Face the Music: Beyond Jackson Falls Book 1

by Laurie Breton

  She wondered about the incident that had cost him his leg and his career. He didn’t talk about it. At least, not to her. There were places you didn’t go, and that was one of them. Maybe someday he’d trust her enough to tell her what happened, but she suspected that day wouldn’t come any time soon.

  Paige cleared her throat. “Soup’s ready,” she said.

  They sat in front of steaming bowls of homemade soup, thick with veggies and egg noodles. He lifted the pill bottle she’d set next to his bowl, read the label, and set it back down.

  “How’s the pain?” she said.

  “Creeping up on me. But I can wait a couple more hours before I take one of those things.” He picked up his spoon, tasted the soup. “Wow. You made this yourself?”

  “I made the soup. The rolls came from the bakery department at the IGA.”

  He took a second taste. “This is really good.”

  “You sound surprised.”

  “I never figured you for a domestic goddess.”

  She lifted an eyebrow. “What? You think I live in a sty with pigs?”

  “Not that.” He tore his dinner roll in two, picked up his butter knife. “I just thought that since you spend most of your life on the road, it doesn’t leave much time for cooking.” He buttered the roll and added, “I thought maybe you’d have hired help.”

  She’d never noticed before how big his hands were. Long-fingered and nicely shaped, they dwarfed the dinner roll. He was a big man. Not an ounce of fat on him, but big bones. Big hands and feet and a long, lean body, all of it solid muscle. Even in a town this small, with that body and the face of a young god, he must have women crawling all over him.

  She wasn’t sure why the thought irritated her so.

  “I have a cleaning lady who comes in once a week,” she said. “Other than that, no hired help. Except for the roadies.” She tasted the soup, thought it wasn’t bad for something she’d thrown together in a hurry. “I’m a multi-faceted woman, Lindstrom. I’m more than just a pretty face with an electric guitar.”

  “You’re all that and more. And I owe you.”

  “For what? Oh, the hundred bucks? Don’t worry about it.”

  “Not just that.” He set down his spoon and pinned her with his dark, somber gaze. “For all of this, Paige. I’ve taken up your whole day, and I haven’t heard a word of complaint.”

  “I saved those for while you were asleep. You should have heard the cussing while I was decontaminating the bathroom.”

  “I’m serious. You’re an international rock star. What would your adoring public think if they saw you on your knees, scrubbing the bathroom floor in this crappy trailer?”

  “Right now, my public’s not all that adoring. They’re having too much fun watching the sharks circle. Besides, none of that matters.” She couldn’t explain why it should bother her so much that he thought it did. “That’s not who I am, damn it. Paige the big rock star. I’m just Paige. And you’re my friend, and you needed help.”

  “I’ve pissed you off. That wasn’t my intention. I’m sorry.”

  “No. I’m sorry. It’s just that when everybody knows your face, and your work, they think they know you. Everything about you.” Like the tabloid stories that painted her as a shrill-voiced harridan who’d driven Ry away. She’d bought every damn one of those tabloids and read what they were saying about her. Right now, Ry was their darling, their poster boy. King of the Tabloids. While she, who in real life had been the victim of his betrayal, had become their favorite punching bag. The Evil Queen. It didn’t matter how much this perception differed from reality. Those little newspapers stacked at every checkout stand in the land shaped public opinion. None of those “reporters” knew her, not even a little. Yet they presumed to tell the entire world who and what she was. It was the downside of fame, the side people didn’t talk about.

  Somehow, she’d thought Mikey Lindstrom was above all that. “I should go,” she said.

  “What? But you didn’t eat.”

  “I’m not hungry.” She pushed away from the table. “Make sure you put the soup away once it’s cooled. Don’t fall asleep and let it spoil. There’s enough to feed you for a couple days. Just scoop it into a bowl and nuke it.”

  “Paige—”

  “And remember, one pill every four hours. No more.”

  “Goddamn it, MacKenzie.”

