A cavern of black ice, p.38
Roots and Sky, page 38
Roots and Sky
SUMMIT SPRINGS
KELLY FOX
Contents
Also by Kelly Fox
Before We Begin
1. Mac
2. Kinley
3. Mac
4. Kinley
5. Mac
6. Kinley
7. Mac
8. Kinley
9. Mac
10. Kinley
11. Mac
12. Kinley
13. Mac
14. Kinley
15. Mac
16. Kinley
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by Kelly Fox
Copyright @ 2023 Kelly Fox
Developmental Edit by: Charity VanHuss, vanhuss.charity@gmail.com
Edited by: Abbie Nicole, paabbienicole@gmail.com
Proofed by: Lori Parks, lp.nerdproblems@gmail.com
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or business establishments, events or locales is coincidental.
The Licensed Art material is being used for illustrative purposes only.
Also by Kelly Fox
SERIES
Wrecked
Guardians
Rebel Sky Ranch
Mobsters+Billionaires
Wild Heart Ranch
Orpheum Avenue
STAND-ALONE NOVELLAS
Summer Makeover
Bee Cave Magic
FREE SHORTS, BONUS SCENES, & NEWSLETTER SIGN-UPS
https://www.authorkellyfox.com/freebies
Before We Begin
I’m so grateful to be a part of the Summit Springs world. I love writing FF and hope you enjoy Kinley and Mac’s short, sweet, sexy story.
Content warning: Kinley works for an OBGYN and briefly discusses patients’ previous fertility issues, including miscarriage. Additionally, there is a scene in which Kinley successfully helps an expectant mother through a medical issue.
Chapter 1
Mac
Mackenzie Nash, live at Pine’s Peak amphitheater tonight!
It’s the first sign I see as my tour bus rolls into town. Even with the migraine that’s been creeping around the edges since this morning, I can’t help but be taken in by the charm of the place. It’s the smallest stop on the tour, and I’m beginning to see why my manager, Mason, insisted on adding it to the calendar.
Mason hops up from his seat and kneels on the bench next to me, looking out the window. Tapping the glass, he notes, “I’ve already lost track of the number of rainbow stickers on the shop windows.”
Normally an all-business kind of guy, his smile is a welcome change.
Lifting my chin at the everything of this place, I ask, “Is Summit Springs Colorado’s newest hidden gay enclave?”
He turns to me, grinning. “It sure is. More to the point, while all are welcome, it’s more of a women-loving-women kind of place if you get my drift.”
“Al gets your drift, Mason,” I say, gesturing to our intrepid bus driver.
“I’m just saying. I booked a place where you have a high likelihood of finding a cute girl to spend the evening with. You’re welcome.”
I rub the top of my head, where the pressure is gathering. “I dunno. Might not have it in me to chase some tail tonight. Besides, I can find a girl to spend the evening with anywhere I go.”
He turns around and plops into the seat, crossing his arms with a disgruntled look. “Fine. I’m so glad I put in all that extra time looking for a cool place to stop before we have to move on to the bigger venues.”
“I’m sorry, Mase,” I say, patting his leg. “You’re right. I do appreciate it. And you can definitely tell this place is run by lesbians. The biggest store in town has Outfitters in the name.”
He looks out the window. “Yep. Owned by Liz and Lupe Apocada-Dettmer. Apparently, they’ve been together since the late eighties. They’re like the den mothers of the outdoorsy types here in Summit Springs.”
“How the hell are you getting small-town gossip?” I ask as Al turns toward the ski lodge attached to the amphitheater where I’ll perform.
He’s already informed me the owner recently added to the resort to encourage year-round business. More importantly, the slopes are open, and it’s been a hot minute since I’ve had some fun in the snow. Here’s hoping the migraine stays at bay long enough for me to get in a few runs.
When I get the opportunity to ski, it always takes me back to my early days in Nashville, when I was homesick for Utah and so damn lonely. Despite outrunning my family’s rejection, I found myself missing the Rocky Mountains and the sport my father and I bonded over.
Looking around the little town with fresh eyes, I appreciate Mason for what he’s doing. We’ll have to pack up and go to Colorado Springs quickly after this, but he’s given me an entire afternoon, a mountain full of fresh powder, and a reminder of how far I’ve come.
Mason, unaware of my meandering mind, answers the question, “I get my small-town gossip where everyone gets it these days—from social media. I swear, one of these days, you’re going to have to knuckle-drag into the twenty-first century.”
It’s true—while social media is partially to blame for my success, I’ve never had a real social media account and probably never will.
“No, I don’t, Mason. That’s why I have you.”
“Damn Skippy. You would fall apart without me.”
“That I would,” I agree as Al parks alongside the amphitheater.
Before we get off, Mason knocks into my shoulder. “Hey, Mac—if I see someone cute in the VIP line, want me to hold her to the end so you can see if she might be interested in spending some time with you?”
I bump fists with him. “Perfect.”
