Book 2: Smoky Mountain Knights
By now the tears were falling, and he had no idea what to do or say, so he went on instinct and wrapped his arms around her slim body. She pressed more deeply into him, her body shuddering with suppressed sobs. He could feel her tears dampening his shirt.
For a moment, he held her and then one hand began soothing strokes down her back.
“Sorry,” Tyler whispered, not moving away. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he said, and then realized the words were true.
Odd. He didn’t think he’d ever held a woman for comfort. Nor had he been held. Oh, he’d had women do all sorts of things to get close to him, and by the time he’d turned nineteen, he’d been cynical. Relationships had been transactional. He made money for them. Or got their name and face in the press. And he got emptier and emptier.
But this felt different.
He didn’t know how.
And it scared him.
Instinct screamed to run.
Country Music star Sutter’s sister!
His life was still an unmade bed.
But he was tired of running. Exhausted by being alone with the thoughts in his head. He wanted a different life. A life that was his. A life of purpose. And just the few hours seeing Sutter again and meeting Tyler, he realized that he wanted people in his life. People who liked him. And he wanted to be a man and a friend they could trust.
So no touching.
But Tyler clung to him like she was drowning, and he knew she shouldn’t, and he really shouldn’t but it felt good to be held.
“Sorry,” she mumbled for the third time and took a step back.
He let her go, feeling oddly empty despite the food he’d practically inhaled. He could still smell her, so fresh and green, like the forest in the rain with a smoky hint of something floral. His entire body felt alive in a way that it hadn’t—warmer. His nerves jangled as if he’d been jolted.
“You don’t need to apologize for being human,” he said easily.
She looked up in surprise. Her eyes still swam with tears and the blue was startlingly bright. Her blonde lashes were spiked, her cheeks were pale, and the tip of her nose was red. Her petal-soft lips that were so full they looked like a ripe fruit begged to be kissed.
Kiss?
No. No kisses. That would be the old Shepard Lake. The one who easily jumped into bed with a woman, but that was all. He never went deeper. He never stayed the night. And he’d always made it clear it was temporary. Very temporary.
It occurred to him then that if he helped Tyler with the sing-off, it would be the longest time he’d spent with a woman and possibly the most involved except for employees. He wanted to be Tyler’s friend. Could he do that? Could he keep his hands to himself?
Her hands rested on his shoulders, and she looked up at him as if he were special when he knew he wasn’t. Like he was whole, when he was anything but.
“Maybe you were right,” she said, her voice ringing with sincerity. “We did meet by fate. You want to start over. And I want…” She broke off. “Never mind.”
“That’s hardly fair,” he objected, far more curious than he should be.
“We’re both looking for reboots of a sort,” Tyler amended. “We’ll be partner coaches in the sing-off. That will be our first step on a long journey.”
“I’m in.” He held up his hand and then, feeling a bit playful after the emotional melodrama of earlier, he stuck his pinkie in the air. “Shall we pinkie swear?”
Her belly laugh amused him.
“Pinkie swear, it is.” She linked pinkies with him and held his gaze. “As solemn as an oath can get.”
He nearly laughed but then realized she was serious.
“Tyler, what exactly am I committing myself to?” he demanded warily.
“Oh, I didn’t warn you?” she asked, her blue eyes round with innocence; but the sparkle gave her away. “The sing-off is competitive. The group with the most tips has bragging rights, and I don’t want to lose to Sutter. So, bring your A game.”
***
Much later in the day after Tyler had left to run some errands and help Sutter and another sister, Shane at the hotel, Shepard relaxed on the outdoor covered patio. It was cold enough that he’d built a fire. The afternoon light filtered through the evergreens that surrounded the cabin, and the creek burbled softly in the background.
He glared at his guitar that he’d taken out of its case and had propped up in a chair opposite him, but away enough from the fire to be safe from too much heat or, since it was made of wood, too much cold.
The setting was perfect. He was fed, rested, clean, and comfortable.
“Waiting on a song,” he murmured.
If only it were that easy. But to boost the odds in his favor, he had brought his songwriting notebook outside, and seeing it was well past three, he cracked open a microbrew.
He’d been dry for a long time. Carrying alcohol on the trail hadn’t been practical, and the hike was strenuous and dangerous enough to demand all of a hiker’s wits. Taking the first sip of the beer felt a bit decadent.
And lonely.
He pondered that. He’d been alone for months. One morning with Tyler, and now he was missing her company.
As if in answer, he heard the crunch of tires and then footsteps on the path. Tyler rounded the corner, her limp less pronounced, and her head was bent down as she scrolled through her phone.
