Authors: Carlene Love Flores
“Well,” he continued.
“My buddy’s dropping me off at
Slanger’s.
You know where that is?”
She had heard of the club.
It wasn’t the cream of Nashville’s crop, but
it wasn’t the seediest place either.
Although, it was Friday night, the night she’d found to be filled with
the more desperate people out looking for distractions from their week.
She’d handled worse.
“Sure, what time?”
“Eight?”
“Okay, I’ll see you there at eight.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She would respectfully pass it by Gramma
first.
And if she turned up to Slanger’s
and Lucky even so much as rubbed her the wrong way, two things would
happen.
First, she’d make a call to
Jaxon.
Hell be it if Vangie answered,
and second, she’d put Lucky up in a motel for the weekend, using the band’s
corporate card, of course.
It would be a
bill Jaxon would deserve to pay.
A few hours later, she sat in her Jeep,
readying to back out of Gramma’s tapered driveway.
It was always harder to maneuver in the
darkness and she’d better not crush one of the pretty flower pots lining the
drive.
Fern from across the park didn’t
need any more ammo in her quest to prove what a reckless young lady Grace had
staying in their sanctuary.
Fern Thadberry.
That
would be Trista in fifty years if she didn’t get certain things in her life
sorted out on this short break from the band.
Crotchety old
spinster
.
That was mean, she
knew it.
Maybe old Fern had grown up
across the street from a church too, and had been left to the devil as
well.
Her hands shook so she squeezed
the steering wheel, itching to get moving.
“Should I wait up for you, sweet
pea?”
Gramma had already given the okay on
bringing Jaxon’s cousin back to the trailer.
Funny how she softened up at night, once the chores were done and the
day had been productive.
It had been a damned good thing Trista’d
introduced Jaxon for the first time at night.
His tough, gothic exterior hadn’t seemed to bother Gramma.
He’d worn his wallet on that silver chain,
ripped jeans and his black, always black, t-shirt that didn’t even begin to
hide the neck tattoo poking out from the collar.
Gramma had told her, as they got ready for
bed that
night, that
she could see into his
heart.
He had a good soul underneath it
all, she’d said, so he was welcome.
Apparently, so was his kin.
Leaning into the driver side window, her
elbows spread wide across the frame so Trista couldn’t quite leave
yet,
Gramma got one of her rare concerned looks.
“What’s the matter?
You’ve been hot and cold and fidgety all
week.”
“Have I?”
Now wasn’t the best time to admit her troubles to the strongest woman
she’d ever known.
“Dear, I found the milk in the cupboard
this morning and Fern says she saw you flip the bird at her trailer Tuesday
night when you were leaving.”
Gramma
paused then gently pushed Trista’s hand down from hiding her face.
“Look at me, sweet pea.
You don’t have to go on to Duketown.
There isn’t a human being on God’s green
earth you need to prove anything to.”
Trista just shrugged.
For once, Gramma was wrong.
She did have something to prove—that she
wasn’t a scared twelve-year-old girl anymore and that just because her son of a
bitch stepfather had gotten himself buried right next to her mother, he wasn’t
going to keep her from finally paying her proper respects.
“I’m very sorry, Gramma.
I’ll try to get my act together.
I just have a lot on my mind with the rest of
this trip and then the upcoming tour with the guys back home.”
It was the first time she hadn’t been
excessively giddy to be heading out on the road with the band.
“And taking this
newcomer along with you.”
“Yes, ma’am, that too.”
“Well, I’d say you could leave him here
with me while you’re in Oklahoma but I honestly don’t think it’s a good idea
you going there alone.
It’s too bad
Jaxon couldn’t come.
I guess this cousin
is better than no one.
Don’t you think?”
She’d better make a joke and fast if she
wanted to keep out of those murky waters.
“Oh Gramma, I wish I could leave the both of them here with you.
That would really drive old Fern crazy.”
It took three of the longest seconds
Trista could remember ever having to wait but Gramma finally cracked a smile
and then winked.
She knew better
behavior was expected from her without it having to be said.
“You sure you don’t need me to wait up?”
“No, that’s okay, but I won’t be out
late.
You might still be up by the time
I get home.
You’re sure it’s okay if
Lucky stays here the weekend?”
I really wouldn’t mind if you said no right
now, Gramma.
“Dear, I trust your judgment as much as I
trust my own.”
Gramma smiled like she
always did, her lips held together, like a lady who didn’t think it right to
give too much away.
“Thanks, Gramma.
Love you.”
“You too, sweet pea.”
She treasured the adoration now because
when the sun rose, she’d be Trista Jeane again.
Trista backed out onto their side street,
carefully missing the flower pots and mustered up a friendly wave toward Fern’s
trailer, and then she headed toward the city.
The nighttime air in late March was just
on the right side of the thermometer for her.
