“It’s awfully nice of Hollie to let me crash her party tonight. I know you all signed up for a Hollie Montgomery show. I hope you all don’t mind me taggin’ along.” He said it in his fake yet convincing and sexy drawl, and the crowd roared their approval. She wondered what it cost him to say it, however.
“But Hollie said I could sing one of my favorites, especially since I’m back to my old stompin’ grounds. This is a little song I put together back when I was dreaming of following my dreams to Nashville.”
Hollie had scooted him up a stool, and now he sat on it, propped his leg up.
Kacey couldn’t move when he started picking out the tune.
No . . . oh no.
He leaned into the mic, and suddenly she was back in the Gray Pony, watching him fight the crowd for attention.
Early riser, gonna catch the sun
Gotta start ’er early, gonna get her done . . .
She pictured herself sitting on a high-top, tracing the afterglow of the sun on his face, seeing him in his worn cowboy boots, faded jeans, a clean T-shirt.
She didn’t care what he said about her being his dream—he’d wanted to sing his songs for as long as she’d known him.
After the big game, the bonfire’s on
I got my pretty gal, not doin’ nothing wrong
Wishing on stars, hoping in the night
Someday everything’s gonna work out right
Someday. She nodded. And it had, really, for him. He’d crafted an amazing career, charmed millions with his songs, including his own daughter.
The crowd cheered as he added a riff to the end of the verse, diving again into the chorus.
Believin’ that the dreamin’s gonna get me far
It had. And it still could, if he wanted it. His voice could still make her shiver; the smoky heat tunneled under her skin, awakened emotion—hope, joy, even longing—inside her. Probably he did that for all his fans.
In his last stanza, the fiddler and the drummer dropped out, leaving just Ben and his voice, his guitar, lonely and poignant on the darkened stage. His song lifted, sweet and sad, falling upon her.
Somewhere back there, the mountain waits
Sorry, darlin’, but I’ll be home late
I’ve got a song to sing, the dream demands
C’mon, boys, let’s warm up the band
He let the last notes drift out, falling on silence before the crowd erupted. She stood there, her cheeks wet, her eyes blurry.
The dream demands.
He stood up, looked out in the crowd, and she couldn’t tell if he was searching for her or not.
But how could he see her, really, against the bright footlights of the stage? And he wouldn’t notice, either, if she slipped out.
In fact, amidst all the applause and the triumph of the evening, he probably wouldn’t even miss her.
She waited until he and Hollie started their next song, jamming hard into something about blue jeans, cowboy boots, and blondes, and headed for the door.
He was wrong. Ben might be able to come back to Mercy Falls, but Benjamin King could not.
For the first time since Ian fired her, Sierra could admit that perhaps this was better.
Sitting down to pizza with him as her equal, if she could ever call Ian that, helping him with his search, filled a place inside her she hadn’t quite realized was empty.
More than him being her entire world—they’d finally become real friends.
They sat on the leather sofa, the pizza box open on the coffee table, a list of the guests of Saint Mary Lodge in front of them, procured by her after pleading Ian’s desperate case and, of course, adding Ian’s generous donation for an updated dining room. It helped, too, that Sam had called, verified their official search needs.
Sam had been checking in with her too. Even stopped by last night after she got home, a late-night pizza in hand. Poor guy put in too many hours as the town’s deputy.
She had called nearly all 116 guests of the lodge, cabins, and motel rooms. “I left a message with the Lefevres and the Williamses—and I’ll keep calling the Jansens, but we’re getting to the end of the list, Ian.”
He had kicked back on the sofa, his bare feet on the table.
She noticed the wounds on his knuckles had healed, finally.
She desperately hoped Ian had heard her words about God not punishing him. About wanting to set him free.
“I know,” he said, reaching for another piece of pizza, sliding it on a paper plate, licking his fingers clean of the sauce. “But we’ll figure out something.”
We.
See, a team. Friends. Equals.
