Lost in Tennessee (7 page)

Butch winced when she took up the salt shaker. “We grew up with music in the house. My mother plays piano, and my father sings. Jeb and I both have played piano and guitar since we were big enough to handle the instruments.”

“I grew up on construction sites. I drove a Bobcat when I was twelve. By sixteen, I was a better backhoe operator than most of the guys on my father’s crew. This has about twenty minutes yet. Will you play a song for me?”

“You want to hear one of my songs?”

She adjusted the temperature on the stove. “Yes. This has to simmer for a little while so we have time.”

Butch winced at the thought of the chicken “blackening” for twenty more minutes as he took her hand and led her upstairs. He sat on the bar stool and lifted his favorite guitar into his lap. Kate crossed her legs and sat tailor fashion in the middle of the floor. She rested her chin on her folded hands and looked up at him with wide, blue eyes.

Butch saw those eyes and forgot his name. He dropped his pick, fumbling it again when she handed it to him. She pulled the band from her ponytail, letting her hair fall around her shoulders like a sinful rain. The guitar slipped from his leg. Good thing the strap around his shoulder caught.

Butch swallowed a lump in his throat and began a sultry ballad accompanied by his acoustic guitar. Kate never looked away. Those amazing eyes focused on him so intently he nearly forgot the words. He sang to her, willing her to understand that the words he sang, he sang just for her.

When he finished, she sprang to her feet. “You are amazing! How are you not, like, King of Nashville?”

His fingers picked out another tune. He sang with a joy he hadn’t felt in a long time, fueled by the carefree happiness displayed as his audience spun in circles in the intimate space.

The alarm on Kate’s phone rang. “Time flew, didn’t it? You are amazing. I can’t believe you haven’t won an Oscar or Tony. Which one is for music?”

“A Grammy.” He knew, because he had one. Vegas had good odds on him getting another.

“Yeah. A Grammy. Come on, let’s eat dinner.”

They set the kitchen table with white cloth, real napkins, two red candles, and the good glasses. The sunlight waned as night began to rise, providing a backdrop of cotton ball clouds for the candlelight dinner.

Kate plated the chicken and pasta at the stove and set the two dishes on the pretty table.

Butch opened the bottle of wine and generously wet the glasses. “This is nice.”

“It makes me feel like a grown up, eating off of something you don’t throw away.” Katie accepted her glass. “What should we drink to?”

He raised his glass to the things that brought her to him. “Construction zones, wrong turns, and flat tires.”

She guffawed and raised her glass high. “Your granddad’s sign, a John Deere tractor, and a mud puddle the size of Delaware.”

Glass kissed glass. Lips touched glass while gazes met.

“I hope you’re hungry,” Kate said. “I made enough for you to have leftovers for a few days.”

Butch inspected the green-speckled sea of red on his plate. He poked at the rubbery lump of flesh, wondering how something could be raw and burned at the same time, and stabbed at the pile of mushy pasta with his fork.

Kate sliced the bread that had come from the bakery. “It’s not a field mouse, and you’re not a cat. Stop playing with your food and eat it.”

Butch raised his eyes. “You first, Katie.”

“Chicken.” Kate put the bit of chicken into her mouth. She chewed once, twice, and snapped the napkin from the table to discreetly spit out the wad of macerated flesh.

Butch roared with laughter. “Your specialty, huh?”

Kate rolled her eyes and blushed. “I’m better at building things.”

“Come on, Chef Boyardee, I’ll buy you dinner before I take you to your motel.”

“You’ll buy me dinner?”

“Yeah, well, don’t get your hopes up too high. All you’re getting is mediocre pizza and cold beer.”

Kate gave him a dazzling smile. “A vast improvement. I’ll provide the stimulating conversation.”

Kate delivered, regaling him with colorful tales from her life. She claimed to be a homebody, but her body seemed to be everywhere but home. She traveled where her work took her, collecting stories along the way. Butch listened, encouraged her, drawing out the night as long as he could.

Their easy conversation ended when he pulled into the shit hole of a motel. An inferno waited to happen in the single-story building, where half-dead scrub brush grew from wide cracks in the pavement. Litter blew like tumbleweed across the fractured asphalt, and bruised and battered vehicles lay like corpses left after a battle.

