13

AS USUAL, THE MUSIC HEALED HIM. Ben stood on stage, pouring himself into the last song in his set, reluctant for the melody to fade, to return him to earth.

To stop the heady sluice of hope and romance that filled his veins when he heard his voice twine out through the massive sound system that framed the stage.

We said goodbye on a night like this

Stars shining down, I was waitin’ for a kiss

But you walked away, left me standing there alone

Baby, I’m a-waiting, won’t you come back home

And yes, the words could tear him asunder if he let them return him to the moment just before he left her, when he pulled Kacey into his arms, her body melding to his like it belonged in his embrace. To the memory of the sweet fragrance of her hair, the longing that swelled inside him to lift her chin, press a kiss to her lips.

The lyrics stirred that ache, the hunger of needing her.

He let his longing bleed out into the bridge.

I need you, I need you, I need you

Don’t say goodbye

I need you, I need you, I need you

Can’t live without you

I need you, I need you, I need you

Come back to me tonight

The crowd before him went wild at the sorrow in his voice, as if he might be singing to every teenage, college girl and single mom in the audience.

They had a good turnout for the festival. RVs and pop-ups and even a glamping area with canvas tents jammed the fields around the four stages. Even on the last night, the crowd seemed jazzed, ready for an evening of love songs, country rock, and stories.

He’d landed the 6:45 slot, warming up for Chase Rice, and the finale, Keith Urban. Twilight bruised the sky, tufts of fiery orange against a template of purple and deep indigo. An orange moon hung low on the horizon, a hint of a starry night ahead.

The kind of night where, if he were back home in Mercy Falls, he might drive out to Kacey’s house that she shared with her parents, cajole her into taking a ride in his pickup. He’d find a spot that faced the mountains and watch the granite peaks reach for the heavens.

Among other things.

Turn around, listen to your heart

I need you so much, don’t tear me apart

I was wrong, you were right

Nothing between us but this darn fight

He cast a look at Moose, his drummer, who caught his eye with a nod. He’d run the chorus twice at the end and queue up their encore song, the single that still hung on the charts, the last one he’d recorded with his former partner, Hollie Montgomery. The one that reminded him that he’d wanted to live a different life. A simpler life.

Right.

Ten years gone by, my eyes are dry

But the echo of my heart won’t tell a lie

I’m coming home to the one I love

Second chances, given from above

He launched again into the chorus, added a guitar solo, and fell into the final line, let it hang for the crowd as the music fell.

A life I never knew . . . until there was you

He stared out, meeting eyes, and the crowd roused to the flirt in his smile, the way he pointed to a few cheering fans.

Then with a nod of his head, Moose brought it back to life, and he repeated the chorus.

I need you, I need you, I need you

Don’t say goodbye

I need you, I need you, I need you

He walked to the front of the stage, knelt, and held out his hand. The ladies in the front row freaked out, grabbing at him. He grinned, winked, and took a couple steps back.

There was flirting with the audience, and then there was trouble. But the crowd loved it, and he glanced at Buckley on keyboard, then Duke, bass guitar, finally Joey, lead guitar, and they got the message. The backup music dropped out on cue.

He finished the song on his own, with his guitar slung behind him, his golden voice lonely and pleading through the speakers.

Can’t live without you

I need you, I need you, I need you

Come back to me tonight

The crowd screamed his name and he lifted his arm and waved.

His entire body ached with the gnawing hollowness of missing Kacey.

They shouted for the encore, and of course he gave it to them, smiling the entire way through “Start a Fire.”

Golden tan, a laugh for the band

I see you in the crowd, waving your Coke can

I like your smile, stay for a while

Huddle up around the fire

It’s all right, stay for the night

Let’s chase away the cold and do it right

C’mon, baby, let’s start a fire

He left the stage under the thunder of the applause, running off fast to meet up with the band, high-fiving them even as they gathered to catch their breath. Sweat ran down his spine, his stomach growled, and he just wanted someplace quiet.

Maybe.

Because quiet also meant the voices might find him, shout out his regrets, make him take a good look at his stupidity.

Moose hung an arm around his neck. “I needed that, man, after the last few days.” He thumped Ben on the chest. “Let’s get back to the motel, clean up, and see if we can find any good music in this town.”

Moose fist-bumped Joey, gave a nod to Buckley, and tossed his keys in the air.

Normally they’d head back to their RV, maybe set up lawn chairs on the roof and listen to the next act.