  She picked up her purse from the kitchen counter. “Keep your cell phone on you, in case you need to call 911. Will you be okay by yourself?”

  Some barely perceptible emotion flitted across his face. And then it hardened. “I was just fine before you came along.”

  She threw back her shoulders and raised her chin. “Yes,” she said. “You were.” And she walked out the door.

  * * *

  A HALF-HOUR later, as she was sitting on the porch swing, darkly contemplating the complexities of life, her cell phone rang. She checked the screen, debated whether to answer, finally, inevitably, gave in. “What?” she said.

  “Did we just have a fight?” Mikey Lindstrom said.

  She rubbed at a speck of dirt on the knee of her jeans. “I don’t know what we just had.”

  “I thought I was performing my hostly duties in a satisfactory manner. I complimented your cooking. I washed off the soap crust and the blood. Hell, I even put on the fake leg for you. And you jumped up and ran out like the Devil himself was after you.”

  “I will admit,” she said, propping her ankles on the porch railing, “that I can’t remember the last time a man put on his fake leg to impress me.”

  “I rest my case. By the way, you left one hell of a mess in my kitchen.”

  “But I cleaned your bloody bathroom, so we’re even. What happened with Amy?”

  Silence. Then, curtly, “We split up.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I know you split up. Everybody knows you split up. If Helen Keller was here, she would’ve heard the news by now and spread the gossip to all sixteen counties. I want to know why you split up.”

  “I don’t like spreading the details of my private life all over the place.”

  “I hate to break it to you, Lindstrom, but it’s a little late to worry about that. The family’s reeling from the shock, and the whole town is talking. They all had you two pegged as lifers. The town’s neatly split down the middle. Team Amy versus Team Mikey. It’s brutal. Nobody knows what to do now. People are inconsolable. Desperate to find a way to fix what’s broken.”

  “There’s nothing to fix. It’s over.”

  “You may think so, but that’s not how the rest of the citizens of this fine burg are looking at it.”

  “If you really must know,” he said, “you were right. Go ahead and say it: I told you so. We weren’t in the same place. We didn’t want the same things. At least, not with each other.”

  “So she dumped you.”

  “Actually, I dumped her.”

  “And she allowed this? She didn’t even fight for you?”

  “You got it in one, MacKenzie. Feel better now?”

  What kind of idiot woman would let this man go? For sure, he was prickly at times, and he had more than his share of dark moments, but who the hell wouldn’t, given what he’d had to endure? “She’s nuts. You’re a good guy, Lindstrom, in spite of your best efforts to convince everyone that you’re not. If she let you get away, she’s a bigger idiot than I thought she was.”

  “I’m not sure how to take that.”

  “It’s a compliment. Say, ‘Thank you, Paige,’ and leave it at that.”

  “Fine. Thank you, Paige.”

  “You’re welcome. I don’t understand why the entire family, every damn one of them, thinks she’s the second coming of Christ. The first time I met her, I decided she was an annoying twit. Nothing I’ve heard since then has disabused me of that notion.”

  “She can come across a little heavy-handed at times.”

  “Heavy-handed? The woman’s a freaking steam roller. Five minutes after we met, sh
e cornered me and basically tried to bully me into rescheduling my life to suit her.”

  “How’s that?”

  “She wants me to visit her classes in the fall and lecture them on stage presence. Or some such nonsense. So they can benefit from my real-life experience. She actually handed me her business card so I can contact her after school starts back up in September. This despite the fact that I live three thousand miles away, spend most of my life on the road, and have an album to finish in the next few months.”

  “I had no idea she did that.”

  “Well, she did. She doesn’t like to take no for an answer.”

  “She doesn’t. But I won’t talk smack about her. We were together for a long time. I don’t like to badmouth my exes.”

  As one of his exes, she appreciated that. “Was there some particular reason you called, Lindstrom? Other than to revisit your shattered relationship with the Drama Queen?”

