Mac’s Daring Heart: Sweethearts of Country Music, Book 6

by Layne, Sandi

  “Ah, Mike has great taste in furniture,” Derek said, relaxing visibly into the leather. “Yes, I was in school with Andy. I just flew in from Arizona for the tux fittings, saw the folks, and I’ll be headed back out to finish the opening of my project in Phoenix. Usually, though, I’m here. Well, in Brentwood. That’s where Corporate is.”

  She nodded as if that made all kinds of sense to her, even though it didn’t. “So, you went to school with Andy?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Law school or undergrad?” Her big brother had his Juris Doctor as well as his M.B.A.

  “Well, he went for a dual degree, Andy did.”

  Pride burbled in Mac’s chest. “He sure did.”

  Derek smiled in a patient, closed-mouth kind of way as he moved to lean forward over his knees. “Are you gonna sit down or what?”

  She blushed, embarrassed. “Sorry, yeah. I was just, I guess, keeping my eyes on you.” And wasn’t that the truth? Hopefully, he wouldn’t figure out why, though.

  His full smile was back and he held up a hand. “Hey, total stranger shows up and what do you know, right? Keep pepper spray on you or something?”

  Instead of answering, she settled into a corner of the rust-red sofa. It clashed with the exposed brick, but she didn’t even care. “I’ll never tell,” she decided to say. “You went to Vanderbilt, then. Business?”

  “What, I don’t look like a lawyer?” he asked with a twinkle in his eye.

  “Not any of them that I know, anyway. And that includes Andy.”

  “Yeah, business. Blakemore Properties.” She nodded; they were a prominent company with offices around the country. “I work mostly in Arizona and Tennessee.”

  “I’m based here, too.” Her phone beeped with Micah’s alert and she pulled it from the pocket of her jeans. “Just a sec. Ah, Micah’s on his way. He apologizes for being late and promises to give you his dessert at the rehearsal dinner.” She grinned at Derek. “Lucky guy! I happen to know what’s on the menu! So, did you like Vanderbilt?”

  He cocked his head and studied her a moment. “You say that like I might not have liked it.” She made a beckoning motion with her hands to get him to answer and he shrugged. “Did you go there?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did you follow in your brother’s footsteps? Study business or law?”

  “Me?” She snorted and tapped the magazine restlessly against her thigh. “No. The parents wanted me to study music so I . . . studied music.”

  “What do you play?”

  “Violin.” She didn’t elaborate; she didn’t feel the need to. He’d see her play later that evening at the rehearsal dinner—her mother had insisted—and the wedding the next day.

  He held the silence for a moment before speaking again, in a tone that clearly said he was putting on his polite company manners. “So, yeah. Mike didn’t tell me I’d be meeting his girlfriend.”

  “Girlfriend?” Her eyes popped as she stared at him. “Are you kidding me?”

  He held up a hand. “No, don’t get mad at him. I mean, he’s not the kind to kiss and tell, you know?”

  Indignation thrummed through each limb as she started pacing again. “The unmitigated twit! Fine guy he is. Girlfriend?”

  Derek’s conciliatory expression shifted to wary in a heartbeat and despite her building growl she saw him glance to her left hand. Maybe he was looking for a ring?

  What had her brother been saying?

  Derek held up a hand. “No, wait, I mean—”

  “Micah Cunningham lives here with—”

  “With Bambi?”

  “Bambi!” She couldn’t believe Micah had used that name with a total stranger. She flung the magazine to the floor.

  Her outburst had him out of the comfortable chair in a second. “Wait, you said your name was Mac, right?”

  “And my twin—stupid, jerky, specimen of a brother—calls me Bambi. Idiot. Urrgghh!”

  Derek Blakemore let out one surprised breath before he threw back his head and laughed. Loud and long and unrestrained. Longer than she thought the situation warranted, anyway. She refused to let go of her irritation while he did so. Finally, he shook himself and rubbed one hand over that scruff on his jaw, making the most beguiling male sound and softening her mood completely. He looked her in the eye as he fell back in Micah’s chair. “You’re Bambi?”

