Lost in Tennessee (25 page)

Kate laughed, climbed up on a chair, and draped herself over Butch’s shoulders. “I love you, Hyde. You’re just like a cousin to me. On your mark, get set, GO!”

With a string of curses, Hyde and his buddy leap frogged the length of the bar. Butch hitched Kate’s leg over his hips and followed the pair out of the game room. Confused looks and snickers grew into belly laughs from the crowd when Hyde tripped over his buddy and they ended up in a pile on the floor. An elderly lady who couldn’t see farther than the end of her hand stepped on Hyde’s foot and spilled ginger ale that smelled like rye over the pair.

Hyde leapt to his feet, shaking like a dog. “Damn it to hell, that’s cold.”

The woman looked over the top of her glasses. “Language, Mr. Spence.”

“Yes ma’am,” he said respectfully to his fourth grade teacher. Hyde looked over Butch’s shoulder, his brows knit together. The understanding pushed them into his hairline. “Vulture, Butch. Out the back.” As Butch turned to look, his friend pulled him forward. “Abbey McNeil. Go. I’ll stall her.”

Butch hitched Kate up on his back and made a beeline for the kitchen doors.

Kate tightened her grip on Butch. “Who is Abbey McNeil and why are we running from her?”

“We aren’t running, we’re walking. She is a reporter for Nashville’s version of
The Hollywood Reporter
. We’ve been able to keep you out of the headlines so far. It wouldn’t last if she caught me wearing you like a coat.”

“I’m not afraid of her.”

“Neither am I. Keep your head down.”

K
ate stood in the darkened room, wondering how a man could fall asleep so darned quick. It was a talent, to be vitally alive one minute and sawing logs a few minutes later. Kate decided she’d take it as a compliment. She drained his virile butt. No time to gloat, she heard movement through the wall. Kate snatched her robe from the bed post and darted out the door to beat Jeb to the bathroom.

They definitely needed more bathrooms. Four adults and one bathroom was a frat house, not the way adults lived. Sharing a bathroom with three men and no counter space bordered on inhumane.

A fist pounded on the door. “Time’s up. Out.” The three words Jeb used every morning. Kate wasn’t sure he was capable of more without coffee.

With her hair in a towel turban and her body wrapped in her robe, she relinquished the bathroom to Jeb and ran to Butch’s room.

Kate opened her drawers and rooted through her clothes, selecting them by feel. Each morning, she wondered why she didn’t pick out her clothes the night before. Too elementary school.

Her phone rang. She grabbed it up without looking to keep it from waking Butch.

“Did you see the OSHA inspection certificate?”

“No, Dad. They sent it straight to you. How did we do?”

“How did we do?” And so the first rant of the day started. He read the report out loud. Kate took it at first, employing her water-off-a-duck strategy. Then he got personal. “If you think I’m going to have my name on a project that’s a hazard—”

“Hazard? Your dementia is showing again. You just read the entire report to me, and there was no hazard—”

“Don’t argue with me, little girl—”

“Likewise, old man—”

“Have Tom call me. He’ll get to the bottom of this.”

They hung up at the same time.

Butch rolled on his side, propping his head on his arm. “I don’t know how I feel about you bringing your father into our bedroom.”

Kate slam dunked the phone onto the end of the bed. “I am not in the mood for cute.” She stormed the two steps to the nightstand and her watch.

Butch grabbed her wrist, gave a twist and had her sprawled across the bed. The towel fell off her head, and the robe gapped open, the morning air chilling her still-wet skin.

“I. Am. Not—”

Butch’s mouth closed around one tight nipple while his hand teased the other. A musician made his living with his hands, talented hands, a singer with his silver tongue. Butch showed Kate exactly how talented he was. He slid down her body, his teeth leaving a trail of sensation across her ribs. He stopped at her belly button, pinning her hips to the mattress with his shoulders. Kate knew where he headed and an urgent need took hold. She pushed at his shoulders, encouraging him to continue his journey south.

Down he slid, his hands caressing her curves. His tongue attended to her tattoo as his hand followed the line of her butt, placing her leg over his shoulder.

Kate dug her other heel into the mattress, moving higher, drawing him lower.

He laughed softly as he moved to where she wanted him. She opened, but he kept her at bay, blowing softly over her enflamed body.

