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

  “Long day?”

  “Yes, filming has finally caught up with me.” She explained about the video and the producer’s vision and how she liked the concept. Tomorrow they’d have to rush to get their vocals finished before it was time to pull out of town.

  “You weren’t kidding about your crazy life. So, you had mentioned that you’ll have some days here and there between shows where you can come home, right?” She nodded and he continued. “I figure we can catch up then, you can see how things are progressing with the house and give me your input during those breaks. But I had a good idea for communicating while you’re gone. You’ll have a laptop on the bus, right?’

  “Yes, I’ll pack that. It’s handy for keeping up with emails, paying bills, and stuff like that.”

  “We can also use it to Skype. I can show you live footage of my progress.”

  The pizza arrived. “Is it okay if I say grace?” he asked. She nodded and bowed her head. He said a concise prayer, ended with “Amen” and she echoed it.

  Silas scooped out two pieces, handing the first plate to Cinnamon.

  “That’s a good idea,” she said, taking the plate. “About the Skype.” Their gaze lingered over the food, as sweet, yeasty, cheesy scents curled around them. Their fingers brushed.

  She tried to ignore the sizzle as it zipped through her. Instead, she shifted through her mind for something to say. “Tell me, what got you into construction work?”

  “Pure luck. I had some extra money and came across a cheap fixer upper. I found the work to be almost therapeutic. Once it was finished, I sold it, recouped all the money I spent on purchase and rebuild. And I discovered my hobby was something I wanted to do more of.”

  “So why not just buy houses and flip them when you were so successful with that one? Those shows Nick watches feature people who do nothing but that.”

  He laughed. “Yeah. Those shows. For starters, it’s always a gamble. For every house you flip for a profit, there’s statistically one you get caught at a loss. It’s not as easy as they show on television. I’d much rather do this for other people. Like you.”

  “I’ll be sure to tell Nick. He was thinking of flipping a few houses.”

  His eyebrows rose, arching, as his jaw slacked.

  She laughed. “I’m kidding. He got a taste of it with my house and realized he lacks a few necessary skills. He decided to abandon the dream.”

  Silas shook his head. “I don’t know what to say about that. I’ll just let it go. What made you want to be a country music star?”

  She reached over and plucked an anchovy from his side and held it up between her fingers, studying it suspiciously. “I heard Dueling Banjos one day and wanted to play like that. I took lessons . . . lots and lots of lessons.” She rolled her eyes for emphasis. “Once I mastered the banjo, I learned the fiddle so I could play The Orange Blossom Special.”

  “Then I started playing around town, trying to get noticed. It finally paid off.” She put the anchovy on her tongue, her face slowly twisting into a grimace. She quickly reached for her soda and swallowed convulsively. “Ugh. I hope your rebuilding skills are better than your taste in food.”

  He grinned at her, amusement lighting his dark eyes. “Better.” He picked up a slice full of anchovies, took a bite, and smiled in satisfaction.

  They ate slowly, lingering, despite the late hour. Cinnamon covered another yawn and Silas grinned. “That’s about your fourth yawn since we got here. We’d better go. You have another big day tomorrow.”

  She looked down, surprised they’d finished the entire large pizza. When had they done that? How many anchovies had she eaten? “Yes, I suppose so. I can sleep on the bus once we leave town. But, hey, I’ve enjoyed this. It was very thoughtful of you.”

  Silas shrugged. “Not so much. I was hungry, and figured you were, too. Those two things equaled . . . a send-off dinner.”

  Cinnamon wondered what he was about to say when he changed his track. She watched him pull out his wallet and lay down some bills. He stood, waiting for her. He took her elbow and walked her to their trucks. He leaned against his and grinned, dimples showing in the parking lot light glow.

  “Cinnamon Chadwick, I wish you every luck tomorrow and with the tour. And I think I like you.”

  Taken by surprise, she ducked her head, warmth coursing through her. “In that case, Silas Black, please do a good job on my house.”

