Bourbon harmony bourbon.., p.7
Bourbon Harmony (Bourbon Canyon), page 7
“Like the accident.”
“Like the accident.” I ran my thumb over a fingernail, memories of the crash that took my parents going through my mind. The terror. The crying. The darkness. Mama Starr and Daddy Bjorn hadn’t been able to tell us everything would be okay. So I’d sang. My little voice had shaken, but my efforts had quieted the sobs. “And because it’s been such a long road. I want to be the one with opening acts. I want to be the one that tens of thousands of people buy tickets for. Because that means I have a voice. Not for the audience but in my career. I can be the one telling promoters who my opening acts will be. I can be the hand up for others instead of having doors shut in my face.”
I wasn’t in it for the fame and money, but I needed those two things to get the freedom to be an artist and not just a puppet. If I’d let someone shove their hand up my ass years ago and control me, I would’ve been so much further in my career by now. But then it wouldn’t have been my career. I needed to connect with my fans on my own terms.
“When do you have to be in Nashville again?” he asked.
“If the timeline isn’t changing, I have to be back by the end of June.” Two months to write ten songs? Just thinking about it made the words dry up.
But I’d do it. I was home, breathing fresh Montana air and surrounded by people who really cared about me. Rhys included.
He rose, one knee cracking. “Weekends work the best until school’s out, except for the two weeks they get with Wren. So unless their mother comes back for a surprise visit, pick your time.”
He didn’t make it sound like Kirstin planned to return anytime soon. “Want me to start next weekend?”
He leveled a steady gaze on me. Deep in his eyes, I saw the resistance. He didn’t want me to start ever. He probably regretted picking me up on the side of the road. But he wouldn’t go back on his word. This time.
CHAPTER SIX
June
Mama poured four glasses of Copper Summit Original. I soaked in the familiarity of her Keds sandals and simple blue top with capri-length jeans. She had her salt-and-pepper black hair pulled back in her usual bun. I had planned to wait until Monday to tell my family I was home, but school was still in session. Time was more limited to get the four seasons together—Summer, Autumn, me, and Wynter. Fitting that I’d come home now since it was almost June and most of June was technically spring. Hence my name.
Both Autumn and my sister-in-law, Scarlett, would have to work, while Summer and Wynter could be more flexible with their jobs at the original distillery in town. So on Sunday morning, I’d sent a quick text explaining that I had returned home to write my new album in peace, my car had broken down, Lane was working on it at the shop, and I was at the cabin.
Mama had arrived first, sensing there was more to my story. In fifteen years, I hadn’t come home for work. Wynter was with her in a lilac-colored sundress, large sunglasses, and her white-blond hair cascading from a clip. Then Summer and Scarlett had ridden in together. Autumn had driven herself. She still lived in town with her husband, Gideon, while Gideon’s old family home—and his and Autumn’s future home—underwent a major remodel. They all had brought some cookies, crackers, cheese, and olives.
The snacks were needed. The cabin might not have been stocked with much for food, but I had two bottles of unopened wine on the counter and at least five different bottles of bourbon. I liked craft beer, but I wasn’t home enough to stock it. By the time I could drink it all, it’d be skunked.
Summer took the glasses of bourbon from Mama and distributed them while Mama mixed virgin mimosas for Wynter, who was nursing, and Summer, who was pregnant.
“I can’t imagine what it’s like to find out people were tampering with your life and profession.” Summer sat and smoothed her pink sundress on her lap. It wasn’t loose enough to hide her rounded belly. She was due in September. I’d be starting my tour around then, but I’d tell my new manager to ensure the first show was well after Summer’s due date. “I’m glad you found out about it. Lucy would’ve kept setting up emotional wringers for you until you burned out.”
Burnout. Was that what I was feeling? The heavy weight of responsibility. The pressure of producing. I had a team counting on me. If I didn’t ride the high of falling for someone and then crashing to the ground, would I be able to write quality material? I had a band who worked with me. A record label. A manager. An agent. Promoters. I wasn’t the only artist these people worked with, but as I’d risen in fame, and my revenue with it, I’d become a cornerstone to their individual careers.
