His to Own: 50 Loving States, Arkansas Read online

I try to ignore him. I really do. I get that his threats aren’t really about me. I try to think of him like he’s one of my clients. The ones who scream at me when they fall down in another room. Because they’re embarrassed. Because they hate what they’ve become. Because they don’t have anybody else to take it out on.

  I don’t answer. I just keep on holding my tongue, keep on heading for the door.

  But he continues to stalk after me. “After I’m done you won’t even be able to sweep the floors at a music publishing company.”

  I grab my purse off the couch. Now I’ve got everything, and I’m almost to the door.

  “Matter of fact, I’m going to have Ginny call your agency. Bet I can make sure you don’t get another home health aide job. Definitely not in Nashville, maybe not in the whole state of Tennessee.”

  That stops me in my tracks, because now he’s not just threatening my dreams but the job I need to support my grandma and me. “I’m sorry,” I tell him.

  Behind me, I hear him come to a stop, too. “You think sorry is going to cut it after what you did?” he snaps.

  I raise myself up as tall as I can get, just like my grandma taught me to do, when facing down folks who think they’re better than you. Then I slowly turn around to face him.

  “No, I’m not sorry for taking Beau’s side in that mess you created. I’d do it again. What I’m sorry about is your mama, Colin. I’m sorry she died.”

  He flinches like I’ve shot him, point blank in the chest. Then he snarls, “This don’t have anything to do with my—”

  “And I’m sorry you couldn’t fill the hole your mama left behind with your friend, Josie. I can see why you like her. She seems like real stellar girl. But she’s in love with Beau. Anybody can see she don’t want you. She wants him.”

  “She’s not—” Colin shakes his head, with one angry swipe. “She’s not thinking straight. She went through an abusive marriage and she might want Beau, but he’s not what she needs. What she needs is—”

  “What you need is a friend. That’s what people need when they lose somebody they love. They need family and friends. If I hadn’t had my cousin, Bernice, around to help get me through after my Paw Paw died, I would have fallen straight to pieces when my grandma needed me the most. So that’s what I’m most sorry about. I’m sorry you don’t have a big family like I do, Colin. I’m sorry you don’t seem to have too many real friends. I’m sorry you fucked it up so Josie couldn’t be the friend you need right now even if she wanted to. That’s what I’m sorry about. But that’s all I’m sorry about.”

  For a moment, Colin looks so furious I’m reminded of that night when Mike broke his violin. And then I’m reminded of it some more when he says, “Get out. Get out right now before I lose all sense and….”

  He doesn’t finish. But he doesn’t have to.

  Last time I felt like I had something to prove by staying. But I ain’t fifteen anymore. This time I get out. This time I run, as fast as my high heels will carry me.

  And maybe that would have been the end of it, but just as I slam the door behind me, I see somebody standing there in the hallway, her mouth hanging open and her eyes popped big with shock.

  It’s Josie. And I can tell from the look on her face that she must have overheard everything I just said.

  Chapter 12

  Six weeks later

  Colin answers the phone in record time the next time I call him. Mainly because he thinks it's Josie calling… because that's who I told his assistant I was when I called the only number I've ever been given for him.

  Ginny barely has time to say, “Let me just see if he's avail-” before her voice is cut off by the sound of somebody snatching the phone away.

  “Josie! What is it? Are you okay?” comes Colin's concerned voice on the other side of the phone.

  “It's not Josie,” I say right off the bat, because I'm already feeling guilty enough for calling him. “I just said that to get past Ginny. It's actually Kyra.”

  I resist the urge to hold the phone away from my ear as a whole bunch of cusses peppered with words like “nerve” and “gall” come down the line. For a nerd who was working toward a Bachelor of Fine Arts in Violin performance before he dropped out of college to become a country singer, Colin sure does seem to know how to cuss like a real southern boy.

  I wait for him to finish and say, “So I'm calling to let you know I ran into Josie after our last conversation.”