He looked at the five-and-a-half foot tall, hundred-and-nothing pound woman who held her chin up as though they parked in front of a posh salon instead of this reject from the penal system.

“You’re not staying here, Katie.”

“I know it’s nasty, but there aren’t many options. Maybe my next project will be designing a nice hotel with crown moldings and pest-free carpet.”

She had to hate the roach motel. Butch couldn’t imagine anyone who spoke lovingly about his old farmhouse enjoying one moment in this joint. Just looking at it made his skin crawl.

She sat in the passenger seat, a sour look on her face quickly hidden with a shrug of her shoulders. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

Pride. Butch squeezed the steering wheel and shook his head. It had cost her a lot of pride to let him bring her here. “You’re coming back home with me.”

Kate blinked twice. “Home with you?”

“I have plenty of space.” Butch looked around. “It’s only a twenty-minute drive, and my house has everything.”

She sat still as a statue for a long moment. “Are you serious?”

Butch looked back at the Bates Motel. “Absolutely.”

In an instant, she erupted in full motion. “I’ll pay rent. I can fix things. I’ll do half the cooking.”

“You don’t have to pay rent. Hell, I don’t pay rent. And you are not cooking…ever. I don’t need you fixing things, either. I can hire somebody if I need to.”

Kate’s shoulders sagged, her hands fell into her lap, her gaze on her feet. All that life, all that energy vanished. “Then I can’t stay. I want to. I really, really do, but I have to earn my way. I can’t explain it. I just have to. Sorry.”

The respect Butch had for her grew ten times in that moment. Since he had “made it big,” too many people were too ready to let him pick up the bill. He’d gotten used to it along the way. Otherwise, it wouldn’t have surprised him that Kate would need to stand on her own.

“All right. I started a list for myself. I’ll appreciate any help you can give me. But just so we understand each other, you’re welcome without it.”

She snapped her face toward him. Her blues eyes wide and shining. “Thanks. Thank you.” She leaned into him and laid a shy kiss on his jaw.

Butch inhaled her scent as she leaned in close. Strawberries. She smelled like summer strawberries, and dear Lord, he was hungry.

“You’re welcome.” That soft kiss went all the way to his toes. He ran his hand up and down her smooth arm, soothing his need. “Let’s get your things.”

Kate unlocked the door with a little shimmying, opened it, and flipped on the lights.

“Holy shit! How long have you been living here?” Twenty bucks a night would have been too much for the dump of a room. Every piece of mismatched furniture was broken or dented, and the fluorescent light in the bathroom flickered like a bug zapper in July.

“About three months.” Kate stuffed files into a paper box. “Glamorous, isn’t it?”

“I’m going to need a tetanus shot.” Butch lifted her suitcase from where she had stacked it on an inverted chair.

Kate hauled another suitcase from a precarious position on the top of the television. “Another Slice of Heaven shot should take care of anything out to get you.”

He stacked her file folders on top and hooked the door open with his foot. “Good idea. You’re buying.”

T
he Sly Dog was indeed a slice of Heaven, even if Kate did stick with bottled beer having names she recognized. Sunday brought out a smaller crowd, but the band kept the place hopping. Trudy and Hyde sat with a couple Kate met the night before. Eyebrows lifted when she walked in with Butch. He wanted to keep it quiet that she would be staying with him. With his divorce proceedings starting, he expected the eye of public opinion to be watching him, and didn’t want her dragged into it. Kate argued that paying him rent would keep everything above board, but Butch wouldn’t have any of it. So they concocted the true story that Butch would be driving Kate to work in the morning where she would get a company truck.

None of his friends believed it. Kate saw it in their faces. They all thought she and Butch were sleeping together. She looked at the strong jaw and dusty blue eyes and didn’t mind the rumor. It elevated her stock, the thought that she could have a man like Butch.

The talking faded when Angie joined the table. She dressed for attention in a fuzzy white sweater and paisley leggings. A bright pink scarf wrapped twice around her throat brought attention to her face.

“Butch,” she said, making it three syllables. “Can I have a word with you?”

“No,” Trudy said. “The word is no.”

Butch sighed heavily but stood. “Trudy, stop it. Angie, there’s nothing to talk about.”

“Just a word,” she asked again, leading him away from the table.

Kate couldn’t hear the conversation, but she could read the body language. Butch started standing tall and proud, but minute by minute, he shrank until he looked like a boy facing his teacher. Whatever weight Angie had, she threw. Butch needed help. He needed three seconds of courage.

