Engaged in Trouble (Enchanted Events Book 1)

by Jenny B. Jones

  “Remember me fondly when your next solo album hits the big time.”

  My smile slipped, and I focused on the giant elk head hanging on the wall. “Nice place you have here. Very . . . National Geographic.”

  “You okay?”

  His words all but caressed my wounded spirit. “Right as rain.”

  “You didn’t have to come all the way out here. You could’ve just sent a text.” His Southern accent made everything out of his mouth both a comfort and an allure.

  I shrugged. “It seemed impersonal, given the gift.”

  “You could’ve waited ’til I got home.”

  Now I just felt silly. He was probably waiting for his girlfriend to drop by at any moment. “I wanted to see the place, as well as thank you.” I drew a circle pattern with the toe of my shoe. “And now I have. So I’ll just be off—”

  His hand lightly captured my arm. “Paisley?”

  “Yes?”

  “Do you want a tour?”

  “Nah. I just got my hair done today. I don’t want it to melt in the humidity.”

  “While you’re taking your seven o’clock call with Tokyo?”

  Or spending the rest of the evening in my pajamas eating ice cream directly from the carton.

  “If you have the time,” he said, “I’d love to show the place off. It’s had quite the makeover since we were kids.”

  Hadn’t we all? “I guess I have a little time.”

  An hour later, I sat on the back of Beau’s four-wheeler, my salon-straightened hair melted into curls, at least two bugs stuck to my skin, and my hands loosely anchored to his hips. Violet pink and lilac purple covered the sky as if God had airbrushed his favorite colors across the it. The moon hid in the distance, not quite ready to report for the night shift.

  Beau gently braked the four-wheeler, causing my body to lean into his. He glanced back at me, then pointed ahead. “That spot right by the low water bridge? Troops camped there during the Civil War. It’s said they had to move on or risk an attack, but they were loathe to leave it due to the prime fishing. It’s still one of the best fishing holes in the state of Arkansas.”

  “And it’s all yours.” I marveled at the scene around me, a landscape so different from the hustle, bustle, and smog of Los Angeles. “This is all yours.”

  He climbed off the ATV, then held out a hand for me to do the same. “Easy. The rocks can trip a girl in fancy shoes.”

  His fingers closed over mine as I slipped off the seat. When he let go, disappointment fluttered light as butterfly wings.

  Walking toward the creek, I inhaled the fresh air, letting my chest expand and fill with what could be my first cleansing breath in years. Birds chirped amid the border of trees surrounding us, frogs called out throaty demands, and crickets tried to outshout them all.

  “I’ve missed this.” The words tumbled out of my lips unbidden, a surprise to my own ears. But I knew it was true.

  Beau’s arm brushed mine as he came to stand beside me. “You thinking about staying?”

  “No.” I couldn’t. My life, all that I wanted was back in California. “But this town isn’t the torture I thought it would be. And it sure suits you. Are you glad you’re back?”

  Somewhere a bird sang a lonesome note. “It’s home.”

  “Did you expect to come back so soon?”

  “There were a few days in the service I didn’t expect to come back at all.” The rocks crunched beneath his feet as he walked to the river’s edge. He picked up a stone and threw it across the shimmery surface, where it skipped and danced to the other side before sinking to the depths below.

  “Are you happy with your life here?” I asked.

  “I’m content with seeing Fox Falls doing well.”

  “That wasn’t what I asked.” Beau looked like a model for an outdoor catalog—a man almost too handsome to be in the wild—yet one who knew exactly what to do with a fishing pole and hiking boots.

  “I’m not that interested in getting all zen and happy,” he said. “I have my business, this land, and in a few years I’ll build a house out here. I think that should qualify me as happy.”

  I picked up a rock, the warmth seeping into my skin. “There’s one very thin wall that separates your bedroom from mine.” With a flick, I released the rock, watching it fly to the water . . . and immediately submerge. “Sometimes I hear you yelling in the middle of the night.” His jaw tightened, and I knew I was trespassing on raw, barbed territory. “I can’t make out what you’re saying, but—”

  “We better get back.”

