Cinnamon’s Courageous Heart: Sweethearts of Country Music, Book 5

by Summers, Ryan Jo

  She fished her phone out and dialed once more. “Val? It’s Cinnamon. I just fired Felicity.” In two sentences she explained why they were out a merchandiser and hung up again. Her shoulders sagged and she hung her head. She heard car doors and engines rev and wondered if any of them were Silas. She was safe back here. When Nick arrived, he’d know to look around back. Nick always knew where to find her.

  * * *

  “Are you sure you’re up to this? You look terrible,” Nick asked

  .

  “I love you, too. I just need to swing by the store and get a few things.” She refused to go home last night. She called Karen to please take care of Galoot one extra day. Most of her stuff was still on the bus, she just needed a few personal things and a new bag. She could get both at the dollar store. And Nick was glad to drive her to Nashville to the studio. She’d have one of the girls drive her home after the tour ended. It should be safe by then.

  See, she had it all figured out.

  Except how to keep the shattered pieces of her heart together. The tour would help, but once she returned home, remainders of Silas were going to be everywhere.

  With wisdom gleaned from being her big brother forever, he quietly drove her to the dollar store in Bristol Cove. She bought what she needed, and they made their way to the label’s lot. Most everyone was ready. Nick gave her a hug

  .

  “Baby, just be careful.”

  She smiled at his nickname for her. Baby sister. She knew he meant to be careful with her heart and emotions. She felt as fragile as a porcelain doll. And Nick would know that.

  “I’ll be fine. Thanks for being you.”

  She waved and boarded the bus. Mac was right at her side.

  “That’s not the contractor.”

  Narrowing her eyes, almost ready to bare her teeth in a snarl, Cinnamon met Mac’s eye.

  “No, that isn’t. That’s my brother. Are we ready to do this?”

  * * *

  The first two shows were in Mississippi, and two more followed in Alabama. Madison complained about the lack of snow. She tried to lure Cinnamon into helping her work on coloring her map but Cinnamon preferred to stay in her bunk. Madison wouldn’t let her stare blindly out the window and pretend she was hard at work writing songs.

  “Wanna talk about it, girlfriend?” Katie Lyn asked for the umpteenth time. She bumped shoulders with Cinnamon as they exited the bus at the next stop. “You’re like a cardboard cutout. You look like you, but there’s nothing behind the image.”

  “I’m good. If you’re fine with my stage performances, we’re set.”

  Kat gave a slow nod. “You’re one hundred percent on stage. And about zero percent off.”

  The next show was in Georgia. It landed on March twenty-second, Cinnamon’s birthday. As the show ended, and the girls took a bow to the applause, a man walked across the stage to Cinnamon. He held a huge vase of pink, red, white, and orange flowers. “Delivery for Cinnamon Chadwick.” He handed over the bouquet with an uneasy smile. “Happy birthday.”

  The crowd loved it, thinking it was part of the show, and burst into singing Happy Birthday. The girls on stage exchanged startled looks but soon joined in singing and playing their instruments.

  Cinnamon held the bouquet, not needing to read the card. He must have checked online far enough to discover her birthday. Tears burned her eyes and she scrubbed them away. As soon as the song was finished, she thanked the crowd and blew them kisses. She turned and thanked her bandmates, knowing there was some explaining she’d have to do. As quickly as she could professionally manage it, she slipped off stage and set the delivery down on the first table she came to. Someone else could have it.

  * * *

  “Why didn’t you tell anyone it was your birthday?” Rissa demanded.

  “Kat knew.”

  “I forgot. Honestly, I’ve been so busy with Madison, it totally escaped my mind. Cin, I am so sorry.”

  “Were those from Silas? Why’d you dump them?”

  Questions came like bullets. She wanted to curl into a ball and cry. Finally, she held her hands out in appeal, to quiet them. “Okay, look. They’re from Silas. I don’t want them because we broke up. I caught him making out with Felicity while we were at the Turquoise Horse the night before we left for this leg. He tried to lie and bully himself out of it, but I know what I saw.”

  As shock and disbelief swept over them, she took advantage of the moment and got up. She made her way to her bunk and pulled the curtain closed. Next stop was Florida. She’d emerge then.

  16

  “We have a big surprise today on WFMC, Florida’s Melting Country. I’m Luanne, your host, and with me are the members of the group Lipstick Outlaws. Folks, this band has been taking the country world by storm since they broke out just a year ago. And what a whirlwind year they’ve had. And they’re here with us in studio today!”

  Cinnamon listened to Luanne ramble on, extolling their accomplishments as she stared at the red On Air sign. On one level, she was excited. Another interview, the last leg of the tour, looking at opportunities for the next step in their careers. Val was working behind the scenes to keep them moving. It was a big time for them. On the other side, she felt numb. Drained. Empty. How could he do that? How could he draw her into a relationship, promising her the moon and stars, and then get entwined with flirty little Felicity while she went to the bathroom?