  “Drama Department Chair.”

  “Same thing.”

  “Different thing altogether. Although, to be fair, she probably does wear both crowns equally well. And I called because I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  “I’m okay. Are you?”

  “Aside from the obvious? I have this friend who makes a mean vegetable soup. You should try it some time.”

  “It’s been great talking to you, Lindstrom, but I do have a life I could be living.”

  “That’s not what I’ve heard.”

  “I told you to stop reading those tabloids. All they do is lie.”

  Suddenly serious, he said, “Thank you. For what you did today. All of it. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

  “And for the thirteenth time, you’re welcome. When you’re not being a dick, I sort of like you, Lindstrom.”

  “Coming from you, I take that as a compliment.”

  “Which is how it was meant. Did you take your pill yet?”

  “Not yet, but I will as soon as I’m off the phone.”

  “Then get off the phone. Take your pill. Remember, no showering, no driving. No playing with knives or other sharp objects. Watch a little TV and then go to bed. Take your phone with you, in case you wake up too stiff to get out of bed.”

  “And you’ll come help me?”

  “I’ll send somebody who can get the job done. I may be strong, but I doubt I could hoist your carcass out of bed without help.”

  “Your doctoring skills are stellar, but your bedside manner could use a little work.”

  “You should consider yourself lucky that I make house calls. If you need anything, you know my number.”

  “Got it on speed dial.”

  “Good-night, then.” And she ended the call.

  MIKEY

  PARKED BESIDE LESTER Bennett’s crumbling dairy barn, radar gun in hand, he had a clear view of the road in both directions. Teddy had sent him down here mostly for show. These long, lazy summer afternoons didn’t bring in much business for the JFPD, and Teddy needed to make sure their presence was highly visible, in order to justify his salary and highlight the town’s need to retain its own police force. There’d been some noise a while back about doing away with the local police department and turning jurisdiction over to the county sheriff. A contingent of citizens thought the town spent too many of their tax dollars on public safety. Teddy needed statistics to combat that way of thinking. The more out-of-towners they caught doing 47 on the 45-mph highway that passed through town, the better for Teddy. Besides, with Greta on a long lunch and Shep Jackson down with a bug, if he could get Mikey out of his hair for a couple hours, Teddy could put his feet up on his desk and watch the midday soap operas he was so fond of.

  When he’d returned from his enforced vacation, Mikey had put some legwork into the burglary investigation. But he’d hit a brick wall. With no evidence, no witnesses, no gossip, and no recent break-ins, there was nothing left for him to investigate. So he’d put it on the back burner, and here he sat instead, looking official as all hell with that big JFPD logo on his door, parked right where they’d see him when they crested the hill doing a few miles over the limit.

  He didn’t really mind, even if the job was painfully akin to watching paint dry. It got him out of that stuffy building and into the fresh air. Even this boring crap beat sitting at home, watching game shows on TV. Staying home hadn’t been healthy for his state of mind, but he’d promised, and the OB/GYN who’d stitched his cracked skull back together had a long reach. He hadn’t realized just how long until his stepmother told him she’d run into Dr. Levasseur at the IGA, and the doctor had asked how he was doing.

  Paige had called the day after his accident, to make sure he’d survived the night and wasn’t starving or lying helpless on the floor. But she didn’t offer to come over, and he didn’t ask her to. It was just as well. Spending time with Paige MacKenzie was dangerous. He liked it too much, liked the banter and the ribbing and the undeniable chemistry between them. He never knew what would come out of her mouth next. She kept him on his toes. After a year of Amy’s nonstop chatter about things that meant nothing to him, Paige was a refreshing change.

  But she’d be gone soon. He had no idea how long she was planning to stay. She might not even have a plan. She’d come here to escape the pressures of her life and the fallout from the break-up with her boyfriend. Eventually, she’d be returning to that life, and the three-thousand-mile distance would take care of any leftover chemistry. They lived in different worlds, and this odd friendship that had sprung up between them was not meant to last.

