Chapter Two
“Zee?”
She heard the tap and the call from the inner doorway, but couldn’t seem to answer. She wasn’t even sure how she’d managed to get home, and she was sure Charlie thought she’d gone crazy. She had no idea what she’d even said to him, and he’d hurried out of there as soon as he’d offloaded the shingles.
She stayed curled up in the big chair in the living room, the most she could manage a glance that way as the door swung open. Her brother’s fiancée came through into her side of the big house True had divided into comfortable homes for both of them. They’d grown up in this house—it had come to them when their parents had been killed—and while it was very different now that it was two homes rather than one, there was still a sort of comfort in that. Just as there was comfort in this big, overstuffed chair that had been her father’s.
And she needed comfort just now.
Hope paused next to Zee’s cell phone that lay, screen shattered, on the floor where it had fallen after she had thrown it with some ferocity against the granite counter in the kitchen. And being Hope, she knelt to pick it up.
“Expensive and very stupid temper tantrum,” Zee said from her chair.
Hope set the now non-functional phone on the kitchen counter. “Sometimes a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.”
Zee drew in a deep breath, the first she’d really been able to. And nearly managed a smile. No wonder True was so happy. If Hope could make her feel like almost smiling when inside she felt nauseous to the point of vomiting…
She watched as the petite woman with the long, dark reddish hair and cinnamon eyes crossed the room toward her, and then again knelt beside her chair. There was vivid concern in those eyes, and Zee knew it was genuine. Hope had left her days of pretending all was well far behind her.
“I thought you had a new group at the outreach.”
“We did. Deck got free and came over, so they’re busy either peppering him with questions about the next Sam Smith adventure, or working very hard to seem cool and totally unimpressed that they’re chatting with a world-famous author.”
Zee did smile at that. And for that alone she said a soft “Thank you.”
“You’ve missed some calls.”
“I don’t want to talk to anyone.”
“I get that. But True’s been trying to call you.”
Zee’s glance flicked to her now non-functional cell phone. “He sent you?”
“He said—”
Hope broke off as her own cell rang. She fished it out of her back pocket, and Zee just had time to see the image attached to the caller. True.
“I’m with her,” Hope said without preamble. So, True had sent her. Which answered her other question. He had heard.
Hope went suddenly still. “You’re sure?” And then she smiled, widely, although it faded as if she’d suddenly thought of something that made it inappropriate.
Hope held out the phone. Zee shook her head. She didn’t want to hear even her beloved brother’s efforts at consolation, condolences, or whatever he thought she needed just now.
“Trust me,” Hope said.
Reluctantly she took it. Raised it to her ear. “I don’t want to hear it, Truett,” she said, using his full name for emphasis.
True didn’t waste time with niceties. “It wasn’t him, Zee.”
She froze, for a moment forgot to even breathe. “What?”
“It wasn’t Jamie.”
“But they said—”
“I know. They got it wrong. They do that a lot, if you haven’t noticed.”
“Then the ones saying it isn’t him could be wrong—”
“I talked to him, Zee.”
The knot inside her shattered, and she felt as if the shards had sliced through every muscle in her body. A chill swept her, followed by a glorious warmth.
“Oh, God,” she whispered.
“It was Derek. The new guitarist.”
She couldn’t speak. She didn’t like that she was relieved at a man’s death, but she had never met the guy.
“Jamie was there, in the ER with him, so that’s probably how it got confused.”
She made a sound that didn’t resemble a word.
“He didn’t call you?” True asked. “I told him to, or I’d fly out there and kick his ass. He said he would.”
“I…my phone’s broken.”
There was a slight pause. As if he’d guessed how it had gotten broken. But being True, he said only, “Call him. Use Hope’s phone if yours is broken.”
“I…” She pulled herself together. Told herself that because disaster had been avoided once didn’t mean it still wouldn’t happen.
“Zee, call him. He’s really rattled. I think he might need a Zinnia Rose chewing out.”
“He should be rattled!” And it suddenly hit her why Hope’s smile had faded; for somebody’s family, the disaster had struck. She’d felt the same way Zee had. A bit guilty at being happy it was somebody else.
