by Kim Redford
“Ready for the unveiling?” She turned to him with a smile and dangled the key before his eyes.
“Anytime you are.” He forced the words past reluctant lips, wishing they could go back down the stairs, over to the big cabin, and finish what they’d started in the honky-tonk.
She pushed open the front door and disappeared inside.
He followed her into an open-floor-plan room enclosed in the warm patina of old wood from floor to wall to ceiling, including a small kitchen with turquoise laminate countertops and pine cabinets adjacent to the living area and bathroom. On either end of the room, stairs led up to sleeping lofts with queen beds. Every bit of space was carefully designed for maximum use, since the cabin was so small.
He set the two cases beside a plush chair covered in roping-and-riding cowboy fabric near an end table that held a lamp in the shape of a cowboy on horseback with a turquoise lampshade. A coffee table that was hand-carved from rich, smooth, red cedar nestled in front of a brown leather love seat. A large barn-wood-framed photograph of a barrel-racing cowgirl took up much of the wall behind the sofa.
“What do you think?” He glanced around the room, trying to see it through her eyes and hoping it didn’t look as small to her as it did to him.
“It’s great. These cabins are so charming, the way they’re built and the way they’re decorated.” She set her guitar in the chair before she walked into the kitchen and set the Chuckwagon sack on the countertop.
“Good.” He heard the overhead fan on the center-exposed beam squeak slightly with each turn of the blades. He looked up, wondering if the sound would bother her.
“Yeah. I noticed it right away. I’ll ask the Settelmeyers to see what they can do to stop that sound. It’ll get more annoying the longer I’m here.”
“You could turn it off till they do. AC is on, so you’ll stay cool.”
“Right. But heat rises to those lofts, so it’s best if I leave it on…at least till it bugs me too much.”
“You’re so sensitive to sound I doubt it’ll take long for that noise to get on your nerves. I’m sure they’ll come right out if you call them.”
“I know, but I’d rather not bother them so soon after they fixed up the place for me. They keep such a tight schedule.”
He nodded, glancing around again to see if there was anything to do to make her more comfortable. “Which loft do you want?”
“I’ll use the one that looks out over the front of the Park.”
“Pretty view. If you want, I’ll take your bags up there.”
“Bathroom’s down here, so I better keep my carryall with my personal items there.”
“I bet the Settelmeyers stocked the bath as well as the kitchen.”
She grinned, clapping her hands together. “Do you think they remembered which brands I like from when I lived here before?”
He chuckled, gesturing toward the bath. “Go check. I won’t be a bit surprised if that’s what they put in there for you. We’re talking the Settelmeyers, and they never forget anything.”
“They’re amazing, that’s for sure.”
After she disappeared into the bathroom, he walked over to the kitchen. He opened the cookie jar in the shape of a purple cow, saw cowboy cookies, and nodded in satisfaction.
“Craig,” she called as she headed toward him. “Just like you said, they remembered everything. They’re making it so easy to move in here.”
“Fresh cookies.”
“Perfect.” She opened the fridge door and peeked inside. “Look! Lots of little glass containers of food they prepared for me or got at the Chuckwagon.”
“You’re all set now.” He peered over her shoulder. “Looks good.”
“What do you bet they knew we’d been chosen to chair Wild West Days before we did?”
“I wouldn’t take that bet.” He laughed at the thought. “They appear to know everything before anybody else.”
“Right. And they wanted to make sure I didn’t waste any time on everyday stuff when I needed to get my head in our new game.”
“That’d be my guess, too.”
“I bet MG and Hedy let them know.”
“Yep.” He looked around again, realizing he didn’t have much reason to stay in her cabin, and he didn’t want to wear out his welcome so soon. “Let me run Ivy’s suitcase upstairs, then I’ll get out of your hair.”
“What?” She looked at him, green eyes widening in surprise. “You’re leaving?”
“I figured you’d want a little time to get unpacked and do whatever you want to do to make this more your home.”
