Kate stood in short sleeves gazing in wide wonder at the pastel chalk drawing sky. The blurred lines between blue, pink, purple, and orange showed how opposites could be good together. One didn’t yield to the other but complimented, making the whole much more vivid than either could be alone.
She wanted to be that pink, that orange, full of life, vitality.
Instead, she had cultivated a role as an outsider in life. One that didn’t warrant a place in the sky. She was beige, and beige didn’t belong in sunsets.
In the barn, Kate turned the light on over the work bench and took the to-do list from where it hung on the peg board. She had crossed most of the items off. Two had been added in Tom’s handwriting. One sat on the workbench, a chair with as much wobble as a rocking chair. “You just need a little TLC. Then you’ll be good as new.”
Working with her hands usually soothed her, giving her a feeling of accomplishment, but not today.
When are you going to learn, Kate? Some things are meant to be done by a man’s hands.
“My hands are just as capable as any man’s.” She looked at the hands that worked for a living. She didn’t wear nail polish. She didn’t have nails to polish. Those fingers worked a loose joint, and the leg came off in her hand. “Shit.”
What are you doing? Look first. How many times do I have to tell you to use your brain first?
“I know. I know, I know, I know.”
The fuck you do. Look at the mess you made.
The chair, in three pieces, spread across the bench. The wood of one leg split along the grain.
Nice job. You just made bad worse.
“Leave me alone. God. Just leave me alone.” She raged into the big space, but her hands shook, and another tear threatened to fall.
“It’s times like this when you shouldn’t be alone.”
Kate jumped and spun in mid-air at the sound of Butch’s voice. “Wh-what are you doing here?”
He sauntered across the floor, a casual confidence that projected calm. “It is my barn.”
“Yes, I know, I mean—”
“You takin’ the chair apart?” He pointed with his chin to the skeleton.
Kate turned her back to Butch. “I was trying to fix it, but it gave up.”
Butch’s arm wrapped around her shoulders, pinning her back to his chest. “What happened?”
“The leg joints had loosened. I thought a few pins would—”
“Not the chair. In the kitchen.” His soft voice held sympathy and understanding.
But how could he understand? Everyone loved Butch.
“Oh. It doesn’t matter.”
Butch nipped at her shoulder, the bite stinging through her light shirt before his mouth followed the curve of her neck, creating a jolt of electricity that outpaced the sting. He spoke against her ear. “It does. Whatever it is, it does to you. I want to be a part of it. I’ve given you thirty minutes to yourself. Now it’s time to talk to me.”
Thirty minutes? She glanced to the barn door where night waited on the other side. The curve of Butch’s shoulder cradled her weary head, lending strength to a body drained of energy. His arms tightened, a physical reminder she was not alone. Not wanting to be alone, she pushed through the heartache and spoke. “It’s the same old story. My father and me. We’re like flint and steel. Gasoline and fire. Electricity and water.” Kate told him what happened, her voice flat and soft. “He wanted a son. He got me. I know he’ll never be proud of me. It doesn’t matter how hard I work or what I do, I’ll never be good enough.”
Butch flipped her around so fast her head caught up two minutes later. Anger brought color to his cheeks. She knew what came next, but he didn’t yell. He just stared with clenched teeth.
Kate’s chin fell to her chest, resigned. “You’re mad at me.”
He bent over until they stood eye to eye. A storm brewed in those gray eyes. “You don’t honestly believe that, do you?”
She tried to step back, but he pinned her to the workbench. He left her nowhere to hide, physically or emotionally. “That I’m not good enough? No. Not most of the time.”
“If you believe it, even for a minute, your father is one hell of an SOB. Is this why you can’t believe we can love each other? Has your father fucked you up that bad?”
“He has nothing to do with us.” Trapped, without enough air to breathe, Kate slid to the right. “Look at my life. How would we make something work?”
Butch locked his arms onto the workbench. “You’re not running. I’m getting down to the root of what has you so screwed up. Maybe I should be grateful. If you were any less nuts you’d be married with two point five kids and a minivan.”
