Highball Rush: Bootleg Springs Book 6

by Kingsley, Claire

  Grabbing Gibson’s arm, I gasped, sitting up straight. “Oh my god. Is that—?”

  The door opened and a woman with a crocheted shawl over a long, loose-fitting dress stepped out. Her dark silver-streaked hair was in a bun and she wore a wide tie-dyed headband. She had bangles on both wrists and a crystal on a chain around her neck. She looked around with a pleasant, almost dreamy smile. Henna Holly, the woman who’d become my mom.

  Quincy came around the front of the van, still looking like he’d stepped right out of the nineteen-sixties. Long hair, gone gray, with a thin headband around his temples. His shirt had an apple on it and said Pierce Acres. Like Henna, he wore a crystal around his neck, along with wide-legged jeans and a pair of brown Birkenstocks.

  “Oh my god, they’re here,” I breathed. “How?”

  Gibson spoke quietly. “I called them. Hope you don’t mind.”

  “No,” I said, tears already stinging my eyes. “Thank you.”

  Gibson stood and helped me up. I waved to them and Henna noticed me first. She grabbed Quincy’s arm and pointed at me excitedly.

  I ran toward them, Cash barking at my heels.

  Henna’s open arms caught me. “Sunflower. Oh, my sweet girl.”

  I hugged her, sniffing with happy tears. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

  “There’s our girl,” Quincy said.

  Henna let go and I hugged him. “Quincy. You’re speaking again. Is your vow of silence over?”

  He squeezed me tight. “Sure is. Just in time, too.”

  Gibson stood behind me, one hand in his pocket, the other holding Cash’s leash. He watched us with a little smile on his lips.

  “You must be Gibson,” Henna said, her smile wide. She grabbed his face in both hands and planted a loud, smacking kiss right on his lips. She stepped back and he blinked in surprise. “Aren’t you just wonderful. Look at his aura, Quincy. So strong and balanced.”

  “I’m sure it is, my blossom,” Quincy said, his eyes crinkling with his smile.

  “Sir,” Gibson said, holding out a hand toward Quincy.

  Quincy seemed amused and shook his hand.

  Gibson turned to Henna, hesitating like he was afraid she might kiss him again. “Ma’am.”

  “No need for all that sir and ma’am stuff,” Henna said. She flicked her hands around, like she was getting rid of the bad energy of formal titles. “Henna and Quincy are just fine. What a beautiful town this is.”

  Quincy parked himself right on the ground and Cash rushed over to lick his face.

  “Gibson called you?” I asked.

  Henna beamed at Gibson. “He sure did. Such a good man. He told us the whole story. Sunflower, I’m still not sure what to think. I’m so happy you’re all right. As soon as we heard, we knew we had to come down here. After all those terrible events, I thought you could use my help cleansing your energy. But look at you. Your aura’s so bright and lively. I’ve never seen you look so good.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “I’ve never felt this good.”

  She looked past me to the still-partying Bootleggers. “This looks fun.”

  “Yeah, this is… well, that’s pretty much everybody.”

  She clasped her hands at her chest, her wrist bangles dangling. “Oh, good. I can’t wait to meet everyone.”

  Gibson and I took Quincy and Henna into the thick of the party. I introduced them to all the people I knew and loved here. The people from my past and my future. They spread hugs and their own brand of love all around. Henna gave out hugs and kisses like they were candy. She gushed about people’s auras and the beautiful divine energy the town emitted into the universe.

  Quincy zeroed in on the moonshine, happily drinking and playing with Cash while his wife socialized.

  “So that’s them,” Gibson said. He put his arm around my shoulders while we watched Jimmy Bob Prosser trying to teach Henna to square dance.

  “That’s them,” I said.

  More lights twinkled as the sun went down. Bootleggers clapped to the lively music and people still ate and drank. Talked and laughed. Hugged and had good-natured arguments. I even saw Gram-Gram give Myrt a big hug over by the impromptu game of horseshoes someone had set up.