  Was he trying to get caught? She read or heard somewhere cheaters do so and get a thrill off the fact they won’t get caught, but they play it to the very edge. Was that his deal? She had really misread him if that was his true nature. But hadn’t she proven with Alton she was a terrible judge of character? And now she had a house that was wall-to-wall memories of Silas. She wanted to go home and yet she never wanted to see that farmhouse again.

  “So, let’s start with introductions first, ladies.” Luanne’s perky voice penetrated Cinnamon’s mental fog. She dutifully waited her turn, then recited her name, hometown, and her role in the band. It was sort of like reciting things in school when she was a kid.

  Luanne kept the interview going. She had pre-arranged questions, very typical of what they’d been asked at other radio interviews and the listeners could call in with their own questions.

  “Caller, you’re on the line. Do you have a question for the Lipstick Outlaws?”

  “I do. My name is Mary and I was wondering when you all discovered music as something you wanted to pursue?”

  “Great question, Mary,” Taylor jumped on it. “I was always fascinated by music from my first memories and trained at Julliard to follow a classical music path.”

  Others commented on their beginnings in music. Cinnamon was last.

  “I think music is something that finds you when you need it. It might be when you’re young, or maybe not until you’re older, but it’ll speak to you when your time is right. That is when you should pursue that passion.”

  Luanne complimented the Outlaws and greeted the next caller.

  “Hi. Welcome to sunny Florida. I’m Terry. I was wondering if any of you were married or in relationships. If so, how does all the time on the road balance out with quality time back home? I hear of artists that spend three hundred or more days a year on the road and that has to be crazy on the relationships.”

  “Fortunately, we haven’t been gone too terribly long yet,” Katie Lyn spoke first.

  Taylor spoke up. “And I can’t imagine being gone from home for hundreds of days a year like some artists do.”

  Cinnamon listened about their boyfriends, home life, and all that until it was her turn. Her heart twisted as she carefully chose her answer. She tried to pretend she didn’t notice the band members watching her like worried mother hens.

  “I was in a relationship. It was complicated but I thought he was the one. I . . . I really wanted it to work. Turns out he’s like all the rest of them.”

  “Thank you, Terry, for a good question. Next caller, you’re on t
he air.”

  * * *

  Silas drove down the interstate, his laptop playing some station in Florida. He had no idea if she liked the flowers he’d sent. He thought it was a lucky break he stumbled upon her birthday while scrolling early factoids about the band. He’d been unable to Skype her because her laptop was still at the house. As far as he could tell, she never came home after that night at the bar. He’d be willing to bet another band member, or her brother, picked her up and she spent the night with them before leaving in the morning.

  He’d considered circling the bar outside to look for her but in the mood she was in, she’d probably belt him and he was already aching from smashing a table. He paid for the table, and the couple’s drinks, and slunk out of there like a scalded cat dragging its tail.

  All he could do was hope the flowers and the card with his note inside was enough to soften her anger while he waited until they returned. In the meantime, he had iHeart radio and her schedule. Right now, she was at the WFMC studios. And her responses to the introduction and early questions spoke of a woman who was down. His heart ached each time she made a comment. He wished he could call in, reach through, and hug her. He considered calling in and making a public apology to reach her.

  He slowed down and turned the already high volume even higher when the caller asked about their personal relationships. What would she say? He held his breath as he waited for her to speak.

  “I was in a relationship. It was complicated but I thought he was the one. I . . . I really wanted it to work. Turns out he’s like all the rest of them.”

  He slammed on the brakes as he stared at the laptop like it suddenly turned into a snake. The seatbelt bit into him and his coffee went flying to the floorboards. Gunner tried to dig in but still landed on the floor with a startled yelp.

  Like all the rest of them? Hadn’t she read his note? Cars honked as they swung around him. He didn’t care. He pulled over to the side of the road, rerunning her comment over in his mind. She used past tense. She was in a relationship. It was complicated. She thought he was the one. She wanted it to work. And he’s just like all the rest.

  Ouch, that hurt. Worse than busting a table.

  Cars still honked and he realized they weren’t swinging around him, they were dodging stuff on the highway. He glanced in his mirrors and his heart sank. Oh, crap. He must not have latched the tailgate securely when he left the home supply store. The tailgate was down. He slowly climbed out of the cab, exhaling deeply.

  Red paint, a full two gallons, rolled in the wind as trucks passed. The paint smeared for at least three hundred yards down the highway. His caulk guns and tubes of caulking lay scattered for two hundred feet. A gravel truck roared by, running one tube flat and kicking the other toward him. With a cry, he kicked it across the road. He had no clue where the bag of scrapers and brushes were that he bought and tossed back there. He scanned the highway but didn’t spot a gray plastic bag. It could be in the ditch. A semi screamed by, blaring its air horn. He jumped back over to the shoulder.

  Oh, crap. And he was just like the rest of them.

  He kicked stones and outstepped vehicles as he tried to salvage as much as possible. The two gallons of red paint and the squashed caulk were lost causes.

  And he was just like the rest of them.

  * * *

  “Cin, come have a seat.” Katie Lyn patted a spot beside her at the table. “Please, girlfriend.”

