DuBois, Edith - Rugged Salvation [Rugged Savage Valley, Colorado 3] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Edith DuBois

  She grimaced. “Give me my guitar, Jeremiah.”

  “Come on, Marina. Please.”

  Frowning, she held out her hand. “The guitar.”

  He held her gaze, and a moment later, instead of handing her the guitar, he put the strap over her head. As Ethel Rose’s familiar weight settled over her shoulders, Jeremiah turned on his heel and stalked away. She wanted to call after him, to plead with him to understand, but he wouldn’t. He didn’t want to understand. None of them did.

  She ran her fingers over a few chords. Although she rarely played this guitar in a performance setting, Marina figured tonight was special. She figured Ethel Rose deserved a show like this.

  “I guess this means we’ll see you tomorrow morning?” Johnny asked, his eyes tight. Marina nodded. He pressed a kiss to her cheek. “You look beautiful.”

  As he walked away, following Jeremiah off the stage, James didn’t budge. The stage manager motioned for the show to begin. As the announcer’s voice boomed through the PA system, Marina held James’s eyes, hoping he would offer her some small sign of encouragement, some small sign of understanding. When none were forthcoming, she sighed and turned away from him. She turned toward the open stage, forcing herself to push James’s sullen silence to the back of her mind.

  It was time to perform. Everything else would disappear.

  “Ladies and gentlemen of Savage Valley, most esteemed citizens and special guests of this town!”

  Marina peeked around to see who was announcing her entrance.

  “I welcome you here to the inaugural performance on this beautiful stage, the newest addition to the Woodland Den. And tonight, to mark such a momentous occasion, Savage Valley has a very special guest performer.”

  She spotted Thomas Ashley in the opposite wing, speaking into a microphone. He winked at her. Marina did a double take when she noticed Michelle standing next to him. Her sister waved. A surge of warmth jumped through her heart. Marina was, surprisingly, very happy to see Michelle. She waved back, feeling a little bit better about the next few moments, knowing Michelle would be right next to her.

  “Please welcome to the stage, platinum-selling artist and two-time Grammy nominee Marina Andrews!”

  That was her cue, and taking a deep breath, she followed it.

  She stepped into the light.

  * * * *

  James lay in bed the next morning with his eyes wide open. He refused to blink and refused to roll away from the window. Sunlight pierced his pupils. It dug deep into his brain and rooted out thoughts of every other thing. He liked the clean, brutal pain of it. There was wild logic to its burning scratching against his eyes. Its brightness blinded and maimed. It had too much raw energy. It burned anything and everything that got too close. The sun’s light didn’t care who or what needed it, didn’t care that its energy gave warmth and purpose to this earth. It only needed to burn.

  And burn and burn and burn.

  He shut his eyes with a grunt. White-blue blazed beneath his closed lids from where the sun had seared his retinas.

  This was the day he would lose the woman he loved. Frankly, he didn’t want to face it.

  He wanted to roll back over, go to sleep, and not wake up until everything was over. He didn’t know what it would feel like to have the mating bond severed, but he didn’t imagine it would be a pleasant experience. Plus, the pain of testing the bear clan Edge was still fresh in his memory from a few weeks before. He thought losing Marina would feel similar to that, but probably worse. A thousand times worse. She thought it would go away and that they would forget her one day, but he knew that wasn’t true. No matter what she did or where she went, she would always be a part of him. No Shoshone potion could change the way he felt about her.

  Because it wasn’t magic that made him love Marina Andrews.

  It was her. Plain and simple.

  It was the way her nose crinkled when she laughed, and it was how she pouted when she accidentally hit a false chord on the guitar while fooling around with new songs in their bedroom. It was her voice, her laugh, her moans. It was her long, dark hair and the way it spilled over her perfect breasts when she rode him.

  It was how she didn’t know how fragile she was. She didn’t see how much the world had taken from her. She just went on barreling through everything, even when it bruised and cut, even when it broke her in two.

  God, he’d been such an asshole.

