Country Heaven (7 page)

“After what I’ve had of your cooking, I trust you.” He took out a pen from his pocket and wrote on the paper while standing up.

“Veal piccata and taco salad?” she read aloud. “Dr. Pepper and Perrier?”

“I have an eclectic palate. I’m going to make some calls.” He looked at his watch. “We should be getting to Minneapolis pretty soon. I’ll introduce you to the band tonight before the concert.”

She straightened the magnet and the paper in a perfect line. “I told you I’m not a fan of country music.”

“I’d like you to meet everybody anyway. You’ll be running into them, and I like a cohesive tour. Plus, you know you want to see me in concert.” He leaned against the refrigerator and undid the order she’d just achieved.

It was hard to restrain the eye roll, but she managed. “Who’s cooking for everyone else by the way?”

“A caterer. They’re good, but nothing like you. Just go once. You’ll be
backstage,”
he drawled.

Like that would tempt her. “Fine, I’ll go.”

“Good. I’ve gotta run. We’ll get to know each other better later.” He sauntered out.

Get to know each other? What in the world did he mean by that?

As she watched him leave, she realized he had a great butt.

Definitely not a thought she needed to be having in these close quarters.

***

Tory was dipping chocolate cupcakes into espresso frosting when Clayton came to take her backstage before the concert. He didn’t have a hat on this time, and he was wearing a gray dress shirt and black slacks.

“Those look so good they should be illegal,” he said, waving his hand at the cooling rack stacked with cupcakes.

Taking her knife, she smoothed frosting along the edges of one of them and set it aside. “The receipt from the cab I took to get the groceries is over there,” she said, nodding to the counter. Plucking up a cupcake, she held it out to him with a smile.

“Oh, Rye’s going to be jealous I had the first taste.”

“We won’t tell him. So, I’ve never been to a concert before,” she confessed.

“You’re kidding?” he said, removing the liner from the treat. “Why not?”

“Just not a priority, I guess. Plus tickets can be expensive.” And money had always been an issue.

“Well, you’ll have the best seat in the house tonight.” And then he took a bite. His eyelids fluttered shut for a moment. “Oh, yeah. I can now see why Rye hired you.”

They stepped off the bus, Clayton still eating the cupcake, and made their way through a scattering of people, some dragging heavy equipment.

“It’s always crazy,” Clayton commented when someone almost ran into them. “We have our own set–up crew, but there’s always a local one as well. Coordination can be a challenge.”

He led her through the back door of the stadium. Groups of people were milling about, shouting back and forth about the lighting. There were wires running everywhere, taped to the scuffed wooden floor by duct tape. Wearing a yellow dress with cowboy boots, Georgia stood in the middle of the madness talking with a man in a suit with some leather–like tie at his neck secured with a silver and turquoise clasp. Tory tried not to ogle their fashion choices as she tugged at her plain red T–shirt.

Music thrummed in the distance beneath the roar of the gathered crowd. Her eyes widened when she saw the black curtain in front of them. It was as tall as a small mountain.

“We pipe the music in to get the crowd in the mood,” Clayton said, raising his voice to be heard over the noise. He gestured to a door that said
Private.
“Rye and the band are chilling in the lounge.”

He didn’t knock before entering. Tory stepped inside and came to an immediate halt. Rye and his band were all decked out and looked ready to face down the bad guys at high noon in a gun fight. She’d read Louis L'Amour books as a kid, but she’d never seen so many cowboys in real life. They looked…well, foreign. And imposing.

Rye grinned when he saw her and sauntered forward. “Boys, this here’s Tory, my new cook. She’s never been to one of our concerts, so we’ll have to play extra good tonight.”

He stopped in front of her, his smile reminding her of a wicked sorcerer. There it was again, that unwanted but undeniable thrill of attraction. She edged back until she hit the door. She hadn’t seen Clayton close it. How embarrassing.

He only smiled wider. “She’s not easily impressed,” he murmured, “but that’s part of her charm.”

Her charm? What was wrong with him? He was looking at her like she was…a Twinkie he wanted to eat, sucking the cream out of the middle. Her wave was a light flutter of her hand.

