Bourbon Harmony (Bourbon Canyon #5)

Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

Rhys

I stood in the middle of the living room and pressed the palms of my hands into my eyes. For the entire week, I’d been hearing about songs and whether June had been singing about me or not.

That was after I’d given them the abridged version of our relationship. I’d arrived in seventh grade. In eighth grade, I’d asked June to the homecoming dance, and we’d been a couple from then until the August after graduation. Their grandpa had gotten sick, I’d stayed behind, and I’d realized my place was in Bourbon Canyon and June’s was in Nashville.

They had asked why I couldn’t have moved with June. I’d told them Grandpa had needed me. Then Wren. They’d been satisfied with that.

When they’d asked why I’d never told them, I hadn’t thrown their mother under the bus and blamed her for wanting zero pictures of June under the roof. No memorabilia, no reminiscing, no mention of my ex. Even June’s songs were banned. I couldn’t blame Kirstin, and I’d respected her feelings. I’d told them I didn’t talk about June because I thought it might be disrespectful to their mom.

I’d also been happy to bury my memories.

June was due in five minutes and the girls had reignited their inquisition about song lyrics.

“Who was she jealous of in ‘Emerald Rain’?” Bethany pressed.

It didn’t matter how many times I refused to answer. They kept asking. I also hadn’t answered whether I was the guy who’d left her boarding a plane, heartbroken and devastated in “Cowboy Wish Me Home.”

“Listen, girls, this is the last question I’m going to answer about June’s songs.” Or I’d lose my fucking mind. “She drove away from Montana, so I doubt that one is me, and I have no clue who she was jealous of.” My intuition knew better.

“‘She walks down the aisle to him and my tears fall like emerald rain,’” Bethany quoted. “‘She gets to wear the white gown while I’m in blue jeans. I’m the richest girl in the world because I’ve cried so many tears.’ Do you know why she wrote emeralds? Because they’re green , like envy.”

My collar was chafing the back of my neck. Did Bethany know the whole song by heart? “You’ll have to ask June.”

Why was I the one under interrogation?

Because you hurt June so bad she made millions of dollars and fell for shitty men who kept her making millions.

No. I’d made the right decision.

The doorbell rang. They sprinted past me to answer it.

I pinched the bridge of my nose and leaned against the wall separating the living room from the kitchen. A dull thud settled at my temples and I blew out a breath.

When I dropped my hand and looked up, June regarded me, concern in her eyes.

I pushed off the wall. I couldn’t be in the house while she was inside. I couldn’t hear her answer the girls’ questions. “I’ll be outside. Girls, for God’s sake, please don’t interrogate your tutor about her teenage years.”

My home was no longer a June-free oasis.

Outside, I sucked in fresh air. The closer I got to the barn, the more the livestock smell lingered in the air. Inside the barn, I stared at the stalls full of muck and old straw. I’d be balls deep in cleaning, then I’d have to stop and see June off and make sure the girls got started on cleaning the chicken coop.

The barn could wait. I didn’t want to wallow in dirt and manure dust. Instead, I went to the shop and opened the big overhead door. The inside was cool, but the sunlight spewing in helped. Once I got started, I’d heat up quick enough.

My four-wheeler needed new brakes and the spark plugs were due for a cleaning after a sluggish start this morning.

As I worked, my mind played over the lyrics of June’s song. I’d suspected some were about me. I was humble enough to know they all weren’t. But June’s reaction yesterday was confirmation that she’d been singing about me at least some of the time.

The spark plugs were done and I had one of the new brake pads in place when footsteps sounded behind me. Those weren’t the patter of my kids’ feet.

When I rose, my gaze landed on long, jean-clad legs. The denim hugged her skin all the way to the neck of the boot. No more boot-cut jeans for her. Did she still wear those when she helped at the ranch? They’d made her legs look impossibly long. Her maroon knit top hung loose over a white long-sleeved shirt. The mix of tight and baggy only amplified the curves I couldn’t keep my leering eyes off of.

“Something wrong?” It came out as barely more than a grunt. I went to the sink in the far corner of the shop.

“No, not with lessons.” She followed me deeper into the shop. Goddammit, couldn’t she keep a whole cement slab of distance between us? I didn’t want to smell her peony scent among the grease and metallic odors.

“Then what?”

“I’m sorry. About the songs.”

“Not my business.” I turned the faucet on and bit back a hiss at the frigid water that shot out.

“It’s become your business, and I never meant for that to happen. I talked to the girls about it.”

I scrubbed my hands, working the degreaser over my fingers. By the time I rinsed, the water was finally lukewarm, but I missed the shock.

I turned the water off and yanked a towel off the hook on the wall. Curiosity got the best of me. “What’d you tell them?”

She shrugged, and my gaze dropped to her breasts. My mind was a mess and my body’s reactions to June Kerrigan were harder to control. I jerked my eyes back up.

Thankfully, she was frowning at the floor by my feet. “ I said I draw inspiration from my life and those around me. A lot of our experiences are so common, and that’s why they resonate so much, even with little girls who’ve heard stories and seen for themselves what heartbreak can do.”