Kate moved behind Angie’s shoulder where Butch could see her. She stood there, silently, repeatedly puffing her cheeks out like a bullfrog. Butch smiled and, in that moment, remembered himself. He struck a Superman pose.

Of course, Angie turned around and busted her. “You, you, you interfering little—”

“Enough, Angie.” Butch stepped away from Angie, capturing Kate’s wrist in passing. “I said no. How are you at darts, Katie?”

“Better than I am at cooking.”

They threw a game, but Butch’s heart wasn’t in it. Kate saw him repeatedly looking over his shoulder like lightning might strike at any moment. He needed a distraction.

Kate pulled the darts from the board and held them. “What do you say we make this interesting? A friendly wager?”

Those dusty blues snapped to her. “I’ve seen your idea of a bet.”

“Then you know I mean what I say. Let’s make this interesting.”

Butch rolled his eyes. “Twenty bucks?”

Kate snorted. “If I win, you get up on stage and sing ‘I’m a Little Tea Pot.’”

Butch’s eyes flashed wide, then that slow smiled she loved shone through. “If I win, you have to do the ‘Hokey Pokey.’”

She winced. She had planned to throw the game to give his ego a stroke, but the “Hokey Pokey”, alone, in the middle of a bar full of strangers? That was so far outside the comfort zone, it wasn’t even in the same zip code.

“Chicken?”

“You’re going down, big man.”

They didn’t talk. With stakes this high, they kept their focus where it needed to be. He led. She led. She gave him a good game, but in the end, she stood, sweaty palms and all, in front of the stage and the band.

B
utch read the fear in her eyes. She looked at the door but didn’t run. He wasn’t sure he wouldn’t have made a break for it if the darts had gone the other way. He’d do what he could to make this good for her.

Butch jumped up on the stage and spoke with the band. “Hey, boys, I need a favor. I’m going to call ‘The Hokey Pokey.’ Will ya back me?”

The band members grinned at one another, then back at Butch. The lead guitarist answered. “Sure, Butch. Anything you want.”

Butch took the mic and called out loud and proud. “How y’all doin’ tonight?” Cheers and clapping answered. “We’re going to do a little throw back number. Back, like way back, to elementary school. Girls, grab your guys and get ready for a little Hokey Pokey.”

The band played as a circle formed with Kate on the side where Butch could see her. Twenty women and a handful of men stood elbow to elbow when Butch began to call. “You put your right leg in, you put your right leg out—your other right, Cordell, that’s it—you put your right leg in, now shake it like that leg hound of yours is on it. That’s right. Do the Hokey Pokey, and you turn yourself around. That’s what it’s all about. Left leg, that’s your other right, Cordell.” The laughter grew as the rounds went on. Butch kept his eye on Kate. In the middle of mass humiliation, she hammed it up, getting as silly as everyone else. “You put your backside in, you put your backside out. You put your backside in, and you shake it all about. Come on, Katie. Shake that backside. Shake it like you mean it. Drop it like it’s hot!”

Kate shook her tight little butt six inches from the floor to a round of applause. Then she blew him a kiss.

“That’s my girl.” Butch shook his head at her antics. “Come on, y’all, bring it home. That’s what it’s all about!”

The joint roared with approval. It wasn’t every night you got old school funky with a performer of Butch’s caliber. He shook hands with each member of the band. “Can I ask another favor? Play a slow one?”

“You got it, Butch,” the lead guitarist said.

The audience engulfed Butch when he jumped off the stage. Kate had drifted to the back of the room, watching as couples met on the dance floor. It took several minutes for Butch to wade through the handshakes and hugs to reach her.

“That was some mighty fine Hokey Pokey-ing.”

Kate bowed her head with mock graciousness. “Thank you. I was a champion Hokey Pokey-er in my preschool class. So tell me, did you enjoy your win?” Her eyes twinkled, and her hair hung in frizzed ringlets down her back.

The silly stunt filled the dark and cold corners of Butch’s heart with laughter. “I did. It was more interesting than taking twenty off you. Come here.” He pulled her to the center of the dance floor.

“Where are we going?”

“Here.” He tugged until she fell into his arms and held her close when she stood awkwardly in his embrace. “You’re supposed to relax when you dance.”