I had thought that was why I’d stalled out on inspiration, that the pressure had gotten to me. I had almost accomplished my dream, but everything hinged on my next album not flopping. In the end, it had been the serial betrayals.
“Overhearing that conversation answered a lot of questions.” I took a drink and let the bourbon warm my tongue and throat. Hints of caramel and vanilla danced on my taste buds and the comfort of home sank into my bones.
I needed the reset.
“So now what?” Wynter asked. “You’re just going to write and let your lawyer deal with Lucy?”
“That’s the plan.” Lucy had quit blowing up my phone. “I guess I have to find a new manager. I have some contacts.”
“Give yourself time,” Mama said. “Everything’s in motion. You don’t have to rush. The other parts of your team are doing their job, so you can do yours.”
“Thanks, Mama.” Her calm, matter-of-fact tone alleviated the building stress from thinking about Lucy and hiring a replacement. I folded my legs under me and tugged the hem of my shorts down. “I’ve been thinking a lot about you and Mama Starr.”
My sisters’ expressions softened. Scarlett’s face filled with sympathy. Mama nodded, always encouraging us to talk about our other parents.
“I remember how you used to sing for us.” Wynter ran her finger over the ring of her glass.
Summer nodded. “Daddy Bjorn would always ask you to sing when we’d start asking when we could go home.”
We’d no longer had a home. “I was a full-on adult before I realized they used me to distract us from being homeless and packing all our things in that cramped car.”
“It worked too because I got jealous from all the attention,” Wynter said, giggling. “I used to get so mad.”
“And then I would get upset because no one wanted to run through times tables with me.” Autumn chortled. “Us two middle kids used to argue so much because we always felt overlooked.”
Summer laughed. “I sometimes wondered if the way we dissolved into bickering was half the distraction.”
“I wasn’t mad when you sang that night,” Wynter said. The room fell quiet.
The night of our parents’ crash, an eternity had come and gone before help arrived. I’d performed for my parents and sisters countless times, but that was the first time I’d felt like we’d connected because of my music.
“Speaking of musical kids,” I said to lighten the mood, “I’m going to give Rhys’s girls guitar lessons.”
They all stared at me.
Except Scarlett, who looked at everyone like she was interpreting their reactions. Her glass of bourbon was mostly full. She wasn’t as avid a bourbon lover as us. “I know I wasn’t here then, but Rhys Kinkade is your ex, right? It’s all good?”
My sisters studied me. Mama took a drink, her expression neutral. She liked Rhys, and she adored his girls. She’d never tell me; I just knew. That was who Mama was. And she’d never let me know if the news of guitar lessons made her happy or worried.
To everyone, including her, I’d left and shattered Rhys’s heart. No one knew that I hadn’t left him behind. He’d never planned to leave Bourbon Canyon.
“It’s fine. He’s had a whole other life since we were kids. And he never told them about me.”
“What?” Summer frowned.
“They were surprised to find out we were friends,” I said. Were Rhys and I friends? We’d have to be for the sake of the girls. “He never even told them we knew each other.”
“Seriously?” Wynter’s eyes were wide. “How did they not know? You two were together longer than he was married.”
Did that thought make me feel better or worse? “I can’t imagine people care to tell kids about a woman who’s not their mom and her history with their dad.”
“True, but you’re not a normal case,” Autumn said. “I’m surprised other kids haven’t brought it up.”
“They will.” Scarlett could seem timid, but she knew elementary-aged children. “They’re getting to the age where they’ll hear about it once another kid, or that kid’s parents, piece things together. Not every parent is going to care that it might step over bounds with the girls’ mother.”
“Some will delight in it,” Autumn added. “But that’s for Rhys to deal with. He didn’t tell them for a reason.”
