I laugh. “I promise you it’s neither of those things. If anything, it’s a tragic comedy.”
“You think this is funny?”
“I mean, kinda. It’s not every day that I see a woman abandoned by a van with a naked warrior woman painted on the side.”
She sighs. The cicadas start to buzz again. The sun is starting to get hot.
“So, Phoenix. Are you getting on or what?” I tap the seat behind me. “There’s plenty of room for two.”
She watches me for a moment. “You’re not some sort of psychopath or sex maniac, are you? You’re not going to kidnap me for some weird fetish or bring me to some creepy run-down cabin in the woods, are you?”
I laugh. “You’re probably the only woman in the world who would ever accuse me of that.”
“Oh great.” She rolls her eyes. “So, you’re full of yourself too.”
I grin. Her snappiness doesn’t faze me. I’ve dealt with far worse.
“You know, I do spend most of the day walking a fine line between confidence and cockiness.” This isn’t like me but I can’t help but play into her preconceived notions of who she thinks I am. I can tell she’s still on edge from whatever happened between her and that loser. She clearly has something to get off her chest.
“Great.” She rolls her eyes. “You know, guys like you always want attention. And I take pleasure in not providing it.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Guys like me?”
“Yeah. Cocky self-absorbed jocks.”
Here we go. She must have gone to the same high school my father did.
“Hey, if you don’t want a ride, you can just say so.” I rev the motorcycle’s engine as if I’m about to leave.
A wave of panic washes over her face. “No wait—”
She reaches for me, stopping me. I look down. Her hand is on my bicep. I look up at her with a smirk. Mortified, she reclaims her hand.
She swallows. “You never answered my question.”
“What, about being a sex maniac? Do I look like one?”
She looks me up and down. “Maybe. I don’t know. I barely know you. Can you blame me for being cautious?”
I kill the engine and lean back in my seat. “Alright, let’s get to know each other. What’s your name, Phoenix?”
She hesitates. “Amber Sweet.”
“Amber Sweet?” I chuckle. “Really? You seem spicy to me.”
She rolls her eyes. “I’ve heard all the jokes, you know. Sweet and spicy, sweet and sour, sweetie pie, sweet honey… it’s not original. And in my experience, those who call you sweet names end up being sour people.”
“That’s… kind of poetic.”
“And you are?”
I smile amusedly. She really doesn’t know. Pulling my hand off the handlebar, I put my hand out.
“You can call me Gabe.” I watch her, waiting for her reaction and hoping she doesn’t put two and two together. After all, my last name is right there on the motorcycle.
“That’s it?” She raises an eyebrow. “Just Gabe?”
“That’s right, just Gabe.”
“Well, Just Gabe… it’s nice to meet you.” She shakes my hand.
I hand her the helmet. She stares suspiciously at me one last time before finally taking the helmet and pulling it on. As she climbs onto the motorcycle behind me, I catch a whiff of her intoxicating scent. She lives up to her namesake by smelling sweet, like cherries and peaches.
“I hope you like riding fast, Phoenix.”
4
MISS MARIGOLD’S HOUSE
Amber
With my bag and guitar strapped to my back, I climb onto the back of the motorcycle behind Gabe.
“Where do I put my hands? Are there handles or something?”
He turns so I can see his profile. “Hold onto me.”
“What?”
Did I hear that correctly?
“Put your hands on me.”
I just met this guy and he wants me to touch him? He’s been kind of a smarmy ass so far. But my repulsion to the self-absorbed jock exterior is being overpowered with how attractive he is. After all, I’m not immune to cute douchey guys, especially when they flirt with me. I’ll be the first to admit that. Besides, guys like this—the ones who are properly bathed and muscular—don’t usually flirt with women like me. It’s almost as if this guy hasn’t seen a woman in a while… and why would he? He lives out here in the middle of nowhere. Weird.
Hoping I’m not making a huge mistake, I gently place my hands on the sides of his stomach, gripping him lightly with my fingertips. He laughs.
