Chapter Twenty-Two
Beau
Adam was on his way to Butte with the sheik, and it was long past Benny’s bedtime, so Mavis, Leon, and Beau were alone at her kitchen table.
Watching Belle stalk off in a snit after his performance had left Beau in an especially good mood. She was mad about the song he’d written for her, which meant she was conflicted, which meant she’d be open to compromise once she worked off her bad mood. He couldn’t wait to help her with that.
She wasn’t the only one who had compromises to make, though.
Leaving rock and roll behind was going to be hard, but a pop country mix, with a little light rock thrown in for good measure, was one Beau felt he could live with.
Two months in Burning Scrub had given him a greater appreciation for country, and for his country fans, too.
It didn’t matter if it was an audience of one or one hundred thousand, or what music he played. It felt good to be performing again.
Reaching a compromise with Mavis over Belle’s contract was Leon’s problem.
“Either she works off the loan over the full five-year period or there’s a penalty for defaulting. Those are the terms she agreed to,” Mavis said.
She named a figure more than triple the original amount, and higher than the one Belle had cited to Beau.
Leon was a born negotiator.
If the new price tag shocked him, he didn’t let on. “From what I’ve been given to understand, you people earn more than that in a single season. What if I helped you triple your annual revenue in exchange for Belle’s loan?”
Money was Mavis’s language. Curiosity sharpened her eyes. Possibly avarice. Either fit.
“Clients willing to spend that kind of money aren’t as plentiful as you seem to think. First, you’d have to prove you can do it.”
“And first, I’d want a contract,” Leon replied, because money was his language, too, and he shared a love of paperwork with Benny. “Sign with me as your agent, and I guarantee you results. Look what I did with this guy.”
“Hey,” Beau said. “I put in the work.”
“You’d still be busking if it wasn’t for me. Which reminds me—we need to hire a better songwriter for you. If you want to sing sappy, pop country love songs for Belle, we’ll make it happen.” He entered a quick note into his phone.
“Signing you as Burning Scrub’s agent is a deal we’d be making with you,” Mavis said, because she was no slouch at negotiating, either. “We were discussing Burning Scrub’s agreement with Belle. Those are two separate matters.”
Beau saw how it could work. Leon was brilliant.
“If Leon takes Burning Scrub on as a client,” Beau said, “then I’ll throw in a helicopter and pay for a pilot to offset Belle’s loan.”
The offer bewildered Mavis, who hadn’t yet seen how the two contracts could merge. “What is Burning Scrub supposed to do with a helicopter?”
“The helicopter isn’t for you. It’s for Belle.” And for Beau.
He’d be taking his last trip in a moving vehicle with Adam tomorrow. And tomorrow, he’d have Leon along to protect him from any additional contract negotiating Adam might have in mind.
“With the right transportation, she can stay on as Burning Scrub’s doctor.
” If she wanted. “You already have people with emergency medical experience. She’d be here for routine checkups and to oversee long-term care.
” Which was Beau’s delicate way of reminding her that Benny was ancient. They’d need to add a nursing home soon.
“The helicopter can also be used to bring clients directly to Burning Scrub. They’d get an aerial tour of the mountains on the way in—for a surcharge, of course,” Leon added, because he was always thinking ahead.
“That might work,” Mavis said.
She sounded grudging rather than happy, but at least she was willing to talk.
Beau figured his work here was done. There was no saying how long Belle’s ill temper would last, and he’d hate to miss it.
“I’ll leave the details to you,” he said. “I’ve got some packing to do.”
*
Belle
Belle skipped the after-party at the saloon. Pearl and Linda skipped it, too. Pearl was too pregnant to stay out late, and Linda was already half asleep on Belle’s floor. They’d stopped to say good-night to her on their way home.
“Of course I’m fine,” Belle said, even though the pieces of shattered plate on the kitchen floor suggested a different story.
“I’m glad,” Pearl said. “No one will blame you for leaving with Beau. It’s been an, um … enlightening few weeks for you. I just wanted you to know that I value your friendship.” She ran a hand over her round belly. “If the baby’s a girl, we’re going to name her Annabelle—Anna, for short.”
Belle was touched. “That’s so sweet. Except I’m not leaving.”
“You’re not?”
Pearl’s pleased surprise served as a reminder to Belle that a broken heart wouldn’t kill her, because she had plenty of people whom she valued around her. How ironic that the place causing her heart to ache was also where it might heal.
Belle walked Pearl and Linda home. The party at the saloon was still going strong. Belle considered dropping in, just for a minute, for one last glimpse of Beau, but she was still ticked off over his terrible timing for expressing his feelings for her.
She went home and took a long shower instead.
Except it didn’t help because the smell of her shampoo reminded her of Beau. She’d have to switch brands, and that ticked her off more.
She wandered into her bedroom naked, towel-drying her hair.
“Now that,” Beau drawled from her bed, “is a sight for sore eyes.”
Belle screamed and dropped the towel. She pressed both hands to her chest. Adrenaline blinded her brain.
Her muscles clenched into knots. When her vision cleared and she could uncurl her fingers, she saw that she wasn’t the only one naked.