She dished up her own piece of pizza. “I’m sorry we haven’t been able to spend more time on this.”
“Your new job seems to be working out.” He said it without rancor, his tone genuine. She had to admit feeling a hint of disappointment that he hadn’t asked her to work for him again.
Then again, she spent practically every off-hour helping him keep the search alive.
And this was better, anyway.
“I like working for the team. Now that we’ve joined with the local EMS, I’m helping dispatch with 911 calls, I’ve put together a training schedule with the volunteer fire department, and Deputy Brooks has been bringing me up to speed on SAR terms, policies, and protocols.”
He got up, walked over to the kitchen. “Do you want another drink?”
Her cell phone rang. “I think this is one of our callbacks,” she said as she picked it up. “Hello?”
“My name is Megan Lefevre, and I have a message from someone named Sierra?”
“That’s me.” She motioned to Ian as she filled Megan in on their search. “So, we were wondering if you might have seen a girl matching that description—blonde hair, possibly wearing a Mercy Falls Mavericks sweatshirt, maybe looking for a ride?”
“Maybe. I remember the blonde hair, but not what she was wearing. We gave her a ride to East Glacier.”
Sierra was on her feet, snapping her fingers at Ian. “I’m going to put you on speaker.”
She pushed the button, lay the cell on the table.
Ian came over, wearing an enigmatic expression. Hope? Disbelief?
“Go on,” Sierra said.
“She was desperate to leave—we actually picked her up on the highway. She was hitching, of all things, and I told my husband that she looked like she might be in trouble, as if she’d been in a fight. She had a bruise on her jaw, a swollen lip. She looked like she’d been crying. It made me worry about her—that’s why we picked her up.”
Sierra had grabbed Ian’s arm. “Do you remember where you took her?”
“Yeah. We bought her something to eat at this little cafe and tried to find out who she was. She said she’d come to the park with her boyfriend, and they got into a fight. My husband wanted to call her parents, but she said she was eighteen and on her own. We finally got her to agree to take the train home. In the end, we gave her some money and dropped her off at the Amtrak.”
Ian had taken Sierra’s hand and was now tightening his grip.
“Is there anything else you can remember? Did she say anything about the fight, or maybe do you remember if she mentioned any names?”
“No. She was quiet, maybe even a little skittish, and—oh yeah, I remember. Some cops came into the cafe, and she suddenly put up her hood, as if she didn’t want them to see her. So yeah, she must have been wearing a sweatshirt. I thought about it later—it made me wonder if she was a runaway. I should have never let her get on that train. I admit, it haunts me.”
“You helped her—thank you for that,” Sierra said, glancing at Ian. “And you did all you could for her. Some people just . . . well, you can’t force them to accept your help.”
“I’ll ask my husband if he remembers anything, and if he does, I’ll call you back.”
“Thank you again.” Sierra hung up and turned to Ian.
He stared at her, and a slow smile crawled up his face
.
She matched it.
Then suddenly, his arms were around her, picking her up, whirling her around. “We found her!”
She had no words—too caught up in the sense of being in his arms, crushed to his chest, the air out from under her feet.
He smelled good, and she’d forgotten how strong he was, that aura of power that had always intrigued, delighted her.
“You did this.” He set her down, caught her face in his hands. “You did this, Sierra. We’re going to find her!”
And then, suddenly, he leaned down and kissed her.
Not a quick kiss, either, but something thorough, as if it might be long-awaited.
Shock turned her still; her body froze under his touch.
He tasted sweet, like the soda he’d been drinking, smelled of the soap from his shower, his touch solid as he cradled her face in his hands.
And then she was kissing him back. Her hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer. Practically inhaling him, throwing away every bit of hesitation, that old caution that held them apart torn asunder.
More than friends—finally.
He angled his head to deepen his kiss, moved his hands behind her back to pull her closer, a little sound of desire issuing from the back of his throat.