  I reached for Beau’s hand, halting his retreat. “I know you have nightmares. What you experienced in Libya must’ve been horrific.”

  “I survived.”

  There was something about a darkening sky and the sounds of night that loosened a tongue and unlaced inhibitions. I let my fingers slip around Beau’s. “Do you see it every night? When you close your eyes, are you right back there?”

  His deep breath was audible as he peered up at stars faintly winking in the darkening sky. “It’s with me day and night. Whether I’m awake or asleep, that place, that moment, those people are with me.”

  “Do you want to talk—”

  “No.” Beau pulled his hand from mine. “No, I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want sympathy, I don’t want compassion, and I sure don’t want to rehash every detail with the idea that it’s going to make me feel better. It’s not. Good men died that day. They were husbands, fathers, sons, friends. And it lives here.” He tapped his temple. “It lives right here. And I’m tired of being asked about it. Tired of it being the unspoken question even when I’m not asked about it. I don’t owe you or anyone else this story. Do you understand, Paisley?”

  “Yes.” My heart pounded in my chest, and shame burned my cheeks. “Yes. I’m sorry.”

  He stood as rigid as the mighty oaks around us. “If I keep you awake at night, then just move to another bedroom. Get some earplugs. Get a radio. Get a different house.”

  “No, it’s fine. It’s—”

  “It’s not fine, but there isn’t a thing I can do about it. I’m not taking their meds, and I gave up the whiskey last year. It just is what it is, and that’s mine to live with. Not yours, not my family’s, and not some therapist’s. Mine.” He stalked toward the four-wheeler, muttering all the way. “And by the way?” He pivoted and stomped back to where I stood. “You’ve got a whole grab bag of issues too. You know what I’m hearing through those walls?”

  “Me declaring my love to the contents of my refrigerator?”

  “You blasting your old albums. Over and over. You think I don’t hear that late at night? When are you gonna let that go?”

  “I have.”

  “Your days with the band are over.”

  “I know that. Would I be in Tiny Town, Arkansas, if I didn’t?”

  “And why are you here?”

  “Because I need my inheritance.”

  “But what’s it going to do for you? What can that money get you that you couldn’t make happen before?”

  Beau’s words were a rusty arrow piercing my heart. “You don’t understand the music business, so I’m not going to bother explaining it to you. But sometimes you have to invest in a new direction.”

  “A new direction in music?”

  “Yes. I’m waiting for a job offer from my agent any day now. What other direction would I be going in?”

  “A direction that uses your talent instead of your old fame.”

  That jerk. If we were in a black-and-white movie, I would slap my palm across his arrogant cheek. “Is this how you deal with a difficult conversation about yourself? You start insulting the other person? I guess it’s okay to delve into my life, but heaven forbid we talk about yours.” Anger propelled me in his direction, until we stood toe-to-toe. “You got anything else in there for me, Beau?”

  “You’ve lost your twang, you need to stop feeling sorry for yourself, and—” Beau’s finger pointe
d right at my nose. Breath held, I watched as his eyes dropped to my lips.

  “And?” I swayed toward him.

  “And—” His hand slid up my warm cheek, the touch featherlight. “You can’t skip a rock worth a flip.”

  Beau’s mouth dipped toward mine, and I leaned into him, parting my lips for the oncoming kiss. I closed my eyes as his lips hovered, then—

  We both jumped as a flock of birds lit from a nearby oak tree, flapping their wings like rude guests leaving a party.

  Oh, no.

  What had just happened?

  “I wasn’t going to kiss you.” Words fell in a jumbled arrangement. “Right then—when you were all leaning, and I was all leaning, and . . . I’m sure we’re both just in the first stages of heatstroke, but I definitely would not have kissed you.”

