by Miles, Ava
“Rye, I think we should excuse Miss Simmons,” Mama said, calmly crossing her hands across her chest.
Tory started to leave, but Rye stilled her with a hand. “Right, we don’t discuss family matters in front of guests.” Even to his ears, his laugh was cruel. “Who gives a damn? She saw what happened.”
Mama’s mouth thinned. “Well, we can only hope she is discreet. It would be bad for your career if she were to talk about her visit here, right? Or would it help? Making cookies with children after you made those disadvantaged little ones cry? Your fans haven’t been too happy with you. At least Miss Simmons appears to be helping your image.”
Damn, his Mama always knew when to raise a sore point. Rye squeezed Tory’s hand. “The main reason I brought Tory here is that she’s a friend, as I’ve told you. But not to worry, I know she won’t say anything about our family drama.”
“I think that’s just about enough,” Mama replied. “Tammy, you should take the children home.”
“No, I want to finish this. Tammy, don’t you see? They’re only kids. And they’re suffocating, just like we did. Don’t make the same mistakes with them. Don’t make them feel bad for enjoying something so simple and harmless.”
Even though he knew he was out of line, he couldn’t stop himself from speaking the words.
Tammy’s hand moved over her string of pearls at her throat. “Rye, you have no right to speak to me this way. How dare you judge me? Not all of us feel suffocated here. My children are happy.”
He dropped Tory’s hand. “Happy? Have you looked at them? Their clothes are perfect. Their manners are excellent. Annabelle’s still pretty resilient, being so little, but not Rory. He doesn’t play easily, and he’s afraid to run around or make a mess. Trust me, Rory is not happy, and when the life is snuffed out of Annabelle, she won’t be either.”
Wasn’t that exactly what he’d discovered after breaking free? That twenty–five years of being miserable had been way too long.
“It’s not true,” Tammy whispered, biting her lip.
“Let her alone, Rye,” Mama said. “You’re the one who brought the kids into this by allowing Tory to be here and cook in my kitchen. You simply couldn’t be content having your Daddy and Amelia Ann on your side. See yourself out.”
Wrapping her arm around Tammy, she led his sister from the room. Their heels clicked away in the silence.
He bent his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “Christ.”
Tory laid a hand on his arm, and he pulled her against him. “I need to get out of here,” he whispered in her ear. The smell of cookies was now as assaulting as Clorox.
“Go,” Tory whispered, stepping back. “I’ll clean up.”
He ran a finger across her cheek. “I’m sorry.”
What must she think of him now?
***
Tory heard Rye slam the front door as she hurried to find containers for the cookies. Her stomach was a ball of knots, and all she wanted to do was make a speedy exit, too. Then there was the patter of footsteps beyond the kitchen, and she heard the door close again, more quietly this time. Probably Tammy and the kids. Tory was closing the last Tupperware container when Amelia Ann entered the room.
“It must have been ugly down here. Tammy looked like a corpse when she came upstairs to get the kids, and Mama has the door to her sitting room closed. I thought you might want a ride back. It’s muggy out. Rye seems…to have left without you.”
“Yes.” She understood why he’d needed to escape, but the haze from the humidity was visible through the window, and the last thing she wanted to do was walk back to the guest house. “I’d appreciate it.”
Amelia Ann pointed to the containers. “Do you want to take some for you and Rye?”
“No, thanks.” All the joy they’d brought had evaporated.
“Tammy didn’t even take any home. I’ll drop some off later tonight. The kids should have their cookies.” She suddenly pressed a hand to her stomach. “Oh God, why does it always have to be so hard?”
Tory had no answers, so she gave none. All she did was put her arm around Amelia Ann. They walked out of the kitchen as a unit, moving slowly and quietly across the hall.
Amelia Ann drove them without haste in her sporty BMW convertible, the top closed, of course. Tory suspected she didn’t want to go back to the main house alone. When they came to a stop in the driveway, Tory asked, “Do you want to come in?”
