4

 

Lane slowed the truck to a stop. He put it in park and stared at the aged cabin. Smoke billowed from the stone chimney. Two rocking chairs sat in the corner of the porch, weathered, beaten. A testament to his insides—brittle and peeling. He released his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel and exhaled. The last time he’d been inside that home was the night he barged in with the letter Rae left, raving like a crazy man, demanding to know where she’d gone. Why she’d left him without so much as a goodbye. A written farewell didn’t count. Not after their history.

He cut the engine, killing the hot air cooking his feet. Sweat beaded the back of his neck. What was he doing here? Bridie might be the best cook in these parts, but a tasty meal wasn’t worth the feast his memories were having on his flesh. All week he’d wrestled with his demons, fought the rage he wanted to unleash, and told himself not to waste the energy. He had precious little as it was.

It’d taken a year to learn how to function without Rae after she left, but he’d finally settled into a routine, concentrated on work and his relationship with God, even dated here and there, ready to let another woman in after a few years. Then he’d received a diagnosis that had sent him reeling. A beautiful wife and a houseful of kids were nixed from the equation.

So, why was he here? Closure. He deserved an explanation, face to face—man to bulldog-stubborn woman. It had nothing to do with the way she’d looked at him while he’d passed by on the gurney. Like he was some superhero or sought out celebrity, making him wonder if she’d still fit perfectly under his chin when he held her, or if her lips still held a hint of strawberry lip balm.

God help him, he was in trouble.

Nah. Rae would go back to Nashville in a few days, and he’d go back to doing what he did best: taking life one day at a time.

A knuckle tapped his window. If Lane hadn’t grown up with Drew, he’d never guess the man standing beside him in big city duds had been raised in the hollow.

Lane got out of his truck. “Drew, good to see you.”

Drew pumped Lane’s hand. Despite his fancy gold-rimmed glasses and dress coat with too many buttons, Drew’s grip was strong. “Yeah, you too. Though I admit, I’m surprised to see you here.”

Me too.

Willie Rivers, Rae’s great-uncle, opened the front door and stepped onto the porch, stroking his long, yellowed beard. “You-uns comin’ in or you gonna stand out yonder and recite poetry all night?”

Bart Poe’s rattletrap crew cab pulled up and parked behind Drew’s compact car. Why any man would want to drive a car the size of a toy, Lane would never understand. Netta, Bart’s wife, climbed down from the rust bucket. Lane took the glass dish she held out and then offered his arm. The cheesy smell of whatever she’d cooked reminded Lane how hungry he was. But as they reached the front door, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich by himself in front of his big screen became mighty tempting.

Bridie welcomed them with a smile. “Come on in. Don’t be strangers now.”

She tossed her black braid behind her shoulders and reached for the dish Lane realized he was clutching like a life raft.

“Sorry.” He passed it to her and wiped his hands down his jeans, sweaty from the hot dish, of course. The cabin walls closed around him.

Bobby Joe waved from the recliner. The lump on his forehead had faded to a bruise, but he was still under strict orders to rest.

Bridie looked down the hallway and sighed. “Where is that girl?” She moved down the short hallway and knocked on Rae’s bedroom door. “What’s takin’ so long? Everyone’s here. Come out and get their coats.”

Netta, in no need of a coat over her black sweatshirt decorated with pumpkins, followed Bridie to the kitchen.

Rae’s bedroom door creaked open, and there she was in all her big hair, country music glory, still the prettiest blasted thing he’d ever set eyes on. She-devil. Any other man would give his left arm to eat dinner with her, and all Lane wanted to do was shake her.

“Drew!” Rae’s face lit brighter than the North Star. She threw her arms around her brother’s neck.

When Drew’s face couldn’t turn any bluer, he pulled away and whistled. “If it isn’t country music sensation, Raelynn Rivers.” He stretched out her name like a game show host.

Rae winced slightly, then returned a smile so wide her dimples joined in. “I don’t know about sensation, but it sure is wonderful to see you. It’s been too long.”

Was that regret in her voice?

Willie stepped forward, his knobby fingers curled around his pipe. “I don’t think nobody here would disagree with Drew. Do you, Lane?”

Rae’s skin turned as pale as a corpse. Her huge brown eyes and open mouth told Lane she’d no idea he’d been invited to this shindig. Why was he here again? Oh yeah, closure. He nodded. “Rae.”

As if to break the awkwardness, Drew handed her his coat. Bart did, too, then fled to the couch. Willie hiked up his pants on his skinny waist and watched the two of them with a dumb grin full of crooked teeth.

Bridie and Netta scattered to opposite ends of the kitchen, heads down.

Lane scowled at Bobby Joe, who shrugged. He’d been duped.

Willie puffed on his pipe, filling the room with the smell of peppermint tobacco. “Well don’t stand there and act like you’ve never met the boy. Take his coat, Rae.”

Her steps were cautious as if she were afraid her legs wouldn’t hold all ninety pounds of her. Rae swallowed, working her slender neck. This reunion would’ve been torture enough without an audience.