  “Of course not.” His chest rose in bursts. Sweat beaded at his hairline. “Same here. Sorry if I gave you that impression.” He made a lame gesture toward the four-wheeler. “Just part of the tour. We believe in friendliness here.”

  I swallowed back a laugh. “I’m sorry for the things I said, Beau.”

  His lopsided grin disappeared. “I’m not. I meant what I said.”

  How could I want to kiss him senseless one minute and push him in the creek the next? “I am not feeling sorry for myself.”

  “You are,” he said. “And it’s going to take you under if you’re not careful.”

  My anger returned with a flash. “You’re a fine one to talk.”

  He nodded toward the ATV. “Get back on the four-wheeler.”

  “I’d rather not.” I lifted my chin. “I’m just going to walk, thank you.”

  “It’s three miles out, you have fifteen minutes of daylight, and last night I saw a bobcat.”

  The pathway we’d taken had disappeared with the sun, and the terrain seemed indecipherable no matter what direction I looked. “Fine.” I climbed back on. “But I’m not touching you. And let the record show after we get back to the lodge, we’re no longer speaking.”

  Beau handed me my helmet, and his voice softened. “Why’d you come out here tonight, Sutton?”

  “I—” I started to rehash my earlier excuse—the new tires, the thoughtfulness, the generosity—but instead, I settled on the truth. “I don’t know.”

  “You have a lot going on in there.” He ran his finger over my forehead. “But I can’t be your diversion. And you can’t be mine.”

  And with that, he revved up the engine and tore off into the field, while I gripped the rack behind my seat.

  Dust billowed behind us, covering up the spot where we’d stood. As if we’d never talked.

  As if we hadn’t almost kissed.

  Chapter Twenty

  Monday mornings were like too-tight pants. Occasionally you had to wear them, but they sure pinched and pulled.

  My hair styled to near-perfection thanks to the long overdue cut and color, I walked out of the house in sequined black leggings, a gunstock gray sleeveless shirt that grazed my knees, and a tailored leather jacket older than most of the brides that came through Enchanted Events. My canary yellow heels landed hard on the concrete as I walked to the car.

  I’d managed to get one leg into the driver’s side when Beau’s truck whipped around the corner and jerked to a stop beside me.

  That man had nearly kissed me.

  My lips tingled at the memory.

  But he’d also said some really hurtful things, and any and all tingling body parts needed to remember we were mad at him.

  Shutting myself inside Shirley the Camry, I threw on my sunglasses, started the ignition, and turned up the radio louder than was proper at seven a.m.

  I’d just put it in reverse when a shadow fell and a large fist knocked on my window. Beau stood there on the other side, looking annoyingly handsome in dark jeans, Justin work boots, and a faded shirt promoting the high school football team.

  “Hey.” Beau pounded the glass again. “Stop the car.”

  I rolled down the window, but I was not turning down Justin Timberlake.

  “I’m sorry,” Beau said, his voice straining over one fabulous song.

  I continued to stare straight ahead, as if the picture window was the most riveting thing.

  “Paisley, I said I’m sorry.”

  The man had told me I was wallowing in self-pity. He’d all but called me lazy, said that I was coasting on who I’d been in the band. I’d lain awake for hours tossing his accusations around in my head.

  “Fine.” He planted both hands on the window frame and leaned in. “I’ll do it.”

  He smelled like he’d just stepped out of the shower. All Ivory and spice and aftershave and woods.

  Beau’s hand covered one of mine on the steering wheel. “Will you talk to me?”

  With apologies to Mr. Timberlake and his fine groove, I turned the radio off. “This thing you’re going to do—what exactly would that be?”

  “I’ll go to the Mitchell Crawford gala with you.”

  Oh. Well, wasn’t this an interesting and beneficial turn of events? “You sound like you’d rather eat railroad ties and wash them down with battery acid.”

  His lips quirked. “Maybe just a few swigs of the acid.”

  I needlessly checked my hair in my visor mirror. “Won’t your girlfriend mind?”

  “You and I would be going as friends.”