  “Why?” Since she almost took Mac’s head off a few times, glowered at the rest, and brushed off all attempts at mixing and mingling, they finally all backed off and just left her alone. They were in South Carolina, and nearly done with this last leg. Why try forcing her to peacefully cohabitate now?

  “Because I’m asking you.” Kat used that same tone when dealing with Madison when she was fractious. She again patted the spot next to her. She noticed the others milling around. Was this some kind of intervention? How could one have an intervention for a broken heart? She felt like kicking the ground except they were on the bus, and it was a bit childish.

  “Fine, what do you want?”

  She sat down and Kat put her arm around her. “Cin, we love you. You know that. We’re sisters, and when one hurts, we all hurt. We’ve been patient as you put yourself back together. When you declined our help, we respected that. We appreciate how you’ve remained a hundred percent on stage and fairly present at the interviews. But, baby, sweet Cin, we need you back. We want you back.”

  Kat’s embrace and pleading tone touched her heart. All fight went out of her. “It hurts.” Her voice cracked and tears pricked her eyes.

  Kat squeezed her hand. “We know. I know. So, we did something, and I think you’ll thank us. Rissa?”

  Rissa came over and set her laptop up beside them. “We wanted to fix this, so we went back to the scene of the crime, as it were. I contacted Jake and he pulled footage. Turns out you guys were conveniently seated where two cameras overlap, so we have two angles of what happened.” She clicked a few things on the keypad.

  Cinnamon watched the screen. She and Silas entered the Turquoise Horse and sat down. She could see how they talked about the band, his tender gaze fixed on her and the band, and then Silas was soon totally into them. She got up to go to the restroom and faded from the view. Not one minute later, Felicity stepped into the frame. Silas was still engrossed with the band, and he cast a glance toward the restroom every few seconds. Felicity approached from behind him and quickly threw herself into his lap, plastering her face against his, even as he pushed the chair back in an effort to get away. He placed his arms on her shoulders and tried to force her away. He tried to shake her off by standing up. It was then she re-entered the frame, horror on her face.

  Hot tears burned her eyes and slid down her cheeks, salty as they landed on her tongue. She looked at Rissa in mute appeal.

  “Right. And if there’s still any doubt in your mind, here’s the second camera.”

  She closed the video and opened the next one. It was identical, frame for frame, just from the angle coming from the stage. Placed over the band, the camera recorded what they’d see. And it was clear Felicity approached from behind, slithered around, and refused to be dislodged despite obvious attempts on Silas’s part to do so. The shock and distaste on his face matched Cinnamon’s when she returned.

  Cinnamon buried her head in her hands. Katie Lyn rubbed her shoulders. “What should I do?” she cried. “I said some horrible things. So, did he. We both behaved like kids. I told him to clear out and never come back.”

  “He sent you flowers. That’s a good sign. Was there any kind of note?”

  “I don’t know. I left everything backstage without even looking.”

  Rissa rolled her eyes. “That was smart.”

  “Can you call him? Email him? Skype him?”

  She shook her head. “My laptop’s at home. And I don’t know what to even say in a phone call.”

  “Maybe you can think about that until we get back home. It’s only three days away. By then you might have something to say to him.”

  She did think about it . . . constantly. She had overreacted, like he accused her of doing. He deserved at least an apology from her, even if he never wanted to see her again. The footage showed him crashing into the table and onto the floor, but nothing of what happened once she stormed off. Was he okay? Had she injured him?

  The fact that he sent flowers on her birthday was proof he still cared. Unless they were from Nick. She hadn’t considered that possibility until just now. What if that was Nick’s bouquet she left backstage?

  They had two more shows and they’d be home. In the meantime, she’d call Nick and ask about the flowers.

  17

  This was it, the last public appearance, interview, and show. The band climbed out of the bus in Asheville, North Carolina. Cinnamon gazed at the mountains that rimmed the town. On the other side of those blue-gray mountains was Tennessee—and home. But first, one more radio interview.<
br />
  “Welcome and thank you for tuning in. This is WHKP, Hendersonville, where the heavens kiss the peaks. I’m Sara, and this is Clive, and together, we’re your afternoon drive with Sara and Clive.”

  The two hosts shared the introduction. The chemistry between them was instantly visible when they entered the booth. These two people liked each other at a core level. And it led to a special vibe while they were on air.

  Introductions of the band were made, and the phone lines lit up because Asheville and Nashville weren’t that far apart, just over the mountain and a little beyond, a few of the girls had family and friends in the listening area. Cinnamon wondered if Silas might be listening. They were so close. Tomorrow they’d be home. Doubtlessly he would want to talk to her about the flowers. Nick denied sending them, so that just left Silas. What could she say? The truth.

  She fielded the questions expertly until time ran out. They thanked Sara and Clive for hosting them and offered two tickets for that evening’s show, complete with a backstage meet and greet. Then it was off to the Asheville Tourists ballfield. They’d been invited to come sing the National Anthem at the start of the game and there was a limo to ferry them across the few blocks to the U.S. Cellular Center where they’d perform the final show of the tour.

  She looked again at the towering mountains and silently counted down from twenty to calm herself. Almost home. She couldn’t wait.