Читать книгу The Girl He Used To Love - Amy Vastine - Страница 11

CHAPTER THREE

DRY SOCKS WERE Dean’s new favorite thing. Although it was possible hot showers ranked a little higher. Hot showers, dry socks and dry pants were definitely in the top three. It didn’t even matter that the sweatpants were a little long.

“Feeling better?” Sawyer asked when Dean joined him in the Strattons’ sitting room. The chocolate Lab at his feet lifted his head and gave Dean a once-over before probably determining they had already been acquainted. And by acquainted, Dean meant that Sawyer’s dog, Scout, had stuck his nose right in his crotch and given him a good sniffing. Dean felt like maybe that made them more than acquaintances at this point.

“One hundred percent.”

“Well, you look a million times better,” Sawyer said, leaning back in his oversize upholstered rocking chair. “I think I might actually be able to be in the same room as you without laughing.”

“Does that mean you might reconsider my offer to come to Nashville?”

A smile spread across Sawyer’s face as he shook his head. “Not tonight. Faith says yes to a lot of things she’d rather say no to, and letting you stay here was harder than she wants you to know. I’m not going to push her buttons any more tonight.”

Dean felt a little guilty for using the Strattons, given the way things had gone down between him and Faith after Addison’s death. But one night and he’d be gone. This visit would be nothing more than a tiny blip on the screen of their lives.

“We can talk about music, though. No harm in that,” Sawyer suggested.

Talking about music was easy. Dean had been in love with music since as far back as he could remember. Growing up, his dad had played banjo in a bluegrass band on the weekends and his mother had an unhealthy obsession with Garth Brooks. The first CD he’d bought was a George Strait album that his eight-year-old self had listened to on a constant loop for months.

The more he and Sawyer talked, the more Dean could see the young man had a similar passion for great music. His eyes lit up when he told Dean a story about buying his first guitar. He had taught himself how to play by watching videos on the internet. Eventually he’d started writing his own songs as well as fooling around with the arrangements of some classics. Country music was his first love but he’d learned a couple Eagles’ tunes for his old man.

“I was sorry to hear about your dad.”

“He was a good man. An even better dad.” Sawyer sat up and rested his elbows on his knees. His gaze fell to the floor. “It’s been six months and I’m still not used to him being gone. It’s like I keep waiting for him to walk through the door and tell me what needs to get done around here.”

Dean knew that feeling all too well. It was a big reason for not wanting to be in this town. He imagined seeing Addison at every turn. She used to love hanging out at Gibson’s Five and Dime, spending her allowance on candy and teeny-bopper magazines. How many times had she begged Mrs. Lam at the salon to dye her strawberry-blond hair a different color?

He’d never understood why she hadn’t been satisfied with the way she looked the moment she turned fourteen. Maybe it was a girl thing, but Addison hadn’t been the kind of girl who needed anyone’s approval. Addison had always done what Addison wanted.

“You okay?” Sawyer asked.

Dean nodded and shook off the memories of his baby sister. “I was just thinking about how hard you must have to work around here. If it’s anything like the summer I was on staff, the work’s never done.”

“Faith and I have been working our butts off to keep Helping Hooves in business. It hasn’t been easy,” Sawyer admitted. “We’re in the process of getting accredited by this equine therapy association. If we pass inspection, we’ll have a better shot of paying our bills and expanding the services we provide. Faith understands it all more than I do. I just do what I’m told. Being a grown-up is a lot harder than I thought it would be.”

“Is this what you see yourself doing the rest of your life? Keeping the farm running?”

Dean watched Sawyer think it over. It wasn’t a simple yes-or-no question for him. “I haven’t really thought that far ahead. I like to focus on one thing at a time or else it gets too overwhelming. Right now, the only thing Faith lets me think about is the hundred pages of requirements we need to meet in order for Helping Hooves to get accredited.”

Dean didn’t like the sound of that. He needed Sawyer now, not later. “I get that the farm is your priority, but I have to believe you’ve thought about what it would be like if you could write and perform music for a living. You’re too good not to have thought about it at least once.”

Sawyer sat back. “I may have thought about it once or twice. But those were just daydreams.”

“Well, I’m not here to make you any promises,” Dean said, leaning in. “I don’t make promises, I offer opportunity. I’d love to hear some more of your songs, and if the rest of them are as good as what I heard tonight, I’d love to offer you the opportunity to record some of them.”

“But that would happen in Nashville?”

“Everything happens in Nashville. I can get you studio time there. I can introduce you to some other musicians. I’m telling you, once we get some things recorded, it can all move real fast. I’ll have you singing in front of crowds a whole lot bigger than what comes into the Sundown.”

Sawyer scratched the top of Scout’s head. “That sounds like quite an offer.”

“It is. I’m the guy who turns dreams into reality.”

“I’m sure most people would say it was an offer they couldn’t refuse.” Sawyer paused. “But I’m going to need some time to think about it and talk to my sister. Just because I haven’t thought about what I want to do with the rest of my life, doesn’t mean I want to leap without looking.”

