Sweet Texas Kiss (Sweet Texas Secrets)

by Monica Tillery

  “Oh, that. I’m going to speak to Mr. Procter’s group at the high school today.”

  “Great. That’s really nice of you. Nice to see you, Mr. Procter, and thank you, Betty Lou.” Gavin’s mood had shifted, the easy charm replaced with tension. Without explanation, he took the lunch order and left.

  Macy paid her bill and slid off the bar stool. “I’ll see you at three, Mr. Procter.”

  Gavin strode out the door, and Macy quickened her pace to keep up with him. She reached him outside on the sidewalk as he opened the door to a shiny black Chevy Silverado dually.

  “Hey,” she said. With a quick glance at the giant vehicle’s four rear tires, she scoffed,

  “Compensating much?”

  “Did you run out here to insult me? I haul a lot of equipment for the clinic or when someone in town needs my help, if that’s okay with you.”

  “Sorry. It just caught me off guard. I thought I had a big truck, but this is in a whole other league.” The flecks of gold in his dark green eyes flashed for a second, momentarily distracting her from her mission. “Listen, I know you don’t like me, but it seemed like you got more annoyed than usual when the thing with Mr. Procter came up.”

  His strong jaw worked underneath his smooth skin, highlighting his dimple. The sunlight glinted off his dark hair, making it easier to forget how much he disliked her for a second. Macy needed him to say something about being responsible for Tori’s death or complaining about not getting the house, before she let her guard down and noticed how nicely his pressed button-down shirt stretched across his broad shoulders.

  “I wasn’t annoyed with you. Mr. Procter has done a lot for those kids, but a few of them are really troubled. I don’t think he really thought things through before inviting you, that’s all.” He shifted his weight from one leg to the other.

  “What do you mean, like some of them are bad news? Are they dangerous?” She couldn’t imagine that Mr. Procter would be heading up a band of juvenile delinquents, or that he would intentionally expose her to danger.

  “I’m not sure how dangerous they are, but I know at least two of them have been arrested for theft fairly recently, and one of the girls beat up another student pretty severely last year. A big star could be a prime target for kids like that. They could try to take advantage of you, or maybe get their hopes up that you’ll be a part of the program. I don’t know, maybe I’m overreacting, but it’s something to consider. You might want to rethink your visit.”

  He shrugged, as though she might or might not get mugged, disappoint a bunch of underprivileged kids, or become some kind of criminal target, and it would all be the same to him, then got in his truck. Someone as privileged as Gavin couldn’t possibly understand what it was like to be one of those kids, which made her more determined than before to do what she could while she was in town. As he pulled out of the parking space, Macy stopped herself from watching the truck disappear in the distance. The last thing she wanted was for him to glance in his rearview mirror and see her sorry self still standing there like a puppy.

  Chapter Six

  Ignoring Gavin’s advice, Macy pulled open the door to their old high school and entered the empty building. The walls had been painted and the lockers had been updated, but so much of the place was the same as when she’d graduated. The old linoleum covering the floors had been buffed until it shined, and her footsteps sounded the same as when she used to be one of the last people out of the building. If she wasn’t in the library finishing up research before heading home to study more, she was in the choir hall, squeezing out as much extra rehearsal time with Tori as she could get away with. Strange how something that practically defined her life as a kid had crossed her mind so few times as an adult.

  The trophy cases across from the cafeteria were crammed full of awards and pictures from the classes that had graced the halls long after she was gone. Her name engraved on a brass tag still hung on a cherry-wood plaque with dozens of other valedictorians, the only evidence remaining of her achievements at Sweet Ridge High. Nostalgia for high school would undoubtedly lead to more tears over Tori, so Macy picked up the pace and hurried to the choir hall.

  Promising herself that she’d stay on guard and get Mr. Procter to walk her to the car if she had reason to be concerned, she pulled open the heavy metal door, took a deep breath, and stepped inside. For all her bravado, she had been sheltered and insulated since becoming famous. Sure, she knew what it was like to grow up poor, to be largely unsupervised, but her focus had always been on school and music. She’d never been involved in anything more criminal than run-of-the-mill teenage pranks.

