The Promise of Rainbows

by Ava Miles

  Still, she found herself checking her image in the rearview mirror to make sure her brown hair wasn’t frizzy. Even though it was mid-January, there was more than average humidity in the air. And it was fifty-two degrees outside. In the South, weather was as unpredictable as an elderly relative—the kind who perched on the front porch and held court, spouting wisdom or crazy notions.

  She was checking her lipstick when she caught sight of Jake coming down the front steps. His creamy-white three-story house boasted dormer windows, black shutters, and a red gabled roof. Like most of the houses in Dare River, it featured a traditional wrap-around porch. She wondered if Jake ever sat on the red-cushioned porch swing or the oak table in the right corner of the house and played his soulful country music.

  As she stepped out of her Audi, she forced herself to meet his cobalt blue gaze. He’d stopped six feet away from her—almost as if he’d intentionally decided not to come any closer. Today he had on a simple button-down navy shirt and faded jeans that hugged the defined muscles of his legs. His signature silver belt buckle engraved with a stag winked in the sunlight.

  The punch of attraction that rocked through her was unwelcome. Why did she feel so drawn to him? It was so unfair given the fact that he didn’t seem to like her that way.

  His sandy blond hair curled at the ends, giving him a softer look. She had a hard time imagining what his hair must have looked like when he was in the Army. The military cut would have made him look fierce and likely unapproachable. Then there was the way he moved—like the brave soldier he’d been. No sauntering or strutting for Jake. There was purpose and grace in each movement he made.

  “Hi,” she made herself say.

  “Hey,” he answered, his smile completely open and engaging now. “Welcome to Redemption Ridge.”

  Her brow winged up. “I didn’t know you’d named your property.”

  He lifted a shoulder. “Some people around here do, so I decided why not me? I just didn’t put a sign out front.”

  Redemption. The word settled over her as she studied him. What did he feel he needed redemption from? Having heard his music, she guessed it was from the war. There were still shadows in his eyes when he sang about it.

  “I like your place,” she said, turning to scan his property. “Tammy did an incredible job with the grounds.”

  “She did,” he agreed, and with that, he finally came to stand beside her, though he maintained a good amount of distance between them. “She pushed pretty hard to plant everything before the first frost. I can’t wait until everything comes up out of the earth and blooms in spring. It’s going to be spectacular. You’re lucky to have her in the family.”

  Even though Tammy hadn’t yet officially married Susannah’s brother, John Parker, or J.P. as they called him, she and her two kids were already family. “Yes, we’re incredibly blessed by them.”

  He took a few more steps until he was standing closer to her, almost as if the family talk had made him more comfortable. “You have a wonderful family.”

  “I do indeed.” She looked him straight in the eye. There was something in his voice. Up close, she noticed the dark smudges under his eyes. “You look tired. Were you up late working on a song?”

  He kicked at the ground, breaking eye contact. “Maybe. I didn’t sleep too well last night.”

  She knew a forbidden subject when she heard it. “Why don’t you show me around?”

  He extended his hand to her, and her gaze lowered. His palm looked so open and inviting, but his hand clenched an instant later, as if he’d only then realized what he was doing. She looked up to meet his eyes.

  What is he thinking?

  The memory of how that hand had felt wrapped around hers washed over her. He’d held her hand during the preview of her art for the concert to benefit abused women, and in that long, delicious moment, she’d been unable to tell where his hand began and hers ended. Never before had she felt like she’d melded into someone else. Afterward, she’d hoped he would ask her out, but he hadn’t. And he’d reached for her hand again after asking her to be his decorator.

  Obviously, there was some sort of connection between them—one he wanted to fight, for whatever reason. He lowered his hand slowly, and her throat squeezed down to the size of a pea. The laugh he uttered was as strained as a preacher confessing his sins to his congregation.

  “The whole ‘hold your hand thing’ between us is weird, right?” he asked and then coughed, looking away from her.

  “Jake—”

  “Ignore what I just did—and said.” He turned on the heel of his caramel-colored cowboy boots and took off in the direction of the house. “Let me show you around.”

  Suddenly it was difficult to breathe, but she slung her purse and the strap of her thin leather briefcase over her shoulder and followed him, schooling her features and praying her heart rate would calm down. She took her time, walking in slow, easy steps, trying to mirror her breathing.

  He was waiting for her by the side of the house, and from behind, she could see how tense his back muscles were through his shirt. Since it clearly wasn’t an option to talk about what had just happened, she gave him a simple smile when he glanced at her.

  “Tell me what you have in mind for the house,” she said in her best professional tone. “I’ll share my thoughts later, and we can forge a joint vision.”

  “You sound like your brother when we write songs together,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

  It was undoubtedly easier for her brother, a lawyer and songwriter, to collaborate with Jake—he didn’t have to balance his professional duties with this…tension. “J.P. knows how to collaborate. I’d like to think it’s because he grew up as the only boy in a family with four women.”

  They started walking down a flagstone path lined with copper garden lights. Tammy had created curved beds that hugged the path before opening up in the backyard. A stone fountain dominated the open space, surrounded by a ring of stones flanked by dormant rose bushes.

