Читать книгу Nights Under the Tennessee Stars - Joanne Rock - Страница 12
ОглавлениеSARAH WELDON WAS so dead.
Cranking the volume on her car stereo as she drove from Gainesville to Nashville, Sarah hoped the throbbing bass would drown out her own thoughts since she usually tried not to think about that idea.
Dead.
Her mother had been murdered two years ago in a house break-in while Sarah had been overnight at a friend’s home. So death was a real, sickening reality for her. In fact, her father would have a fit if she said the words out loud—I’m so dead.
But then, her father was stuck in his grieving. Even she knew that, and she was just barely eighteen and in imminent danger of being kicked out of high school. There was a lot Sarah didn’t know, yet she was rock-solid certain that her father was more wrecked in the head than she was when it came to her mom. Sarah coped by trying new things, taking new risks and pushing her boundaries. Running fast and hard helped. She’d moved on, right? Her father, on the other hand, was stuck in the past and big-time overprotective of her.
Which was why she couldn’t tell him about the letter that had arrived for her last week. She rested her hand on her purse where she’d tucked the note, wishing it would magically disappear.
Squinting in the dark at the sign for Chattanooga, she merged onto Interstate 24 East just as her phone rang. She prayed hard it wasn’t her father. Or the family she was supposed to be staying with while her dad worked. Or the school field trip chaperone who would probably get fired for losing track of Sarah during the overnight visit to the University of Florida in Gainesville.
“Bestie,” chirped the Bluetooth automated voice, reporting the contact in a way that had made Sarah and her best friend, Mathilda, laugh for an hour when they’d given all of Sarah’s friends nicknames in the address book.
Taking a deep breath, she pressed the connect button on the call so it came through the car speakers.
“Don’t be mad at me,” Sarah blurted, her eyes glued to the road and the taillights of a semi she’d been behind for nearly an hour.
“Are you insane?” Mathilda whisper-shouted. “Where are you?”
Sarah pictured her friend in the hotel room where she’d seen her last, sitting on the king-size bed they were supposed to be sharing on the field trip.
“If I don’t tell you, you’ll be able to answer honestly when Ms. Fairly grills you tomorrow about where I went.” She chewed her thumbnail. It had been practically impossible not to spill this plan to Mathilda, but she didn’t want her to get in trouble.
Sarah had caused Mathilda enough problems in the past two years, dragging her to parties she didn’t want to attend and convincing her to sneak out after their curfew so Sarah’s father wouldn’t know she wasn’t at home. Sarah couldn’t help that she liked to have more fun than Mathilda, but she’d been doing better lately. Behaving herself.
“That may be the dumbest thing you’ve ever said,” Mathilda hissed in the same urgent whisper. “I’m your best friend in the world, and if you’ve done something stupid, you need to tell someone about it so they know when to worry about you for real, Sarah.”
“See? That’s why it’s been so hard not to tell you the plan. You’re so smart and I knew you would think of all the details I forgot.” She was nervous enough about her decision to sneak away.
Students weren’t supposed to have cars on the campus for the trip, but Sarah had planned a week in advance, paying a boy to follow her all the way to Gainesville from Miami the weekend before so she could leave the car in the lot. Boys would do anything for the chance to attend a big-deal college basketball game, and Sarah had helped him do just that—although she’d probably also given him the impression she liked him, which she hadn’t meant to. Still, it had been a way to drop off her car ahead of time so she’d have it for her escape. She’d told her father she’d left it at Mathilda’s, not that he’d asked. He thought mostly about work these days.
“What plan?” Mathilda pressed. “Seriously, I love you, but I’m about a minute away from ratting you out because I’m scared you’re doing something dangerous. You know you’re not supposed to go running at night by yourself.”
If only it was that simple.
Sarah watched the trucker’s signal light flip on to pass the car ahead and she turned on hers, too. It was nice having someone to follow through the dark.
“Don’t tell on me. I’m eighteen now, you know.” The Stedders had made her a cake to celebrate when her father had been on a location shoot in Georgia a couple of weeks ago. “What can the school really do to me at this point?”
For a long time she’d been waiting for the day where no one could tell her no. Even with the careful planning and occasional sneaking out, she still felt suffocated by her father. After her mom had died, he’d taken a leave from his job for over a year. He’d spent the time staring at Sarah as though she was going to be the next person to be murdered. It was enough to creep anyone out. Worse, she missed the old him. He used to be so much fun.
“Do not play that ‘I’m eighteen’ card with me,” Mathilda huffed, probably mad her birthday was still six weeks away.