“Butch,” she begged as she fought his hold, her body unable to be still.

He kissed the little nub that brought her so much pleasure. “I’m right here.” He used his tongue ruthlessly, bringing her to the blinding edge of passion again and again.

Her heels dug into his back, her stubby nails into the arms that held her. He nipped her, just a little sting to trigger her pleasure center.

Her legs locked like vice grips, holding him as she pulsed with waves of ecstasy. He pushed his tongue into her, stroking her clenching body from the inside.

Kate lifted off the bed, unable to restrain herself. “Oh. God. You’re killing me. You have to stop.”

His tongue stroked her swollen center. “No, I don’t.”

Kate cried out as his teeth sent her into overdrive. She was beyond anything rational. Every little sensation he caused created a firestorm in her feminine core. Desperate for a reprieve but not an end, Kate pushed Butch’s shoulder away with her foot. She followed, rolling up and pushing him down. His head bumped the foot of the bed.

“Sorry,” she muttered, guiding his hips closer to her.

He was full again and needing her, and Kate settled between his legs and licked him like a lollipop.

“Have mercy.”

She licked him again. “Is that what you want? Mercy?”

“Hell no.”

Kate returned his attention with a slow, patient, deliberate love that had him covering his face with a pillow and moaning out loud. Her tongue bathed the head of his cock and teased the spot just below that, for him, was magic. His body responded beautifully to her touch. His hard-earned muscles trembling, begging for her caress. She took him fully into her mouth, humming as she savored his size and texture.

The world spun, and in that instant she was under him, with him buried deep inside her. She cried out as he triggered turbulent sensations that brought her aroused body off the bed. He moved in a slow, languid motion that tortured them both. His arms shook with the effort of holding up his chest. Her heels dug into buttocks, drawing him deeper. He withdrew nearly fully and then thrust deeply, setting off a cascade of spasms, first in Kate, then his own.

As his last drop released, his arms gave out. Ungracefully, he collapsed onto Kate.

“I think I’m blind.” Kate wrapped her arms around Butch, not ready to let go. He’d taken her over the edge many times since that first desperate union, but this one was for the record books. “I’m boneless, too.”

“Likewise.” The mattress muffled his voice. He turned his head and pressed his lips to her temple. “I may never move.”

Kate snuggled into the hollow of his neck. “You’re gonna have to. You weigh a lot.”

Butch shifted his weight so she could see his face. He looked different. There was something in his eyes, something she couldn’t quite define.

“Katie, I—”

“Kate!” Tom yelled, the steps creaking under his weight. “We need to get going. Concrete’s coming at nine, and we need to drop your truck off. I’m leaving in ten. Get a move on!”

Kate looked up at Butch, willing him to finish his thought. Whatever was on his mind was important to him. She could see that in his face, and she more than wanted to know what he was thinking. She needed to know. “Tell me.”

For a moment she thought he would.

Instead, he briefly rested his forehead against hers. “Come on, sexy.” Butch rolled off of her and out of bed. “Let’s get you going before he breaks down our door.”

B
utch stood barefoot on the gravel driveway, watching as Kate turned the truck around and raced down the drive after her cousin, a cloud of dust in her wake. Her brake lights flashed at the end of the driveway, she turned onto the street, and with a wave out the window, she was gone. Butch stayed put, watching until she drove over the crest of a hill and out of sight, already anticipating her return.

He’d hit a double this morning. He thought the chances for a triple were in his favor. Maybe he’d go for a Grand Slam.

Butch walked to the house, telling his feet to toughen up, and found Trudy sitting at the kitchen table sipping coffee. “Good morning, Trudy. I didn’t see you come in.”

“I didn’t want to interrupt you sending Kate and Tom off to work.” She rose and poured another cup of coffee, setting it down for Butch opposite her. “Sit down. I’ll make you breakfast.”

“Got it right here.” Butch took the plate he knew waited in the microwave and divided it in two. He set one in front of Trudy. “Tom makes breakfast. He’s a good cook. It’s handy to have a man who can fix dinner and gutters, don’t you think?”

Trudy deserved a good man, one who knew how to treat a lady. She had a rough childhood. Her father dying had been an odd sort of blessing, and the insurance policy had kept her family’s farm afloat. Butch didn’t know much about Trudy’s finances today, but he knew payments had to have run out years ago. He hoped she’d find a man to settle down with and enjoy life a bit. He wanted to see his friend happy.