“Hi,” she said lamely.

Rye introduced her to six men. She didn’t catch all the names, but she caught most of the instruments—violin, drums, piano, and three types of guitar.

“So which one of you had the pie heaved at him?”

The one guy whose name she did remember—he’d been the first in line—started laughing. Tucker pointed at Rye. “You blaming us for your misdeeds now?”

Her mouth gaped open as she turned to look at Rye.

His eyes narrowed, and that unnerving smile vanished. “Shut up,” he ordered.

Tucker held up his hands before reaching for his beer. The other band members looked away and picked up their own longnecks.

“You
slept with your cook?” She checked her foot from kicking him, but oh, how she wanted to. “You lied to me!”

“No, I said she slept with someone in the band.” He pointed at his chest.
“I’m
in the band.”

She turned to Clayton. He lifted his shoulders as if to say
don’t blame me.

“Well, that explains the apron. There’s no way anyone with an ounce of talent would cook in that.”

His shoulders started to shake. “Oh, she cooked in it all right.”

The other men started laughing.

She put her hands on her hips. “You deliberately lied to me. I’ll bet you lied about the little family matter that made you get into it with that man at the charity event.”

Laughter ceased. The whole room grew quiet save for the outside music and the noise of the crowd.

The gold ring around his hazel eyes looked like fire. “I didn’t lie about that. Wish I had,” he murmured, only loud enough for her to hear.

She scanned the room. No one would meet her eyes.

Someone pounded on the door and yelled, “Five minutes.”

“Excuse me,” Rye said, striding out of the room without a backward glance. The band followed.

Clayton stared down his nose at her. “Well, that went well. I hope we don’t have
another
incident tonight.”

Well didn’t that beat all! “Don’t guilt–trip me here. He’s the one who didn’t tell the truth. How am I supposed to know what he does and doesn’t lie about?”

“Let me give you some advice about Rye. Don’t judge a book by its cover.” He gestured to the door. “We should get out there.”

He led her through a tunnel to the stage area. “The best place to see a concert, in my opinion, is from the wings. If you don’t mind standing.”

“No,” she muttered as the bass reverberated through her body and the lights nearly blinded her.

Her heart skipped a beat when the hall went totally black, and the crowd began to clap and scream. When a spotlight pierced the darkness and illuminated Rye, he was standing on a slender silver platform a hundred feet above the stage.

The crowd went wild. He sang three words, “Take the fall.”

She only had a moment to marvel at how beautiful his singing voice was before a haunting silver light arced up behind the stage. He lifted his arms and fell backwards. Tory screamed, joining the rest of the astonished crowd. For a moment she thought she’d witnessed a public suicide, but then his body bounced off a net that had been obscured by the darkness. The band started to play as Rye crawled to the end, flipped off the net, and jogged to the front of the stage.

“How’re ya’ll doing tonight?” he drawled.

The noise became deafening. Tory raised her hands to cover her ears.

“That good? Well, I want to dedicate this concert to all of you who are struggling right now. I know times are tough, and you paid your hard–earned money to be here tonight. We appreciate you coming and plan to give you the show of your lives.”

The crowd applauded, and whistles and screams filled the stadium from men and women wearing cowboy hats. Tory looked up at the gigantic TV in the corner of the stadium. Rye’s handsome face filled the screen.

“You know, I went to a diner last night after a show. Y’all ever need some comfort food?”

He paused and let the crowd answer.

“Well, I had the best food of my life last night and found out the cook was having a hard time. She was out of school for the summer like many of you and working a tough job to pay the bills.” He tugged on his guitar strap. “I decided then and there to hire her. Help her out some.”

Tory lowered her hands from her ears. Could he be…was he talking about
her?

“Tory Simmons, where the heck are you?”

All the sudden the spotlight flooded her, and she had to lift her hands to shield her eyes.

“Cute, ain’t she? And her mama was a Catholic school teacher and her daddy the principal. So if I don’t mind my Ps and Qs from now on, I’ll be getting detention.”