  Marina had looked at him with her big blue eyes and her baby doll pout. She’d needed him to show her some small sign. He should have kissed the daylights out of her and then sent her out onto that stage. As soon as she’d begun to play, he knew that’s what he should have done. She’d needed him to believe in her, just for one night.

  She’d wanted him to admit that she belonged there, to acknowledge what she’d be giving up for them.

  But he hadn’t.

  And by the time he realized that’s what he should have done, she’d left for her aunt’s house. He’d thought about storming over there and demanding she listen to him but doubted that would get him anywhere. His stormy-eyed-Marina would have none of that.

  He heard one of his brothers rustling around in the kitchen and thought he should probably roll out of bed soon. It was his day to clean the animal pens, and he wanted to finish that as soon as possible in case Bo called. He’d told Bo to call him before Marina to let them know when the concoction was finished.

  Almost as if it had been listening in on his thoughts, his phone rang.

  “Hello?” he grumbled.

  “James, it’s Bo.”

  And suddenly, he was awake.

  “Just calling to let you know that the compound is ready. I’m calling Marina in ten minutes.”

  “Okay.” His voice was hoarse. He felt like choking. “Okay, thanks, Bo.”

  “See you soon, James.”

  He hung up and stared at the ceiling for a long moment. Then he rolled out from under the covers. He had hoped Marina would come by that morning, or maybe call at least. He’d hoped there was some small part of her that wanted to stay.

  But everything was quiet.

  There was no Marina. There were only ten minutes.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Nashville Through and Through” blared from Marina’s phone on the nightstand. Roy exploded off the covers onto all fours with a bark. Realizing there was no danger afoot, his eyes drooped, and he toppled back over onto the bed by her feet, snoring slightly.

  Flailing her hand across the surface of the stand without looking over, she thought it was about time to change that ringtone. She didn’t like waking up to the sound of her own voice wailing out about how awesome it was to prance about in shorts and cowboy boots while downing copious amounts of whiskey in a honky-tonk. In fact, if she remembered correctly, she was, in fact, a little tipsy while recording the vocals for that track. Then she jolted out of the covers.

  In her sleep-muddled state, she’d thought the song was the alarm on her phone going off, but “Nashville Through and Through” only sounded when someone from the label was calling.

  She rubbed her eyes, cleared her throat, and then hit the “Accept” button on her phone’s screen. The caller ID said it was Jeffrey, her A&R guy. She hoped he didn’t have anything dramatic to tell her from the higher-ups. She’d received quite a few of those calls right before she and Michelle cancelled the last leg of her tour a couple months ago.

  “Hello, Jeffrey,” she said when the call had connected.

  “Marina, darling Marina, it’s lovely to hear your voice.”

  She rolled her eyes at his perfunctory bombast. “Charming as ever, I see.”

  “Now, now, I have something truly delicious to share with you.”

  “Oh yes?”

  “You’ve been up to something in Savage Valley, my little sorceress, haven’t you?”

  “What exactly are you referring to? I’ve been up to quite a few things. Always am. You know that.” She tried to keep her tone casua
l and unconcerned, but conversations with Jeffrey tended to leave her feeling like a baby seal who had narrowly escaped from hundreds of great-white teeth.

  “This thing to which I am referring, cupcake, is YouTube.”

  “YouTube?”

  “Yes! YouTube! That hotbed of contraband footage and indefectible nonsense. You see, I awoke up this morning and went straight to my computer, as I always do when bestirring.” He chuckled to himself. “I enjoy watching all the illegal concert uploads of chickees like you for whom I am responsible. And this morning, what do you think my wondering eyes should fall upon?”

  “Umm…”

  “Why! A delightful video of my dear, precious Marina Andrews, of course!”

  “Aren’t there like dozens of those or something?”

  “You underestimate yourself, my darling. There are hundreds, but never mind that. What is so impressive about my discovery is that my sneaky little Marina was singing a new song in this video. Notes and melodies of which had never met mine ears floated so beautifully out of the speaker. And can you believe it?” He laughed, and it kind of sounded the way glass does when falling to the ground after a rock has slammed through it. “She sang it last night,” he exclaimed.

