Authors: Wynonna Judd

Restless Heart (26 page)

BOOK: Restless Heart

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“We all watched,” Max told Destiny. “You should’a heard the hoopin’ and hollerin’ when you came onscreen.”

“What, was everyone laughing at me?” she asked with a wink, forcing herself to stop stressing—at least momentarily—about Seth and his new house.

“Nah, you were great. I was hoping you’d stop by before you headed back to Pigeon Forge.” He was looking at Grace as he said it, and she smiled.

“We figured we could say hello and grab some burgers before we hit the road. We don’t have much time, though. Destiny has to be back.”

“Sit right down here at the bar and I’ll take your order myself. Need menus?”

“I don’t. I’ll just have the usual,” Destiny told him, and couldn’t resist rolling her eyes when it took Max a moment to drag his eyes away from Grace.

“The usual?”

“Um, hello . . . ? Cheeseburger, extra pickle, mustard, no onion.”

“Oh. Right. You want cheese on that?”

“On my cheeseburger? Sure, why not?”

“Okay, got it,” Max said, oblivious to the irony in her tone.

Destiny chuckled, shaking her head as he painstakingly took Grace’s order. She watched Grace discreetly follow Max’s progress as he headed to the kitchen.

“If you ask me,” Destiny said, “he makes I’m-all-that-and-a-bag-of-chips Jesse seem shallow and unworthy.”

“I didn’t ask you.”

“But I’m right, and you know it.”

Grace shrugged. “What does it matter? He’s too shy to do anything about . . . anything.”

“So?
You’re
not shy.”

Grace shrugged. “I’m also leaving town in about”—she checked her watch—“a half hour.”

“You know . . . you don’t
have
to go.”

“What do you mean? You have to be back at Tammy’s theater by—”

“No, I know
I
have to go. But you don’t, Grace.”

“I’m your personal assistant and you’re opening in the biggest gig of your life. I wouldn’t do you much good from here, now, would I?”

“Wow, you’re one loyal personal assistant—and sister.”

“Aren’t I, though?”

Destiny smiled faintly, then toyed with the straw in her glass, poking at the slice of lemon floating on top.

“What are you suddenly brooding about, Destiny?”

“I’m not brooding.”

“Sure you are. And I think I know. Seth, right?”

Destiny shrugged, watching the lemon twirl around in her glass.

“Just because he bought a house doesn’t mean he’s moving on without you, you know.”

“I know.”

“And it doesn’t mean he expects you to settle down there with him.”

“I know,” Destiny said again, but less convincingly.

“Unless you want to.”

“You know I don’t want to settle down in Wilmot, Grace. And so does he.”

So why the hell did he buy a house there? Is he trying to tell me he’s moving on?

If so, message received, loud and clear.

“Look, Destiny, you’ve always known where you were going and what you wanted, unless you’ve changed your mind now that you and Seth—”

“I haven’t.”

“But the thing is . . . who says you can’t have your cake and eat it, too?”

“
Everyone
says. Anyway, what is this, cliché day? First absence makes the heart grow fonder, and now—”

“Hey,
you’re
the one who said that. Not me. I said—”

“Yeah, I know. Forget it. Let’s talk about something else.”

“Like your hair? Because I was thinking you could try wearing it up later, sort of poufy and soft . . .”

Destiny sighed, and was grateful when Max arrived a few minutes later with their food. “Here you go, ladies. Enjoy, and let me know if you need anything else.”

Destiny lightly kicked Grace under the bar and waggled an eyebrow at her. Grace stuck out her tongue.

“You guys okay?” Max asked, watching them.

“
I
am,” Grace told him, “but you know these showbiz types can be a little . . . how do I put it delicately . . .
nuts
.”

Destiny kicked her again—for real this time.

“Hey, you’re the one who thought the cameras were robots,” Grace said, and told Max about Destiny’s on-set experience.

“I guess you’ll get used to it soon enough, Destiny—you know, cameras in your face all the time. Before you know it, you’ll be on magazine covers and billboards . . .”

“Yeah, right,” she scoffed and pointed to her face. “Who’d want to see this mug on a magazine?”

“You’ve got to be kidding.” Max laughed and started singing, “She don’t know she’s beautiful . . .”

“Wow,” Grace said, “Destiny was right. Max, you have an amazing voice! Deep and sexy. Kind of a cross between Jake Owen and Chris Young.”

“Uh-oh, my friend—your talent has just been outed. Grace will not let this go without hounding you mercilessly to sing. The business is in her blood now, too.”

“I was just joking around,” Max protested, then arched an eyebrow at Grace. “But did you say sexy?”

“Sure did,” Grace replied coyly. “And I didn’t think you were joking. Destiny might be the star, but the diva role is still my department. In fact, I thought you were singing about me.”

Max blushed. “I . . . uh . . .”

Grace burst out laughing. “Don’t worry, Max. I happen to know I’m beautiful.” She fluffed her hair.

She was teasing, Destiny knew, but judging by the look on Max’s face, he was thinking just that.

When they were finished eating, Grace announced, “It’s time to leave. Ready, Destiny?”

She took one last look around the bar room. “Not really,” she said, feeling tears welling up in her throat. “I really miss this place.”

Grace squeezed her hand and nodded. “This door is closing for you, but just think about the one that’s opening.”

“I know, I’m trying, but . . .” Destiny closed her eyes and swallowed hard. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me. I guess the past few months have been overwhelming.”

“That’s understandable,” Grace told her, and Max, standing by, murmured in agreement.

“I feel sick—it’s like joy, excitement, and fear all wrapped into one tight little bundle lodged somewhere in the pit of my stomach.”

