Country Heaven

by Miles, Ava

  Since he was pointing at her, she frantically shook her head. No freaking way.

  “Why don’t you folks put your hands together for my girl? She’s a bit shy. And it’s her first visit to Memphis.” He crooked his finger, giving her a challenging look.

  That did it. She never backed down from a direct challenge. Taking a fortifying gulp of her drink, she climbed onto the stage.

  “Now, that’s what I’m talking about.” He grabbed a silver bar stool from the back of the stage and gestured to it grandly. Tory sank into it, heat breaking across her body as the lights beat down on her.

  Rye rubbed her shoulder. “So, y’all, what song do you want to hear?’

  “‘Love Me Tender’,” a woman called out.

  “Ah, one of my favorites. Ladies, I hope you’ll find a man who can love you tender—just like Elvis sang it.”

  His deep voice took on that magical Elvis quality as he began to sing, “Love me tender, love me sweet…” He made eye contact with the audience and had them in thrall before turning those deep hazel eyes on her. The words made her heart burst open.

  As he continued, singing about how she made him complete and he never wanted to let her go, she blinked back tears. His eyes seemed to glow under the lights, and there wasn’t a hint of a smile on his face…

  It was too easy to believe he meant every word.

  She reminded herself that someone had requested the song, but her heart didn’t care about that logic, and her throat grew thick with emotion.

  He gave the song his all, managing to watch both the audience and her. A few of the women in the audience sighed, as if they were as transported as she was. Well, why wouldn’t they be? He was a beautiful man crooning out a beautiful love song. People edged closer to the stage, spilling over from the bar, as Rye took the song home—and with it her expectant heart.

  Applause reverberated in her ears. Rye turned to her and kissed her hand before putting the microphone close to his chiseled lips and giving a perfunctory, “Thankya very much.” Bowing, he led Tory down the steps and handed the cordless microphone to the other Elvis, who looked glum, his plan having backfired quite epically.

  “Can we go back to the hotel?” she asked as they left the club, the excitement of being on Beale Street gone.

  “Sure thing,” he replied, taking her hand.

  When they arrived back in their room, she turned to him. “Make love to me, Rye.”

  He tossed the wig aside and tunneled his fingers into her hair. Tory surrendered, desperate for the distraction. Her mind was still playing “Love Me Tender,” and her heart was still eager for more.

  ***

  The arms clutching him were unusually desperate, and Rye felt his own rawness answer hers. He thought back to the way she’d looked under the stage’s lights while he sang to her. God, she was beautiful, and it was getting harder and harder to accept that he wouldn’t get to keep her.

  Every moment counted. As he stripped off his clothes and hers, he treated each touch as if it were their last. He wanted their lovemaking to be slow, and he wanted to memorize her face as he made her come again and again.

  When his hands covered her breasts, she traced his chest in an answering touch, and they continued to caress each other with their hands and mouths, paving a trail of desire.

  He brought her to her first peak, and then licked his way up her body, igniting her all over again. His name was a hoarse cry on her lips, and in that moment, he could no longer hold back. He slipped between her legs after putting on a condom and slid slowly into her until he was fully sheathed, knowing she liked him deep. Her eyelids fluttered, and her body rose to greet him.

  “Look at me,” he whispered.

  Their eyes met, and all his senses were attuned to her—her skin, the way her neck arched when he stroked in deep. Soon they both needed more, and he picked up the pace as they fisted their hands together. When he lowered his mouth to kiss her, she tugged on his bottom lip.

  “Come with me,” he urged, drawing her knees up higher.

  She moaned and moved with him, lost in the sensation of them coming together. When she came, he followed her over the edge.

  When he regained his senses, Rye rolled to his side and pulled her against him. “Making love with you is damn near perfect,” he whispered in her ear. And it was true. He couldn’t imagine wanting anyone else after her. He pushed aside the thought.

  Tory pressed her face against his chest. “For me, too.”

