Page 1 of Smoky Mountain Dreams
Part I
Chapter One
“RYDER!”
Christopher pushed off the side of the large outdoor stagehe’d been leaning against, admiring the slowly brightening autumn colors on themountains. Melissa Mundy’s Smoky Mountain Dreams Park was packed even on aFriday afternoon, full of tourists from all over the world. With a break ofseveral hours before the next performance of rowdy honky-tonk, down-homebluegrass, and good old country music began, they were heading out of the SmokyShow Village and into the thrill rides portion of the park known as StarlightCity.
Christopher always liked watching the patrons go. Theirorderly mass exodus tended to patch up his tattered faith in the basic decencyof humanity, but now he turned away from them. “S’up, boss,” he said, smilingas scrawny old Rupert Looney approached from backstage, pointing at hismanagerial clipboard.
“Hinkins showed up after all. So you’re outta here.” Hejerked his thumb over his shoulder.
“Thought he’d lost his voice.”
“Seems he got it back,” Rupert said, scratching a couple ofgnarled fingers over his long beard.
There was a small but tidy bonus for employees of SmokyMountain Dreams—or SMD as the staff called it—who grew their beards out to morefully emulate the old-time Appalachian theme of the park. It only applied tothe offstage cast members, though—the ride operators, store clerks,blacksmiths, and chainsaw artists. That order came directly from the top:Melissa Mundy wanted her stage performers’ appearance to be as squeaky clean ashers was, and you didn’t argue with a woman who’d gone platinum around theworld and topped the charts since before you were born.
Christopher didn’t mind the restriction since his baby facewasn’t any good at growing facial hair anyway. He might not be the epitome ofsqueaky clean, what with his slightly shaggy blond hair hanging a little in hisface, but he was slim and otherwise tidy-looking, and his wide, green eyes madehim look much more innocent than he’d actually been in some time.
Rupert snorted, obviously thinking about Lash Hinkin’smiraculous recovery.
“His wife sobered him up?” Christopher asked.
“Yep, she called right after his slurred excuse and said she’dhave him ready to go. I didn’t believe her myself, but seems I was wrong. Hecame in ten minutes ago, and don’t look too worse for wear.” Rupert grimaced. “Adad-blamed idiot that man is. He could’ve been a star. Heck, heisa star, and he don’t even know it. People come herefrom all over just to hear him sing.”
Christopher wondered, not for the first time, what it wouldbe like to have that kind of talent. He always sensed the audiences’disappointment when he stepped out onto the stage for the lead parts instead ofLash. In the end, he usually won them over and they enjoyed his performance—hewasn’t Lash’s second for nothing—but he wished he knew what it was like to stepout and see even one person’s eyes light up.
He turned his gaze from Rupert back to the mountains for amoment, taking in the deepening richness as the orange, red, and yellow of theleaves eased down from the higher elevations. The park would be beautiful nextweek when the height of the color reached them.
“It’s a cryin’ shame he’s a damn drunk,” Rupert went on,shaking his head and squinting at the backs of the still-departing crowd. “Andall those so-called ladies he carries on with don’t help him none. At least hiswife don’t seem to mind taking care of him, cleaning up his piss and puke. Sureas hell makes my job easier. But shit, how’s she stand it? All his whoring anddrinking? My wife would leave my ass flat.”
“His wife knows what she’s dealing with,” Christopher saidto Rupert, waving to a passing girl who’d pointed at him with excitement. Shemust have recognized him from the show. “I guess she loves him anyway.”
Rupert sighed. “You might not have Lash’s talent but you’rethe better man, Ryder. Never doubt that.”
Envy sometimes made it hard for Christopher to see thebright side of the talent trade-off. He was no one’s star. Still, he was sober,sane, and good enough to be Lash’s stand-in. He’d made peace a long time agowith his lot in life and, for the most part, he was happy with his career. Hegot to sing on stage and feel the power of the audience surge up through him.He was damn lucky. There were plenty of failed country-music performers out therewhodidn’tget to stand in front of an audienceevery night and earn some sweet applause.
“Sure I shouldn’t stick around?” Christopher asked Rupert,who was still frowning darkly at his clipboard. “Make sure he’s really good togo?”
Rupert shook his head and waved Christopher off. “Nah, getoutta here. I got it covered and I cut you off the clock already anyhow.”
Christopher headed to the dressing area to get out of hiscostume of a checked shirt and overalls and into his regular clothes: jeans anda green button-up short-sleeve shirt. After checking his reflection, heretrieved his backpack and keys. As he passed through the Employees Only gate,he paused to take in the lingering deep reds of the black gum, sumac, anddogwoods, and the ever-present fog that hung around the mountains, earning themthe name Smokies. Then his attention fell on the blacksmith’s forge. The glowof the fire and the strike of metal meant Gareth was in there with his thick,light brown hair and beard, tattooed muscled arms, and tight ass, working themetal and sweating in the heat.
Christopher considered watching for a few minutes. He’dalways enjoyed the view. But after the night he and Gareth spent at the end ofsummer twisted up in each other’s arms, sucking and screwing and coming, thingsbetween them had been weird. Even though it’d been good. Damn good, at leastfor Christopher. And, if the cursing, desperate grunts, and all-night erectionwere anything to go by, he’d thought it’d been good for Gareth too.
Unfortunately, life got in the way of it becoming anythingmore than a one-night stand. They worked together, and it was against SMD’spolicy for cast members to start relationships. Even if they’d gotten aroundit, since Gareth wasn’t technically a stage performer and Melissa Mundy’s photowas under the words “hopeless romantic” in the dictionary, that wasn’t the realdeal-killer. No, everything went deader-than-dead between them when Gareth’s exhad called from Afghanistan to say he was coming home. And, more to the point,he wanted Gareth back.
“I gotta give ‘im another chance,” Gareth had toldChristopher while they drank beer and squirmed uncomfortably on bar stools inPuckers. “You’re a good guy, but…” His eyes seemed to beg Christopher tounderstand, or maybe to just not make a scene. “Rick and me got history and Istill care about ‘im. He got injured over there, and hell, he needs me.”
“I understand.” Christopher had carefully kept a game smileon his face. “We had a few too many and ended up in bed. It happens.”
Never mind that Christopher had been nearly entirely soberand itdidn’treally happen. Well, not that oftenand not to him anyway. He wasn’topposedtoone-night stands; he had them when he really needed some physical touch and hishand wasn’t cutting it. But they weren’t his usual M.O. Call him old fashioned,but he preferred some emotional intimacy with his sex if he could get it. Thatwas part of why Gareth’s decision hurt. They’d been friends first, and while hecouldn’t say he’d fallen for the guy, being rejected by someone he actuallycared about sucked.
In Puckers, Gareth had gone on, the relief plain on hisface, “I’m not sorry it happened. You were great. Who knew you’d be such a damnwildcat in bed?”
“Feistier than I look.”
“Ain’t that the truth?” Gareth had swallowed anothermouthful of beer, tossed bills down, and left Christopher to cope however hesaw fit.
