Can't Stop the Music (The Soul Mate Tree Book 2)

by C. D. Hersh

  He leaned toward Rose. “Wait for me? I’ll be back.”

  “Sure.”

  He stood as Melody drew closer. “Yes, Rose. Please do wait. We would love to spend more time with you.” She assumed her usual possessive position on him. He glared, shaking her loose.

  “I will come back,” he promised. “Alone.” Then he strode off.

  Melody leaned over, eyebrows drawn into a sharp frown. The multi-colored peace medallion around her neck swung in front of her chest. “Stay away from Dakota, Rose. I went along with him and saved you from River, because I wouldn’t wish that fate on any woman. But I’m not afraid to rip out your eyes if you go after my man. Make no mistake. He. Is. Mine.”

  Really? The tenderness in his expression was directed at me, not you. Punching the swinging pendant against Melody’s chest, Rose stood. “Guess all your peace talk is a bunch of crap.”

  “When it comes to him, yes.” She straightened, standing toe to toe with Rose. “I’d suggest you leave now. And don’t come back.”

  Rose slung her backpack over her shoulder and walked away. There’d be plenty of time to double-back after Melody left.

  When Dakota reached the backstage area, he hunted down the roadie supervisor. “I heard you needed me?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, dude,” the tattooed hippie replied. “Everything’s cool back here. Running copasetic.”

  He frowned. “You didn’t send a girl to find me?”

  The hippie gave him a blank stare.

  “A blonde. Long hair, about this tall?” He held his hand out at Melody’s height.

  “Pretty?” the hippie asked.

  “Yeah, on the outside.”

  “No, man, but if you see her, send her my way. I could use some company.”

  Dakota clamped his jaw together so hard it hurt. Melody lied to him. Had she made the story up when she saw him with Rose? His patience for her possessive shenanigans was at an end. The subtle hints he’d been throwing at her these past few weeks—for them to break up—had been useless. Now she’d crossed the line, lying to him like this. Whether he hurt her feelings or not didn’t matter anymore. They were done. He had to get that through her thick head once and for all.

  Determined to find the conniving girl and end their sham of a relationship, he turned and ran straight into her.

  “We have to talk, now,” he commanded. Grabbing Melody’s arm, he hauled her to an empty spot at the edge of the chain link fence surrounding the stage area. “You lied to me about being needed down here. Why?”

  “Because you disappeared, and I thought you were with her, and I was right. I wanted to get you away from her.”

  “You don’t have any say over who I talk to or see.”

  “I have every right to control who you see,” she protested. “We’re a couple.”

  “We are not a couple. Never have been. Never will be. You’ve been fun to hang around with, sometimes. We shared a few kisses, some free love. That’s all there’s ever been.”

  “But I love you.” Melody moved in closer, weaving her arms around his.

  “And stop the clingy crap.” He shook her off. “I don’t love you, and I’ve never said I did.” He took in a shaky breath, preparing for the next words.

  “You’re breaking up with me?” Her voice cracked like a boy tenor entering maturity.

  “I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you this for weeks now, but I didn’t know how to without hurting you. You’ve missed every hint I’ve dropped.”

  Moisture welled in Melody’s eyes. A big teardrop rolled down her cheek, then another, and another.

  Dakota steeled himself for the wave of sympathy he knew her emotions would bring in his heart. He hated hurting anyone, but he had to do this. His entire future hinged on staying strong and not giving in to her as he’d done in the past.

  “I’m sorry, Melody. It’s over.”

  The floodgates burst and she wept loudly.

  He left as her cries echoed behind him. When he didn’t return, her wails turned to shouts of anger as she flung threats and curses at his back.

  Despite her venomous words, his heart felt light for the first time in months. Exhaling in a loud whoosh, he picked up his pace, heading back to the lean-to so he could tell Rose his real name and how he felt about her.