Kate gasped loudly, offended to the core. “How dare you! I would never drive a minivan.”
Butch rubbed his chin. “Maybe a station wagon.”
Her lips pursed about to snap back, and then her face crumbled. She would never have a minivan or a station wagon, because there wouldn’t be kids to put in one. Her head dropped, and her shoulders sagged. “What’s so wrong with me?”
Butch gathered her against his chest, his fingers burying deep in her long hair. “Let’s be clear on this. Nothing is wrong with you. You’re the woman I’ve been looking for my whole life.”
She rolled her head against him, his words conflicting with her history as an adult. “You don’t know me. I’m loud and impetuous. I never do what’s expected. I’m trouble. It just finds me.”
“Hell, yes, you’re trouble. Exactly the kind of trouble I want, the kind of trouble I need.”
Kate lifted her head and wiped tears with the back of her hand. “I hate him, Butch.”
Butch brought her back to his chest, wrapping her up to protect her from words that cut deeper than any knife could. “No, honey. If you hated him, this wouldn’t be an issue. He’s your father, and you love him.”
“It would be easier if I hated him. I hate myself for wanting him to be proud of me. I can do all of these…remarkable things. I can stand up to stubborn boards and pissed off subcontractors and community activists, but I can’t cut the cord when it comes to my father.” She whispered the confession.
Butch took her face in his hands. “Why, Katie? No lies, here. Tell me, tell yourself, why don’t you walk away from your father?”
Kate focused on his eyes and asked herself the one question she never thought to ask. Why? “I don’t want to be alone. If I walk away from him, I’ll have to walk away from them all. If I fail, my father will take me back. He would never let me forget I failed, but he wouldn’t turn me out. Ever. He’d clean up any mess I made.”
“Because he loves you.”
An emotion she couldn’t name seized her throat. She ran through scenario after scenario and in all of them, no matter how ridiculous, her father would be there for her. Only one explanation made sense.
“He loves me.” Overwhelmed, she wrapped her arms around Butch. “God, he has a rotten way of showing it.”
“It would seem. How about you? What have you done to show him?”
Kate had never had weeks as good as the two that followed. The project proceeded with the normal hiccups and starts, which meant it went smoothly. She spent as much time out on the site as she could, watching her imagination take shape in concrete and steel, enjoying the warm spring temperatures. Her admin, Paula, planted a few flowers outside the trailer. They should have been pathetically lonely in the field of washed aggregate and stone, but instead they were sweet.
Life with her father improved. She scoured the internet looking for something to give her father. The search ended with the “Jelly of the Month Club.” Kate and her father shared a love of the National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation movie, making the gift a perfect inside joke. The call after the first delivery started with “What the hell is this?” but ended with a fifteen minute debate on whether apple butter qualified as a jelly. He said yes, Kate said no, just for the debate. The near daily arguments continued, but Kate bifurcated them into se
parate work and entertainment categories.
Speaking of sweet, coming home each night was the cherry on her sundae. Butch met her on the porch every night, no matter what time she rolled in. He bought her flowers, a first for her, and a new dress, complete with matching underwear. She started seeing herself through his eyes. Uncomfortable at first, she grew to like thinking of herself as sexy as well as smart.
Kate returned Butch’s attention, his affection. For him, the weeks had been hard. Angie’s body had been released. He spent much of his time with Angie’s mother, planning and then attending the funeral. The investigation into her death continued. Butch hadn’t been charged, but questions were still being asked.
As if that weren’t hard enough, he had to go into Nashville twice to meet with his divorce attorneys. Fawn went in and out of town, living in a hotel and setting up a not-for-profit “Butch McCormick Sucks” club. Maybe she hadn’t done that literally, but she had been generously giving her time to tabloids and been very loose lipped about their relationship.
Butch juggled all that with the planning and rehearsals for his tour. Eight weeks until he hit the road in a bus decked out like a McMansion.
