Cinnamon’s Courageous Heart: Sweethearts of Country Music, Book 5 Read online

  He chuckled, a rich, warm sound, and creases appeared at his eyes. Butterflies hit Cinnamon’s stomach just like when she was getting ready to perform somewhere new. She swallowed against them.

  2

  She smelled like coffee and horse. He liked that warm combination. Her eyes were a nice mix of blue and green, changing with her emotions. Those were eyes he could get lost in. When she stopped in the doorway and looked back at him, his heart stalled, then drummed ahead like that galloping horse she came flying over the hill on, her hair flying like a red banner. She hadn’t seen him standing on the porch, but he saw her when he heard the hoofbeats and soon his heart had taken off like a runaway steed. What a sight she made.

  Cinnamon. It fit her perfectly. Like a subtle, savory kick when you’re expecting sweet. Trying hard not to grin like a fool, he followed her back outside. Why had she gone quiet and uncertain when he asked about her bedroom? Instead of asking, he listened to her talk about the band. It sounded impressive. She wrote some of their songs and played two instruments.

  “Do you have any other questions?”

  Oh, he had plenty. But none he could ask her now. He shook his head. “Not really. I’m finishing up a job by the end of this week, so I could start here Monday. Does that sound good or do you want to look around more before committing to me?”

  She stuffed her hands in her back pockets, turned her gaze out to the horse still standing where she left it, and began nibbling her bottom lip. She turned back to the house and he got the feeling she really liked it, despite its current state of disarray. Well, he’d seen worse and he knew he could turn this piecemealed mess into a country charmer.

  “How soon did you say you were leaving on tour?”

  She stopped chewing her bottom lip and he had the insane desire to kiss it. He gave himself a mental slap.

  “I’m not exactly sure. Soon. We’re meeting this afternoon and Rissa should have the details for us.”

  He stared at those lips, now slightly bruised from her nibbling. “Just give me a call and we’ll go from there.” That seemed like the easiest solution. He wouldn’t pressure her, though he was eager to work on her house.

  Sudden barking drew their attention to the corner of the barn. Gunner! He’d forgotten about the dog. She gasped, turning as his dog raced from the barn up to him. In front, running like its life were in mortal peril, streaked a black and white cat. The placid horse threw up his head, snorted and side-stepped out of their way.

  “Jasper! Oh, Jasper!” Cinnamon knelt, arms spread wide, to gather the wild beast. It catapulted into her embrace, meowing at her while hissing and growling at Gunner at the same time.

  He motioned to the dog. “Gunner! Get in the truck.”

  The shaggy mutt cast him an “Aww, shucks” look but obeyed, hoping into his customary front passenger seat spot. His tongue lolled happily.

  Cinnamon cradled the cat, trying to soothe its puffed fur. Tears glistened in her eyes and the cat rubbed its chin all over her face and neck. To be honest, he was getting kind of envious.

  “Is that your dog?”

  He smiled at the obvious question. “Yes, that’s Gunner. He’s my shotgun rider.”

  “I’ve been looking for Jasper for two days, ever since Nick let him escape during his last home improvement attempt.”

  He considered that. “So, Jasper stays inside. You know, any construction worker would be carrying materials in and out, the doors would be opened countless times, if not propped open for long periods. How do you plan on keeping Jasper inside, especially when you’re gone?” The cat rose up to bop his head on her chin, his purr sounding like an outboard motor.

  “I have a reservation for him at the kennel in town. I just need to confirm the exact dates when I get them from Rissa. They have a really neat cattery where he’ll have a condo all to himself. And I have someone who’ll be stopping by every day to take care of Galoot.”

  That must be the horse. Again, he was impressed with Cinnamon, at how she planned for the care of her pets when she was going to be gone. Clearly this was a woman who appreciated and cared for her home and her animals. He found that characteristic wholly appealing. Something awakened deep within him and took his breath away with its sudden intensity. His stagnant, predictable life jolted as if hit by lightning.