  Macy expected a ragtag group of misfits, maybe at least some gum-chewing do-nothings, but instead she found about a dozen young people standing on risers, singing. And it was glorious. Eyes cut to her, briefly noting her presence, but the tempo never slowed. Rich basses, sublime altos, and ethereal sopranos, all in perfect tune, mixed together in a ball of energy. Macy dropped onto a hard plastic chair, trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible, desperate not to pop the beautiful bubble the kids created as Mr. Procter led them through an achingly poignant arrangement of Dolly Parton’s “Little Sparrow,” a song that could knock her down on the best of days. Her eyes welled, her heart full of the painful emotion the song drew out of her.

  When the song ended, the kids sat on the risers, grinning, obviously proud of their performance. She knew the feeling well. She’d put in thousands of hours of practice throughout school and her career, sometimes resulting in nothing more than time spent, but every once in a while she’d capture the magic. That golden moment when harmonies came together and singers tuned in to one another as one beating heart kept her going. With Tori gone, the magic was lost. Sure, she’d seen it in singers who competed on America’s Next Country Star, but she’d never captured it again for herself.

  “As promised, we have a special guest joining us today,” Mr. Procter addressed the group. “Macy, want to join us?”

  She swallowed her tears and snapped her practiced public mask onto her face, pasted on a bright smile, and joined her former teacher. “Hi, guys, I’m Macy Young.”

  The kids burst into laughter, some saying that they knew who she was, and then watched the adults expectantly. After Gavin’s caution, she’d expected them to be disrespectful or at least unimpressed by a celebrity. But the kids sat quietly, like any group of students. Mr. Procter must have hit on something here, found the one thing bigger than any of the kids’ situations, if they were willing to focus on him instead of the usual teenage posturing and ambivalence. Before getting her big break, she had thought about becoming a teacher or a therapist, planning to use music to reach kids. Back then, it was no more than a nebulous idea born from her teenage conviction that music could change the world. Seeing it actually work, seeing that hearts could be changed, took her breath away.

  “Macy was my student not too long ago, and she’s a perfect example of what you can do with hard work, dedication, and talent. I ran into her at lunch and thought it would be wonderful for y’all to have the chance to meet her and ask any questions you have about the music industry, her career, or being on television.”

  For several long and awkward seconds, Macy stood facing the teens, who seemed as unsure of what to say as she was. They picked at their fingernails, untangled earbud wires, and surreptitiously checked their phones. Without a crutch of her own, she scrambled for the best way to break the ice. Most of her experience with meeting fans and groups came naturally. When she was working, her task was clear, and when fans approached her in public, they usually steered the conversation. But hey, this afternoon was supposed to be an inspirational visit, not a life-changing experience, so she asked if any of the students had questions for her. Finally, a girl wearing cutoff denim shorts and a tight plaid shirt spoke up.

  “Um, what’s it like working with Dave Miller? And does he have a girlfriend?” The group laughed. Her former boyfriend’s public persona was one of a n
otorious, unapologetic ladies’ man, but that didn’t stop young girls all around the country from falling in love with his swoon-worthy good looks, rugged cowboy persona, and panty-melting voice. Hell, Macy would never try to rekindle their relationship after all she’d put him through, but she still found herself lost in his baby blues every once in a while. In reality, he hadn’t had a serious girlfriend since they broke up, but he wasn’t hurting for female company.

  “He’s like a brother to me. A really handsome brother.” That earned a laugh from the group, who all seemed more relaxed now that the ball was rolling. “Working with him is fun, but I always have to be on guard because he is the prankster out of the four of us. Nobody’s safe. Honestly, he’s super-talented, and I love the way he can spot great talent that the rest of us judges might miss. We always place bets on which contestants will go all the way. He has beaten me two years in a row, but I haven’t lost hope just yet. Oh, and no, he doesn’t have a girlfriend. I’m afraid he’s just a little bit too old for most of you, though.”

