Bluestone Song (10 page)

And there was a hat, a battered gimme with
the name of a boat motor company on it.

Her shoulders snapped straight and she looked
into the eyes of Maddox Bradley, who sat on the opposite side of
the bar. He lifted his glass in greeting. She would have approached
him to demand to know what he was doing here, but the bartender had
finished loading her tray and was looking at her strangely. She
hefted it and headed off.

Orders kept her running for a little while
longer, but when she looked up, Maddox hadn’t moved. She managed
not to hobble as she approached.

“Shouldn’t you be playing at Quinn’s?”

“I finished a couple of hours ago. Thought
I’d drive over and see the place. It hasn’t changed at all since I
was a kid.”

Liar. She knew exactly why he was here,
checking up on her. But she didn’t call him on it, because well,
his presence sent a charge through her. She couldn’t decide just
what emotion accompanied that charge. Instead, she scowled at her
surroundings. “I don’t think it’s changed much since then.”

“Nope.” He took a pull on his pop. “What time
do you get off?”

“Three.”

He nodded. “All right.”

“Are you going to wait?”

“Yep.”

She should send him on his way. There was no
real reason for him to stay. “We have security.” She mentally
kicked herself for the lack of conviction in her voice. The truth
was, having him here made her feel like she was back at
Quinn’s.

“Which did you so much good last night.
Besides, it ends at the property line. Don’t worry. I’ll just
follow you home, make sure you get in, and be on my way.”

She nodded. “Thank you.”

That must have surprised him, because he drew
back a bit, looked her up and down. “You holding up?”

“I’m good.” And she couldn’t resist putting
the smallest wiggle in her step when she turned away.

***

“Aren’t you worried someone will recognize
you?” she asked when he walked her to her car.

He tapped the bill of his ugly cap. “Not
really. People don’t pay that much attention, plus who would expect
to see me here?”

“Anyone who’s heard you’re playing across the
lake.”

“Yeah, well, it hasn’t happened yet.”

“And you’re going to get fat drinking all
those pops.”

He patted his belly. “I managed to keep it
off when I was drinking. I think I’ll be okay. Wouldn’t want to
turn you off.”

“Is that what you’re trying for here? To turn
me on? Because I don’t have time for that.”

He stopped at her car and turned toward her,
not quite pinning her, but close enough to make her pulse trip.

“I’m here to look out for you. Now, if you
want to come back to my place and fall asleep on the couch with me,
I wouldn’t object.” He offered her that sexy, canted smile that
made her want to grab his offer with both hands.

Instead, she reached behind her for the door.
“Thanks, Maddox.” She hesitated for a moment, feeling she owed him
more. He shifted, and she thought he might kiss her. A tremor of
longing ran through her before she came to her senses and turned
away. He stepped back when she opened the door, then got in his
truck and followed her home, flashing his lights in farewell as he
drove off.

Beth had worked since she was fourteen and
had resented having to work while her friends played, but she’d
never hated a job the way she hated the one at the casino. She
hated everything about it—getting dressed, the drive, the
customers, the noise. The only thing that was good was that there
was no clock for her to watch, and the time went by quickly.

The other thing that was good was that Maddox
drove out every night after he played at Quinn’s to follow her
home. He’d sit in the bar an hour or so before her shift ended,
always drinking a pop—which had to be rough, sitting in a bar all
night, smelling the alcohol he used to live on—then he’d walk her
to her car and follow her home. She didn’t like depending on him to
make her feel secure, but the fact was, he did.

She got off earlier on Tuesday night, but
Maddox was still there waiting to follow her home.

“So how is it going at Quinn’s?” she asked as
they walked to her car.

“Same as ever. Loud, busy. Miss it?”

“Yes.” She tossed her uniform in the back
seat. She’d learned her lesson after the first day—change here, and
the less time she had to wear the dreaded heels.

“But you’re doing well, money-wise?”

She nodded. She had about five hundred of
what her father needed in less than a week. So that meant, what,
fourteen more weeks of this hell, then hoping Quinn would give her
back her old job. Would Maddox still be in Bluestone by then?
Unlikely.