  She still cradled the cat to her chest as if she never intended to let him go, her chin tucked into the furry creature’s head as she cooed softly and rocked side to side. For a moment, she was lost in the cat, and the rocking. Then he realized she was singing softly, a most reassuring melody. It sent an unexpected shiver down his back. The cat’s black tail stopped lashing and his purr grew louder. His white paws looked like he was kneading bread against Cinnamon’s arm.

  She turned back to him. “Will you be able to start Monday? You’ll have all that paperwork you were talking about?”

  She tossed him a shy smile, amplifying those lightning bolts. “Yes, ma’am. Eight-thirty a.m. sharp.” He tipped his cap, his own smile pretty big.

  As he pulled out of her driveway, his mind was already whirling with ideas on the house. He reached over and ruffled Gunner’s ears.

  “Well, old boy, we sure did something right. Or at least you did by finding her lost kitty cat. Good job, boy.”

  * * *

  Later that evening, Silas balanced his laptop on his leg; a yellow legal pad sat at his right side and his left hand held a ginger ale. Blueberry flavored. Beside him on the sofa, Gunner stretched, clearly hoping for a bite from the foot-long hero sub Silas was slowly working his way through. The dog’s dark eyebrow shifted, rising and falling as his gaze followed the sandwich. Grinning at the shepherd/collie mix’s hopeful expression, Silas tore off a chunk of meat and slipped it over.

  “Now leave me alone, you pitiful beggar. I have work to do.”

  Aside from Cinnamon’s affinity for all colors red, he felt he had a good grasp of her style and taste. Actually, he found it refreshing. He dealt with so many trendy craftsman houses, modern industrial styles, and imitation farmhouses, it was nice to have a chance to work on something authentic. And authentic was certainly a word that came to mind when he pictured Cinnamon.

  Not only was she lovely to look at while riding a racing horse over a hilltop, she was just pretty. Her blue-green eyes narrowed slightly, giving her a coy expression when she smiled, especially when she arched those reddish-brown eyebrows. Her smirky grin made him wonder if she had a secret. Or maybe she knew a joke. He wondered which one it was. Was it a bad thing that he wanted to touch that glorious crown of reddish-brown hair? Wavy and thick, it swished around her shoulders each time she moved her head. Cinnamon was a perfect name for her.

  And best of all, she had an authentic farmhouse with good bones. He was eager to work with that, fleshing it out. He studied the pictures he’d taken of the exposed studs—lots of them—and the existing walls and fixtures. In his construction zeal, her brother had actually done most of the demolition work and left him with the fun part of rebuilding.

  His pencil flowed along the legal pad and he flipped pages as ideas popped into his mind. He drew, erased, drew some more, and labeled everything. A lot of the work was simply fixing the accident damage caused by her brother’s good intentions. Simple things like restoring walls or adjusting them. He wanted to keep some walls, but with some slight adjustments. Then drywall, painting, and wallpapering. He planned to maintain the integrity of the house and work with what she already had and what she wanted.

  Was it safe to say he was as excited about this job as he was about the woman who owned the house? Or at least excited about such a great project with an owner whose ideas and interests were so very close to his own.

  By the time he finished, it was late. He hesitated. Should he send it to Cinnamon now, late as it was? Or should he wait until tomorrow morning? His finger hovered over the send button as he checked the time.

  Oh well. If it was too late, she’d get it in the morning. It wasn’t
anything that couldn’t wait until then. He tapped send before he could change his mind. Finished, he set the laptop and legal pad aside and laced his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. She was one interesting woman.

  He could see her on that black horse, running over the hill, headed straight for the house. Her hair flew behind her and she jumped out of the saddle with all the finesse of a cowgirl. The whole scene put him in mind of a western scene from a movie. Suddenly, the cold January air seemed a lot warmer. And when she showed him around, she talked so confidently on what she wanted. Until they reached upstairs, and he asked about her bedroom. The blush creeping into her cheeks and her adorable stammering made him want to laugh. Now, thinking back on it, he wished he’d pressed her a bit more.

