Page 149 of Highball Rush
With a grin at me, he turned the ignition. The throaty engine roared to life. He closed his eyes for a second, nodding his head. ‘That’s the stuff.”
I rolled down the window and rested my arm on the door. “Okay, sexy. You wanna take your girl home?”
He smiled again—slow and sexy and heart-melting. “Yeah, honey. Let’s go home.”
Epilogue
GIBSON
The Lookout was packed to the gills, everyone rushing in from the snowy cold night. Winter had its grip on the mountains of West Virginia. Puddles collected on the floor from bits of snow falling off people’s boots. They hunkered down with whiskey and moonshine, letting the liquor burn off some of the cold.
My family was here, and none of them had a single clue about what was going down tonight. They took up tables—a lot of tables these days—laughing and talking together. Drinking and eating greasy fries. My brothers—all three of them—happy as could be with the women in their lives. My spitfire of a sister with her man. A good man.
Jenny and Jimmy Bob Prosser, who’d tied the knot just a few weeks ago. George and June, who, as far as I was concerned, had beaten out Scarlett and Devlin for unlikeliest couple in town. George and Shelby’s parents, who’d settled here in Bootleg. Harlan and Nadine Tucker, enjoying a shared jar of moonshine.
I stood by the stage—I’d made us a slightly bigger one a few months ago—and pulled out my guitar. Glanced over at the tables filled with people I cared about.
This was going to be a real good time.
Scarlett was chatting up Oliver, Callie’s boss from Attalon Records. He and his wife, Nat, had come out to Bootleg to visit. Almost gotten themselves stuck on the road up to my place. Californians didn’t know how to drive in the snow. We’d set them up with a nice lakefront cabin for their stay and so far, they seemed to be enjoying themselves.
Callie had been glad to see him again. She hadn’t been back to L.A. I’d been sitting with her when she’d called Oliver to tell him the full story last fall. About who she really was and what had happened to her.
She hadn’t been sure what the future held for her as far as her career in music. But the answer had come from an unexpected place: that little song journal she carried around.
I remembered her writing down song lyrics when we were younger, but when she returned to Bootleg, I hadn’t seen her writing. After the judge had been taken into custody—he was charged with a multitude of crimes that ought to keep him in prison for life—and his psychotic wife had left this world, she’d pulled out a journal one day and her pen had practically lit the pages on fire.
She’d started writing songs, all right. She couldn’t seem to stop. And then Attalon Records had started buying the rights to the ones she didn’t mind selling. Some were too personal—she saved those for herself, or for the two of us to sing together. But the rest, she happily sold to other artists. It allowed her to keep doing what she loved without having to live on the road.
Once in a while, a tangled-up musician would call her, begging for help. She’d do that thing she did, talking to them in that sweet, calm voice. Getting serious when she had to. She’d remind them they could do it. Help them find the strength or calm or creativity they needed. Then she’d bark at them to get the fuck back to work.
Sexy as hell, my girl.
She delivered a couple of mason jars of moonshine to Quincy and Henna. They stuck out like sore thumbs in our little country bar, with their tie-dyed clothes, beads, and crystals. But they’d become regular visitors to Bootleg. And true to form in this town, Bootleg had folded them right on in.
I liked Callie’s Blue Moon family. They’d taken care of her when she’d desperately needed it. Helped her heal and grow into the amazing woman she was now. I could have done without Henna’s smacking mouth kisses whenever she saw me. But I was getting used to them. And, to be fair, she did it to my brothers too.
Callie kissed them both on the cheek and came over to join me by the stage.
“Are we about ready?” she asked.
“All set.”
Hung and Corbin took their places. I sat on my stool and put my foot up on a rung. Settled my guitar in my lap. Callie took the stool next to me and adjusted the microphone in front of her.
“Hey, y’all,” I said. I didn’t usually open with a greeting or an introduction. But I’d invited everyone I knew to be here tonight, so it seemed fitting. “Glad to have everyone in out of the cold. Time to get going with a little music. What do y’all say?”
Clapping, whistling, hoots and hollers. Everyone in the Lookout cheered.
“All right, then.”
I glanced at my girl and she smiled. Her hair was all blond now. No more funny colors. She’d dyed it recently, saying she thought it was time for a change. I thought she looked beautiful either way.
She nodded that she was ready, and I strummed the first chord.
It was a song she’d written. I’d helped her put music to the words. We’d never performed it for an audience before—not unless you counted Cash. He loved it, but we also fed him and gave him peanut butter smeared on dog toys, so he tended to love just about everything we did.
She sang the first lines, her sultry voice carrying through the room. The crowd was quiet, gazing at her. My fingers strummed the chords and I felt the music deep inside. The crowd felt it too, and their energy pinged off me. It was heartfelt and electric, feeding my soul. Making me smile.