  “Not to worry. I’d do a good job regardless. Since I like you, I’ll do a great job.” He leaned forward and cupped her chin, making her meet his eyes. He was handsome, but there was a genuine vibe about him that appealed to her. His gaze darkened and a shiver raced over her. He was gonna kiss her.

  His lips brushed hers with the barest caress. Like cool silk feathered over her lips. She inhaled. Spice and musk. Cheese and anchovy. Ginger ale. Then he withdrew, his expression once more jovial. Breathing deep again, she forced herself away from where they’d been and back to where they were.

  She snapped her fingers, matching his grin. “Darn. I was hoping for fabulous with the house. Not just great.” With that, she slid into her Tracker and turned the key. Driving away, she was startled to find her hands shaking.

  * * *

  Silas left Rounders, humming a happy tune. He watched her Tracker’s taillights in his rear view until she turned the corner. The attraction and pull to Cinnamon were so intense, he felt his head spinning with the magnitude. He normally didn’t fall for a girl this hard or fast, and he wondered what about her hit him so differently. When she picked up that anchovy, and tasted it, and her face twisted every which way, he thought he was going to melt. Gosh, she was cute!

  He didn’t know what inspired him to give her a goodbye kiss. It just felt like the thing to do at the moment and he reacted before the impulse passed. Her soft skin and fresh rose smell left him with no regrets. He wasn’t the type to normally kiss a girl so soon after meeting her, but it seemed when he was next to her, his reserved nature disappeared, and his buried impetuous surfaced and took control.

  In addition to being cute, she was strong. She clearly worked at presenting an independent, tough, and capable persona. He respected that. But he sensed there was more to Cinnamon Chadwick than most people saw. He was willing to dig deeper. If she’d let him. The question was how to do that when she was going to be gone so much?

  He couldn’t imagine being any more contented. He had a very exciting house to work on. No HOA people complaining about his truck and utility trailer taking up too many parking spaces or his saws or compressor making too much noise. Cinnamon’s house was no copycat arts and crafts house, this was a genuine farmhouse and he couldn't be more excited to jump into it. He also saw Cinnamon as an intriguing woman to pique his interest and play with his imagination. Right now, he was a happy man.

  6

  In the early morning, Cinnamon and Galoot topped the hill and the house came into view. Her heartbeat skipped a beat when she spotted Silas’s truck in the driveway. She squinted at the tent next to porch and urged her horse forward. It was a blue and white striped canopy, with his business logo imprinted on it. Underneath sat two pair of sawhorses and some tools. She grinned. He’d set up his own portable covered workstation. Gunner lay in the shade, next to a large bowl filled with water. He thumped his tail at her approach.

  She stabled Galoot, brushed him down, and hugged his neck, all while the whine of saws, music, and machines poured from her house. “I’m going to miss you, black horse,” she said. She rubbed his nose and gave him extra oats and carrots before leaving. She walked to the house, listening as the music grew louder. It was certainly nothing she’d ever listened to before. It also wasn’t too bad.

  She reached the porch steps just as Silas came outside. He wore faded jeans with frayed knees, a black Sounds ball cap, and a navy-blue t-shirt that stretched over tight muscles. A leather tool belt circled his waist, angling off his right hip like an old-west gunslinger.

  He slammed to a halt
when he saw her. “Oops. I almost plowed you over.”

  Her heart rammed into her chest, nearly stealing her breath. “I’m okay. You missed me.” She paused, then rocked back on her heels. “I want to thank you again for last night’s dinner.”

  “That wasn’t dinner. That was a send-off. A goodwill gesture.” He set down the tools he was carrying. “Dinner would have been more elaborate.”

  “Really? How so?”

  He tilted his head to one side. “For starters, it would have begun with reservations. And a bit more planning beforehand. Dressing nice. A place that offers courses of food. Or wine if you fancied that. And probably music and definitely a nice, relaxing atmosphere. Maybe dancing.”

  That piqued her interest. She arched an eyebrow and rested one hand on her hip. “Wow. What else?”

  Silas gripped the porch railing. He leaned back, his muscles rippling under his t-shirt. “Well, I’d pick you up, and drive you to said reservations. We’d have plenty of time to get to know one another. I really don’t believe in rushing through a good date.”