  If he pushed her, would she run away? He had a feeling Cinnamon Chadwick would push right back. At least that’s what she wanted everyone to believe.

  3

  Cinnamon returned home just after dark. First thing she did was head out to the barn to feed Galoot and then she rushed inside, eager to escape the Tennessee winter chill. In her tote bag were pages of notes from her meeting with the girls, and dates for their upcoming tour. And a whole list of things she needed to do and people to contact about her identity issue. She gave them both priority, but at least now she could finalize plans.

  She’d been shocked at the meeting when Rissa said they were leaving Thursday with their first show on Friday night. Somehow, she’d thought the start date was further out, but Rissa had been clear everyone had known this for a while now. Even Mac had ribbed her about being absentminded. She shook her head, took the joking in stride, and assumed it was just further proof of how crazy her life had become lately. She’d simply lost track of time.

  Shrugging off her forgetfulness, she swung the back door open.

  Jasper met her at the door, arching his back and meowing in happy greeting.

  “Glad to be back, sweetie?” she greeted the tux cat. She checked his dish and tossed a turkey frozen pot pie in the microwave. By the time it beeped, she had her soda poured into a glass of ice and her laptop fired up. Jasper settled next to her, kneading her leg and belting out a happy purr, as she opened her email.

  [email protected]

  Re: Our meeting this morning and house plans

  Her heart faltered as she read the sender’s name and subject, then pounded like C.C. beating her drums as she opened the email.

  Dear Miss Chadwick,

  It was a pleasure to meet you. Attached to this email are several sketches, all labeled with specific details. Please look them over at your convenience and feel free to let me know your thoughts. I’m confident we can stay within your budget and still create some stunning remodeling designs.

  Silas Black

  She opened the attachments and studied them carefully. Wow, he really captured her ideas. It was like he crept into her mind and prowled around through her dreams and ideas. That was interesting in a cool way. She nibbled a fingernail as she critically stared at the sketches. She couldn’t fault a single plan. The question was, should she respond now, letting him know she loved them? Or should she wait until Monday? She glanced at the clock. It was 9:42 p.m., right on the border of proper etiquette. It was almost too late to contact someone, but it was email, and not phone, so it would sit in his inbox until he retrieved it, so technically etiquette didn’t apply to emails.

  Jasper meowed and stretched, arching his back against her leg. “You’re right, Jasper. I’ll do it.”

  Dear Mr. Black,

  These sketches are very nice. I’m looking forward to seeing work begin Monday. Thank you.

  Cinnamon

  She followed his example and kept it simple. She’d have a few days to figure out how to handle the giddy feelings in her gut. They felt like the butterflies she got just before she sang on stage.

  * * *

  Monday morning dawned with splashes of caramel and ombre shades of pink and orange. Cinnamon watched darkness fade and color cover the sky from her porch, a Banjo players know how to pick coffee mug nestled in her hand. A birthday gift from Nick four years ago. The strong scent of coffee curled into the air. She rested one heeled boot against the railing and gently rocked the wicker chair.

  She had a laundry list of things to get done. And Silas Black was coming this morning. They’d bump into each other for four days before she had to leave. She was always anxious before a tour, and excited, but this time she felt she was going to develop an ulcer.

  How was it going to be having that gorgeous handyman underfoot for four days? Would he respect her privacy as she prepared to leave, or would he invade her space at every turn? And what was he going to do to her home when she left? She still felt the blush when he asked about her bedroom. She always considered a bedroom the most personal part of someone’s house. You might prowl through the bathroom if you were nosy enough, but the bedroom was hands-off. It was . . . well, personal. And to be honest, it’d been an adjustment for her to learn to share with her bandmates while on the bus. Apparently, she wasn’t a natural at sharing. She shrugged at the rising sun and took another couple of sips of coffee.

  A meow at the screen door made her turn around. “Oh no, you don’t. You’re not getting out again.” She scolded the cat, nudging him away as she opened the door, then bending to scoop him up in a hug. He nestled in with a start of his purr-motor. “I know, baby. It was terrible for both of us. Why didn’t you come when I called for you the first hundred times or so that first day?”