“Fine. I left a couple of hours ago right after you fell asleep. I’m driving to Tennessee to see Dad and help him on his business trip.” And hide from letters that arrived from state prison.
She hadn’t opened the one that her so-called biological father had sent. Ten times over, she’d debated just burning it and pretending it had never existed. But what if he’d already mentioned her to his cell mates the way he’d talked about her mom? Thanks to him, her mother was dead. And while the guys responsible were in jail for life, that didn’t mean her sperm-contributing relative would stop talking.
Bastard. Did he want her dead next?
“Does your dad know?” Mathilda referred to Remy, of course, who was Sarah’s father in every way that mattered.
“Of course not. He’s going to kill me when I get there, but I’m going anyway.”
The fact that Mathilda was silent for a few seconds reassured Sarah. If her friend thought it was the worst plan in the world, she would have berated Sarah instantly.
“I don’t know why you couldn’t have just asked to go with him and gotten permission. Ms. Fairly is going to flip out.”
Sarah slid back into the right-hand lane behind the truck, her GPS reassuring her that she’d make it to Heartache, Tennessee, in time for breakfast.
“But that’s where the plan gets really good.” She tucked a long, brown strand of hair behind one ear and wished she had an elastic to hold it back. “I’m going to arrive at Dad’s bed-and-breakfast before the morning orientation meeting at the hotel. I’ll have Dad call Ms. Fairly and tell her that he picked me up last night for— I don’t know. Urgent family reasons.” She couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice.
“Sarah—”
“What?” she snapped, tired of tiptoeing around anything and everything that had to do with her mother’s death. “You know she’ll forgive him as soon as the words are out of his mouth. Poor Remy Weldon who lost his wife can do no wrong. Ms. Fairly practically drools on him every time she sees him.”
“It is gross,” Mathilda admitted.
“Agreed.” She rolled down her window for a little fresh air. She wasn’t tired, but she planned to take every precaution to make sure she didn’t feel sleepy. Two energy drinks rested side by side in her cup holders, but so far, adrenaline was keeping her going.
“Text me when you get there, okay? I have to know you arrived safely.”
Sarah’s throat itched from the sudden lump in it. Her friend didn’t try to “mother” her, but sometimes, when she said stuff like that, it made Sarah miss having a mom. It also made her super grateful she’d managed to keep one good friend during the hell of the past two years. She’d met Mathilda during a dark time in her life and Mathilda liked her anyway.
“Of course.” She cleared her throat and popped open one of the energy drinks.
“I can’t believe you’re not going to look at UF with me.” Mathilda wanted to be a Gator at the University of Florida in the fall, and she’d wanted Sarah to be one, too, but that wasn’t happening.
Sarah had no idea what she wanted to do. She’d spent half her high school years in mourning for her mom and then—later—for the dad who’d checked out on her, too. His parenting these past two years was a weird combo of being smothering or—lately—being absent. It sounded impossible, but he managed it well, sticking her with the Stedders, who were old enough to be her grandparents and twice as nosy. Then there were the freaked-out phone calls that came when he was away. Did he think she didn’t know he was terrified she’d get shot in the head someday, too, even though they’d moved nine hundred miles away from where her mom had died?
It was completely disturbing.
“Mathilda, no matter what happens in the fall, it doesn’t change that we’re friends.” She said it automatically, a response she’d trotted out a half-dozen times since Mathilda had forced her to fill out the paperwork for the college application.
Sarah already knew she hadn’t gotten in. Her standardized test scores were crap and her course grades were average at best. She’d only tried for the past two years because she had wanted to stay in classes with Mathilda.
“I know we’ll still be friends, Bestie,” she said, using the nickname from another era of their friendship. “But it makes me sad to think we won’t hang out as much. I can’t even imagine how much trouble you’re going to get in without me.”
Mathilda was only half teasing.
“Starting now.” Sarah stepped on the gas to pass the truck she’d been following, in a new hurry to get to Tennessee and hit the reset button on her life that had gone off the rails. “If Dad yells at me for making this trip, I’m going to tell him I’m dropping out of school.”
Her friend gasped. “You wouldn’t.”
Sarah pulled back in the right-hand lane and locked in a cruising speed faster than she’d been driving before.
“School has been a waste of my time for two years straight. I absolutely would.” Besides, she was scared of returning to Miami, where a letter had found its way into her mailbox from the man she hated most in the world.
She shuddered and hoped her dad would make everything okay again.
“Be careful,” Mathilda whispered into the phone. “I mean it.”
Sarah downed the last of the energy drink just as she crossed the Tennessee state line, wondering how it would taste with vodka. Not while driving, obviously. But later, maybe.