  His emotions, which had been tangled since that moment in Club 152, picked up on her melancholy. “What’s the matter?”

  She let out a jagged breath. “Nothing.”

  It was a lie, but he didn’t press. He didn’t know what to say, so he tilted her face up, stared at her for a long moment, and then kissed her.

  The gentleness and quiet passion in that kiss was mixed with something more potent. When she finally pulled away, Tory burrowed her face into his side.

  Rye ran his hand up and down her arm. “About tomorrow night. As you know, my family is coming for the concert… I was hoping you might go with them.”

  The first and last one she’d been to was in Minneapolis.

  “I wouldn’t miss it,” she whispered.

  “I’ve got another surprise for you tomorrow,” he rushed on. “But I promise it’s not a PR thing. Will you trust me?”

  A gentle smile spread across her face. “Yes, I’ll trust you.”

  The simple words had his heart pounding, his ears ringing. “Good,” he said, so grateful that they’d learned to trust each other. He knew it didn’t come easily for either of them.

  When her body relaxed and her breaths lengthened, Rye was still awake. She hadn’t talked about how she felt about him or said anything about staying in touch. And while she’d become a vital part of his life, she had her Ph.D. to finish, and he was facing the new challenge of integrating his family into his life. The timing was bad for a long distance relationship.

  And beyond that, there was the issue they’d faced since day one: he was a country singer, and she didn’t like to be in the public eye. Plus, she was the marrying kind, and while he cared for her deeply, he feared he would eventually resent the idea of being tied down.

  But under the lights, singing “Love Me Tender” to her, he’d felt something more powerful than he’d ever experienced before and had almost bumbled a few of the lyrics.

  Letting her go would be the hardest thing he’d ever done, but like everything else in his life, he’d just have to suck it up and do it.

  I met an angel in a place called Diner Heaven,

  Her eyes were a shiny bottle green,

  She had a smart mouth,

  Perfect for me.

  She’s a bull–riding fiend,

  And oh, what she cooks for me,

  Makes me fall to my knees.

  Oh baby, baby, please set me free.

  She’s strong as steel,

  And as tough as they come,

  Life’s been one hard road.

  But she don’t quit.

  Keeps ploughing on.

  But I know she has to go,

  We’re at the end of the road,

  ‘Cause even in the country,

  Angels have to go back to the heaven that sent them.

  Rye Crenshaw’s untitled new song

  Chapter 19

  Seeing his family and Tory close to the stage gave Rye a jolt more powerful and heady than any normal performance adrenaline. It wasn’t the wild cheers and screams he craved tonight, but the amazed look on Tory’s face when he angled closer and sang directly in front of her. Rory’s guarded delight. Annabelle’s giggles. The expression of pride mixed with happiness in his daddy’s eyes. The sight of his sisters, hand in hand.

  After his opening set, he gave his band the signal. The audience quieted with the exception of periodic shouts from adoring women. “We love you, Rye,” one screamed at the top of her lungs.

  He gave a husky chuck
le. “I love you too, darlin’.” He took the stool one of his crew members brought him and sat down. “So, it’s my last concert on this tour, and I couldn’t be in a better city. I love you, Memphis. I really do. That’s why I always end my tour here. Can’t imagine anyone can top your hospitality.”

  More cheers and whistles punctuated the Forum. The JumboTron in the middle broadcast his serious face to his fans in the nosebleed seats. Silence descended.

  “This concert is special for me. I have some people in the audience who mean a lot to me, and I’m grateful they’re here.” He cleared his throat, lowered his head, and caressed Old Faithful.

  “I got my love for Elvis from my Daddy, so I’d like to sing you his favorite song. Seems fitting tonight. Daddy, this one’s for you.”

  The stage lights dimmed and turned blue. When he launched into “Hound Dog,” Rye saw Amelia Ann reach for Daddy’s hand as the crowd started clapping and singing along. When he lowered his voice and brought the song home, Daddy nodded to him. Who would have thought it? Hampton Hollins at a country music concert? Rye had to clear his throat before starting the next set.

