King (Western Smokejumpers Book 2)

by Tess Oliver

  Bronx got up to give him his chair. "That performance has earned you a seat at the popular kids' table. I'm out of here."

  Angus didn't bother to ask why he was leaving. He gladly grabbed the free chair and the last of the beer.

  "Later, Bronx." I lifted my beer to salute him as he walked out.

  "It seems our third band has withdrawn from the contest," the emcee said. He was less cheery and slightly more annoyed than before. He cast a scowl out from under his blue bangs toward Angus and brought on the fourth band.

  "What the hell just happened?" Mixx asked.

  "That stupid drummer. He was having anxiety issues so he decided four shots of tequila would take care of it. All four shots did was make him forget to count. At shot number six, I told Steve, the guitarist, that we were done for the night. He talked me into staying, but as you saw, the drummer was way past any drumming. I'm through with that band. They can't ever get it together."

  Kaos grabbed a handful of peanuts. "What are you going to do now? Join the work force like the rest of us? I think there's a spot for you in the lumberyard." While we all migrated to jobs more in line with our usual field of work, Kaos preferred something more physical. His cousin owned a massive lumberyard, and Kaos spent the off season moving stacks of lumber.

  "Hell no, I've got a few other bands on my list."

  The fourth band, Haley's Comet, started up. They were as uninspiring as their name.

  "Well," I said to the guys. "Should we head over to the diner for some late night eggs and hash browns? I think I've had enough of amateur hour."

  Angus shook his head. "There's just one more band, and I want to hear them. We'll see if the singer is as amazing as everyone seems to think. I have to say, she's pretty fucking hot, which makes me wonder if her voice is really good or if people just think she's talented because of her legs."

  Much to my chagrin and my stomach's disappointment, we hung out and waited for the last band. Sparky, the mental name I'd given to the emcee, had regained some of his earlier pep now that the drunken drummer scandal was behind us.

  "Everyone, last but certainly not least, give a warm welcome to Isle of Freedom." While I was mildly curious about the 'hot' singer, I'd lost all interest in the contest. My mind was busy trying to decide if I should order bacon or sausages with my eggs. I was definitely going for a side of pancakes.

  The drummer, a tall, skinny guy with a goofy walk to match lumbered to the drums. He looked perfectly sober, Mixx noted, just to annoy Angus. Our buddy, Angus, was far past annoyance at this point. He looked ready to take some tequila shots of his own.

  I leaned the chair back on two legs, like I used to do in Ms. Greenfield's English class, mostly because it irritated her to no end. I was such an asshole. I shot back the last few drops of warm and very flat beer. I was definitely landing in the bacon camp when the first glimmer of movement from backstage let us know this shit show was almost done. A woman with red hair and a black leather skirt walked out with a guitar over her shoulder. Another band member, a moose of a guy, who looked as if he could have given Kaos more than a few rounds in a boxing ring, lumbered out with a bass guitar. The backstage curtain flicked open, and my gaze went straight to the smooth, long pair of legs below the jean cutoffs. Kaos and Mixx sat forward with interest.

  "What did I tell you?" Angus said. "Even if she can't sing for shit, it'll be nice just watching her on stage.

  I'd finally managed to drag my attention from her legs to check out the rest of her. The front legs of my chair hit the ground hard enough to catch everyone's attention. I knew those bright green eyes. They were the same eyes I saw in the coffee shop.

  "Jeez, King, you look like you saw a ghost," Kaos teased.

  Mixx's interest was piqued. "He's been seeing a lot of them apparently."

  I was vaguely aware of the stupid ass conversation happening around me. Angus snapped his fingers obnoxiously in front of my face. "Earth to King? I mean she's hot but—"

  I shook my head, hoping it would help me gather my thoughts. "Bronx, fucking Bronx, why'd he leave? I need him to see her," I was talking mostly to myself and confusing the hell out of my friends.

  "Uh, buddy," Angus said through the side of his mouth. "Last I saw, ole Bronx was pretty tied up with another woman."