I finished drying my hands. She met my gaze, her expression resolute, her brown eyes solemn.

My irritation grew and I aimed a glare at her. “So you gave them a nebulous nonanswer because they’re young, and they won’t know?” What else had I expected her to do?

Anger brightened the yellow specks in her gaze. “I did not.”

“‘I draw inspiration from my life and those around me.’ That’s as nonspecific as you can get.”

“I was trying to help.”

“No, you didn’t want to be the bad guy?—”

“Would you rather I tell them why yes, girls, your dad is that boy . He’s so much that boy that I could’ve written another album about him. Because why would a boy stay with you for five years— five years , Rhys—why would a boy make the rawest, sweetest, hottest love to you and then walk out of your life forever like you didn’t mean a thing? Is that what you want me to say?”

I took two steps closer to her. “Would it have been better for you to write about being a poor rancher’s wife who can’t go anywhere, especially not during calving season?” I crowded even closer. “Would that stay in the number one spot for two weeks?”

Her eyes narrowed and she planted her hands on her hips. “It was three weeks.”

The yellow in her eyes was sparking. Energy poured off of her. This was the June Bug I used to run the pastures with. The June who drove my high school pickup with the stick shift like she was in a Formula One race. The June who didn’t hide in her hometown because she was lost and confused.

“Who’s the guy you were crying over in ‘Emerald Rain’?” I was inches from her. I needed to hear the answer. Had she been jealous of Kirstin? Had I made a mistake when I’d finally decided to let her go and attempt to move on with my life?

She blanched. “That was no one.”

“It was very much someone. Was it me? Did you picture me up on that church altar, saying my vows to the woman who’d be the mother of my children?”

Her eyes misted over, and it was a kick in the goddamn gut. “Rhys, don’t.”

“Who was it, June? Who made you think you were the richest woman in the world crying those emerald tears?”

“Rhys—”

“Yes or no, songbird.” I lowered my voice. The smell of peonies hit my nose and my muscles strained against leaning forward, burying my nose in her hair, and inhaling her deep into my lungs. “Was it me?”

“Yes.” One word. Barely a whisper.

My world crumpled around me like an aluminum can. So my worst fears were true. She’d hurt as badly as me. It didn’t make me feel better.

Old emotions rushed in. That aching emptiness for years after she’d left. The loneliness. The longing to have her in my arms just one more time.

But I’d made the right decision. I had made it for her.

And she was right here. I could take the blue, silky strands of her hair between my fingers. I could feel those puffy lips under mine once again.

We were still close, our chests nearly touching. Her face was tipped up. A tear escaped the corner of her eye and tracked down her cheek. I swiped it away with a thumb.

How many times had she cried around me since I’d found her on the side of the road? I shouldn’t be making this woman feel bad.

I could make her feel good. I dropped my head a few inches. She fisted her hands in the flannel of my shirt, but she didn’t stop me. So I closed the distance.

As soon as my lips hit hers, my epically bad mistake was clear. There was nothing I wouldn’t do to taste June Kerrigan again.

I licked my tongue out and she opened for me. Her minty flavor filled my mouth and her tongue danced with mine.

We used to make our own music together. Special notes for the two of us. A bourbon harmony.

I gripped her waist and tugged her closer. She circled her arms around my neck and pressed against me. Turning us both, I backed her to a workbench. Once she was wedged against the bench, I could fully devour her.

A moan went through her and right into me. I swallowed the sound and continued to plunder the warm, wet depths of her mouth. This was no bumbling teenage make-out. We knew what we were doing, but the years between us melted away. What had been complicated was now a simple kiss.

A sweltering, hot-as-fuck kiss. One that would keep me up at night until I had to do something to take the edge off the lust that hadn’t gone away since I’d seen her looking back at me in the rain.

I ground into her, and she met my movements with a force of her own. She curled a leg around me. I ran my hand down her ass and hitched her leg higher, notching myself between her thighs. Too much damn denim was in the way, but I’d take what she was willing to give me.

Reversing direction, I brushed my hand up her toned thigh to her waist. Her shirt was tucked in. Tempted to rip it to shreds, I started working the material out of her waistband.

“Dad!” Bethany’s voice rang from somewhere outside. “Where are you?”

June jerked away with a hiss and flattened her hands on my shoulders. I didn’t move. She was stuck between me and the workbench.

“Dad?”

“Go have a snack, and I’ll be right in,” I called out the open door. Where we were, Bethany wouldn’t be able to see us. If she got closer, we’d be busted, but then June would get away and I wasn’t ready to let her go yet.

Her chest rose and fell against mine, those full tits marking me like a brand.

The gravel outside crunched with footsteps.

“Bethany, get inside and have a snack and I’ll be right in.” The steps stopped. “Now.”

“Fine.” The scrape of gravel against shoe soles faded.

Only then did I ease back. The fullness behind my zipper wasn’t going to go away with June pressed against it.

She licked her bottom lip, looking away. “Sorry, I didn’t mean for that to hap?—”

“I did. ”

Her gaze flew up to mine.