She needed something to forget about that letter burning a hole in her purse, and running for hours hadn’t come close to making her forget.
“Will do,” Sarah lied just before she disconnected the call and turned up the radio again.
This time, she had no intention of being careful.
* * *
“EVENTUALLY, I WANT to do caramel with ombré highlights.” Erin pointed to a picture in a magazine while her favorite stylist, Trish, worked on her hair at The Strand salon the next morning.
The salon opened early on Tuesdays, making it easy for her to change her hair color before she needed to be at Last Chance Vintage. She wasn’t the only one who appreciated the extended hours. Daisy Spencer—soon to be her brother Mack’s grandmother-in-law—was seated at the manicure booth getting a gel coat of bright pink on her toes. Her boyfriend, Harlan, read the paper in the waiting area.
Erin sighed. Mrs. Spencer navigated the dating world better at eighty-plus years old than Erin ever had.
“That will look fantastic on you.” Trish nodded while she skimmed the blow-dryer over a section of Erin’s hair, smoothing the newly bronzed strands around a fat round brush. “But I think this color is pretty hot, too. Or maybe I’m just glad you let me pull out that black. How long have I been telling you that color is too strong for your features?”
“Six months.” Not that she’d been counting the days since the guy who’d lied to her with every breath had turned her into the kind of person she’d never wanted to be. “Ever since I came back to Heartache.”
“So what made you finally change your mind?” Trish turned down the setting on the dryer as she began working on the front of Erin’s hair.
“That clothing drive I told you about?” She had already posted flyers in the salon and asked Trish to mention it to her clients. “I’m going to get some television publicity for it and I didn’t want to look like—you know—super scary.”
Personally, Erin thought she’d rocked the black hair, but her whole style lately screamed “don’t mess with me,” and she wasn’t going to risk it costing her any clothes donations. She was committed, both feet in, to making this thing a success.
Trish frowned as she shut off the dryer and set it aside. “I was hoping the new color might have something to do with a certain gorgeous someone I saw leaving your store after hours yesterday.”
Remy.
Just thinking about him stirred a mixed bag of feelings that she wanted no part of—curiosity, suspicion, undeniable attraction.
“Definitely not, but—” She was about to say more and then decided the less said the better.
“But?” Trish twirled Erin’s chair around and handed her a small mirror so she could see the back of her hair.
“But that was the producer for the TV show Interstate Antiquer. Last Chance Vintage is going to be featured on it. He said they will cover the clothing drive so I’ll increase my donations.” And the way Remy looked at her didn’t have a damn thing to do with her hair color.
Something unspoken, but definite, had passed between them while she’d been showing him the space she was renovating. A look, maybe. She hadn’t imagined that moment of mutual awareness any more than she’d imagined Remy’s reaction.
He hadn’t been able to leave fast enough.
“So you’ll be working with him?” Trish met her eyes in the mirror.
“No. It sounds like I’ll be working with a production crew that makes the actual episodes—a show host, a couple of camera people.” She had the impression Remy wouldn’t be back in Heartache if he could avoid it. Something about his hasty retreat almost made her wonder if he was married.
An honorable guy would walk away fast if he felt a stray attraction to someone else, right? She wanted to believe that, but that was about as far as she’d come in getting past the Patrick ordeal—an acknowledgment that she still held out hope for some marriages.
She just didn’t hold out much for herself.
“That is so exciting.” Trish beamed as she admired Erin’s hair. “You’ll look fantastic on television. And this will be so good for Heartache.”
Standing, Erin checked her watch and noticed she was a few minutes late opening the store. Digging out her wallet, she called goodbye to Mrs. Spencer and Harlan, then followed Trish to the checkout register.
“It will be great to rake in lots of clothes. I’m really excited about the chance to help out women who—” had been cheated on by two-timing bastards “—need an extra hand.”
“Yes, well, for that reason, too.” Trish rang up the cost of the services. “But I meant this will also be good for the rest of us. A nationally broadcast show with your adorable store featured? It’s going to put Heartache on the map for tourists. Your sister must be turning cartwheels.”
Something about the way she said it made Erin stop.
“I don’t think it’s a show with that much reach.” Interstate Antiquer was geared toward a niche audience.
“Are you kidding me?” Trish ran Erin’s credit card and printed the receipt. “I’ve watched it, and I don’t know anything about antiques. People tune in for the slice of small-town life to get a feel for a place. It’ll definitely bring tourism to town. Your father would have loved this, Erin.”
