“Surely the owner can count on a table in her own bar.”
Ruby shakes her head. “It’s every woman for herself on music nights.”
The spot she indicated—a somewhat crumbling stone table—is still available when we reach it, and she sighs in relief. “Oh, good. I thought for a second we might have to eat with Gary over there. And you do not want to eat with Gary.”
Something about the adamant way she says it has me grinning. “Why not?”
She levels me with a serious stare. “You don’t even want to know.”
I chuckle, taking a sip of the Coke I brought with me as I look around some more. It seems like there’s something new to see everywhere I turn my head. “This is fantastic, Ruby.”
She beams at me, a completely different smile than I’ve seen from her thus far. Her other smiles had been sarcastic or sardonic. Even flirtatious. But now she simply grins with pleasure, as if she appreciates the compliment immensely. I find I really like that smile. Want to make her smile like that again and again.
“Thank you,” she says, looking around. “Worked my ass off on this place, so I’m always glad to hear people like it.”
“You run it on your own?”
She crosses her arms on the table. “It’s all mine. For better or worse.”
“I would imagine that’s a tough gig, keeping something like this going.”
She laughs. “Oh, I work about seventy hours a week.” She looks at me from the corner of her eye, her expression wry. “Don’t tell anyone, but I love every minute of it.”
I laugh. I’d always felt the same way. To call me a workaholic is an understatement. My entire waking day had been dedicated to Ransom. I’ve never regretted it though, never resented the work or the hours. I’d loved it. Every minute, like she said.
“I had no idea it would be so crowded,” I tell her, looking around at the packed space.
“It isn’t always. People come for the music.”
“You have a house band?”
“We rotate through some locals,” she says. “See, that’s Chris Daniels up there, getting out his guitar. He’ll be doing the first set.”
I look at the stage, impressed. I’ve heard of Chris Daniels. The man isn’t famous by any stretch, but he’s well known in the local scene. And he has been for years, even back when I was part of that very same scene. Before I can decide if I want to tell Ruby that, another waitress appears with our burgers and a plate of fries. “Thanks, Bex,” Ruby says. “You can start to shut down the dining room in there.”
“Got it, boss,” the waitress says, hustling away to refill her tray.
“Hey, Ruby!” the man at the drum kit on stage calls out. “You gonna get this started or what?”
“Hold on to your tits, Jeff,” she calls back before picking up her burger. She takes a bite so huge I’m not sure how she got her jaw opened wide enough for it, washes it down with a sip of her beer, then pops up from her seat. “Duty calls,” she says over her shoulder as she heads for the stage.
My head is spinning a little as I watch her climb onto the small stage. There’s something about this woman that I’m finding increasingly fascinating. Fascinating and…damn, so very likable.
“How’s everybody doing?” she calls out and the entire patio cheers in response. Ruby grins, her nose ring glinting in the overhead lights. “You all ready for some good music?” Another answering call. This time I find myself clapping as well. It almost feels like I have to—like Ruby wills it from me with that snappy smile and the flash of her eyes. “I’ll let Chris and his boys take it away, then. Everybody give it up!”
The applause continues as she hops down from the stage and makes her way back to the table. I watch as she stops to talk to several of her patrons. Most of them seem to know her, like they’re regulars. I can’t blame them. Who wouldn’t want to come back to enjoy this atmosphere, over and over?
Then Chris Daniels starts plucking his guitar strings and I realize I’m smiling. It’s been a long time since I’ve sat and listened to music, just for the hell of it. Just to enjoy it. God, I can’t even think of the last time I’d done something like this.
“Will Ransome,” Ruby calls over the noise of the band and the crowd as she takes her seat beside me. “You look like a little kid on Christmas morning.”
I grin at her, reaching for my burger. “They sound great.”
“They do.” We eat in silence for a few minutes, listening to the music. My eyes keep going back to Chris’s fingers on his strings. The man has some serious game, the guitar like an extension of himself. He plays easily, gracefully, the way that someone who really loves it plays. I miss that, I think. I’d focused on drums back in the day, but I’ve been playing guitar since I was a kid. It’s been ages since I picked up my instrument. Any instrument. Why did I stop playing?
