Whatever You Say_A Highland Springs Romance

by Leigh Fleming

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m putting it in my pocket.”

  “No, you’re not. We’re smoking it.” She leaned across him and snatched the joint from his hand. “What? Why do you look so shocked?” His mouth gaped open and his eyebrows arched.

  “An officer of the court smoking weed? What would the partners back in DC say?”

  “Right now, I could care less.” With the joint lodged between her lips, she flicked the lighter into a flame and glanced over at him once more. She pinched the joint between her fingers and said, “Are you smoking this with me?”

  “Light it up.” He laughed and shook his head as he watched her take several quick tokes. “You seem to know what you’re doing.”

  “It’s been a long—” She broke into a coughing fit as she handed the joint to him, waving the smoke from her face. “Haven’t done this since college. I’m out of practice.”

  “It’s probably been longer for me.” He inhaled deeply and held it in, speaking while holding his breath. “Used to smoke with Travis before football games.”

  She took the reefer from his hand and tried again to smoke without coughing. This time it went much smoother and she felt light-headed.

  “You can’t be serious. Did it help your performance?”

  “Nothing could’ve helped our performance.” He accepted the joint and inhaled again. “We sucked.”

  “Well, no wonder.” Kate felt a light, dizzy feeling and she put her hands on the deck to steady herself. “Oh my gosh, I’m such an amateur. I feel it already.”

  “Good stuff, huh?”

  “Where does Travis get it?” She looked out across the valley and thought the view was even more amazing than before.

  “Grows it.” He exhaled a large plume of smoke and passed back to Kate. “Just enough for himself and a few friends.”

  “What?” She grabbed his arm. “No way. Where?”

  “In his basement. He’s got all kinds of plant lights and an irrigation system rigged up. It’s pretty sophisticated. You gonna smoke that or what?” She inhaled deeply as she let that news sink in.

  “I’d like to see it.” She took another quick toke and handed it back. “Will he show me?”

  “Probably.”

  “Wait. I can’t. What if the cops come? I can’t get caught around anything illegal. I could lose my license.” She tugged his arm again. “Oh, crap, you think the police will come out here? Do they know about Travis? That you two are friends?” She leaned out to look down his lane and Brody pressed his arm against her stomach, stopping her from tumbling over the edge. “Now I remember why I don’t like to smoke weed.” She slid back from the edge of the deck and lay back, closing her eyes and tilting her face to the sky.

  “You finished with this?”

  Kate opened one eye and looked at the tiny tip of joint Brody had pinched between his fingers. She waved her arm at him. “I’ve had enough.” He lay down beside her and ran his fingers through her hair. She brushed his hand away. “You’ve got to get rid of that. Hide the evidence. We don’t want Travis to get in trouble. If the police question us, we can’t lie,” she said.

  “What?” He sat up and crossed his legs at the ankles, reclining with his hands flat behind him on the deck. “Travis won’t get in trouble.”

  “How do you know?”

  “The chief of police is one of his best customers.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  After thirty minutes, ten of which were spent laughing over Kate’s paranoia about getting questioned by the police, Brody stood up. It was only after he explained the police chief got pot from Travis for his wife who suffered from MS that she was able to shake off the fear they would get dragged into police headquarters.

  He held out his hands to help her up. She stumbled against him and he wrapped his arm around her waist. She had laughed so hard that mascara streaked down her cheeks, so Brody gently rubbed the black marks with his thumb. Then, he tilted his head down and kissed her, tasting marijuana residue on her tongue. She was so damned beautiful with her long, dark hair blowing in the breeze and the sun shining on her face, bringing out a sprinkling of freckles on her nose. How could he let her go back to DC? The thought gave him a sharp pain, like a spike hammered into his heart.