She stepped in close to him, put her hands on his shoulders, went up on her tiptoes, and placed a soft kiss on his lips. “I said I wanted my own place, but I didn’t say I wanted to be alone.”
He took a deep breath but didn’t move as he watched her step back, smiling at him with that old light in her eyes. Was she teasing him? Was she being sincere? Was she inviting him upstairs? Maybe she wanted him to make the first move, but he was reluctant to do it because the last thing he wanted was to drive her away. Maybe what they’d shared in the Hall had simply been the result of playing emotional music together. Maybe he ought to just throw caution to the wind and take her in his arms until she begged him to finish what they’d started earlier.
As he moved to do just that, she whirled around and stepped outside. He followed, deciding he didn’t understand her at all. He guessed he never had, but he had about five minutes to figure her out, or he felt as if he was going to lose her all over again.
“Let’s go upstairs.” He stopped beside her where she looked out over the Park, as if seeing it for the first time. Maybe he just needed to push her into what was right for both of them.
“What?”
“Let me prove to you that we can do this.”
She wrapped her arms around her waist. “It’s so intense between us. I think I need tender, but we’re so fiery we never get there.”
“I can do tender.” He stepped closer, letting her feel his nearness, letting her sense his true intentions, letting her remember how he’d always supported her.
She didn’t look at him, but she reached out and touched his arm…tentative at first, then more firmly as she stroked down his forearm until she clasped his hand and held on, breathing shallowly as if controlling great emotion.
“I’m here for you.” He gently threaded their fingers together, giving her space and time and control. “I’ve always been here for you. I always will be.”
“We don’t have time for me…or us.” She leaned into him, shivering even in the heat of the summer.
He took the weight of her body—he wanted her to understand she could lean on him in all ways, not just physically. And he, finally, began to understand what she needed from him. Sex wasn’t going to do it. At least, not yet. Too many men offered it to her and too many men wanted it from her. She needed gentleness. She needed love. She needed to be nurtured, just as she nurtured so many through her music. His heart hurt for her. She didn’t know what she needed because she’d given so much for so long. She didn’t even know to ask for it or how to reach for it. But he did. Finally, he knew how to understand and help her…and maybe himself at the same time.
He would set aside his own hopes and desires to give her what she needed, not what she thought she wanted from him. In time, perhaps her needs and desires would merge into a great love that would heal her bruised and battered heart. He would be there, always there, to share her unfettered love or once more let her go out into the world alone.
He cleared his throat, decision made. “We ought to get right on making plans for Wild West Days.”
“Oh.” She glanced up at him, appearing surprised as she stepped back and dropped his hand.
“And not just that event, but we need to make sure we have everything under control for t
he Lone Star Saloon.”
“And Wildcat Hall.”
“Guess I kind of forgot we had so much to do now.”
“Me, too.” She glanced back into the cabin. “Do you suppose Hedy sent us that list of times and events for Wild West Days yet?”
“MG won’t let her forget.”
“We could check my laptop.”
“Good idea.” He smiled at her, feeling his heart beat a little faster as he realized they’d be together for the next month at least. It felt good.
“And we need to pull up the Hall’s schedule.”
“Right.” He followed her back into the cabin. “Do you feel like singing this weekend? It’d make a lot of folks happy to see you again.”
She stopped in front of the kitchen sink and then whirled around to look at him. “You’re right. I need to get back on the horse before I completely lose my nerve.”
“You might feel a little stage fright, but you’ll never lose your nerve—not with a guitar in your hands.”
She smiled, nodding in agreement. “Okay. Let’s announce on Wildcat Hall’s website that we’ll be performing Friday and Saturday nights.”
“We?”
“Do you really think I’d go onstage here without you?”
“You’ve been singing without me.”
“But that’s because I didn’t have you with me.”
“And now that you do?”
“We’ll knock their socks off.”
