Country Heaven

by Miles, Ava

  “Rye, your Daddy would like you to stay in the guest house.”

  His heart hurt again. It was an honor, that, especially since it was Granddaddy Crenshaw’s old place. He hadn’t expected hospitality, so had secured them reservations at the motel in town.

  “Thank you. That would be nice,” he responded, not wanting to refuse Daddy.

  When Tory came through the doorway, Rye said, “Mama, this is Tory Simmons. She’s a friend of mine who’s studying for her Ph.D. at the University of Kansas. She’s a Yankee, so I hope you’ll show her the lovely Southern hospitality she’s read about.”

  “Of course,” Mama singsonged, the perfect hostess. “It’s lovely to meet you, Ms. Simmons. We’ve seen your…picture in the paper. Such a lovely story, Rye helping you and all. And you two…becoming close because of it, especially since you’re the daughter of a schoolteacher and such. We couldn’t have been more delighted to hear that Rye’s been spending time with you. You are most welcome here.”

  His mama could make bullshit sound like apple pie.

  “Thank you,” Tory said, glancing his way, a question in her eyes. “As I told Amelia Ann, the media tends toward embellishment.”

  “We’d better get settled in the guest house,” Rye said. “We’ll just say goodnight to everyone else.”

  “No need to disturb your daddy,” Mama responded. “I’m sure he’s just plain tuckered out.” She sailed up the stairs.

  Rye grabbed Tory’s arm and drew her toward the kitchen door.

  “We’re heading to the guest house. See y’all later,” he called.

  “Good night, everybody,” Tory said. “Rory and Annabelle, remember what I said.”

  His cowboy hat was on the hat rack now—courtesy of Mama, no doubt. Anger and other emotions pounded him like hail. He slapped it on his head and let go of Tory, the door looking like a sanctuary now.

  Stalking to the truck, he realized his face was hot. Even his ears were burning. The minute they’d buckled their seatbelts, he shoved the car into gear and floored the gas.

  “Hey,” she called as she braced a hand against the dash.

  While he knew he should slow down, he just couldn’t manage it. He drove like a maniac, taking the turns fast and hard. When he pulled up in front of a smaller white house with slate blue shutters and a wrap–around porch, Tory was breathing shallowly, her face white.

  A spurt of guilt shot through his gut, but it was like a raindrop in an ocean of emotion. He flew out the truck and ran for the house, sucking in deep breaths of hot, muggy air. The meadow beckoned, making his eyes sting. So many memories.

  God, he hadn’t been prepared. He knew now that nothing could have prepared him.

  Everything was raw again, and he felt like he was back in the same place he’d been when he left five years ago.

  There was just no escaping the past.

  ***

  Tory leaned her head against the truck’s window as Rye strode off, and it seemed wise to just take a moment to settle herself. The terror from his reckless driving had her heart pounding a two–step in her chest. As she took slow, steady breaths, it finally returned to a normal cadence. When she finally left the truck, her gaze tracked to Rye, and she headed in his direction. No one needed a friend right now more than he did.

  He stood by a white fence with his head pressed against a black stallion’s neck, stroking the animal’s mane. His cowboy hat was perched on a fence post.

  The meadow rose onto a hill lined with wildflowers, flanked on both sides by trees. Three horses roamed in the distance, their tails flapping in the gentle breeze, warding off flies. The black stallion near Rye playfully nudged him in the shoulder and then ran off to join a buttermilk–colored mare.

  Rye was leaning his arms over the fence when Tory reached him. Putting her shoe on the bottom rung, she turned to face the horses.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.

  His hand ripped away a vine wrapped around one of the fence posts. “Not right now.”

  They were quiet for a long while until Tory whirled around to look at him. She placed her hand on his arm. His muscled bunched, but he didn’t meet her gaze. “Come on, let’s go see what I can scrounge up for you to eat.”

  He laid his hand over hers before returning to his pose at the fence, the only sign he’d given that her presence was comforting. “You go on ahead. I’ll be there in a while.”

  As she walked toward the house, she realized devastation had been the main note in his beautiful voice.

