“How about one of those strummed, vibrato notes after that to lead in to the next bit?”
I stare at her in surprise. “You know music?”
She laughs. “Obviously not, or I’d know what that kind of note is actually called, but I can hear what you’re doing and I like it. It’s pulling me in, right on the edge of falling, and a bigger, longer note will feel like crashing through the surface to the rest of the song.”
She’s fucking stunning—her mind, her heart, and that smile—as she uncertainly asks if I get what she’s saying.
Instead of answering in words, I play the melody over and add in a long vibrato note, letting the deep tone resonate before diving back into the tune again as I start to hum. She nods and turns back to her camera.
The repetitive click becomes my inspiration as the song takes shape. Notes, feelings, phrases stacking together into something greater than the sum of its parts.
“It gets drowned in a rainstorm,
Buried in the mud,
Lost in my daily hustle,
And slowly stripped from my blood.
But your kiss sparked something, baby,
The burning in your eyes,
My hopes and dreams reignite,
Don’t tell me it’s all lies.
I fumble my way through a rough chord progression, only coming up to breathe, and find Willow sitting next to me, watching closely and swaying slightly to the tune. “Oh, shit, sorry. I sorta got lost . . .”
She smiles. “I’m glad. It’s beautiful, and I bet I’ll hear it on the radio one day when you’re a big star.” From most folks, I’d think they were giving me a hard time, but when Willow says it, it’s like she’s putting it on the wind to send it to the Sisters of Fate, putting the wish into the very fabric of my future. It’s never going to happen, but her faith that it could, that I’m good enough, is a blessing I’ll take gladly and thankfully.
“Thank you. Sun’ll be up in a few minutes,” I say, lifting my head toward the horizon that’s fading from indigo to lavender. “You want to photograph it?”
Those mood-ring eyes swirl, and I wonder what’s going through that brilliant mind of hers. A second later, she stops my guessing and tells me flat out. “No, I think I’d rather sit here with you and just experience it fully. I think I’ll remember this sunrise without the photograph.”
It’s important. I can feel it in my bones. She’s choosing presence in the now over an opportunity to look back in the future.
I put Betty back in her case and set it aside in the truck bed. Turning to Willow, I open my arm in invitation and she scoots closer to me, her head going to my chest as I lean back against the cab of the truck. Silent as can be, we watch the sun come up together, starting a new day with pinks and oranges that set the sky on fire.
Below us, the quiet lights of overnight Great Falls turn to activity as trucks start to appear on the roads and people walk along the sidewalks to get to work.
“You were right, you know . . .” Willow says, her voice trailing off.
“I usually am, but what was I right about this time?” I tease.
I feel her cheek puff up against my chest from her smile at my cocky joke. “You’re a great tour guide.”
Still teasing, I squeeze her a little tighter. “Don’t you wish you’d said yes sooner then?”
She shakes her head. “No, I think I’m glad you kept coming back for dinner and we got to talk first. It made this more . . . more.”
I know exactly what she means. I won’t say I’ve never been to Lookout Point, which is more commonly called Make-out Point by the local teenagers, but with the time to get to know Willow and see beneath the pretty exterior and beyond the magnetism I feel, tonight has been something truly different.
Even if it was just greasy burgers, cold fries, and another sunrise, because it was with her, it felt like the first time. She made it special.
Chapter 8
Willow
“Tell me everything. And don’t you leave one single thing out or so help me, I will pull the truth out of you with interrogation techniques only Chief Gibson is allowed to use,” Olivia threatens me the next day.
I should be tired. I only slept for a few hours before coming in for the Friday lunch rush, but I’m buzzing with pent-up energy. Because I know Bobby’s coming in for dinner again tonight.
“I told you. He was a perfect gentleman. We had dinner—”
“At Lookout Point,” Olivia says, interrupting me. She’s already heard this story three times, but I think she’s hoping that, in repetition, I’ll let her in on some new secret. Maybe she’s been paying attention to Chief Gibson? Or bingeing late-night crime documentaries like me?