“Hey,” Ruby calls to me and I tear my eyes away from Chris Daniels’ fingers to look at her. She’s smiling at me and God she looks beautiful under the twinkling lights overhead. “Aren’t you glad you decided to listen to me?”
I laugh. “Remind me not to argue with you next time.”
Her eyes sparkle with amusement. “Oh, I’m sure I will.” She wipes her hands on a napkin, taking a last sip of beer. “And now I have to get back to work,” she says and I feel a flash of disappointment. “You gonna stick around?”
“Sure,” I say. “Thanks for dinner.”
She places a hand on my shoulder as she passes, leaning low to whisper in my ear. “Thanks for wiping that mope off your face. Talk about depressing, man.”
The nearness of her has my heart racing. I can feel her breath against my ear, hot and close. I pick up a faint whiff of her scent, that surprisingly soft floral smell, now mixed with the faint scent of beer. And then she’s gone, releasing my shoulder to duck her way through the tables.
I shake my head as I reach for my drink. Where did this woman come from? And what in the hell can I do to make her want to stick around?
“Thank you,” Chris Daniels is saying up on stage. “Thank you very much. I’m gonna give the vocal chords a break now so help me welcome up the one you’ve all been waiting to see. Miss Ruby Hayes.”
My head snaps up. Ruby is once again climbing onto the stage, a fresh beer in her hand. She takes a long drag before setting it down on someone’s amp, then smiles out at the crowd. “I think we need a little Janis,” she says, to responding whoops and hollers. She looks over at Chris, who smiles at her before starting to play. I immediately recognize the opening strains of “Me and Bobby McGee.” But then Ruby’s singing and I lose the ability to think at all.
Holy shit. Ruby is good. Like really, really good. The song starts slow, but already I can tell her voice has power. It’s raspy and bluesy and I feel goose bumps erupt over my skin at the sound of it. Her voice is only half of it, though. She seems to come alive behind the microphone, her face animated, eyes bright. When she sings, she wears that same smile she showed me when I complimented the bar. The smile that I’m already starting to associate with pure joy.
I wish the boys were here, I think vaguely. It was always one of our favorite things to do, to stumble across some unknown talent. How many hours had we spent in smoky venues, listening to music together? I’m horrified to feel a lump come to my throat at the thought. But then the song starts to pick up, Ruby’s lyrics coming quicker, that voice of hers holding the notes longer, and every other thought flies from my head. As they transition into the fast paced chorus, she’s moving around the stage, dancing a little, singing to the various members of the band. They grin back at her, clearly half in love with her, and God, who can blame them? Not when she looks like that. When she sings like that. I’m pretty sure I’m half in love with her myself.
Her eyes meet mine across the space and the smile on her face widens. I smile back, grinning as big as I know how. At the back of my mind I recognize how strange this is, that I can be smiling at all with everything that’s going on in my
life right now. It’s been a long, long time since I’ve smiled like this.
But I smile tonight. Smile at Ruby until my face hurts. And when she’s finally finished singing, when she makes her way through the cheering crowd and takes her seat at my side, I’m still grinning like a fool.
Cash
I rest one hand on the top of Wyatt’s head, using the other to gesture down the beach. “And right over there,” I tell him, “you can play soccer. That whole stretch of beach is rock free.”
“Cool.” Wyatt says, peering down through the sliding glass doors. I narrow my eyes a little, looking down at the boy. I thought he’d be a lot more excited about this fact. He’s going to be able to play soccer on the beach when he comes to visit. That should be excitement-worthy, shouldn’t it? Hell, the whole place should have Wyatt reaching epic levels of giddiness. The ocean, the pool. His room with the big windows facing the beach. I figured Wyatt would be jumping off the walls. Instead, he seems…muted. Calm. In other words, not at all like him. When is Wyatt ever calm?
“Down that way,” I say, trying again, “is the Santa Monica pier. There’re some rides you might like.”
“Cool,” Wyatt says again, his voice downright wistful now.