  “Come on, Brody, let’s walk down to the river.” She grabbed his hand and stepped gingerly off the deck onto the long, narrow staircase. All coordination was back and she appeared to have not a trace of fear as she charged down the steps. When they got to the bottom, she took off running across the yard and down the hill toward the river flowing past the field. He chased her, following a few yards behind, down to the river’s edge where they dropped onto a grassy mound.

  “You recovered fast,” he said.

  “I’m not sure I’m fully recovered, but the run helped.” She raked her fingers through her hair, letting it fall back in place. “Don’t let me smoke that stuff again. I get so paranoid.”

  “I just get lazy. It was all I could do to keep up with you.”

  The river meandered over rocks, carrying an occasional twig or leaf to its ultimate destination, and they sat in silence as the water flowed by. He was totally at ease—not the drug-induced sedation brought on by the marijuana, but an emotional, almost spiritual contentment he hadn’t felt in years, if ever. Trying his best to not think about tomorrow or next week, but only focus on this moment, was a struggle. He wanted to have a lifetime of moments like this with Kate. He reached out and gathered her hand in his.

  “Tell me about New York. Why’d you come back?” The spell was broken. Just the mention of New York sent a surging sadness through him. Why did she have to bring it up now?

  “Oh, I don’t know.”

  “I mean…” She turned and sat against her heels, covering their grasp with her other hand. “I saw the Grammy for best pop song. Was that while you lived in New York?”

  “It’s really not something I like to talk about.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  “It’s a long story. Not one I’m proud of.”

  “You mentioned your writing partner. What happened to him? I mean, I read he had an accident, but I feel like there’s more to the story.”

  Brody tore his gaze from the meandering river and locked his eyes with Kate’s. “I killed him.”

  Kate extracted her hands from his and rose onto her knees; her gorgeous green eyes were staring at him as if she were looking at a stranger. He pulled up a thick blade of grass and studied its long, straight lines. His time in New York, the accident that ended his partnership with Kyle, the mistakes he had made were all subjects he’d tried to forget. Now her questions made it impossible to avoid the time in his life that had brought him to this moment.

  “I don’t believe you. Tell me exactly what happened.”

  “I’d hate to face you on the witness stand.”

  “I’m sorry.” She broke her penetrating gaze. “I didn’t mean to put you on the spot.”

  “I bet you always get the answers you’re looking for in court.”

  “Yeah, I hate to brag, but I’m starting to get a reputation as something of a pit bull.” She stretched her legs out in front of her. “It’s okay. You don’t need to tell me.” They sat in silence a few minutes more when he decided to tell her. If her opinion of him changed after this story, maybe it would be for the best.

  “This might take a while. You want to go inside?” he said.

  “No, I like it right here, don’t you?”

  He took a deep breath and drank in her gorgeous face. Something about her tender smile and sparkling eyes made him relax and accept it would be okay.

  “I dropped out of college my sophomore year and took off for Nashville to get a singing career going. It was slow at first, but eventually I had a top twenty hit with ‘Spin the Bottle of Jack.’ But I really didn’t like the travel and had sold a few of my songs to some big-time performers, so I decided to stick to composing.” He glanced over to find her eye
s locked on him, drinking in every word. “A producer friend of mine introduced me to Kyle, who became my writing partner. We hit it off instantly and wrote a lot of hits for about four years. Once we won a few awards, I got too big for my britches, as my grandpa would’ve said, and decided we should cross over to pop.” Kate stirred beside him, curling her legs under while keeping her view on him alone. “Any questions so far?”

  “A million of them. But they can wait.” She touched her hand to his cheek. “Keep going.”

  He cleared his throat and let his eyes drift back over the water.

  “Kyle never wanted to leave Nashville, but I pushed him. Told him we needed to stretch our wings, make the big money. You sure you want to hear this?”

  “Continue, please.”

  “Anyway, our manager hooked us up with Second First Chance.”

  “Oh, wow. They’re huge.”

  “Right. They are. We wrote an entire album for them which went platinum, but that wasn’t enough for me.” He jerked up a handful of grass out of the ground and threw it into the river. “I wanted more.”

