“Well, I’d have to cancel with my friend, and I don’t know if I want to go to the fair alone,” Jorrie hedged.
“Who said you had to go alone? I’ll go with you, and I can probably get Jon to come along as well. We missed BourbonDaze and could do with a dose of crazy fair food. I haven’t had a corn dog or an elephant ear in years.”
Jorrie pressed her lips together, still unsure about idea of ditching her friend and unsure whether going to see Mack—a cute guy but a little remote—was worth it. But the eager expression on Pepper’s face reminded her she was looking at Mack’s friend. A friend who wanted to help him. Jorrie wasn’t about to throw cold water on that kind of kindness.
And the truth was that Jorrie really did want to hear Mack play live.
She’d seen him on TV during The Big Sing Thing; he was electrifying. The fact that he’d not gone on to bigger and presumably better things baffled her. How could someone so talented and lucky not be King of Nashville by now?
Jorrie gave in and made arrangements with Pepper to go the fair on Friday evening. The fairgrounds were on the eastern side of Bourbon Springs, attached to a park and recreational facility about a mile beyond the hospital and high school. Jorrie had been out there once with Pepper a few months ago for an animal adoption fair sponsored by the Craig County Animal Rescue Crew, a group Pepper had been involved with for years and which would soon be getting a new facility thanks to Pepper’s largesse.
“But I can’t stay late. I’ve got to go see my parents on Saturday. It’s their anniversary,” Jorrie said, standing to help Pepper start clearing away the lunch plates.
Jorrie took her leave of Pepper, giving her a hug and departing from GarnetBrooke happy and eager at the prospect of seeing Mack again soon. She wasn’t sure why she was following up on the little spark of interest she’d felt at the distillery. Getting together with him was an unlikely as well as unworkable prospect. She saw herself eventually leaving Craig County for other opportunities.
And considering Mack’s regretful tone when he talked about that Bluegrass album he’d never cut as well as his ill-disguised longing to return to Nashville, she figured he wasn’t staying in town any longer than necessary.
She’d been burned by another’s ambition before and didn’t need that hassle and heartache again. After law school her then-boyfriend, Harris, had landed a clerkship for a federal judge in Atlanta. He’d promised he would return when the clerkship was over in a year.
But when that year was up, he got a job offer from the U.S. Attorney’s office and wanted to stay. Harris had tried to get her to move, but she balked, unwilling to leave Kentucky.
And she wasn’t sure she could trust the guy after he’d broken his promise to return home. To return to her.
But that was the past. That was a different guy, a different time, a different set of circumstances. And she was different. A little older and wiser. Or at least she hoped.
So maybe she and Mack could have a little fun together.
Jorrie wasn’t averse to that.
4
Jorrie Jones was becoming quite the distraction.
And he barely knew her.
Preoccupied with thoughts of the blonde, Mack had gone to the grocery store that morning without the list his grandfather had scratched out. As a result, he’d failed to get about half the things they needed, including some of his grandfather’s favorite foods. So back he would have to go, despite his grandfather telling him to save the time, trouble, and gas.
He hated to let the old man down. It was his job to take care of him.
Not that Albert McCowan would admit he needed any help. A spry man in his late eighties, he had a sharp wit, although his eyesight was failing and he had heart trouble. Mack loved him like a father—which was what he really was to Mack. After his parents split in his teens, Mack had rarely seen his dad, who moved to Florida and died shortly after Mack graduated from high school. And then Mack’s mother died of breast cancer shortly before he won The Big Sing Thing.
The show had played up his mother’s death, and he had suspected that sympathy for him had been a big reason he’d won the competition. He eventually realized that if he had this thought, others must have had it as well.
Maybe that’s why he’d failed. People had only seen him as a novelty, a distraction, a charity case, and not as someone with talent and abilities worth noting and celebrating.