  She didn’t think it would go platinum.

  I’ve never cared for vegetables. I suppose I should say plain vegetables. Whoever said they were good for you really ruined my life. There’s a whole host of other foods I’d rather be eating. Being from the Midwest, we didn’t do much to our veggies. So I decided to try something new one day. One of my favorite veggies is asparagus. Alone, I’m not sure I’d care for it, but I’ve learned one of life’s essential truths—heavy whipping cream makes everything better. If calories bother you, stop reading now. But if you’re like me and willing to indulge every once in a while, give this a try. You’ll never look at asparagus again in the same way. Oh, and here’s a helpful hint: the sauce also works wonders on green beans.

  Tory’s Creamy Vegetable Sauce

  1 tsp. olive oil

  2 cloves garlic, mashed

  1 cup heavy whipping cream

  ½ tsp. fresh ground pepper

  ¼ cup feta cheese

  ¼ tsp. Greek seasoning

  2 tbsp. Brandy

  1 tsp. lemon juice (fresh)

  Heat the olive oil and sauté the garlic until brown. Add the next four ingredients until the cream bubbles around the sauce pan and reduces. Add the brandy, and if you’re lucky enough to have a gas stove, dip it toward the flame. The mixture should ignite and further reduce the cream. Add the lemon juice. Cook 1 more minute. Remove and serve over your vegetable of choice.

  Tory Simmons’ Simmering Family Cookbook

  Chapter 9

  With nothing to do, Tory explored the house, pausing to marvel at the luxurious rich fabrics and heated towel racks in the bathrooms. There were two guest bedrooms, and she chose the gold and cream one for herself, leaving the room decorated in navy blue and white to Rye. It was like staying in the Ritz Carlton, not something she’d ever done, but she’d seen pictures. The kitchen had stainless steel appliances, a gas stove, and beautiful caramel granite countertops. But there wasn’t a single thing in the refrigerator save sweet and sour pickles, mayonnaise, and mustard. Either his family hadn’t expected him to stay, or their welcome had its limits. Rye hadn’t come back yet, and she didn’t have the heart to bother him. Since it was nearing nine o’clock, she didn’t even know if there were a local grocery store open in a town this small.

  The anthropology book she was trying to read just wouldn’t hold her attention. When she heard a knock at the door, it puzzled her. Why would Rye knock? Sighing, she headed to the front of the house and answered it.

  It was Amelia Ann. “Hope I’m not interrupting, but we realized after you left that there wasn’t any food stocked in the guest house.” Even under the porch light, Tory could see the flush of embarrassment on her cheeks.

  “Good thing Rye didn’t want to eat.” But she did, and her stomach grumbled on cue.

  “Speaking of which, where is he? I thought he could bring in the groceries.”

  “He’s watching the horses. I can help you.”

  Amelia Ann stopped her with a hand. “One thing you’ll learn about these parts is that men do the heavy lifting. He won’t like us taking them in. And I brought a lot of stuff down from the main house.”

  Rye wouldn’t like it, huh? Well, that was news. “Then who loaded them in the car?”

  Amelia Ann brushed a hair from her cream suit. “Oh, Rob Donner. He’s a senior in high school from next door. Nice boy.”

  Tory bit her lip. This anthropologist was getting the lay of the la
nd. Men and women had carefully defined roles in this town, it seemed. Well, she could respect traditions—to a point.

  “Let’s get Rye.” Plus, she hated the thought of him standing alone like that, clutching the fence like it was a life preserver.

  Amelia Ann stopped Tory with a gentle touch. “Please, not yet. I was hoping we might talk privately for a little while we have the chance.”

  Just what she wanted to avoid, but she nodded. She followed Amelia Ann into the formal living room and took a seat across from her on the most ornate and uncomfortable sofa she’d ever experienced, cheery in sunny yellow.

  “So, what do you think of Rye?” she asked.

  “Well, he’s nice…” Gosh, her view of him had done a one–eighty, and it would be rude to share her first impression of him as a wild, devil–may–care country singer.