  “Your daddy wasn’t around growing up, as I recall,” Jake said when they reached the fountain.

  “No,” she replied, wishing he wouldn’t breach this topic. It was too personal, particularly given this strange tension between them. “He left when I was four. I didn’t expect you to have a fountain.”

  Jake shrugged. “I really like water. I think it’s from all the time I spent in the desert.”

  He didn’t need to tell her what desert he meant. She wouldn’t press; if he wanted to talk about it, he would.

  “I’m surprised to see the fountains working in January,” she commented.

  “I turn them on when the weather heats up, like it has lately. So long as it’s not freezing at night, I can’t bust the pipes. And we don’t often hit freezing temps anyway.”

  That was certainly true. Ice storms or snow showers were as rare as a blue moon here in Tennessee. “Would you like a water feature inside the house? We could incorporate something if you’d like.”

  Looking back in the direction of the house, he narrowed his eyes in thought. “I hadn’t thought about that. I’d love to hear what you have in mind.”

  “Consider it done.” She added that item to her mental list.

  More beds lined the sides of his property to break up the expanse of lawn. Even though she didn’t know all the names, she identified some Cypress trees and Japanese maples. Adirondack chairs and wooden benches rested in strategic locations to allow enjoyment of the marvelous views. Unlike her brother’s property, the expanse of Dare River was visible from Jake’s house.

  “You’re lucky to have such an amazing view of the water,” she said as they continued walking across the cushiony lawn.

  “I mentioned that I like water,” he joked. It was still there, though, that thread of tension in his voice.

  She almost reached out to rub his back, but she knew it would be the wrong move. Her job was to help him with his house. Not help him.

  “Have you seen e
nough outside? There’s not much to see on the inside. That’s why I need your help.”

  She glanced around at the rest of the grounds. Tammy was meticulous when it came to meeting her client’s preferences. There was a fire pit and another water feature in the distance. Mini-rainbows seemed to dance and tumble in the air above the bubbling spray.

  “My mama always says there’s the promise of rainbows every morning when you wake up,” Susannah said with a small smile.

  He looked over at her sharply and then off in the distance, as if searching for them.

  “There’re a bunch of rainbows over by the water feature,” she added.

  He squinted. “I don’t see them.”

  “You don’t?” They were so obvious to her. “Maybe if we go closer you will.”

  They walked in the direction of the fountain, and by now, he was frowning.

  “I don’t see anything,” he mumbled with an edge of frustration.

  This time she did put her hand on his arm—he needed it, she could tell—and it was hard not to react to how hard, hot, and muscular it felt under her fingers.

  “Don’t worry,” she said in a cheery voice. “Maybe it’s just the way the sunlight is hitting the spray from my vantage point. Let’s go inside so you can show me the rest of your place.”

  When she moved off in the direction of the house, she realized he wasn’t following her. She stopped and retraced her steps. A scowl had spread across Jake’s clean-shaven jaw, and there was a surprising amount of desperation in his eyes.

  “I can’t see the rainbows,” he muttered. “You know, I’ve never seen one in my whole life. Can you believe that?”

  That caught her off guard for a moment, but rainbows weren’t exactly a common occurrence. It made sense that not everyone had been lucky enough to see one. But his desperation clearly went above and beyond rainbows, so it seemed best to table the subject. “I don’t know, Jake, but I know it’s upsetting you. Maybe you’ll see them later.”

  He kicked at the grass under his feet. “Okay, let’s go inside.”

  When they entered the house, she had to school her reaction. He hadn’t been exaggerating one bit. The house did need her. There was nothing on the walls, and most of the rooms were actually empty. With her busy client schedule, she’d fit him in as soon as she could, but if she’d known he was living this way, she would have done something temporary to dress up the place back in November.

  “I did tell you that I was going to have my former decorator remove all her stuff,” Jake said, picking up on her reaction. “Especially the dead stuffed animals. Man, that decorator lady really misread me.”

  Yes, she had. He wouldn’t want anything dead around him after being surrounded by so much death as a soldier. Had the woman not listened to his music? Susannah had. In truth, she couldn’t stop listening to it. His songs were all about losing friends in war and longing for home. The thought sparked something in her. Jake wanted a home here in Dare River, a safe sanctuary after everything he’d experienced.

  “Let’s talk about colors,” she said, glancing over at him. “Since you’re an artist, I know you have a sense about what you like. You certainly create a mood at your concerts.”

  “I like warm colors. And blues. The white walls aren’t working for me. I tried to tell that to the decorator lady. She thought it gave the house clean lines. Gave it a contemporary look.”

  “She didn’t listen to you.” Susannah fought the urge to ask who in the world he’d hired. “Some women think men don’t know a thing about color or decorating. Or that they like contemporary because it’s minimalist.”

  “Minimalist.” He rolled his eyes. “It’s like you know her.”

  “I know decorators like her,” she said cautiously. “I have a different approach.”

  “Good,” he said, nodding. “This place feels like a tomb.”

  That pretty much summed up her opinion of the place. “We’ll make it everything you want and more.”