Ian. Her brain could hardly catch up with the feel of his honed body against hers, the sense of this amazing, powerful man letting himself go in her arms.
When he moved away, he seemed to be breathing hard as he searched her face. A smile tipped his lips. “Okay, so I admit I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.”
She touched his wrists and he caught her hands, entwined his fingers into hers.
“How long?”
“Five years?” He lifted a shoulder, as if suddenly sheepish. “I didn’t want to be that boss that stalked his beautiful employee.”
Beautiful? And suddenly the fact that he hadn’t rehired her made her want to sing. She could barely speak with the emotions clogging her throat. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for a long time too.”
He moved his hands behind her back, still holding hers. “Really?” He stepped closer, touched his forehead to hers. “Because I always thought I’d offended you that night . . . when—”
“Hardly.”
“I wasn’t myself.” He leaned down, kissed her neck, and a shiver went down her entire body.
And this was himself? Oh boy. She swallowed as he found her eyes again.
“Maybe you’re right. Maybe God is done punishing me.”
He kissed her again, sweetly, and she decided not to correct his theology. As his kiss deepened, she sensed the well of emotion that he’d kept banked for so long.
It occurred to her that was why she never saw a woman on his arm or even overnight, at the house. Because Ian never did anything halfway, and he simply wouldn’t dive in without giving his whole heart.
And he wasn’t the kind of man to give that over easily.
She kissed him back, her own emotions sweeping over her.
It wasn’t until he broke away that she noticed he’d moved them over to the end of the sofa. He sat on the arm, putting his arms around her. She propped her hands on his shoulders, touched his curly dark hair. The lamplight illuminated the strands of amber, a few russet hairs at his temples.
Although he’d shaved, late-afternoon copper whiskers graced his chin. She ran her fingers over them and he grinned, touched her cheek, ran his thumb down it, eliciting a trail of sparks.
“Thank you for not giving up on me—or Esme. Even if I’d hired a PI, he or she would have given up by now. But not you, Sierra. You cared enough to keep looking. Now we just have to get ahold of the Amtrak office, see if we can figure out where she went.”
She frowned, put her hands on his muscled shoulders.
“Ian, I thought you just wanted to make sure she was okay. Alive. We did, and now maybe you need to let this go.”
“I just need to find out where she is, and then I can walk away.”
“But . . .” She ran her hands down his arms, caught his hands. “What if she doesn’t want to be found?”
He frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“I just think that maybe she wants to stay lost.”
He stood up, and she backed up to give him room. He let go of her hands. “Why would she want to stay lost?”
“Think about it. Why did she go to the east side of the park, instead of back to Mercy Falls? It looks like she’s running.”
“From what?”
His tone brought her up, and she stiffened.
“I don’t know. Maybe she saw something or was a part of something—you heard what Megan Lefevre said about her weird reaction when the cops came into the cafe. Like she didn’t want to be noticed.”
“Are you saying she did something bad?”
He let go of her hands, walked away from her.
“I didn’t mean she had something to do with Dante’s death, but whatever it was, she didn’t think she could come home. And it sure seems like she doesn’t want to be found.”
He held up a hand, walked away from her. “What if she needs my help? Megan also said it looked like she’d been beat up. I can’t just . . .” He blew out a breath. “I can’t just leave Esme out there alone.”
Sierra schooled her tone, tried to keep it gentle. “Not everyone needs your help, Ian. Or wants it.”
That brought him up short. A muscle tensed in his jaw.
“I know you’ve helped thousands, but—”
“You don’t understand, Sierra.” He rounded on her. “That’s why I’m here, that’s what I do. If I don’t help them, who will?”
She paused then. “God?”
“Oh, please. Really? Listen, I got to where I am today because I didn’t let my mother’s choices keep me from going to school, didn’t let my poverty keep me out of college, didn’t let Katrina destroy me. I helped myself to where I am today. And I can help Esme.”