  Amelia Ann’s lashes fluttered. “When Rye introduced you to me as his cook, I thought he was simply trying to get Mama’s blood up by bringing you here. Rubbing her nose in it that you were…”

  Beating around the bush was so not her style. “What?”

  “Well, it’s not like I think that way,” Amelia Ann said in a rush. “But Mama has certain ideas about class. I thought you really might be…involved, despite what you said. Especially since he told Mama you were his friend, not his cook.”

  Tory started laughing and pointed to her chest. “Me and Rye? No, I’m Rye’s cook. Do I look like his type? Trust me, the other stuff is all a PR trick.”

  “But what about the kiss in the papers?” Were the woman’s cheeks red?

  “Let’s leave it at this: your brother brought me here because he likes to eat, and like he said, we’re friends…of a sort.”

  “And you’ll be private about all this, I can tell, which is real important to Rye.” Amelia Ann tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Not that he ever tells the truth about us. He even told a reporter once that he was named after his Mama’s favorite drink—rye. Mama’s never touched hard liquor. It was quite the scandal before she cleared it up with her friends.”

  Scandal? That sounded pretty extreme. “He didn’t,” she said, although she could easily hear him saying that.

  Amelia Ann shook her head. “Yes, he did. And you can imagine how well that went over. Rye is an old, honorable name in our family. I understand he only said it because he was hurt.”

  Yes, there to be seemed to be a lot of that going around.

  She leaned forward. “Mama was really upset after she talked with Daddy tonight. He told her he’s going to one of Rye’s concerts when he gets better.” She was acting like she was divulging gossip at a church picnic.

  “Tell me about Granddaddy Crenshaw.” Tory said, both to change the subject and because she was curious.

  “Granddaddy’s family lost nearly everything in the Depression, but he fought and scraped his way back to the top. He was something of a hell raiser. Divorced the woman his family had wanted him to marry—my Mama’s mama—and married a spinster school teacher from across the tracks. They had quite the love affair and were married for decades, but they were too old to have children when they met. Mama was in high school when it happened. I don’t think she ever forgave him for the divorce. She blamed him for sullying the Crenshaw name, so she found a sort of…redemption by marrying into the Hollins family.”

  No wonder Rye respected him and had taken his name. Tory curled her leg under her seat, eager to hear more of the story.

  Amelia Ann traced the couch’s arm, deep in thought. “But Granddaddy was always around. He had enough money that he could buy his way into just about anything, even if the more traditional families didn’t respect him. Daddy always liked him since they shared a passion for golf and the stock market. When Betty, his second wife, died, Daddy insisted he come live here in this guest house. Mama wasn’t happy about that.”

  A new warmth blossomed in her heart when she realized they were staying in his granddaddy’s house. That had to mean a lot to Rye.

  “He and Rye were close. The man died of a heart attack with a glass of whiskey and can of chew by the bed, just like he would have wanted to go out. His funeral was the last time Rye was home. Three years ago. Mama had this house redecorated after he passed. Daddy fought her at first, but he gave in.

  “Granddaddy would have hated what she’s done to his house. So will Rye, but Daddy thought he’d like to stay here anyway. Rye spent a lot of time in this place. It holds good memories.”

  “Speaking of Rye, how about we go get him? Besides, those groceries shouldn’t be in the car in this heat.”

  It was still over ninety degrees according to her last check on her smart phone. She’d heard about Southern heat, but even so. They both rose and headed for the door.

  “I left the car running with the A/C on, so they should be okay.”

  “Still, we shouldn’t leave them out there forever. Besides, I’m hungry.” She rubbed her stomach for effect.

  Amelia Ann placed a comforting hand on Tory’s arm. “Oh, bless your heart. Let’s get Rye this instant. We don’t want you blowing away with the wind.”

  Blow away with the wind? Who said that? “Why don’t you go get him? Be nice to talk to him in private, I’m sure.” She could heft the groceries in by herself and start dinner.