“No, I’d better not. Mama will only be harder on me if I’m gone too long. She already thinks I’m on Rye’s side and not hers.” Her hands clenched the steering wheel.
The dynamics in their family were completely foreign to Tory.
“Where’s your family?” Amelia Ann asked, turning in her seat to look at her.
The question made the ever–present hole in her heart grow a little wider, especially after reliving the memories this morning. “Ah, I don’t have any. They’re all dead.”
Her face fell, and she placed a hand over Tory’s. “Oh, I’m sorry. Were you close?”
“Yes.” The word almost felt too simple, too small.
“We’re not, as you can see. I prayed Daddy’s heart attack might change that, but it’s only making things worse. I’m glad Daddy and Rye have reconciled, but Mama won’t stand for it for long.”
Amelia Ann slumped back in the seat. It was the first time Tory hadn’t seen her with perfect posture.
“I’m not perfect enough for Mama, either, not like Tammy is. I try, but I just can’t do it.” She wiped some dust off the dash. “And I don’t want to anymore. I have some thinking to do.”
There was something mysterious about that last comment, but all Tory could think to do was nod, sitting silently as the A/C blasted her chilled skin.
“I should get back. Thank you for what you did today. For all of us. You shouldn’t let what Mama and Tammy said bother you. It’s a blessing to have you here.” She sniffed. “Now, you’d best leave me alone. I’m about to have a good cry.”
She gripped the door handle, the opposing desires to comfort and escape doing battle within her. Escape won out. “Bye.”
“Take care of my brother, Tory.”
The request made her want to head away from the guest house, not toward it. Take care of him? The problem was, the desire to do so was only getting stronger as she saw how deep his wounds went. She shut the door gently behind her and stood there long after the car’s tail lights had disappeared. Shivering despite the heat, she rubbed her arms and went inside to find Rye.
“Rye?” she called, searching the rooms when he didn’t respond.
He’d left the guest house, she realized, which explained why she hadn’t seen his truck, and worry spread through her. His recklessness scared her, especially when he was hurting this much. She tried his cell, but it went straight to voicemail. Sinking onto the couch, she clutched her knees to her chest.
When her grandpa had died, she’d thought there was no one else to worry about but herself.
Clearly she’d been wrong.
I don’t want no responsibility.
I just wanna be free.
Roll your window down.
Crank the music up loud.
Let the breeze rush over your face.
Let it set you free.
I don’t want no responsibility,
Taking control of me.
Don’t wanna live my life that way.
‘Cause life’s too short.
And I’m too free.
No responsibility is taking control of me.
Rye Crenshaw’s Top Ten Hit, “No Responsibility”
Chapter 11
When Rye walked into the house shortly after ten o’clock that night, Tory was reading on the couch. Sitting there in the muted lamplight, she looked heart–stoppingly beautiful. Somewhere along the way, her small and slender figure had transformed into a tight and sleek little package that he was just waiting to unwrap.
“I hope you didn’t make supper,”
Rye said shifting on his feet when she didn’t glance over. “I couldn’t have eaten anything.”
She placed one of her Africa books on the coffee table and removed her glasses. “I didn’t think so. I wasn’t hungry either.”
Yeah, he’d wondered how she was feeling, but he’d been too raw to call her. He sank wearily onto the couch next to her. “I’m sorry. The only appetite my family should affect is mine.”
It seemed natural when she rested her head on his shoulder.
“I couldn’t help but be affected. Where were you? I was worried.”
Her presence soothed the angry, reckless energy that had been running through his body all afternoon. Rye wrapped his arm around her and tucked her close. He wouldn’t analyze why she felt so good against him. “I went out driving. Then I stopped at an old haunt and did some shooting. It doesn’t always make me feel better, but it helps.”
“You carry a gun in your truck? And just what in the hell were you shooting? It’s dark out.”