  This day, this place. It all felt like a miracle. It reminded me that good people—truly good people—still existed in this world. In fact, most people were. But in this place—in this funny little town tucked in the mountains of West Virginia—amazing things had happened. The good guys had won. Love had overpowered darkness.

  And my future stretched, bright and beautiful, before me. A future with family and friends. With holidays spent around a crowded dinner table. Weddings and baby showers and new babies being born. A new generation of little Bootleg kids who’d grow up here, among these wonderful people. With sunshine summers and snowy winters. With a family that loved them so much, they’d never have reason to doubt it.

  As if he could feel the love trying to burst right out of me, Gibson gathered me in his arms. He took a deep breath, smelling my hair.

  “I love you, Callie,” he said quietly. “I’m real glad you’re home.”

  “Me too, Gibs. I’m so glad I get to stay.”

  The deep roar of an engine rumbled behind us. Gibson looked toward the street and his mouth dropped open.

  “Holy shit.”

  A black Charger—nineteen sixty-eight, if I wasn’t mistaken—pulled up next to the park.

  “Is that your baby?” I asked.

  “Darlin’, it sure is.”

  The smile on his face made me giddy. He grabbed my hand and led me toward the car.

  An older man with a long gray beard stepped out. He had a barrel chest and mechanic’s hands, the kind that were perpetually stained with engine oil.

  “Gibson,” he said and stuck his hand out.

  “Otis.” Gibson took his hand and they exchanged a hearty shake. “I didn’t know you were bringing her back today.”

  “Figured I’d surprise you. How does she look?”

  I waited on the grass while Gibson inspected his car. He ran his hands along the fenders. Checked the doors, the little grin never leaving his face.

  “She looks perfect. Better than new.” He shook hands with Otis again. “Thanks, man. You need a ride somewhere?”

  “No, my wife’s a few minutes behind. She’ll be along to fetch me. We’ll settle up later. I can see you’re busy.” He nodded toward the park.

  “Thanks. Feel free to stay for a drink,” Gibson said. “Best moonshine in West Virginia.”

  Otis grinned beneath his long beard and patted his ample belly. “I just might do that.”

  I slipped my arms around Gibson’s waist and looked up at him. “Happy to have your car back?”

  “Yeah. But it’s still not as good as having you back. Not even close.”

  “Still, I can’t wait to ride in it.”

  “We’ll drive it home,” he said. “Whenever you’re ready.”

  I knew Gibson was anxious to get behind the wheel of his Charger again, so we started the long process of saying our goodbyes. Scarlett had already set up Quincy and Henna with a cabin for the next few days. They were especially excited about the hot springs. I heard Henna say something about skinny dipping—she was firmly of the mind that clothing was always optional—and I made a mental note to let them in on the location of the secret hot springs. And the sign-up sheet. It was for everyone’s benefit.

  Once we’d hugged everyone goodnight, we walked back to Gibson’s car. Cash wanted to sniff it out first, walking around with his tail wagging, sniffing everything. He peed on the tire, but Gibson just laughed. He let him in first so he could smell the inside. Then he swung open the heavy passenger’s side door and ushered me in.

  The smooth leather seat was comfortable and the interior was beautiful. It looked like it had been fully restored. I buckled my seat belt and Cash sat on the back seat, like he already knew that was his spot.

  Gibson slid in slowly, clearly en
joying himself. He shut the door and ran his hands along the steering wheel.

  “Damn, it’s good to have her back.”

  With a grin at me, he turned the ignition. The throaty engine roared to life. He closed his eyes for a second, nodding his head. ‘That’s the stuff.”

  I rolled down the window and rested my arm on the door. “Okay, sexy. You wanna take your girl home?”

  He smiled again—slow and sexy and heart-melting. “Yeah, honey. Let’s go home.”

  Epilogue

  GIBSON

  The Lookout was packed to the gills, everyone rushing in from the snowy cold night. Winter had its grip on the mountains of West Virginia. Puddles collected on the floor from bits of snow falling off people’s boots. They hunkered down with whiskey and moonshine, letting the liquor burn off some of the cold.