  When he got back to the lean-to, Rose wasn’t there. He searched the area around the shelter. Why hadn’t she waited?

  Thunder rumbled, the vibrations beating across the hilltop like a bass drum roll. Overhead, black clouds loomed. Scanning the field below, he saw a steady stream of people leaving the festival ahead of the coming storm. Was Rose among them?

  A misty rain began to fall. He headed toward the lean-to, then stopped. A huge tree sat a few feet away, near the spot where he’d first seen Rose. He remembered her odd statement.

  My tree’s gone.

  Certain he hadn’t seen the tree there earlier, he approached. The light green and silver leaves on the branches rustled. He stopped. No breeze stirred on the rim. Then he heard something on the air. A voice. Sighing softly.

  “I am old, I am ancient, my purpose is clear, to give those who are needy a treasure so dear.”

  His gaze swept the area once more. He stood alone on the hill’s crest, except for the tree.

  The voice whispered again, clearer this time. “They who come to my roots, touch my bark, stroke my leaves, find the soul of their lives if they but believe. When I call and you listen, your prize will be great, if your heart remains open and you don’t hesitate.”

  The whisper continued, “Do you yearn? Be you lonely? Is your time yet at hand? Reach for me and I’ll give to you. I’m yours to command. For your trust, for your faith, keep my secrets untold, and I’ll gift you forever, to have and to hold.”

  A loud crack of thunder caused him to flinch. He checked the sky, then looked back at the tree. The gnarled form faded away into the mist.

  What the heck is happening?

  Dakota advanced until he stood in the exact spot where he’d seen the tree. Nothing occupied the space except him. He scrubbed his face with his palm. Man, he needed some sleep. A tree had been there. He’d heard a voice.

  Was this the tree Rose had been looking for when he first saw her? Had she heard the voice?

  What had the voice said? Something about touching leaves and roots and bark to get the soul of your life.

  “Come back!” he shouted. Nothing happened.

  No voice.

  No tree.

  Not even a breeze.

  Then he remembered the leaves she wore in her headband. They were the same color as the ones he’d just seen.

  She had seen the tree!

  He didn’t even know Rose’s last name or where she came from or anything to help him find her. Despondent, Dakota sat on the muddy grass, burning her image into his brain. If the fates were kind, they’d meet again someday. Then his heart sank.

  She had touched the tree.

  He hadn’t.

  Did that mean he wouldn’t find Rose? But he wanted to.

  He raced down the slope praying he could catch her before she took off.

  After Rose left the lean-to, she searched for Willow and the rest of the group she’d come with. She found them in the same place she’d left them two days earlier.

  When she spotted her, Willow jumped to her feet. “I wondered if we’d have to hunt you down. Where have you been?”

  “Here and there,” she replied. “I performed on the free stage with some people I met and jammed with a few other musicians in the campgrounds. I got some free food at the Hog Farm tents. They might still have some if you’re hungry.” She leaned closer to Willow and whispered, “Did you know there are nude hi
ppies everywhere?”

  Willow laughed. “Enjoying their return to nature? That’s what nudists do, Rose.”

  “It was embarrassing. I didn’t look. Oh, and I watched from the stage when Santana played.”

  “On stage? Far out! How’d you do that?”

  “A guy I met knew someone who let us in.”

  Willow’s eyebrows rose. “A guy?”

  “Don’t flip out. It’s not what you think.” She readjusted the leaves in her headband, remembering the tender look Dakota gave her just before Melody arrived. It might have been that way with him, if he hadn’t been taken. “Anyway, I just wanted to let you know I’m okay.”

  A roll of thunder sounded. She glanced at the darkening sky. “I’m going to the tent for the night. I’m ready to go whenever you all are.” She pointed her thumb at the clouds. “You might want to find some shelter.”

  Willow laughed and held out the edges of her skirt, the neon paisley fabric now a dirty brown. “Why? I’m so mud stained, being caught in a rainstorm might be helpful.” She pointed at the brown streaks on Rose’s maxi-skirt. “Looks like you got caught, too.”