“Not like that.” He grabs my hands and wraps them around his body so that I’m pressed against his back. “Like this.”
Oh.
I can feel all his muscles. He’s thick and strong. He lifts his foot off the ground and we’re off. I hold onto him as tight as I possibly can. The engine vibrates beneath us as he turns away from the main road and heads straight for the forest.
“What are you doing?” I yell out to him. My words get lost in the wind. “You’re gonna hit a tree!”
“No I’m not!” He yells back.
Approaching the trees at full speed, he turns at the last second onto a hidden path. Trees fly by on either side as I squeeze my eyes shut. I feel his body tense as he leans from side to side, steering us through the forest.
“Are you sure this is safe?” I hold on a bit tighter as he leans into a turn. The warm wind blows through my hair.
“Of course!” He yells back.
My heart is beating like crazy but Gabe is steady as a rock under my arms. Securing my grip, I press harder against him. I can feel his abs flexing under my fingertips. I have no choice but to inhale his overpowering masculine scent. When the bike slows, I open my eyes. The forest thins out. Through the trees, I see a clearing where the beautiful white house is. Gabe pulls up next to a small shed in the forest.
“That was crazy!” I finally say once we come to a full stop. “Can we do it again?”
He looks back with a devilish smirk. God, he’s cute. Really cute. The universe has a demented sense of humor.
“Are you getting off?” He asks.
“Excuse me?”
“I’m just wondering if you’re getting off the bike or if you’re gonna stare at me all day.”
“Oh.” Feeling the flush of heat rush to my cheeks, I pull my hands off him and climb off the bike. The warmth of his body lingers against mine as I readjust the skirt of my dress and pull off the helmet. Gabe climbs off and grabs the helmet from me. He smirks at me one more time before wheeling the motorcycle into the nearby shed. As he closes the shed he catches me watching him. I look away.
God, I’m such a sucker.
I have better things to worry about anyway, like getting to tonight’s gig on time.
“This way,” he says.
He takes the lead and I follow him into the clearing. The beautiful white house is surrounded by lush bushes of strawberries and roses. I even see some apple trees. It looks like something out of a fairy tale.
“You live here?” I ask in astonishment.
“For now.”
“Who lives here?”
He hesitates. “My aunt Marigold and my cousin Rita. Just a warning—Marigold is kind of crazy and Rita is… well, she’s the sassiest pre-teen you’ll ever meet.”
Looking at the house, he waves at someone standing on the porch. I see a woman wearing a coral silk robe and a matching head-wrap. Green mud covers her face so that only her violet eyes and round lips are visible. Although she’s in a robe, her fingers are adorned with large and colorful jewels.
What is this place? I wonder. Who are these people?
“Why, we have a visitor!” The mysterious woman approaches us. Her violet eyes are full of warmth and light.
“Hello,” I say.
“I’m Miss Marigold.” She flourishes her robe as she puts out a bejeweled hand. Despite her face being covered in mud, she exudes grace and eleganc
e. “Simply call me Marigold.”
I shake the woman’s hand. “I’m Amber Sweet.”
Her violet eyes widen and her mud mask cracks as she smiles. “How wonderful! We were expecting a flower but instead, we got a sweet.”
“Excuse me?”
“The full moon, my dear,” Marigold says. “It’s waning gibbous. The Flower Moon was with us last night and now it’s fading away. New opportunities are birthed when the moon is full.”
“Umm…” I look over at Gabe. He’s suppressing a smile as if saying ‘I warned you’.
He clears his throat as he steps in. “Ms. Sweet here had an issue with her ride over at the gas station and she’s wondering if she can use the phone.”
“The gas station?” Marigold’s gaze is now on Gabe. I can tell by the cracks in her mud mask that she’s trying to arch her brow.
“I was just getting a snack,” he says.
Marigold crosses her arms. “A snack?”
Stepping back, I watch the fascinating dynamic between them. Sensing my watchful eye, Marigold looks at me.
“Excuse us.” She gestures for Gabe to follow her inside.