No, normally Ben would shut himself into the air-conditioned quiet of his room and call Kacey.

He packed up his guitar, a new Gibson sent to him by his manager, then followed the band out to the Escalade they’d rented.

The festival grounds were situated ten miles from the tiny town of Colvill, a sleepy farm town tucked into the western border of Wisconsin. Population 1,500 during the winter, but with the hub of festivals in the summer, the population swelled into the ten-thousands and the two motels in Colvill couldn’t handle the explosion of guests. Still, somehow his manager Goldie had managed to land them two rooms at the Village Motor Inn, a two-story motor lodge with 1960s throwback decor. The complex surrounded a bean-shaped pool with a high dive at one end and ancient loungers with floral padded seats for sunbathers. His own room, the one he shared with Moose, faced the pool and offered a tiny sitting room along with the one bedroom. The bedroom sported a stuffed fish between the two double beds, which were both fitted with quilted floral polyester covers, and included a television armed with rabbit ears and an in-room Jacuzzi.

The deluxe suite.

But it was clean and came equipped with Wi-Fi, and he flopped on the bed after throwing off the cover and listened to Moose hum as he showered.

Ben wasn’t the least interested in the band’s plans. Not that he had any other options.

Except the one that he couldn’t get out of his head.

Return to Minnesota. Chase down Kacey.

Just like that, she sat down on the bed and reached over, running her fingers over the five-o’clock shadow he’d saved for his audience. For her.

Her beautiful eyes caught in his. “I love to hear you sing. It reminds me of when we first met and you’d try out your songs on me.”

“You were my inspiration.” He wove his fingers through hers. “Still are.”

She smiled, and it hit him full blast, the desire aflame inside him. Oh, he needed her, and if she were here, he’d pull her into his arms, lean back, and . . . well, there was a reason he’d stopped inviting her on the road. He was keenly aware of his own frailties. Postponing the wedding twice certainly hadn’t helped either.

He ran his hand over his face, pushing the image, the longing away.

As if.

Oh, he was a mess. He longed for Kacey, but not like this. Not in a world where everything could go south, not in a world where their worlds never intersected.

And that left them without options.

Ben closed his eyes, the truth burrowing deep. He wanted it to be perfect—their life, their future. He wanted what he sang about on stage. And until he could give that to her . . .

Still, the thought of anyone else coming home to Kacey, holding her in his arms . . .

Moose came out of the bathroom dressed in a clean pair of jeans and pulling on a black T-shirt with the words “Start a Fire” imprinted on the front.

“Are you looking for trouble?” Ben asked.

“Maybe.” Moose had trimmed his dark brown beard down to a fine scruff, pulled back his curly hair, and donned a red baseball hat turned backward. “And so should you be.”

Ben pushed himself off the bed and headed over to his bag. “I don’t think so.”

“I heard what went down between you and Kacey, man. I’m sorry. Come out with us, blow off some steam, just have some fun.”

Ben rifled through his clothes, looking for a clean pair of jeans, a T-shirt, anything, really, to wear to get a bite to eat.

Or maybe he should just order room service. “I don’t think so, Moose.”

“C’mon, dude. You heard that audience tonight. They’re crazy for you. I’m not suggesting you hook up with anyone, but the first step to getting Kacey out of your system is to do a little flirting, see that you’ve still got it. And you do, man.” Moose grabbed his wallet, shoved it into his pocket.

“I don’t want to get Kacey out of my system!”

Moose held up his hands in surrender. “Step back. I’m just trying to help.”

“I don’t need help.”

“Yeah, actually, you do but—fine.” Moose shook his head. “You used to be fun.”

Ben frowned and headed to the bathroom.

After taking a hot shower, he got out, didn’t bother to shave, and emerged from the bathroom in a towel. He searched for a room service menu and even called the front desk, but the girl there paused long enough at his request for him to apologize and hang up.

He got dressed, grabbed a hat, shoved on his cowboy boots, and headed outside. A couple kids were running across the cement deck, cannonballing into the pool. Their mother lounged on a deck chair, reading.

He searched for the Escalade, then realized Moose and probably the rest of the band had taken it, so he headed to the lobby and asked about the nearby restaurants.

Across the highway and down the road, he could land a gourmet nuked burrito at a 7-Eleven.

Perfect.

But his stomach said yes, so he walked in the grassy ditch down the road, under the starry night, and entered the store.

