Come Home with Me

by Susan Fox

  * * *

  “This was a good idea,” Iris said, leaning toward Miranda and speaking loudly enough to be heard over the audience’s enthusiastic clapping. Triple-B-Zee, as they were tonight, had just finished their second song.

  “I take full credit.” Grinning, she hoisted her beer bottle in a toast to herself, her friend, and the fantastic music. She was enjoying herself for the first time in a week, and part of it was due to relief that Luke hadn’t come and no one was shooting her censorious looks.

  “You deserve it.” Iris gently clicked her glass of white wine against Miranda’s bottle.

  The band had started with a cover of Alan Jackson’s “Good Time,” which got a bunch of people up and line dancing. They’d followed it with George Strait’s “Give It All We Got Tonight,” and as couples swayed on the dance floor, Miranda did her best not to wish she was there in Luke’s arms. She had to admit, Julian Blake helped with that.

  While she enjoyed B-B-Zee’s music, Forbes’s son added a whole new energy. First, of course, there was his appearance. There weren’t too many guys with blond hair who gave off a bad-boy vibe, but Julian sure did. That hair was shaggy and the shade of burnished gold, almost matching the color of his guitar. His lean body—all muscle and sinew—was clad in ripped black: jeans and a tattered tee. A tat twined around his right arm and she knew, from the Internet, that it was notes from one of his early compositions.

  And then there was his voice. Even when he sang a classic country song in a duet with his father, the rasp of his low, husky voice added a raw edge to the band’s normal sound.

  Forbes announced the next song, one of Julian’s and a favorite of hers, called “Mocking.” The dad stepped back with his guitar, and the son took center stage to solo. She was enraptured as he sang about feeling like an outcast, being mocked by others, but then putting on a magic cloak that deflected the jeers and turned them back on those who taunted him. The lyrics spoke directly to her, and his soulful tone and inwardly focused expression made her feel as if he was singing from personal experience. Might his music be his magic cloak?

  When the clapping died down, she whispered to Iris, “I think I’m in love.”

  Her friend gave a soft laugh. “You and every other woman in this room.”

  Iris looked stunning tonight, though her elegantly coiled black hair and screen-printed silk top with an iris motif would have fit better at C-Shell than the community hall.

  “I love that blouse,” Miranda told her. “That’s one of your aunt’s, isn’t it? I’ve seen some in Island Treasures, but the price tags made me scared to even touch them.”

  “Yes, it’s Aunt Lily’s. I can get you a deal.”

  And then the band was launching into the next number, this one an old folk song, “Blowin’ in the Wind,” with Forbes and Julian singing together.

  As she and Iris listened to song after song, a few people dropped by their table to say hi or ask them to dance. The women barely glanced away from the stage, and quickly dispatched them.

  When the band took a break, she and Iris went to the bar to get fresh drinks. They agreed to switch to club soda and lime, because Miranda was honoring her one-drink limit and Iris was driving. They stopped to say hi to Mr. and Mrs. Nelson, who’d been on the dance floor earlier for the slow songs, him in a wheelchair and his wife on his lap. Proof that it was possible to find the love of your life, and to keep that love alive. Or at least it was possible for some people. It sure didn’t seem to be her freaking destiny.

  But tonight wasn’t for angst. With Julian onstage, there was magic in the air.

  Across the room, she exchanged waves with a smiling Glory, and then she and Iris paused by the table where Di, Seal, Helen, and Jim sat with several friends. Kelsey was babysitting Ariana tonight, planning to attend Saturday night’s show with a group of friends.

  When Miranda and Iris resumed their path to the bar, Iris said, “Eden’s parents are nice, aren’t they? And Di and Seal are such an asset to this island.”

  “Pretty good for two runaway hippies, right?” Two people who had covered up a murder. Well, actually, Helen and Jim were covering it up as well. And so was she. That was probably a crime, and a worse one than petty shoplifting. She gave a surprised laugh, not having thought of it that way before.

  “What’s so funny?” Iris asked.