That might make Mason sound like a pimp, but I suck at identifying sane people who understand the meaning of a one-night stand. The last time I chose my own bed companion, she came back with paternity papers because I’d used a strap-on. Mason, God love him, has never steered me wrong.
When we get to the resort, the guest relations specialist, a sweet guy named Jed, hands me a branded note card and informs me that M&M Outfitters knows I like to ski and has provided everything I need to enjoy the slopes. I flip over the card and smile at the familiar names.
Enjoy the fresh powder. We’ll be in the front row tonight, cheering you on.
Liz & Lupe
Marmot and Moose Outfitters.
After settling into our rooms at the resort, I change into the courtesy ski gear—some of the best gear I’ve ever used—and get on the lift that heads up the mountain. Looking out over the little valley with my legs dangling in the air, I take a deep breath, enjoying the clean smell of crisp mountain air. The years have taken a lot out of me, but this…this feels like the sort of full-circle moment I’ve been dreaming of my whole life.
Chapter 2
Kinley
Not gonna lie, I’d never heard of Mackenzie Nash before tonight, and I’m about five minutes from meeting her in person.
Look, don’t judge me. I’m not an especially big country music fan.
That’s sacrilegious, considering I live in western Colorado, but it’s true. I mean, I can hang with the occasional George Strait tune, and everybody loves Dolly, but I don’t exactly keep up with what’s going on in the country music scene.
After tonight’s concert, I can confidently say Mackenzie Nash is one of my all-time favorite country music artists. Hell, she might be my favorite singer ever. She’s fucking sexy and so freaking talented. I’ve been furiously Googling her while I wait, and so far, I’ve learned that her current single has been at the top of the country charts for the last four weeks and she writes and arranges all her music. Let’s just say I have a competency kink, and that kind of expertise is a major turn-on.
As is her sharp jaw, thick dark eyebrows, and prematurely gray salt-and-pepper fade. She’s masc as hell, stern-looking, and angular as fuck. The combination has been doing things to my lady bits all evening.
I also may have just downloaded every song she’s ever put out.
Most importantly—for my underwear, at least—Google confirms that Mackenzie is a single, out-and-proud lesbian. Honestly, nothing about her should work. Country music is notoriously conservative, at least publicly, and not particularly kind to women. That’s been changing over the years, and Mackenzie Nash clearly blew the doors off whatever was in her way.
Anyway, I’m just trying to prepare myself because how I got here is a comedy of errors. My best friend Cassie is a huge Mackenzie Nash fan. Huge. She’s happily married with three kids, but her wife, Blake, jokingly says Mackenzie Nash is on Cassie’s hall pass.
I get it. She’s about to be on every list I’ve got. Hell, she can get it anytime. Er, anyway…Blake got Cassie tickets to the show along with a VIP backstage pass, but then Cassie went and took a tumble on some ice while jogging, cracking a couple of ribs and badly bruising a few others.
This is why I stick to yoga.
After having me in tears describing the pratfall she took on the ice and snow, Cassie said she was in too much pain to deal with all of those people and offered me her nonrefundable ticket.
I initially begged off because I’m a physic
ian’s assistant for the local OBGYN, and we’re in the middle of an epic baby boom. I’m way too tired to deal with crowds and overpriced beer. Also—and this is not the flex that it seems—I’ve got an annoyingly good ear. Live concerts are usually rife with slightly out-of-tune instruments and singers trying to hit high notes with tired vocal cords.
None of that sounded like a good time, but then Cassie, who is a pediatric nurse and knows a thing or two about exhaustion, showed me Mackenzie’s picture. Miraculously, I found a previously undiscovered reserve of energy and reminded myself that I should be open to new experiences.
Better yet, it turns out that Mackenzie Nash has some pipes. Also, whoever tunes her instruments is damn good at their job. The concert was a masterclass in lyrical artistry and technical ability. She even sang one of her songs solo, only her voice and an acoustic guitar. It reminded me of singing with my father after dinner, and I don’t regret the sentimental tears.
So yeah, I’m sitting in some backstage room at the new amphitheater, waiting for a one-on-one with Mackenzie Nash. Once everyone was shuffled into place, I was the last in line, and she’s apparently moving from room to room, kinda like the doctor I work for does.
I think it’s rather sweet of her to do one-on-ones instead of just a meet-and-greet in a general back room. Funnily enough, the thing that made me most want to meet her in person was that she messed up a song intro midway through the show. She made cracks about having to perform in a boot after a tumble on the slopes while the band reset, and it was just so…real. Real and refreshing.
“Thank God I was blessed with knowing how to sing and write songs because the tour doc officially dashed my hopes of becoming an Olympic skier,” she joked. “I believe her exact words were, ‘Don’t quit your day job, Mac.’”
The crowd laughed appreciatively, and Mackenzie sang a song about heartache and feeling like she’d never be accepted in the world and… Gosh, I might be half in love.
I’m ashamed to say that I’m looking at her fashion hits and misses when she breezes through the door. She’s changed out of her concert gear and taken a shower, and there’s something about her without all of the stage makeup and glittery attire that seems so down to earth.