The strain dragged Butch down. The constant stories and the parade of pictures stripped away his pride. He tried to hide it from her, but she was getting to know him well, too. Kate worked at making the little moments of his life the ones he remembered. She loved being silly, spontaneous for him. One clear night, she took him up to the garage roof to count the stars. By twenty, the lead fog around him lifted, and he laughed again.
For all her questions, all her doubts about a relationship, being in one with Butch proved easy. Was she falling in love? Maybe. While she had been careful not to talk about a long-term future together, it became easy to see what life could be.
A full house added to the chaotic happiness. Tom stayed in the largest bedroom, sleeping across the bed that belonged in the room and the one Butch had pushed in to make his studio. With his help, Kate had crossed off most of the items on the fix-it list.
Jeb stayed most nights. Still quiet, Kate had caught him smiling when he thought no one watched. Trudy and Hyde were frequent guests. John and Emily enjoyed dinner with a full house at least twice a week.
As April gave way to May, a routine evolved. Tom made breakfast, always setting a full plate, covered with a clean dishcloth, in the microwave for Butch. Butch came down each morning, stumbling blindly into the kitchen to sit with Kate then going back to bed after she, Tom, and Jeb went to work. They took turns making dinner, Kate ordering takeout on her days.
Any spare time Kate found, she devoted to designing the sprawling, two-story house to fit Butch’s lifestyle and all his California shit. Tom offered his unsolicited two cents, and Jeb tended to hover. He gave only one opinion. “Those bathrooms in the Hermitage are nice.”
The Sly Dog had also become part of their routine. Tom and Kate had been welcomed to the point where walking into the bar was meeting up with extended family. Sunday night, they shared a long table with Butch, Trudy, Hyde, and two couples.
Butch finished his second beer, pushing the empty away from him. “Y’all want to come into Nashville for a rehearsal? Tuesday? Maybe Wednesday?”
“I can’t do Tuesday,” Kate said, squeezing Butch’s hand for his attention. “I’m going to Louisville for a trade show. I won’t be back until late.”
“Are you taking the Shelby?” Hyde asked.
She pulled out her phone and brought up the weather app. “Oh, yeah. It’ll be a nice day to stretch her legs.”
“How about you drop your work truck off tomorrow? I’ll do the oil service while you’re gone.”
Tom nudged Kate’s elbow. “I’ll follow you over in the morning.”
“Perfect. Does Wednesday work for watching Butch?” When everyone around the table nodded, Kate turned to Butch. “Looks like you have your audience.”
“I’ll send y’all the address last minute. This is a closed show.” His cell phone rang. Butch read the screen, his shoulders sagging. “Fawn.” He watched it ring. On the third, he dismissed the call and shoved the phone in his pocket.
Butch took Kate’s hand and pulled her from her chair. “Come on, Katie. Let’s play a game of darts. We’ll make it interesting. If I win, you have to go up to the mic and yodel.”
“You have to sing ‘It’s a Small World’ in a munchkin voice.”
“Damn. All right. But just so you know, I’m not going to let you win just to be gentlemanly. The stakes are too steep.”
Her eyes flashed, and she snatched her hand from his. “Ha. Let me win. You better tune up your pipes, muscles. You have five minutes. I have to make a ladies’ run.”
Butch admired the way she moved through the crowd. The tight jeans gave him a lot to admire. He had his hands on her butt each night and knew full well it wasn’t the jeans that gave her that shape. Tonight. Tonight he would give it the attention it deserved.
Trudy drummed her blue-raspberry-polished fingers over Butch’s forearm. “Where is Kate going to stay when you’re on tour?”
Butch did a double take from where Kate disappeared into the crowd to Trudy’s concerned gaze. “The house, of course. Where else?”
“Don’t you think it’s about time she found a place of her own? She’s been living off you for four weeks, Butch.” Trudy held her hands up, palms out. “I’m saying this for your own good. I wouldn’t forgive myself if another city woman took advantage of your good nature.”
Butch snatched his arm from under Trudy’s hand. “Nobody is taking advantage of me. Katie and Tom do more around the house than I do. Tom’s welcome to stay as long as he wants. And Katie, well, I’m thinking about keeping her.”