  “Only he calls me that.”

  Derek steepled his fingers in front of his chin and stared at her. She felt herself blush so moved to sit on the sofa across from Micah’s chair, on the other side of the square, glass-topped coffee table. After busying herself with getting comfortable amidst two patterned pillows and an afghan, Mac gave up and met his eyes again. “What?”

  “I just feel like I’ve seen you somewhere before. Does Andy keep pics of you anywhere?”

  “Maybe on his phone? I haven’t a clue. I mean, who keeps pics of their little sister around? Do you have pics of your sister anywhere?”

  He shook his head. “No sister, sorry. But wait. Wait.” He dropped his hands and that big grin spread across his face again and Mac couldn’t help but smile as her insides melted pleasantly in the warmth he shared. “Andy said his sister was in a band.” His focus fell to her copy of Country Music, where she’d dropped it on the floor during her tirade. Nearly blurring with speed, Derek managed to evade the sharp corner of the table to snatch up the magazine from the floor.

  Of course, it basically fell open to the pages where Lipstick Outlaws was featured. Mac blushed. Sure, they’d been interviewed on Crook and Chase and yes, they’d opened for Little Big Town, Miranda Lambert, Waylon Bishop, and even Luke Bryan. Yes, they’d gained in popularity and were scheduled to feature on the Riverfront Stage at the CMA Fest that summer—which news Val McCann and Jack Bradley had imparted that still had her pinching herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. But still . . . Mac kind of liked that no one in her normal life paid a lot of attention to her band life. She kept them separate to spare herself the numerous parental lectures.

  Derek interrupted her silent, self-conscious fretting with a low whistle. “No way. You play bass guitar. But Andy said his sister played the fiddle?”

  A strange feeling swam in her chest. “He did not. He would have said violin. Like our folks do.”

  “Right, but I figured, you know, country bands have to have a fiddle player, right?”

  “Cinnamon Chadwick plays the fiddle. I play bass,” she shot back, her spine stiffening. “And yes, there we are.” He settled back in the chair once more, crossing his legs at the ankles to read the article, presumably. She felt uncomfortably as if she were under a microscope, so she cleared her throat. She thought of C.C. and her bravery and Val and her fierce determination and Rissa’s unifying personality and Taylor’s creativity. She remembered Katie Lyn and her daughter, Madison, and Cinnamon and her commitment to the band and its success . . . and she blew out a breath and decided that her band and non-band lives were going to have to co-exist sometime, so . . .

  “Have you heard us?”

  He dropped the magazine and launched himself from the chair in one long movement, but he didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands as he moved to the large window and stared out. “Yeah.”

  Her heart thudded. “Oh?” Had he hated them?

  Not turning around, he rocked up on his toes, as if whatever he was looking at out the window fascinated him. “Yeah. I was at a business meeting at the Origin at Red Rocks in Colorado, and the company had acquired tickets to a concert during the whole weekend meeting event thing. Entertaining future business prospects and all that, y’know?” He paused and Mac thought she made some sort of agreeable sound, but she was also holding her breath a bit to find out what he thought of the band. He turned back around and looked at her again, though, with a wary gaze that was hard to interpret with the backlighting of the window behind him. “So, there was this band opening for the headliner and it was all girls, right?” They shared a smile and he continued
. “I borrowed a colleague’s binoculars to take a good look at y’all.”

  “Ah,” was all she found she could say to the crooked smile he offered her.

  “You sounded great, by the way. I liked the one song that went, er, well, shoot. I don’t have my harmonica, or I’d play it for you. I’m not a singer, sorry.”

  “Neither am I, really. I had to have some vocal education, but it was decided I’m your basic church-choir alto. I’ve got about four good notes in me.”

  He reached for the magazine, which was then on the coffee table. “So, do I apologize for not recognizing you right away when you opened the door?” He pointed at the picture of Lipstick Outlaws. “Gotta say, you don’t look the same up close and personal.”