  Jasper responded with a head-butt to her wrist, jostling her coffee. “Rascal.” She set the cat down, then her nearly empty cup and walked away, Jasper following swiftly behind. “We need to pack your bag. You have a reservation in town.”

  She pulled the cat’s Felix the Cat travel bag down from the shelf above the washer. Jasper hopped up to watch. “Let’s see, we’ll need your food, your favorite blanket, some catnip, a few toys, and a bag of treats. And I’ll send plenty of those smelly little tuna cans you like so well. Anything else?”

  As she talked, she moved around the adjacent rooms, now conveniently accessible since Nick took the walls out, and gathered the cat’s things.

  “Hello? Anyone home?”

  She jumped at the man’s call. Silas Black? Already? Sure enough, it was almost eight-thirty. She dropped in the cat’s toys and catnip tin and headed for the door. He stood there, in all his previous handsome hunkiness, dressed in faded blue jeans and a Nashville Sounds navy t-shirt, chambray work shirt, and ball cap, also with the Sounds emblem. Her heart warmed.

  “Sorry, I didn’t hear you knock. I was packing Jasper’s bag. He’s going to the kennel soon.”

  He grinned. “Actually, I only knocked once, heard you in here and started pounding. Finally, I just figured to try the lock.”

  His amused grin caused double butterflies to take off in her stomach. She stuffed her hands in the rear pockets of her jeans and rocked back on her boot heels.

  “I’ll take him to town, run some errands, and get my car checked. I still have some stolen identity issues to work out at the bank, and all those pre-tour errands. I’ll be gone a little while. Is there anything special you need of me before I go or when I return?”

  His undivided attention while she talked made her feel like she was babbling.

  He gave a shake of his head. “Just keep Jasper safe and sound until you take him to town. I have my game plan and I’ll be walking in and out a bit, especially at first. If I need you, I’ll find you.”

  Something about the way he said that made her sure he’d find her anywhere she went. More butterflies took off, and goosebumps rose on her arms. She rocked again.

  “I see you’re a Sounds fan. I like watching them, too.”

  A slow smile lit up his face, creating an incredible display of interest and fascination. “Maybe we can go together and take in a few games when they start up this spring?” he suggested.

  Cinnamon found she liked that
idea a whole lot. “Well, we have a little time. In the meanwhile, I have a lot to do. We leave Thursday and our first show is Friday night.”

  He seemed surprised but adjusted his cap and gave her a nod. “Then I won’t keep you, Cinnamon.”

  “Umm, there’s a key on the counter, under the fruit basket,” she said, unable to stop herself from babbling. “It’s yours.” She felt like she was offering him the keys to the kingdom. In a way, she was—her personal kingdom.

  “Thank you.” He spoke the words as he surveyed the room. Then he looked back at her. “I’ll be careful with it.” His voice was solemn before he turned, and she watched him head back to his truck. It took a lot of effort to return to packing the cat’s bag. Then she scooped him up and zipped him inside his Felix the Cat carrier. Gathering her purse and list of things to do, she headed out to her Tracker. He met her at the porch door, and held it open for her.

  A smile lined his face and he nudged his cap with his elbow. “Ma’am. Drive safely.”

  She nodded, warmth unexpectedly pulsing through her. She walked to her Tracker and noticed the shaggy dog lying in the shade of Silas’ truck. It thumped his tail once and Jasper hissed from the safety of his carrier. Cinnamon grinned as she secured Jasper and her things.

  * * *

  Three hours later, Cinnamon had accomplished as much as she could in town. Jasper was safe. She had a temporary debit card and credit cards and some cash to tide her over. She still shook her head and fumed over the whole stolen identity thing, but it was what it was. Her mechanic inspected and corrected the check engine light. And she’d bought some chocolates and snacks to have on the bus. All the girls contributed their favorites and everyone shared when the munchies struck. Cinnamon’s weaknesses were all forms of chocolate and butterscotch discs.