Restless Heart (30 page)

“
H
ey, what are you doing here?” Tracy Gilmore asked, as her brother Tim escorted Seth into the living room. She was sprawled on the floor near the Christmas tree playing a board game with her nieces, who also looked up with interest.

“He’s taking some measurements to see if he can get his king-sized bed up the stairs,” Tim answered for Seth.

“No . . .” Tracy shook her head. “I meant, what are you doing in Wilmot, Seth? I thought you were in Pigeon Forge.”

“I was. I’m back,” he said simply.

She just looked at him . . . with women’s intuition, it seemed.

“Aunt Tracy”—one of the girls tapped her arm—“it’s your turn.”

“Okay, sorry.” She gave a little nod at Seth, and turned back to the game.

“I’ll get a tape measure,” her brother said.

“It’s okay. I brought one.”

Together they walked up the stairs. Seth felt distinctly uncomfortable when he saw, through the open door of the small guest room, that the twin bed had been slept in.

He thought of Destiny’s parents, who—last he knew—were also no longer sharing a bed.

He swallowed and stopped to measure the turn in the hallway.

“Think it’ll fit?”

“I hope so. It belonged to my parents. I’d hate to have to get rid of it.”

“If it turns out that you can’t get it in here,” Tim said, “we could always leave this one.”

“Thanks,” Seth said, taking a floor-to-ceiling measurement, “but I think mine will fit.”

And even if it wouldn’t . . . he didn’t necessarily want to start his new life in a new house in a bed whose former occupants had gone their separate ways.

He swallowed hard again, noting the familiar lump that had risen in his throat.

Beside him, Tim Gilmore sighed heavily.

Seth looked up at him. “Are you okay?”

“Not really. I guess I never in a million years thought it would come to this . . . and I don’t know why I didn’t. Blinded by love, I guess.”

“I’m so sorry, Tim.”

“Me, too. And so is Joyce. And the worst part is, we still have feelings for each other. But that’s not enough. I guess it never is.”

“No,” Seth said quietly, “I guess not.”

“
T
here she is!”

Met with applause, whistles, and cheers as she stepped out of the car in front of Back in the Saddle, Destiny saw that a fairly large crowd had gathered at the entrance. “Holy cow . . .” She put a hand to her chest and looked at Grace with wide, questioning eyes. “How did they know where to find me?”

“What can I say? You have lots of followers, especially locally. Oh, I might have Twittered just a little while ago that you were going to do an impromptu appearance here tonight,” Grace continued with a shrug and a lift of her palms.

“Grace!” She shook her head in dismay.

She hadn’t performed here in ages—not since “Restless Heart” had made its debut on CMT’s
Cowgirl Up
. She’d been looking forward to a nice, normal evening back where it all began, but obviously, things had changed drastically.

“Destiny Hart! Can I have your autograph?”

“Will you sign my CD?”

“Love your music!”

“Destiny, look this way!” someone shouted, and when Destiny did as requested, cameras flashed.

“You’re amazing, Destiny!” Cameras and cell phones were held in the air snapping photos and blinking like strobe lights. Destiny smiled, waved, and then signed magazines and slips of paper with a black Sharpie that Grace handed to her.

She paused when asked to autograph someone’s arm but then laughed and did it with a flourish. More people passing by joined in the crowd and Destiny wanted to shout, “Hey, I know I have big sparkly hair and a single on the radio, but it’s just little ol’ me!”

Destiny graciously signed everything shoved her way and posed for lots of photos.

“Destiny, we love you!”

“ ‘Restless Heart’ is my ringtone!”

“Hey, Destiny, are you and Brody Ballard gonna get married?”

That question nearly stopped her in her tracks, but she remembered what the label publicists had told her to say. “We’re just good friends.”

At least it was true. But she was supposed to say it coyly, so that no one would think so.

The label had arranged for her and Brody to be conveniently photographed together several times in the last month or so. She had no choice but to play along with it, both for Brody’s sake and for her own.

Well, maybe she did have a choice—but refusing the guaranteed publicity might derail her own career, according to Miranda.

“Sundial needs you to do this, Destiny. You don’t have to date the man. It’s just a couple of pictures, just damage control to offset the rumors about Brody.”

Destiny wasn’t sure, exactly, which rumors Miranda was talking about, and she didn’t want to know. She herself had heard a few: that Brody’d had a fling with his manager’s wife, that he’d left a pregnant girlfriend back in his Arkansas hometown, that he was gay.

They couldn’t all be true. Probably none of them were.

All she knew was that a hinted romance between two of the label’s up-and-comers generated lots of buzz, and in this business, it was all about the buzz.

Anyway, there were worse things people could be saying about her than that she might be romantically involved with country’s newest heartthrob. What did she have to lose?

“Destiny, can I have my picture taken with you?”

“Destiny, I love you!”

“Destiny!”

“Destiny . . .”

But they knew—and loved—her music. That was what she’d wanted all along, and now she had it.

 

 

 

“
H
ey, there, Wilmot, Kentucky! Thanks for tuning in to WKCX, Kicks Country!” Rex Miller shouted through Seth’s radio speakers. “How y’all doin’ on this chilly Valentine’s Day?”

With a grimace Seth reached over and turned down the volume as he braked for a stop sign a block from his house.

It had been a long day at school, marked by red paper hearts and furtive envelope exchanges and a gut-wrenching conversation with Chase, whose custody issues had been resolved last month in favor of his stepmother. But Chase felt guilty, and his mother made damn sure of that.