  "Huh?" I was still only semi-aware of what was happening around me. It wasn't just the green eyes. It was the lips, the slightly bow-shaped lips and the button nose. Even the shape of her chin was familiar. I would know that face anywhere, but it couldn't be. Kenzie was dead. I saw it with my own eyes. I took a steadying breath and rubbed my face, a face that was tingling from shock.

  "Hey man, seriously." Kaos's deep voice rolled across the table. "Are you all right? You look like you might toss up all those beers."

  I put up a hand to stop him. The singer, with her long legs and green eyes, plucked the microphone off the stand. I wanted to hear her voice. I needed to hear her voice.

  "Look this way," I muttered under my breath. I wanted to see that reaction, that same reaction I saw in the coffee shop, the one of shock, the one of fearful recognition. She knew me. I was sure of it.

  The band started Fleetwood Mac's "Dreams". I watched every move she made. The rest of the band could have burst into flames, and I wouldn't have noticed. Which was saying something considering my day job. Her lips parted. I was sure I'd kissed those lips before. They were my first kiss. You just don't fucking forget a first kiss, especially not a first kiss with Kenzie Jensen. The voice that flowed out wasn't familiar except that she sounded amazingly like Stevie Nicks. It was that same low, gritty yet smooth tone, a tone that could make any song, even Happy Birthday sound like something you wanted to fuck to.

  The lights were bright enough to show every angle of her face. It was the face I remembered. Her jewel green eyes swept over the crowd and dashed over our table. I was sure I'd heard a small hitch in her throat, amplified by the microphone and speakers, as her gaze landed on me. She went on smoothly with the lyrics, so smoothly I wasn't certain I'd actually heard the hitch. Maybe I'd just talked myself into it, or maybe she had sucked in a fast breath because the same guy who stared at her like a madman in the coffee shop was sitting in the audience, once again staring at her like a fucking madman.

  Every guy in the place, my friends included, was mesmerized by the beautiful woman with the sultry voice. It was just like in Westridge, when all of us stared at Kenzie all day and then went to bed with hard-ons just dreaming about her. Halfway through the song, she strolled over on those endless legs to the front of the stage. She avoided eye contact with the table up front.

  "She's as good as they say," Angus said. "Don't think I could have competed with that."

  Mixx had turned his chair so he could gaze unimpeded up at the stage. "You definitely couldn't have competed with those legs. I've seen yours. Way too hairy and you've got knobby knees."

  The table rocked as Angus stretched his leg across to kick Mixx.

  The wild cheering at the end of the song meant the contest had been decided. The clamor and yelling around me was silenced by the rush of thoughts in my head. I had to talk to her. I just needed to clear up the mystery. The facts were tragically solid. Kenzie Jensen had died in the river flowing through our hometown. According to the police, she had committed suicide by jumping off a bridge. Her sister had moved out of town and finding it too painful to be alive without her twin sister, she'd died soon after. There was no way the woman on stage was Kenzie Jensen, only every fiber of my being told me that I was looking at the girl I'd grown up with, the girl I'd fallen in love with every time I saw her. It wasn't love at first sight with Kenzie. It was love at every sight. Growing up, I could never imagine myself ending up with anyone but Kenzie. Her death felt as if someone had ripped out all my guts and thrown them in that same damn river.

  Isle of Freedom was announced as the winner. The band had to stand for pictures with a big thousand dollar check. The singer, Tony Brooks, apparently, n
ever looked once in the direction of our table. Was she avoiding us on purpose? The stage lights were bright and there was so much activity in the room, it made sense that she didn't look our way. I was debating every fucking thing, trying to rationalize my feelings. It was as if a sixth sense had been turned on and part of me was saying knock it the fuck off, and the other was saying that is Kenzie Jensen. The girl you obsessed over, the girl you swore to marry was standing on stage and soon she'd be walking out the door and away from you forever . . . again.

  The emcee asked for one more round of applause for all the bands, then Isle of Freedom started picking up their instruments. The singer left the stage entirely, disappearing past the curtain.

  The guys were in a deep discussion about where to head to next, but I'd already made up my mind. "Fuck it," I muttered and got up from the table.

  "Where you headed, King?" Angus asked.

  "Going backstage," I answered curtly.

  "Probably not a good idea," Angus called but I ignored him.

