Lost in Tennessee (9 page)

“I thought I understood what was going on here. Now I understand there’s a lot more to understand. This is…impressive.” He reached for Kate’s hand.

She beamed at his compliment but took a half-step back, swatting his hand away. “No hand holding on the job.”

In an instant, Kate had changed from open and warm to closed and guarded. Butch crowded her, pushing that invisible line of hers. “Does that mean no kiss good-bye?”

She bit her lip as if considering it. “Will you take an I.O.U?”

He looked to the bluing sky, pinching his chin in consideration. “Well, now, if I do that, I’ll have to charge you interest. Where’s your marker?”

“You don’t think I’m good for it?” Kate shook her head at him then picked up a piece of gravel. She brushed most of the dirt off on her vest and put the rock in Butch’s hand. “How’s that?”

Butch held the rock between two fingers and examined it. “You have twenty-four hours before interest starts accumulating. I’m going to get out of your way now. You do what you do best, and I’ll do what I do best.”

“I’m not going to ask what the interest rate is. What are you going to do today, Mr. Songwriter?”

“Go back to bed. No one in their right mind is up this time of day.” Butch opened his truck door, and slid onto the seat. “Are you going to remember the way home?”

“You mean your house? Yes. It wasn’t that hard. I’ll call you if I get turned around.”

“Kate. Kate.” A short little woman in work boots and jeans shuffled across open ground to join Kate outside the truck door.

“Good morning, Paula,” Kate said. “This is my friend, Butch. Butch, this is my administrative assistant, Paula.”

Paula gave Butch a polite nod, dismissed him, then shot her wide, brown eyes back to his face.

Butch pulled his hat lower and acted normal. “It’s nice to meet you, Paula. Katie, I’m going to get out of your way now. I’ll see you later.”

As soon as he backed away, people clustered around Kate, and her day started. She turned her back on him, quickly entrenched in the details of her project and crew, but Paula’s gaze followed him until he turned onto the main road.

“Have mercy,” Butch prayed out loud. “I know lying is one of the ten big ones, but this is a little lie. I told her I was a songwriter. Can’t you play along for a little longer?”

Butch got his answer ten hours later when the door slammed shut with more bang than his .44 revolver.

Butch spun away from his work on his new piano and stopped cold. Kate stood in the doorway to the living room. She pointed a trembling finger at him. When she spoke, her voice cracked.

“Guess what I found out today? You are the King of Nashville. You’ve won Grammys and played in stadiums and have a number one song on the charts. Everyone got a big laugh that I didn’t know it was
the
Butch McCormick I dragged across a dusty construction site. What I don’t get is why you strung me along? You did your good deed. Why didn’t you just take me to my motel and return to your superstar life?” A tear ran down her cheek. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”

Butch knew he risked anger, but he didn’t anticipate the pain, the anguish displayed on her face. He’d humiliated her, and her running upstairs didn’t hide it from him. Butch cursed himself as he ran up after her.

“Katie. It wasn’t like that.”

Kate had pulled the suitcase from under the bed and shoved her clothes in by the fistful.

“Katie, I swear to God, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Kate didn’t wipe at the tears, letting them fall as she pulled the drawer full of socks and underwear from the dresser. She poured the contents into the suitcase. More landed out than in. “It doesn’t matter.” She picked up handful of socks and threw them at the open case.

Butch grabbed her arm and spun her to face him. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you everything.”

“You lied,” Kate said, her teeth gnashed together. “Let me go.”

Butch refused to back away from the threat of temper. She wasn’t mad, though he guessed she would have preferred that to the tears. “I didn’t lie. I told you I was a songwriter. I just underplayed things a little. It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” Her voice climbed up the register. She shoved his chest but didn’t gain an inch. “You’ve got gold records…and awards…you’re famous. Why would you do this? Why? What did you get out of lying to me?”

Butch let go of her arms and cradled her face in his palms. He wiped her tears with his thumbs. “I like you. I want you to like me. For me. Not because of the music thing.”

Kate shook her head and stepped away. “I did like you for you. I liked you because you helped out a stranger, because you have a table full of high school friends, because you shared your mother’s fried chicken, which was the best I’ve ever tasted. I may not have had a lot to give in return, but I did not deserve to be played like a fool.”