Weird. Something is going on. Through the open door, I can see Gabe and Marigold whispering heatedly inside. Sighing, I look at my phone. No signal. With every passing minute, Chuck and Bob get further and further away. My uneasiness continues to grow. After a few more moments, Marigold finally comes back outside alone. She whooshes over to me with her silk robe.
“I apologize for not being more prepared for your arrival,” Marigold says. “We rarely get visitors and Wednesday is spa day. Would you like to enjoy a mud mask for spa day?”
“Umm… no thanks, I just need to use your phone if that’s okay.”
“As you wish.” Marigold flourishes a perfectly manicured hand, gesturing for me to follow her. Stepping inside the house, I marvel at the architecture: tall ceilings, ornate molding, and fancy chandeliers. Marigold turns down a hallway. As she walks, her flowing robe trails behind her like fluttering butterfly wings.
Looking around, I notice the strange masks hanging on the walls—angry faces, happy faces, sad faces.
“I feel like I’m being watched,” I say nervously.
Marigold chuckles. “They’re all masks from various theater productions.”
“Oh, cool. Were you an actress?”
“When I was younger. I was the rebel of the family, I’m afraid. I’m devoted to my roses now. They’re prize winners. This way.”
She finally leads me to her office. The warm room is filled with vintage furniture, including a desk and a loveseat. A large window looks out at the front garden. There’s no computer but I feel a flood of relief when I see a vintage rotary phone. I never thought I’d feel so happy to see such an old piece of technology.
“I’ll give you your privacy. Just let me know when you’re done.” Marigold smiles, cracking the mud mask one last time before she backs out of the room.
Reaching for the phone, my finger lingers over the numbers. Calling Chuck and begging him to come back isn’t what I want to do. It’s not my style to beg, especially not from a man. And I don’t want to set a precedent. This isn’t the first time Chuck has bailed on me—and it won’t be the last either. In any other situation, I would have dumped him long ago. But the band… the tour. Dirty Laundry needs to get signed at the Rock Heart Festival. It’s my only chance at getting a recording contract before the end of the summer.
Letting out a heavy sigh, I take a few breaths before dialing Chuck’s number. I listen to the tone as it rings.
5
A CLOSE CALL
Gabriel
“Are you sure she didn’t recognize you?” Marigold asks as she pulls me into the east wing parlor, as far from Marigold’s office as we can be. She’s holding a towel as she rubs the dried mud off her face.
“Pretty sure,” I say. “They usually have that spark of recognition in their eyes by now. And if she does recognize me, well… she sure doesn’t treat me like a celebrity.”
“What were you doing at the gas station anyway?”
“I was craving a granola bar.”
“Gabriel,” she warns.
“What? I thought it’d be safe! Nobody ever passes by this way. And poor Fred is always alone over there. It was a total fluke.”
“That’s not the point. You were looking at the magazine headlines, weren’t you?”
Rubbing the back of my head, I give her the most innocent and charming look I can. Usually, I can charm her but this time she isn’t taking any of my bullshit.
“Fine. I was looking at the headline.”
“Gabriel Chase!” She scolds.
“Shh,” I look around, hoping our unwanted guest isn’t anywhere in earshot.
“I told you not to read that garbage! It’s all lies anyway.”
“I know that. But does it matter? If the public believes it, it might as well be true.”
She stops wiping the mud off her face. “What did they publish this time? Do they know you’re missing?”
Sighing, I shake my head. “They don’t even know I’m gone. They think I’m marrying Sophie.”
“Marrying Sophie? My, they have been busy! And the papers believe it?”
I nod. “The wedding is supposedly on the third Saturday in July.”
Marigold’s eyes widen.
“The Buck Moon,” she whispers.
“The what?”
“The third Saturday in July is the Buck Moon.”
“How do you even know that?”
“I know my moons.” She smiles. “Maybe by the end of this summer, you will too.”
“Umm, okay… anyway…”
“Listen, Gabriel. We can fight this! The buck is a good sign. Do you know what a buck is?”