  The truth was, Dave was an incredibly talented musician who kept himself on top through hard work, dedication, and passion. It was sometimes difficult to celebrate another chart-topping hit, sold-out concert, or incredible collaboration with him—to be genuinely happy for her friend when he was living the life she used to have, fueled by her love of music, of performing, of creating something bigger than herself. It pushed her and Tori to break every barrier they encountered and make every song, performance, and tour concept better than the last.

  Being rudderless was anguish, nothing less.

  The next kid asked what she thought about streaming services and people who pirated music, impressing Macy with his thoughtfulness and understanding of how those things affected artists rather than focusing on how people could get more music without paying. With the ball rolling, the kids threw questions at her, about life on the road, how to get backstage at concerts, and what kinds of jobs were available if you loved music but didn’t end up becoming a famous singer.

  “There are plenty of jobs in music that don’t involve becoming a recording artist. You can do studio work, write for other artists, compose, work in television or film. Oh, and if you’re creative, you can write jingles for companies. And it’s not all singing and performing. Maybe you love music but don’t have that creative mind that’s required to work in the arts. You could become an entertainment lawyer or an agent, something like that. The list goes on and on.”

  She held back the first option that popped into her head: a music counselor. Was that even realistic? Sure, Mr. Procter had been a huge influence on her life, but could you use a passion for music to change lives directly? Or was that a desperate pipe dream?

  It was hard to believe how far away from her original dreams she’d strayed, but it was easy to remember what it was like to want that life.

  • • •

  Gavin waited outside the choir room’s door, not sure if he was an idiot or a jackass for being there. When she was hundreds of miles away in Nashville, she was abstract, and it was easier to keep her in her place as the bad guy. Seeing her day in and day out in the flesh brought her humanity to the surface, forcing him to question everything, and he hated it. Life was easier when she was to blame.

  Not to mention Macy Young was many things, but a damsel in distress in need of protection from some thug teenagers was not one of them. He’d read about more than one of her nights out that ended in fisticuffs or at least being kicked out of whatever bar she was drowning her sorrows in. She could handle herself with a group of students who actually sounded like they were excited to meet her. If he was being perfectly honest with himself, he never really thought she would be in any kind of danger. He was more worried about her finding yet another avenue in Sweet Ridge where she fit perfectly. Her seamless reentry into the town was hard to take.

  A quick glance at the oversized clock jutting out from the wall above the navy lockers confirmed that he didn’t have time to stand around babysitting someone who didn’t need him. His late afternoon appointments would be arriving at the clinic soon. He headed for the doors at the end of the empty hall.

  “Gavin?” Macy’s voice stopped him right as he reached the door.

  With a hand on the door, he dropped his head. Two more seconds and he would’ve been out the door.

  “Hey.”

  She rushed across the linoleum to catch up. “What are you doing here? Checking up on me?” She stopped at the door, close enough that he could smell her flowery shampoo. “You were worried about me, weren’t you?”

  She bumped her hip against his, reminding him so much of the days when they were friends that he took a half step away from her. They’d spent countless hours on campus together, hanging out at his house with Tori, at the library studying together and pushing each other to do better. What if he’d never let Tori convince him not to act on his crush and at least seen if Macy was interested in him, too? With any luck, she wouldn’t have felt the same, or their relationship would’ve fizzled out like most high school romances, and then he’d be done with it. No more lingering attraction clouding his judgment. And as disappointing as it was to lose out to her, everything he’d hoped to achieve after high school had still happened, so he liked to think that he would’ve eventually gotten over her betrayal.