  “When I went to Ole Miss, I managed to slip away and see him for the first time in a long while. After that, I tried to see him a few times a year. Mama didn’t find out until recently. That’s when Rye shoved that rude man at the charity event. Mama had called him that day, forbidding him to come to my graduation or contact me anymore. It was all my fault he got in trouble.” Her eyes were glistening with tears.

  Goodness. So that’s what had set him off. “That’s not true,” Tory said, placing a hand on her arm. We all make our own decisions.”

  Amelia Ann’s hand patted Tory’s before falling away. “I pray Daddy’s desire for peace will allow Rye to come back to me. I miss him so much.”

  Her love for her brother was as warm as the night they’d just walked into. “I imagine that means a lot to him.”

  Amelia Ann looked off at Rye, who was still standing at the fence, looking like he hadn’t moved an inch. “I think so, but he rarely talks about his feelings.”

  “Go get him then.”

  Tory watched her walk down the gravel path.

  It was at times like this that she wished she had a brother or sister.

  ***

  The groceries Amelia Ann had brought made for a grade–A dinner. She pan–fried steaks and zucchini and whipped up some mashed potatoes, one of Rye’s favorites.

  The siblings’ murmured words drifted in from the living room. Her stomach was growling, so she decided to start without him, not wanting to interrupt their talk. She had finished half her plate when Rye strolled into the kitchen.

  “Why didn’t you say dinner was ready?” he asked.

  “I didn’t want to interrupt your talk with your sister. Besides, you said you weren’t hungry.”

  “She just took off. Said to say bye.” He pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and sank wearily into it. “And technically I’m not hungry, but it’s like having a hard–on in the morning. Even if you’re not really interested, the hunger is still there. I find it hard to pass up your food. It’s always on the edge of my mind.”

  She arched an eyebrow at his rude metaphor, but rose to reheat his dinner. When she placed the plate in front of him, she picked up her own plate.

  “Where are you going?” he asked.

  “I was going to let you eat alone.”

  “Sit down and eat with me. You’re probably starving.”

  Sitting back down, she speared another piece of her steak and dabbed it in the blue cheese cream sauce she’d thrown together. “Yes.”

  Rye pushed his zucchini around with his fork. “Well, I’m glad this little drama hasn’t ruined your appetite. Amelia Ann told me about your little chat.”

  Tory finished chewing
. He was in a mood, there was no doubt. “So was she right? Did you bring me here to piss your mama off?”

  “No, I damn well did not.” He leaped up and started rifling through the cabinets.

  “What are you looking for?”

  “Some booze. My mama probably threw it out like everything else when she redecorated Granddaddy’s place.” China rattled at his force. “He’d tan her hide if he could see what she’s done.”

  She hesitated a moment before sighing. “There’s some Jack Daniels in the cabinet over the refrigerator. Amelia Ann brought you some from the house.”

  “Well, bless her heart. I hope she brought a case.” Rye took a healthy swig from the bottle.

  Tory winced. Watching someone drink from a bottle made her stomach queasy. She didn’t know what to do for him, so she stood with her plate. “I’m going to finish this in my room. You should eat your dinner. It always makes you feel better.” She prayed it would work tonight.

  “No need to run from me, honey. I won’t hurt you.”

  That infernal honey again. “No, but you’re hurting yourself, drinking like that, and I’m not sure I want to be around to watch.”

  Rye smirked and leaned back against the refrigerator. “Careful, darlin’, you almost sound like you care.”

  Her heart rapped against her ribs. Now that he said it, she realized she did. Alarm bells clanged in her head. The last thing she needed in her life was to care for this man. “There’s no need to get mean. You’re hurting, and I understand that. Best to leave you alone.”

  She’d made it halfway across the kitchen before Rye grabbed her. Her skin tingled where his big hands held her arms. “Honey, I am a mean man. Best know what you’re dealing with.”

  “No, you’re not. I can’t imagine reconciling where you came from with where you are now.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Stop trying to understand. There’s nothing to reconcile. I know who I am. I’m Rye Crenshaw, dammit.”

  He’d taken the name of the granddaddy who’d broken tradition after finding true love. It spoke volumes. Small–town culture being what it was, it must have been a huge scandal back then.