by Fay Robinson
“Now I know why you were so secretive and why you laughed when I offered to pay for dinner.”
“You’ll like this. Now loosen up and spread those quilts in the bed of the truck while I get the hot dogs ready.”
He left her no choice but to do what he said. She took care of the quilts while he burned the ends of the clothes hangers to sterilize them and prepared the hot dogs for cooking. When she’d finished, she joined him by the fire.
Obviously he’d planned this “dinner” in advance. The wood had already been stacked for the fire and he’d dragged a fat log near it that made a perfect place for sitting. He’d placed the lanterns several feet outside their small circle to give them light but draw the bugs away. Nearby was a small ice chest.
With the fire and the dark sky filled with millions of twinkling stars, she had to admit it was better than any dinner at a restaurant could have been. “You surprise me,” she said, sitting next to him on the log. “This is nice.”
He gave her that sexy smile of his and handed her a wiener with a wire pushed through it. She stuck it in the flames. “I was sure that once you got out here, you’d like it,” he told her.
“When did you plan this?”
“The beginning of the week, but I didn’t know until this afternoon whether it would be clear enough to see the show.”
“And what show is that?”
“Look up and watch for a few minutes.” She did. Before long a meteor streaked across the sky, then another. “The guy on the news said it’s supposed to be pretty impressive. I thought you’d enjoying watching the meteor shower if you had a comfortable spot. After we’ve eaten, we can crawl under those quilts and have front-row seats.”
Warmth suffused her, and she couldn’t blame it on the blazing fire. His idea had been so simple, yet she found it incredibly romantic. He was offering her a sky full of stars.
He reached behind them and opened the ice chest. “How about something to drink? I’ve got a bunch of different stuff.”
Kate leaned back and looked at the variety of soft drinks in the ice chest. “What, no wine to go with the hot dogs?” She picked up a grape soda and popped the top.
He laughed, but then he said seriously, “I don’t drink anymore, Kate. When I was young I did a good bit of drinking and, well, running around with women, but both quickly lost their appeal.”
“So what you told me before was true? You had a problem with alcohol?”
“No, not to the extent I led you to believe. Yeah, I drank a lot there for a while, more than I should have, but I gave it up easily and I’ve never missed it. My decision to stop wasn’t based on fear that I was becoming an alcoholic, but on wanting to take back control of my life. And despite what the tabloids said, I never used drugs. Never.”
“What about the women? Did you really screw your way across the country?” She asked the question in the same matter-of-fact way he’d thrown the comment at her during their argument weeks earlier. Asking it hurt, but she had to know the truth.
He took a sip of his Coke, considering his answer. “Boy, you dig right down to the bone, don’t you? I forget that sometimes.”
“You promised no more lies between us.”
“I don’t want there to be.”
“Then tell me the truth about the women, about Lauren. You say you loved her, but still you saw other women. You slept with other women.”
“Yes, I slept with a lot of women, but I never slept with another woman while Lauren and I were together. I would never do that to someone I cared for, and I swear that’s the truth. If she’d felt the same, maybe Bret and I wouldn’t have drifted so far apart.”
“What are you telling me?”
“You know what I’m telling you. You already know he was in love with her. He was also sleeping with her—which helped widen the rift between us.”
“I heard the rumors, but I wasn’t sure it had gone that far.”
“I blame her and not him. She only did it to hurt me, but Bret really did care for her.”
“What did you do when you found out?”
“I was angry and hurt. She’d used him, used both of us, and I broke off the relationship. Bret blamed me for what had happened between them. He said if I’d paid more attention to her, she wouldn’t have needed to turn to him. Maybe he was right. I don’t know.”
“Why did she want to hurt you? Because you were reluctant to help her solo career?”
“She didn’t have the talent or maturity to go it alone, Kate. And emotionally she wasn’t a very stable person. Sometimes it frightened me how despondent she could get and over the simplest things.”
“I’m surprised she stayed with the band after you broke it off.”
“Only because she thought she could finally talk me into helping her.” He gave her a sheepish look. “I had a reputation for being a soft touch with the band and the road crew. Lauren thought she could eventually convince me.”
“And she did.”
Sighing, he said, “Against my better judgment, I let her do a couple of songs on that last album.”
“And when the fans and critics hated her, she couldn’t handle it and she killed herself. Do you blame yourself for that, too?”
He turned away to stare into the fire. “Sometimes. I cared for her once and I wish I could’ve talked her into seeing a shrink, getting some help.” He cleared his throat. “Uh, I think you’ve cremated that hot dog.”
Kate yanked it out of the fire, where it had slowly turned black as they talked. The meat resembled a lump of coal, and smoke rose from the end. “Oh, shoot.”
“And you claim I’m a bad cook.” She punched him in the shoulder for that remark. “Here,” he said, handing her his. “Finish cooking this one while I fix some more.”
He rose and stuck several more wieners on the wires. This time Kate was more successful, and it wasn’t long before they were able to eat. “Not bad,” she said, finishing her third one.
“Want another?”
