Country Heaven (31 page)

“Too bad. I need a break. Back off right now.”

For once, it didn’t bother him that people were witnessing a private moment in his life. He cupped her face in his hands. She trembled, making his heart pound even faster. Didn’t she see? He hadn’t cared about someone this much in so long that he didn’t know what to do, how to act, what to say.

“Tell me how to make this right.”

She removed his hand from her face. “I don’t know. Everything’s been so… I just need some time.”

His heart hurt, and he realized she’d become a vital part of his life. And being back with the tour hadn’t changed his desire to be close to her. “I don’t want it to be like this.”

“Neither do I. I saw a side of you in Meade that made me hope there was more to you and hope for us. Then I saw the comments online about the story. People are finally taking your side. Georgia and Clayton have wanted this all along, so it’s hard not to believe this came from your people. Right now, I’m confused… And I just need you to let me go.”

Let her go? He didn’t think he could do that. But she took off, his fingers only touching her fast–moving shadow, leaving him alone in the blazing sun.

It seemed trust went two ways, and right now, he was on the losing side.

***

The coffee shop was quiet, the perfect balm for Tory. She was clicking away on her laptop, working on her outline again.

“Hey there,” a man said, making her look up. “Luke, remember? Lighting. We met—”

“At the bull riding,” she replied, falling into an easy smile as he grinned at her. “Hi. Good to see you again.”

“Looks like you’re working hard. Researching recipes for Rye?” he asked.

No, and she wasn’t planning on making him dinner tonight either. She needed some more time to work through her feelings. She wanted to believe him. His words had pulled at her, drawing her in just like those sincere hazel eyes. And while Georgia and Clayton had pushed boundaries before to get a good story, why would they accuse her if they’d done it themselves? Oh, what a mess! Right now, she had no idea what to believe.

“No,” she replied. “I’m working on something else. You in between breaks?”

“Yes,” he replied easily, taking a seat at her table. His coffee was steaming, which made her remember hers was probably cold. She’d gotten engrossed in her work, the one thing she could always count on for escape, the one thing she never had to worry about leaving her while the dear people like Rye came and went.

“So you’re just back from seeing Rye’s family, huh?” he said. “From the papers, it sounds like he’s got a lot on his plate. He’s lucky you could go with him. The whole crew’s been talking about it all day. How are you feeling, hon?”

Maybe it was because he was older, but it didn’t feel weird for him to call her that. It seemed like a fatherly thing to say. “I don’t want to talk about it. Really.” And she wouldn’t, even to Myra. After the first tabloid incident, she kept their conversations superficial, not wanting to create any more problems.

Now this.

Luke patted her hand. “You poor dear. I’ve been around Rye for years, and he’s like this incredible tornado. You can’t look away from him, but sometimes he’s, well…out of control.”

Well, if that didn’t characterize their time together, she didn’t know what did. “Well, I do come from Kansas,” she said, “so you’d think I’d be used to tornadoes.”

“Tell that to a trailer park,” Luke joked. “Listen, I need to get back, but if you want to talk about it, just call me. Let me give you my number. We all need a friend on tour, and honey, I hate to tell you this, but you look like you need one real bad.”

Wasn’t that ever the truth? “Thanks,” she said, storing his number in her phone to be polite. He was a nice man, but she wasn’t about to talk to him or anyone else about this situation.

Not after Rye had accused her of selling him out in the beginning.

“All right, Tory, you hang in there.” He tipped his John Deere ball cap at her. “I’ll see you around.”

“Thanks, Luke,” she said, and he winked before heading out.

She’d enjoyed talking with him, seeing a friendly face. She didn’t know many of the people who worked for Rye, and only a few by name. Most didn’t approach her, clearly unsure of what to say or how to act. And who could blame them, given how the tabloids had described her association with him?

What in the world was she doing with him?

Sipping her cold coffee, she decided their return to the tour had been a demarcation point. The time in Meade was over, and if she were smart, and she was, it would be better to cease all personal involvement with him.