  His slow, lazy drawl, coupled with his warm smile and twinkling eyes, lit up something inside Cinnamon. She backed away.

  “All that sounds very nice. Perhaps one day, when I’m not in the midst of this craziness and the tour and . . .” Her voice trailed off at the shadow of disappointment that crossed his face and the sense of regret that filled her.

  “Maybe a raincheck . . .” She pointed to his tented work area. “That’s quite a set up you have out there.”

  “The tent keeps my stuff dry, some of the sun off me, and lets me saw outside to keep the dust inside down to a minimum.”

  “That’s very thoughtful. What song is that playing right now?”

  “You’re kidding, right? That’s The Boss, Mister Springsteen himself.”

  “I thought that was just the title of Eric Church’s song.” Silas looked blank at her comment. That song ended and a new one began.

  “Desperado. Please tell me you know this song.”

  She fought the urge to roll her eyes. “Sure, of course I have. Clint Black had a big hit with it some years ago.”

  Silas smacked a palm to his forehead. “Oh boy, I can see I’ve got my work cut out with you. If it ain’t country, you don’t know it.”

  “I guess not. I’ve always listened to just country. Speaking of which, I need to get going or I’ll be late.”

  His eyes darkened. “I don’t want to keep you.” He moved aside to clear her way.

  She nodded, not trusting her voice, and headed upstairs to her bedroom. She kept most her travel clothes and stage outfits on the bus, so she only needed to pack a small rolling toiletry bag. She also gave part of her designated storage area to Madison, Katie Lyn’s little girl, for her extra bags. It bothered Katie Lyn, but as Godmother, Cinnamon overruled Mama. Plus, Katie Lyn’s mom, Lynette, was in favor of it, too. Cinnamon argued Maddie needed a place for her princess dresses, make up cases, and important stuff like that.

  Lynette and she also frequently conspired for ways to spoil Maddie while on the road. Sometimes it drove Katie Lyn crazy with the stuff they came up with, but they were quick to point out while Katie was the lead singer of an up and coming successful band, Maddie was just a little girl who wanted to play.

  Her own bag packed, she did a quick spin of her room. What was Silas going to do to her room, and her house, while she was gone? It hit her. This first leg was going to be about thirty-eight days long. That was over a month. He could do so much damage, worse than Nick had, and she was powerless to come back and stop him. Her home was completely at his mercy.

  Was she insane to be doing this now? Should she have him wait until she had a longer break in tour dates? Seriously, for the next three months, the band was only scheduled to be home about fifteen days total between the three legs of the tour.

  Okay, she needed to get a grip on this. She trusted Silas so she had to be happy with that. He came very highly recommended. He presented a plan where they could keep in touch, not only verbally, but visually as well. That spoke volumes to her. So, she just had to have some faith in him and her own choices.

  Satisfied, she headed downstairs, following the music, to load her bag. She’d drive to Nashville, meet the girls at the recording studio to finish the vocals for the Karma video and then they’d all go directly to the bus and head out to Arkansas for their first show tomorrow. The first leg of the tour had a grueling thirty-four shows over twenty states in thirty-eight days. Then they had a ten-day break at home before heading out for the second leg, with twenty-one shows over thirteen states and twenty-three days. Then they only had five days home before they went to wrap up the tour with ten shows, over seven states and twelve days.

  Her head was still filled with the days and shows when she cleared the bottom step. The song on the radio was louder and she started breaking it down musically. Not paying attention, she stumbled and nearly fell over a thick orange power cord. Silas was walking inside with some two by four boards over his shoulder. He dropped them, the thumping sound ricocheting across the floor, as he rushed to catch her.

  “I’m so sorry! Are you all right?” he caught her by the shoulders, righted her, and stared deep into her eyes.

  “Yes, just being clumsy and not paying attention.” She backed out of his hold, but he kept a soft grip on her elbow. “Nick always told me to watch where I was going in a construction zone.”