“Even if she doesn’t want your help?” She didn’t mean for her words to emerge as a challenge. Her heart filled her throat as she stared at him, gauging her words. But she saw his future tunneling out into a fruitless search, the what-if holding him hostage. “You need to let this go.”
Quiet. The room cooled. He walked over to the list on the coffee table, picked it up. Closed the lid on the pizza box. “I’ll find her on my own, Sierra. Thanks for picking this up. You want the leftovers?”
And just like that, she was dismissed. She stared at him, stripped.
He met her gaze, and the emptiness in it brushed down her spine.
She shook her head at the pizza, her eyes burning. “Okay, Ian. You win.” She walked toward the door, grabbed her boots, slid them on. “But despite what you believe, you can’t save everyone. You can’t protect everyone. And you can’t make the world obey you.”
He stood in the glow of the lamplight, the darkness of the window pressing in around him, his eyes dark, his chest rising and falling against her words.
“And you’re a fool to think that you got here on your own. God has had your back every step of the way, and someday you might actually get your ego out of the way enough to see that.”
She put her purse over her shoulder and pulled the door shut behind her.
She made it to her car before she bent into the steering wheel and sobbed.
“What do you mean, you can’t find her?” Ben stared out at the remnants of the crowd from the wings of the stage. He’d expected Kacey to be lingering after the show, had sent Hollie’s new manager to find her. “Did you check with security—maybe she tried to get backstage?”
She wasn’t waiting in the crowd, nor by the door to the stage in back. He’d left two messages on her phone, texted her.
Nothing.
He packed his guitar into its case, disappointment like a fist in his gut.
“Benji, you were ah-mazin’,” Hollie said, putting an arm around his shoulders. She pressed a kiss to his cheek.
&n
bsp; Yeah, he just might have given the best concert of his life—mostly because he’d dreamed of exactly this night. Him at the mic, staring down into the crowd, the woman he loved singing along.
He knew Kacey had been there—the minute he took the stage, he looked for her seat, found her standing at the rail, smiling, clapping.
And then the music swept him away. That, and Hollie’s crazy performance. He had never seen her quite so flirtatious on stage, her dance moves just a little too forward, her voice sultry. He’d never really considered the lyrics of his songs—but suddenly they all sounded way too suggestive, especially when he thought about Audrey singing them.
For the first time ever, he felt a little soiled after a gig.
He shut the guitar case, picked it up. “Gotta run.”
“What? No, you have to stick around. I wanted to work on that song I heard you singing during warm-up. What was it?”
Kacey’s song. The one that wouldn’t leave his brain. He’d written nearly the entire thing, just needed an ending, had been reaching for the lyrics in his dressing room with the band, anticipating singing it to Kacey after the concert.
Turn around, listen to your heart
I need you so much, don’t tear me apart
I was wrong, you were right
Nothing between us but this darn fight
And yes, Hollie had come in, humming along as she read fan tweets on her phone, but he didn’t think she’d actually heard him.
“It’s nothing,” he said and shrugged out of Hollie’s embrace. Last thing he needed was her finishing the song and claiming it.
She grabbed his arm. “But what about Billings? The tour? Me?”
“I’m not on tour with you, Hollie. You started this project alone, remember? You’ll have to figure this out on your own.”
The flirty, dangerous look had vanished. Instead, she glared at him. “You can’t leave me.”
“Oh, I think I can.”
“No, you can’t. Because without me, you’re nothing, Ben. You were heading down has-been lane when I came along. And you’ll be right back there when I leave you here in this backwater town.”
“Have a good tour,” he said quietly.
She made a sound of disbelief. “You think you can come back home, fall in love with your high school sweetheart—yeah, I’m not blind. I know exactly who you’re hanging out with. But she’ll never love you the way you need to be loved. The way the music, the fans love you.” She advanced toward him. “Face it, Benji, you gave your heart to the stage long ago, and you’re fooling yourself if you think you can leave it behind.”
Wild Montana Skies Page 24
