by MJ Fredrick
“I brought you your shirt.” She shoved it at him, wadded now, despite her earlier care.
He closed his fingers around it but didn’t take his gaze from her. “Want to come in, see the place?”
She wanted to, curiosity eating at her to see what he’d become. But she shook her head and tried to ease around him, but he blocked her escape with just a subtle shift of his weight.
“Come in, Beth. I won’t bite.”
He said it in that smooth way of his, almost a drawl. She should leave. She should run away and not look back. But she could imagine what he’d say to her, how he’d call her a coward and she didn’t want him to think she was afraid. So she nodded, looking away, but not before she saw his quick smile when he reached around her to open the door. She walked up the steps, feeling the heat of his body right behind her.
The place was almost as big as her house, and twice as nice, with cherry cabinets, black-flecked countertops that she suspected were granite on one wall, and long, low, plush gray couches on the other. A flat-screen TV was mounted at one end of the room, and—
“Are those sliding glass doors?”
“Yeah. Cool, huh?”
She moved down the narrow walkway until she realized she was heading toward his bedroom. Through the doorway, she caught a glimpse of a big bed, with a gray comforter to match the couches. She hurried back toward the kitchen.
“You don’t actually cook in here, do you?”
“If I did, it wouldn’t be so clean.” He tossed the shirt on the counter and leaned one hand beside it, watching her. “You want something? Something to drink?”
“No, I need to go. I just wanted to bring you that.”
“Sit down a minute. I’ll get you a bottle of water.”
Had he always done that, run over what she’d wanted to get his own way? She didn’t think he had. He walked to the stainless steel fridge and opened it, revealing a variety of beverages—juices, waters, pops. No beer. She knew he’d been in rehab, but she hadn’t thought it through to its logical conclusion. Would he be able to resist temptation while playing in a bar? How long had it been since he’d gone into rehab? She’d lost track.
He selected a bottle for her and another for himself, handed one to her and hitched his hip against the counter before twisting open his own.
“So, do you take this thing with you when you travel?”
“Only sometimes, if the venue’s nearby, or there’s a series of shows in a local area. Usually I fly and stay in hotels.”
She crumpled the plastic between her fingers, then winced at the noise and at the nervousness it revealed. “Must be nice. Room service and all that.”
“Yeah, but I like this better. It’s familiar. And I’m alone.”
She sat back and lifted her bottle to her lips, surprised. “You don’t like the crowds?”
That blasted half-smile. “I have people around me all the time. It’s kinda nice to be able to escape.”
“Is that why you’re here in Bluestone?” Her own curiosity would be the death of her.
He didn’t hesitate. “Yep.”
“You won’t be alone here, either. Everyone here wants to claim you as one of us.”
“You don’t?”
“You were a summer boy.” Something inside her relaxed with the gentle taunt.
He set his bottle on the counter beside his shirt, his smile widening. “I guess so. I felt like this was home.”
“Do your parents live in Nashville now, too?”
“They do. Their house got damaged in the floods a couple years back, but they’re rebuilding. My sister lives in California, has two kids, so they spend a lot of time out there.”
She was being swept away by memories, of his family that had been so normal, especially compared to hers. His family had included her in so much because she was important to Maddox.
She was happy for his success. She was. But standing in this elegance made her want to squirm. Besides, it was a home on wheels, ready for him to take off again, temporary. She capped her bottle and set it on the counter. “I need to get home.”
He straightened. “Why? You don’t work for a couple of hours, and Linda is taking care of the baby, right?”
She eased toward the door. “Those aren’t the only things I have to do, you know.”
“What else?” Something flickered across his face. “You have a boyfriend?”
Dale’s image flashed in her brain and she set her jaw. “Maybe.”
“Maybe?” His eyebrows winged up. “You do or you don’t.”
“I’m—thinking about it.”
He stepped closer. “I’m surprised you haven’t married before now.”
She snorted and put her hand on the door latch. “Because I need another responsibility.”
“That’s not the way to look at it.” He scooped her hair back from her face. “You share the load.”
“Not in my experience.” She hated how her voice shook as she looked at his mouth. Was it her imagination or was he leaning closer? Her breath came faster. “I don’t want another summer romance, Maddox. I don’t have time.”
“Okay.”
For a moment, he lingered, and she thought he’d kiss her anyway, but he eased back. “It’s good to see you again, Beth. You look good.”
Maybe, she thought as she made her escape. But she was more trouble now than she’d been as a girl.
Beth was unnaturally jittery the following night as she hefted a tray of drinks. She’d tried to get out of working tonight, but Quinn had called in all hands—and hired two new girls and another bartender—to accommodate the expected crowd. Beth felt Maddox’s attention on her as she moved through the crush. Time was, she’d appreciated his attention as she waited tables in the diner, would even do a little swirl now and then to impress him. But now, best to stay under his radar. He had plenty of other admirers around him. She’d never seen so many women in Bluestone dressed in tight-fitting T-shirts and cropped shirts, snug jeans and short shorts.
Yet he watched her.
