Country Heaven (41 page)

“I can’t say what went through her mind, but…I can see how a woman might think that. Still, it was a lovely song, Rye.”

Those words were her way of softening the blow. Well, Tammy was a softy too, he’d discovered, something he’d been blind to growing up.

“Thanks, Tammy.”

“After everything you’ve done for me and the kids, I’m glad I can finally give something back, even if it’s only advice.” When she leaned on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek, it was suddenly hard to swallow. “Thank
you,
Rye.”

They held each other’s gaze, and because he’d experienced it with Tory, Rye recognized the beginnings of a true friendship with his sister. Before this summer, he never would have believed it possible.

“Well, I’m going to get dinner started,” she said.

“I think I’ll head to my studio for a while.”

He had hunkered down in his studio and was stupidly staring at his legal pad, trying to think of some new lyrics for the Memphis song, when Tammy called him and the kids for dinner. She never let him help in the kitchen, and because it reminded him of Tory, he hadn’t forced the issue.

After pushing his food around, he returned to his studio, where he kept scribbling and ripping up paper. The new lyrics for the song just weren’t coming to him.

When he went to sit outside to wait for Annabelle, he was surprised to see Rory approaching him again. Dread rose.

“Mama told me you’re going to Africa to get Tory back.”

Over the sounds of crickets and the rustling of trees, he heard something near the door and turned his head. Even in the dim light, he could make out Tammy’s shoes, illuminated in the moonlight. The rest of her was bathed in shadow.

“Yes,” he said, his chest filling with emotion at his sister’s peacekeeping efforts. “You were right. If I love her, I need to tell her I’m really sorry and try to prove it to her.”

“Mama says I can’t go to Africa because of school, but can I make her a card?”

He’d wanted to come too? Tory’s little champion knew no bounds. “You make her as many cards as you want, and I’ll bring them.”

Rory hiked up one shoulder. “I’m sorry I said I hate you.”

It didn’t seem possible that anything could relieve the pressure in his chest, but the boy’s apology finally did. “That’s okay.”

“I’ll start talking to you again if you promise me not to be mean to Tory or make her go away again.”

He chose his words carefully. “If she forgives me and comes back, I promise I won’t make her go away again.” No, he’d love her all his days, and didn’t it figure that music accompanied those words in his head.

“I miss her,” Rory said, and Rye’s eyes burned with a matching emotion. “I miss her too, son.”

When the boy looked down again, Rye gave in to the need to make peace and pulled Rory onto his lap. Fortunately, the boy didn’t balk.

“We’ll both be her family now, son.”

“She’ll like that, Uncle Rye,” the boy whispered, leaning his head against his chest, and as a surrender, it was sweet.

He ran a hand over Rory’s hair. It was thick and curly at the end just like his had been. His serious little knight—just six years old and already looking out for damsels in distress.

Rory fiddled with his pajama top. “Will you sing to me, Uncle Rye? Like you do with Annabelle?”

It took Rye a moment to clear his throat. “Sure, son. Do you have anything in mind?”

Rory cuddled closer, his warm body soft. “Would you sing that Elvis song, ’Love Me Tender’? Tory told Granddaddy it was her favorite.”

Rye felt his breath leave his chest, remembering that long ago night in Memphis. Christ, what a fool he’d been.

“Sure, son. I think that’s my favorite song, now, too.”

“You’ll have to tell her that, Uncle Rye. It’ll make her happy.”

I hope so
, he thought as he started to sing, his deep voice caressing the words. His voice broke suddenly at the memory of Tory in Club 152, and Rory patted his chest with a small hand.

Rye had found his voice again.

But I missed her so,
Couldn’t let her go.
So, I got on my knees,
Started a prayer with please,
And asked God to send back my angel to me.
Told Him I’d make her a home,
And love her all my days,
Down here,
In country heaven.

Rye Crenshaw’s new verses for the song now titled, “Country Heaven”

Chapter 25

F
inding the exact location of Tory’s camp in Kenya was taking longer than Rye liked. Myra hadn’t felt comfortable telling him where Tory was in light of Tory’s refusal to accept his offer on the house. The setback had been disappointing, of course, but he had used the time to record the new version of “Country Heaven” and put a rush on the cover art and new songs. The end product couldn’t be more symbolic of the new man he was, and he hoped Tory would understand that.