“Hey, Lane. How’ya been?” Her cheeks turned a pleasant shade of pink.

Since last week or since she left him? The little vixen refused to look him in the eyes. She should feel ashamed. “Great. You?”

Rae pinched her lips together and nodded.

Regardless of his anger, Lane hoped she was doing well. He’d preferred not to know how her life was going, bypassing music video channels, turning his back to the magazines in the check-out line. It was hard enough when her voice hit him from the radio at a restaurant or a grocery store. Or her face interrupted a football game with one of her makeup commercials. Thankfully, that hadn’t happened for a long while.

The floor beneath him groaned as he shifted. The same spot it tattled on him that night he’d tried to sneak out after her parents came home early from playing cards at Willie’s. Caught.

Lane ran a hand down his face. Yep, the past was gnashing away. By the end of the night, he’d be nothing but a pile of bones and teeth.

“Let’s eat.” Bridie clapped her hands, and Lane had never been more thankful for food in his life.

Raelynn licked her lips. “What about the others?”

Bridie shooed her to the coat closet. “Everyone’s here.”

They all gathered around the table—an offset concoction of a small wooden table and two card tables, one on each end—filled with enough food to put the first Thanksgiving to shame.

Lane was coping with this visit until Bobby Joe asked everyone to join hands, and Willie backed away from Lane’s side, leaving Rae beside him.

She stared at his left hand as if it were a viper. Then her head tilted and she frowned in confusion. Her soft hand slipped into his.

Lane gulped. Every defense mechanism he possessed crashed to the floor in one giant heap. He wasn’t built to resist her.

Bobby Joe’s deep voice filled the room. “Lord, we thank You for this food we’re about to receive. Please, bless it to the nourishment of our bodies. Though it felt like we spent thirty-six hours in hell, You were our light in the darkness. Thank You for Your grace and mercy in allowing us rescue with little bodily harm. Be with Billy and Jackie as they prepare to bring children into this world.” His words wavered with emotion. “And, please, grant comfort and stability to Miller Jackson’s and Clark Smith’s families in this time of sorrow. Amen.”

Everyone gave a hearty “amen” in unison. Chair legs scraped against the wood floor as everyone settled in.

To Lane’s relief, Raelynn sat at the far end of the table where any conversation or direct sight would be impossible. Good. Now he could enjoy his meal. With a deep breath, the tension in his chest eased, and Lane spread a napkin over his thigh. His stomach howled as he eyed the chicken and dumplings.

Willie frowned at the chair across from Lane, curling a gnarled hand on the back. “Rae, dear, I’m needin’ to sit by Bart. We got business to discuss. ’Sides, you and Lane got lots of catchin’ up to do.”

Lane’s hand, squeezed around a ladle full of mashed potatoes, stopped on its way to his plate. He looked at Willie. The devil himself couldn’t have conjured a more devious grin.

Rae’s pink lips opened, but nothing came out.

“Come on now. Respect your elders.” Willie’s boots thumped across the floor as he attempted to claim his chair. “You might be a starlit in Nashville, but I’m still your uncle, and I want this here seat.”

Chin held high, Rae stood, tossed her napkin on the table, and glared at Willie, who looked mighty proud of himself. As she passed, she put a palm on Willie’s puffed out chest and whispered, “You’ll pay for this, old man.” She patted him gently and took the chair across from Lane.

Bobby Joe cleared his throat. “Uh, Bridie, pass the broccoli, please.”

The exchange of food brought a small sense of normalcy to the room.

Lane kept his eyes on his plate, as did Rae. He knew that only because he’d allowed himself to peek now and then, just to see how she was handling that sliver of food on her plate.

Netta elbowed his side. “What’cha plan to do with your vacation?”

He’d hardly call it a vacation. It was mandatory eight weeks of paid time off to rest after the accident and to lose his mind with nothing to do.

Lane swallowed his bite. “I’ve got things to catch up on at the house. More than anything, I plan to get to the bottom of this mine collapse business.” He wiped his mouth with his napkin and noticed the way Rae picked at her food. “I’m investigating a theory on what might’ve caused it.”

Silverware clinked against plates. The room got quiet.

Bobby Joe raised a brow. “What’cha thinkin’, son?”

Rae’s head sunk lower.

“Mountaintop removal.”

Rae’s head popped up. If she wasn’t careful she’d get whiplash.

“Kessler started on the west end of the mountain three weeks ago. You know as well as I do how solid our walls were reinforced. I filed two safety violation reports since then. I swear, I thought it was an earthquake that first day Kessler started blasting.”

“Who’s Kessler?” Rae asked.

She’d know if she’d have stuck around. Anger simmered in his blood whenever he considered the mountain, and pretending that Rae wasn’t stirring something inside him wasn’t helping. Lane spoke to his plate. “Kessler Industries. They’ve bought out every coal company in southern West Virginia in the last ten years. Except ours.”

“They’re a monopoly.” Bart banged his fist on the table, shifting silverware and ice in glasses.

Netta patted his arm.

Rae shoved her tiny portions from one side of her plate to the other. “What are they doing to the mountain?”