“No, I rented one, and the range has lights,” he said, chuckling at the incredulity in her voice. “They were just beer bottles. Nothing big.”
She fiddled with a crease in his shirt. “I’m glad. For a minute I thought you were one of those crazy hunters who has night vision goggles.”
He ran his hands through her silky hair. “No, I leave the owls alone. They’re mostly endangered and don’t taste good anyway.” He smiled for the first time in hours.
“So, we had a pretty bad day. I know you didn’t want company, but I might have liked to shoot some bottles tonight. I didn’t like being alone here, worrying about you.”
Surprise rippled through him over a layer of something darker. He hated to think he’d hurt her by being gone. “Do you know how?”
“No,” she said, “but you could have taught me. I’m a quick study.”
Visions of her bracing her petite body for impact ran through his mind. “Well, there’s a news flash. I mean you’ve been in school for something like a hundred years. Makes a man wonder at your acuity.” He grunted when she playfully elbowed him in the ribs.
“I needed the stress relief. Being here and seeing my daddy does something to me. He wants…” He sighed. The longer he was here, the more stirred up he felt. Was reconciliation with at least part of the family even the best thing for him?
She didn’t ask him to explain himself, which made it easier to continue.
“I don’t know if I can give him what he wants. Let’s change the subject, okay? I should take you to Jack’s Shack. It has the best Southern food around. I think you’ll like it. It’s not Diner Heaven, but it’s never failed this ol’ boy.”
Food never failed to be a refuge for him, which he knew she understood.
“Sounds good.”
He tipped his head down. Her green eyes looked sleepy, and his gaze immediately dropped to her mouth. He didn’t think twice before pressing his lips to hers in a gentle kiss, and instead of pulling away, she gently caressed the side of his face. When Rye raised his head, Tory stared at him. He stared back. Neither of them spoke. And before he knew it, he’d cuddled her closer. He refused to think about the fact that he never cuddled with women.
How long they stayed that way, he didn’t know. Her breathing slowed, and she fully relaxed in his arms. When he realized she was asleep, a warm glow spread inside his chest that he didn’t recognize. Rye made no move to disturb her. Just continued stroking her hair, listening to the evening sounds that were barely audible through the window. He fell asleep, her gentle breathing music to his ears.
He awoke the next morning to a splash of sunlight peeking through the open curtains. He shielded his eyes, forgetting where he was for a moment, like he often did when he was on tour. Tory jerked awake when he moved.
“What?” she cried.
Her hair was all mussed, and she looked downright cute. “Mornin’.”
She slowly lowered her forehead to his chest. “Oh, it’s you.” And there was significance in the comment, like she wasn’t used to waking up with a man, something he’d already guessed.
“We might need to work on your enthusiasm.”
“Hah,” she said, and then pushed herself up.
Rye tugged her back down gently. “Take a minute. We’re both tired, and you’re still all warm and soft.”
“I should get up,” she said. But she lowered her cheek to his chest.
He stroked her hair, pressing his thumb into her nape in a gentle massage. “After yesterday, we deserve a quiet morning.”
The undemanding ease of the moment started to evaporate as Rye became conscious of her body, the slim, delicate lines. Awareness and need rose up inside him. Still, he made a show of being gentlemanly because she deserved it.
She gave a small stretch and rubbed her back, probably as stiff as he was from sleeping on the couch. Rye’s eyes took in the slight undulation. Where the hell did being gentlemanly get any man? He turned them onto their sides, trapping her against the upholstery. His finger caressed her cheek and played in her short black hair.
“You have a spattering of angel kisses on your nose,” he said.
“What?”
“Freckles.”
“Oh. Angel kisses, huh? I’ve never heard that one.”
“That’s what they call them around these parts, although most women don’t like them. And you do come from Diner Heaven, so you should know all about angel kisses.”
Her mouth tipped up. “The only kisses I got at the diner were from grease splatters or aggressive customers.”