He’d often wished he’d never won the damn contest at all. Rising so high had only meant the fall back to earth was that much more painful. He was still trying to stand up, to find his bearings, and to get his feet firmly back on the ground after the whole disorienting experience.
It was hot and steamy in the early evening, and all Mack wanted to do was to get to Minnick’s and back home as soon as possible. There were a number of perishable items he’d forgotten during his first trip to the store that day and he was anxious to get the items into the house and out of the heat.
He was also eager to get home because as soon as dinner was over, Mack wanted to get back to writing more songs. He’d been on a tear writing new lyrics and music since last Saturday, the day he’d met Jorrie.
She was his new muse.
He was happily thinking of music and Jorrie, heading west out of town on Brush Grove Road, when he was jolted out of his thoughts by a loud explosion under his truck.
Cursing, he struggled to keep control of the vehicle as he careened across the road, then back, ending up almost tipping into a small creek. The truck came to rest on a flat, grassy area just above the culvert and on the edge of the parking lot for Grimsby’s, the odd gas station-gift shop combination on the western edge of Bourbon Springs.
Grimsby’s had opened up during his time away in Nashville. The place had previously been a gas station with an attached steakhouse, and Mack had been sorry to see the old restaurant gone upon his return to Bourbon Springs.
He had walked through the gift shop once, just out of curiosity. The only thing which had been mildly interesting to him was a large selection of bourbon balls and sauces made with Old Garnet bourbon.
Mack flew out of his truck, slamming the driver’s door so hard the side mirror rattled. He checked the tire—it was a complete blowout. Fortunately, he did have a decent spare.
While he was irritated by the loss of the tire, more upsetting was the loss of the groceries. They were strewn across the bed of his truck—smashed eggs, spilled milk, and a broken jar of pickles were the obvious casualties. And that loaf of bread was not going to be great for sandwiches.
As he was inspecting this mess, a car pulled off the road behind him. Thinking it was law enforcement, he turned toward it, happy for any help in getting the tire changed.
Instead of a marked police or sheriff’s cruise, a plain gray sedan had parked behind his truck.
When none other than Jorrie Jones rose from the driver’s seat after opening the door, Mack thought he might be hallucinating. Had he hit his head? Why was she here? Whatever the reason, there she was, like a guardian angel on the side of Brush Grove Road in the sultry heat of a June evening in Craig County, Kentucky.
“I thought that was you,” she said. “I saw your tire blow out from about a quarter mile back. Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” he grumbled and then put a hand on the back of his neck to cool his skin. He was warm; his polo was still tucked in, and the khakis and the boots were stiflingly hot.
And now Jorrie had appeared on the scene.
Mack blinked several times, trying to push away some of the new feelings and thoughts which were starting to overrun his consciousness when it came to the lovely young attorney in front of him.
This was the third time in less than a week that he’d seen her and twice today. Instead of wanting to go home to write music, Mack wanted to stay there with her despite the heat and stupid circumstances of a blown tire and mess of groceries. He’d like to roll his truck into the shade, pull her into the coolness with him, and—
He snapped out of his increasingly lascivious thoughts when he saw Jorrie staring at him with concern.
“I’m fine. The groceries and my tire not so much,” Mack said, nodding toward the truck.
“How long will it take you to change that tire?”
“Not more than half an hour. I could do it quicker if not for this damn heat.”
“Want me to go back to the grocery for you in the meantime?”
Mack hesitated. He didn’t have enough cash on him to replace all the spoiled items. And he knew Jorrie would insist on buying the groceries when she realized he was short.
“You really don’t need to do that.”
“Maybe I want to. Let it be a gift,” she said, with a little emphasis on her last word.
He was immediately pulled back to Saturday morning at the distillery, when she had shown him kindness in the face of his irritability and confusion. Here she was doing it again.
Mack reached into his khakis pocket and retrieved a crumpled piece of paper.
“Here’s my grandpa’s list,” he said without further explanation. “Hope you can read his handwriting.” He smoothed the scrap of paper in his palm as best he could and handed it to her.