The art featured him sitting near a glorious autumn tree, his signature black cowboy hat resting off to the side, the blurred forms of his niece and nephew running around in the background by the tree swing. Tammy had been kind enough to agree to the concept, understanding how important the kids had become to him. Rory had asked him to let Tory know it was him running around since his face wasn’t visible. The kid was champing at the bit to find her as much as he was.

His private investigator had discovered that Fulbright had given her the grant, so J.P. had flown up to Washington, D.C., to personally deliver a sizeable donation to one of the board members and work his magic. When his friend called with the information, Rye heaved a sigh of relief and shouted for Rory to tell him the good news.

“We found her, son.”

And the little boy jumped into his arms and said, “It’s about time, Uncle Rye,” which made him laugh.

It was early November, and even though Tory was supposed to be coming back around Christmastime, he wasn’t about to wait. And, as J.P. had pointed out, the fact that Rye would be stepping onto a plane for the first time in his life might be an even bigger gesture than the album.

A few days later, he was boarding the private jet he’d commissioned for the trip. J.P., Clayton, and Rhett had insisted on making the trip with him. Part of him wondered if they were coming because they were worried how he’d take it if Tory rejected him. Whatever their reasons, he was grateful for their support.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” J.P. said from beside him. “You look about as sick as a bloated possum after days of being dead by the side of the road.”

Not wanting to be groggy, he’d decided against drugging himself for the plane ride. He planned on gritting his teeth the whole way. Except he’d already been doing that for a day and his jaw hurt, and he hadn’t even gotten on the plane yet. “I’ll be fine.”

“Can’t tell you how proud I am of you, Rye,” Rhett said, slapping him on the back with enough force to send a smaller man flying. “Seems fitting for me to help you claim your woman, since you helped me serenade mine.”

Yeah, what a time that had been, playing the piano in the freezing cold as his friend crooned the song he’d written for Abbie. At the time, Rye hadn’t believed he’d ever do something so crazy over a woman, and yet here he was, gripping the handrail as he ascended the plane’s stairs, about ready to puke.

“I still say you should have videoed that performance, Rye,” Clayton drawled. “We all know Rhett can’t sing worth spit.”

His friends continued to banter as they found their seats and belted themselves in. Rye just concentrated on taking deep breaths during takeoff, and when they reached cruising altitude, he somehow managed to peel himself out of his seat and join the others in the sitting area.

Clayton looked up and grinned, clearly enjoying his discomfort. “I just can’t feel bad for you, Rye. Here you are, on a private jet in pure luxury. Terrified. You don’t know how scary commercial airlines are. They don’t even give you a can of soda anymore.”

A snort was all Rye could manage.

“Oh stop riling him,” Rhett said, plopping a deck of cards on the table between the men. “Let’s play some poker.”

Rye lost every hand, which he hoped wasn’t a bad omen.

When they stopped to refuel, he stayed on the plane, not wanting to step on land until he was in Kenya, worried he might not be able to make himself get back on. He’d hoped that the longer they flew, the easier it would become.

It didn’t.

When they arrived in Nairobi late that night and found their hotel, he took a cold shower and tried to calm his system down. Tomorrow, the guide they’d hired would take him on another godforsaken plane ride to the Maasai Mara, and then they’d drive the hour plus to the site of Tory’s camp. He’d been warned the plane was the size of a crop duster, and his stomach roiled at the thought.

Sleep was impossible. But he was closer to Tory than he’d been in months, and even though everything around him was foreign, he took some comfort in that.

He finally fell asleep after reading the card Rory had made for Tory yet again.

Even if she could resist him, how could she possibly resist his nephew pleading his case?

***

The camp was totally empty when they arrived. It was nothing like Rye had imagined, and it made him wonder how she’d lived like this for the past months. There were three tents pitched close together, two private quarters, and one that was stacked with camping gear and cooking equipment. The shower and bathroom setup made him frown. It was outside with barely a cloth to conceal the person using it, and a huge rusted tank overhead with holes punched into it. The fire pit in the middle of the camp drew his gaze, and he wondered how she cooked out here and what she ate. Dear God!

