Rock (BBW Secret Baby Bear Shifter Romance) (Secret Baby Bears Book 2) (117 page)

“We’d better stroll,” she said, glancing at his teasing eyes. “Bear hunting season is only a week away, and I don’t want to take any chances.”

Mark laughed and pulled her along.

“So, does this mean you’ll go to Nashville with me?” he asked after a time.

Addy sighed. “I think I want to. I think I have to try, anyway.”

“I won’t let anything happen to you, Addy,” he said, his voice sober, now.

“I know.”

She glanced up, and their eyes met once more.

“Thank you,” he said.

“For what?”

“For trusting me. It means a lot.”

“Okay. Then you’re welcome. Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For believing in me,” she said. “For believing I can really do this. And for offering to be there to pick me up, if I fail.”

He stopped and pulled her close to lightly kiss her brow before taking both her hands and stepping back. “You’re not gonna fail, Addy.”

“You haven’t even heard me sing, yet.”

Mark smiled. “I don’t have to. I’ve heard you speak, and I’ve played your music. That’s enough.”

With that kind of faith, Addy supposed it was.

Addy couldn’t stop staring out the window. They had been on the road for over three hours, but every mile had brought more excitement, more new things to see, from the narrow, winding roads leading away from the farm to the terrifying jumble of traffic flying around Knoxville, to the seemingly endless expanse of four concrete lanes called Interstate 40 that led to Nashville. For the first time, she was aware of what she had been missing by staying in her little valley. Oh, she had read books, watched television, heard Granny talk about the outside world, but she had never experienced it for herself. And once the first wave of guilt for leaving Granny alone had passed, Addy had been determined to remember every little detail, so she could share it with Granny when she returned home.

“Only another fifteen, twenty minutes,” Mark said then yawned.

“This must be tiring,” Addy said. “Driving like this, I mean. All this traffic.”

“It’s not too bad,” Mark said, “though I rarely get to drive, since Uncle Bart usually grabs the wheel.”

“Tell me about your Uncle Bart. You’ve told me about your brothers, and growing up on the farm, but where does Uncle Bart fit in?”

“I told you my dad’s one of ten.”

“Yes.”

“Well, Dad’s the oldest, and Uncle Bart is the youngest—he’s only seven, eight years older than Matt. Bart and Dad are the only two Shifters in that generation, so they’ve always been close.”

“And because Uncle Bart is a Shifter, he’s close to all of you, too?”

“Somethin’ like that. Unlike Dad, though, Uncle Bart went to college. He went to East Tennessee State over in Johnson City. When you meet him, you probably won’t believe he majored in theater—though he’ll be the first to tell you he only got on stage a couple of times when he couldn’t avoid it, and the rest was all stagecraft, design, and lighting. He did an internship at one of the big casinos in Las Vegas, but he hated it and came home as soon as it was done. That’s about the time the family started wondering if the four of us boys could make it as a professional band. Not that they wanted to send us off to Nashville, but things were getting’ pretty tight on the farm, and the money would sure come in handy. Dad put Uncle Bart in charge of us, and it’s worked out pretty well.

“Of course, snagging the Konstantine Talent Agency—thanks to Mel—is what’s allowing us to get a decent recordin’ studio and some pretty classy live gigs, but Uncle Bart’s still in the middle of it. Thank God.”

Addy smiled. He obviously loved his uncle, and it made her feel safe to know the Saint family was a close one in which everyone seemed to look out for one another. She thought about her own family and frowned.

“What’s wrong, Addy?” Mark asked.

She sighed. “Nothin’. I’m just breaking one of the Ten Commandments.”

“Oh?”

“I’m coveting your family. I can’t imagine what it’s like to have so many people care about what you do, what becomes of you. I have Granny, of course, but...”

Mark reached across the space between them and took her hand in his.

“You’ll know soon enough, Addy. You’re bringin’ your music to us. That’s gonna make you family real quick. I promise you that.”

Addy squeezed his hand in return, praying it would be so.

After a time, the traffic began to pick up again, and he released her hand to place both of his securely on the wheel.

“Gettin’ close to our exit,” he said. His eyes never seemed to stop moving as he continuously checked his mirrors, keeping a close eye on all the traffic around them. She wondered if his other life as a bear made him all the more attentive when living as a man.

As they exited the Interstate, Addy took a deep, fortifying breath. It wouldn’t be long, now, before she met the people who meant so much to Mark—the people who would help to decide her own future.
 

“How do you do it?” she asked after she had lost track of the times and directions they had turned at various intersections. “How do you know where we’re going?”

Mark chuckled. “I do it by takin’ the exact same route home every time,” he admitted. “I sometimes end up goin’ a long way out of my way to get there, but at least I get there, as long as I stick to what’s familiar.”

“How do other people do it?” she asked, genuinely perplexed, as she watched all the cars and trucks jockeying for position at every intersection.

“How is it you can find your sugar maple tree from anywhere in the forest?”

“Well, I’ve sat under that tree all my life,” she said.

“Same goes in the city, I figure,” Mark said. “And if you’re new, you get a map—lots of street maps of Nashville available. Or you can do like Uncle Bart and cheat with that thing he calls a GPS. Funniest thing you ever saw. It’s this little box with a screen that shows you moving along the roads as you go. Then there’s this cranky soundin’ woman’s voice that tells you when you make a wrong turn. Uncle Bart named her ‘Prudence’ after this one teacher we all had in elementary school. She was a cranky old bat, too.”

Addy laughed, but she realized quickly that Mark was aware of how tense she had gotten and was trying to help her relax. It almost worked until they pulled into a small parking lot behind an old, three-story house.