Jorrie took the paper, squinted at it, and smiled. The familiar items of everyday grocery shopping were represented on the list along with a few eccentric items, like extra-hot beer cheese and Benedictine spread Albert loved so.
“I’ve seen worse writing. I can make out all these items, I think. You stay here. If not, I’ll have to track you down to give you the groceries. Where do you live?”
He didn’t want her to see the small place where he lived with his grandpa so he promised he’d stay put after getting the tire changed.
“I’ll probably pull up there into the shade after I get it done.” He pointed to a shady spot on the edge of Grimsby’s parking lot.
“Oh, one more thing,” she told him, trotting back to her car. She quickly returned with a small slip of paper. “I have to get this before Grimsby’s closes. It’s my parents’ anniversary gift. Can you go get it while I’m gone?”
He took her proffered piece of paper and assured her he’d get the gift for her.
She began to walk back to her car and he called out.
“Oh—my grandpa likes the orange juice without pulp. And please don’t forget the buttermilk. He has to have it with his cornbread.”
“I’ll remember.” She smiled and slipped into her car.
During her absence, he struggled in the stifling heat and humidity to change the tire. He was successful, but by the time he had accomplished his task he was grimy. Taking some hand wipes from underneath the driver’s seat, he tidied himself as best he could, ran a hand through his sweat-dampened hair, and went into Grimsby’s to retrieve the present as Jorrie had requested.
The sprawling shop was as he remembered, full of trinkets, women’s clothing, and some artwork. But unlike his last and only time in the place, he found himself lingering and looking at a few things, his mind filled with small questions about whether Jorrie might like this or that small bauble or if she cared for the scent of lavender or whether she preferred pink to orange when it came to that really nice scarf…
All the happy little inquiries one encountered when in the thrall of the first giddy stage of infatuation. She was getting under his skin already.
But he liked the feeling.
He thanked the clerk and left the shop to return to his truck. Looking down at his clothes he saw grass and dirt stains from his work at changing the tire and felt self-conscious about his appearance. Mack briefly considered tucking in his white polo shirt but dismissed the thought due to the heat and reasoning that a tucked-in shirt would do little to alter his overall unkempt appearance in light of his still-sweaty demeanor and stained clothing.
He leaned against the truck, sipping on a bottle of water he’d gotten in Grimsby’s and waiting on Jorrie’s return. As her car came into sight at the end of Brush Grove Pike, Mack felt a prickle of excitement and gratitude as she approached.
“Got the pulp-free orange juice, just as you said. But they were out of the pickles you wanted,” Jorrie said as she exited her car.
“Not surprised. I think I got the last jar when I was there earlier. Let me pay you,” he said, and reached for his wallet. “I’m not sure I have enough right now to—”
“Forget it,” she told him and held up a hand.
“I really would like to pay—at least something,” he insisted. He pulled out his wallet.
“We’ll settle up later,” she said, lightly placing a hand on his wrist. “Or maybe you can save me a slice of cornbread from dinner tonight? I assume that’s on the menu this evening at home.”
He grinned and laughed as he put his wallet away. “Grandpa’s cornbread is mighty good, but it’s not good enough to pay you back for a grocery run. Oh, I got your present. It’s in the cab of my truck.”
They transferred the groceries in two trips back and forth between the vehicles. It was now dinnertime, and Mack’s stomach rumbled.
“You need to get home and get that cornbread,” Jorrie said as Mack shut the tailgate on his truck.
“Yeah, my grandpa is probably up at the house cursing up a storm and wondering where I am,” Mack said as he dipped his head in a westward direction toward home.
“You live out on Springfield Knob?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Lived out there for years with my grandpa. You live in town?”
She nodded. “In that small condo development just south of the courthouse. Several lawyers live there since it’s so close to downtown. I walk to work.”
“Oh, don’t forget that present. We got the groceries but forgot the gift.” He turned back toward the cab.