  “I had a rather wild ride down a soggy hillside on top of a guy.”

  Willow’s mouth opened in astonishment. “The same one who took you backstage?”

  Rose shook her head.

  “Oh, this one is different. I see it in your eyes.”

  She dropped her gaze to the ground. “He’s got a girl, I think. The mudslide was an accident. He lost his footing and knocked me off my feet.” Literally and emotionally. Time to split before Willow figured any more out. “I’ll catch you tomorrow.” Thunder rolled louder. “Unless you change your mind and get out of the rain.”

  Willow glanced at the darkening sky. “You enjoy the quiet. We’re staying put.”

  Rose climbed the hill to the camp where they’d pitched the tent, arriving just as a fierce thunderstorm broke out. Yet her feet and heart wanted to go to the lean-to where she hoped Dakota would be waiting for her.

  A vision of Melody ripping her eye sockets out hit her brain. She let common sense take the lead and crawled into the damp tent.

  Melody had made it abundantly clear Dakota belonged to her. If he’d been into her and not Melody, wouldn’t he have told her off right then?

  He rescued you, whispered a niggling voice in her head. Melody said he’d been concerned about River’s intentions. That meant something, surely.

  Hero, her stubborn brain said. Not lover.

  She wanted him to be a lover.

  Her fingers caressed the leaves. You promised I’d find the soul of my life.

  The rain poured so hard, she couldn’t see more than a few feet outside the tent. Suddenly, the sound of raindrops changed from a deluge to a patter. Rose stuck her head out of the flap opening. The tree from the hilltop covered the tent, the rain dripping between the light green and silver leaves as they sheltered her from the storm. Upon seeing the apparition, her heart leapt.

  Wind rustled the leaves. “If they but believe,” the breeze seemed to sigh. A gust tossed the branches back and forth, whispering the phrase over and over.

  “You’re making it hard,” she told the tree. “The guy I’m attracted to has a girl already.”

  “Believe. Believe.”

  “I do believe.”

  The sound of the rain changed to a deluge as the tree disappeared. She retreated into the tent. She’d told the tree who she wanted. The tree told her to believe. Believe what? That Dakota was the one? That someone else out there would be her soul mate? Or perhaps she needed to wait a bit longer for the miracle of love to happen.

  Rose fell asleep dreaming of Dakota and true love.

  Chapter 7

  Fish Hook, Indiana

  August, 1979

  As Rosemary headed out for her teaching job, she touched the framed Woodstock tickets and flyer. Then she ran her fingers over the set of leaves tucked in the corner under the glass.

  “I believe,” she whispered into the empty hall of her house.

  The action had become a ritual ever since she’d seen the speaking and disappearing tree at Woodstock, back in ‘69. After dating Patrick exclusively for the past school year, she’d hoped for the tree’s promise of true love.

  But things weren’t going well, even with so much in common. They were both teachers and shared a love of learning. She was a music teacher, and he’d taught history, although he’d progressed to the position of principal. They both loved the arts and music. He preferred classical to her folk and rock ‘n’ roll tastes, but she liked classical, too.

  They both enjoyed the same foods and movies. Although he didn’t rock her world in every aspect of their relationship, the rest was sufficient.

  Until this summer.

  Since school let out, their weekly dates had dwindled to one a month. His excuses always seemed reasonable. Still, something didn’t feel right. All summer long she’d tried to rationalize away her doubt. Tried to forget the notion that since his attentions dropped off when school ended, he might be using her as a conduit to discover what the other teachers thought. She’d done her best to give him, and their relationship, a solid chance.

  After all, what was true love, really? True love didn’t need to be dashingly handsome, did it? Wasn’t it about meeting someone you could share your life with. True love was a bond which would grow over the years, right?