“I didn’t. I swear I didn’t. Let me try to explain.” Butch pulled her to him, needing to soothe away the pain he’d caused. “I love what I do. I have the best job in the world. But sometimes, people treat me differently. I came home because somewhere along the way, I lost myself. I just want to be me again. When you didn’t recognize me, it was so damned liberating. You didn’t have any expectations of me.”

Some of the fight went out of her, softening her body against his.

“I know something about living under expectations. I wouldn’t have treated you any differently. Butch? Why did you invite me to stay here?”

Butch snorted. “Like I said, that place was a hole.”

Kate planted her hands on his chest and put distance between them. “I’m not a rebound girl. You’re getting divorced, you’re on the rebound. I’m stranded here. I’m alone.”

Butch captured her hands. “I’ve been alone for over a year. Nothing has interested me except my music. Now here you are, and the world is full of color. You can’t ask me to ignore it. I couldn’t do it if I wanted to.”

She tried pushing away again. “I don’t think—”

“Shh, don’t think,” Butch gathered her close, whispered into her hair. “Nothing’s going to happen that we don’t both want. Just relax. Just relax against me.”

Kate let her head rest on his chest. “You’re still a bastard for lying to me.”

“I maintain that I didn’t lie and have the birth certificate to prove I’m not a bastard.” Butch kissed her hair. “But I’m sorry I made you feel foolish. Let me make it up to you. What do you say?”

“How?”

Butch smiled at the wealth of suspicion in that single word.

B
utch steered Kate past several tables of satisfied customers in the ice cream parlor that kept the town happy the whole hot, long summer.

“You think ice cream is going to get you out of trouble?”

“The best damned ice cream in the state of Tennessee. Maybe the country.” Butch held out a chair at a table in the center of a window that looked out over the town square.

On the drive in, Kate sat quietly staring out the window while her restless hands played with anything within reach. She held herself at a distance, not physically, but emotionally.

Butch tried to ease her into conversation “Did you have a good day?”

“Productive.” Kate crossed her arms on the table. “I spoke with Cicada, and they’re satisfied with the progress. There are always issues with construction, but all in all, things are moving along. They had concerns that some of your friends and neighbors are not taking to the project. They warned me to be on alert.”

Butch nodded. It took sharing a ham sandwich with his father to figure out the unholy construction project his mother ranted about at dinner was Kate’s dream building. The property had been farmed by the Parson family for three generations. There wouldn’t be crops grown on the property again. Some people took exception to that. “Some folks around here want farmland to stay farmland.”

The matronly proprietor walked toward their table, a mounded bowl of ice cream in each hand. Butch had noticed the interest Ms. Etta James took in Kate since they had walked in. Ms. Etta had a reputation as a love expert, taking credit for as many as twenty time-tested marriages.

“All right now children.” Etta crossed the checkered-board floor. “Maple pecan for Butch and vanilla bean for his lady.”

Kate smiled at the proprietor. “Kate. My name is Kate.”

“It is good to meet you, Kate. I hope you’ll bring Butch around a bit more.”

“It’s he who brought me around.” Kate tasted the creamy, white treat flecked with vanilla bean. “This is wonderful.”

“Try it with a bite of Butch’s maple pecan.” Etta turned the full force of her person to Butch. “I knew those other girls weren’t for you, Butch. Angie is rocky road. Rocky road and maple pecan don’t go together. The second one, she was tutti fruity. The last one didn’t eat ice cream. Said it would ruin her figure. As if,” Etta huffed. “But this one. Well it’s easy to see what’s between you.” She gave the pair her nod of approval and disappeared into the back room.

“She’s a character.” Kate ate her ice cream slowly, her gaze focusing on the small dish in front of her.

“She is. Most small towns are full of them.” Butch watched Kate for a moment. “What are you thinking?”

Kate didn’t look up. “She thinks we’re, you know, together.”

Butch could read little beyond that she wasn’t happy with the implication. Why? He was a hell of a catch. All the tabloids agreed. Why did the idea of them being together bother her? “You don’t like that?”