After she retrieved the package, they both returned to her car. Jorrie put the present in her front passenger seat, closed the door, and leaned back against her car.
“How is it that you show up just when I need you?” he asked, smiling.
She returned his smile and shrugged, causing her curls to bounce slightly around her small face.
“Just lucky, I guess,” she said.
“I suppose I am.”
“Maybe I was referring to myself.”
Butterflies spontaneously sprung to life in Mack’s stomach. She was looking at him with sweetness, but also with the shimmer of a promise in those green eyes, expectancy shining on her face.
He did not want to disappoint her.
Mack began to put a hand to her cheek but then drew back. He felt that his hands were still a little dirty from the grubby work of changing a tire. But Jorrie took her hand and gently clasped his, and their hands hung in the air for a few brief, breathless seconds.
Mack’s hand squeezed hers just a little tighter, and when she didn’t pull away he slowly moved toward her. Putting his other hand on her waist as he brought their raised hands to her cheek, Mack bent his head to kiss her waiting, parted lips.
She was soft and sweet at first—he could smell roses again—but then she made it clear to him that she had a spicier side. Jorrie took her free hand and wove it around his waist and under his shirt. She drew him to her until their bodies were pressed together, and her tongue flicked into his mouth.
Mack waited for no other indications of the level of her interest in him. He fell against her, pinning her to the side of the car, pressing himself even harder against her. His mouth devoured hers, and he gave a little moan when she moved her hips against him. He was getting very hard very fast, but he wasn’t ashamed or embarrassed.
Even though this was a woman he’d only met days ago, Mack hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Jorrie Jones.
He’d been writing songs again because of her—songs for her.
His whole soul began to sing again.
Jorrie trembled and her head fell back, opening herself to him. As his lips gently brushed the delicate skin of her neck, he moved his hands under her shirt until his forefinger
s and thumbs framed the edges of her bra.
She took in a sharp breath at that touch and leaned away from him to look at his face.
Mack immediately removed his hands from the sensitive spot.
“Sorry… I didn’t mean…,” he stuttered, wondering how he’d misinterpreted her cues and feeling like a fool.
“Don’t say sorry, Mack. I’m just a little ticklish and you took me by surprise. And certainly I never thought I’d be—um—tickled—by a country music star,” she said through giggles.
Mack’s aroused and amused smirk disappeared, and he dropped his head a little bit while keeping his eyes on her face.
“I’m no star.” He tried to hide his dismay with a feeble laugh.
Jorrie put a palm on his cheek and rubbed her thumb against the rough stubble of his late-day whiskers. Her gentle, calm strokes were comforting and intimate—and full of the promise of kindness.
“You’re a star in my little corner of the sky, Mack Blanton.”
Mack cradled Jorrie’s head in his hands, and wove his rough fingers through her soft, bright curls. He searched her face as he searched his own thoughts.
How could he respond to such a sentiment? How could he express the right feeling, other than breaking into song, which he knew would be wildly inappropriate in that quiet moment?
The only way he knew how.
He swallowed and kissed her gently, their earlier, intense passion having passed and sweetened into something deeper.
Mack rested his cheek atop Jorrie’s head, and grabbed one of her hands and clasped it to his chest. He tried to think of the last time he’d kissed his fiancée, or any woman for that matter, and failed to recall such an event.
All he knew was that he wanted to keep holding this woman in the expanding summer twilight for as long as she would let him.
Something in Mack’s peripheral vision shattered the mood. He sensed a car veering wildly, and reacted at once. As horns sounded and tires screeched, Mack grabbed Jorrie’s arms and yanked her away from her vehicle just as it was broadsided by a passing truck. Her screams combined with the crunching of metal as the truck corrected, missed Mack’s truck, and then came to a stop just beyond in Grimsby’s parking lot.
Bourbon Springs Box Set: Volume III, Books 7-9 (Bourbon Springs Box Sets Book 3) Page 4