A music award winner didn’t have time to watch the national news?

“Boom!” Everyone jumped at Willie’s outburst. “They’re blowin’ it to smithereens.”

Lane gave up and stared into Rae’s confused face. “It’s their way of removing coal from the mountain at much faster speeds. Problem is, it’s affecting our way of life.”

Netta shook her head, her chin swaying with the motion. “It’s poisoning our water supply. Their way of recreating water flow off the mountain makes nearby towns flood every time it rains. And if the levy around their sludge pond breaks…mmm, mmm, mmm.” She finished with a fierce shake of her head.

Bobby Joe poked his fork in Rae’s direction. “Don’t you worry, baby girl. We ain’t backin’ down.”

With each passing day, Kessler applied a little more pressure to make Hudson Coal scream parley. Surrender was looking imminent.

“That’s right,” Bridie said. “There’s a group proposing windmill energy as an alternative. Apparently, these mountains have the highest winds available in the U.S.”

Rae wadded her napkin and tucked it under the edge of her plate as if she were finished. She’d only eaten two bites.

“I saw the proposal on the Internet,” Drew said. “Someone did a great job engineering the project.”

Bart shrugged. “All’s well until the wind stops blowin’.”

Willie grabbed another biscuit. “Not to worry. If it does, we can use the gust flyin’ off all of Rae’s songs as they climb the charts.”

“And if that doesn’t work, we could power ’em with all your hot air.” The sassy spark in Rae’s eyes, the one Lane hadn’t realized how much he’d missed until now, ignited the room.

Lane chuckled. Boy, did he miss that fire—it could either keep a man warm or scorch him to ashes.

Bridie reached across Drew and squeezed Rae’s hand. “Actually, Rae’s takin’ a little break from her music. She’s decided to stay here through the holidays.”

Lane’s biscuit turned to dust in his throat. He snatched his glass of water and downed it like he’d spent the last year in the desert. Somehow, he’d managed to avoid her all these years, but a visit that long would make life impossible. So much for closure. He put down his empty glass and continued to eat, wearing his best poker face.

Bridie pointed to Rae’s plate. “Eat up. I made red velvet cake for dessert. Your favorite.”

Rae turned an odd shade of green. She looked around the table then stabbed a hunk of broccoli with her fork and raised it to her mouth as if fearing it had been cooked in arsenic.

Bridie tossed another biscuit on Rae’s plate. Rae put it back. “Jay has me auditioning for a couple of movie roles, so I’ve got to keep a slim figure.”

The diva had returned.

“Who’s Jay?” Netta asked.

“My manager.” Rae sipped her water.

Bobby Joe wiped his mouth and laid his napkin on his plate. “I heard your new song the other day.”

“You call that a song, girl?” Willie belched. “There was enough electric guitar in it to shame a rock n’roll concert. What happened to that sweet mountain music you used to sing?”

Bridie’s mouth fell open. “Willie!”

Rae’s eyes watered.

Lane’s chest tightened. Oh, no. Anything but tears.

“No, it’s OK. He’s right.” Rae stared at her lap. “He’s absolutely right.”

Willie had the decency to look sorry. “Now I didn’t mean the girl no harm.” He nodded to punctuate his point. “It’s just that her voice is as pretty as a bubblin’ brook after a summer rain. These new songs she’s been singin’ don’t do her justice. That’s all I was sayin’.”

Rae sniffed and lifted her chin. “Thank you, Uncle Willie. You’re the only one who’ll speak the truth, and believe it or not, that means a lot to me.” She blinked several times. “But Jay feels that in today’s market this is the best strategy for now.”

Lane leaned his back against the chair. It wasn’t like her to be someone’s puppet. “You need to drown your manager and start writing your own music again.” Did that just come out of his mouth?

Wounded eyes met his for half a second, then Rae stared blankly at something behind him. “I can’t write anymore.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

“Why not?” He hadn’t meant to ask it out loud. Didn’t care to know the answer.

Her lids fell to half-mast. “I just…can’t.”

Lane didn’t know how many seconds passed as they stared at one another, speaking in silence. For a moment, he had his best friend back. The woman who held her own, yet needed him to protect her when life got ugly. Regret and heartache rolled through her stormy eyes like thunder. He couldn’t afford to give in to his desire to kick his chair back, take her in his arms, and kiss her until it all went away.

“Dessert.” Bridie stood and picked up her plate. “Who wants cake?”

Lane dropped his napkin on the table and stood. Forget closure. “I appreciate the meal, Bridie. Fine cookin’. However, I’m gonna pass on dessert and go on home. It’s been a long week. I’m sure you understand.”

Bridie paled. “Of course. Can I send a piece with you?”

And relive the last time he’d eaten cake here and kissed the drop of icing from Rae’s lips? “No thanks. ’Night, everyone.”

Their replies hit his back as he walked out the door. He wouldn’t allow Rae into his heart again. The ending was the same. She had movies and fans waiting for her in Tinsel Town. He was just a humble mountain boy.

It wasn’t until he’d driven down the hill and pulled onto the road that he shivered. He’d left his coat behind.