She shrugged, her eyes still down. “I’m beginning to see what you mean about people getting the wrong idea. I don’t want to complicate your life.”

She smoothed her hair and glanced around the room to see who might be watching. She was uncomfortable, and that was not the way Butch wanted her. He wanted her happy. It occurred to him that over the last few days, when she was happy, he was happy. Ms. Etta saw something between them. Maybe it was something as simple as happiness. Whatever this was, he hadn’t gone looking for it, but he wasn’t going to let it get away either.

“I think of you more as an enhancement to my life. What about you?”

She looked up finally. The doubt of self-consciousness melted into a fragile smile. “I think of you as the ten dollars in a pair of jeans.”

“What?” He laughed out loud. “Explain that one to me.”

“You know, when you pulled on a pair of jeans and find ten dollars in the pocket you didn’t know you had. It’s a thrill.”

“Okay, I think I like that, being the thrill in your life. Long as it’s not a cheap thrill.” Butch covered her hand with his, capturing her gaze. “We good?”

Kate set her spoon in the bowl and looked him in the eyes. “A question. How frequently do you plan on being a bastard? Because if we end up here night after night, I’m going to get as big as a cow.” Kate let a slow smile warm her glacial-blue eyes.

“How about once a week, only on pretty nights made for holding hands and eating ice cream? When you finish yours, we can take a walk. Let me show you my town.”

B
utch took Kate’s hand and tucked it into his arm. “It’s a perfect evening for a walk.”

“I don’t think it’s evening yet. We just had ice cream for dinner. What are we? Twelve?”

“It was a better dinner than I might have had.”

Kate snickered. “Especially if I had cooked.”

“That chicken of yours sure was…special.”

She laughed. “I still don’t know what went wrong.”

“I do.” Butch paused for dramatic effect. “Everything.”

In companionable silence, they walked around the small town square. Kate’s gaze absorbed the architecture of the town: the simple brick work, the framework, the gingerbread trim. If he hadn’t held her hand, she would have tripped into the street a half dozen times.

“I love the gazebo,” Kate said. “I don’t recognize the style of the detail.”

Butch steered them to the garden in the middle of the square and the ten-sided gazebo. “This dates back to the Civil War. It was first used to share news of the war. Later, wives and loved ones came here for news of soldiers. It was a tradition that carried through the world wars. Sometime after that, it became a place for lovers.”

Kate climbed the three short steps onto the well-preserved wood. The posts, rails, and benches were covered in carvings. She fingered one particularly deep carving. DS+TR ’68.

“My parents are over here.” Butch pointed to a carving at his eye height.

“ED&JM 4Ever. How sweet.”

“My father, the poet.”

Kate’s gazed roamed over the countless names and initials. “Are you in here?”

“Oh. No. I suppose that says something. In high school Angie and I were too busy, you know. Later, she wanted to, but things happened so fast, and then we weren’t together any more. It’s funny, we were together for two years of high school but didn’t manage to stay married six months.”

“What about the other Mrs. McCormicks?”

Butch never considered bringing Tessa, his second wife, or Fawn here. “No. They aren’t here either. Tessa, ever the artist, wanted to put her initials only on her own work. And Fawn? Well, she would have laughed out loud at even the idea. She’d have called it tacky, so I never brought it up.”

Kate reached out and laced her fingers through his. “I’m sorry.”

The touch of her hand in his sent a jolt of awareness through Butch. Her shy little touches tied him in knots. Butch brought her fingers to his mouth. “For what?”

Her gaze focused on their joined hands. “Love lost, I guess.”

“Do you have a lost love story?”

“I don’t have a love story. I mean, I’ve spent my entire life around men. Most times I’m more comfortable around men than women, but I’ve never been
that
kind of girl. Usually I’m regaled to the role of the girl who is a friend, you know, the one the real girlfriend hates without reason. I had to grow a thick skin young, growing up with three rough-and-tumble boys. One time, the boys blew up my Barbie dolls with firecrackers and called me a baby when I cried. I tried to fit in. I played football and baseball and built buildings with Legos. When I was better than they were, they teased me again. I had a choice: stand up for myself or become a door mat. I chose to stand, and nearly every day since has felt like a fight. I’ve never had the time to write a love story.”