  It surprised him to realize how much he would miss her when she was gone.

  He sure as hell wasn’t looking for any kind of romantic entanglement. The fiasco with Amy had spoiled any taste he might have for that. He’d been lucky to escape with his scalp—not to mention other significant body parts—intact. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. Better to be alone than to stay in a toxic relationship based on proximity and convenience. He was used to living without sex. He’d gone without it for months at a time in Iraq. In Afghanistan. During those endless weeks in the hospital, and for most of the year that followed his release.

  He didn’t need a woman. He would do just fine on his own. Besides, he didn’t even think of Paige that way.

  Did he?

  The thought was so radical, so unexpected, so ridiculous, that he immediately dismissed it. But it continued to circle, like a pack of hyenas, hunting for the softest, most vulnerable part of him. Waiting to rip him to shreds. That vulnerable part wasn’t hard to find. Its name was Rachel, and no woman, not Paige MacKenzie or any other, would ever fit the Rachel-shaped hole inside him.

  A car crested the hill, moving too fast. His radar gun clocked it at 72 mph. It blew past him like he wasn’t there, and Mikey flipped on the blues and pulled out behind it. The car was a beater, an old gray Plymouth with Bondo on the fenders and a piece of wire holding the back bumper in place. For a few seconds, he thought the driver wasn’t going to stop. Then the brake lights came on. The Plymouth swerved and came to a halt on the shoulder, sending a cloud of dust into the air.

  Mikey pulled up behind it, touched his hand briefly to the gun at his side, and got out of the cruiser. The teenage driver slouching behind the wheel, mouth turned down in displeasure, watched his approach in the side mirror. Through the rear window, he saw movement in both the front and back seats. Were they hiding drugs? Booze? You never knew until you confronted them. He hated traffic stops.

  He reached the driver’s window. Said, “License and registration, please.”

  The kid looked up. Said, “Dude, what happened to you? I’d hate to see the other guy.”

  “Take off the sunglasses,” Mikey said, “and do what I said.”

  With a sullen scowl, the kid complied with his request. And he immediately recognized the face. “Mr. Washburn,” Mikey said. “Do you know how fast you were going?”

  “I dunno,” Alex Washburn said. “About five over?”

&n
bsp; “Try twenty-seven over.” He glanced at the license, saw that it had been issued just four months ago. Bending lower, he took a good look at the girl sitting in the passenger seat. She was hugging the door, her back to him, pretending vast interest in the Holstein heifers who’d lined up along the fence to watch all this human activity. He narrowed his eyes as she continued to ignore him elaborately. But there was no mistaking that head of blond curls. In disbelief, he turned to the back seat, and looked directly into a pair of wide, guilty green eyes so similar to Paige’s that a shock rippled through him.

  Mikey straightened back up, opened the door of the Plymouth, and said to the kid, “Step out of the car, please, Mr. Washburn. Bethany Lindstrom and Emma MacKenzie, out.” When both girls remained frozen in place, he snapped, “Now!”

  Beth finally met his eyes. The glare she gave him would have flattened a lesser man. The Washburn kid said, “You know this cop, Beth?”

  “I know him,” Beth said, and opened the passenger door with a little more force than was necessary. Slamming it shut behind her, she said, “He’s my goddamn brother.”

  * * *

  THE BROUHAHA AT the station was quite something to watch, with three sets of parents freaking out all at once. Dennis Washburn pounded a fist on the corner of Teddy’s desk. “You got no damn right to hold my son!” Washburn shouted. “You pigs’ve been gunning for me and my family for years. Alex ain’t never been in trouble. He ain’t never been in jail. He’s just a kid!”

  Washburn’s ranting didn’t seem to be having much effect on Teddy. As a matter of fact, he appeared to be enjoying the show. “We’re not holding him,” Teddy said. “He’ll be released to you. But considering that he’s a minor, and he’s only had his license for—”