  Long pause. Then. “And what did she say?”

  “That I was absolutely right. That you do need a friend and she was sorry she wouldn't able to be the friend you needed, since she'd just five minutes before accepted Beau's proposal of marriage.”

  “So you called me pretending to be Josie, so you could rub it in?” Colin's voice sounds like a block of ice on the other side of the phone.

  “Nah, I'm not the rubbing in kind,” I let him know. “But I have been thinking on your situation. And it's true you need a friend, so that's why I'm calling.”

  It takes him a few moments to piece together what I'm trying to say. “You're calling because you think I need a friend,” he says slowly.

  “Because I know you need a friend,” I correct.

  “And you're claiming to want to be my friend. Why? Are you looking for some kind of handout? Because if you think I'm going to help you with your demo now-”

  I cut him off. “Can we just skip all the threatening and insult throwing this time around? You want the truth? Here's the truth. I found a new job. A real good one. Easy. Pays above my agency standard, and the client's real nice. Likes to do pretty much everything himself but needs help with groceries and the cooking and getting around outside the house. Believe me, I'm feeling real blessed right now, which got me to thinking because my grandma's always saying when life gives you lemonade you should pay it forward by pouring somebody else a glass, too. So here I am calling you.”

  “Because you think I need a friend,” he says, his voice sounding like somebody who thinks he's trying to get sold road kill for supper.

  “Because I know you need a friend,” I repeat.

  A dead pause. Then he asks, “Where is this new job of yours?”

  “Like I'm going to tell you so you can get me fired from the cushiest gig I ever had? Not likely, sir.”

  “I can always find out through your agency.”

  “Nope. Got this job through a private ad. You're going to have to put a detective on me if you want to find out.”

  “I just might do that,” he said.

  “Alright, you go right on ahead and do that. I'm all for you wasting your precious country star time, trying to track down a little nobody like me. It'll make me feel special when you find me,” I answer. “Meanwhile what you up to tonight? Sounds quiet where you are.”

  “I'm in my dressing room in Dallas before the show. Room's pretty well insulated. But trust, it's going to get noisy as soon as I leave out those doors.”

  “What you doing? Reading a book?”

  “How'd you know?”

  “Because I'm in my room by myself and that's what I'm doing.”

  “What are you reading?”

  “The latest Clara Quinn novel,” I answer. “You heard of her?”

  “The sci-fi writer. In passing-that one year she won the Hugo. But I've never read any of her stuff.”

  “You should, I'm only halfway through her first book, but it's really good. What are reading?”

  “Johnny Cash biography.”

  I laughed, not surprised. “Business reading?”

  “Little bit. Also, he's a real interesting guy. This is the third biography I've read on him, and I've never been bored.”

  “I'm more interested in June Carter Cash, but they're not writing a ton of biographies about her,” I said.

  “'Ring of Fire,' fan, hunh?”

  “Of course I am. I learned to play the guitar by ear, picking out that song.”

  “You play by ear?” he said.

 
“Yeah,” I admit. “There wasn't exactly a fine music program where I went to school. I got a few books from the library to fill in the blanks. So I can read music if I have, too. But most of the old songs, I just play by ear.”

  Colin grows quiet on the other side of the line.

  “Colin?” I say, wondering if we've lost the connection. My new room is in the house's attic, and depending on the wind conditions outside, the reception can get spotty.

  “I gotta go,” he says. “I don't have time to horse around on the phone. Especially with you.”

  “How about tomorrow?” I ask him. “You got time to horse around on the phone with me tomorrow?”

  He straight hangs up on me.

  I lower my phone and sigh.

  “No luck?”

  I look up and find Josie standing in the doorway of my new attic room. It's almost a familiar sight these days. She used to live in this room when she was a kid and her mother worked for the Prescott family, and then for a few months when she was an adult and got called in to work for Beau after his accident.