“I miss hearing you play,” she blurted.

He paused and angled his head to look at her.
“Do you? We could arrange a private show if you’d like.”

She would not let that crooked smile melt her
defenses any further. “That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

“No, I don’t know it, in fact.” He stepped
backwards, toward his truck. “Come on over, I’ll play for you.”

“Oh, yeah, right.”

“I’m serious. We’ll sit on the deck, have a
drink, I’ll play some guitar. Come on.”

“I need to get home. Linda and Jonas.”

“You work later than this and they’re okay.
Give yourself a couple of hours off.”

She felt herself softening, but wouldn’t
allow herself to wonder why as she nodded and got into her car to
lead him to his house.

The view off the deck was stunning, looking
out over the clear blue lake, almost motionless under the quarter
moon. Two low outdoor couches sat at angles to best enjoy the view,
and his guitar was leaned against one. Beth sat on the other while
he went inside to get them drinks. Pop, she suspected, and was
right when he returned with two highball glasses of ginger ale. He
sat beside her on the couch, stretching his arm over the back of
the seat. She stiffened, mostly against the desire she felt to lean
back into him. She’d become comfortable with him the past week, not
to the levels she’d had back when they were kids, but enough that
she could think about him with fondness.

“I thought you were going to play for
me.”

“I just want to enjoy the view here for a
bit,” he said, lifting his glass to his lips and taking a small
sip.

“It is beautiful out here.”

“And quiet. I forget how to be quiet. Forget
what quiet’s like.”

“Every night when I get home, or when I got
home from Quinn’s, anyway, I’d sit out on my deck and listen to the
quiet.”

“Why don’t you do it now?”

“Too tired. All I want is my bed.” As soon as
she said the words, she regretted them, feeling self-conscious when
he shifted beside her.

“I had a lot of nights like that. A lot of
days when I never even saw the sky except running from one place to
another. So now I’m here, I’m spending as much time as possible
outside.”

“So when are you going back?”

He shrugged. “I have a concert in Texas on
the Fourth of July, and I should be in rehearsals. Same songs I do
all the damned time, same way I do them. I don’t need to rehearse.”
He blew out a breath. “I know that sounds arrogant. What I mean to
say is that it’s the same thing I’ve been doing for a while. I know
what I’m doing. Besides, I don’t have any new songs.”

“Why’s that?”

He took another sip, this time crunching on a
piece of ice. “Hard to write sober.”

She pulled her legs up on the cushion. “You
used to do it all the time when we were kids.”

“And then I didn’t.”

“So being out here hasn’t helped?”

He eased back to look at her. “It has, a
little. I’ve written a couple of things. Not sure how good any of
it is, but I’ve been fooling around.”

“Can I hear?”

He gave her a half smile, like he’d been
wanting her to ask, set his ginger ale on the table beside him and
leaned forward to pick up his guitar, an expensive one, more than
the Gibson she’d bought him all those years ago. He probably didn’t
have that one any longer.

Pushing the regret aside, she shifted to give
him room as he tuned it—only a bit, which let her know he’d been
playing earlier. His long fingers wrapped around the neck, and he
pulled a pick from mid-air, noodling a bit on the strings before
easing into a melody that carried over the lake. She’d always loved
watching his fingers move over the strings, because they’d moved
with the same dexterity over her skin, the calluses he had from
playing adding another sensual layer to his caress. She grew warm,
remembering, wondering how different the man was than the boy she’d
loved.

She turned her attention back to the lake,
leaned her head against the back of the seat, and closed her eyes,
letting herself drift. He didn’t sing tonight, just played the
melodies, and she felt her body melt into the cushions. She
couldn’t remember the last time she was so relaxed.

“I like that one,” she said when he stopped,
not opening her eyes.

“I need to find the right words for it. It
might make a good duet.”

“Mm. I like your duets.”

The guitar vibrated when he set it on the
deck. “You listen to my music?”

“Nope.” She opened her eyes a slit and
smiled. “Never heard one of your songs.”

“Which one’s your favorite?”

“The one about staying here a little
while.”

“That’s Jason Aldean.”