  After ten years of watching for the good-looking hippie with the guitar case to reappear in her life and waiting for the tree to fulfill its promise, Rosemary felt it was time to move on the most promising suitor she had. Time to put aside the things of youth and ideology and move forward. She was thirty, for heaven’s sake. Her biological clock was ticking.

  But nothing had removed the niggle in her heart which always brought the gorgeous boy from Woodstock to the forefront of her mind every time Patrick kissed her. If he hadn’t been able to erase Dakota from her heart after nearly a year of dating, then she had to do the right thing. Tonight, at dinner, she would tell Patrick they were finished.

  She stroked the leaves one more time, for luck, and headed for her car to prepare for the students returning after summer break. If he wasn’t the one, maybe her true love was still waiting for her.

  The teachers’ lounge buzzed with chatter as Rosemary entered. She put her lunch in the refrigerator. Then she took a seat at the round table where the women gathered.

  “He’s sooo handsome,” art teacher Susan Markham said. “Drop dead gorgeous.”

  “Who’s handsome, Susan?” she asked. “Your newest man?”

  She had a fresh one almost every week. There weren’t many more left in their little town. The woman ran through them as fast as an aging starlet used wrinkle cream.

  Susan faced her. “No, the new instrumental music teacher. He’s already in trouble with Principal Patrick.”

  “We have a new band teacher?”

  “You mean your honey didn’t tell you?” Susan asked in a patronizing voice.

  She also didn’t waste a single chance to be snotty about her relationship with Patrick. More than once, Rosemary wished she’d heeded his advice to keep their relationship quiet among the other teachers.

  “No, he doesn’t share every school detail with me.” Why hadn’t he told her about this? As the vocal music teacher, she should have been part of the committee who hired new music department staff. After all, they would work closely together on several school projects. “What’s his name?”

  “DeMarco. Anthony DeMarco. And, oh, he is hot!” Susan fanned herself vigorously. “Black hair with a streak of gray in just the right place. Chiseled features. A close-cropped, five-o-clock-shadow beard. He’s an Italian stallion, if you ask me.”

  The description sent Rosemary back
to Woodstock and memories of Dakota. She shook the images of his olive-toned skin, long black hair, and clean-shaven face from her head.

  “Patrick never mentioned the new hire to me. What did DeMarco do?”

  Susan leaned in and whispered as if she shared a choice piece of gossip across the fence with a neighbor. “At band practice he played Jimi Hendrix’s version of The National Anthem for the students. Principal Patrick went livid when he found out. I was in the office. I could hear him through the closed office door. Shouting something about the music being un-American and demeaning to the original composer. He called the band teacher a bad influence on the kids for introducing a subversive, hippie-trash version of a sacred song.”

  Susan eyed her. “You were at Woodstock where Hendrix played it, right? I remember seeing the flyer and your tickets when you hosted the teachers’ Christmas party at your house. Did you hear the song?”

  “Yes, but I don’t think we need to remind Principal Patrick of my past, especially if he’s on a rampage about hippie music.”

  “Maybe DeMarco went to Woodstock, too,” Susan suggested.

  “You wouldn’t have needed to be at Woodstock to know the song.”

  “Do you think the song is subversive hippie trash, Rosemary?”

  “No, however, the principal has a very different view of modern music than I do.” She stood. “I should visit the new band teacher. Give him some pointers about Patrick’s music preferences.”

  Susan leaned against the back of her chair. “Wouldn’t hurt. I heard the principal threaten to can him if he stepped out of line again.”

  “Surely he wouldn’t fire him over something as innocuous as a song style,” one of the other teachers protested.

  Susan shrugged. “I only know what I heard. Face it, the principal can be vindictive and small minded sometimes.”

  “That’s not true.” Rosemary came to his defense, even though she’d often been the voice of reason in some of the school issues he dealt with. “He’s just passionate about the school, the students, and his job. There’s nothing wrong in caring about your community.”