“I know. I know. But it’s Jamie, Zee. He’s still Jamie. However it ended between you, he—”
“I told you, we were friends, that’s all, and—”
“Right. Did you think just because Amanda and I were trying to get pregnant and quit using them that I wouldn’t eventually notice the condoms you stole?”
Zee felt herself flush, even as she felt a flash of gratitude toward Hope; it was only because of her that True was able to even talk about Amanda and those efforts so evenly.
“Besides, you were way too mad at him for just a friend leaving town.”
“You never said anything.”
“What was I going to do, lecture you? Go all big brother on him? I trusted him to be careful with you. He swore he would never lie to you, and you’ve said he didn’t.”
“It’s true. He didn’t.”
“Hell, Zee, our parents were dead. I sucked at being a father figure. I knew you were probably too young, but I was all for either of us finding some happy wherever we could. And Jamie made you happy.”
He had made her happy. And he had been careful. Deliciously careful.
He’d also given her every chance to stop him, even pushed her to change her mind before they’d made such incredible discoveries together. And he’d never lied to her, never said he would stay. He’d been honest even when it hurt. Perhaps most of all when it hurt.
“I’ll call him,” she finally said.
“Good. Hope will stay with you, if you want.”
“I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to hear that.”
“She offered,” he said again. “And I’ll be home in a couple of hours.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Still. See you later.”
“Yes. And, bro?”
“What?”
“You never, ever sucked at being a father figure.”
She ended the call before he could make his usual protest. Zee lifted her gaze to her soon to be sister-in-law. Hope was smiling, this time fully and clearly heartfelt.
“But he really does suck at taking compliments,” Zee said.
Hope laughed. “He does.” She reached out, put a hand over Zee’s. “How about some ice cream for strength before you make that call?”
To her surprise, Zee found herself laughing. “No wonder you and I get along.”
*
He couldn’t deny the ache any longer. Or the need. In the rest of his life he didn’t have the slightest idea what he wanted to do now, but in this one thing he was certain.
Jamie Templeton wanted to go home.
He stared at the sparkling water in the pool behind the canyon house he and Boots had been renting for the past year. It gave the illusion of being secluded, but an illusion was all it was; the moment you stepped out front you could see the tumble of houses jammed along the road, all tinder for the next wildfire that hit these hills above Los Angeles. Back home, a wildfire could burn a few acres and take out a house or two; here it could burn the same area and take out dozens.
Back home. He even thought the words with longing.
The guys—and Leigh, their keyboardist—wouldn’t be surprised. He’d been talking about it for a while. Enough that they’d begun to tease him about being homesick for the wide-open spaces. He didn’t tell them his homesickness was much more specific than that. It was for the town he’d grown up in, the little house he’d once called home, the sight of the river from a tree house.
And the woman who’d made his music possible. But it was too late for her now.
I’m sorry, Aunt Millie. I should have stayed home.
That she had been the first one to urge him to chase his dream, the one who had taken such pride in his success, who in fact had given the band its name with her old joke about opening a can of worms and finding scorpions on top, didn’t ease the stab of guilt. He should have stayed with her all the time when she’d gotten sick. He owed her so much. He’d missed his parents horribly, but she’d made life bearable, and eventually, helped him find the reason to go on. She’d bought him that first guitar, a sweet-sounding acoustic that had lived with him in that tree house that first summer after the accident. She’d found him a teacher, and paid for the lessons. And only later did she admit to him that she left a window open on the river side of the house, even in hot Texas summers, so she could hear him practice.
That she had insisted he go, told him he’d made commitments and had to honor them, didn’t ease it, either. Even though he knew she’d meant it; keeping your word was a big thing for her. Just like it was for Zee…
Zee.
If he went home he would see her. Often. There was no way to avoid it. And she would likely be as mad at him as she’d been the last time he’d seen her. When they’d gathered to help Hope.
That hometown feeling was what he’d missed. In that case, since he hadn’t known Hope yet, it had been to pay back a little to True, who had done so much for him and almost everybody in town. But it was the nature of Whiskey River, too. When one of their own really needed help, they pulled together like no place he’d ever seen anywhere else. He was sure there must be other towns like that, but Whiskey River was his.