He stood for an eternity at the hot lights, debating between crispy taquitos and a lone piece of pizza, before moving on to the refrigerated sandwiches and burritos. He finally chose a bag of popcorn and a Diet Coke and headed back to the motel.

He spent ten minutes flipping through the TV channels, all eleven of them, pausing for a moment on the final innings of a Cubs game.

“You used to be fun.”

No, he used to be lonely. Hollow. Broken.

And then he’d found Kacey again, and she’d introduced him to the daughter he never knew he had, glued him back together, reminded him that it wasn’t too late for a second chance.

That he could have the life he’d longed for—with her.

“If I walk away from music for Kacey, we could end up with nothing.”

His stupid words to Ian. But that fear dogged him, kept him on the road.

Yet he’d ended up right back here, eating dry popcorn in a ratty motel.

“It matters who you choose to spend your time—and your life—with. And when it’s the person you love, then you can’t fail.”

Ian, back in his head, but with his words came the memories. Kacey, sitting on her stool at the Gray Pony, singing along to his songs, her eyes lighting when his gaze landed on her. Kacey, waiting for him after a gig on the bed of his pickup, hopping off to embrace him, her fragrance calling him back from the heights of the music to home. Kacey’s voice on the other end of the phone, refueling him, healing his loneliness.

He sang for his audience, to fill them up, make them dance, keep them young, remind them that summer nights could last forever.

But Kacey was his song. The tune that lingered, the soundtrack to his life.

A life that could be much simpler. Without the riffs and solos and backup singers.

It could be an easy, beautiful melody.

Him on stage at the Gray Pony, playing for his girl.

Ben reached for the phone, the words already forming. I’m sorry, Kacey. You’re right—it shouldn’t be about me, it needs to be about us. I’m nothing without you.

The phone rang. Three, four, five times.

Finally switched to voicemail.

He called again. Listened to her voice.

Called a final time, debating whether to leave a message.

Let the beep pass without a word.

He hung up and stared at his phone, at the wallpaper of Kacey and Audrey.

Shoot.

Laughter from outside spilled into the room. Footsteps and then the key in the lock and the door opened.

Moose stood at the door, his arm around a pretty country fan in a sundress and boots, her blonde hair long and curly. “There he is, girls. Our job is to cheer him up.”

Ben found his feet. “Moose—”

“Nope. Not listening.” Moose came in, and two more girls, along with Joey, followed him. Young and talented, classically handsome with blue eyes and dusty blond hair, Joey had future written all over him with his ability to improvise, to keep up with Ben’s guitar licks, add that slightly husky baritone to Ben’s tenor.

Joey could be his own star, if he kept away from the influence of the drummer. Joey fell into one of the two chairs, and one of the women followed, landing in his lap, looping an arm around his neck. He grinned, and a slight blush suggested he might not quite be accustomed to Moose’s after-gig parties.

“This is Madison,” Moose said. “Which is super-ironic because we’re in Wisconsin.”

Ben rolled his eyes but shook the hand of the cute brunette. Of course, she wore a “Ben Is King” shirt, the pink V-neck version. “Nice to meet you.”

“All right, so we’re all friends here. Let’s go—we found a honky-tonk down the road with a decent cover band. Buckley and Duke are holding a table for us.”

“I’m not—”

“And they have amazing burgers, don’t they, Lucia?”

The blonde nodded. “I’m a waitress there.”

Of course she was.

“Let me at least feed you, boss,” Moose said, casting a look at the popcorn. “Nothing else on the agenda. I’ll bring you right back afterward and tuck you into bed.”

Funny. But Ben glanced at Madison, the fan gleam in her eyes, and managed a smile. “Just a burger.”

“Mmmhmm,” Moose said. “Just a burger.”

“Ty, can you hear me?”

Pete’s voice penetrated the shadows, the darkness that pressed into every pore of his body. Ty had lost his flashlight and had spent the past two hours breathing through his shirt, praying that he hadn’t coated his lungs with cement dust.

“Mmmhmm,” he said. “I’m here somewhere.”

“We’re digging you out. Hang in there.”

He’d already checked all his limbs—everything seemed intact except for his knee, which had blown up, the skin spongy and hot. His dive back into the locker room had saved him from being crushed by the wall, but he might not be able to walk for a couple weeks. And he’d scraped his back when he’d wedged himself next to a bank of lockers. Maybe in a locker, for all he could tell.

Kind of made him think of his middle school days. He’d never been the guy to be shoved into a locker. But he’d done plenty of shoving.