  “So, what happened?”

  It was the first question Kate had asked and it momentarily brought Brody back to the present. He looked at her, concern etched across her face, and he turned to sit facing her with their knees touching. All his earlier trepidation had flowed away with the river, making him comfortable talking directly to her.

  “Well, we made plenty of money and more opportunities opened up. That Grammy was for ‘Waking Up Monday Morning’ which was on the soundtrack for the Atlantis movie.”

  “Oh my gosh, you wrote that? I love that song.”

  “Yeah, so did twenty million other people.” He chuckled and rubbed his forehead.

  “You didn’t like it?”

  “It was okay. The thing is, it wasn’t our idea. We were told to use that title and write music and lyrics to fit. So much for creative freedom.”

  “So what happened?”

  “We had a lot of interest from other performers and I wanted us to churn out as much music and as many demos as quick as we could. I kept pushing him to produce more.” She crawled closer to him and laid her hands on his knees. “One night, we’d been recording demos for days, and Kyle was complaining because he was tired, wanted to go to a bar and relax. I insisted we keep working until we’d recorded everything to my liking. We argued, he eventually gave in, and we stayed at it until like five in the morning.”

  He leaped to his feet and faced the river, but instead of seeing water flow over dark rocks, he saw skyscrapers and heard the noise of city life. After several silent moments, his nerves settled and he told the story he’d spent two years trying to forget.

  “Kyle left the studio on his own, asleep on his feet, said he was going to the diner on the corner. I stayed to lay down some more guitar tracks. About an hour later I got a call saying he was dead.”

  “Oh, Brody.” Kate came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist.

  “After leaving the diner, he stumbled in front of a bus. Killed him instantly.”

  “I’m so sorry. That’s tragic,” she whispered.

  “If I hadn’t pushed him, if I’d let him go home when he first complained of being tired, maybe he’d still be alive.”

  “Brody, it’s not your fault. It was just an accident.”

  “You sure about that?” He turned around, tucked his hands into his front pockets, and kicked a stone on the ground. “It sure feels like my fault.”

  “He could’ve left at any time. He was a grown man with his own mind, able to make his own decisions. You can’t blame yourself.”

  “I know you’re looking at this logically, but for the past two years, I haven’t been able to see it that way. Kyle was my friend, my partner. He never refused anything I asked when it came to the work.”

  “Would you have refused anything he would have asked?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Then it was an equal partnership, a true friendship. It could just have easily gone the other way.”

  “Maybe.” He wiped a tear from his eyes and looked off in the distance.

  “You need to write these feelings down. Turn it into a song, a dedication to Kyle. Let the world know what a great guy he was so he’ll never be forgotten. And in the process, get your career back to where it was.”

  With a heavy sigh, he cupped her face in his hands. “You’re so beautiful, you know that?”

  “You’re trying to change the subject. I’m serious.”

  “Sweetheart, I know you’re serious.” He slipped his hands inside her coat and pulled her against him. “And I appreciate it. I’ll think about what you said.”

  “But, Brody—”

  “It’s taken me all this time to realize my original dream, the one I busted my ass for, died along with Kyle. I was killing myself for an illusion—and him along with it. It’s different now—I’m happy here, living for something real.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Maybe someday you will.” He gathered her face in his hands and pressed his lips against hers. She melted against him and returned his kiss, tenderly, lovingly. If she wasn’t careful, he’d never let her go.

  “I love kissing you,” she whispered. Then she stepped back and zipped her jacket closed. “But I’m starving. Got anything chocolate in your kitchen?”

  “Pretzels, yes.” Kate grabbed a bag of fat, Bavarian pretzels out of the pantry and handed them to Brody, who was hovering behind her. “Food of the gods.” She pushed a few cans aside and picked up a jar of peanut butter. “Now we’re talking.”