If you meant that, you’d come home more often.
Zee’s words, spoken at Millie’s funeral, dug at him more often than he cared to admit. But then, she’d always been able to get to him like no one else. In every way. He hadn’t realized that at seventeen, but ever since he’d left he’d discovered that no one else, no other woman, made him feel the way she had. He’d tried to write it off as nostalgia, a faulty memory of how good it had been. But deep down some part of him knew the bar had forever been set too high.
And he’d left her behind.
He hadn’t lied to her. At least he didn’t have that worst kind of guilt riding him. He’d made it clear, back when they’d been teenagers with hormones running high and had taken that final step together, that he was still leaving. In fact, he’d given a decent amount of energy to try and convince her she didn’t want to take that last step with him, not when he’d be gone soon. At the time he’d felt almost noble about it. A lot of guys would have just grabbed what she was offering and left town—and her—feeling smug.
He’d never felt smug around Zee. Because he knew how damned smart she was. And clear-headed. Usually. Except for him. Because if she had been clear-headed around him, those sweet, hot Texas nights might never have happened.
Well, that’ll be something to tell the kids someday, that my first time was in a tree house.
Her words that night, as the soft breeze dried the sweat on naked skin, had sent a ripple of unease through him. And being Zee, she had sensed it.
Relax, jumpy boy. I didn’t necessarily mean our kids.
Yeah, smart was the word. So maybe she had known what she was doing. She sure as hell had known what she wanted.
Him.
The thought made him shiver despite the sunshine that sparkled off the pool. Never had he been so sure a woman wanted him, the real him, not some image they’d built up in their mind. Not some stage-lit hero they thought they knew because they related or responded to his music. Or worse, because to them just being on that stage made him sexy, desirable, and who he really was didn’t matter.
And right now he’d give just about anything to be sitting in that damned tree house.
“Damn, it’s bright out here.”
Boots sat down beside him, rubbing at his eyes. They’d thrown a bit of a wake for Derek last night, and the after-effects lingered. Most of yesterday was a blur anyway.
“Yeah.”
“You talk to Rob?”
“Yeah.”
“Tour’s over?”
“Yeah.”
They had reached the level where they were a cottage industry of their own—sound and light guys, managers of various aspects, publicists, merchandise sellers and assorted others. And his decision would affect them all, so he’d thought long and hard before he’d done it, but in the end there had been no other decision he could make. And he’d told Rob Finlay, their business manager, this morning. Or maybe it had been afternoon. He wasn’t clear on that.
“You’re leaving, aren’t you.”
This time it wasn’t a question. And for the first time he said it out loud. “Yes. I’m going home.”
After a moment Boots nodded. “Be good for all of us to take a break.”
Jamie only nodded in turn. Would it be only a break? Or a permanent end? He didn’t know.
“Maybe later, Ronnie might want to come back, at least for a while,” Boots said, referring to the player Derek had replaced. The tall, lanky guitarist had become a producer of some note, in demand, and enjoyed it enough that he’d left the road behind.
“After they fly Derek home, the plane’ll take you guys…wherever. If you want.”
“How about Hawaii?” Boots was clearly trying for a lighter tone, but it rang a bit hollow.
“If you want,” Jamie repeated.
“Going back to your girl back home?”
Jamie’s breath jammed up in his throat. He turned his head to stare at the man who was his closest friend in this crazy business.
Boots shrugged. “Figured there had to be somebody. I mean, relatively speaking, you’re the damned straightest arrow I’ve ever run into in this business. Especially for a front man.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Jamie said, trying to steer Boots off the subject of girls back home.
“Just rare. She must really be something.”
He shrugged in turn. So much for subject changes.
After a moment Boots said, “Your phone’s flashing like a strobe in there.”
“Figured.”
“Not going to answer anybody?”
“I talked to everybody…almost everybody I wanted to. And Derek’s family. That’s all I care about at the moment. And the media can go hang.”
“I’ll hold the rope,” Boots said with a grimace. “You gonna go to the funeral Sunday?”
Jamie closed his eyes. It was the last thing he wanted. But he would. “Yes.”
“Sucks, man.”
“Yeah.”
And all the sunshine in California couldn’t change that.