She patted her full stomach under the layers of thick clothing. “No, I think that was plenty.”
“Was it as good as going to a restaurant?”
“Ten times better.”
That made him smile. “How about some music?”
“I’d love some.”
He got up and walked to the truck, and Kate expected him to turn on the radio. When he pulled out a guitar from the jump seat, she held her breath. It must have been under the quilts, because she hadn’t seen it.
Sitting down next to her again, he tested the strings to see if they were in tune. “I’m rusty at playing in front of anybody,” he said. “Don’t be too critical.”
Critical? Was he kidding? She was a private audience for James Hayes and he was afraid she’d be critical?
His long fingers began to move over the strings and the sweet clear voice she knew so well filled the air. But this was a song she’d never heard before, although she knew—somehow—that he’d written it. The last note faded to silence and he stared at her. She couldn’t speak.
“You’re killing me, Kate. Say something.”
“That was incredible. Why haven’t I ever heard it before?”
“Because I only composed it a few months ago.”
“It is very different from your earlier songs, but I love it. Do you compose often?”
“A good bit. For myself and Sallie.”
“Will you play some of the songs for me?”
He played several more, all as beautiful as the first. Kate turned toward him on the log, crossing her arms over her knees. She put her head down to listen. Closing her eyes, she allowed herself to forget her problems and enjoy the moment.
“Hey,” he said, bumping her. “You’re not going to sleep on me, are you?”
“No, I was listening to you sing and play. Your voice is even more beautiful today than it was when you were performing. And I love these new songs. They’re wonderful.”
“Thanks. I think they’re the best
I’ve ever written.”
“I still like your old ones, too.”
“Do you have a favorite? Name it and I’ll sing it for you.”
Her heart squeezed painfully. He’d asked her the same thing the night he’d brought her up on stage. “‘Coming Home to You,”’ she said, her voice quaking.
He sang the ballad, the story of a man who achieves fortune and fame only to realize that everything of importance is waiting for him at home. As a teenager she’d fantasized that she was the wife of the man in the song, that she was the mother of the children he raced home to be with. And, of course, Jamie was the husband.
“Do you miss the life you had?” she asked when he’d finished. “I know you were unhappy, but isn’t there some part of it you enjoyed? I know I’d be devastated if for some reason I couldn’t write.”
“I still like composing and playing my guitar.”
“But is it enough to do that only for yourself and not for an audience?”
“I don’t know. I never really liked performing, but sometimes I wish…” He shook his head and she prodded him to continue. “Sometimes I wish people could hear the new songs I’ve composed. And my symphonies.”
“Symphonies?”
“That’s something I’ve tried in the last couple of years. I really love it, but I’m not sure I’m any good. I’m used to composing on a piano and I don’t have one here, so I’ve had to do the composing for all the instruments in my head.”
“James, I don’t know much about composing, but that has to be an incredible accomplishment.”
He shrugged. “Well, it’s interesting, anyway. My only regret is I’ll never hear the music actually played by an orchestra.”
“I regret that, too. I’d love to hear it.”
“But to answer your question, I’m happy living here and raising horses, being able to do small things like going out to the grill and having a leisurely breakfast without some fan trying to tear me apart.”
“Or some nosy reporter stealing your bacon?”
“Yes,” he said, chuckling. “This freedom’s a wonderful thing after years of having to hide inside my house in Chattanooga. It makes up for not being able to sing and play publicly.”
“Honestly?”
“Yes, but…I have to admit I didn’t realize how lonely this life would be. In some ways I’m still a prisoner, because I’m shackled by the lies I’ve told. And any woman who shares my life would also have to share my lies and honor my decision not to have children. I know it’s not fair to ask anyone to do that, to live with me knowing that at any time my secret could be discovered and our lives could change. She’d have to be pretty special. And she’d have to love who I am now and not the rock star.”
His eyes told her he wanted her to be that woman.
“James, I don’t know what you expect me to say.”
“Yes, you do, but obviously you’re not ready to say it. I can wait.” He took her hand, lightly rubbing his thumb across her fingers. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to spoil the night for you.”
“You haven’t. I’ve loved every minute of it.”
“You’ll love this next part even more. The meteors are really starting to pick up. Want to watch a country boy’s idea of a show?”
“Country boy, I wouldn’t miss it.”
HE’D BROUGHT six quilts, enough for padding underneath them and cover to keep them warm. Until she was lying next to him in the makeshift bed, James hadn’t considered how difficult it would be to keep his hands to himself. Within minutes he’d shed his jacket, the heat of his desire making him feel like one of those wieners roasting over the fire.
Bad analogy, he realized as he shifted to relieve the pain of his arousal.
Despite the cold, he could easily make love to her right here, and he sensed that it wouldn’t take much on his part to persuade her. He was, after all, an expert at talking women out of their clothes. But this wasn’t just some woman he’d picked up to ease his need for sex. This was the woman he loved. He didn’t want to hurt her. Before, when she thought he was Bret, they had moved too quickly toward a sexual relationship. When, or if, they had one now would depend on her.