  My family was here, and none of them had a single clue about what was going down tonight. They took up tables—a lot of tables these days—laughing and talking together. Drinking and eating greasy fries. My brothers—all three of them—happy as could be with the women in their lives. My spitfire of a sister with her man. A good man.

  Jenny and Jimmy Bob Prosser, who’d tied the knot just a few weeks ago. George and June, who, as far as I was concerned, had beaten out Scarlett and Devlin for unlikeliest couple in town. George and Shelby’s parents, who’d settled here in Bootleg. Harlan and Nadine Tucker, enjoying a shared jar of moonshine.

  I stood by the stage—I’d made us a slightly bigger one a few months ago—and pulled out my guitar. Glanced over at the tables filled with people I cared about.

  This was going to be a real good time.

  Scarlett was chatting up Oliver, Callie’s boss from Attalon Records. He and his wife, Nat, had come out to Bootleg to visit. Almost gotten themselves stuck on the road up to my place. Californians didn’t know how to drive in the snow. We’d set them up with a nice lakefront cabin for their stay and so far, they seemed to be enjoying themselves.

  Callie had been glad to see him again. She hadn’t been back to L.A. I’d been sitting with her when she’d called Oliver to tell him the full story last fall. About who she really was and what had happened to her.

  She hadn’t been sure what the future held for her as far as her career in music. But the answer had come from an unexpected place: that little song journal she carried around.

  I remembered her writing down song lyrics when we were younger, but when she returned to Bootleg, I hadn’t seen her writing. After the judge had been taken into custody—he was charged with a multitude of crimes that ought to keep him in prison for life—and his psychotic wife had left this world, she’d pulled out a journal one day and her pen had practically lit the pages on fire.

  She’d started writing songs, all right. She couldn’t seem to stop. And then Attalon Records had started buying the rights to the ones she didn’t mind selling. Some were too personal—she saved those for herself, or for the two of us to sing together. But the rest, she happily sold to other artists. It allowed her to keep doing what she loved without having to live on the road.

  Once in a while, a tangled-up musician would call her, begging for help. She’d do that thing she did, talking to them in that sweet, calm voice. Getting serious when she had to. She’d remind them they could do it. Help them find the strength or calm or creativity they needed. Then she’d bark at them to get the fuck back to work.

  Sexy as hell, my girl.

  She delivered a couple of mason jars of moonshine to Quincy and Henna. They stuck out like sore thumbs in our little country bar, with their tie-dyed clothes, beads, and crystals. But they’d become regular visitors to Bootleg. And true to form in this town, Bootleg had folded them right on in.

  I liked Callie’s Blue Moon family. They’d taken care of her when she’d desperately needed it. Helped her heal and grow into the amazing woman she was now. I could have done without Henna’s smacking mouth kisses whenever she saw me. But I was getting used to them. And, to be fair, she did it to my brothers too.

  Callie kissed them both on the cheek and came over to join me by the stage.

  “Are we about ready?” she asked.

  “All set.”

  Hung and Corbin took their places. I sat on my stool and put my foot up on a rung. Settled my guitar in my lap. Callie took the stool next to me and adjusted the microphone in front of her.

  “Hey, y’all,” I said. I didn’t usually open with a greeting or an introduction. But I’d invited everyone I knew to be here tonight, so it seemed fitting. “Glad to have everyone in out of the cold. Time to get going with a little music. What do y’all say?”

  Clapping, whistling, hoots and hollers. Everyone in the Lookout cheered.

  “All right, then.”

  I glanced at my girl and she smiled. Her hair was all blond now. No more funny colors. She’d dyed it recently, saying she thought it was time for a change. I thought she looked beautiful either way.

  She nodded that she was ready, and I strummed the first chord.

  It was a song she’d written. I’d helped her put music to the words. We’d never performed it for an audience before—not unless you counted Cash. He loved it, but we also fed him and gave him peanut butter smeared on dog toys, so he tended to love just about everything we did.