  Marina held her tongue, unsure of what he expected from her. She knew there was some section of her long, ass-tangled contract that said she wasn’t supposed to perform without the label’s express permission. But maybe that was only if she’d been paid? She couldn’t remember. Michelle was usually the one to handle that kind of stuff. She felt naked and exposed, and while Jeffrey didn’t sound particularly upset, she could never be sure. She hoped she wasn’t in some kind of legal trouble for her performance.

  “Umm…” she said again, hoping to prompt a response.

  “Is that all you have to say for yourself? ‘Umm?’ Dearest Marina, the song was incredible. Mr. Gefrin was impressed. I can say that much.”

  “Mr. Gefrin saw the video? He heard the new song?” She clenched a bit of her quilt between white fingers. Mr. Gefrin was the head of her label. She’d spoken with him less than a dozen times. To him, Marina was a butterfly. A beautiful, pearlescent, winged thing to be marveled and flaunted. But, in fact, what he loved more than showing her off was the sharp metal pin he had lodged in her back.

  “He did,” Jeffrey said.

  “And what did he say?”

  “Looking past the illicit nature of your performance last night”—she cringed—“we can’t wait to get you back in the studio. You’ve been in exile long enough, don’t you think?”

  “I thought I couldn’t go back until…um, until I was better.”

  “Oh, that was merely a precautionary measure, my gosling. But enough of all that rigmarole. Tell me the name of the new song! And is there some sort of guitar-playing fairy godmother in Savage Hillock or wherever it is you are? I’ve never heard you play anything like that.”

  “Not exactly,” she said as a vision of Jeremiah appearing and disappearing in a pink poof of magic fairy dust flitted across her mind. She bit back a giggle. “It was just somebody I met here who helped me. But thank you. It’s called ‘Mama, Don’t Fly Away from Me.’”

  “Oh, that sounds delightfully tragic. You’ll have to tell me all about it sometime. Now, this pedagogue of guitar isn’t going to cause any problems? Nobody will be expecting a piece of the pie or what have you?”

  “No. It’s nothing like that. He’s a…” Another vision of Jeremiah filled her vision. Although, this time there was no fairy dust involved. She saw him above her, sweating and rocking his body into hers. Her clit began to tingle, and a sharp pang of longing rushed through her gut. She gritted her teeth against the image. “He’s a friend,” she offered lamely.

  “That’s so great. Now, Mr. Gefrin wants to get you in the studio in a few weeks, probably right around Thanksgiving. Please tell me you have more gems like the one I saw on YouTube this morning.”

  “Yes, I’ve written a couple more, but isn’t that a little too soon? Don’t I need rehearsal time with the band? What about a pre-recording session?”

  “Mr. Gefrin says that’s the only time available at the studio until next year, and we don’t want to wait that long, do we? We’ll have a band there for you.”

  “You’ll have Charlie and Big Dan? They’ve agreed to leave their families over the holidays?”

  Jeffrey laughed. “No, no, no. You’re going to have an all-new band, sweet Marina. Mr. Gefrin says you need a hot, new outfit to go with this hot, new sound. ”

  “Oh, ’cause I was kinda thinking this new stuff had a more stripped-down, acoustic feel to it. And it would be nice if maybe for this next tour, it could be just me and the boys. Maybe Big Dan could even play an upright bass instead of the electric? And everything would have a down-home, more natural feel to it, you know? I feel like that’s what this new stuff needs. Maybe we could even play some of the older songs acoustically, sort of change everything up.”

  “That’s a great idea, dumpling. I’m just not sure it could work on a large scale, though. Plus, like I said, you’re going to have an all-new band.”

  “But that’s just for recording. Charlie and Big Dan will still be on tour with me.”

  Jeffrey laughed. “We’ll talk about that when you get back to Nashville. I think we should focus on getting this new album out and getting your tour scheduled. I mean, you are Marina Andrews, lest we forget. Strawberry, people are absolutely rabid waiting for new material. And after your mysterious disappearance, you little minx, everyone’s wondering what you’ve been up to. You’re all over CMT and country music blogs and Twitter and Facebook. Everyone is worried about you. Your next tour is gonna be the biggest, baddest, most fantastic production yet.”