“Hey.” I kneel down to face the kid. “Wyatt, what’s wrong?”
He won’t meet my eyes. “Nothing.”
“Something is obviously wrong, buddy. You’re really quiet.” I hold my hand against the kid’s forehead. “You feel okay?”
“I feel fine, Cash.” Wyatt says, pulling back. “I think I want to hang out in my room, if that’s okay.”
“Of course it’s okay. I’ll come with you and we can—”
“I want to hang out by myself.”
It’s strange, I think, that I can feel so wounded by a nine-year-old. If, two years ago, you would have told me this would be possible, that my stomach could clench so painfully based on a little kid’s rejection, I would have called you crazy. But here I am, blinking rapidly as I look at Wyatt, who still isn’t meeting my eyes.
“That’s okay,” I finally say. “It’s your room, man. You can hang out alone if you want to.”
Wyatt nods and turns away, his sock-clad feet slipping a little on the tile floor as he hurries to the stairs.
“You okay?” I look up to see Sam emerging from the bathroom. She’s looking at me strangely and I realize belatedly that I’m still kneeling on the floor.
“Is Wyatt mad at me?”
She makes an incredulous face as I stand to face her. “Mad at you? That kid worships you.”
“Was he excited for this trip?
Sam rolls her eyes. “All I’ve heard for the past week is Cash this, Cash that. He was dying to come see you.”
I look back towards the stairs. “He doesn’t seem at all excited about the house.”
Sam shrugs. “Maybe he’s tired from the plane ride.”
“Yeah, I guess.” I try to shake the thought of Wyatt’s strange behavior from my mind as I bend my knees to look into her eyes. “What about you? What do you think about the house?”
“I love it.” She slips an arm around me and I pull her in tight, loving the feel of her next to me. It’s been a few days since I’ve seen her, which was a few days too many. “That view is fantastic.”
I run my lips over the top of her head, breathing her in. “I thought you’d want to see the ocean.”
Sam lifts her head, smiling. “Have I told you how much I love that you made up a room for Wyatt?”
I frown at that. “Why wouldn’t I make up a room for Wyatt? He’s going to be here a lot.”
She grins. “Careful, Cash. Pretty soon everyone is going to know that you’re a giant softie.”
I make a dismissive noise. “Please.”
“I mean, you picked out the bedding yourself.” She’s laughing now. “I keep trying to picture it—you at some home goods store, looking at kid’s sheets.”
“I’ll have you know the sheets I picked out are totally kick-ass.” I had, in fact, spent a lot of time at a home goods store. Several of them, actually. I wanted to make sure I got it just right. I’d considered doing the room up in a soccer theme, since the kid is totally obsessed. But then I came across a bedding set splashed with musical instruments and decided it was more fitting for his room at my house. I’d added in some superhero posters to finish it off, along with an awesome stereo system and an electric keyboard so he could mess around. I’m pretty proud of that room.
“Oh, it’s definitely kick-ass,” Sam says, smirking, and I know she’s just humoring me.
“I just want him to be comfortable here,” I say, my gaze moving back to the stairs, wondering if I’d succeeded at all. Wyatt certainly doesn’t seem too happy with my efforts.
“I know,” Sam says, her voice softer now, the humor gone. I look down to see her eyes wide and steady on my face. It’s a familiar expression on her—the one that says she can’t believe she’d gotten so lucky. It always makes me shake my head a little, that expression. I’m so obviously the lucky one.
I bend to kiss her, wanting nothing more than to feel her lips against mine. I want a lot more than that, to be honest, it’s been a few days, but Wyatt is here and—
Suddenly, Sam pulls away, her face turning positively green. “Sam?”
“Hang on,” she mutters, pushing away. “I don’t feel so—”
“Sam?”
She shakes her head, taking deep breaths, and I’m starting to freak out—is she sick? She hadn’t seemed sick.
“I’m okay,” she says, placing a hand on my chest. “I just got a little nauseous.”
“Are you sick? Have you been feeling like this all day?”
She shakes her head, taking another deep breath. “I’ve had a headache all this week.”