  The concert was as special as the first one he’d ever given. Halfway through the performance, he dedicated a song to his sisters and Rory and Annabelle. While the rest of his family swayed to the music, Tammy’s posture was as stiff and correct as always until Amelia Ann bumped her with her hip, causing a reluctant smile to break out across her face.

  As he reached the end of his performance, his nerves kicked up again. Funny, he never felt much stage fright. But seeing Tory out there, knowing what he was about to do… Well, he was glad he hadn’t eaten. He wiped his face with a towel and sat on the stool again with Old Faithful. The audience grew quiet.

  He took a deep breath. “So, I’ve probably made more dedications in this one concert than all the others, combined, but you’ll have to indulge me. I have one more. It’s dedicated to a woman who came into my life recently, one of the best people I’ve had the pleasure of meeting in a long while.”

  He looked at Tory, but didn’t use her name, exactly as he’d done with the rest of his family. This wasn’t about PR. It was about honoring the people who were important to him.

  “She’s helped me figure out a lot lately. Thank you, sweetheart—for everything.” He played the first chords, praying he wouldn’t fumble. His fingers felt thick and awkward. It was as close to a ballad as he ever got—the lyrics poignant, the music a slow caress.

  “This is a new song,” he murmured. “I hope y’all like it.” He hoped she liked it.

  He kept his eyes on her while he played the melody. She pressed a hand to her mouth, and he saw Amelia Ann grab Tory’s hand.

  I met an angel in a place called Diner Heaven,

  Her eyes were a shiny bottle green,

  She had a smart mouth,

  Perfect for me.

  She’s a bull–riding fiend,

  And oh, what she cooks for me,

  Makes me fall to my knees.

  Oh baby, baby, please set me free.

  She’s strong as steel,

  And as tough as they come,

  Life’s been one hard road.

  But she don’t quit.

  Keeps ploughing on.

  But I know she has to go,

  We’re at the end of the road,

  ‘Cause even in the country,

  Angels have to go back to the heaven that sent them.

  When he repeated the last phrase again in a quiet whisper, he saw Tory bite her lip. Did she understand this was the only way he could tell her how he felt? His hands fell from Old Faithful.

  No one made a sound in the arena. Then the audience’s applause and cheers crashed over him like a final summer storm. Their eyes locked, and he saw Tory wipe away a tear.

  He slapped his guitar with one hand to break the moment and signaled his band to start their final set. The crowd’s response was deafening when he walked off the stage after the final song, letting the noise build before returning for the encore.

  Georgia gave him a wink, and Clayton slapped him on the back when he reached them.

  “I didn’t think you could top the concert in Dallas in 2009, but you just did,” Clayton drawled.

  “Clayton’s right,” Belle said. “It was your best concert ever.”

  He stood in the wings as the lights dimmed on the stage. He couldn’t take his eyes away from his family and Tory.

  The curtain parted, and Tucker from the band wheeled out a cake lit with candles. A single spotlight shone down on him, his white cowboy hat as bright as an iceberg beneath it.

  “You know, it’s nearly midnight,” he said, “and seeing as how Rye’s just turned thirty, we thought we’d ask you to start the celebration. Y’all up to singing ‘Happy Birthday’ to him?”

  Fans screamed across the stadium.

  “Then let’s sing it and see if we can get him back out here.” His voice started the chorus, but the crowd quickly joined in, and the familiar song grew louder.

  Rye walked back onto stage, bowed when they finished the song, and blew out the candles. “Thanks, y’all. There’s so many darn candles I thought we’d set this place on fire. There’s nowhere better to celebrate a birthday than Memphis.” He pulled on his guitar strap. “Y’all ready for some more music? How about this old favorite?”

  A lone violin sounded behind him, and the crowd started clapping in time with the beat.

  “It was my first hit single, so it holds a special place in my heart. I’ve had a few birthdays between then and now, but it’s nice to remember where I started.”