  Irritated but unable to resist pursuing the matter, Mac made herself lean back and cross her legs. Slowly. “You’re not the first person to say so,” she allowed, thinking with amusement of Micah’s first response to her concert look. “I’m thinking you probably look more put together when you’re at the office.”

  Unexpectedly, he laughed again, his eyes crinkling and white teeth showing with obvious pleasure. “Touché!”

  With a smirk, she acknowledged that their little confrontation—such as it had been—was over. She couldn’t seem to make herself stop smiling at him, though.

  He appeared to have a similar problem and, all at once, the room seemed to have become heavy with expectation. Heat rose up her throat and Mac blew out a breath and pushed herself up to her booted feet. “So!” she said with a gust of air. “Can I get you something to drink while we wait for my twin to show up?”

  “Your twin? Right. You said. So, who’s older?”

  Folks asked that question all the time. “I’m the big sister, he’s the little brother.” She moved around the sofa to the small kitchen with its shiny white counters and steel appliances.

  “He’s got to have at least six inches on you,” Derek opined. “Stand still a sec.”

  She complied, holding her breath again as he drew near. She didn’t want to look like she was nervous, though, so she endeavored to meet his measuring gaze with a smirk. “Spend a lot of time with Micah?”

  “No, not really, but I’ve got a good head for distances. Even from the floor to the top of your head.” She could feel the heat that rolled from his body as he stood directly in front of her. His voice was a little rough when he placed his hand near her head—never quite touching her, but she was not really surprised to find she wouldn’t have really minded if he had. “Yeah. About six inches.”

  “Oh,” she said on a breath. “He is about as tall as you are.” She cocked a brow. “And takes up about as much space, too. May I?” she prodded, jerking her head toward the refrigerator while ignoring the rhythm of her nervous heartbeat.

  He stepped away as if guilty of some minor indiscretion and bowed a little. “Of course, ma’am.”

  “What’ll it be, then?”

  She got him a soda in a small bottle and a drinking glass and was in the midst of pouring her own when the front door opened, and her brother’s voice echoed vibrantly.

  “Hey! Bambi!”

  “I will end you,” Mac said, her tone flat as she met Derek’s smiling eyes.

  Her twin blew into the kitchen, a messenger bag slung over one shoulder. He wore trousers and a shirt that were business-casual, and his brown hair was short and done in whatever his stylist said was the latest thing. It was short and half upswept, a look that Mac didn’t personally care for, but he ran with it as he ran with nearly everything. Micah had always been able to carry off whatever he chose in his personal appearance and habits.

  He tossed his bag with negligent grace to his preferred chair before crossing the floor to wrap an arm around her shoulder. And in an instant, he met her gaze and his grew serious, evaluative. It was a look they had shared for years after any type of separation and it asked, Are you okay?

  Because when all was said and done, they were twins. Best friends. Womb-mates. Weird as it sounded, the name had applied once upon a time. She nodded and he pulled on a lock of her hair in acknowledgement before turning to greet Derek with the usual male handshake ritual.

  “Sorry, I got tied up with the game producers,” Micah said by way of excuse as he checked his watch. “I think we can still hit the tux place before the rehearsal, though, if we hurry.”

  Derek downed a healthy swallow of his soda pop and smiled. “I’m ready if you are. Mac? Nice to meet you.” He extended his hand to her and she took it, trying not to blush at the nervous buzzing sensation she experienced as his skin touched hers for the first time.

  “Likewise,” was all she said. “See y’all later at the Plantation.” The wedding was taking place at Belle Meade Plantation and Mac reflected, perhaps belatedly, that she should probably spruce up before the rehearsal.

  INTERLUDE I

  Mac & Cecilia

  Mac: CC!! I met the most gorgeous guy. Like. Ever.

  C.C.: Girl! Where are you?

  Mac: Home! But he came HERE!! He’s in Andy’s wedding tomorrow and—

  C.C.: Tell me he is NOT the best man. That’s straight from a Hallmark movie.

  Mac: Yes, he’s the best man and no, this is not a Hallmark movie. There are no dogs. No kids. Not even a dropped package or mistaken delivery.

  C.C.: What about mistaken identity?