“This is Mel’s place. She lives in the apartment on the top floor. Uncle Bart’s tryin’ to wrangle a deal to buy the whole building, so the rest of us can live in the other two apartments. It’s not that we have to live in each other’s pockets, but we’re still feelin’ our way in the city, so we’d like to stick together. Matt’ll be movin’ in with Mel, after they’re married, of course, but we figure we’ll save a lot of money with the rest of us sharin’ space we own, too.”

Addy wasn’t paying Mark much attention as she got out of the SUV and stared up at the grand old house. Even her inexperienced eye could tell it was a very old building that had had extensive, quality renovations done. It was a lifetime removed from her cabin in the woods in more than distance.

“Everythin’s gonna be fine, Addy,” Mark said, wrapping an arm around her and giving her a reassuring squeeze. “They’re gonna love you. I promise.”

Addy took a deep, fortifying breath and turned to the back of the SUV to get her guitar. If she was going to meet her future upstairs in that apartment, she wanted the one weapon she had at her side.

The music rang through the recording studio, sending Addy to a place she had never been before. The four male voices—all baritone or bass—should have been overpowering, but the four brothers were so in tune with one another, so focused on the music, they held her in a kind of spell she’d never even imagined before.

“I told you they were good,” Mel whispered, nudging Addy with her shoulder. “I’ve got dibs on the guitar guy, but they’re all pretty, aren’t they?”

Addy could only nod. They were that: pretty and special. Mark had been right, of course. His family had welcomed her with open arms, and Mel, especially, had taken Addy’s part, instantly bonding with the other woman against the mass of Saint men, who could be a little overwhelming when they were in one room together. Following a quick lunch, they had piled into a van and the SUV to head over to a studio they had reserved that afternoon for some music rehearsal. As the brothers warmed up, Addy felt the sudden urge to join them.

“Sounds good, boys,” Uncle Bart said through the intercom from where he sat with a sound man on the other side of the glass. “And you were right about that bridge, John.”

“You know I hate to admit it,” Matt said, “but he really was.”

“The mandolin made all the difference, there,” Mark agreed.

“Don’t let it go to your head, kid,” Luke said, laying down a quick pattern on his drums.

“Like I’d ever have the chance to,” John, the youngest, said with a grin.

Everyone laughed, including Uncle Bart in the booth, but finally the older man called a halt to the fun.

“All right, all right. The clock’s runnin’, so let’s move on. Why don’t you try Addy’s new song and bring the pretty lady in to show you how it was meant to be sung?”

“That’s you,” Mel said with a grin.

Addy wiped her suddenly damp palms on her jeans and opened her guitar case. As she pulled it out, Matt let out a low whistle.

“Is that what I think it is?” he said, leaning closer for a better look.

“I guess that depends on what you think it is,” Addy said. “My great-granddaddy got it in trade back in the ‘30s. I know it’s not much to look at, but it still sounds pretty good.”

The guitar had an ebony finish on a mahogany back and sides and a red spruce top, with ivoroid binding. A rosewood fingerboard was accented with mother-of-pearl tuners. Under the studio’s bright lights, she could see clearly every scratch and scuff mark, but the familiar trademark Gibson headstock logo made everyone anxious to hear how it sounded.

“Like I got anythin’ to brag about in the looks department,” Matt said with a grin, holding up his scratched and scuffed Martin guitar. “Looks don’t mean a thing in a music studio.”

Addy glanced around and realized the same could be said about any of their instruments, and she felt marginally better. Marginally only, however, since they hadn’t yet heard her either play or sing.

Luke passed out copies of the song to everyone and sat back down at his drums.

“I don’t really know the names for all the chords I use,” Addy admitted shyly.

“Self taught?” Matt asked.

She nodded and blushed.

“Nothin’ wrong with that,” Mark said with grin and a wink. “I’ll take a good ear over book learnin’ any day.”

“That’s for sure in this group,” Bart said from beyond the barrier. “Why don’t you just play your song and sing it as you think it ought to go, darlin’, and the boys’ll just join in as you go along. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Addy checked her tuning one last time, slipped her favorite thumb pick out of her front pocket, took a deep breath to calm herself, and started to play. She had called the song “Appalachian Home,” but it was about more than just a place. It was about belonging, being a part of the land, a family, of mattering to someone. She’d written it for Granny, but realized as the boys joined in, both instrumentally and vocally, that it was even more effective as a song of love between a man and a woman, something she had never even considered before.

Mark quickly picked up the rhythm on his bass fiddle, and Matt didn’t have any trouble following her fingers on guitar. Then Matt started to sing with her, and the harmony made her heart soar. Her own vocal range was a low alto, and Matt’s warm baritone set it off beautifully as they moved into the second verse. Mark added a second baritone to verse three, and then Luke jumped in with his bass on the final chorus, making the full sound shimmer. Luke had quickly switched to brushes on the drums, and John started to add touches of an improvised counter melody on mandolin. As the last chord faded, Addy knew she had finally heard “Appalachian Home” as it had been meant to be played.
 

“Well, I’d say that’s a keeper,” Bart said from the next room, his voice full of both approval and satisfaction.

Addy looked around and saw clearly that all of them felt the same way, if their grins were any indication.

Mel’s face was tear-streaked, though her smile was sunny bright.

“Please promise me, Addy, that even if you decide not to sign with Konstantine, you will sing that song at our wedding.”

Matt carefully set aside his guitar and crossed to pull Mel into his arms.

“So, what do you say, darlin’?” Mark asked softly from behind her. “Care to join us?”

Addy turned to look into his eyes, seeing in them an emotion as potent as the music they had just played together. Taking a very deep breath, she finally nodded.

“I’d like that.”

Mark grinned, and setting his bass aside, he came forward and took her into his arms.

You were right, Granny
, Addy thought as he held her close, and she felt his lips brush the side of her face.
You were so right
.