  Miranda shook her head. “Just, the things you’ll do for family.” The Blaines and the SkySongs had taken her in, her and Ariana, and she would do anything for them. If she moved back to Vancouver, her life, and her daughter’s, would feel awfully empty.

  “Yes, family is a huge influence in one’s life,” Iris said, sounding as if, for her, it was a mixed blessing.

  Miranda wondered about that, but before she could probe, another islander said hello, and then she and Iris needed to scramble to get their drinks and make a quick run to the ladies’ room before the next set started.

  When the band struck the first note, she settled back in the dimly lit room beside her friend for another hour or so of pure enjoyment. And that was exactly what she got. Though she was aware of people dancing, her attention focused on the band. And particularly on Julian Blake. He was exactly the kind of man she’d always been drawn to, and what was wrong with indulging in a little fantasizing about the hot musician?

  Such as imagining, when he sang a heartbreaking ballad of his own composition and gazed in the direction of her table, that he was singing to her. Though she supposed, to be more accurate, it would be to her and Iris.

  A threesome, maybe? Quickly she raised a hand to smother the splutter of laughter that rose in her throat. Best not to share that bizarre notion with Iris. Instead, she leaned over and whispered, “He’s looking at us.”

  “At you,” her friend said quickly.

  “Why not at you? You’re gorgeous. You love his music, Iris. You think he’s hot. Why not talk to him after their set? See if anything, you know, develops.”

  Iris’s snort didn’t match up with her elegant appearance. “If I even thought about doing that, I’d be sick to my stomach from nerves. Besides, Julian Blake wouldn’t be interested in a relationship with a woman like me.”

  It figured that Iris’s mind would go to “relationship” while Miranda’s was chanting “hook up!” Not that she’d do it. Or would she? At least she could fantasize, and so she did as the music pulsed around them.

  By the time the band finished its final set, Miranda was pleasantly buzzed. She’d gone out to see one of her favorite musicians, indulged in some yummy daydreams, and spent the evening with a friend. Luke hadn’t shown up, nothing terrible had happened, and she no longer felt so heartachingly depressed. She could do this. Get on with her life. “Glad I persuaded you to come?” she asked Iris.

  “I truly am.”

  “If you’re not going to talk to Julian, are you at least going home with a sexy fantasy or two to keep you warm tonight?”

  Her friend’s smooth, pale cheeks flushed. And then, surprisingly, she gave a cheeky grin. “Now that would be telling.”

  Miranda laughed, stretched luxuriously, and really wished for a second drink. But that way led to the danger of turning into her mom, and she wasn’t going there.

  “It’s time to go,” Iris said, retrieving her purse from under the table. “Are you ready?”

  No, she wasn’t. Back home, alone in her bed, even dreams of Julian wouldn’t be enough to hold misery at bay. Here, though, with warmth and lights and music, she could perhaps stave it off a little longer. “You know, I think I’ll stay awhile. Indulge in another decadent soda and lime. Feed the jukebox.” With some Julian Blake tunes, since anything else would be a letdown. “You go on without me.”

  “But I’m your ride home.” Iris frowned and touched her forehead, as if a headache was brewing. “I guess I could stay awhile longer.”

  “Not unless you want to. Honestly, I’ll be fine. I can hitch a ride back with Di and Seal.” She gestured toward the table where the Sk
ySongs and the Blaines sat with their friends.

  “You’re sure?”

  “Absolutely.” Miranda grabbed her own purse. “I’ll walk you out, then get myself that drink.”

  Together they crossed the room, joining a number of others who were heading for the door. Outside, Miranda stood on the porch of the community hall and breathed in the fresh, cool night air as she watched Iris walk to her car. Almost, she was tempted to call out and run down the steps to join her. But that would mean bringing this wonderful night to an end, and the longer she could postpone that, the better.

  As Iris pulled out of her parking spot, Miranda raised a hand in a farewell wave. Back inside, she put coins in the jukebox, selecting Julian Blake tunes the band hadn’t played tonight, and then made a trip to the ladies’ room. Washing her hands, she peered at her reflection. Objectively, she thought she looked pretty good for someone who’d been dumped, yet again. All week, her eyes had been dull and faded, sometimes puffy and bloodshot, but now they were bright. Thank you, Julian Blake! She brushed her hair until it shone and freshened her lip gloss.