He’d spread out on her bed like the centerpiece of a pornographic display.
He had to be kidding.
“Are you trying to kill me?”
“No one ever died of a broken heart, Doctor Belle. You said so yourself.”
“They have dropped dead from fright, though.” She stooped and snatched up the wet towel. “What’s wrong with you? How could you sing that ridiculous song, then show up here, looking for sex?”
Beau had the nerve to look hurt. “My song was ridiculous?”
She relented a little. That went too far. “The song was lovely. Singing it in front of the whole town was the ridiculous part. People will get the wrong idea. You raised expectations. You’re leaving in a few hours, remember?”
“About that,” Beau said. “We need to talk.”
She draped the towel over the back of a chair. “There’s no about that to discuss. I’ve made up my mind. I’m staying here.”
“I never doubted you would.”
His voice was so smooth it could charm the pants off the local ladies’ auxiliary. Right now, it dumped fuel on a fast-moving fire.
“I get that you enjoy annoying people who annoy you. But what have I done to deserve … this?” She gestured at him sprawled on the bed.
“It’s what you haven’t done. At least, not yet.” Beau reached out, grabbed her by the hand, and dragged her onto the bed. Then he flipped her onto her back, knelt with his knees on either side of her hips, and held both of her hands over her head. “You haven’t told me you love me.”
“And I’m not going to, either.”
“But you aren’t denying it. I take that as a win.”
She was jittery and light-headed and breathing too fast. He was so sure of himself.
He made her so angry.
She was not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing how close she was to changing her mind. Again. He’d only use it against her. Not to get what he wanted, although that factored in—he hadn’t won Diss Cord by being selfless—but to get what he believed she wanted for her.
She rolled her eyes and tried to look bored. “They’re only words. They mean nothing. You’re leaving. I’m not.”
“If you’d quit distracting me, I could explain.” He cuffed her wrists in one of his hands, then tracked the tip of a finger from a point below her navel to the tip of her breast, making her squirm. “There you go, distracting me again.”
“I need a gun.” She’d take a head shot and get it over with fast.
“Okay.” He got serious. “Here’s the deal.
Leon worked it all out with Mavis. That guy is a god.
You and I are going to split our time between your obligations to Burning Scrub and my tour schedule.
When I’m not working, we’re here together.
This will be our home base, and Burning Scrub will still have a doctor. ”
The Wernicke’s area of her brain, the one responsible for language comprehension, decided it no longer spoke English.
Beau kept right on talking.
“I leave for New York tomorrow. Sorry, but it can’t be helped.
In two weeks, though, you’ll meet up with me in Nashville.
Do you mind having a few pictures taken with me in public?
Don’t worry, you won’t have to give interviews.
Leon plans to make privacy part of my brand—I’m a happy family guy, blah, blah, blah—but our personal life is off-limits.
So is your medical practice. See? We can have the best of both worlds. ”
Her language comprehension skills slowly returned. She’d heard him right. She could practice medicine and continue to work on her research for four years until her contract was up, then reassess her professional goals. She began to buy into the dream he described, because she wanted it, too.
But no matter what the future might bring, Burning Scrub, Montana, was home.
Would that be a problem for him?
“Then why do I detect undercurrents of disappointment from you? Why aren’t you happier, if you want this so much?”
He tried to look tragic. “I messed up the delivery. You’re more fun when you’re mad.”
Beau, the performer.
“I’m sure you can fix that,” she said. “You’ve fixed everything else.”
“You think? What do I have to do? Pull your hair?” He gave one curl a gentle tug with his teeth. “Bite you?” He nipped at her throat. “Or I could try this.” He touched her, and Belle sucked in a breath.
“That. Definitely that. You’d never believe how angry that makes me,” she said, which was a complete, self-serving lie.
She was so happy right now, she thought she might burst. Metaphorically speaking, of course. Physically, it wasn’t possible.
But anger and joy evoked a similar physical, visceral response. How the brain was trained to interpret the emotions evoked was what gave them their power—what made joy beneficial as opposed to the corrosiveness of anger.
She liked the sensation of joy. A lot. Beau made her laugh. Laughter had never played a significant role in her life before him.
“You owe me an apology,” he said.
This should be good. She settled in. “What do I need to apologize for?”
“All the lies you’ve been spinning. Talking about chemistry, and rebound relationships, and pretending you know more about love than you do.
Meanwhile—and I don’t like to brag—but while you were talking a whole lot of nonsense, I was getting things done.
I wrote you a song. I arranged it so we can be together.
I proved you wrong. Admit it. You love me. ”
His fingers continued their journey, which didn’t improve her thinking capabilities at all. Motor cognition took charge, and her brain delivered the autonomic response that would bring her the most joy, which was also the one that flowed from her heart.
“I love you.” Before she met him, she could never have imagined how much love she had in her to give. She breathed in, and on the exhale, rode high on waves of pure joy. “I love you, Beau.”
“Damn straight you do. And you won’t ever regret it.”
He kissed her and delivered his own declaration of love.
One that was pure Beau.
“Want to know what the best part of this is?” The joy in his eyes matched the joy in her heart. “With us working together, this crazy town won’t know what hit it.”