“And watched the sunrise. He played his guitar and sang, and I took pictures. You want to see those again too?”
I took hundreds of pictures last night, playing with my settings to get the lighting just right to capture the stars, the town, the beauty. And Olivia has seen all those pictures, along with the select ones I posted to my blog last night and this morning.
I didn’t show her the ones I took of Bobby when he started really getting into his songwriting, though. It’d been like seeing a private side of him, and I’d felt like a voyeur but hadn’t been able to turn away from the gut-wrenching process he went through to get the song to come to life. He played the same few chords at least a hundred times, humming under his breath and finally getting louder as he felt it improve bit by bit. Eventually, the hums had become words, his every thought and emotion laid bare right in front of me with no filter or façade. It’d been beautiful to witness, a true gift, and those pictures are private. They’re not inappropriate, there’s no skin showing or anything like that, but Bobby’s heart is blatantly and vulnerably wide open in each and every shot.
Olivia sighs, disappointment written in the roll of her eyes. “No, unless there’s some naughty pictures mixed in there that you forgot to show me?” she asks hopefully, batting her lashes at me with her hands clasped below her chin.
I glare at her. “No naked pictures. But after Lookout Point, he drove me home, walked me to my door, and kissed me good night. Or well, good morning because it was after sunrise?” I shake my head, unworried. “He kissed me goodbye, how about that? And he said he’d see me tonight for dinner, like usual.”
“You lucky bitch!” Olivia exclaims. I shush her when a family of four glares over at her language, but she’s on a roll. “I am so excited for you. And for me.”
“You?” I ask, my brow furrowing.
“Girl, I got a front-row seat to the one and only Bobby Tannen falling head over heels for you and your getting swept off your feet so fast you didn’t know what hit you. Hell yeah, for me. This is exciting stuff!” The mom at that table lifts her hand and Olivia waves back to let her know she’s coming. “I want to hear the kiss part again after I get this lady another glass of tea.” Lowering her voice, she whispers, “Can you say die-ah-beet-us? I mean, I could’ve given her a straw and pitcher if I’d known she was gonna go through five glasses before her burger is even ready.”
Quick as can be, Olivia is off, getting the lady a glass of tea with a smile that belies the smack she was just talking before checking on her other tables too. Truthfully, I’m not in a hurry for her to get back and needle me into repeating the kiss story again.
I kept it short and sweet and honest. Bobby walked me up to the porch of my little cabin and pushed my hair behind my ear. He’d gotten in close, pressing me against the front door. Sandwiched between him and the door, I’d felt just how much he wanted me. Let’s just say it was . . . a lot. Like more than I’ve ever had in so many ways type of a lot. Then he’d cupped my face like he had at the bar and bent down to kiss me as I lifted up to my toes.
That was what I told Olivia, but the real truth was that Bobby had knocked my socks off with that kiss. It’d been sweet and sensual, passionate and powerful. He took his time, his kiss a drawled-out, unhurried expression of need and d
esire. And if I’d been a different sort of girl, I probably would’ve done something slick like open the door behind me and pull him in with me. But I hadn’t. If I’d done that, I probably would’ve fallen inside and busted my ass on the wood floor, and Bobby would’ve laughed before helping me up.
He would kiss my boo-boos better, I bet.
I groan at the errant thought. I’m not innocent by any stretch, but I get the feeling that what I consider sex and what Bobby Tannen considers sex are two completely different things. And like my Mom always told me, I need to experience things with reckless abandon. I think Bobby Tannen is one of those things for sure.
I only have time to cut one lemon before Olivia is back. She hops up on a stool in front of me and muses, “Okay, where were we?” Her palms slam on the bar. “Duh, the kiss. Spill it, girl. Every dirty, filthy, detail.”
I can feel my cheeks warm and renew my efforts at cutting lemons and not my fingers. “I told you already. He was a perfect gentleman . . .” —Olivia’s eyebrows lift high in disbelief— “who kissed the hell out of me.”