  “I thought you wanted chocolate.” He set the peanut butter on the counter and walked to the opposite side of the kitchen, where he picked up a plastic cake plate.

  “Haven’t you heard of sweet and salty? Best combination when you have the munchies.” Her fuzzy, drug-induced head was clear, but it was still a good excuse for indulging in forbidden junk food. She closed the pantry door and turned around to find him setting the cake plate on the kitchen table. “What’s that?” She carried the pretzels and peanut butter to the table and plopped down in a wooden chair.

  “I have just the thing for your chocolate craving.” He removed the plastic lid with a flourish and presented her with an expertly frosted dark chocolate cake topped with chocolate curls and finely chopped nuts. Her mouth began to water.

  “Where did you get that?”

  “I have an admirer at the post office.” He crossed the kitchen, pulled two plates out of the cabinet, and retrieved two forks out of a drawer. “At least once a month I’m guaranteed a cake or a pie from the lady who runs the counter.”

  “The talkative lady? The one who gives out fashion advice?”

  “The very same.” On his way back to the table, he grabbed a half-gallon of milk out the refrigerator and tucked it under his arm. He pinched two glasses between his thumb and fingers and placed everything on the table. “I thought about giving up my post office box, just get my mail delivered out here, but it’s worth the trip.”

  “So, you’ve got a not-so-secret admirer.”

  “Jealous?” He carried two napkins to the table and laid them at each place as he sat in an adjacent chair.

  “Terribly.” She spread the napkin across her lap. “You’re pretty good at that. Ever wait tables?” She ripped open the bag of pretzels and unscrewed the lid on the peanut butter jar.

  “Plenty of them. I worked at a barbecue place in Nashville for a couple years during the day and played music at night.” He jumped up and crossed the room again. “We need some knives.” When he returned, he plunged one knife in the peanut butter and sliced the cake with the other. “As soon as I started making enough money to pay my bills, I gave up the serving job. We’ve talked about me enough. What about you?”

  “The jobs I’ve had? Other than law?” She took a big bite of cake and dropped her fork on the table as if she’d been stung. “Oh my god,” she mumbled through he
r stuffed mouth. Brody started laughing and sprayed a fine milky mist on the table. Holding a napkin to his mouth, he swallowed and laughed out loud.

  “You should’ve seen your face.”

  “Whaa—?” she said, her mouth too full and sticky to complete the word. She’d taken too big a bite and was having difficulty swallowing, but at the same time, she was savoring every rich, decadent, chocolaty morsel.

  “Do you always roll your eyes like that?” he asked.

  “Like what?” She took one last swallow and finally emptied her mouth, able to speak clearly again.

  “Like that. Like you’re in ecstasy.”

  “I was in ecstasy. This is the best cake I’ve ever eaten.” This time, she made sure to take a smaller bite of the cake, but noticed Brody wasn’t eating. He was still watching her with a half smile on his face. “Why aren’t you eating?”

  “I like watching you.” He shoved his plate and glass aside and propped his elbows on the table, easing closer to her. She slowed down, feeling self-conscious. His eyes were hooded, glassy, his expression soft, contemplative.

  “You’re making me uncomfortable.” Using the side of her fork as a knife, she cut off a bite of her cake and extended it to him, feeding it to him without protest.

  “Mm.” He ate it slowly, sensuously, and she became mesmerized by the movement of his mouth, his chiseled jaw. She took another bite and tried to move her lips in sync with his.

  “Delicious, right?”

  “Delicious,” he said in that silky, seductive tone she had come to know so well—the one that never failed to send her heart pounding. With his eyes locked on hers, he slid the fork inside his mouth, depositing another chocolaty piece. Now it was her turn to watch him eat. His lips were soft, full, kissable. They moved fluidly, pressed together, in a circular motion, sucking her in like a slow-moving whirlpool. Her eyes traveled to his jaw, tightening, releasing, with each bite.

  “…better than sex,” he murmured.

  “What?”