Driving with the windows down, the wind had its way with the curls that
had escaped her messy bun.
It felt so
good.
She needed lots of good right
now.
Hopefully Lucky would turn out to
be a tolerable guy to have around for a few days.
It sure would help to ease the nerves about
Sunday’s departure to Duketown.
That
reminded her…she needed to look up the florist’s address.
Surely, the two-street town would have
finally gotten one in the last decade and a half.
She parked her Jeep and prepared to get
out.
A tall man who looked to be about
her age approached from the club’s door, on a seemingly obvious path in her
direction.
His baby blue western shirt
was rolled up to the bend of his elbows and the first few buttons were left
open. Its gentle color was immediately soothing which should have set off all
her gut instincts not to trust him.
When
it didn’t, she took a step back, ready to wait inside the Jeep if she had
to.
She squinted as he neared her.
Why was he smiling?
She didn’t know him.
Men.
That was her answer.
She sighed and remembered she was there
to pick up a Jaxon clone.
Taking a
moment to look away, she scanned the parking lot for someone shorter with a
bulkier build.
More
menacing.
No one fit the bill and
so she glanced back toward this mystery blond guy.
“Long, Tall Texan” popped into her mind and
wouldn’t leave her alone until she hummed the tune out loud.
A black duffel bag was slung over his
shoulder and as he came within a couple feet of her, she got that familiar
love-hate feeling that goosed her insides.
He was close enough for her to see his face.
She hadn’t seen eyes that shade of blue on
anyone other than Jaxon.
And their hair
was the same dark blond with sun-touched lighter strands on the surface.
Only the person in front of her with the
friendly smile wore his long enough to pull back into a ponytail instead of
shaved close on all sides save for the top.
He set his large, sagging bag down and
presented her a hand.
“Trista?
I’m Lucky, thanks for comin’ out here to get
me.”
His grip was firm, engulfing hers,
although he looked momentarily at a loss for any more words.
“It’s not a problem,” she offered,
thoroughly disarmed, hating every second of it.
Was irresistible charm coded in these boys’ DNA?
Promise a girl you’ll be there for her, yank
back the promise at the last minute because you can’t grow a pair and stand up
to your damn jealous girlfriend and then expect everything to be forgiven
because you know when to say sweet things like “thanks” and “sorry”?
She inhaled then let the hot air whistle
out through her clenched teeth.
Oh, and you happen to have been born with
eyes the color of the ocean?
She was
breaths away from revoking Jaxon’s best friend card because of this
letdown.
If she thought about it for a
zillion years, she’d never understand how he’d been able to cancel on her.
He was the one person who knew how hard it
was going to be for her to step foot back in her birth town, to relive those
childhood memories.
And Lucky, well, he
didn’t even have a status yet, unless you counted “complete stranger tagging
along at the worst possible time”.
Why do you do this to yourself, girl?
That was the question, wasn’t it?
Well, she knew why.
Letting someone down when they were in need
was a big, big problem.
It just wasn’t
in her DNA.
However, she wasn’t a pushover and she
wasn’t gullible or naïve.
Spending her
life in and out of places like Slanger’s, following around the band as she did,
it wasn’t the life for an innocent.
Her
plan to remain aloof at this first meeting was slipping away.
She remembered thinking they might go
inside,
allowing her to see Lucky amongst what she thought
might be his peers.
If he was any kind
of trouble like his cousin, a noisy bar would flush it out of him.
“Did you want to hang around here?
I don’t mind if you do.”
She dangled the offer like bait on a pole.
“Nah, I don’t think so.
Did you?”
Interesting.
Lucky wasn’t biting.
A jeans and t-shirt clad drunk stumbled
out of Slanger’s front entrance.
The
music had gotten louder and the inside voices clamored to stand out.
“Probably not.
I guess we can head back to my place,” Trista
said, giving up on her plan to scope him out.
“Okay, sounds good.”
He opened his door and easily slung his bag
into the back seat then sat down and buckled himself in.
“What?
No more yes ma’am, no ma’am?”
She
taunted, her eyebrows raised and her head tilted toward him.
Lucky smiled and looked at her when he
answered.
“I thought you were Jaxon’s
age.
I was brought up to be respectful
to my—”
“Your elders?”
She squawked in disbelief.
He may have sounded younger on the phone but
in person, he was obviously all grown man, well-aged with lots of pluck.
“Yes—Trista.”
The apples of his cheeks rose as his voice
lowered.
She shook her head.
This guy couldn’t have been more like his
cousin in needling her if he’d tried.
She turned the Jeep’s engine over and began the drive home to Gramma’s,
wondering what in the hell she’d gotten herself into.
Chapter
Two
“Gramma, this is Lucky.
Lucky, this is Gramma Grace.”
It was no surprise that Gramma had stayed
up.