FLOWERS ON THE WALL

by Williams, Mary J.

  It was clear that her father had Ryder pegged as a hedonistic sex maniac and Cora as his next victim. Telling him otherwise was not working.

  "I will take Ryder out to dinner and explain the situation. We'll leave in the morning."

  "That would be best." Michael held his arms out, beckoning to Quinn. Thinking of Ryder, Quinn reminded herself that there were far worse fathers in the world. Yes, she had been saddled with a self-absorbed twit. But Michael Abernathy wasn't all bad. Sometimes, like when he hugged her, Quinn actually believed he loved her.

  That was how she found herself in a less-than-stellar bar on the outskirts of Minnow, Indiana in the company of an incognito rock star. Even her best friend would never believe it.

  "I see a bandstand." Ryder craned his neck to get a better view. "Do you think there will be live music?"

  "Damn straight," a man from the next table answered Ryder's question. He had a handlebar mustache and somewhere under all his tattoos, Quinn imagined there was skin the same color as his pasty white face. "It's Popcorn Festival week. Mickey does things up right every night."

  "Mickey?" Ryder raised his voice to be heard over the crowd.

  "The owner. That's him behind the bar."

  "I wonder if the band will let me sit in for a song or two?"

  Quinn could see how excited Ryder was at the idea. Back to his roots, so to speak. After years of playing stadiums and arenas to huge crowds of adoring fans, he wanted to take it down to the ground again. If only for one night.

  "I'm sure they would be thrilled." Quinn leaned closer. "But do you think it's a good idea?"

  "It's the best idea I've had in a long time." Ryder captured her lips with his. "Besides that."

  "Then I say you should do it."

  And damn the consequences. What was the worst that could happen? A stampede? A riot? Busted chairs? Broken bones? Fire? The police? Blaring headlines that would have Ryder's manager tearing his hair out?

  "What's so funny?" Ryder asked when she laughed aloud.

  "I have a vivid and colorful imagination."

  He wiggled his eyebrows. "Me too."

  Ryder ordered two more beers from the passing waitress.

  "I'll be right back."

  "Hey." When he saw that she was headed toward the door, Ryder stayed her with his hand. "The bathroom is that way."

  "If you're going to do this, I need my camera."

  "Maybe they'll tell me no."

  Quinn smiled. Ryder grinned back. Ya, right. "I need my camera."

  "I'll go with you."

  This time, it was Quinn who stopped him. "Don't bother. I'll only be a second."

  Ryder kissed Quinn's fingers before taking her hand in his. "I'll go with you."

  "I appreciate it. But someone will probably grab our table while we're gone."

  Unconcerned, Ryder shrugged. "There's always another table. If not, we'll sit at the bar."

  Chances were that Quinn would have made it to the car she had borrowed for the night from her father, retrieved her camera, and returned to her seat without incident. However, it was a rowdy crowd. And the parking lot was dark. Having Ryder by her side made her feel safe and protected. After looking out for herself for so long, it was nice to have someone to lean on. Even if just for a little while.

  Surprisingly, when they entered the bar, Quinn saw that their seats hadn't been pilfered. At the next table, the tattooed man gave them a thumb's up, letting them know he was responsible.

  "Thanks," Ryder said. "We appreciate it. Let me take care of the next round for you and your friends."

  "Much obliged." The other men at the table lifted their bottles of beer, saluting Ryder.

  The crowd was content to play the jukebox for the next hour, dancing and drinking to the selection of country classics. Then the band arrived. Locals, they were well known, getting shout outs as they set up their instruments.

  "I love this part," Ryder told her, his eyes locked on the band. "The anticipation. The adrenalin will be building. It's easier to get jacked up when you have a large crowd."

  "What was it like when you were starting out?"

  Ryder smiled. "Scary as hell. All I wanted to do was play guitar and sing. My dreams were small. The idea was to make some money, put it in the bank, and have a place for Zoe to live."

  "You were sixteen? That means Zoe was thirteen. Was she planning to run away like you did?"

  "Zoe had a good home—comparatively. I made certain of that."

  "How?"