  Ever since I'd started working here a few weeks ago, she'd taken to popping in after work to see how I was doing and have a little girl talk. I'd gotten used to having my cousin, Bernice, up the road to talk to whenever I needed so I'd grown real fond of having another woman my age to talk to for a little bit at night, now that I was far from home, all the way down in Alabama. Josie's sister-friend company is a whole 'nother perk of what truly has been the cushiest job assignment I've ever landed.

  I'd thought Josie was pretty cool before I met her, but now I think she's straight up amazing. She's funny, smart, and so kind-which is why I hate to disappoint her. But I'm already lying to her about so much, so I tell her the truth about this.

  “He hung on me,” I answer with an apologetic shake of my head.

  Josie's shoulders slump. “Well, we knew it would be a long shot,” she says. “But, hey, thanks for trying. Maybe I'll try talking to Beau. Explain to him why I really do need to be in touch with Colin. I mean, yeah, they had words, but he has to understand Colin is going through some stuff.”

  I twist my mouth, ready to explain to her like my grandma would why even the least possessive guy wouldn't be cool with his fiancée talking to the “friend” who'd plain stated he wanted to be more with her and on more than one separate occasion. Why that would probably be just asking too much of Beau or any other man.

  But before I can say anything, my phone dings. I look at the message. It's from a 615 number-a Nashville area code. And it says: “This is my direct number. Call me back tomorrow at 4pm MT.”

  Chapter 13

  “You ever going to tell me your Alabama story?” Colin asks me a couple months later.

  “You ever going to quit asking about it?” I ask him back. I'm in the grocery store, throwing enough stuff in the basket to get Beau, Josie, and me through for a few days.

  “Probably not, so you might as well tell me, since you keep claiming we're friends.”

  “I am your friend,” I say. “But you don't have to be mine. I've got my cousin Bernice on speed dial for girl talk.” Plus, Josie-but of course I don't tell him that, since he still has no idea I'm working for Josie.

  “How is Bernice these days?” Colin asks.

  “Good,” I answer.

  Not real approving of my current phone friendship with the country star who has no idea how I really know Beau or that I'm currently working for him, but other than that… “Her grandma, my Aunt Beulah Mae-really my grandma's cousin, I just call her Auntie, because she's older than me-anyway, Auntie Beulah Mae just hit her five year cancer free mark, so that's a blessing. Especially for my grandma, because she and Auntie Beulah are best friends like Bernice and me are best friends.”

  I keep on waiting for Colin to stop me when I tell boring stories about my various Tennessee relatives, but so far he's yet to act anything but truly interested. And this time is no different.

  “That's real good to hear,” Colin says. “I'm glad.”

  “Me too.” I spot some ground beef on sale and throw it in the basket, thinking I'll give Beau a choice of burgers or spaghetti for tonight's dinner.

  My heart thrills as it always does at the prospect of cooking something he'll really like. Not exactly the relationship I envisioned with him while obsessing over him all these years, but close enough that I could close my eyes and pretend it was what I really wanted.

  Colin interrupts my reverie with another question. “Speaking of your grandma, you talk to her today yet?”

  “No, I was planning on calling her before dinner. Why?”

  “Had to send you something in the mail to her house, since you still won't give me your new address.”

  “I told you…”

  “I know, I know. You're my friend. But you ain't sure yet if I'm yours.”

  It isn't the first time he's thrown that line back at me. But just like all the other times, I notice that's all he does. Throw it back at me. He still has yet to deny that he's not feeling any actual friendship feelings toward me. Even though we've been talking on the phone literally every day for over two months.

  “So what did you send me?” I ask him.

  “You'll find out,” he says in a tone that's half amused, half gravelly threat.

  “It's a cease and desist letter, ain't it?”

  “Nah, you got to have those delivered in person, and I don't know where you are,” he answers. “This is just your standard restraining order.”