“Fair enough.” Dean could respect his need to make an informed decision. “Trust me, I don’t want you saying yes and then backing out in a month, either. I want artists who are committed. If you sign with me, I can promise you that I will be committed to you.”

“I thought you said you don’t make promises.” One side of Sawyer’s mouth curled up. He was all too pleased with himself for catching Dean on that one.

“That’s the only promise I’ll make to you. Loyalty is that important to me.”

Sawyer yawned and stretched his arms over his head. “I’m going to hit the hay. I’m not usually home this early and I think I better take advantage of the extra hours of sleep. I put a couple blankets and a pillow over there.” He pointed to the chair in the corner. “The couch doesn’t make too bad of a bed. I’ve fallen asleep there a few times.”

“It’ll be fine, I’m sure. Thanks again for putting a roof over my head tonight.” Dean really did appreciate the kindness.

“Just don’t mention any more of this Nashville stuff to Faith,” Sawyer said, getting to his feet. “She never really recovered from losing Addison, and now with Dad gone... She puts on a brave face but I know she’s having a real hard time. I’m all she’s got right now.”

Dean’s heart lurched at the mention of his sister’s name. He knew how close the two of them had been, but sometimes it was hard to find sympathy for Faith. Things could have been so different if she hadn’t opened her mouth to Addison.

This wasn’t about Addison or Faith. This was about Grace Note. Sawyer was exactly the kind of artist they were looking for. Bringing him to Nashville was imperative. Landon needed some proof that Dean could help the company rebound after the latest Boone Williams debacle.

Dean knew the music business and nurturing the talent in an artist was what he did best. In his mind, he was already booking shows in all the right places and setting up appearances that would benefit Sawyer and the label the most. He knew exactly who to hand off some demos to and which radio personalities to start buttering up.

Sawyer was going to be the next big thing. Dean just needed to figure out how to convince him that his dreams could be a reality.

* * *

DEAN WENT FROM dreaming about platinum records and big wins at the Country Artist Awards to fantasizing about chocolate-chip cookies. Why was he dreaming about cookies? They smelled so good. If they tasted half as good as they smelled, they’d be the best cookies he’d ever eat in his life. He rolled to his left and instead of being sprawled across his pillow-topped, queen-size bed, he fell like a ton of bricks to the floor.

“What the—?” Dean sat up and took in his surroundings. He hadn’t fallen out of his bed. He’d fallen off the couch, a couch that belonged to Grace Note’s next chart-topper.

The rain was still falling but the dark skies of night were now a cloudy-morning gray. Dean pulled himself up and sat back down on the couch. Rubbing his neck, he worked out a kink. The couch hadn’t been his worst night’s sleep, but it wasn’t what he’d consider good, either. On the coffee table sat his clothes—clean, dry and folded in a neat pile.

Dean tried to come up with a plan for fixing his tire and getting out of town before his parents found out he was here. His thoughts were quickly interrupted by the beeping of a timer. The sweet smell of fresh-baked cookies meant that it was probably attached to an oven. His stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten anything since the fast food he’d inhaled in Birmingham.

Dean let his ears, nose and stomach be his guide. They did not lead him astray. The kitchen’s soft butter-yellow walls were so much brighter in the hazy morning light that streamed in through the windows in the cozy breakfast nook than they were last night. On the kitchen table were cooling racks covered in dozens of perfectly golden-brown, chocolate-chip cookies. He could almost taste the melted chocolate, brown sugar and something else he couldn’t quite identify.

The only thing that could pull his attention from these tempting cookies was the woman who’d made them. Faith slipped another cookie sheet into the oven. Her hot-pink apron was tied around her slim waist. Again, he was struck by how grown-up she looked. Where had the time gone? What would Addison have looked like at thirty years old?

He shook off thoughts of his baby sister. He couldn’t go there. Not when they threatened to unleash feelings he had successfully boxed up and put away years ago.

“Do I smell whiskey?” he asked, finally putting his finger on the mystery scent.

Faith jumped, clutching her chest and shrieking loud enough to be heard for miles. Before he had the opportunity to apologize, she whacked him with her spatula.

Dean tried to protect himself. “I’m sorry! Stop. Stop!” he pleaded.

She gathered her wits and appeared remorseful. “Oh, my gosh, I’m sorry.” Then quickly added, “But you really shouldn’t sneak up on people like that.”

Keeping a safe distance, Dean tried to explain. “I wasn’t sneaking up on you. You didn’t even give me a chance to say good morning before you went postal on me.”

She pushed some stray strands of hair that had fallen out of her ponytail behind her ear. “I’m not used to people walking around the house like mice. Sawyer whistles everywhere he goes, so I always know when he’s coming.”

“Well, I apologize for not being a noisier guest. I’ll be sure to stomp through the house so you hear me coming from now on.” He reached for a cookie, figuring she owed him that much for attacking him. He was so hungry and the smell was so mouthwatering...

Faith smacked his hand with the spatula before he could grab one.

“Ow!”

“Sorry,” she said, her cheeks turning red. “Just don’t touch my cookies.”

Dean was ready to wrestle that spatula from her hand. If she swatted him one more time, that thing was getting tossed outside as far as he could fling it. “You make cookies for breakfast, but I can’t have one?”