“Makes my summer camp growing up look like a five–star hotel,” Clayton muttered.

There was a small river below a steep cliff about a hundred yards off, the waters muddy and filled with shifting shapes. Hippos. Crocodiles.

“Jesus,” Rhett breathed out. “It’s like
Wild Kingdom.
Why isn’t she living with the tribe she’s studying?”

“The more traditional Maasai don’t like to have people that close to them,” J.P. said. He was the expert on the trip, since he’d done a fair share of reading and talked to the Fulbright people. “There are some land and cultural issues, but you don’t care about that.”

“Where in the hell is she?” Rye asked, kicking at the ground.

“Probably out on a field trip at one of the surrounding villages,” J.P. said. “We’ll have to wait for her here.”

Rye looked around. He’d been hoping for some privacy for their conversation, but he wasn’t sure he was going to get it. The sun was hot and the flies were as attracted to him as his craziest female fans.

Yet the beauty of the place was undeniable. The vast savanna was flat and sparse with only one or two knobby trees dotting the landscape. They had seen some giraffes and a ton of zebras and water buffaloes on the way to Tory’s camp, and Rhett was right. It was like watching
Wild Kingdom
.

A green Range Rover appeared in the distance, and Rye’s breath caught. It was her. Finally.

The vehicle was still miles away, and it took a while for it to come close enough for him to see that it was a young man, not Tory. This had to be the other student. A sudden worry hit him in the solar plexus: could she have fallen for this guy?

When the redhead climbed out of the cab, J.P. crossed over to him, his mega–watt smile radiating charm. “You must be Kevin Andrews,” he said. “The people at Fulbright couldn’t say enough good things about your grant application. I’m John Parker McGuiness.” Then he introduced the rest of them.

When J.P. reached Rye, the young man frowned, and it was obvious he knew something about Rye’s connection to Tory.

“I was hoping to speak with Tory,” Rye said. “I’m not sure if you know this, but she worked for me this past summer as my cook, and we have some unfinished business.”

“Long way to come for business,” the guy said, raising his eyebrows. “She’s still out in the field.”

Well, he hadn’t been expecting that. “Can you let us know how to find her? I’d like to see her today.”

“Directions out here aren’t particularly easy to explain to outsiders,” he said.

“We have a driver who knows the area,” J.P. said, “and we’d appreciate your help in finding Tory.”

The guy gave each of them a lingering look, and Rye could tell he wasn’t going to share diddly. “Would it be all right if we waited for her, then?” He wasn’t about to leave without seeing her.

“You can wait in the mess tent, I guess. But it’s going to be a while. Where are you staying? I can tell her you were here when she returns.”

Like Rye would leave something this important to a stranger.

“That’s mighty neighborly of you,” Rhett said. “We’re staying at The Queen’s Lodge. But we don’t mind waiting. Tory’s an old friend.”

“I’ll bet,” Kevin said. “Fine. I have some things to do, so if you’d like to make yourself at home…”

Yeah, the guy had a chip on his shoulder all right.

They ducked inside the mess tent, and Rye took in the sight of an old mini–fridge, a hot plate, and a couple of chipped plates and bowls. This had to be the camp kitchen. Christ, how could she stand to cook under these conditions when she loved cooking so much?

“More poker anyone?” Rhett said as they settled in at the small table, J.P. pulling over two crates to serve as makeshift chairs since there were only two in the tent.

“Might as well,” Rye said, looking at his watch. The waiting was getting to him, but he had to stay focused. He was here. She was coming. It would all work out.

For the second time, he lost every hand at poker.

***

When Tory returned at sunset, she noticed the additional Rover and guide waiting near the camp. While she wondered who their visitors could be, she had to go to the bathroom so bad, she didn’t stop to find out. The village she’d been working in today was thirty minutes from their camp, and while she could go outside in nature any time she wanted, there were no trees for cover save a lone acacia. The animals in the Mara were incredibly socialized to people, which is why you could pull your Rover over next to a cheetah or lion sunning itself without fear of being mauled, but they were still wild animals.