  And hadn’t he come a long way? After all this time, he was finally coming to peace with his past.

  “Thank you, Memphis!” Then he began to sing.

  ***

  The crowd was still calling for Rye’s fourth encore when a crew member came to escort Tory and his family backstage. Rory put his hands over his ears as the din from the crowd continued unabated, and Tory could understand why. Even hers were ringing.

  When he finally came backstage, Rye was grinning. He strode toward them, ignoring the bottle of water thrust at him and pressing Old Faithful into the chest of an assistant.

  “I’m so glad you came, Daddy,” he said, grabbing the man in a hug.

  Hampton had looked as proud as a new papa all night and had surprised her by singing along with the crowd. He knew all Rye’s songs word for word

  “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world, son,” Hampton said, slapping him on the back. “I’m so proud of you.”

  Rye chuckled as Amelia Ann charged him, shrieking, and Annabelle grabbed a hold of his leg. After greeting them both, he moved on to Tammy, who quietly smiled and rose on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. When he reached Tory, he nodded to Rory, who was still holding her hand.

  “Do you mind, son? I have a woman I need to kiss.”

  Rory frowned, but he let his mother pull him back.

  After taking his off hat and perching it on the little boy’s head, Rye cupped Tory’s face in his hands He was sweaty, his hair matted to his head. And his clean shaven face was so very dear to her.

  “So, what’d you think?” he murmured.

  There were too many thoughts racing through her head, especially about his song, for her to vocalize them. His words had moved her, and she knew how hard it must have been for him to write that song. But he had also made it clear that he thought their time together was at an end, and any hidden hope for a future had died.

  “It was incredible,” she said, making her smile bigger than usual.

  He studied her for a moment, as if he knew there was something more behind her words. Then he kissed her firmly on the mouth before she could stop him. Cameras flashed and, feeling like she was on display once again, she pushed away.

  Someone called his name, and when he looked behind him, Georgia waved him over. He nodded and turned back with a frown. “I have to go do some interviews. Meet some people. Y’all get
some sleep. I’ll see you for breakfast.”

  After saying goodbye to his family, he met Tory’s eyes. “I’ll see you soon.”

  Tory watched people swarm around him, sporadic flashes illuminating his face. He laughed as reporters threw questions at him. Women angled closer. One, who was showing off four inches of cleavage in a blue sequined top, wrapped an arm around his waist. Tory tried not to be jealous.

  She turned away from the scene. Well, she had certainly seen Rye Crenshaw the performer tonight.

  And she was having trouble reconciling him with the man she’d come to know. It had been easy to forget about his fame in the haven of the tour bus. Her heart tore as she realized he was right—they had to let each other go. Their worlds were miles apart, and she just didn’t think they could bridge the gap.

  Rory yawned, and Annabelle seemed to be fading fast, too, now that the adrenaline of the concert was wearing off.

  “Let’s go back to the hotel,” she told everyone, “and you can tell me how you’ve been.”

  Just as she was doing with Rye, Tory planned to savor every minute she had with this family she had come to love.

  God, but I love you.

  Never imagined wanting this.

  Never imagined, wanting you.

  But the risk’s too great.

  It’ll make me break.

  Don’t want to bleed.

  Unplant the seeds.

  But I won’t forget.

  Never wish we hadn’t met.

  I can’t help loving you,

  But I can’t keep holding you.

  The hurt’s too big.

  Don’t wanna break.

  I just can’t break again.

  I just can’t break.

  Rye Crenshaw’s Top Ten Hit, “Don’t Make Me Break”

  Chapter 20

  Rye rolled over the next morning and reached out a searching hand. When all he felt was the coolness of empty sheets, he cracked an eye open and frowned. Tory must have snuck out to do something. Damn, he’d hoped to wake up with her and have more of that birthday sex they’d had last night. He rubbed his hand over his chest where his heart throbbed. It hadn’t been simple birthday sex. It had been filled with desperation and had ended with quiet caresses.