“The one about kissing or not.”

“Thompson Square.”

“The one about you being a little drunk in
the middle of the night.”

“Lady Antebellum.” He shifted on the seat so
his hip was against her thigh. “Be serious, Beth.”

“If I tell you, you might read too much into
it.”

“So what if I do?”

“I like the one where you sing about coming
home, where things are simple.”

He lifted his eyebrows. “Funny, that’s kind
of what I thought I’d write about for this new song. Maybe a bit
about the girl who got away.”

She wrinkled her nose. “What about the dog
that got away, or the fish, or the--?”

“Shut up,” he said, and curved his hand
around the back of her head. He hesitated only a second, to give
her time to protest, then slanted his mouth over hers.

His lips were warm and dry and she sighed her
approval, parting her lips just enough to invite him deeper. He
took the invitation, curling his other hand at her waist and
angling over her so her breasts pressed against his chest, and she
used every ounce of self-control not to arch into him, though
everything feminine inside her wanted to. She twined her fingers
through his short, straight hair and let his tongue coax her into
play. So much was familiar about his style, but there was a layer
of sophistication now, a level of control. He’d learned a lot about
control when they were kids and she’d held him off, had learned a
lot about kissing, too, but this was different. This had her
thinking about how much control he’d have in bed, how much pleasure
he could bring her.

Lord, it had been a long time since she’d
slept with someone—raising three kids put a kibosh on that. And the
other guys had been—underwhelming. She had a feeling grown-up
Maddox would be pretty amazing.

He shifted so that his hip pressed into her
thigh and she could feel the effect their kiss was having on him.
The kiss, the moonlight, the fresh air, the music…when they were
kids they could spend all night kissing. Now she wanted more.

The thought scared her to her soul. Because
if she took more with Maddox, she’d want it all. And he would be
gone in a matter of weeks. She didn’t want to say good-bye again.
She was stronger now, but—

She rested her hand to his shoulder and eased
back. “I need to go home.”

“I just want to kiss you, Beth.”

“But I don’t just want to kiss you.”

Her meaning took a moment to register, and
his nostrils flared, his eyes darkening. “Really?”

“But we can’t.” She wanted to convince her
body of that even more than she wanted to convince him, because
wanting was the most dangerous thing she could do.

“Why not?”

“So many reasons.” But her blood ran hot
right now, especially with him looking at her like that, running
his fingers through her hair like that, she couldn’t think of any
of them, except that he would leave her and she’d be alone. “I need
to get home to Linda and Jonas. It’s getting late.”

He sat slowly. “All right. You want me to
follow you?”

She shook her head, surprised he didn’t put
up more of an argument. “No, I’ll be fine from here. Thank you
for—” She motioned toward the ginger ale and stood, wiping her hand
on her jeans, still able to feel the softness of his hair against
her palm. “Thank you.”

Before he could stand to walk her out, she
made her escape.

All the tension she’d left on the couch
cushions at Maddox’s came flooding back double-time when she saw
three strange cars parked in front of her house. Every light in the
house appeared to be on, and the dull thud of music permeated the
walls, unlike Maddox’s melodic strumming. Anger tightening every
line of her body, Beth slammed the car door and marched up to the
house. She flung open the door to see her sister draped over a boy,
one arm around his neck as she sat on his lap kissing him, her
other hand holding a beer. Another couple was sitting nearby, a
little deeper into their make-out session, and another boy sat in
the chair by the back door watching. Beer cans and a few empty
liquor bottles were scattered around the living room. Jonas was
nowhere in sight.

“What the hell is going on here?” Beth
crossed the room and yanked the stereo plug, flooding the room with
sudden silence. She looked first at her stunned sister, then at the
boy whose lap she sat on. Not Jonathan, Jonas’s father. Beth
couldn’t remember his first name, but he was one of the Westley
boys. With a quick glance she saw the other girl was Vivian Marcel,
Linda’s best friend, but she didn’t know the other two boys. Vivian
and her partner and scrambled apart and to their feet, but Linda
only stared stupidly at her, one arm still looped about the Westley
boy’s neck.