  It was hard for Quinn to imagine what it had been like. Her parents had divorced, but there was always someone there to take care of her. Ryder had taken on that responsibility for himself and his sister at such a young age. And succeeded.

  "Zoe and I were separated after our father killed himself. Separate foster homes. Luckily, she was only a bus ride away. I visited as often as I could. There were three other kids in the house—close to Zoe's age. She liked them. And the couple who looked after them were nicer than most."

  "That's good."

  "Zoe was quiet. Introverted."

  "Zoe?" Introverted was not the word Quinn would have used to describe Ryder's sister.

  Ryder shrugged, a smile playing around his lips. "She's come out of her shell. But back then, I was worried that she wouldn't be able to stand up for herself and would get pushed around. I didn't care where they put me as long as I could keep an eye on Zoe."

  "Is that why you ran away? Because you were going to be sent someplace too far away from Zoe?"

  "I had worn out my welcome with the greater Chicago-area foster system. I think the word they used was unmanageable." Ryder took a sip of beer. "I disappeared a lot, and that didn't sit well with my various foster parents."

  "Disappeared to visit Zoe." It wasn't a question. Quinn knew the answer.

  "The last family—the ones that tried to sell their story to the tabloids? He thought he could control me by smacking me around. That didn't go over well with me."

  "Did you report him?"

  "I knew how the system worked, Quinn. It's slow—at best. The case workers mean well but there aren't enough. Money and manpower were tight. I was on my own."

  "So you left."

  Quinn knew how the story turned out. Ryder sat beside her—strong, healthy, and successful. Not to mention amazingly well adjusted. However, she couldn't help but worry about the sixteen-year-old boy he once was. It couldn't have been easy.

  "If I had stayed, I would have hit him back, Quinn. I was bigger and stronger than he was. It wouldn't have turned out well."

  There was so much Quinn wanted to ask. Where had he gone? How had he found food and shelter? However, she could feel the tension radiating from Ryder's body. He had talked long enough about that part of his life.

  "Tell me about your first gig."

  Quinn knew she had hit the right button when Ryder grinned.

  "I lied about my age. The bar owner gave me a meal and a few bucks under the table. I wasn't exactly a hit. But I was cheap. Word got around, and I started picking up more and more work, all the while polishing my performing skills."

  "And the rest is history?"

  "With plenty of bumps in between." Taking Quinn's hand, Ryder threaded his fingers through hers. "That's the most I've ever said to anyone about those days."

  "I won't make you sorry that you confided in me, Ryder."

  Ryder didn't speak for a moment, his eyes locked with Quinn's. Finally, his gaze never wavering, he kissed the back of her hand. "I know."

  Two words. Yet they touched Quinn to her soul. Ryder was not a man who trusted easily. This was a moment she would treasure forever.

  "How is everybody doing this evening?" The voice from the bandstand rang out, getting an enthusiastic response from the crowd. "Some of you know us. But for the rest of you, we are Lightning Strikes."

  The band jumped into a fast tempo song that Quinn couldn't identify. Not tha
t it mattered. It was all about pulling the audience in from the first note. Ryder grinned, tapping his foot and bobbing his head. Quinn laughed. He looked like a little boy in the middle of the best Christmas morning ever.

  "Want to dance?" Ryder asked, practically yelling the question.

  Quinn hesitated. She couldn't leave her camera unattended.

  "My butt is in this chair for the duration." Their friend at the next table told her. "My name is Rudy, by the way." He held out his hand.

  "Quinn." She didn't introduce Ryder. He had a first name you didn't hear every day. So far, he hadn't been recognized, but there was no reason to push their luck.

  "I'll watch your bag."

  "I appreciate that. But—"

  Rudy took something from his back pocket and set it on the table. It was a badge.

  "Officer Rudy Rayburn, at your service."

  So much for judging a book by its cover. It was Quinn's fault for not looking past the tattoos and the bushy mustache.

  "Thank you, Rudy."

  "No problem." He motioned Quinn closer. "I'm a big fan, by the way."