“She e-mailed me last night and told me she’s not going to be able to get here for my graduation after all,” Chase told Seth this afternoon, with tears in his eyes.

“Well, your stepmom will be there, and so will I,” Seth promised, resenting Chase’s mother and the ugly dynamic in his broken home.

To cap off the school day, Seth had had an initially awkward encounter with Tracy Gilmore.

They’d been politely sidestepping each other since the holidays. He was well aware that she was still available, but she hadn’t brought it up—until today, when they ran into each other in the faculty break room.

She looked pretty, as usual, in a red sweater with silver hearts dangling from her ears.

“Hey,” she said, “happy Valentine’s Day.”

“Same to you.”

“Got big plans for tonight?”

“Painting the front hall,” he said with a shrug.

“Need a hand? Because as hard as it is to believe, I’m dateless on Valentine’s Day—not that helping you paint would be a date. I know you’re taken.”

“Actually,” he heard himself admit, “I’m not.”

Tracy broke into a smile. “In that case . . . what time do you want me to come over?”

He hesitated.
Did
he want her to come over?

Yes, he realized. He did. Maybe not wholeheartedly, but it was time he got on with his life.

After all, Destiny hadn’t called him since Christmas, and though he’d picked up the phone several times, he hadn’t gotten in touch with her, either.

He couldn’t resist plugging her name daily into the Internet search engine, though, keeping track of her from afar.

One thing was certain: She wasn’t sitting around pining away for him between gigs. She was spending an awful lot of time with Brody Ballard. He remembered what she’d told him the first time she’d been photographed with the guy—that it was all a publicity stunt—but now he wasn’t so sure.

Anyway, she was free to see whomever she wanted.

And so was he.

“How about seven?” he’d asked Tracy.

“Seven it is. Can’t wait to see what you’ve done with the house.”

“I’ve only been there a few weeks,” he pointed out—though already, it felt like home. He loved having his own house on an established, tree-lined street. The neighbors were a mix of young families, single moms, and older couples, creating a friendly, low-key atmosphere.

He had been working on the house nonstop in an effort to keep his mind off missing Destiny. And even though the weather was wintry, he sat on the front porch swing every night wishing she were there with him.

“We’ve got ten in a row here for ya here on WKCX.” Even with the volume down, Rex Miller’s voice jarred Seth from his thoughts as he pulled into his driveway.

He parked and was about to turn the radio off, but Rex’s next words froze his hand on the dial.

“Boy oh boy, do I have a treat for y’all tonight and quite a hometown story to go with it. If you watch the popular reality show
Cowgirl Up
, then you’re already familiar with the next song I’m about to play, and I’ll just bet you hum it all day long.”

Seth’s breath caught in his throat and his heart began to pound.

He’d known this day was coming, but now that it was here, he was swept with emotion.

“But that’s not the whole story,” Rex was saying. “The artist just happens to be Wilmot’s very own Destiny Hart. So now crank it up and give a listen to ‘Restless Heart,’ the first single off her new album.”

Seth leaned back against the headrest and allowed Destiny’s voice to wash over him. The recorded version was beautiful and without flaw, but in his mind’s eye he was back on her fire escape and she was singing directly to him.

The night breeze was gently lifting her hair from her shoulders and darned if he couldn’t almost smell the sweet scent of her floral perfume.

“You did it, Destiny,” he whispered with his eyes closed. “You really did it.”

 

 

 

J
ohn sat in a white wicker rocking chair on the back porch of his cabin and cradled his warm coffee mug in his hands. Steam curled upward in the chill late-afternoon air as he absently took a sip and looked out over the pristine lake. The calm water appeared like glass and all was silent except for the occasional chirp of birds flying overhead and the rustle of dry winter leaves.

John usually savored his coffee and enjoyed the peaceful close of another day at the fishing camp, but today he felt restless and edgy.

With another groan of pure frustration John raised his legs, crossed his ankles on the porch railing, and tried to relax. But he couldn’t seem to ignore Sara’s empty matching wicker chair beside his—the chair that he had once complained was too girly for a fishing camp. All he could think about was how much he missed his wife and his daughters.

A big fish jumped up from the lake and splashed back into the water, as if to remind him why he was here. But for some reason, he couldn’t seem to get excited about the prospect of fishing again tomorrow morning, or anything else.

He pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger, trying to ward off the beginning of yet another headache. Lack of sleep coupled with poor eating habits was beginning to take a toll.

This morning he couldn’t even muster up the energy to run, and without the endorphins to keep him going, he felt completely drained. He took another sip of coffee and grimaced when he noticed cobwebs between the railing posts and a pile of dried leaves and dust swept into a corner by the breeze.

Sara would have had that clean and tidy.

Ah . . . and when he’d come back in the late afternoon with a mess of fish—like he had today—she would bread and fry the fillets to a crisp golden brown, toss a green salad, and make some of her melt-in-your-mouth hush puppies.

John groaned and his stomach growled in protest at the mere thought of Sara’s down-home cooking—one more thing he had taken for granted and now sorely missed.

With a shake of his head, he stared down at his mug and thought that not even the coffee tasted as good as hers—or perhaps it was because she wasn’t here to drink it with him. He raked his fingers through his hair that was usually cropped short but had grown to curl over his ears and collar simply from lack of caring. Three-day stubble shadowed his jaw, but he couldn’t muster up the energy to shave.

“This is just plain stupid,” John muttered, and made an abrupt decision.