“I knew it,” she snaps gleefully. “Are you sure he wasn’t leaving this morning after a night of wild sex and you’re just making up the Lookout Point all-nighter?”
My face blanches, which is way worse than the pink of embarrassment. “No! And hush!” I really don’t need that getting out because according to Bobby, the grapevine of Great Falls is thick and wide and moves faster than the speed of light.
Olivia laughs at my reaction. “Chill. I’m just kidding. Trust me, everyone knows he didn’t spend the night because they all heard his truck rumbling down the street and were peering through their blinds like Gladys Kravitz so they’d be the one in the know. Fair to say, that kiss had an audience. Forewarned is forearmed, so know that when you do have a certain male companion overnight, everyone will know in approximately point-oh-two seconds and will be judging how you’re walking the next day.”
I pray she’s exaggerating and at the same time fear that she’s not. At all.
The door creaks, and Olivia is up and at ’em again, seating the newcomers and leaving me to my lemons and swirling thoughts.
Why is this such a big deal to everyone?
Which leads into something even more important, why is this such a big deal to Bobby?
And most important of all, why does this feel so deep to me?
Last night, in the black blanket of the night that made it feel as though it was only the two of us, this thing between Bobby and me felt so big and powerful, which made it seem perfectly reasonable and full of possibilities. By the light of day, alone with my thoughts, I have to think I was imagining that or overreacting or something. People don’t fall that hard, that fast. Do they?
Maybe . . . sometimes, they do, a voice whispers hopefully in my head. Or maybe in my heart. I’m not sure since they sound pretty similar to me.
For now, I choose to ignore the questions playing on a loop in my mind and also choose to pretend that no one is looking at me and whispering. Instead, I help the folks at the bar, pull beers and drinks for Olivia, and get set up for tonight’s weekend rush.
“This seat taken?” a voice asks a bit later, and I look up to see Unc’s friend, Doc Jones, smiling at me.
“It is now,” I reply, pushing a menu his way. “What’s your pleasure, Doc?”
He waves off the menu. “Whatever Ilene’s cooking today is fine by me. And a Coke, please.”
I place his order and set an already sweating glass in front of him. He takes a healthy drink and sighs gratefully. “Needed that sugar. Been up since before dawn helping a bobcat that got stuck in a trap. Damn things shouldn’t be out like that, anyway . . . the traps, not the bobcats, obviously. We’re in their world, you know? But we can’t have ’em eating up the livestock either. Rock, hard place.” He shrugs one bony shoulder.
I nod, not sure what to say because wildlife rescue is woefully out of my area of expertise. “You help the bobcat?”
“Of course I did!” he says with a touch of pride. “His leg’s a bit messed up, but it’ll heal. Took him to a rescue a few towns over. Just getting back, and figured I had time to eat before anyone else started looking for me.”
He holds one gnarled finger to his lips, telling me shh as though I never saw him here. I smile agreeably and he nods his appreciation.
He’s halfway through his pan-fried pork chop when he says, “I’m glad you came. He needs you, even if he’s too much of an ass to admit it.”
He’s talking about Unc, no doubt.
“Glad to be here and helping.” It’s the truth. Great Falls now seems like a step in the right direction, and the morning view of the mountain is one of my favorites as I sip at my coffee. Okay, so it’s not ‘morning’ exactly, since it’s usually creeping up on noon, but it’s my morning with the hours I keep.
“You got plans on how long you’re staying? I hear that might be changing.” One of his eyebrows climbs questioningly.
I ignore his dig for intel on Bobby and me and focus on Unc. “However long Unc will let me stay, I’m here.”
Doc’s eyes narrow. “He’s going to try to run you off, you know that, right? And that’ll be when he needs you the most. Don’t let him, ’kay?”
I consider that carefully, weighing my words. “What makes you say he’ll need me more than I need him?”
Everyone who’s asked has gotten the same answer out of me—that I wanted to get away from the city, needed a change. There’s no reason anyone should think or suspect that I’m here for any other reason, but Doc Jones sounds like he’s thinking something else entirely. Like he knows I didn’t show up here in Great Falls randomly looking for a change of scenery but that I was sent here by Mom. For Unc.
