I Run to You (29 page)

She glanced at Coy.

His eyes had been going over her too
obviously.

He did not have his shades down now.

He raised his stare from her damp bra and
shirt, and met her gaze.

Brook dampened her dry lips.

He was apparently aware of that motion. His
tawny eyes still peered into hers, because there was flare of
something there.

He said low, “You know I’m going to try.
Don’t you?”

“Try what?” She blinked.

He smiled—it was somewhere between gentle and
sexy.

It flushed her cooled face all over again.
She turned away, starting to walk off.

He said, with her still in earshot, “I can’t
help myself.”

She stopped and turned on her heel, eyeing
him with obvious meaning. “Don’t, Coy.”

There was no smile this time, only an intense
longing in his eyes.

Brook heard Madeline calling everyone who
wanted, to come down to the camper to eat. When she jerked her gaze
away and started walking, Coy did too.

“You broke my nose.”

“What? “She jerked her gaze to him.

“Yeah. See.” He leaned toward her, rubbing a
minute bump on the bridge. Straightening again, he confessed,
“Between that vase you smashed me with, and Max’s right hook on
graduation, I couldn’t smile for a week without it hurting.”

Brook bit her lip, then spurted a laugh.
Thinking back on it then, she really laughed. It was crazy,
amusing, in hindsight.

Coy’s low chuckles joined hers as they made
their way toward the camper.

Reaching it, he said before she left him to
go fill a plate, “You’re a class act, but you got spit and fire
too. Despite the ragging I got from G.W. and them— for the next
forever, I was pretty awed by what you did.”

Brook chuckled again, meeting her Mom’s
curious eyes—and several more. Shocked, no doubt, that she and Coy
arrived together and were laughing.

She simply shrugged and fixed herself a
sandwich, and afterwards ate fruit. There were so many Coburns’
going and coming, she didn’t see Rafe until he came up beside and
one-arm hugged her.

He looked great in linen shirt and jeans, his
sunglasses on his raven hair.

“Hey, sexy.” She teased him.

“Hey, beautiful.” He kissed her brow and
muttered, “You stink.”

She elbowed him. “I’ve been frying all
day.”

He winked and muttered, “You’re always
beautiful, smell like a rose.”

She snorted on a laugh, “I’m appeased. You’d
better eat something before the horde descends.”

He said he would and left her, swallowed
somewhere amid the family.

It was noisy, distracting. It was so much
talk and yelling over music, she was in six different conversations
at once.

Sunny got there too, and Madeline and Mitch
drew him and Rafe to their side of the table for a chat.

The time came when she and the band had to
collect their gear and outfits, and head for the back stage.

Kids were off with Cousin Patty to Jason’s,
and some of the grownups left to shower and return.

Coy was one of those. Brook heard him flag
down G.W., who was handing over the MCing to another Coburn. The
big guy was almost hoarse from cracking jokes, talking, and
yelling, since the shows started that morning.

In one of the back stage areas, Brook and the
band cracked jokes too, while they showered, did hair, make up, and
dressed.

Sundown was a whisper away. The stage lights
were up. Brook knew they all felt that knot in their stomachs,
despite how much they had practiced the numbers.

She wore leather shorts and white lace
Regency blouse that was thin. The black bra under it matched her
shorts. Her shoes were stacked and had straps to the ankle. Her
hair mussed, make up a silvery purple, she wore darker
lipstick.

Brook put in earrings, looking back through
the mirror reflection at Jordan in leather pants, boots, and a
short lace up vest. Her silver hair looked boss. Renee and Donna
wore white leather shorts and black halter-tops. Renee had on some
kind of funky boot/shoe with wide straps and Donna wore knee high
lace up vinyl boots. Tonight Donna’s hair was a dozen colors and
braided. Renee’s new cut was sassy. She wore big hoop earrings.

Brook turned and walked to where they sat
waiting their cue.

“Anyone Nervous?’ she quipped.

They all laughed.

~*~

Coy called and checked on Levi before he got
in the shower. The kids were having a blast already at Jason’s.
They would all be sleeping over. After he hung up, he showered,
dried, and finger combed his hair, standing nude in the bedroom,
hearing G.W. and Max, a few of the others at the bar, in the
kitchen, joking and talking.