  Just because a girl had a broken heart, it didn’t have to mean she looked like crap.

  Shoulders back in her snug-fitting black tank top and hips swinging in her denim mini, she sauntered back into the main room and across to the bar. She climbed onto a stool and ordered a soda and lime. When the bartender, an older woman, gave her the drink and her change, Miranda slid a toonie across the bar. She took a long swallow of her drink and let her eyes drift closed, sinking into the music.

  “Haven’t got tired of that guy yet?” a husky voice asked. A voice that reminded her of...

  Her eyes flared open. “Julian!”

  “You have the advantage,” he said with one of those slow smiles that was guaranteed to melt a girl’s panties. He didn’t recognize her, and that wasn’t a surprise. Though they’d been in school together, both had skipped more classes than they’d attended, and besides she’d looked totally different back then.

  Had he heard about his stepbrother’s ill-fated dating experience with a woman named Miranda? If so, he’d already have judged her and found her lacking. “I’m Randy,” she said, giving the nickname she’d used in her clubbing days, and adding her patented suggestive tagline. “As in my name, not an adjective.” Sexual awareness rippled through her, belying her words.

  He chuckled. “My loss.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you’re tired of women throwing themselves at you,” she teased, widening her eyes flirtatiously.

  She was single and this was a man she’d always lusted after. Here he was, so close she could breathe the musk of sweat and soap, while in the background one of his hit songs played. Why shouldn’t she allow herself these moments of pleasure?

  He gave a fake yawn and said, in a mock upper-class British accent, “It does get rather tedious.” Gesturing to the empty stool beside her, he said, “Mind if I join you? My dad and the other guys are heading home but I could use a drink and some company before I call it a night.”

  “Please do. But be warned, I may gush about your music.”

  “And I may blush, but don’t let that stop you.”

  His cheeks were already flushed, and his eyes, a truer blue than her own, glittered. He looked like he was high, and she hoped for his sake it was from performing, not from drugs.

  He ordered a Blue Moonshine lager, clicked the bottle against her glass, and took a long swallow. “I saw you and your friend in the audience. She bailed on you?”

  “Don’t take it as an insult. She’s shy, doesn’t go out much. It’s only because you were playing that I persuaded her to come tonight.”

  “And now I am blushing.” He rested his arm on the bar so that his bare forearm, the one with the music-note tattoo, brushed her dragon. Nodding at her ink, he said, “I like your dragon. It’s sexy and fierce.”

  She smiled at his perceptiveness. “I got it a long time ago. When I longed to be fierce, to be independent and breathe fire on my enemies.”

  His eyes widened slightly. “I like that. Could’ve used that in ‘Mocking.’”

  “That song’s perfect as it is.”

  His gaze held hers. “It speaks to you.”

  She nodded. “It feels genuine, like it comes from a bad time in your life.”

  “All my songs are genuine.” His face softened. “Fortunately, the real bad times seem to be behind me. For you, too, I hope?”

  “Oh, except for the occasional broken heart here and there,” she said dryly.

  He kept studying her intently, and then his lips kinked up. “You should be a songwriter. Take a broken heart and a couple glasses of whiskey, and you’ve got a ballad.”

  “You do. One that millions of people can identify with.”

  “Millions. I like that. You’re good for my ego.” He ran a callused fingertip up her arm. “Maybe we could take this conversation somewhere private and figure out how I can be good to you.” The husky rasp of his voice matched the rough-edged caress of his finger.

  Her heart jumped. She could have sex with Julian Blake. And there was no reason in the world she shouldn’t.

  She glanced past him, checking out the place, realizing how quickly it had emptied out. The SkySongs and Blaines had gone. If they’d seen her, they would have assumed she had her own car or was getting a lift with Iris. “It seems I’m without a ride home,” she said, thinking quickly. No way could she take him back to her cabin, and she guessed he was staying at Forbes and Sonia’s house. But then, this undeveloped island had lots of scenic parking spots.