I lifted a shoulder. The hurt from feeling like his dirty secret still lingered. I took another sip and let the bourbon burn the ache away. “I’ll just be there to teach them how to play guitar.”
“Bethany loves to sing,” Scarlett said. “You should’ve heard her at the school play. Loudest one in the bunch.”
“I’ve heard her singing your songs all the time.” Autumn’s murmur sounded more like a warning.
His kids were fans. I couldn’t forget that. The rift between me and Rhys hadn’t been repaired just because I’d opened up to him. He wanted to keep his kids buffered from our history, and I’d have to respect that. They had their own mother and maybe . . . Maybe Rhys was dating.
My stomach clenched around the few sips of alcohol I’d had. Was he seeing someone? Was that why he was so uptight about my presence? “Is he dating?” I held up my hands as five sets of eyebrows rose. “I’m not interested, but I need to know if gossip’s going to spread.”
“Oh, it’s going to spread.” Wynter snorted. “First, he shocks the town by marrying Kirstin and moving her to Bourbon Canyon. Now he’s been single how long and hasn’t seriously dated? But his high school sweetheart is suddenly teaching his kids guitar?”
“He won’t even volunteer to be a bachelor in the fundraising auction,” Scarlett added.
Summer stirred her juice and sparkling water with a tiny straw Mama had produced from the tote bag she’d brought. “I’m sure after what he saw happen with Tate, he’ll always stay far away.”
Mama nodded. “More than a few bachelors have found their partners with that auction.” She aimed her fond smile at Scarlett. “And I’m very grateful Tate did too, with the help of his meddling sisters.”
“Money well spent,” Summer muttered. “The point is—Rhys doesn’t date. I think I heard him actually growl at a woman once.”
Autumn’s red ponytail bobbed with her nod. “When he came for a mystery reader event for Bethany last year, our admin tried to show him to the classroom and he snapped at her. Said that he’d gone to school there and could find his own way.”
I chuckled. “He’s not technically wrong.” He’d moved in with his dad during our middle school years, but Bourbon was so small the elementary school and high school were practically the same building, linked by the playground. I used to hang out on the playground with Rhys when school was out. He’d push me in the swing.
“It was the tone,” Autumn said pointedly. “So when people hear that you’re giving the girls guitar lessons, it’s going to burn through town like a July wildfire. People’s memories are going to suddenly be real clear.”
“Ugh.” I downed the rest of my bourbon. “It’s just lessons. He offered because he felt sorry for me after I told him what had happened.”
I flopped against the couch cushions and stared at one of the beams crossing the ceiling. The room got quiet. If I lifted my head, would I find them exchanging loaded looks?
“Rhys has always been a nice boy,” Mama said. “The lessons might be an olive branch. A lot of time has passed between you two. But he’s still the same Rhys. He’s still not dazzled by the limelight, and you’re still drawn to it like a moth to a flame.”
“Yeah,” I sighed. “I am.” I didn’t know why I was driven to share my art. Why did painters spend hours and hours on a portrait and hope someone displayed it on a prominent wall for others to enjoy? Why did people write books and hope others read them? Why did I pen a song and need to hear it come from someone’s mouth, preferably mine?
The limelight allowed me to share my work and that made me happy. I could be heard. Which was more and more important when I went home to my empty house.
I sat up and ignored their curious yet concerned expressions. I was done talking about Rhys. There would be enough of that from everyone else. My family was my safe place. Always had been. As soon as I had been introduced to Mae Bailey, everything in my world had quit spinning. She was solid and secure.
There would be no Copper Summit without the Baileys, and it was why I’d kept my work with them separate from my music career. Lucy and other agents had tried to limit my exposure with Copper Summit and set parameters, but I’d only hired better lawyers. Thankfully, Daddy had suggested I ask around and go with legal representation other than who my manager and record label had recommended.
Copper Summit gave me freedom, and I’d seek refuge there now. And inspiration. Something had to get my creative juices flowing again. “Since I’m only tutoring on the weekends, I have my weeks free. What can I do?”