“Are you uncomfortable?” Her voice broke the silence.
“No, why?”
“You’re so restless.”
Restless wasn’t the word for it.
“I’m fine,” he said. “Are you comfortable? Not too cold?”
“Too warm, actually. I think I’ll take off this jacket.”
Better leave it on if you know what’s good for you.
“I’ll help you.”
She sat up and he pulled off the jacket, tossing it at their feet. Settling down under the quilts again, she sighed, “Much better.”
A large glowing light raced across the sky. “Fire-ball!” they shouted in unison.
“I saw it first,” Kate said.
“No way. You only yelled after I did.”
“I did not! I saw it at least a second before you did. I can count more shooting stars than you any day of the week, Hayes.”
“No way, Morgan. You’re on.” Two more shot through the sky and he called them out. She saw the next one first, but then he saw two more. “See, I’m already ahead,” he teased. “When you lose, you have to cook a special dinner for me. I want something Creole or Hawaiian with a fancy name I can’t pronounce and lots of shrimp in it. And you have to wear a costume to serve it. A very tiny costume.”
She cackled about that. “And if I win, what do you do for me, Hayes? And don’t say cook. You used up the coat hangers, so you’ve exhausted your skills in that department.”
“Anything you want. Just name it.”
She was silent.
“Well, what’s the matter, Morgan? Can’t decide?”
“No,” she said softly. And then she added something that made him certain he would never, ever love a woman the way he loved her. “I can’t think of anything you haven’t already given me.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
SHE NEEDED to get some work done, but as she sat that next afternoon at the computer in her motel room, Kate’s thoughts kept drifting to the night before.
James hadn’t brought her back until the wee hours of the morning, and even then, it was much too soon to suit her. What a magical night. She could have stayed forever.
Deciding she wasn’t going to do anything productive today, she shut off the computer. The clock on the bedside table said four-thirty, and already the winter sky was darkening. James expected her at the house by six.
She needed to call Marcus and check in, but that was a daily chore she’d come to dread. Lying to Marcus, pretending she was hard at work following up with additional questions for the book, was killing her.
With a heavy burden of guilt, she called and was relieved to find him already gone from the office and not yet home. “Tell him everything’s fine and that I’ll talk to him tomorrow,” she told his wife, hanging up.
She took her bath and was about to get dressed when the telephone rang. She answered, expecting it to be Marcus calling her back.
“Miss Kate?” a voice said.
“Yes, this is Kate.”
“This is Aubrey.”
“Oh, Aubrey, hi. I didn’t recognize the voice.”
“Miss Kate, I’m sorry to bother you, but…well, somethin’s happened and I didn’t know what to do, who else to call.”
Kate’s heart nearly stopped beating. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Bret, ma’am.”
“Oh, no! Is he hurt?”
“No, ma’am, calm down. He’s not hurt. Well, not the way you think. But I’m pretty sure he needs you to come out.”
“Aubrey, tell me what’s wrong.”
“That Jane lady called, the one who runs the kids’ ranch. Seems Henry’s mama decided to ’fess up to what she done. She’s signed papers sayin’ she don’t want to be Henry’s mama no more.”
“But, Aubrey, that’s wonderful news!”
<
br /> “Yes ma’am, I thought so, too. At first. Only that Miss Jane said they have a family to adopt Henry and they sent him off.”
“Sent him off permanently?”
“Yes, ma’am. He’s gone already. And poor Bret, they won’t tell him nothin’, not even where the boy’s gone. He’s takin’ it real hard.”
Kate sank to the bed. She’d feared this might happen, but she’d resisted telling James, not wanting to be the one to give him such news. With no claim on the boy, James had no legal right to know where Henry was going or who he’d be living with.
“Aubrey, where’s Bret now?”
“I left him at the house. He asked me and Willie to go home early, said he had to be alone, but, ma’am, he’s hurtin’. He’s in a real bad way. I think maybe you’re the only one who can help him right now. He loves you. You know that, don’t you, ma’am?”
“Yes, Aubrey, I know that.”
“If you have any kind of feelin’s for him…”
“I’m on my way.”
Darkness had fallen by the time she arrived, and no light came from the house. She’d scolded James frequently about never locking his doors, but tonight she was thankful he hadn’t listened to her. She found him sitting in his bed, barely visible in the dark.
When she reached for the light switch by the door, he said, “Please, don’t turn it on.” His voice was flat and lifeless. “They took Henry away, Kate.”
“I know. Aubrey called and told me.” She walked to the bed and sat down. She couldn’t see his features clearly, but she located his hands and held them.
“You shouldn’t have come,” he said.
“You shouldn’t be alone.”
“I am alone,” he said in anguish. “Being alone is my hell for what I did to my brother.”
She leaned forward and wrapped him in her arms, laying her head on his chest. His soul was tortured, not only over Henry, but over his brother’s death, and he had a long way to go before he could deal with the grief and guilt. He’d never really faced it, despite what he might believe.