Butch had finished thinking about it and decided to keep Kate. He’d fallen in love, and he’d fallen hard. Everything about her drew him. The look in her eye, her intelligence and determination, the sweet things she did to make him smile, not to mention the feel of her revved body beneath his hands and her sweet little sigh before she fell asleep in his arms. Butch was biding his time, waiting for Kate to realize she loved him. She was getting closer. Every day, she was getting closer, whether she knew it or not.
Kate was staying but Butch knew better than to say that to Trudy. His friend was within her rights to question his judgement, but that wouldn’t change his mind.
“’Scuse me. Looks like my game’s about to start.” Butch met Kate halfway across the dance floor. “We can save us both time if you just hop up on the stage now. Band looks about ready for a break.”
“You’re welcome to hop up there. I see my seat is open.” She pointed to an empty table closest to the band.
Butch collected two sets of darts from the small shelf where they were kept. “There’s no need to make things hard on yourself.”
Kate slid in front of him, her hand discretely stroking over the zipper of his jeans. “I like when you make things hard on me.”
Butch forgot his name for that instant before she walked away. His body, seeing the green light, raced off the block. “Damned woman, giving me a false start.”
She flipped her flaming mane over her shoulders, smoldering eyes laughing at him. “You ready to do this?”
“You are trouble, honey. Every ounce of you.”
“Y’all just starting?” Hyde came over with another buddy, four bottles of beer between them. “Can we play?”
“Sure,” Butch said. “Let’s make it interesting.”
A match played for a million dollars couldn’t have been tenser. After all, a man could live without a million dollars, but he couldn’t live without his dignity. Kate zeroed out first, hitting her double on her third try. Butch closed from behind, zeroing out while Hyde and his buddy cursed the board that kept moving on them.
“Clear the way. Move it,” Hyde said, swinging his arms to part the Dead Sea. He looked over his shoulder at Kate. “You’re dead to me, Little Red.”
Kate laughed, climbed
up on a chair, and draped herself over Butch’s shoulders. “I love you, Hyde. You’re just like a cousin to me. On your mark, get set, GO!”
With a string of curses, Hyde and his buddy leap frogged the length of the bar. Butch hitched Kate’s leg over his hips and followed the pair out of the game room. Confused looks and snickers grew into belly laughs from the crowd when Hyde tripped over his buddy and they ended up in a pile on the floor. An elderly lady who couldn’t see farther than the end of her hand stepped on Hyde’s foot and spilled ginger ale that smelled like rye over the pair.
Hyde leapt to his feet, shaking like a dog. “Damn it to hell, that’s cold.”
The woman looked over the top of her glasses. “Language, Mr. Spence.”
“Yes ma’am,” he said respectfully to his fourth grade teacher. Hyde looked over Butch’s shoulder, his brows knit together. The understanding pushed them into his hairline. “Vulture, Butch. Out the back.” As Butch turned to look, his friend pulled him forward. “Abbey McNeil. Go. I’ll stall her.”
Butch hitched Kate up on his back and made a beeline for the kitchen doors.
Kate tightened her grip on Butch. “Who is Abbey McNeil and why are we running from her?”
“We aren’t running, we’re walking. She is a reporter for Nashville’s version of The Hollywood Reporter. We’ve been able to keep you out of the headlines so far. It wouldn’t last if she caught me wearing you like a coat.”
“I’m not afraid of her.”
“Neither am I. Keep your head down.”
Kate stood in the darkened room, wondering how a man could fall asleep so darned quick. It was a talent, to be vitally alive one minute and sawing logs a few minutes later. Kate decided she’d take it as a compliment. She drained his virile butt. No time to gloat, she heard movement through the wall. Kate snatched her robe from the bed post and darted out the door to beat Jeb to the bathroom.
They definitely needed more bathrooms. Four adults and one bathroom was a frat house, not the way adults lived. Sharing a bathroom with three men and no counter space bordered on inhumane.
Lost in Tennessee Page 19