“A deer?”
“An antlered deer. It means resistance! We can resist this. What’s your plan going forward?”
“Umm…” I scratch the back of my head. “I don’t know. Hide here forever?”
Unimpressed, she stares at me. “Not on my watch.”
“Okay, fine. But I can at least hide here for now. At least until I skip the wedding and interest in me dies out. Once Sophie Dawson finds another unsuspecting victim to advance her career, I’ll have a bit of freedom.”
Marigold sighs. “Can’t you call your father and sort this out before it gets worse?”
The mere mention of my father causes my jaw to tense. “Can it get worse?”
She raises her brow as she looks across the parlor in the direction of her office. “What are you gonna do with your guest?”
I shrug. “I could drive her to the nearest main highway and she can hitchhike from there?”
“And once she’s back in a city all she has to do is look at a magazine and she’ll recognize you.”
“You think so? She looked at a magazine back at the store and didn’t put the pieces together. I think the scruff saved me.” I touch my stubbled cheek.
“It certainly didn’t take you long to transform from a Hollywood heartthrob to a rugged outdoorsman.”
I chuckle. “What can I say? I’m a different man out here.”
“Yeah, well… that won’t last when it comes to Ms. Sweet. She’s had a better look at you now. If she sees a magazine, it’ll click right away.”
“Damn.”
Marigold is right. I already had a close call back at the gas station when Amber was browsing those magazines. If I hadn’t bumped into her, she might have taken a closer look and made the connection. If her friends didn’t ditch her, she could have revealed my location with a quick text or tweet. Alerting anyone to my presence would’ve been a disaster. The Celebstarz journalists would be here within a few hours.
“Well, this sucks! I barely had a few weeks of solitude out here and now my cover might be blown? What am I supposed to do?”
Marigold shrugs. “Let’s hope you get lucky. Magical things always happen on the Flower Moon. This might be one o
f those things.”
I laugh. “Yeah right. I’ll believe it when I see it.”
6
A NEW PLAN
Amber
The phone rings once before going straight to voice-mail.
“Hey, uhhh… this is Chuck. You can leave a message but I probably won’t check it. Peace.”
I hang up and try again. The same thing happens. Either the guys are still in the dead zone or Chuck’s phone is dead. Chuck is notorious for always having a dead battery. It’s his go-to excuse whenever I can’t reach him. I can’t even call Bob either. He’s so much of a hipster that he doesn’t even own a phone. How they’re going to get in contact with the venue, I don’t know. I dial Chuck’s number again and again knowing that insanity is trying the same thing over and over while hoping for a new outcome.
“Hey, uhhh… this is Chuck. You can leave a message but I probably won’t check it. Peace.”
Maybe his phone is working but he’s not answering because he doesn’t want me back. I hiss at my subconscious, telling it to eff off. The band is still in the dead zone. That’s why they can’t answer. It’s the simplest answer and the one I most want to believe. Chuck’s voice-mail beeps and I leave a message.
“Hey, Chuck. I’m at Miss Marigold’s House about a mile north from the gas station where you left me. I’ll be waiting for you to pick me up. I have no signal out here but if you do call, then here’s the number.” I give Marigold’s number which is written next to the phone. “Please come back. We can work this out. We can do this… for the band, just like you said.”
I hang up knowing it’s not enough. The chances of Chuck wanting to work things out and go out of his way for me are slim to none. I sigh, wondering what else I can do.
Scanning the books on Marigold’s shelves, I find an old dusty phone book. The date says 1998. Shit. I leaf through the pages until I find the numbers for taxis. I pick one and dial. A machine picks up, screeching that the number has been disconnected. Damn. I dial the next number. Disconnected again. I try a third and a fourth until…
“A-Plus taxi service, Mike speakin’.” The sound of a thick Jersey accent perks me up.
“Mike! Yes! Thank you. Listen, I need a ride.”
Chase: A Secret Millionaire Romance Novel Page 4