  I pushed through the curtains. A back door was open, ushering in a chilled night air. The first bands were already packed and dragging their stuff out to trucks and vans. I glanced in a few rooms but didn't see any sign of her. I walked to the open door and spotted her sitting alone on the open bed of a truck.

  One of the two flood lights in the back of the venue was broken, and the second one cast long shadows over the dark alleyway. She hadn't looked back toward the door, instead seemingly focused on the dark, starry sky above. Even her profile matched my memory.

  My heart pounded in my chest. I froze in one spot, willing myself to say her name.

  "Kenzie." Nothing about my voice sounded familiar. It was tight, low, barely audible but she heard. Her face snapped my direction, and again, that fear I saw in the coffee shop returned. She hopped down from the truck, and it seemed she might run.

  I lifted a hand to stop her. "Wait, I promise, I'm not stalking you. It's just—you look like someone, someone I knew years ago."

  "I'm not her. I'm not Kenzie," her voice wavered, and she backed away from me as she spoke. It was impossible to miss the tremble that raced through her entire body.

  "Tony," a deep voice snapped from behind. "Is this guy bothering you?"

  I hated to pull my gaze from her for fear that she might vanish into thin air, like a ghost or a figment of my imagination, but the voice behind me came with hot, stale air and it was literally and figuratively breathing down my neck.

  I swung around and came face-to-face, although the guy was half a head taller, with the moose-sized guitarist. Was he the boyfriend? Or husband?

  "This area is for band members only." Some spittle sprayed from his mouth as he spoke.

  I wiped it off my face. "Just thought I recognized her. My mistake," I said curtly.

  "Damn fucking right you're mistaken. Now get out of here."

  I lifted my hands. "Not doing anything wrong, and I'm pretty certain this is a public alley."

  The rational side of my brain told me to head back inside, find the guys and go out for pancakes and eggs, but the irrational side, the side that Kenzie Jensen had always been so good at triggering, convinced me this was my last chance to know, once and for all, if the woman standing under the stars behind me was the girl I'd been obsessed with my entire life. I wasn't ready to give up my quest. I would most likely never see her again and then I'd never know for sure. She'd told me she wasn't Kenzie, but I gave it one more shot, knowing that I'd probably have to either fight my way back into the venue or make a run for it.

  Her eyes were glassy. Something had triggered emotion. If I was just a stranger, the simple question wouldn't have caused the tears I saw now, tears glittering under the alleyway light.

  "You know me, don't you?" I asked, quietly. I made no move or loud sounds because it seemed I was looking at a woman who might run off, like a frightened deer. She looked far more vulnerable now than she had on the stage when she so easily wooed everyone with her honey-whiskey voice. "You know who I am," I repeated.

  Her lips twitched as if she might speak. The truth was there. I could feel it in my entire body.

  "All right, you give me no choice," the guy said behind me. He grabbed the back of my shirt managing to grab skin at the same time.

  I swung around with a fist but kept it from slamming into him. I wasn't there for a fight, and he was only protecting her. I held up my hands again to assure him I had no desire to fight.

  "I was just asking her a question. Haven't taken one step toward her." I pointed out, but even coming off a nice win and a cash prize the guy looked sour. His pillowy face twisted into a scowl.

  "I've asked you to go, but you are still fucking standing here, so now I'm going to drag you out."

  The cocky asshole in me couldn't stop the mocking laugh. "Right, you and what army?" I asked.

  His fist flew at me. I ducked but straightened just in time for him to nail me on the back of my head. I stumbled forward but caught myself. My ears were ringing from the impact.

  "Fuck you, you overgrown moose." I rubbed the back of my head. "I should have you arrested for assault."

  The hurricane of testosterone between us had temporarily dashed the woman standing behind us from my memory.

  The guy held out his arms. "Yeah, instead, I'll let you take your best shot."

  It was fucking tempting, one big blow to his potato shaped face and he'd be mashed potatoes. "Not going to fight you," I said.

  "King, something wrong out here?" Kaos was standing in the doorway. Correction, Kaos was filling the entire doorway.

  "Nope, I'm good."

  The oversized musician took one look at Kaos and seemed to rethink his tough guy act. He dropped his arms and took on a much more civil, less defensive tone. "Your friend has been harassing our singer. I'm just telling him he needs to move on."