Erin’s father had passed away eighteen months ago. He had been the mayor of Heartache for over a decade, helping to bring the town out of a recession. The Finley name was practically synonymous with Heartache. While Erin was proud of her town, she didn’t want any part of expanding tourism and bringing lots of outsiders in. She was a behind-the-scenes woman, for one thing.
And for another? She liked things here the way they were—Heartache was a place that still felt a little isolated from the rest of the world. It didn’t even have an airport. That time she’d planned to bring Patrick to town with her they’d had tickets to fly into Nashville.
“We’ll see,” Erin said finally, when she realized Trish had been waiting for some kind of response. She took her receipt and jammed it into her purse, wondering if she’d made a huge mistake by saying yes to Remy.
“Hey, isn’t that your producer friend now?” Trish pointed out the window where they could see the front of Last Chance Vintage. Where Remy Weldon stood, back against the glass storefront, cell phone pressed to his ear.
The fluttery feeling that started in Erin’s chest would have been exciting if she was sixteen. Right now, it felt ominous. She took a deep breath.
“Guess I’d better open the store.” Erin scrawled a quick signature on the receipt.
“You said it.” Trish’s eyes remained fixed on Remy. “Go get him, tiger.”
Erin shook her head. “Seriously. Not interested, Trish, but thank you for the great hair.”
Her friend winked at her.
Main Street held only a handful of local businesses. Her shop. The sandwich place. The Strand. There was a gas station farther down, and a pizza parlor. Then at the corner, she could just see Lucky’s Grocer and the village square. She liked it this way and she didn’t want to see four new fast-food chains pop up if tourism increased.
“Looking for me?” Erin called as she crossed the street.
Remy tilted his head sideways as he tucked his phone into his pocket. “I don’t know. Is that you?”
“Of course. I don’t look that different.” Her heart beat too fast and she didn’t want to talk about her appearance. “Figured I’d better spruce up the locks if I’m going on television. Don’t want to embarrass my mom.”
Remy leaned a shoulder into the doorjamb, far too close to where she needed to insert the key in the dead bolt. But then, he seemed distracted by her hair.
“What was wrong with your color?” His eyes wandered over her in a way that seemed more like a professional assessment than a personal inventory.
That was, until his gaze reached breast level. It would have been laughable at how fast his chin shot up except that he seemed...pained. Feeling that she’d witnessed some private part of him, she turned her attention to the lock.
Remy stepped back to give her room, taking all his lean good looks and masculinity a few inches away.
“Black wasn’t my natural color.” She let herself in and he followed slowly, closing the door as the bell jingled. She flipped on the lights. “See that photo of Heather and me?” She pointed to a shot her mother had taken of them on the front porch when they were about nine and ten years old, sharing a bowl of raspberries and wearing matching blue dresses. “That shade of red is my color. Heather still looks exactly the same, by the way.”
“That’s a great picture.”
“My mom has always been good with a camera.” It was one way Erin had been able to relate to her mother since Diana saw the world differently through the lens, where her perceptions weren’t quite as frenetic. Erin fired up the computer and turned on some music. “I’m surprised you’re here. I thought for sure I’d seen the last of you yesterday after you sprinted out the door.”
“About that—” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his sleek dark trousers. His white silk T-shirt probably meant it was a casual day for him, but since he wore it with a gray jacket, he still looked extraordinarily well put together. “I wanted to apologize. I’ve had a lot on my mind lately and—” He shook his head as if he wasn’t sure where to go with that next.
“It’s no big deal,” she said, leaping into the conversational void to save him, or possibly herself. She didn’t need to hear anything overly personal about Remy. “I can imagine it must be difficult traveling away from home so often.”
Her eyes went surreptitiously to his left hand, bare of a wedding ring. Was it her imagination, or could she see a hint of a tan line there?
“That’s no excuse for bad business.” He reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a sheaf of papers. “I figured I’d deliver this personally so I could apologize. This is the contract and some information about how we film and what to expect.”
“Nice.” She reached for the papers, grateful for the counter between them. “I will look it over tonight.”
There was something incredibly appealing about his jaw, which sported a few days’ growth of beard, scruffy enough to keep him from being movie-star handsome. She wondered how many women threw themselves at him in his line of work.
“Erin.” He didn’t let go of the papers, his eyes locked on hers. Confusing the hell out of her.
What was this push-pull game he was playing and not just with the contract?
The bell on the shop door rang, the entrance banging open as a crying teen stepped inside the store. Erin and Remy jumped apart. Erin was about to ask the girl what was wrong, but the young woman’s green eyes landed on Remy.
“Daddy!” she wailed, rushing toward him. “Where have you been?”