  Quinn looked from the policeman to Ryder and laughed. Rudy was full of surprises. It was apparent he hadn't shared his discovery with anyone else. She gave Rudy a quick kiss on the cheek and to her amazement, he blushed.

  "What was that about?" Ryder asked her.

  "I'll tell you later."

  Holding her hand, Ryder zig-zagged across the room to the postage stamp-sized dance floor. It was already full of bouncing, gyrating bodies. Unconcerned, Ryder pulled Quinn close. She didn't know if his moves had a name, but there was an innate grace to his steps.

  "You're good," Quinn called out.

  "It's all in the rhythm."

  One song flowed into another. Quinn couldn't remember the last time she danced—except by herself when she got her first paying job as a photographer. She became sweaty and breathless and loved every second. When the next song started, it was slow and romantic. This one she recognized. It was one of Ryder's. He slid his arms around her waist. Quinn automatically put her hands on his shoulders.

  "I wrote this when I was nineteen, in love for the first time, and convinced that it would last forever. It was my first song to hit the charts. If I recall, it barely broke the top twenty," Ryder said, then began to hum along with the music.

  "Not bad." Happy, Quinn sighed, resting her cheek on Ryder's chest as his chin nuzzled the top of her head. "Did she break your heart?"

  "It lasted three passionate weeks before we broke up by mutual consent. So, no. My heart remained in one piece."

  Not every woman had a hit song written in her honor. Quinn wondered what it would be like to be immortalized for all time? Did Ryder's first love smile when her song came on the radio? Or did she lament the fact that she had been too young and foolish to realize what she had let slip away?

  "I danced to this at my senior prom."

  "Jesus. Really?" Ryder laughed. "If it played in the background while you lost your virginity in the backseat of some rube's borrowed car, I don't want to know."

  "His name was Anton. He was an exchange student from Russia. I thought he was exotic and deep. We made out to Livin' on a Prayer." Quinn shook her head at the memory. "My virginity was safe until my sophomore year of college."

  "Practically a prude."

  "How old were you your first time?"

  "Fifteen."

  "Was she older?"

  "Infinitely." Ryder chuckled. "By a whole three months. We fumbled our way through it."

  "You don't fumble anymore."

  "I'm glad you noticed."

  After another song, the band took a break. Ryder escorted Quinn back to the table.

  "I hate to leave you alone." Ryder had spotted the lead singer of the band going out a side door. "Maybe you should come with me."

  Quinn shook her head. There was protective and then there was unreasonable. Ryder skirted the edges of the latter. "I can take care of myself. Besides, I have Minnow's finest at the next table. If there's any trouble, Rudy will help."

  "I'm on it," Rudy called out.

  Having gotten the lowdown from Quinn, Ryder nodded, shaking his hand. "I appreciate it, man."

  "Do you mind if I make a request?"

  "Name it."

  "Sing Leaving the Past Behind. It's my wife's favorite."

  "You got it." Ryder looked around. "Is your wife here?"

  Rudy laughed. "My Katie has been serving your drinks all night, son."

  Chuckling, Ryder left Quinn with a kiss and a promise.

  "I'll sing Leaving for Katie. But the rest will be for you."

  MUSICIANS WERE UNPREDICTABLE creatures. Ryder knew. He had dealt with them from half-empty dives to packed arenas. Hell, when it came down to it, he could be as bad as they came.

  Call it ego. Testosterone. The old, I peed on it first syndrome. Whatever the reason, musicians were territorial about their gig and their band. That was why Ryder approached the lead singer of Lightning Strikes with his ego in his back pocket. Though they were close in age, their situations were worlds apart. Ryder didn't want to come across as a big shot out to slum it for a night.

  As it turned out, Marsh Jenner was a fan. A mega-fan. For a second, Ryder was afraid the man was going fall to his knees and cry out, I'm not worthy. To save them both the embarrassment, Ryder grabbed Marsh's hand and shook it vigorously.

  "You're my hero." Marsh kept pumping away until Ryder gently disengaged. "We play covers of your shit all the time."

  "You did a great job on First and Only."

  "Really?" Marsh threw his half-smoked cigarette on the ground. "Man, I am glad I didn't know you were out there when I was singing. I wouldn't have gotten through it."