Her heart broke at the thought, but she firmed her shoulders. It was for the best. Their time together was going to come to an end anyway, so why continue to be intimate with him when she’d have to say goodbye anyway?

Of course, she was already in love with him. She’d fallen for him in Meade. There was no lying to herself about that.

It would be awkward at first, going back to being friends, but it was for the best. Rye probably wouldn’t mind too much. He’d been upfront about having nothing to offer her, after all, and he had more practice moving on than she did. Maybe it wouldn’t be terrible.

Yeah, right. Except at night when she wanted to lie in his arms. Or at breakfast when she wanted to feel his hands settle around her waist when she was at the stove.

Okay, that so wasn’t what she needed to think about right now. She dove back into her work, hoping to find consolation there.

But as usual, there was none to be found.

***

She waited until the concert started before returning to the bus, texting him out of politeness to say she wasn’t up for making him supper. Fortunately, instead of pushing her, he’d only replied,
Okay,
making her feel less guilty about shirking her duties.

At bedtime, she plugged headphones into her ears, putting on some soothing Brahms, so she could convince herself she wasn’t listening for his footsteps. She jerked out of sleep when she felt something on her neck, and—still unconsciously jittery from the whole mutant spider experience—she swung a hand out to slap it away.

“Whoa! Hey!” Rye called out, sitting on the side of her bed in boxers and a T–shirt, visible from the light streaming through the open door.

Tory pulled the headphones out of her ears and peeked at the clock. It was well after one in the morning. And he wasn’t dressed professionally.

“That mad at me, darlin’?”

Tory backed up against the side of the bus and tugged at the covers. When his eyes dipped to her chest, her skin started to tingle. “I’ve told you I don’t want you calling me that.”

“Well, then we’ll have to find another endearment. ‘Tory’ doesn’t work for me in some situations. Like this one. I understand that you need space, but a day is all I’m okay with.”

She arched a brow at that. “So I have a time limit?”

“No,” he said urgently. “I just…I was worried about you. Hell, I even missed two cues tonight. I never do that.”

They’d known each other long enough for her to know when he was in prime form, and like her, he clearly wasn’t. His face was haggard, and the hand he ran through his hair was shaking.

“After Meade… Well, I’m not sure how you could think I’d pull a PR stunt like that, but I don’t know how to prove to you I didn’t.” He gripped her sheet. “I thought about having you talk to Georgia or Clayton, but I know you won’t believe them because they work for me.”

She swallowed thickly. His beautiful hazel eyes were anxious. He was right—she’d seen a different side of him in Meade, and she
didn’t
think he was capable of something like this. When her shock had worn off, she’d remembered how private he was about his family, and logic had won the day.

But it still smarted that Clayton and Georgia suspected her.

“I believe you,” she said softly.

His exhale was like a wind gust, and he reached for her hand, running his thumb over her palm. “Thank you.”

“But I need to tell you something else,” she said and steeled her heart. “I think we should go back to just being friends.”

“What?” he asked, his face falling.

“Meade was… Well, we both know there’s no future, and I think…it’s made things between us more complicated.”

His hand left hers, and she bit her lip so it wouldn’t tremble. She waited in silence for his response. “I know you’re right, but…the thing is …what happened between us in Meade. Well, I don’t want to stop being with you.”

“What are you saying?”

“I just…” When he met her gaze again, her heart almost exploded at the intensity she saw there. “I want to be with you—like we were—at least until you go back to school. Will you…be with me?”

She fisted her hands in the sheet. And even after all the promises she’d made herself today, it came down to this: this man, the vulnerable one she’d seen in Meade, was not to be denied. Not when he seemed to be falling for her as hard and as fast as she’d fallen for him. “All right.”

“That’s it?” he asked, his shock evident.

“Do you want a dissertation?” she responded, releasing her grip on the sheet. “I’m already writing one of those.”

“No. I just want to hold you.”

When she made room for him, he eased down beside her and caressed her cheek. “I…really care about you, Tory.”

Knowing him, the words were tantamount to a declaration.