“He’s needed someone for a long time, Willow. Well before now, but he’s old and grumpy like me. Old fellas like us don’t much like figuring out that we can’t do what we once could. Hurts our fragile egos.” He smirks as he talks about his ego, like the word alone is funny.
“Your ego is probably the only thing fragile about you. And Unc’s the same. Tough as shoe leather down to the core,” I tell him, hoping the compliment eases over the truth of Unc’s fragility. Especially given that he’s not here.
He’s usually the first one in and the last one out, but he called at noon and asked if I’d be okay on my own, saying he had some ‘shit to do’. He’d been sketchy when I asked what he was doing, and I suspect it includes a whole lot of nothing. But I keep that quiet, not telling Doc because I would never throw Unc under the bus, even with his friends. I’ll cover for him, always.
Doc nods, adding sagely, “We’d like to think so. We’d like for everyone else to think so even more.” He finishes up his pork chop and sips at the last of his drink before flagging me down again between rounds of helping Olivia. “Will you see if Ilene will make me a plate of scrambled eggs and toast to go? Or something bland like that? Think I’ll run by the house and see if I can get that stubborn mule to eat something.”
He’s not talking about a donkey and we both know it.
He’s going to check on Unc, which means he knows something’s up. Actually, looking at the ‘nothing to see here, move along’ blank stare on Doc’s face, I can see why he’s good at poker. He’s got a great bluff. But I read him loud and clear, as he intends for me to.
He doesn’t suspect, he knows something is up, especially with Unc not being here, and he’s following up with his friend. Hopefully, Unc will take the support from Doc better than from me, though he’s leaving his baby in my capable hands today and I doubt he’ll be in tonight. So we’re essentially babysitting for a weekend night too, a major trust move on Unc’s part. Or desperation. One of those. But I’m choosing the positive . . . that he trusts me, Olivia, Ilene, and Daniel to take good care of the bar.
“I’m sure Ilene won’t mind a bit,” I answer, leaving the rest for later examination. “I probably won’t have a chance to check on that mule until tomorro
w morning, so thank you for going by.”
Doc nods, and dismissed, I go back to get him a full box of goodies for Unc, hoping he’ll eat something.
“Three JDs and Coke, two Girly Beers, and one draft Miller Lite. Got it,” I tell Olivia, and though she looks like she’s not listening, her nose buried in the tickets she’s flipping through, she nods affirmatively.
“Lemme run this to table twenty, and I’ll be back for them,” she says, and she’s off. I have no idea how she can work this whole floor alone, but she does. I’ve worked at bars half this size that would have three waitstaff running around like chickens with their heads cut off. But Olivia is cool as a cucumber and everybody’s happy. Maybe it’s the slower pace and the friendlier vibe in town, or maybe she’s that good, or some combination of the two, but it makes working the bar with her a pleasure.
I pull her drinks, setting them on the end of the wooden top for her to grab, and turn back to check my own spaces at the bar. Everyone’s drinks are full and they’re talking among themselves. Not even Richard is here tonight, and I wonder if he’s at Unc’s too. Maybe Doc pulled the lunch shift and Richard took the dinner one? Since I’m not sure, I’ll go by early in the morning, maybe take Unc some of those doughnuts Bobby told me about and see if some sugary, greasy goodness tempts him to eat.
I’m unloading my third run of the dishwasher when I sense him. My smile is already spreading on my face when I look up to find Bobby leaning over the bar. I have less than a heartbeat to react before he grabs me around the back of my neck and pulls me toward him for a proper hello.
His kiss is a mint-flavored claiming of my mouth that leaves no corner unexplored or possessed. I feel more than hear him hum, “Mmm.” With two quick smacks that promise much more, he pulls back, and I fall back to my heels, only now realizing that I’d lifted to my toes to reach him too. “Missed you today.”
Rough Country (Tannen Boys Book 3) Page 10