“Just what I had in mind.” He chuckled, so glad to see the old high-confidence Fern back that he could’ve given her a big kiss, but he restrained that impulse. In time, he’d go there again, but for now they’d focus on the one thing that always drew them close—plucking a few strings on their guitars and blending their voices in harmony.
Chapter 10
Friday night, Fern stood under the hot, bright lights of Wildcat Hall. She was back on her maybe-forever stage. She was glad Craig had checked the sprinkler system and the fire extinguishers to make sure they were all in good working order. With so many folks congregated in one area, they weren’t about to take chances with the possibility of fire.
She’d travel like other performers from time to time, but she realized now that home would always beckon to her…like it did this time. And Craig. He stood to her left, backing her up on bass guitar, being there for her. Would he go with her, or would he stay? Was he rooted to Wildcat Bluff, or could he carry the roots with him? Could she?
She glanced at him, shimmering in all black like the legendary Man in Black who’d left his mark on country music forever and a day. Craig mostly chose songs that lifted spirits, found lost love, and nurtured the faint of heart. She was right there with him, listening as he brought their world of music to vibrant life before a honky-tonk of avid listeners.
From above, a rotating multicolor light show splashed across him, bouncing off the black lacquer of his electric guitar, turning the lone star on the alligator hatband of his black hat to silver glitter and emphasizing the high cheekbones of his handsome face. She smiled at him, couldn’t help it, and caught his eye. They shared the moment, just the two of them in a crowded room. Yes, they made a complete circle, nothing more needed than the single glance of connection that they were in the right place at the right time with the right people.
On cue, she gave a quick nod, stepping back to give him center stage for an impressive riff, his quick fingers moving across the guitar strings. Folks sat on benches, clustered in groups, or line danced to a local western swing band while Craig Thorne played and sang his heart out.
He was accompanied by his band of cowboys playing fiddle, mandolin, banjo, guitar, accordion, and trap set. She tapped her toe as she listened, enjoying playing with them again, as their music brought people out onto the dance floor to a slow dance that was made for new lovers to connect and forever couples to reconnect.
Craig glanced at her, then stepped back so she could take center stage again. She hit the opening bars with her guitar, and then launched into Dolly Parton’s legendary “Jolene” that begged a woman who had it all to please not take her man. Fern really didn’t like this song much because she’d been put in that position a time or two by women who thought all she had to do was crook her little finger to come away with their man. She never did and she never would, but she understood the fear. She glanced at Craig. She wasn’t the only one with admirers, and she might beg, too, if another woman had the power to take him away. And with that thought, she understood that she couldn’t bear to lose him—not for any reason.
At the agreed upon time, she saw Morning Glory move up near the stage. She wore a blouse and long skirt of crimson and gold, and long chains dangled around her neck. She gave her friend a nod to let her know they’d take a break soon for the announcement. Beyond MG, DJs Wildcat Jack and Eden Rafferty, along with video and sound specialists Nathan Halford and Ken Kendrick, clustered in preparation for KWCB, the Wildcat Den, livestreaming from the Hall. She glanced at Craig, then stepped back again to let the band take over in an instrumental number that would lead into the announcement.
They’d been busy the last few days with Ivy updating the Wild West Days website while she and Craig contacted shoot-out reenactors, stores, and vendors. All was quickly coming together because Wild West Days was a yearly event and folks knew what to do and when to do it. She was the new kid on the block, so she’d been staying up late studying everything Hedy had sent her, so she could catch up to everyone else. It’d also given her a good excuse to stay in her cabin when everything in her had wanted to be next door with Craig, but he hadn’t come knocking on her door, and she hadn’t gone to him. She supposed it was for the best, but still she had that deep burn that wasn’t going away anytime soon. And so she’d focused on work.
They’d come up with a promotion for Wild West Days at the dance hall tonight that featured her and the fact that she’d also be performing with Craig at the Lone Star Saloon during the big event. She had a couple of other local bands she knew were good that she wanted to add to the roster of the Hall and the saloon. She’d get to them in the next few days, as soon as she carved out some time to contact them. For now, she needed to keep her focus on her enthusiastic audience and the upcoming announcement.
