Page 33 of Betsy
“Sorry about that.” Dave called back. “Someone cut me off.”
Betsy’s hands were pinned between our chests, her brow level with my lips. If I moved my head at all, I’d be kissing her forehead. She looked up as if reading my thoughts, a frown on her face. I lowered my chin but miscalculated the distance between us. Our noses nuzzled together like Lady and the Tramp. My arms constricted. Time stood still.
Her palms pushed against my chest. Could she feel my heart knocking against my ribs?
“I know you liked the idea of seven fingers, but I’d be worried about the five you have if you don’t let me go right this second.”
My hands dropped to my side, and my cheek twitched as I held back a smile. Betsy may think her barbs had the potential to hurt me, but she was like a prickly pear cactus: a bit thorny on the outside but soft and sweet on the inside. And wouldn’t you know, nopales tasted delicious on the tongue.
“Betsy.” She’d only gone two steps when I softly said her name.
She turned—reluctantly, if the stiff set of her shoulders said anything.
“Another man would probably tease you about how you said you didn’t fall for musicians, and yet you literally just did. But I’m not like other men, so instead, I’ll say that no matter how many times you fall, I’ll always be willing to catch you.”
13
Betsy
Two…three…four…
A choking sound interrupted my counting, followed by a deep exhalation. I rolled over onto my back and stared up at the ceiling less than two feet above my head. So far, the longest Tricia had gone without breathing was five seconds. I’d bolted up so fast thinking something was seriously wrong that I’d slammed my head into the overhead compartment. I’d be lucky if I didn’t have a bruise the size of Texas along my hairline when I looked in the mirror in the morning. Sideswept bangs weren’t the best look on me.
Tricia took another deep, rattling breath in, making as much noise as a lumberjack with his favorite chainsaw. Who knew if a tree falling in a forest made a sound? But a pregnant woman in a tour bus sure as anything did. If the racket were coming from one of the guys, the outcome of the night would have a different ending, but, come to find out, I had boundaries, and contemplating homicide on a sweet pregnant lady crossed those.
Tricia snorted, smacked her lips, then exhaled loudly.
That’s it. I can’t listen to this a second longer or I’ll go insane.I grabbed my hoodie and pushed my feet into a pair of slip-on canvas shoes. Tiptoeing a few steps before asking myself what I was doing—Tricia made enough noise to wake someone from a coma—I walked the rest of the way to the door, then stepped out into the cold night air. The temperature had to have dropped at least twenty degrees since the sun went down. Desert living for you.
I pulled the hoodie on over my head and yanked the hem down, shoving my hands into the kangaroo pouch in front. I should have thought to bring a heavier jacket. Then again, I hadn’t expected midnight strolls just north of the Mojave Desert.
Not sure what I’d expected, really. While I’d been hired to do live performances before, I’d never toured with a band. Even then, I imagined each one would look different depending on budget and just how big of a name the headliners were. Was it normal to rent a Frankenstein bus with the drummer as the driver and pull into a near-empty campsite to spend the night before driving the rest of the way for an evening concert the next day?
A light streaked across the dome of the sky then faded, bringing my gaze upward. Millions of stars sparkled against the darkness, like a seamstress had handstitched tiny sequins into the Earth’s little black dress. She spun so each could catch the light and dazzle us with her beauty.
“Pretty spectacular, isn’t it?” a male voice asked behind me.
My heart leapt to my throat, and I whirled on the balls of my feet. Asher stood behind me and off to the side, his hands shoved into the front pockets of his jeans and his face tipped toward the heavens.
“I can’t stand under a blanket of stars like this and not feel small in comparison. It reminds me how big the universe is. How powerful and mighty God is. And yet, He loves me and knows me by name.” His face lowered until he was looking at me, his features lit by the glow of our galaxy shining down on us. A small shadow fell under his cheekbone, highlighting the strong, angular cut of his jaw.
I’d heard the saying of someone having stars in their eyes before but had never paid all that much attention. Now, with constellations reflected in Asher’s deep-brown irises, the saying took on a new meaning. And I couldn’t look away.
“Do you see that cluster of stars over there?” His arm rose as he pointed into the distance above us. “That’s Pleiades or The Seven Sisters. In Greek mythology, it’s said that those stars represent the seven daughters of the Titan Atlas.”
“The statue of the guy with the world on his shoulders?”
He made a humming noise in assent. “Because he was charged with carrying the heavens on his shoulders, he was gone from home and far away from his daughters for long periods of time. He was worried that the great hunter, Orion, would pursue his daughters and make them fall in love with him, so Zeus turned them into stars to comfort Atlas and so he could have his daughters closer to him.” Once again, he moved his gaze from the sky to me. “Even now, the constellation of Orion is still pursuing them across the sky every night.” He took a step closer.
I could feel his body heat reaching across the distance between us, invading my space but warming me in a way that I had no defense against. He pointed to the cluster of stars again, then shifted his hand a little to the side. “See him there? He’s hot on their heels.”
I swallowed, wondering if there was more to this little astronomy lesson than a simple jump into Greek mythology. Did he see me as Pleiades and himself as Orion? Was he trying to tell me that he’d chase after me the way Orion did Atlas’s daughters?
I shifted my weight away from him, standing mostly on the foot farthest from where he stood. The cold seeped back into the space I’d created, immediately robbing me. I shivered, something that did not go unnoticed. Asher shrugged out of his jacket. I was so taken aback by the gesture (Really? Guys did this outside of movies?) that it took a moment before my brain registered his intentions. By that time, he’d settled the warm sheepskin-lined denim around my shoulders, and the earthy scent wafting up from the fabric scattered my protests before they could even form on my lips.
But I needed to. Protest, that is. A well-placed quip about how Orion should respect the seven sisters and their refusal of his advances (and maybe pick one instead of chasing after all seven of their skirts at the same time—maybe Orion was a musician as well as a great hunter). Instead, all I could do was fill my lungs with what smelled like an intoxicating mixture of earth, something chalky, and…was that rosin? Did Asher play another string instrument other than guitar?
I felt myself thawing, the outward warmth lulling me into a sense of safety that had me relaxing my vigilance, giving slow blinks instead of being wide-eyed and on alert. I pinched the inside of my elbow. The moment defenses went down, the enemy advanced. And the last thing I needed was advances from Asher.