“I care about you, too,” she whispered, unwilling to fully expose herself by revealing the truth—that she loved him.

“Will you come to bed with me?” he asked, ducking his head, and it was almost shocking to see shyness in him.

“Rye, we are in bed.”

His mouth tipped up. “True, but my bed is bigger, and that’s not what I meant.”

“I know,” she said, feeling shy now too.

He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “I didn’t want to assume…or rush you after today. We can just…”

“Cuddle?” she suggested, unable to stop her smile when his ears turned red. Yes, there was no doubt. Meade had changed everything for them.

“If you want,” he replied, and her smile grew. The old Rye Crenshaw would never have cuddled.

“Rye?”

“Yes?”

“Kiss me.”

And he did.

They didn’t make it to his bigger bed.

Oh, Elvis don’t you know?
Aren’t you alive somewhere in Mexico?
You had it right.
Life’s tender.
Full of light.
You sang us songs.
Gave us your all.
We miss you.
Feel so alone.
Memphis still chugs to your mem–or–y.
Your legend still sensory,
Along the mighty Mississippi.
Please come back.
Teach us more.
We’re students at your feet.
Eager to learn more.

Rye Crenshaw’s Number One Hit, “Elvis, Come Back”

Chapter 18

I
n the following weeks, they found a neutral corner and were happy there. He performed his concerts and handled business. She cooked and worked on her dissertation and cookbook. July rolled into August and, over meals, they talked about his family coming to join him and all the preparation that entailed.

But there were some things Tory never talked about: the new bills Myra kept sending her, the fear that she’d never be able to sell her grandparents’ house, and the sinking feeling that she wasn’t as passionate about her graduate work as she should be. She set all her worries aside when she was in Rye’s arms each night so she could experience the magical time with him, accepting that all the challenges in her life wouldn’t go away, that she would just have to face them when the tour ended.

They didn’t deviate from their routine, and fortunately, there were no further tabloid incidents to upset their delicate balance, although the source of the leak was still a mystery.

Her dread about the end of the tour grew with each day. They hadn’t talked about it at all, except for Rye promising to show her Memphis, the final stop. Her heart felt as warm as an oven as she listened to his stories about how he’d learned to enjoy life in Memphis, which is why he always ended his tour there, celebrating his birthday the next day. Frequent trips during his college and law school days had sealed his special regard for the town. But while Beale Street had given him an appreciation for the blues, his love for Elvis had come from his daddy.

When they arrived in Memphis on a hazy August morning after driving all night from Louisville, she could see why he held it in such high regard. Memphis was a feast for the senses. The heat and humidity were as constant as they were debilitating, and the muddy Mississippi River added to the steam–like shroud that enfolded the downtown area. New buildings shared their blocks with foreclosures; sidewalks sported weed–filled cracks and flowed into fresh pavement. Dereliction was decadence’s neighbor. It was a city of contrasts, with both flashy money and abject poverty living side by side.

The final concert would be the following night, and Rye’s birthday was the day after, August 31. Tory was scheduled to leave the next day, since Rye would be heading down to Padre Island with some friends, another tradition at the end of his tour. They hadn’t spoken about her departure other than when she’d casually mentioned that she had her ticket home. He hadn’t responded.

They were staying at The Peabody Hotel, and Rye indulged her by standing by her side as the Peabody’s famous ducks marched into and out of the lobby at eleven o’clock in the morning. He even suggested that they catch the show again with Rory and Annabelle when they arrived with the rest of his family, sans Mrs. Hollins, the next day. Rye had to sign a slew of autographs and pose for a dozen pictures when the guests in the lobby went crazy at the sight of him, but he claimed it was worth it to see her enjoyment.

He told her he was taking her on a personal tour of Memphis, but he had a surprise for her first. She just smiled secretly, since she was working on a surprise of her own. Because she wasn’t Clayton and Georgia’s favorite person, she’d called Luke to ask if there were a kitchen at FedEx Forum where she could make Rye a birthday cake. Luke had been happy to help her and had arranged for her to use it.