“Maybe you should just throw it up,” Grace said, deadpan.

“Hey, when did you morph into me? That’s something I would say—and get a warning look from Mom.”

“I bet not anymore. Mom’s a prime example that we can change the direction of our lives at any age. Remember what Granny used to say about strong-minded women?”

“She called them steel magnolias,” Destiny recalled with a nod. “Delicate on the outside, but strong on the inside.”

“Sounds like she was talking about both of you,” Max said, and stepped closer to Grace, who sighed and looked again at her watch.

“We really do have to go, Destiny.”

“I know, I know.” She gave one last look around, then lifted her chin and took a deep breath, announcing, “I’m ready.”

For anything,
she added silently.

T
his was wrong, and Seth knew it.

So why didn’t you stop it before it happened?

He knew why. He’d been so excited about the new house, and he wanted to share it with someone . . .

Not just
anyone
.

Destiny.

Destiny, who had just appeared on national television. By contrast, Seth buying his first house was obviously insignificant.

Not to Tracy Gilmore, though.

Here she sat on Seth’s couch, sipping the champagne she’d brought over, and going on and on about how great the house was—how he could put a home gym in the basement and turn one of the bedrooms into a study, and refinish the built-in cabinets in the dining room, and how he’d made the right decision . . .

It was everything he wanted to hear.

But not from her.

“And if you want some help planting flowers this spring,” she said, “I’m great in the garden.”

“Great,” he said, thinking about Destiny, who—he had no doubt—had never planted a garden in her life, and wouldn’t be free to hang around in the spring to help him settle into the new house.

“Seth?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re a million miles away.”

He blinked.

Tracy tilted her head. “Who is she?”

“Who is who?”

“The woman you wish was sitting here instead of me.”

She was so dead-on that Seth couldn’t deny it. “It’s . . . she’s . . . you don’t know her.”

But that wasn’t true. Everyone in town knew her, and pretty soon, everyone in the world would know her name.

Okay, maybe that was a slight exaggeration . . . but still . . .

“Destiny Hart,” Tracy said. “Right?”

“I—uh, right. What are you, psychic?”

She smiled and shook her head. “Call it women’s intuition. Or small-town gossip. Or a little of both.”

“Oh.”

“Look, Seth . . .” She laid a hand on his sleeve. “I just want to be your friend, okay? And nothing more . . . unless that’s what
you
want. I’m here and she’s not.”

Seth looked at her. Yes, she was. Those words were an open invitation, and he knew it.

THIRTEEN

“I
can’t believe it’s Christmas Eve already,” Tammy Turner told Destiny as they sat in adjoining makeup chairs backstage at the big white-pillared music hall. “Seems like it was just Thanksgiving. Time sure does fly when you’re having fun.”

“Sure does,” Destiny agreed, but to her, time seemed to be doing just the opposite. It wasn’t that she hadn’t been having fun—she loved getting up onstage and playing to sold-out crowds day in and day out.

But she’d also been counting down the hours until Seth arrived. Now there were only two more to go—and just three until curtain time. Hardly enough time in between for her and Seth to catch up on a month’s worth of conversation and kisses, but there was always later—and tomorrow, and every day until New Year’s.

Pure heaven.

“You’re grinnin’ from ear to ear,” Tammy said, catching her eye in the big mirror that stretched across the wall in front of their makeup chairs. “What’s that about?”

“I think I told you—my boyfriend is coming to spend the holidays here.”

“Oh, that’s right. Seth, isn’t it?”

Destiny nodded, impressed and touched that she remembered his name. As busy—and spectacular—as she was, Tammy had a real down-to-earth side. She made it her business to get to know everyone involved in the production, from the backup musicians to the food service workers.

“So refresh my memory—what does Seth do?”Tammy asked, as the stylist teased her jet-black hair.

“He lives in my hometown—he’s a teacher and a coach at our old high school.”

“That so?”

“I know what you’re thinking,” Destiny said, and Tammy raised an amused eyebrow.

“Really? What am I thinking?”

“That it can’t possibly work between us, because he’s there, and I’m . . . here.” She waved a hand at the bustling backstage scene surrounding them.

“I didn’t say that.”

She didn’t have to. Destiny was well aware that her idol had been married—and messily divorced—three times. Her first two husbands had been fellow country singers—neither of whom were nearly as successful as Tammy.

The third husband was an “Average Joe”—the title of Tammy’s Grammy-winning song written about heartache in the aftermath of a doomed marriage.

“You’ve been feeling a little overwhelmed, haven’t you?” Tammy asked knowingly.

“Does it show?”

“No, sweetie. You carry yourself very well. But I can see it in your eyes. Let me explain something to you. Everyone is going to think you’re living a charmed life, making piles of money. But as you’ll find out, a hit record barely makes enough money to get your band on the road. It’s a tough life and the sacrifice is huge.”

“I thought you were going to pep me up,” Destiny said with a small laugh.

“Destiny, I’m a straight shooter and I’m going to hit you right between the eyes the way I dearly wish someone had done with me. This is a hard, grueling lifestyle. In the end, toughness often wins out over talent.” Tammy gave her a measuring look and said, “I believe you have both.”

“So what keeps you going?” Destiny asked.

“The fans. Think about how much joy music has brought to your life. You”—Tammy gently tapped Destiny’s shoulder—“are bringing that same joy to your very own fans. Music heals. Brings happiness. Marks a place and time in our memories. We play it at weddings and at funerals. Music touches our lives each and every single day in some way, shape, or form. Can you imagine even one day void of music?”

“No,” Destiny replied.

“You have the gift of creating music and you need to share it. But you know all of this. You’ve been told this, I’m sure.”

BOOK: Restless Heart

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