A lot of anger back then, pent-up grief, frustration.

The kind that pushed him into dark choices to ease the persistent ache.

Or perhaps he was just stubborn. Driven by a need to prove himself.

Prove himself to whom? Himself? The PEAK team?

God?

Maybe. Or maybe he wasn’t proving himself to God.

Maybe he hoped desperately that God would prove himself to Ty. That he’d show up again, that it wasn’t a fluke the first time, as Ty lay collapsed in the snow.

He longed to believe that hoping and reaching out in faith resulted in God reaching back, but he couldn’t shake the idea that he had to do enough, be enough to make the Almighty care enough to show up.

“Ty! Any sign of the kids?”

Garrett’s voice echoed down the clogged corridor, and Ty wanted to weep anew.

“No,” he said softly, but apparently loud enough because Garrett didn’t reply.

I’m sorry. He tried to straighten his leg and nearly howled with the sharp-edged pain that turned him into a coward.

“As long as we think we’re enough, God can do nothing for us. We enter into salvation through the door of destitution.”

Apparently, Garrett had decided to stick around in his head.

Ty counted his heartbeats, now beating in time to the banging ache of his knee. Perfect.

Not far away, voices lifted, the sound of shovels, and behind it all, a dog barking.

Pete, probably bringing in the K9s. Talk about upping the game.

But he should have probably left the search and rescue to Pete in the first place. Now everyone was risking their lives for him.

And his stupid hunch.

More movement, and scattered light hit the opening, flashed across his face.

He winced.

“There you are,” Pete said, shining the light on his own grimy face. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” Ty ground out. Or, he would be. He just needed to get out of this tunnel and put some ice on his knee.

“Hang tight. The good news is that we were able to dig down through the roof. We’ve got the fire truck bringing in a cable to hoist you out.”

“What’s the bad news?”

Pete’s face turned grim, and even Ty recognized grief in his expression. “I think you know the bad news.”

He did. The search was over.

Kacey couldn’t figure out what was wrong with her. She hadn’t been the one caught in the cave-in. This time. Hadn’t been the one dragged out of the bowels of some dank room, shaking, dirty, damaged.

And yet here she stood, trembling, feeling like she might just fly apart, wing off in every direction. Kacey ground her jaw tight as she watched Gage crouch in front of a very in-pain Ty.

“You should go to the hospital and get this knee looked at,” Gage was saying as he wrapped Ty’s knee in a cold wrap. Pete had pulled him out, finally, after hours of digging with Gage and the Red Cross SAR team. Despite Ty’s protests, they carried him out on a gurney, and now the lot of them clustered around him, watching as hope dissolved into the darkening sky.

“No. We gotta keep looking . . .” But Ty’s voice emerged broken, feeble, an old mantra that he probably realized fell on dubious ears. Especially those of Pete, who stood with the city engineer, talking through the stability of the building.

Kacey wrapped her hands around her neck and turned away, feeling a little woozy. She walked over to the Duck Lake fire truck, sat on the back, and leaned against the metal frame, needing something sturdy to fight the dark roil inside her.

She refused to surrender to the ancient nightmares.

But wow, she needed Ben.

Oh, c’mon. She was a capable, strong, smart chopper pilot who’d seen and experienced worse—much worse—than a cave-in that half-buried one of her teammates.

Try an ambush in the mountains of Afghanistan that had cost her the lives of her navigator and copilot, while she fought with five brave Army Rangers to stay alive.

Or even her own cave-in at her friend Sierra’s house. Kacey had been trapped in the cellar, injured, reliving every moment of the Afghanistan standoff.

But both times, Ben had been there. Via his songs, on that mountaintop, and in person in the cellar, as he descended through the shattered house to find their daughter. Then, her.

Ben was always there, swooping in to catch her up, carrying her out of the darkness, his strength radiating through her. Reminding her that she didn’t have to be strong, not all the time. He would rescue her.

She closed her eyes, the fatigue pressing through her. If he were here, he’d be telling her to take a nap, or better, be sitting behind her, his strong, musical hands kneading free the knots in her shoulders.

Tears burned her eyes, and her own voice bombarded her, left her bruised. “But your life is . . . it’s all about you.”

Oh, Ben hadn’t deserved that because even she knew he’d moved to Mercy Falls and opened up Mountain Song Records for her. For them.

Had hit the road to pay for the life he envisioned for them.

Still, she couldn’t help but feel like second place to the music.