“These are for Mr. Middleton and the church bake sale tomorrow. Not for you. If you want a cookie, you can buy one tomorrow at church.”

“You made cookies that smell like whiskey for the church bake sale?”

There were dark circles under Faith’s eyes. “It’s my thing. I make cookies with a kick. I’ll have you know that the people in this town love them and come to the Sundown every Friday night to get their hands on them.”

“You sell cookies at the Sundown?” Temptation got the best of him and Dean reached for a cookie. Tennesseans sure did love their whiskey, and Dean was no exception.

Faith raised the spatula, but he gave a warning of his own. “Put that thing down before one of us gets hurt. And by ‘us’ I mean me or that spatula.”

She set her weapon down and stepped back toward the oven. “My Salted Whiskey Chocolate-Chip Cookies happen to be my biggest seller. If you eat them, you are stealing from the church. You wouldn’t want to do that, now, would you, Dean Francis Presley?”

Using his middle name was unkind. His mother was the only one who used it. When he was younger, it had been said quite a bit. Addison and Faith had thought it was so funny.

“That’s a low blow. Maybe I want to steal one from Mr. Middleton. Come on, have mercy on your stranded houseguest.”

Faith pursed her lips. Sawyer had said she often said yes when she wanted to say no. He hoped this would be one of those times.

“Fine,” she relented. “You can have one cookie. But if I see you take any more than one, I’ll charge you five dollars per cookie.”

Dean was willing to accept any offer. He plucked the biggest cookie with the most chocolate from the nearest cooling rack and took a bite. It practically melted in his mouth. It was obvious these cookies were the ticket to heaven. One was not going to be enough now that he’d had a taste.

* * *

FAITH COULDN’T HELP but smile as she watched Dean share a moment with his cookie. He might have been falling in love. The expression on his face reminded her of Addison’s after her first kiss with Kenny Gordon.

Dean dashed out of the kitchen and, as quickly as he had disappeared, he returned with a twenty-dollar bill in his hand. He closed the distance between them, leaving her no way to escape.

Clean and dry looked good on him. It smelled even better. He had the kind of hair that women needed to grab by the fistful when he kissed them and made their knees weak. She felt sixteen again, infatuated with the unattainable. Experience told her that when you played with fire, you got burned, and that was not something she wanted to experience again.

“That was the best cookie I have ever had in my entire life. I think you should change the name to Faith and Whiskey Chocolate Chip, though. They’re sweet with a kiss of sass. Just like you.” He slipped the bill into the small pocket that was sewn on the chest of her apron. Faith held her breath as a devilish grin spread across his face. “I’ll take four.”

Stepping away, he snatched his paid-for cookies off the counter. His eyes closed when he took a bite.

Thankfully that left him completely unaware of the effect he had on Faith and her racing heart. Weak knees were nothing compared to her current state. Dizzy and hot, she felt like she had been knocked on the head and shoved in the oven. She spun and opened the refrigerator, letting the air inside cool her burning cheeks. Faith and Whiskey. She liked it. More than she should.

Dean wasn’t going to be around long enough to eat or name any more of her cookies. He’d be gone and nothing but a memory, like his sister. Faith poured a tall glass of milk and set it on the kitchen table where he had taken a seat to finish his cookie breakfast.

“The milk is on the house.”

“You are so much nicer without that spatula in your hand,” he said with a mouthful of cookie.

“I know your mother taught you not to talk with food in your mouth.” She shook her head and went to check on her last batch. She needed to remember why he was here.

Dean had run away while she’d spent the last decade trying to make amends to a ghost. Now he was back and talking about making her brother a star. That was not happening. Sawyer didn’t want to be a country music star. He was happy here, content to keep their father’s farm running, like she was.

“What time does your brother usually get up?” Dean must have read her mind.

“Sawyer’s already up. There are always chores to be done around here.” Faith figured pointing out how much work her brother had to do would help discourage Dean from pursuing his crazy idea to lure Sawyer to Nashville.

“Oh, I was going to ask him for a lift to my car. I figure the sooner I get that tire fixed, the sooner I can get out of here.”

The sooner the better, as far as Faith was concerned. No reason to delay the inevitable. “If you help me deliver these cookies, I’ll get you to your car faster than a jackrabbit on a date.”

Dean snorted a laugh. “See? Sweet and sassy,” he said with a shake of his head. “I missed you.”

His confession seemed to shock them both. All the air left Faith’s lungs and it was almost impossible to breathe more in. Dean’s face flushed red and he stood to place his empty milk glass in the sink.

Faith couldn’t believe how much three little words could affect her. He obviously didn’t mean it the way she wanted him to. She knew all too well what it was like to really miss someone. Faith missed her mother and now her father on a daily basis. She missed Addison so much it hurt. She could even admit to missing Dean, but he hated her. He had said as much the last time they had stood in this kitchen together.

“I’ll go get changed and then I’ll take you up on your offer,” he said, making his escape.

Faith could finally breathe again. She had often wished for just one more day with all of those people she missed. Now, standing in the kitchen with her stomach in knots, she realized one day would never be enough. Not when she had once wanted forever.