  She sang the first lines, her sultry voice carrying through the room. The crowd was quiet, gazing at her. My fingers strummed the chords and I felt the music deep inside. The crowd felt it too, and their energy pinged off me. It was heartfelt and electric, feeding my soul. Making me smile.

  I came in when it was my turn, my deep voice mingling with hers. Our eyes locked as we sang together. A song that told our story. About afternoons spent on the woods, a lonely girl and a bad boy with a guitar. About friends turned lovers, the slow dance of time not enough to keep them apart.

  And about happy endings and coming home.

  My heart was full as I strummed the final notes. Callie smiled at me so big and so bright, I thought she just might light up the whole place. Distantly, I was aware of the crowd cheering. More clapping and whistling. Hooting and hollering.

  I waited, a sudden kick of adrenaline running through my veins. Smiled at my girl and tried not to let my nerves get the better of me.

  The noise finally died down and I leaned closer to the mic. “Thanks, y’all. And thanks for coming out tonight. I think most of y’all know, Callie and I were friends back in the day because of a guitar and a song. She wandered over to a log I was sittin’ on while I strummed my guitar and she sat herself down like she knew she belonged there.”

  I adjusted the guitar in my lap while the crowed oohed and ahhed.

  “And it was a song that brought her back home,” I said. “So I thought it fitting that I do this here, tonight, after singing our song.”

  The bar went silent while I stood and lifted the guitar strap from my shoulders. Callie watched me hand my guitar to Hung, her eyes wide and hopeful. My heart beat so hard I was surprised the mic didn’t pick up the sound.

  But I looked into her beautiful eyes and I knew this was right. I’d known it almost from the moment she’d walked back into my life.

  “Callie, my mama made me promise I’d never get married, except for one reason. Only if I was stupid in love.”

  She laughed softly.

  “I’m happy to say, I’m stupid in love with you. And if being stupid in love means I get to spend the rest of my life with you, I reckon it’s the smartest thing I’ll ever do.”

  I lowered myself to one knee and she clapped her hands over her mouth. The crowded bar probably reacted, but I wasn’t paying attention to them anymore. Just her. Just us.

  I pulled the ring out of my pocket. A simple solitaire, just like I already knew she wanted.

  “Callie, will you marry me?”

  “Yes,” she said, her answer muffled by her hand. She nodded, her hair falling into her face. Her eyes welled with tears. “Yes, Gibson.”

  With the b
iggest smile of my life, I took her hand, and slid my ring on her pretty finger.

  Standing, I scooped her into my arms and held her tight. Rocked back and forth with her while everyone in the Lookout—our neighbors, friends, and family—all cheered for us.

  It was funny how life had a way of coming full circle. Callie’s disappearance had been like dropping a rock into still water. The ripples had started small, but widened as they went. Her life and her story had touched a lot of people. Even changed some lives.

  Mine was sure one of them.

  A guitar and a song. That was why we’d become friends. And a guitar and a song had brought her home. Now she was here, in my arms, where she was always going to stay. Here, in my hometown, surrounded by our family and friends. It was a fresh start. A new life. One we were going to live together, and live good.

  For us—for all of us—Bootleg Springs was our happily ever after.

  * * *

  Need more Bootleg Springs in your life? How about a special bonus epilogue, plus where are they now updates, and a look behind the scenes into the making of Bootleg Springs!

  GIMME THE ALL THE BONUS MATERIAL!

  If you loved Bootleg Springs and want more small-town romance, check out:

  The Blue Moon series by Lucy Score

  And

  The Miles Family series by Claire Kingsley

  Afterword

  Dear reader,

  Here we are, at the end of the journey. The Bodines have found their happily ever afters. Callie Kendall is home.

  I’ve never experienced anything in my career quite like the anticipation, expectations, and reader theories surrounding this book. Don’t get me wrong, those things were fun and amazing. But they did make writing this book uniquely challenging.

  From the very beginning, Lucy and I knew Callie Kendall would be Gibson’s heroine. Early in our brainstorming, we came up with the idea to have a town mystery. And once we decided it would be a missing girl, we knew we’d bring her back in the last book. It’s where the series was leading the whole time.