A presence beside her made her open her eyes, just as Chet sat down beside her. He appeared as wrung out as she felt, the wisdom lines on his face deepening as the sun fled the day. Shadows cast over the school, and soon they’d need lights if they hoped to keep searching.

“How are you doing?” Chet asked.

She lifted a shoulder. “I can’t believe we can’t find these kids.”

Chet nodded. Let silence fall between them.

“If it were Audrey who was lost, I couldn’t stop looking, ever,” Kacey said.

“No. I don’t think you would. And neither would Ben. It was hard for him to leave.”

She didn’t mean the noise that emerged. But, well, there it was.

Chet frowned. “He didn’t want to leave, Kacey. It’s his job—”

“Believe me, I know.” She was full of inadvertent tones today. “I’m sorry. I just . . . I should be used to it by now. Ben leaving me.”

Chet blinked at her. “He hates leaving you and Audrey. He probably would have stayed if you’d asked.”

She looked at Chet. “That’s not true.”

“Really? Because it’s always been that way, Kacey, starting when you gave birth to Audrey.”

What? “He got in a fist fight, landed in jail, and left town without even talking to me!”

Chet held up his hand. “Let’s not debate the specifics. There’s no doubt there were hurt feelings on both sides—”

“Hurt feelings? He missed thirteen years of his daughter’s life.” She looked away. “And I know it wasn’t his fault, but I just can’t believe he’s missing more.”

“Kacey. He does this all—everything—for you. From the day Ben met you, he’s been trying to impress you. Make something of himself so he could provide for you. He loved music, sure, but he would have chucked it all and worked at the local lumberyard if he’d thought you wanted him.”

Chet’s words turned her mute, even as they strummed through her. Because yes, Ben would have—in fact, that had been his very plan when he’d proposed, his hand resting on her swollen stomach, so much love in his eyes that of course she’d said yes.

“He’s wanted to marry you since, well, since the day you got lost together in the Glacier mountains,” Chet said, his voice gentling.

“We were thirteen,” she said softly. “He made me feel like every song he wrote was for me.”

“They probably were,” Chet said, offering a small smile.

“It’s just that every time he calls off our wedding, I feel . . .”

“Like you’re not important. Like that adopted child who feared her parents would give her back.”

She drew in a breath. She’d forgotten how well Chet knew her.

“You’ve always been Ben’s first choice. Music is just his default. And right now, it’s his solution to pay for the life he wants you to have.”

“I don’t want that life. I just want him.”

Chet nodded, his eyes kind. “Does he know that?”

She stared at him as he pressed his hand to her knee, squeezing.

“You might consider that deep down, Ben is still that skinny kid who used to get beat up because he was poor. And yet, he was still willing to be poor, for you.”

His tone was soft, but it contained barbs that made her wince with their accuracy. She might feel like second place to his music, but she’d stood on the sidelines, not willing to enter his world.

Making him feel like he had to choose.

And he had chosen. He’d pursued her all the way to Montana, uprooted his life for her, and yes, even planned their elopement. And frankly, she did need a man who was strong enough to take over, to see the frailties she kept hidden from everyone else.

She needed his arms around her, his golden voice in her ear and threading through her. The sheer charm of him to make her feel beautiful. “You’re the most beautiful woman I know. You won’t get lost in my world—you’re the center of it.”

And he was the center of hers.

But they needed a world together. Ben had already stepped into her world. Time to step into his.

“The rental company sent me over a loaner today, by the way. Keys are in it, at the Marshall place.”

“Thanks, Chet.” She got up and walked over to Ty, who had been hoisted to his feet by Gage.

“I’m taking off for a bit,” she said to both of them.

Ty frowned.

“It’s personal.”

“It’s Ben,” Gage said, meeting her eyes. Okay, so these guys knew her well.

“I’m leaving the chopper in your hands,” she said, directing her attention to Ty.

“What do you think I’m going to do? Take it for a joyride?”

“It needs gas, if you do.”

He gave her a look as he balanced on one leg.

“Can you keep an eye on Audrey too? I’ll stop by the house, but I need to make this trip alone.”

Ty nodded, his gaze going to Pete, then Garrett and the rest of the Marshalls, who now looked whipped and distraught. Ned was heading to one of the family trucks.

“We’ll be here when you get back,” Ty said.

Oh Ty. At least he wasn’t mentioning any hunches. She called herself a traitor as she turned and ran to catch up with Ned.

But as she climbed into the passenger seat, she felt, for the first time in a year, whole.