?"
"He likes the cold night," Steve remarked, sitting cross-legged on the ground, then pausing, he added, "She said what you wanted to hear."
His words a statement, not a question, Brett nodded.
"She sure did. The words I've imagined comin' from her lips a thousand times."
"But you said nothing. Why do you make her suffer?"
"I don't know," Brett mumbled, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together. "Some kind of twisted revenge? I hope not. I c
ame close. I almost cried in her arms. She cried in mine. My heart broke for her. For us."
"Why did you hold back?"
"Maybe I'm not ready. Her confession happened so fast she took me by surprise."
"A part of her knows the truth. It became too much too bear."
"Was I wrong?"
"To bring her to your home the way you have? To witness her confusion and pain and remain silent? Only you can answer those questions. I'm not here to judge you."
"How did you know I came to the garden? Sorry. Stupid question. You just know shit when it happens."
"Only because I listen."
"Riddles. Endless riddles," Brett muttered, then sighing, he added, "Not really. I know what you mean. Sometimes I'm able to listen too. Not tonight though."
Brett sent his eyes to the owl at the base of the totem pole. Though some tribes saw the owl as a bad omen, even a harbinger of death, others believed the bird to be a powerful healer. Not only did Brett identify with the duality of the bad and the good, the owl, like him, found comfort in the night.
"I walked away from her bed," he finally said. "I wanted her so bad, but she was drunk. It wasn't right."
"So you did listen to your inner self."
"Yeah, I guess I did. She only arrived here this mornin'. Why did this happen so fast?"
"Step back."
Closing his eyes, Brett took a long breath.
"It did not happen fast," Steve began. "You have both been on a journey to reunite for thousands of days. That journey has ended, but a new one begins."
A soft breeze whistled.
Brett slowly opened his eyes.
"It was me," he murmured. "I created the moment of truth. She was the one taken by surprise. I sang our song."
"Tread carefully and softly," Steve said gravely. "She suffers. Make her wait too long and her pain will become anger towards you."
"I'm feelin' that. I'm feelin' that big time, but how will I know the right moment?"
"Stay out of thought, and live the moment."
To Con A Cowboy (Hunks and Horses Book 3) Page 5