  Ryder knew how Marsh felt. It could be surreal meeting a musician you admired. The afternoon he had spent with Willie Nelson would go down as one of the greatest experiences of his life. It had nothing to do with rock or country. There were legends and then there was Willie—an artist who crossed all music lines.

  "I don't want to tread on your time. Would you mind if I sat in for a set?"

  Marsh's mouth opened then closed. The only sound that escaped was a high-pitched squeak.

  "Is that a yes?"

  March nodded.

  "Great." Ryder clapped him on the back. "It means a lot to me."

  QUINN SIPPED HER club soda wondering what the reaction would be when Ryder stepped onto that tiny platform. Surprise followed by bedlam?

  The drummer came out first, followed by the rest of the band. Ryder, his hat still pulled low, picked up an electric guitar, plugging it in before he strummed the strings. Nobody in the crowd paid attention. They continued talking and drinking, unaware that a superstar was only a few feet away.

  "I want to get closer to the stage," Quinn informed Rudy as she took her camera from the bag. "In a few minutes, getting up there will be impossible."

  "I called a few of my buddies on the force for back-up. Just in case things get out of hand. They are milling around." Rudy lowered his voice. "Undercover."

  Though Rudy's tone was light, she knew he had been smart to take precautions. There was no way to anticipate what a sober crowd would do when Ryder revealed himself. This bunch had been drinking steadily since they arrived. It could turn into a love fest. Or it could go south in a hurry. Either way, Rudy and his friends were ready.

  "I'll go with you," Rudy said, following closely behind Quinn.

  Rather than argue, Quinn felt a rush of gratitude. The world had some nasty characters in it, but there were more good guys than bad. Rudy Rayburn was proof positive. Turning, she took a quick picture. She knew without looking at the result that it would be a keeper. Quinn made a mental note to get his wife's email address so she could send Katie the photo.

  "Look at him." After snapping a few shots of Ryder, Quinn lowered her camera. "He is practically bouncing with excitement."<
br />
  Rudy shook his head. "It's crazy. The man plays all the time. What's so special about tonight?"

  Quinn shrugged. It wasn't something she could explain even if she weren't pledged to keep Ryder's confidence to herself. Only Ryder understood the importance of getting back to his roots. She was glad that she was here to witness the moment.

  "We are back." When the lead singer tapped the microphone, the crowd quieted a bit. But not much. "We have a rare treat for you tonight. As you know, every now and then, a guest will sit in with the band. This was unexpected. He was in the crowd and asked if he could join us for a few songs."

  The announcement didn't cause a stir. Not even a ripple. Just wait, Quinn thought.

  Without further introduction, the band began to play. Quinn exchanged grins with Rudy when they recognized Leaving the Past Behind. Taking the lead, Ryder stepped up to the microphone.

  "A new friend of mine asked if I would sing this for his wife. Katie? Are you out there?"

  A small rumble as a few people began to realize who was on stage.

  "Here she is."

  Through an opening in the crowd, Rudy's wife popped. The pretty brunette looked confused. Frowning, she walked up to her husband.

  "What is going on?"

  Rudy put an arm around her and kissed her cheek. "Just wait."

  Ryder played the opening chords one more time.

  Katie gasped. "Is that…? Holy crap."

  Ryder removed his hat and tossed it to Katie. If Rudy weren't standing there to hold her up, Quinn thought his wife would have melted onto the floor. Ryder speared Katie with his gaze.

  "This one is for you, Katie."

  Ryder sang the first few words and Katie screamed. Loudly and repeatedly. Quinn had to give Rudy credit. He only winced one or twice.

  Quinn had flipped the button on her camera from portrait to video. She filmed the entire serenade. Just as he played the final note, to everyone's surprise, Ryder jumped off the stage and kissed Katie—full on the lips. Before anyone could make a grab for him, he was back behind the microphone and onto the next song.

  There were no words to describe the energy and joy that filled that room for the next hour. The numbers of bodies grew—which wasn't a surprise. Texts and phone calls flew to family and friends. If they were within driving distance, chances were they tried to get to the bar.