Grabbing worn, soft, button fly’s off the
bed, he pulled them on, doing up the buttons— feeling a little more
of the burn over his dark tanned shoulders. Sunscreen did not work
when you sweat that much.

Off the back of chair, he picked up a thin
button up, short sleeved, white shirt. He paused, slapped on
cologne, his antiperspirant, and then pulled on the shirt, doing a
few of the buttons.

While he sat to put on his shoes and socks,
he argued in his mind for the 1000th time that Brook was taken. She
was with Rafe. He had seen them out. They hadn’t seen him. They
were close, intimate, and lovers.

He got that closed feeling in his throat when
he thought about it. Rafe was popular with women. He turned heads.
He had all the suave style that suited Brook Logan. Half the
females in his family oohed and ahhed over him last July at the
lake, and most of them went into town to eat at his restaurant. A
couple… had likely propositioned him.

People liked Rafe. Men related to him. Just
because he was not the macho-jock, did not mean shit. Coy had seen
him play soccer and sports at the lake. The guy held his own. He
also had that something that women were drawn to— what was it the
female cousin said? A dark handsomeness and a romantic look.

Shit.

Coy got up and filled his pockets again, with
what he had dumped out beforehand. Looking in the mirror, he
decided he was not exactly inferior, but he had a mile long black
mark against him.

Brook may have laughed with him today—finally
spoke to him—but he may never get another chance with her.

Going into the kitchen, he cut in the
conversation, “Let’s go. We’ll be late.”

“We got time.” G.W. offered, but they still
headed out.

Coy climbed in the back of the truck. It was
a warm night though the sticky heat of the day was gone. While they
headed to the Mill, he half listened to the conversation in the
truck cab where the cab window was slid open—Max talking about
Jordan and her awesome talent, G.W. agreeing, and still picked up
his mental “wishful” thinking.

He could not very well change her mind about
him, or make her trust him, see his maturity, if she was never
around him. There was still the Karla’s shit to deal with. Karla
being around, with her threats, just reminded them both of bad
times.

Most of the family were keeping an eye on
Brook. He was guilty of driving several different cars behind her
home from work, more than once. He was worried about the situation.
He was selfish too.

Every time Coy saw her, it was as if the rest
of the universe fell away. He’d told her the truth. He didn’t know
how to stop that feeling. The fact was, it grew. The older Brook,
the grown woman, was just as intriguing as the younger one had
been. She was different, changed, but still had all the qualities
that drew him to her in high school.

He still wanted her, and “want” was deeper,
bigger, more layered, than the obvious physical.

G.W. parked the truck.

People were milling before Brook’s band came
on. Deege was at the mic, talking.

Coy jumped down out of the bed, feeling the
jolt in his bad leg and absently rubbing it while he found
Madeline, Mitch, Jude, Ruby and the rest, in the front row. Max was
normally laid back, but Coy could tell he was anxious as they fell
into step. His goal was the seat slightly left of the stage. The
side he knew Brook would stand on.

“You’re wound up,” he teased Max.

Max didn’t deny it. He shifted his shoulders.
“I know. They’ll kick ass. But there’s more riding on this for
Jordan.”

“How so?”

Max shook his head. “I’ll tell you some other
time.”

Coy reached his seat. Max went on to sit by
Madeline, their hands squeezing before they were settled again.

Coy slumped a bit in the chair, his long legs
bent, and knees a little apart. He scanned around for Rafe, and saw
him only a few places to his right.

Rafe had been talking to one of the cousins,
but turned and looked at Coy.

Coy didn’t feel guilty, though he should. He
nodded.

Rafe smiled slightly. Coy could swear Rafe
read his mind—or rather the fact that Brook was always on it.

The lights changed patterns on stage.

People started settling down.

Coy and the ones up front could see when
Brook, Renee, and the other two who came out, and took their
places. Renee was in the center, a young Coburn for now was doing
stand in. obviously. Renee was singing the first song.