  I glanced sideways at the guy. "How polite considering you just clubbed me in the back of the head with that meaty fist."

  Kaos heard the comment and stepped out from the doorway. He had a tendency to always stand up for all of us, his crew mates, even though we'd all told him to knock it off. It was kinda cool of him, though, and he didn't mind because he was someone who liked a good brawl. Mostly because he was always on the winning side of things.

  "I'm good, Kaos. Just leaving," I said and stopped to take one long, lingering look at the woman still standing looking like a fucking goddess under the starry sky.

  "Asshole," I muttered to the guy as I walked away.

  "I'm not her," the woman blurted. "Kenzie is dead," she continued.

  I stopped. My heart had jumped back to pounding. I turned slowly back to her. Her bandmate looked puzzled and still ready to pound me into pulp if I took one step closer. Even with my massive bodyguard standing watch.

  Before I could find the words to reply she continued.

  "You killed her," she said. "All of you killed her, all of you with your fucking obsessions over her. You all killed her." She broke down into sobs. I instinctively moved toward her. Her protector blocked my path. He didn't seem to know what the hell was going on, but he was not going to let me any closer.

  "We're done here. Please leave before I call the police," he said lumbering over to her and putting a protective arm around her.

  Kaos's hand fell on my shoulder. "Let's go, King."

  I was so shaken by what she'd said, I had a hard time instructing my feet to move. Kaos nudged me along, and we headed toward the building.

  "Who was that?" Kaos asked. "What the hell was all that about?"

  I stopped in the doorway and took one more look back. The guitarist was comforting her. She didn't even glance toward the door. She wanted me out of her sight.

  I took a deep breath. "It's nothing," I said. "I thought I saw a ghost. Turns out I did, only it was the wrong damn ghost."

  7

  Ten years earlier

  "Mom, mom," I said it twice, but that was my limit. My mom sat still as a
statue on the front room couch, her face drawn and gray, as she stared at the television set. The game shows seemed a way for her to leave her own dark-stained mind and settle in the middle of a rambunctious, excited game show audience. "Going to the river," I said before leaving, not that it mattered. She wouldn't hear me or care that I was gone.

  The old truck I'd saved up for was sitting dry and dead and rusting in the driveway. I'd been so excited when Hal Morris, the owner of the local garage, had let me put it on a sort of payment plan. I'd made the last payment on the five hundred dollars two weeks after I'd gotten my license. I imagined myself cruising around town in it, radio blasting, waving to friends, and, naturally, Kenzie Jensen would be sitting in the passenger seat swaying to the tunes and waving along with me. But reality hit when I couldn't afford to keep the gas guzzler fed. After a week of saving for a tank of gas, I climbed in to discover the fucking battery had died, and not just the temporary need a Frankenstein charge kind of dead. Real dead. Junk yard dead.

  Summer was halfway over, and my only accomplishments from my summer wish list were a trip to see Bronx at his ranch and telling off my boss at the hardware store. Gregory Colby had talked me into working at the hardware store with him. I needed the cash for gas for my now deceased truck, though, at the time of me filling out the application, the truck was still running. What Greg had neglected to tell me was that old man Quinley, the owner of the store, was a first class asshole. After three weeks of him telling me I was lazy and too dumb to ever be good at anything, I yanked off my apron, balled it up and threw it at the round pig of a man before storming out of the store. I stopped to mix up the neatly sorted nuts and bolts before making my dramatic exit. He was spewing cuss words at my back as I walked out.

  Talk about a demotion. A month ago, I was rolling along the pot-hole stained roads in my truck, and today, I was back on my bicycle. I threw a leg over, and ignoring the blazing heat bouncing off the broken asphalt, I pedaled hard to the river. Anyone not stuck in a dull summer job would be down at the water, jumping off our favorite ledge or riding inner tubes along the bend of the river where the water churned white and frothy and the current could shoot you all the way down to the big clearing just off the highway. It was the perfect place to drag your tube out of the water and crash in the sun. With any luck, Kenzie would still be waiting on the river's edge and ready to ride down to the clearing.