  Marina swallowed, trying to alleviate the sudden dryness in her throat. A couple months ago, that statement would have sent her heart soaring. She probably would have gone to the bar, drank a questionable number of shots, and then prowled through the crowd on the hunt for a bad decision. This morning, though, with everything else she had to face that day, Jeffrey’s prophecies of triumphant return sort of filled her with a dull, hopeless fatigue.

  Thankfully her phone beeped, informing her of an incoming call. “Hey, Jeffrey, can I call you back later? I’ve got someone on the other line.”

  “Bye for now then, darling starfish. See you soon in Nashville.”

  She switched the call over without letting herself think about just how soon she’d be seeing him.

  “Hello?”

  “Marina, it’s Bo.”

  “Oh, good morning.”

  “Everything okay?”

  “Yes!” she said brightly, forcing a smile to her lips. “I didn’t expect you to call this early.” She patted her lap, and Roy bounded over, snuggling up against her body. She held him close. “Is it ready?” she whispered.

  “It is. When can I expect you?”

  “All my belongings are packed, and apart from a few last-minute errands, I’m ready to go.” She hugged Roy and put her cheek on his head as she thought about having to say good-bye to her aunt, to Michelle, and—goddamn it—to the Greenwoods. She sat up, determined to keep the men out of mind until the last possible second. As for Michelle and Aunt Agnes, she had decided not to deal with that. She’d just take the compound and go. After hugging her sister and seeing how happy she was with her fiancés at the show last night, Marina had chickened out. There was no way on earth she could face Michelle and tell her what she was about to do.

  Michelle would cling to her. She would demand that she stay. She would pester and prod until she had warped Marina into thinking she should remain bonded to this place. Marina couldn’t take that chance. She’d made her decision. No one would have the opportunity to change it.

  So she’d waited until Aunt Agnes had fallen asleep, and then she’d spent the rest of the night packing. All of her belongings were in the Escalade, unbeknownst to Aunt Agnes. She’d written a letter, explaining everything, advising
her aunt to ask Michelle about the parts she didn’t understand, and now placed the thick envelope on her pillow.

  “Bo,” she said. “I’ll be there in half an hour.”

  * * * *

  Johnny stopped in his tracks, turned, and faced his brother. “Damn it, Jeremiah, watch where you’re walking.” His brother had caught his heel for about the fifth time.

  “You watch where you’re walking.” Jeremiah skulked past him and rammed him with his shoulder.

  Johnny swung his fist out but missed hitting his brother. “Quit feeling sorry for yourself. You’re not the only one who’s pissed off today. We all have enough shit going on without you adding to the pile.” Jeremiah grumbled an inaudible response.

  They’d decided to walk over to Bo’s from the center, knowing they’d most likely want to shift after Marina drank the compound. Running in bear form was the best way to work off steam. And Marina taking the compound was sure as hell gonna cause steam.

  Damn. The fact was, he’d tried to stop thinking of Marina in “if” terms. She’d made her decision, and she’d made it loud and clear. She wasn’t going to change her mind. She belonged on the stage. She wanted that more than she wanted love. It was the bald truth of the matter. But Johnny guessed some part of himself hadn’t given up, had refused to let go of hope. His heart could be a dumbass like that. Plus, walking through the woods on his way to the Greenwoods’ Last Stand, as it were, didn’t seem like the best time to try and deny the fact that his mate was leaving him. She was actually choosing to leave him.

  They’d crossed Savage Creek and Savage Road and were traipsing through one last thicket before they reached the Shoshone lands. Jeremiah had been muttering and stepping on Johnny’s heels the whole way, though, and Johnny felt like his bear could explode out of him at the slightest provocation. He hoped Marina wasn’t around when it happened.

  Without warning, Jeremiah stopped in front of him, causing Johnny to run smack into him.

  “What the hell, man?”