Heartbreak, Tennessee Page 5

  And Fran. Telling Mac’s mother would be pure pleasure. How she longed to wipe that pompous, self-important little smile right off the woman’s face. Amber had never shared her feelings about Fran with Mac. No matter how many times he confided in Amber how miserable his mother made him, with her social aspirations and pretensions, Amber did not want to further the chasm between them, so she kept silent about the snubs he never saw, the cruel comments when he was out of earshot. Fran was quick to point out whenever Mac failed her, when his boots were muddy or his fingernails faintly ringed with black oil no matter how hard he scrubbed. But that was nothing compared to the comments she reserved for Amber.

  Amber had long ago given up hope that Fran would soften when she saw how she and Mac cared for each other, but that didn’t mean she’d stoop to the woman’s depths. The day she wore Mac’s ring would be revenge enough.

  As for his father, Amber had never had any reason to think that Pete cared one way or another about her. He never granted her more than an occasional nod or grunted greeting, never indicated that he gave her a second thought, so Amber expected the news of their engagement to be accepted indifferently as well.

  She’d been dead wrong about that.

  “Amber,” Mac said, bringing her out of her memories. His voice was full of pain and the smallest tinge of old, tired fury. “What the hell happened?”

  Amber let her gaze drop to her hands, suddenly still in her lap. Mac was not a man to mince words.

  Maybe it was time to have this talk. After all, she would be leaving within a few days, and it would cost her nothing to settle an old hurt. Maybe it would even help her close that chapter of her life once and for all.

  But she’d seen the look on his face when he told her his father was dead. Seen the pain and loss that was fresh after all these years. His father’s memories were all that were left.

  Suddenly exhausted, she sighed softly.

  “Nothing, Mac. I just decided it would be better if I left. Let it go.”

  “You decided?” The surge of rage in his voice caused her to jerk her chin up. “You decided to throw everything away, and never even bothered to tell me? You owed me a little better than that.”

  His hand settled on her wrist, gripping it tightly. When she jerked away, his hold grew even firmer. Changing her wistful sadness to anger.

  “Let go,” she hissed. “I don’t owe you anything. You seem to have forgotten that the last time we were together you were the one who told me to get out of your sight.”

  “I was angry -”

  “You called me a liar.”

  “There had to be some mistake. I shouldn’t have turned on you that way, I know, but what you were telling me was...well, it wasn’t right, it wasn’t possible. I needed some time.”

  “Well, then you should be happy. I gave you all the time in the world.”

  “Yes, you did.” Mac released her wrist then, and pulled back to regard her, anger flashing in his eyes.

  Amber steadied her breathing with sheer determination. “You know, I called you,” she said, once it was under control. “When my mother died.”

  “I didn’t get any message.”

  “I didn’t leave one. I—I would have known Candace Copeland’s voice anywhere. A cheerleader, Mac? Homecoming queen? I never would have guessed her to be your type.” Amber was surprised at the bitterness in her own voice.

  A flash of irritation passed in Mac’s eyes. “Candace was nothing, Amber. A brief interlude.”

  “She was obviously living with you. Answering your phone late at night. I sure wouldn’t call that nothing.”

  Mac sighed. “You were gone. Remember? You’d been gone a year, and I’d heard nothing from you. Candace and I...well, we spent some time together. I suppose I should have been clearer with her from the start, because as it turns out we had different expectations of where the relationship was going. But don’t feel too sorry for her. She did real well. Married a doctor over in Kingsport.”

  “Good for her,” Amber said sarcastically, only slightly mollified.

  “This...isn’t...about her,” Mac said, drawing closer to her, never releasing his grip on her. His hand was dry and warm, the rough planes of his palm and fingers cradling her wrist more gently now. Despite herself, Amber felt small twinges of sensation traveling up her arm and into the rest of her body, which responded of its own volition.

  “Why didn’t you come back when your mother died?” he pressed, locking his gaze on hers. Though she tried to look away, there was something in the sea of his blue eyes that compelled her to meet him in the space between them.

  “I—I thought about it,” she said. “But there wasn’t anything left. The fire was so bad—they said there was nothing they could save, nothing for me to bury. They were still picking up pieces of the car at the bottom of that cliff when they got a hold of me.”

  “I’m sorry,” Mac said, the change of his tone immediate and complete. “I never had the chance to tell you that—how sorry I am.”

  He spoke as one who knew the pain of loss.

  Amber shook her head. His anger she could handle. She wasn’t prepared for his compassion. “It was a long time ago.”