  “I want art and color and magic.” He rubbed a hand on his face, as if embarrassed, and then said, “When we first met, I told you that I really liked the wall paintings you did in your niece and nephew’s tree house. I want people to have that feeling when they come in here. I want them to feel happy and at home.”

  That day was forever crystallized in Susannah’s mind. She had arrived at J.P.’s house as Jake was leaving. Everything in her seemed to slow down as she looked at him, taking in his massive shoulders and muscular body. Then she realized he was waiting to talk to her.

  He’d been charming and sweet, and she’d felt a shocking promise of possibility between them. But something had changed since then—something she didn’t understand.

  “I told you I can paint for grown ups,” she joked, shaking the memory away.

  “There’s no shame in what you painted for those kids.” He tucked his hands in his jeans. “It’s real and pure and from your heart. That’s what I want here. Something real. Something…something that has meaning.”

  “We’ll do that,” she assured him and then let him take her through the house.

  “There’s a lot to decorate. My place is over six thousand square feet. I have six bedrooms, including my recording studio on the lower level.”

  “That’s fine. I’ve decorated large houses for other country music clients.”

  “Good,” he said, leading the way.

  Every room he showed her was bare bones, including his bedroom, which was empty but for a set of queen mattresses on the floor in the corner with plain white sheets meticulously tucked into the corners. There wasn’t even a dresser in the room. Or a lamp. The sparseness hurt her heart, but it shocked her too. Jake was a famous star on the rise. How could he be living like this?

  “I’m…ah…still more comfortable in smaller beds after sleeping in Army barracks and on the tour bus,” Jake said, his ears turning bright red.

  “Any opposition to me finding you something else to sleep in?” she asked, schooling her voice. “Maybe get you off the floor?”

  She was not going to think about anyone else being in bed with him—especially not herself.

  “No,” he said, his cheeks beet red now to match his ears. “The other decorator put in some antebellum bed with curtains. I felt like I was suffocating.”

  Again, she wondered who in the world he’d hired. “I won’t select anything that will make you uncomfortable, I promise.”

  Then he did it again; he grabbed her hand. “I know you won’t.” His eyes shot down at their linked hands, and he dropped hers like it was a hot potato. “I’m grateful, is all.”

  “I know you are, but we’re only beginning.” She turned to face him, and because they were standing so close together, she had to crane her neck back to meet his eyes. “How about we visit a showroom so you can pick out some of the bigger items? That way we can shape the rooms around them.”

  With the clients who truly cared about making a home, she’d discovered it was the most efficient approach.

  “I like that idea,” he said, leading her out of his bedroom. “I imagine things better when I see them. I hate looking at color swatches and stuff. I’m not good at that.”

  “Most people aren’t,” she told him, walking down the walnut hardwood floors with him.

  When they reached the entrance of another bare bedroom, he stopped and leaned against the doorway. “You must think I’m bat shit crazy to be living like this.”

  “Why would you say that? I don’t think you’re crazy at all. You just happened to hire a terrible decorator, and you needed to wipe the slate clean. But that’s finished now. We’re going to make this place feel like a home in no time.” She would do her all to make it come together quickly.

  His mouth bunched up like he was fighting powerful emotion, and it took her every strength not to reach her hand out to him again.

  “J.P. mentioned you have a beautiful recording studio here,” she said instead, doing the only other thing she could thin
k of to help him re-balance: change the subject. It was quickly becoming her go-to strategy with him.

  “I didn’t let the other lady touch it,” he admitted. “There’s no way I could write or sing a song with a dead deer looking at me. Let me show you.”

  When they entered it, she finally saw the man she knew. At least a dozen antique guitars were arranged on one wall. The paintings scattered around the room displayed music scenes, everything from jazz in New Orleans to folk singers in the mountains. A clay jug with a cork stopper that might have once held moonshine rested on a nearby table. A bear hide covered the hardwood floor in front of the fireplace, positioned so he could rest his feet on it while sitting on the brown leather couch. A blue and white handmade quilt was draped over the arm of a matching loveseat. There was a flat screen TV in the corner in the sitting area. And behind her was the recording studio outfitted with the live room, the control room, and the isolation booth.

  He didn’t just write and record music in this place. “You spend most of your time down here, don’t you?”

  “It’s cozier,” he said, straightening the quilt on the loveseat.

  So he liked cozy. Huh. It surprised her, but now she was starting to see how to bring his home to life. No wonder he liked her paintings in the tree house.

  “You like folk art,” she commented, pointing to the wall. “Is that man playing the spoons?”

  “Yes,” he said, coming up beside her. “I bought that painting in a small town in the Ozarks. I don’t need fancy art. It’s not that I don’t like it, but I’m a simple man.”

  She wasn’t so sure about that. But simplicity seemed to comfort him, so that’s what she was going to give him. “Tell me where you found these other pieces.”

  As he spoke, more layers of the rising country music star peeled away. He loved to drive his truck to small towns and visit antique shops or old country stores. Beyond the stories he told her about the treasures he’d found—including the guitars—he spun captivating stories about the shop owners who’d sold the pieces to him.