He didn’t like to think about customers …or any man, touching her. “I’ll beat them up for you.”
“Nah. That pretty face of yours might be ruined if they got a punch in.”
He hugged her. “Good, you’re getting your mouth back. It stops working when you’re upset.”
“Some things aren’t worth making smart comments about. They only make it worse.”
Memories of yesterday’s scene in the kitchen played in his mind. “Okay, enough of that. Let’s try to enjoy ourselves for a little bit before we have to go back to hell.”
Tory caressed his chest. “Why don’t you let me make you a good breakfast? How do blueberry pancakes and maple bacon sound? As I recall, you asked for them once. You always feel better after you eat.”
She was right about that. Neither of them had eaten the night before, and her food did something to him. He knew he should let her go, but he pulled her down for a quick kiss. “Kissing you ranks up there with your lemon meringue pie. Good texture and complexity with just enough bite.”
Tory laughed as she pushed away. “That sounds hokey enough for one of your songs.” She walked toward the kitchen, unaware of him watching her backside. “Lemon meringue, indeed.”
Rye crossed his arms behind his head. All that smallness and sass had drawn him in, and he wanted her more than he’d care to admit. He couldn’t believe it, but she’d actually managed to make him feel happy here in odd moments. When the wings of panic fluttered in his gut, he willed them away.
When he crept into the kitchen she was humming Beethoven. The cadence was crystal clear, and it made him wonder what her singing voice sounded like. She had her back to him, washing a dirty pot at the sink, and he snuck his arms around her waist. She screamed and jumped in his arms.
“Never let anyone tell you that your volume matches your body. You’ve got some serious pipes there.”
Tory unclenched her hands from the pot as the water continued to run. “You scared me. Don’t you know better than to sneak up on a person? You’re lucky I didn’t whack you with this pot.” She waved it in the morning sunshine streaming through the window above the sink. “It’s not funny, Rye.”
He grunted. “That’s what you think. That was priceless. Seriously though, your humming has a nice musical quality to it. Why don’t you sing something for me? I suspect that you might have a decent voice.”
Her hands continued scrubbing t
he pot. “If there’s one thing I never plan to do for you, Rye Crenshaw, it’s sing. How stupid would that be? I mean, you’re a professional.”
“Oh, come on. Sing me something.”
“No. Now, why don’t you hit the showers? You smell like someone who got a little reckless and shot up some beer bottles last night.”
Her eyes sparkled like the water in his favorite fishing spot upriver. They both knew he didn’t reek of old beer.
“That’s the scent of a man you’re detecting, darlin’.”
Her laughter followed him out of the room.
***
Tory was flipping bacon when she heard a car pull up outside. She frowned when she looked through the kitchen window. Amelia Ann was heading toward the house, carrying a container of cookies from yesterday. She had on a pink linen dress belted with a white sash. When Tory opened the door, she noted the delicate pearls at the woman’s neck.
Amelia Ann forced a smile. “Good mornin’. I hope it’s not too early for me to drop by.”
Returning the smile, Tory put one bare foot over the other to cover up her lack of shoes and smoothed hair behind her ears, praying she didn’t have bed head. She felt practically undressed next to the other woman.
“No, of course not. I’m making breakfast. Rye’s in the shower, but he should come out soon. I left bacon on the stove. Come on in.”
Still clutching the container to her chest like it was stolen treasure, Amelia Ann nodded and followed her inside, waiting as she put the bacon on a paper towel.
“I managed to save some cookies,” she explained when Tory was done. “Mama dumped the majority in the garbage, but the phone rang, and I managed to save what was left while she was talking with Kim Jenkins. I thought we could keep them here until we could take them to the kids. Mama and I are going to a ladies’ luncheon, or I’d hide them in the car. But it’s going to be a hot one today. The frosting would melt.”
“Don’t worry. We can keep them here.”
