Page 8 of When the Storm Breaks
“How long have you been playing the guitar?” Not sure why but I wanted to keep her talking. More for the sound of her voice than the actual words coming out of her mouth.
“Since I was old enough to hold my first one. Guess I was around five or six.” I heard the smile in her voice. “I used to play until my fingers were raw and bleeding. Until I built up so many calluses it didn’t hurt to play anymore.” I glanced at her hands as her tattooed fingers spun the chunky silver ring around her thumb.
“Do you have something like that in your life, Brody? Do you have something that’s your salvation?”
“What makes you think I’m in need of saving?”
“We’re all in need of saving. But some of us more than others. What’s your thing? What’s your salvation?”
Strange questions from a strange girl. “Working with horses, I guess.”
“I’m glad you have that. Everyone needs something.”
After that, she was quiet. When I looked over at her, her eyes were closed.
We lapsed into silence and I drove like I did when I had my son in the car. I took it slow and easy, keeping my eyes on the road, hyper-vigilant for threats to her safety. Like I was transporting precious cargo and I’d sooner die before letting anything happen to her. I couldn’t say what it was about her that made me feel like she needed my protection, but I thought she did.
It was only when I was two miles from home that I realized what a dumb shit I’d been. I laughed under my breath. How could I not have figured it out sooner? I glanced at her again to confirm my suspicions. Her cheek was pressed against the leather seat, her body tucked underneath her, eyes closed, the hat discarded.
What were the fucking chances Shiloh Leroux would end up in my truck, staying at the guesthouse on my horse ranch? One in a million. Yet here she was, curled up in the passenger seat, sound asleep.
I’d been right about her. She was trouble with a capital T. I never went looking for it, but it always managed to find me.
This was the second time we’d met, although I doubt she remembered the first.
Chapter Three
Brody
Headlights illuminating the way,my tires crunched over the gravel as I followed the dirt lane that led to the timber-framed cottage nestled in a grove of trees.
I parked and cut the engine, plunging us into silence. Someone had left the porch light on. Probably Kate. She’d always been big on giving everyone a warm welcome, whether they deserved it or not.
Shiloh was still sound asleep. Something stopped me from waking her. Instead, I sat back in my seat, folded my arms over my chest, and waited for her to wake up. Like I had all the time in the world and this was no inconvenience.
I’d seen Shiloh once before. About nine years ago. Back when I was on the rodeo circuit and living in an Airstream on Austin Armacost’s ranch. Years before she’d hit the big time. She and her band were playing on a makeshift stage in a dive bar in Lafayette, Louisiana. I usually tried to steer clear of Louisiana, especially Lafayette. Too many bad memories associated with the place. But that time, I’d agreed to ride in Lafayette and was well on my way to getting drunk before she showed up.
Shiloh couldn’t have been older than fifteen or sixteen at the time. When she stepped up to the mic, cradling her guitar, nobody had been expecting much. The crowd had been rowdy, talking and laughing over the music blasting from the speakers.
But when the music had cut out and she’d started playing and singing, I stopped whatever I was doing to listen. She sang a cover version of “Iris” by The Goo Goo Dolls that made me feel like I’d never heard the song before.
I don’t remember the girl I was with that night, barely glanced at the guys in her band, but I remember Shiloh Leroux and the sound of her voice that would go on to make her one of the hottest stars in the music industry. I remember the look on her face that night when she played and sang. Like she was in another world far away from that dive bar with sawdust on the floor and the scent of sweat and stale beer in the air.
I had no idea what had brought her to Cypress Springs. Maybe it was just peace and quiet she was after, but I had a feeling it was something more.
I’d been sitting in silence for an hour, my thoughts wandering from the night I met Shiloh to the endless list of jobs that needed to be done on the ranch, when I heard her stir. I turned my head to look at her as she sat up and tried to get her bearings. Except for the glow of the porch light, the night was pitch black.
“Hey,” she said, her voice sleep-groggy as she pulled the hat down over her head again. “You should have woken me up.”
“You’re awake now.”
I grabbed her bag and the guitar case from the back. She followed me to the porch and waited while I entered the code in the keypad then pushed open the door.
Once inside, I flicked on the lights and was almost surprised to find the cabin was empty. Even though Walt was gone, I still expected to see his craggy face peering back at me from the leather sofa, sharing words of wisdom he’d gathered during his eighty-odd years on earth. But he wasn’t here, and the place had been renovated after he died so it no longer smelled like Camel cigarettes and the medicinal plants and herbs he used to brew into teas.
Kate had left a peach pie on the kitchen counter and wildflowers in mason jars sat on the windowsill, compliments of Lila. According to Kate’s write-up on the website, the cottage was charming and rustic with a spectacular view of the spring-fed lake and rolling green hills. A home away from home, she’d called it.
I didn’t think Shiloh Leroux really gave a shit what the place looked like or the view, so I saved the speech and carried her bags up the wooden staircase to the bigger of the two bedrooms. It was a nice enough room—light and airy with rustic wood walls, furnished with a bed, dresser and bedside tables, a patchwork quilt on the bed—but probably not the glitz and glamor she’d become accustomed to. I set her suitcase on the long stool at the bottom of the bed and turned around to find her right in front of me.