While it was refreshing to not be stared at, Shepard felt a pang of…was it disappointment? But it did give him the opportunity to watch her, and he liked that. She was naturally graceful and freshly pretty. She didn’t seem like she was seeking his attention or approval. She’d showered and changed earlier, but was still wearing the jeans and cable-knit sweater from lunch. She had her sunlight-colored hair piled in a messy bun help up by what looked like a purple pen.
He found himself grinning like an idiot.
“Hi.” She looked up and smiled. “I brought more wood for you, compliments of Dawson, but I guess there was already wood here and you built a fire, Boy Scout.”
“Hi, yourself. Are you finally going to clue me in on what to expect for this sing-off?” He hoped he didn’t sound as panicked as he felt. “You have experience, right?”
“When I was a teenager and all the way through college, I helped with the kids’ Christmas programs at my church. I was a music and education major at UCLA and also started Kinder Knight Singhing with my roommate so yes, we got this.”
An odd expression flashed across her face but it was gone so quickly he thought perhaps his worry had dredged it up.
“We have this,” she said quietly.
He rolled his eyes and grunted his opinion of that. “Beer?” he asked.
“The answer to that is yes,” Tyler said. “I’m done helping Sutter and Shane today so I’m ready to dig into the plans for the first rehearsal.”
His stomach dropped at the thought.
Man up.
He and Tyler were working with the younger kids. Maybe they weren’t into music yet. Or they had younger, newer pop star heroes. They likely wouldn’t ask him what had happened or when he was dropping another album or getting back on the road again.
But then again, he hated being a coward. Better to go toe-to-toe with his demons.
“I’ll be your assistant,” he said. He’d make sure he completely understood what would be happening and that she did too.
She looked up. Her smile flashed then disappeared, though her expression remained mischievous.
“Yeah, I’m sure everyone is going to want me in charge while you hover supportively in the background.” She stuck her tongue out at him. “That’s exactly how it will go.”
“What do you mean?” He tried to ignore her tongue and the ideas it had given him. Perhaps instead of being a pop star bad boy, he’d be reformed and canonized if he continued to resist Tyler’s charms.
“Sweet Tea is a small town, maybe six thousand residents, but our Christmas fest has been written up in many travel sites and magazines for years. We’ve been decorating the same tree in Founder’s Park since 1902. Artists from all over the South sell their wares in the market and food trucks from as far away as Atlanta promote their signature dishes. It’s not just a Christmas festival for the town, it’s part of the South’s heritage—definitely not for just the locals, although it does encourage people to shop local and visit independent retailers. I love the food trucks. They have everything from banana pudding to fried catfish with grits and pulled pork barbecue—even savory or sweet crepes.”
Tyler tumbled over her words and her eyes shone with excitement. She leaned forward, whatever was on her playlist forgotten.
“And the sing-off kicks it all off.” She made an exploding sound and splayed her fingers in epic jazz hands.
“No pressure there.”
“You don’t have to do Sutter’s bidding.”
“You are.”
“I want to. It’s a tradition I’ve missed. Sutter and Dawson only found each other again a couple of years ago and she moved back to Sweet Tea, so I’ve missed this. But you don’t have tradition to uphold.”
The words struck him hard in the chest.
He had nothing to uphold and nothing to fall back on except a reputation he didn’t want.
But he needed his music back, and he felt like fate and Sutter and Tyler had combined to give him an early Christmas gift, and if he refused, he might never find himself or his music again.”
“I’m in,” he said firmly. “I’m a little…rusty with the carols but this afternoon I’ve been listening to some on my phone now that it’s charged up.”
It was a new phone with a new number and so far, only Sutter and Tyler were in his contacts. He felt free. But determined to remake his life on his terms. And if the Sweet Tea Santa Sing-Off—what a name—was the answer, well then hallelujah.
“How exactly does the competition work?”
“Different groups in town, like the Rotary, 4-H or Future Farmers of America or some of the larger businesses, and definitely the school choirs, put together teams of singers. Everyone practices different Christmas carols from current songs to old-fashioned or obscure carols. And we stand on different corners on Main Street and sing, taking turns so that every group gets heard and the audience can put tips in our Santa hats or decorated jars or whatever. The money is donated to the public schools for the music and arts programs—you know, like new instruments for kids to rent or to take lessons. And then after a few rounds we all start walking to the tree and singing the same song. This year it’s ‘Silver Bells.’ Then we circle the tree and sing a set playlist and the audience joins in and then the tree is lit. Some of the groups make thematic ornaments for the tree, which of course we will do.”
“Of course,” he echoed. “How do we win?”
“Raise the most money.” She raised one eyebrow at him—a skill he’d always wished he had. It would have perhaps helped keep his mother out of his business a bit more. “And we wear Santa hats. You still in, Shepard Lake?”
“Definitely.”
“Ho. Ho. Ho.” Tyler said it more like a curse than with an exclamation point.