She’d expected he’d be busier, setting up or something, but all he had was his amp, his mic and his acoustic in the corner of the bar on the hastily constructed platform Quinn had put in earlier today. She remembered the first guitar he had, one he’d gotten at a garage sale. She’d saved up her tips all summer long, telling him she was saving for a car. Instead she’d bought him an acoustic Gibson.
She’d never forget the look on his face, the delight, the wonder, followed by a drive to the lake and some excellent kissing and serious petting on the hood of his car.
She wondered when he’d last played in a bar. The last she’d heard, he was doing arena tours with Carrie Underwood.
Of course there were almost enough people in here to fill an arena, and all of them wanted beer. Now.
Maddox’s voice through the amp startled her. “Welcome to Quinn’s, ladies and gentlemen. I’m Maddox Bradley.”
The applause and cheers echoed off the rafters. Beth would have covered her ears if she didn’t have the loaded tray.
He started with one of his hits, which surprised her, knowing the little she did about concerts. She thought the artists held their best stuff until last. But this way, even with the crowd in Quinn’s singing along, she could pretend she was listening to the radio, that the man himself wasn’t sitting a few yards away.
She’d forgotten what a lovely voice he had, without all the back-up instruments and technology to make him sound good. He didn’t need any of that—he had a talent all his own.
Once the raucous applause died down, he leaned close to the microphone. “I’d like to play a song I wrote when I was here in Bluestone one summer, a long time ago.”
Beth couldn’t stop herself from pivoting toward the stage. As if expecting her reaction, he tipped his hat, then strummed the intro to the song. A tumble of emotions she didn’t want to identify rolled through her, and she turned away to get back to work. Nonetheless, she found herself stoppin
g to listen as he sang the song that she remembered him writing, the full moon over the lake, the crickets chirping, the pretty girl beside him.
One he’d written when they were together. He’d played it for her the morning after they’d spent most of the night making out on the hood of his car under said moonlight. Son of a bitch. He had to know she’d remember. What was he trying to do? Manipulate her was what, but manipulate her into doing what? Going to bed with him again? Why? He could have any girl he wanted.
She kept her back to him, not wanting him to see how he affected her. But she couldn’t drown out his voice.
The floor beneath her vibrated as he broke into the song that had made him a star, the party anthem about drinking, playing pool and picking up women. It was a catchy song and she found herself moving in step to the music. Damn him.
“Take this to Maddox,” Quinn shouted at her over the music, passing her a bottle of pop and nodding in the direction of the stage.
“I have enough tables.”
Quinn glowered. “Too busy to be shy here, Beth. Take him the damned drink.”
“Fine.” She set the tray down on the bar and let it clatter. “My other order better be ready when I get back.”
She snatched the bottle by the neck and charged through the crowd to deliver it. At least he hadn’t backslid, but what would people think about a man who sang about whiskey drinking a carbonated beverage? She slipped and slid between the people circling him and held out the pop silently when she reached him. Damn, he looked even better than he sounded, sweat dampening his hair around the edges of his cowboy hat, glistening at the opening of his western-cut shirt. Her tongue curled against the desire to lick his skin. He stopped mid-strum to take the drink from her. She watched like an idiot as he tilted his head back and drank, watched the muscles of his throat work. He set the bottle down and picked up the song exactly where he’d left off, to the delight of the crowd. He grinned at Beth, which jolted her back to awareness, and she spun away to fill her other drink orders.
“Ladies and gentlemen, be sure to tip your waitresses,” he worked into the song.
She managed to avoid taking him drinks the rest of the night.
Leo Erickson and Trinity Madison walked in and settled at an empty table in the far corner of the room. Beth hesitated before walking over to them. They’d recently gotten engaged and only had eyes for each other. Even taking their order seemed intrusive.
And she was big enough to admit to a little jealousy here. A big time news reporter who comes back to town to fall in love with the elementary school counselor—the story had a definite Cinderella vibe. Not that Beth wanted a fairy tale ending herself, but she was happy for Trinity, who had been alone way too long.
She pulled out her pad and approached. Leo looked up from where he was rubbing his thumb back and forth over Trinity’s knuckles, beneath a gorgeous, round diamond ring.
“Seems to be working so far,” Leo said, nodding to the bar where Quinn and Jess were hopping to keep up with orders.
“Let’s hope it has the effect of bringing more people here to spend money all over town.” Leo, Trinity and Lily Prater, the owner of the landing across the street, had devised the idea of a concert series in Bluestone, to draw tourists back to the dying town. Maddox was meant to be the highlight of the series, but had backed out at the last minute. Hopefully his appearance would bring people from the cities. “What can I get you?”
Leo ordered a beer and Trinity a glass of tea. Beth couldn’t help herself. She lifted an eyebrow at the younger blonde woman, who blushed. All the answer Beth needed.
“We’re not telling anyone just yet,” Trinity said, tightening her hands on Leo’s. “My parents haven’t quite come to grips with us doing things backwards.”
Trinity’s father was the retired preacher, her brother the current preacher. Beth made a zipper motion with her fingers across her mouth. “Got it. I’ll get your order out as soon as possible.”
But the two had already turned their attention back to each other.