  Mac: No - no, wait. Yes. Micah. Ugh. Anyway, he thought I was my brother’s girlfriend. I think. Maybe.

  C.C.: :-/ And he hit on you?

  Mac: No, at least, I don’t think he did. And he found out I’m a sister, not a girlfriend and he saw that article in the magazine.

  C.C.: So what’s his name? What does he look like other than gorgeous?

  Mac: Derek and I’ve got a pic! (She sends the pic she took for Micah.)

  C.C.: ! ! !

  Mac: IKR?

  C.C.: Yeah. He’s practically edible.

  Mac: Ya think? Yeah, I’ll see him later.

  C.C.: I want details!

  2

  Derek’s mind was still buzzing after he and Mike Cunningham left to run by the tuxedo shop. “Thanks so much for coming for me,” Mike said on a breath as they left the building. The sunshine was occasionally impeded by clouds, but the warmth of the day was welcome as spring had arrived late that year. He shot Derek a grin. “I didn’t want to have to worry about drinking and driving home tonight, so I figured I’d get a ride home with someone.”

  “After the bachelor party?” Derek smiled as well, fishing his keys out of his pocket. “I didn’t plan anything too wild, though, so no worries about a hung-over groom tomorrow.”

  “Too bad!”

  The men shared a laugh as they reached Derek’s gunmetal gray Nissan. “Oh, we’ll take some pictures for posterity,” Derek told the other man. “Andrew Cunningham has always believed in planning for the future, after all.” He remembered that Mike was, in fact, Andy’s younger brother, so he decided to poke around for some family stories.

  If he asked about Andy first, he figured, he could then ask about Mac—the woman who had completely done a number on his head since she’d opened her door less than an hour before. He got the motor running and punched the address of the rental store into the GPS before he looked to Mike once again. “So. Any good stories? I knew Andy at Vandy—” Mike groaned in patent appreciation and Derek figured that was a good sign. “Sorry, I had to. Can’t take Vanderbilt too seriously or you get a big head.”

  “Obviously,” Mike retorted. Derek heeded the directions to get to the rental place while listening to Mike’s stories of childhood hijinks. There weren’t many in which Andrew played a role. “See, Andy is six years older than we are,” Mike stated after stretching out his legs as far as they could go. Derek could see him shrug out of the corner of his eye. “He’s basically always done what was expected. When we were kids, he was Mr. Role Model. And the in-house babysitter, you know?”

  “I can imagine, yeah. He’s always been super-respon
sible. No freshman disasters or anything at Vandy.”

  “If you want to hear about pranks, you’d have to ask about me and my sister,” Mike said, his tone clearly inviting Derek to do so.

  So, he did. Every bit of his brain was piqued to hear more about the girl he’d heard of as Bambi—which had given him a rather unusual mental image before he’d met her—and then met as Mac and found out she was the bass guitar player for a really hot bunch of ladies in country music. And he really didn’t want Mike to know he’d had dreams about the gorgeous bassist in her thigh-high boots and deeply hued lips as seen at Red Rocks in Colorado.

  He figured to go for stuff that might have wound up on social media. “Anything on Facebook?” he asked as he waited at a red light.

  Mike laughed a little. “Oh, man. Well, no, but there probably would have been, if we’d been on Facebook back then.” Derek glanced at him, catching a hint of color moving up Mike’s throat. “Yeah. Well, we got into a bit of trouble in middle school. She and I kind of, um, broke into the school offices and turned everything upside down.”

  The light changed and Derek could only ask, “What do you mean?”

  “Complicated process,” Mike said slowly, “involving turning chairs over and the stuff on the secretaries’ desks and stuff. Nothing was stolen. Nothing broken. Just . . . turned over. We took pictures, of course.”

  “Of course,” Derek murmured, changing lanes and trying to imagine a young Mac Cunningham getting up to that kind of mischief. “So, you got caught.”

  “Oh, yeah. The fecal matter hit the air propellant device. See, we’d managed to get backdoors into the system and put socks—actual socks—over all the cameras we knew about but . . .”