As her eyes adjusted, she realized her image was on the big screen, and her whole body flushed red with embarrassment. A hundred thousand people were staring at her! And he’d just told them her business.

“So here’s my challenge to you,” he continued as the spotlight shifted back to him. “We can all help each other get through these tough times. If you can do something for someone, don’t hesitate.” He played a few strands on his guitar. “Now, are you ready for some music?”

He didn’t wait for a response. The band started playing a fast, hard–edged intro.

Georgia appeared beside Tory and Clayton. “Brilliant! This is going to be incredible PR.”

So, she was a PR campaign? He was using her? She was a proud and private person who never shared her troubles with strangers. How dare he! And worse, by talking about her parents like that, he was implying she was more than just his cook. Many of his fans were church–going people, and after the charity event incident, something like this might help reassure them.

She no longer had any desire to see the concert. The music pounded through her like blows as she got up and started to walk away.

Clayton stood and grabbed her arm. “Tory, there’s no reason to be upset.”

“Do you really believe that? He humiliated me in front of all these people, and he’s using me to restore his image.”

Clayton put his hands on her shoulders. “He didn’t humiliate you. He’s helping you.”

She shoved his hands away. “No, he made me out to be a charity case.”

“Look, Rye’s trying to save his career. You’re good press. I’m sorry if that upsets you.”

She wrapped her arms around herself. Suddenly all she wanted was to be back home in her comfortable life, where people said what they meant and meant what they said. “I want out of my contract, Clayton.”

“We won’t break the contract, especially not after what Rye said tonight. Look, having his career tank is the last thing he needs. He’s having problems with his family right now.”

“And what about me? You don’t think I have troubles?”

“I know you do, and I’m sorry. Come on,” he murmured, his voice soft. “I’ll take you back to the bus.”

Once she was tucked away in her tiny room, she called Myra and poured her heart out. Hearing her friend’s voice made her long for home. When she ended the call, she stared out the bus window.

Suddenly the summer seemed too long, and she felt more alone than she had since her grandpa’s death.

Take the fall,
Hit that wall,
Sometimes it’s all you’ve got.
The pain inside,
Rages like fire,
And there’s no extinguisher nearby.
You won’t break,
You won’t burn,
Don’t be afraid.
Take the fall.

Rye Crenshaw’s Number One Hit, “Take the Fall”

Chapter 4

A
voiding Tory the next morning seemed to be the best approach, particularly after what Clayton had told him. He couldn’t blame her for feeling used, but he hated that she’d felt humiliated too.

It was hard not to think about her and feel guilty with the bacon smell wafting through his closed door.

Rye set his guitar on his lap, looked out the window, and studied the passing cornfields. He spied what looked like an invisible man racing through the tall green stalks, trying to outrun the bus. Rye knew the image wasn’t real, that it could be explained away by some physics thing, but he liked watching it.

When his cell phone rang, he reached for it and his heart burst when he saw his sister’s number on the display. Thank God she’d finally called. He’d hoped she would find a way to defy Mama.

“Amelia Ann. I’m so glad you called. I missed—”

Crying and hiccupping was the only answer.

“Rye, Daddy collapsed on the golf course this morning. He had a heart attack and needs a quadruple bypass. We’re all at the hospital.”

His daddy? No way. He was as fit as a fiddle. “What happened?”

“I don’t know! The doctor said he’s been working too hard. Mama said it was all the stress you put the family through with your business with the police, which is the meanest comment ever. I’m scared, Rye.” She started crying again. “I wish you could come home.”

Home? His home was Dare River now or this tour bus. Not the place where he’d been born and raised. “Amelia Ann, you know I can’t. Mama’s made that very clear.”

“I know. She was awful to me after Taylor Benint let it slip that I’d been in touch with you. I shouldn’t have told her. Mama threatened to disown me if I contacted you again, but I had to tell you about Daddy.” A ragged chain of sobs sounded on the line.

His knuckles whitened on his guitar.

“I don’t know if I can take it, Rye. Mama’s still planning to push me into some semi–arranged marriage, just like she did with Tammy. And now Daddy’s sick.”