Beth almost bumped into Dale as she pivoted toward the bar. He was heading for the door. She placed her hand against his chest for a moment, then let it drop almost instantly, too aware of the intimacy of the contact.
“Where you going?”
He inclined his head toward Maddox. “Too loud in here. I don’t come in here to listen to music.”
The warmth in his eyes let her know exactly why he came in here, and she blushed. “Tomorrow should be better.”
“You work the lunch shift?”
She shook her head. “Quinn has a couple of new girls at lunch so his more experienced waitresses can cover the craziness.” She inclined her head toward the stage.
“How long do you think he’ll be here?”
Her blush deepened. Did he suspect about her past with Maddox? “I have no idea. Not long, I’m sure. Things will be back to normal before you know it.”
He kept his gaze steady on hers, those brown eyes seeing too much. “I hope so.” With a nod, he edged past her.
She followed his progress, then turned back to see Maddox watching her through the crowd.
The bar cleared out pretty quickly once Maddox stopped playing, but the place was a mess. Beth gathered up beer bottles and other detritus from a table, and felt the tray wobble. She spun to steady it, only to see Maddox standing on the other side, his hands on the tray.
“What are you doing?”
“Helping.”
She didn’t let go of the tray and the bottles rattled. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”
“I can carry this. How hard can it be?” He took a stronger grip and the bottles swayed.
“Maddox, don’t!”
Too late, the bottles and glasses shifted and tumbled. Her reflexes weren’t quick enough and they fell to the wooden floor with a crash. Quinn shouted from behind the bar and Beth jumped back as bottles bounced on the wood floor.
“Are you trying to make my life miserable?” she demanded, snatching the tray from him and tossing it Frisbee style onto a nearby table before crouching to gather the bottles and broken glasses. “Don’t!” she snapped when he reached toward a jagged piece of glass. “The last thing we need is for you to cut those hands and not be able to play.” But then he’d leave and life could go back to normal. She picked up the piece gingerly and placed it on the table behind her, then gathered the other bottles within his reach before he could.
He sat back on his heels with a sigh. “Beth.”
“I don’t need you to save me.”
“I’m not.”
“You are. You’re butting in where you’re not wanted and—”
“Problem?”
Beth looked up the long, jean-clad legs of her boss, who stood over her, leaning on a broom. She popped up, losing her balance for a moment, catching herself before she fell back onto broken glass. She took the broom from Quinn without a word and aimed the bristles between Maddox’s boots, sending bottles rattling across the floor.
“What the hell, Beth?” Quinn grabbed the broom back and looked from Beth to Maddox.
Heat flushed her face. “Why don’t I go help Jess?” she said, not meeting either man’s gaze.
“Why don’t you?” Quinn agreed, and swept up the mess himself.
Distance from them didn’t make her relax, though. She was focusing so hard on ignoring Maddox that she didn’t realize he was waiting for her outside when she was done. She jolted when he pushed himself upright from where he’d been leaning on the rail.
“So is that the guy you were thinking about? When I asked if you were seeing anyone?”
“What guy?” Her head was starting to pound, and the last thing she needed was Maddox Bradley stalking her.
“The older guy, the one who looked like he wanted to kiss you when he left.”
Understanding clicked. “What, Dale?” They’d had a flirtation for a bit, but he moved a little slow, which was fine with her. She didn’t have tim
e for another complication, though she liked spending time with him, liked being around him. He didn’t make her uneasy like Maddox did. “We’re friends.”
“He wants more.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t have time to give him more. I already told you that.” She started down the steps and he followed. “Did you wait for me?”
He spread his hands as if to say, “Clearly.” “I thought I’d see that you got to your car okay.”
“Maddox, this is Bluestone. We may not have a lot, but we don’t have crime. And I didn’t drive tonight.”
He stopped for a moment. “You were going to walk home at this time of night?”
“I do it all the time. It’s not far.”
“All right, then. I’ll walk with you.”
“No, thank you.”
“Beth.”
“Maddox. It’s the only time I’m by myself all day. I’m not scared, I’m not in danger. I look forward to this.”
She could sense him holding himself back as he stopped at the edge of the gravel lot. He was going to let her go without further argument. Amazing. “Good night, Maddox.”
“Good night, Beth. See you tomorrow.”
Well. Her peaceful night disappeared with that reminder.
Maddox opened the side panel of his fifth wheel and retrieved his tackle box and rod and reel. He hadn’t been fishing in years—hadn’t had time—but the scent of the lake in these early hours drew him, despite his late night. He closed the panel gently so he didn’t wake his neighbors, tugged his hat lower on his eyes over the glasses he’d found in the silverware drawer, and headed toward the lake.
He’d lived in Nashville too long, because the Minnesota June morning held a chill. He’d warm up in the sun, and, since he’d been raised in the state, refused to go back for a jacket. He’d never hear the end of it.
As he crested the rise overlooking the water, he saw many of the boats had already left their slips. The sun rose early this far north, and though it was only six a.m., the lake was dotted with small boats.
A man moved with familiarity nearby, working a boat loose from its mooring. As Maddox approached, he saw it was Quinn, the owner of the bar and grill. The other man straightened in surprise when Maddox approached with his gear.