Quickly closing out the app, I stand and try not to be too starstruck. It’s an immediate fail because up close, her deep blue-green eyes take my breath away. I thought she was taller because of her enormous stage presence, but no. We’re about the same height, though she’s wiry to my slightly curvier build. It’s her sexy grin, though, that sends my heart rate through the roof.
Sticking out her hand, she says, “Hi, I’m Mac,” in that soft gravel voice singers get.
“I’m Kinley,” I say, sounding like I’m talking through a mouthful of marbles. I clear my throat and get lost in her eyes for a half-second.
Say something, Kin.
“Uh. Wow, you’re shorter than I thought you’d be.”
Knocking my knuckles against my forehead, I curse myself and the generations of sweet-but-awkward types that make up my DNA. Also, why is the fact that she introduced herself as Mac so hot? “Sorry, you probably get that a lot.”
Before she can answer, I notice Mac is accompanied by the kind of right-hand guy who screams efficiency. His hair is perfectly coiffed, he’s wearing thick black frames, and his outfit is more Manhattan than Summit Springs.
Grinning at him, I reach my hand out. “My best friend wears those glasses, and I love them so much.”
He looks up from whatever he’s doing on his phone to my hand, then looks over at Mac’s hand, which is still sorta hanging there. Jesus, her arms are all veins and tattoos. I wanna lick ’em.
Realizing I might be staring at her arms, I slowly shift my gaze up to hers. The bemused raise of her eyebrow is…wow. The thick shock of white along her hairline fades into a gorgeous salty ash brown, and my fingers twitch with the desire to sink into her luxurious strands.
“Uh, Kinley?” she asks, flicking her eyes to her still-suspended hand.
Finally—finally—I shake myself out of this idiotic stupor.
“Welp, if there’s a way to make any situation awkward, I’m your gal,” I finally spit out, belatedly shifting my hand to hers.
“I may have you beat on that,” she says, wiggling her boot before grabbing my hand in a firm but sexy handshake.
Wait. Are handshakes sexy? Also, why is there no oxygen in this room? I blink, suddenly super-aware of my eyelashes.
I’m clearly going to fritz out a bit longer, so she continues, “Also, it’s hard to know how tall or short I am if you’ve only ever seen me on TV or on your phone.”
In a moment that will absolutely make me cringe for the next fifty years, I decide to be truthful, with gestures.
“That’s the thing! Until tonight, I’d never heard a single song of yours. The only reason I’m even here is that a friend cracked a bunch of ribs, so I got her tickets.”
Mac chuckles, massaging a thumb into her temple. “You really didn’t know about me before tonight?”
Seriously, why is the angle of her arm so sexy? Is it the tight, old-school Joan Jett T-shirt? Is it the black leather wristwatch?
Blinking, I realize she’s asked a question and is waiting for a response. Something about not being familiar with her…
“Oh, I couldn’t have picked you out in a lineup. I gotta say, though…I’m impressed. You played like seventeen instruments, and according to the website that I totally wasn’t looking at when you came in, you write all your songs. You’re so talented.”
She runs a talented finger along her lower lip. “That’s awfully kind of you to say.” Gesturing at her booted foot, she asks, “Do you mind if we sit? My ankle is starting to throb.”
I bring my hands to my face. “Talk about embarrassing. I’m a physician’s assistant and should have insisted on that from the beginning. Please, yes, let’s sit.”
Her flinty chuckle is electrifying every inch of my skin. Worse, I didn’t wear my lined bra tonight, so my nipples are just out here, telling the whole world they’d like to see what that talented mouth can do.
Thirsty much, Kin?
I look over at her assistant. I assume his job, aside from keeping Mac on time, is to ensure weirdos don’t try anything with her. He’s maybe five foot two, but I wouldn’t put anything past him. He must’ve decided I’m the harmless kind of awkward and has wandered off to the corner, ignoring us.
The couch in this little space is more like a love seat, and once Mac sits and gets comfortable, there’s not a lot of room left. Rubbing her eyebrow, she tilts her head, smiling at me.
Biting her lip, I think she’s aiming for apologetic, but the twinkle in her eye is decidedly un-sorry. “Hope you don’t mind a tight fit.”
Yeah…that’s…she’s flirting with me.
Alrighta.
I squeeze in, tucking one leg under me as I grin at her. “I don’t mind one bit.”
God, that amused chuckle of hers is gonna have me straddling her lap in no time.
“So, Kinley. You’re a physician’s assistant? That’s, like, halfway between a nurse and a doctor, right?”
I nod. “More or less. I work for the local OBGYN.”
She squeezes the back of her neck. “Must be interesting work.”
I almost go with the truth—that it’s burning me out and I’m worried about my future—but she doesn’t need my little story.
“Very. Busy too. We had three deliveries today. All healthy, thankfully.”
“Glad to hear it. Though, a busy schedule like that probably infringes on your personal life.”
“What personal life? I haven’t been on a date in…” I look up, trying to calculate the time. Ugh. That’s depressing. “Far too long.”