  Would she really do this? Allow herself a half hour of no-strings, no-holds-barred pure pleasure? Create a steamy memory to serve as background accompaniment every time, in the future, she heard one of his songs?

  “My stepmom drove over in her car and Forbes went back with her.”

  She noticed that he called his father by his given name.

  “Leaving me the van.” He skimmed his hand slowly up her bare forearm in a sensual caress that sent tingles through her entire body. Just like she was a guitar string, quivering when he plucked her. “Let’s go.”

  She’d as soon the island rumor mill didn’t gossip about this, so she slid off the bar stool, removing her arm from his touch. Rather loudly, she said, “Thank you for offering me a ride home.” As they walked toward the door, she made sure there were inches of space between their bodies. Maintaining that distance in the almost empty parking lot, where a few other people were climbing into their vehicles, she felt as if electricity was zinging back and forth between their bodies.

  “What about your guitar?” she asked as they approached a battered black van with “B-B-Zee” painted on the side, parked at the far end of the parking lot by the road.

  “Forbes and I loaded our equipment earlier.”

  They walked to the driver’s side, which paralleled the road. No one in the parking lot could see them now, and Julian backed her up against the van, moving close until their bodies were separated by only an inch or two. “Don’t want people talking about us?”

  She dropped her big purse on the ground. “It’s a small island. The last thing I want is a slutty reputation.”

  “Fair enough. But I don’t see what’s slutty about having sex with someone you’re attracted to. Two consenting adults and all.”

  “Me either. But that’s not how everyone sees it.”

  “You’re not married, right? Or seeing anyone?”

  Suppressing a pang for her lost relationship, she shook her head. “Neither. You?”

  “I don’t do relationships. Just so you know.”

  “Thanks for that.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “For being honest. Not all guys are. And to be honest back, I’m not looking for a relationship. So we’re good.”

  “I’m guessing we could be very good,” he said in a raspy drawl that suggested the very same thing to her.

  He moved forward slowly, so slowly, the cotton of h
is black tee and the denim of his jeans brushing her clothing. Closer still, so she felt the press of his hard body against her softer one, through the layers of fabric.

  Her breath caught as his head bent and she had the thought, the utterly irrelevant thought, that he was an inch or two shorter than Luke. Leaner, though, which made him look taller than he was. Her arms went around him, her hands exploring his back, the heat of him, and the tensile strength of those rangy muscles flexing as he raised his arms and placed his hands on the side of the van above her head. He was caging her in, though she could easily move to the side and escape.

  But she didn’t want to. Her entire body trembled with anticipation, with wanting.

  Chapter Twenty

  Luke had said good night to the boys and Tiffie, the babysitter, and been on his way to Quail Ridge Community Hall to hear his stepbrother play with B-B-Zee when he’d received an emergency call.

  Reenie Petrov’s pregnant palomino, Butterscotch, was showing signs that labor was beginning. Two or three weeks back, Luke had diagnosed the horse with placentitis, which put her at risk for a “red bag” delivery: a premature separation of the placenta. He’d told the owner to monitor Butterscotch closely and notify him immediately when she appeared to be in labor.

  On getting the call, he’d phoned Viola using hands-free, knowing not only that he could use her assistance and experience, but also that she loved a challenging case.

  It had turned out to be placentitis, but he and Viola had been able to save the foal and administer oxygen to combat any oxygen deprivation. They had monitored both mare and foal long enough to feel confident they’d both be fine, but he had asked Reenie to keep an eye on them and let him know immediately if she saw any indication of problems.

  Driving home near midnight after saying good night to both women, he was tired but felt the warm buzz of satisfaction that his work so often brought. Islanders weren’t big on staying up late and he saw only another few cars on the country road. B-B-Zee’s last set must be finished by now and he was sorry he’d missed the show, but maybe he could make it tomorrow night. Luke and his stepbrother were about as different as two people could be, and he didn’t envy Julian his musical talent and fame, but he did like Julian and enjoyed hearing him perform.