  He glanced at the numbers on the lockers, and a pit formed in his stomach when he realized they were the two that he and Tori had used their sophomore year at Sweet Ridge High. The place they met up between classes, where they made weekend plans, where he gave her advice on all the stupid guys she used to like, and where he comforted her when their family dog, Checkers, died. The momentary insanity of his protectiveness toward Macy slipped away against the backdrop of the lockers. He’d let his guard down, and who wouldn’t? He’d spent more time with Macy in the past twenty-four hours than he probably had in all the time since senior year, but the facts remained the same. “No, it’s nothing. I don’t know why I’m here.”

  “You were worried about me.” She grinned, looking cute, but she was nothing but trouble. “Admit it.”

  “No, I wasn’t. Really. If there’s anyone in this world that I don’t have to worry about, it’s you. I have to go. I have patients to see.” He pushed the door open. “One you hit with your car, in fact.”

  Without looking back to see how his words hit her—but damn, he hoped they stung—he stepped into the sunlight. It was immature, and a low blow by any means, but she brought out the worst in him. Seeing Macy, especially at their alma mater, brought him back to the most humiliating moment of his life. He’d lost, she didn’t play fair, and there was nothing he could do about it.

  • • •

  Macy stood at the smudged glass door, one hand resting lightly on the metal bar. Part of her wanted to push it and follow Gavin outside to finally have it out with him, but the other part knew that wouldn’t get her anywhere. The hallway filled with noise as the kids poured out of the music room and left the school, their footsteps and voices echoing off the walls. Mr. Procter closed the door behind them and watched until the last teen had left the building.

  “Thank you so much for coming today, Macy. The kids got a real kick out of seeing you, and I’m sure you made a difference.” He tucked his reading glasses into the front pocket of his short-sleeved, button-down plaid shirt.

  “It was fun, but I don’t know how much of a difference I made in one short visit.” Yet given the chance, she’d do it again. The kids’ reaction to her was exhilarating, giving her the spark of excitement about music that had been missing.

  “You’d be surprised. Kids this age eat up experiences, and I’m sure they’ll remember it for a long time.” He stopped by the trophy case, fiddling in his pants pocket for keys.

  “Well, then, I’m glad I came. It reminded me of when I used to want to be a music teacher. I can see why you’d spend your time on this program now that you’re retired.”

  “It’s time well spent.
Anything I do for the kids is rewarded tenfold. They’re a good group.” Mr. Procter looked tired but happy, and Macy noticed for the first time how deep the wrinkles bracketing his eyes were and how his hair was more salt than pepper. “Listen, if you end up staying in town a little longer, we’d love to have you come back.”

  His words hit her like a punch in the gut. It was too late. For the most part, she enjoyed her life in Nashville, judging for the show and watching singers’ dreams come true. With any luck, she’d squeeze more meaning out of their experiences and find some peace, but it wasn’t ever going to be anything like what she’d just felt in the old music room. Hell, she couldn’t even sing anymore, so her future had shrunk to putting on a happy face, offering encouragement, and watching privileged suburban kids whose parents had spent truckloads of money on private voice teachers and image consultants go through the rounds on her show. For most of them, America’s Next Country Star was little more than a stepping-stone to a recording contract, and she was nothing more than a cog in the entertainment wheel. Her time as an artist was over. Visiting Mr. Procter’s group again would probably do nothing more than drive home the fact that she’d thrown away the life she wanted after one selfish, shortsighted moment at a party in Nashville.

  But she couldn’t confide that to her old mentor. She’d been gone too long for that, too.

  Instead, she smiled brightly, hoping he couldn’t see her pain. “Thank you, I’d like that very much.”

  Chapter Seven

  Gavin returned home from work that evening exhausted but knowing that his evening would be anything but relaxing. With any luck, he’d made Macy uncomfortable enough that she’d remain holed up in the bedroom and leave him to unwind with dinner and television. He checked Merle’s water and food dishes, surveyed the refrigerator for dinner ingredients, and uncapped a bottle of water. The refrigerator door slammed closed when it slipped out of his hand at the sight of a wet-haired Macy standing ten feet away, wearing the shortest shorts he’d ever seen on a person and a tight, vintage Willie Nelson tour T-shirt.