Tensing excited, yeah a little turned on, Coy
scarcely heard the announcement of the band, or the cheers and
screams. He got to his feet, clapping, but the pinkish light hit
Brook, standing there with her base, and that was all he could see
at the moment.

Renee began “Cowboy Casanova,” and the crowd
went wild.

Coy grinned wryly as she worked the stage,
all attitudes, pointing to guys in the crowd.

She rolled out of that song, into another.
The electric charge between band and audience was one he recognized
from playing so long. The crowd really liked them.

The applause afterwards was thunderous,
whistles and shouts, long yells mixed in.

Going back to her keyboard, Renee settled
down and Jordan took her place. Coy chanced a look at Max as Jordan
began to play. The guy was entranced. He was in love, Coy
mused.

When Jordan’s sexy, whiskey voice was moaning
out rock/blues. During her rendition of (Please Don’t leave me) He
watched Max swallow a dozen times. She sang with her eyes closed on
and off. She held the audience spellbound. The playing, the voice,
Coy felt the ripple of awe that went over everyone.

Jordan had (IT) she had that certain
something that would take her far beyond a rustic stage in
Tennessee.

Finished, Jordan put the guitar behind her
and was trying to talk, but ended up laughing, because people just
kept chanting and screaming.

Looking over her shoulder, at Renee. Coy saw
Renee hold up her fingers. It obviously meant something, because
Jordan nodded, looked at Brook, and then repositioned her guitar to
play again.

This time, Sober, by Pink—got the listeners
over the moon. It gave Coy a chill too. The woman had no idea how
good she was.

After that, and it took a while to calm the
crowd. There were several pop tunes; and Donna sang, You Got
me.

It seemed too short a time, but they actually
did a long set.

Coy could almost feel the family’s muscles
relaxing after the first songs and the obvious enthusiasm of the
crowds. Some of the younger Coburns were excited and talking. All
of them yelling, and on their feet, rooting for them.

There was a bit of a lull near the end of
their hour. They were sipping water, obviously talking on the
stage. Coy was surprised to see Brook lay the bass down and pick up
an acoustic. He didn’t know she played one. It was obviously one
the talents she’d acquired in the last 7 years. She seemed
comfortable enough when she stepped up to center stage wearing a
head mic.

“How y’all doing?”

The crowd responded wildly.

She smiled. “Well, then. How’d we do?”

People were screaming over Brook’s
chuckle.

She said, “I guess that means we done all
right.”

It all got louder, the screams and yells.

After a look behind her, she said, “If you’ll
indulge me, I’d like to take it down a little bit.” She strummed.
“This is a song all you ladies and—men, will understand.”

Over shouts, she played a few cords. “You can
sing it with me.”

As the lights lowered, and centered softly on
her, and she started the opening of “First cut is the deepest,” the
crowd hushed.

If the song itself was not profound for Coy,
Brook’s more mature voice was. He felt the breath leave his lungs,
and had to suck it back in consciously.

“I still need you by my side…. Just to have
you dry the tears that I’ve cried…” Brook sang.

Oh. Shit. It hit him in the gut. Then, moved
all over.

Coy turned his head, assuming she was singing
to Rafe. Rafe—and several of the family— stared at him. He
suspected it showed, the feeling rushing over him, and turned back
to stare at the stage. At her. Violet eyes collided with jasper. It
was like some time warp sucked him back 7 years. They were sitting
on the tailgate of his truck, parked here—at the mill. It had been
just a quaint old structure in a nice meadow, a great place to
lull, talk, and make out.

The Rod Stewart version of that song had been
on the mixed station that drifted from the truck cab radio. They
were kissing. He laid her back on a quilt, his hand on her
quivering stomach. Their mouths were trying to satiate a sexual
hunger that had been suppressed until they could have that
special-for-her first time. He remembered being so tense inside;
dewed with sweat from the soft feel of her inner mouth, and the
tang of strawberries she had eaten on her lips. He remembered her
becoming so turned on that she had whimpered when he had had to
stop. His blood pounded in his head so hard it ached. He had held
her against him, their bodies throbbing and tense.