  Silas nodded. “Yes, that’s very good advice.” He reached out and picked up her case, and still holding her elbow, escorted her out to her Tracker. He placed her case in the back. Then he leaned against his own truck. “Is your car all gassed up?”

  “Half a tank.” She watched as his eyebrows lifted. “I’m only going to Nashville. Then I take our bus.”

  “Ahh.” He nodded and grinned, his dimples showing. “So, this is good-bye for a few weeks?”

  She gave a hesitant nod, her breath unexpectedly catching in her throat. “A month.”

  He stepped forward, standing close enough she smelled the coffee and sawdust on him. It was an interesting blend and she breathed it in. She realized he didn’t depend on store bought cologne to smell good. He used honest, hard work. And it worked well on him. He captured her chin in his rough hand and she heard him inhale. Automatically her eyes closed, and he slightly turned her face. She was surprised to feel his lips brush her cheek.

  “Break a leg, Cinnamon Chadwick,” he whispered as he stepped back. His warm coffee breath fanned her face. “I’m going to have a lot of fun wrecking this old girl while you’re gone.”

  She quirked an eyebrow at him, her brows pulling together. “Wrecking? I think my brother beat you to that.”

  He laughed, deep and rich, his dark eyes crinkling. “Yes, he did. Okay, how about I’ll have a good time working on this old girl while you’re gone.”

  She punched his arm. “Take care of my old girl or I’ll break more than just a leg or two.”

  His laughter followed her as she started the Tracker. His long, powerful figure was still leaning against his truck, as he watched her drive away.

  * * *

  The noise echoing around the interior of the bus was almost deafening. Cinnamon had to admit, at least to herself, that she was nervous going out this time. She watched her bandmates as they stowed their luggage and settled in for the ride to Arkansas. The vocals for Karma’s video were behind them. Rissa grabbed the shotgun seat up with Danny, their driver. Katie Lyn seemed particularly tired and Cinnamon moved over to help Madison unpack her things.

  “Don’t you think this is a good spot to put your winter clothes?” she asked the little girl and opened a small storage bin at floor level.

  “It’s warm, I won’t need these.”

  Cinnamon heard Katie Lyn’s exasperated sigh and jumped in. “It’s warm here in Nashville. But we’re leaving Tennessee and going to lots of other states where it’s cold. You’ll need that pretty, warm coat in a couple states.”
She reached into her carry-on bag and withdrew a child’s coloring book and a box of colored pencils as Madison dutifully stuffed her coat and winter items in the cubbyhole. She spread the map and pencils on one of the tables. “Look here, sweetie. This is a map of the United States. We can color each state we get to drive through.”

  She wondered how much geography a four-year-old understood, but it didn’t really matter. Just being able to watch Maddie color Tennessee—orange naturally for the Volunteers—was priceless. She leaned back against the cushioned seat and pulled her knees to her chest. She alternated between watching Maddie color and the outside scenery change as they left Nashville, and eventually, Tennessee behind.

  * * *

  The bus slowed and rumbled to a stop. Cinnamon snapped awake. When had she dozed off? Madison slept against her; her blonde head nestled in the crook of her arm. Around her, the other girls sat up and looked out the windows. Behind them, the other bus carrying the stage crew and equipment stopped as well.

  “Sweetie, time to go to Nana. Your mama and I have to go to work.” She guided the sleepy girl to Lynette, who nodded her thanks.

  “You’re so good with her. You need kids of your own someday.”

  Heat filled her cheeks and she was startled to find her mind slipping back to Silas. “Maybe someday, if it’s meant to be.” She quickly followed C.C., Mac and Rissa off the bus.

  She found the set up before a show a mixture of controlled chaos and organized confusion. Val, their intrepid manager from Day One, jumped from the bus ready to divide and conquer. Val was tireless in making sure everyone had a job to do, knew how to do it well, and completed it properly and on time. No slackers on Val’s tour.

  Doors banged, cases rolled, and boots slid as people and equipment went from bus to venue. The Lipstick Outlaws slowly took over a blank stage and made it their own, with a lot of help from their behind-the-scenes, hard-working crew.