As the music died away, she signaled, and the lights turned down on the stage and up on the audience. For the first time, she could see the happy—and in some cases sweaty—faces looking up expectantly as they stopped dancing and waited for their next entertainment.
She gestured toward Morning Glory, who stepped up on the stage with a big grin. As she handed MG a mic, Eden, in a crimson snap shirt, tight Wranglers, and red cowgirl boots, and Wildcat Jack, wearing his trademark fringed leather jacket despite the heat, joined them onstage. Nathan and Ken, both dressed in Wildcat Den T-shirts, jeans, and sneakers, moved into position on the floor and started livestreaming to the radio station’s large audience.
“Folks, we won’t keep you long from your boot-scooting fun,” Morning Glory called to the crowd. “We just want to share our big kickoff to Wild West Days by announcing that our very own Fern Bryant is back in town and will be performing with our beloved Craig Thorne at the Lone Star Saloon.”
A loud roar of approval went up from the crowd, along with a lot of boot stomping and catcalls.
“That’s right, folks.” Morning Glory raised her arms outward to encompass the honky-tonk. “Come Labor Day weekend, you’ll be getting the best of both worlds right here at Wildcat Hall and in town at the Lone Star Saloon. So don’t be a stranger.” She stepped back and handed the mic to Eden.
“Aren’t they the best?” Eden gestured toward the band. “You’ll be seeing Fern Bryant and Craig Thorne perform together again, by special request from all y’all in Wildcat Bluff County. So come on out and join us.” She turned and handed the mic to Wildcat Jack.
“That’s right, all you co
wboys and the cowgirls who love ’em for whatever wild and crazy reason, we’re gearing up big-time for our annual Wild West Days,” Jack said with a wink. “And we invite every last one of you to join us for all the fun.”
Applause followed Jack’s words, as he did a little soft-shoe shuffle back and forth on the stage.
“You know it. You love it,” Jack called out. “Let’s hear it for the biggest, baddest, bestest Wild West Days to ever grace our beautiful county.”
Fern couldn’t keep from grinning as Jack received another wild response from the audience. He really knew how to rev ’em up and reel ’em in. She appreciated an expert entertainer of his quality.
“So y’all come on out and enjoy all the fun.”
She was still grinning when her breath caught in her throat and all humor fled at a sight she thought she’d left behind on the cruise lines. It was no apparition, although she tried to make it into an unreality. A tall man who moved like a hunter on the prowl stepped to the front of the crowd. He stared at her—and no one else—with a particular hungry gaze that cut straight through her. He wore his shock of silver hair a little long, a little tussled, and it contrasted with tanned skin stretched tightly across sleek muscles emphasized by a lapis silk T-shirt and ripped, faded blue jeans. Powerful, that was the only word for him. Simon Winter—if that was his real name.
She felt a little dizzy and Jack’s voice faded away as Simon sighted her as if focusing to get her exactly in the center of his crosshairs. She wanted to disappear. She wished she’d never agreed to perform here tonight and put her name out there. Most of all, she wished she’d never crossed paths with this supremely confident man.
She instinctively eased toward Craig, feeling a need for his protection. She stopped, frozen in place by a chilling thought. Would Simon view Craig as an obstacle to his goal? That could be dangerous. Then again, maybe Simon had simply been in the area and decided to stop by, although that possibility seemed remote.
She needed to do something to defuse the situation. She raised her chin and stared into Simon’s cold gray eyes. He smiled at her response, just the faintest movement of his too-perfect lips. He had her complete attention now, so he stepped forward and carefully placed a huge bouquet of perfect white roses—at least two dozen—in transparent green plastic wrap on the stage. She didn’t trust this gift one bit, just as she hadn’t trusted this man from the first. When she glanced up, Simon was gone, as if he’d never been there.