  “Of course.” The visor went up with a snap. “Friends.”

  “And Haley and I are . . .”

  “Complicated.”

  “Right. And not in a locked-down relationship.”

  “I’m sure she’s completely charmed by your romantic wrestling lingo.”

  “We’re not in a commitment.”

  “Does she know that?”

  “Paisley, do you want me to go to this thing with you or not?”

  I pretended to ponder this, as if I now had a handful of other escort options. “I suppose.”

  He ticked off some ground rules. “We keep our hands off each other, we don’t discuss personal crap, and you get three dances.”

  I angled my head his way. “Four.”

  “Done.” He reached out a hand to shake.

  “I would’ve settled for three.”

  His fingers gave mine a squeeze. “And I would have gone up to five.”

  Oh, the charm. It was as if he ate it for breakfast. “Did you leave work just to bring me this apology? You could’ve texted it.” It felt good to repeat his words from last night. “Maybe talked to me tonight when you got home?”

  He answered by walking to the other side of the car and getting in. His long frame settled into the passenger seat, and suddenly he was very near, spilling into my space. My rhinestone sunglasses caught his attention. “Did you steal those from a Barbie doll?”

  “Did you want something?”

  Beau sighed, brushed some dust off the dash, then sighed again. “So last night by the creek . . .” He chewed on his top lip while he decided on some words. “Something weird just came over me, and . . . I wanted to tell you everything. To completely unbuckle all I’ve held onto and give you every gory detail.”

  Now I was the one leaning into his space. “What would be so wrong about that?”

  “Because I can’t let it go. Not yet.”

  “What do you think is going to happen to you if you talk about it?”

  He briefly closed his eyes and shook his head, as if he were seeing snapshots of his past. “I’m sorry I said those things to you. I got defensive, I had a crazy moment, and I was wrong. It was nice of you to come out to Fox Falls.”

  “That’s it? Conversation over?”

  Beau’s head pressed against the seat, and he studied me while a minivan cruised by. “You’re going to pass out from heat exhaustion in that jacket.”

  Deflection again. “Your counselor must want to shoot himself on a regular basis.”

  “It’s a woman. And I’m pretty sure she started drinking heavily after making my acqu
aintance.”

  I knew he was done sharing. “Beau?”

  “Yeah?”

  “What if you’re right?”

  “About my shrink being a lush?”

  “About my life being nothing more than hits from a decade ago.”

  “That’s not what I said.”

  “I want to be more than the third girl of Electric Femmes nobody can name. More than a suspected murderess who was embarrassingly wronged by her loser ex-fiancé.”

  “Then make that happen.”

  He made it sound so simple. “How’d you pull yourself from the pit after the ambush? How’d you find the will to carry on and start over?”

  Beau opened his door, the heat rushing in as he pulled himself out. “One step at a time.”

  * * *

  There was something special about Enchanted Events in the mornings when it was just me there. The building was hush quiet except for the settling of old walls, and the light filtered in through all the antique windows like radiant beams from heaven. I could hear my great-aunt Zelda clucking about hemlines and shotgun weddings. Still smell her musty, dusty stack of bridal magazines that were as outdated as her beehive. If I squinted my eyes, I could see my reflection in the lacquer of the hardwood floor and pretend the woman looking back at me was truly the boss, the proprietor, the one who knew what she was doing. The space seemed to welcome me, beckon me. But I wasn’t sure what to do with the invitation.

  “The minister for the McKenzie wedding unexpectedly moved out of state.”

  I turned at Henry’s voice.

  He stood in the doorway, wearing just the hint of a smile and a charcoal suit that probably cost more than my car. “I’ll need you to find a replacement.”

  I offered a hesitant grin. “I’ll get right on that.”

  “I hear the string quartet we often employ showed up drunk to last Saturday’s event. You might call them and give them a warning not to arrive at the Feeney reception in the same manner.”

  “Nobody wants to hear a tipsy viola.”