“He’ll make a good husband for the right woman.” Butch dug into the three-inch-thick breakfast casserole.

Trudy giggled. “Haven’t you been paying attention? Tom isn’t husband material. He doesn’t want to settle down any more than you want to get up at six in the morning.” She forked a dainty bite.

“The right woman would change his mind. You spent the day with him. What did you think?”

Her brows shot up. She dropped the bite. “You mean me? And Tom? No, Butch.”

“Why not, Trud? He owns his own firm, has manners as good as a boy from Michigan could have, and is a good looking guy.” Butch ticked off Tom’s attributes on his fingers. “He’s a catch.”

Trudy stood, shaking her head emphatically. “No, Butch. He’s not who I’m interested in.”

Butch cocked a brow, thinking as he ate. Trudy had never so much as hinted at a man in the past weeks. “What’s his name? I’ll call him up and lasso him in for you. You deserve to be happy, Trudy.”

“I deserve to be loved. He needs to come to me on his own. It’s not real if he doesn’t come on his own.”

Butch understood and knew her to be right but still wanted her to be happy. If he found out who her beau was, maybe he could nudge him in the right direction. His mother always said nudging and interfering were two different things. “His name?”

Trudy pursed her lips, turned an invisible key, and threw it over her shoulder.

“Well, whoever the son-of-a-bitch is, he’s the luckiest man in the world.”

Trudy blushed, and even her ears turned rosy. “That’s the sweetest thing to say. Maybe my luck will change.”

“I hope so.” Butch set the still-full coffee on the counter next to the stack of breakfast plates—his chore. “I have to get to rehearsal. One of the guys has a gig this evening, so we had to rearrange the schedule to be done by mid-afternoon. I’ll take care of these dishes later, I guess.”

“Go on. I’ll tidy up for you.” Trudy waved him off.

Butch laid a peck on her cheek. “You’re the best.”

He took his time in the shower, singing because he enjoyed the sound. Maybe he’d record in the shower sometime. Tunes for the wet and naked. He laughed at his own joke.

Towels hung everywhere in the bathroom. Two off the hooks on the back of the door, one on the door knob, one on the stingy towel rack. Every towel a different color. Katie’s shampoo and conditioner balanced precariously in the corner of the tub-shower. Jeb and Tom shared a more manly scented shampoo. Butch carried his own in after Kate complained she couldn’t sleep with a man who smelled like her cousin.

Five songs and a thorough scrubbing later, Butch returned to his bedroom to find the bed made and clothes laid out for him. The jeans he put on. The button-down he put back in the closet in favor of a soft, cotton shirt.

Neat as a pin, the kitchen showed no signs of inhabitants. The table even gleamed in the sunlight. Butch texted Trudy.

U r the best. Thx. B.

M
onday’s practice session polished the concert set until it shone so brightly he needed sunglasses. Butch had put the band together using musicians he’d worked with before. Half played on the album the tour promoted, half were friends and friends of friends. Butch tweaked the play list, adding in a slot for new music. He liked mixing it up. Playing the same thing every night could get old. When it did, the audience could tell. He wasn’t a rookie anymore. He’d earned his artistic license and intended to use it.

With a job well done, Butch called it a day. He stepped out of an unmarked door and squinted at the afternoon sun.

“Butch McCormick. I missed you last night at your bar. Who would have thought I’d run into you here?” The shapely blonde in a tight dress the color of a fire engine and screaming high heels painted with the American flag sat on the bumper of his truck.

“Abbey McNeil. You’re sitting on my truck.”

She tossed her teased, blond tresses over her shoulder and pressed a hand over the diamond-accent
A
pendant that was her signature piece. “Am I? That’s just fate, don’t you think? I just sat for a little rest. It’s been a very busy day.”

“Likewise. If you’ll excuse me—”

“I interviewed Fawn Jordan today. She had quite a story to tell.” Abbey crossed her legs, bouncing the stars and stripes in a quick little rhythm. “Care to share your side?”

Butch unlocked the truck and carefully moved his guitar from his back to the rear seat. “I don’t, Abbey. I truly don’t. It doesn’t matter what’s truth and what’s fiction, you have papers to sell.”