I frown. “All week? Why didn’t you tell me?”
She rolls her eyes. “Because it was no big deal.”
“Obviously it was—” I begin, but she cuts me off with a kiss.
“You’re pretty cute when you’re all protective. But I’m fine.”
“I’m getting you a glass of water.”
She looks like she’s struggling not to roll her eyes again, but she humors me. “That would be nice.”
I dash into the kitchen to fill up a water glass. I know it’s probably not a big deal, that she’d had a headache. But I don’t like it happening when I’m not there. Don’t like anything happening when I’m not there. It drives me crazy that we spend half of our lives in different cities.
I take her water back to the space by the door where we’d been standing only to find it empty. “Sam?”
“I’m in here,” she calls from the living room, and I can see the top of her head over the back cushion of the couch. “Chill out, Cash,” she says as I come into the living room to hand her the glass. “No need to sound so panicky.”
“I’m completely chill.”
She raises her eyebrows and I scowl at her as I take a seat next to her on the couch. “How do you feel now?”
“I’m fine, really. I think I’m just a little worn down, that’s all. It’s been a big month.”
I nod, brushing some hair off her face. She’s nearing the end of her internship and I know how much it means to her to finish it off strong. “We’ll have lots of time to relax this weekend.”
She grins. “Yeah, throwing a huge party with your family and friends sounds super relaxing.”
“Then we’ll cancel,” I say immediately. I’ve been looking forward to the barbecue we’re planning for the next day, but if Sam needs to rest—
Sam shakes her head. “No way. I want to see everyone. And Wyatt has been looking forward to it. You know how he feels about Daltrey.”
I make a noise in the back of my throat that sounds an awful lot like a growl. To my great dismay, Wyatt has taken a liking to piano after Daltrey gave him a few lessons. I’ve been trying to gently pressure the kid to turn his attention to guitar, but so far Wyatt isn’t show
ing any signs of seeing the light.
“Speaking of Wyatt,” Sam says, leaning back into the cushions. “Why don’t you go see what he’s up to? I think I’m going to close my eyes for a minute.”
I immediately reach for her, the worried feeling coming back. “Cash,” she says, her voice firm. “I am fine. I’m tired, okay? Go keep Wyatt company for a while.”
“Okay,” I agree, not liking the thought of walking away from her. But if she wants to rest…I sigh, kissing her forehead. “You’ll call me if you need anything?”
“Yes.” She sounds very nearly out of patience, “Now leave me alone.”
“Never,” I whisper, kissing her cheek this time. “You’re stuck with me.”
“Lucky me.” Her tone’s sarcastic but I can see a smile playing on her lips. So I kiss her one more time before heading upstairs to see what Wyatt’s doing.
“Hey,” I call, knocking lightly on his open door. Wyatt’s sitting on the bed, reading a comic but he looks up at the noise. “Can I come in?”
“Sure.”
“What are you reading?” I sit on the side of the mattress, trying to get a glimpse of the cover. “Captain America?”
“Yeah,” Wyatt says, sounding more animated than he had all afternoon. “It’s the one with Hawkeye and the dinosaurs. I haven’t read this one yet!”
“I know.” I reach over to mess up his hair. “That’s why I picked it out for you.”
Wyatt looks from the book in his hand to the stack of comics in the bookcase next to his bed. “You picked all these out?”
“Sure,” I say. “I wanted you to have stuff to read when you come to visit me.”
Suddenly Wyatt flings his arms around my neck, throwing me off-balance so I have to struggle to stay on the bed. “Hey.” I bring my arms up to hug the kid. “What’s going on?”
“I’m sorry I was grumpy,” Wyatt says into my neck.
“That’s okay. Hey, Wyatt.” I don’t have a lot of experience with kids—Wyatt is the only one I’ve ever really had a chance to get to know. I’m sure Sam would be better at this kind of thing, but I force myself to stay on the bed, to rub Wyatt’s back while he clings to me. “It’s okay to be grumpy sometimes.”
The Ransome Brothers_A Ransom Novel Page 11