  I laugh, thinking not for first time that Colin is a surprisingly funny guy. Josie, who had to help women get restraining orders day in and day out as the new director of the Ruth's House Domestic Violence Shelter, wouldn't have thought so, I know. But I can't help but laugh.

  “You won't be laughing when the police come to your door with a warrant for your arrest,” he tells me now.

  “If they can find me,” I shoot back.

  “If they can find you,” he agrees.

  “I'll call my grandma and tell her to burn the letter as soon as I get off the phone. That way I can keep on harassing you. What's that thing they're always saying on those lawyer shows? Ignorance is nine-tenths of the law?”

  “That's not even nearly how it goes, Red.”

  “Purple,” I tell him.

  “What?”

  “I dyed my hair purple a few nights ago, so you're going to have to stop calling me Red.”

  “And what does your employer think of that?” Colin asks.

  I shrug and grab a gallon of milk to put into my basket. “He doesn't care.”

  It's the truth. I'm driving Beau to UAB's Callahan Eye Hospital to get pre-tested for a possible neural stem cell transplant trial he might be taking part in late the following year. But other than that, he's still blind. I'm not sure Josie's bothered to tell him my hair's purple now, or that it was red before.

  Speaking of which, “I've got to drive my client to an appointment in about twenty minutes, so I better get off this phone and pay for these groceries. When do you want me to call you tomorrow?”

  “Don't forget to check in with your grandma about that restraining order,” Colin answers. “And it's a travel day tomorrow, so I'll call you.”

  I'm still chuckling as I go through the check out. Life, I have to admit, has been good lately. I'm working at a job that not only allows me to see Beau every single day, but also let's me get to do things like talk to him and help him. I'm closer to Beau now than I ever could have imagined back when I was a teenager.

  And on top of that, I get to talk to Colin every single day, which is… truthfully better than I thought it would be. The first time I called him, it had been awkward. A balls-to-the-wall sales pitch I was pretty sure wouldn't work. But over the last two months, I've become used to talking to him every day. Sometimes just for five minutes. Sometimes for an hour or two. Now talking on the phone with Colin feels simple to me. Like the best part of my day.

  As I walk out of the groc
ery store, I'm not only still thinking about our latest conversation, but also looking forward to the next one.

  Which is why I don't notice Mike Lancer until my basket crashes into his.

  “Sorry,” I start to say. But then I stop, because even though the man glaring at me is wearing a UAB hat low on his head, and is about fifty pounds heavier than the nineteen-year-old I knew, I still recognize him. All too well.

  Chapter 14

  “Sorry,” I mumble. Then I duck my head and start to go around him. Colin didn't recognize me. Neither did Beau. So maybe Mike Lancer won't either.

  “Kyra. Kyra Whatshername.” He bangs his cart into mine again. This time on purpose. To stop me from going any further. “I thought that was you I saw coming out of Beau Prescott's house the other day, but I didn't recognize you with the purple hair.”

  He's slurring his words, and even though it's the middle of the day, he smells like a bottle whiskey. And unfortunately, I have enough experience with drunks to know when one's not going to let you by without some kind of scene.

  “Hi, Mike,” I say, guessing we were bound to run into each other sooner or later. Forest Brook is a small town and he still lives right down the street from Beau and Josie, since both he and Beau took over their family homes. I was just hoping it would be much later or maybe never at all, since he and Beau don't seem to be friends anymore.

  Mike smiles at me, but it's fake as patent leather and it don't go anywhere near his weasely eyes. “So you're the one who replaced that bitch Josie as Beau's housekeeper now she's wormed her way into his bed.”

  My eyes narrow. No, he did not just call Josie, one of the nicest, most giving women I'd ever met, a bitch.

  But before I can come to Josie's defense, Mike leans over his basket and says, “I want you to give that uppity bitch a message. Tell her she better stay out of my marriage, or else I'm going make her sorry. Real sorry.” Then he says in a low voice only I can hear, “I should have known she'd hire somebody like you. Guess you black sluts like to stick together.”