“Those songs make it sound like I had a ripe fucking time without you. They make it sound like I didn’t suffer for years and that my wife didn’t doubt my love for her every damn day.”

She shrunk in on herself.

“Singing was your dream. What kind of bastard would I have been to stop you?”

“You made the decision for us.” She shook her head. “Am I supposed to apologize because I wrote my pain? Am I supposed to wish that it didn’t resonate with so many people? Was I supposed to just pour beer at the honky-tonk and hope my ass attracted some record mogul?”

I propped my hands on either side of her, blocking her in. The fire was back in her eyes. “Never apologize for your talent. But I might be a little raw when my two young girls are blaming me for being a villain in your story.”

She boldly met my stare, pink dots flushing her cheeks. “I would’ve come back if you had asked me to.”

“Then I really would’ve been the villain.” I pushed away and cool air rushed between us. “And you wouldn’t be the voice of this generation’s heartbreak.” Before I did something stupid like try to kiss her again, I stalked toward the opening. “See you next week.”

“It felt like I was nothing to you. You got married to someone else and had the kids we would’ve had.”

I stopped dead in my tracks. I’d wanted my marriage to be untouched by June, but to hear her talk about it, Kirstin had been dead-on with every one of her accusations. “I was twenty-four. We’d been apart for six years.”

“And I was still watching my phone, hoping to see your name pop up. Instead, Summer sent me a picture of your wedding invitation. I wrote ‘Emerald Rain’ the day of your wedding.”

June

His back was to me, his head half turned. “You hated me for getting married?”

My answer was a bitter stain on my tongue. “Yes.”

He slowly pivoted on a heel until he faced me. “Do you still?”

I shook my head. This time, the answer came easy. “No, Rhys. My life would be so much easier if I hated you.”

He strode toward me, giant steps that ate up the distance between us. In two heartbeats, he towered over me. “Then we agree that our lives would be a lot fucking simpler if we could get over each other.”

If we could? He wasn’t over me?

He traced a finger down my cheek. “The girls know the whole story now. There’s nothing to hide.”

“There never was.”

He chuckled and his warm breath fluttered my hair. “Oh there was, June Bug. Everyone in town looked at me like they knew I had no idea what the fuck to do with myself after you were gone.” He trailed the tip of his finger down my neck and over my collarbone, following the collar of my long-sleeved shirt. “I think that was why Kirstin was so intriguing.”

I swallowed hard. Talking about another woman, the one who’d gotten to walk down the aisle to him, was the last thing I wanted his mouth to be doing.

“For once, I wasn’t some lovesick guy who’d had to stay behind to run the family farm. To her, I was a blank slate. I pretended I could start fresh.” He feathered his hands through my hair. “So damn soft,” he murmured.

My chest rose and fell. I craved more of his touch. If he didn’t back away, I would scale him like a mountain to get his mouth right where I wanted it. I was too weak to take a step back, but I could put my own mouth to use. “Are you blaming me for ruining your marriage?”

“No, songbird. In the end, she was a lot like you. She had a dream, and I was in her way.”

How could he think that? “She left her kids.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “But it’s better for them to have a stable home. Kids shouldn’t be raised on the road.”

I stiffened. “You weren’t concerned about that before.” When we’d planned our future family, he’d known I’d be traveling for work and he’d said nothing. Now it was a deal breaker?

“I’ve always been concerned about that.”

“Why didn’t you talk to me about this? Is this because of your mom?”

His expression went stony. “I’m not talking about me.”

“It feels like this has to do with you.”

“I’m not your business anymore.”

I recoiled. “You’re shutting me out again .”

He winced.

“Did you talk to Kirstin about your convictions or did you tell her you wanted a divorce and she needed to go be a photographer? ”

“Why? Do you want to write a song about it?”

“Actually, yes. I could write about a stubborn ass of a man who denies his feelings until he kisses the one who got away senseless. Then he turns around and pushes her away again. I could call it ‘Senseless.’” I sucked in a breath and held it. I blew it out in a rush. “That’s actually not bad.”

The tension between us drained and the corner of his mouth curved up. “Does the songbird have her muse?”

“Maybe?” I smirked. “Only you could upset me so bad I’d write a song about it.”

His gaze softened and sadness crept into his eyes. “Then you’d better go write while the inspiration’s hot.”

If I stayed, I might do something stupid like ask him to give me more inspiration with another kiss.

“See you next Sunday.” I did the world’s most awkward wave, spun on my heel, and continued toward the door.

“Hey, songbird,” he said, his tone light. “If you write that senseless song, do me a solid and give the guy a name that’s not mine, or the girls will kill me.”

I looked over my shoulder. “Sure. He’ll be... Conner.”

He groaned, and I laughed. I forced myself to continue walking.

Our chemistry was as strong as ever, and our conversations were getting more comfortable. Familiar. But I couldn’t start wondering... Fantasizing. He didn’t want his kids traveling. He wasn’t selling me a promise he wouldn’t keep. When I left town again, he’d stay right where he was. Just like last time.