Wynter set her empty glass down. Mama immediately retrieved it to refill. Wynter didn’t stop her. Mama didn’t like to sit still for long, and she loved doting on her grandkids and on us as adults. Didn’t mean she wouldn’t put us to work.
“I’m working on the Christmas campaigns,” Wynter said. “Stop by and we’ll brainstorm some shoots.”
Excitement sparked in my chest for the first time in months. “Need a jingle?” A short verse shouldn’t be hard to come up with. Wynter usually worked with me on brainstorming the tagline and I put it to music. Perhaps I’d just found my starting point.
She smiled. “You know I never turn down a tune from you.”
Grateful to have something to do instead of hiking through my regrets, I grinned. Working with Wynter at Copper Summit would keep me occupied most of the week, and I wouldn’t keep longing for the end of the week when I could see Rhys again.
Rhys
The day I’d been dreading since I’d accepted the offer of guitar lessons was here. It was Sunday.
June had shown up in her repaired car with three goddamn guitars, and I knew she hadn’t had those when I’d found her on the side of the road. Perhaps Mae had stored some of her old music equipment, but the two unfamiliar guitars looked brand fucking new.
I’d been outside since I’d left my kids in the care of June, sitting on my couch in her tight jeans. My two excited daughters had sat on the floor in front of her as if June were on stage.
I paced the shop. I had to run to town, but the lesson was almost done, and I didn’t want June to be in the house any longer than necessary, if only for my sanity. I kept walking out of the bathroom and picturing her in the hallway, barely dressed with tousled hair.
Checking the time, I pivoted toward the door. Close enough. I stepped outside and Caramel, the orange tabby barn cat we’d inherited with the place, mewed at me. He was sunning himself against the side of the building.
“Catch any mice today, freeloader?”
He blinked at me.
“That’s what I thought.” The girls fed him too damn much. He had no need to hunt, but he loved their cuddles. So he could freeload all he wanted as long as he let them love on him.
Goldie trotted next to me. I sank my fingers into the dog’s fur. She’d been our first addition to this little home we’d built since we’d moved. Her wilder years were behind her, and hopefully that included her urge to eat anything inedible and toxic. I still had the vet’s emergency number as a top contact in my phone.
A wad of knots in my stomach turned to lead the closer I got to the house. Staying away for an hour had been torture. The urge to peek through the windows wasn’t because I had to check on the girls. They were fine.
Seeing June with her guitar again was an addicting hit of nostalgia. It was also necessary to remind myself that she had talent that was wasted in the middle of Montana. In two months, she’d be back in Nashville and, soon after, conquering the world stage. It was what she was made for.
But sometimes she needed a little push. The scared little girl inside of her was afraid of the unknown, but she wanted to be heard. I’m sure some psychiatrist could tie her need to be visible and financially successful to her parents’ accident, but it didn’t matter. She was who she was.
I quietly stepped inside the house. June’s soft voice mixed with mellow guitar notes.
“He wasn’t the guy who got away, he was the one who let me go.”
I stopped in the kitchen, my heart slamming against my ribs. I hated this song. I couldn’t change the station fast enough when it came on. Only now there was no knob. I was getting a live performance, but I couldn’t make myself walk right back out the door.
Two smaller Yamaha acoustic guitars were propped on the couch and the girls were on the floor, a rapt audience. June’s gaze flipped up to meet mine. She continued to strum the strings, her left hand moving along the fretboard, but she didn’t sing. She didn’t have to. I knew the words.
And I’m the girl with all the freedom in the world . . .
I hated the rest.
. . . but I only wish he’d asked me to stay.
That song haunted me through the streets of town. In my car. Even while I worked outside and had the radio on. Whenever June had a new song or album releasing, the hardware store loved to play her songs. Something always broke on the ranch, and I’d be in the damn store, her voice chasing me down the aisles.
A heartbeat of anguish filled her eyes, then she blinked. I shook myself out of my trance.