  She drew her hand back, taking advantage of him relaxing his grip. She looked at her watch, not even seeing the numbers on the dial. “I have to go, Mac,” she said, avoiding his eyes. “Thanks for the tea. Maybe I’ll see you around.” She laughed mirthlessly. “Who am I kidding? In this place, I’m sure to see you around town, all half dozen blocks of it.”

  “You think you’ve really changed, don’t you?” Mac said softly, standing with her. She knew she should turn and go, but she stood rooted to the spot. “You think you’ve erased everything—” his broad hands swept an arc through the air “—this town, these people, this place that was your home for eighteen years. And me too. You’ve just banished me from your memory, is that it? As though it never happened.”

  Without realizing what she was doing, Amber stepped closer, her mouth poised to protest, eyebrows knit together in distress. He didn’t understand. Couldn’t understand. Yes, he was right about her wanting to forget, trying and working so hard to forget.

  He didn’t understand that most nights when she drew the covers up and turned out the lamp, her last thought before sleep was of him, even as she hated herself for her weakness. That she’d surrounded herself with people and things that were as different as possible from her past, so she wouldn’t have to remember. That the men in her life, the few that had come and gone, had been nothing like Mac.

  “Well, Amber, I can’t forget.” Mac’s gaze, clouded now with anxiety, was fixed on her, but rather than pull away from the scrutiny, Amber found herself drawn closer still.

  It was meant to be a gesture of dismissal, a good-bye; when Amber lifted her hand to touch Mac’s face—softly, just once—she moved without forethought. Her fingers sought to communicate the regret, apology, pain that her words could not.

  When he caught her wrist, his hand moving with lightning speed, it shocked her into awareness. She pulled back, but his grip was strong.

  “Don’t,” he commanded, his voice low and threatening. “Don’t ever touch me again unless...unless you intend to finish what you started back then.”

  A challenge mixed with the anguish in his eyes. Amber flushed, but the sensation that filled her mind was not shame but arousal. The warmth of his touch mingled with his smells—soap, the old familiar smell of motor oil, and his own scent, something she could not describe but would know anywhere. The warmth of his hand reminded her that his body had always been so warm; even in the dead of winter he emanated heat, his blood pulsing hot even at rest.

  “Let go,” she pleaded, weakly.

  “Fine,” Mac said, releasing her and stepping back. “So, I suppose we’ve settled what’s off limits. The boundaries don’t appear to have shifted much.”

  “It—it doesn’t matter. I’m here for a few days, then I’m gone. Let’s both just try
to keep out of each other’s way.”

  “Well, avoiding each other might be a little tough to do,” Mac said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “There’s a couple of things I may have forgotten to mention before,” Mac said. “I happen to head up the Preservation Society here in town. Somewhere along the way I picked up an interest in keeping this old crossroads just the way it is.”

  “Oh, no,” Amber breathed.

  “And...what was the other thing? Oh yeah - I’m the mayor.”

  “Thank God you’re home,” Amber said, wrapping the phone cord around her hand nervously.

  “The old gal have you on the run, eh?” Gray Sawyer’s chuckle was so warm and familiar that Amber felt tears spring to her eyes. She was alone in her hotel room, but had promised to take Sheryn over to the beauty shop for a facial in fifteen minutes so tears were out of the question. There was no time to re-do her makeup. She cleared her throat.

  “No, Sheryn’s fine. In fact I think she’s having a good time here, much to my surprise. It’s just—something’s come up. Something personal. I’ll tell you about it later. I just was wondering...”

  She hesitated. Gray was big brother, father, mentor, all rolled into one, and she knew he wouldn’t refuse, no matter what she asked him. At the same time she hated to take advantage of his kindness.

  Mac was a problem, a problem that just required a little time to solve once and for all. He shouldn’t be reducing her to jelly this way.

  “I’ll be there by tomorrow night,” Gray said when she didn’t continue. “There’s nothing going on here that can’t wait a few days.”

  “Thanks,” Amber felt the tears coming dangerously close to spilling. He hadn’t even asked why—just knowing that she needed help was enough. And contrary to his reassurance, Amber knew full well that Gray was swamped with work. For the thousandth time, she said a prayer of thanks for bringing the Sawyers into her life.

  “I kind of miss Sheryn, to tell you the truth,” Gray continued. “Life sure is quiet around here without her. But...Amber? Do you want to talk about it now?”

  “Well...there’s just a few loose ends from...the past, that I need to tie up.”

  “Do these loose ends involve a man, by any chance?”

  Amber grinned despite herself. Leave it to Gray to see right through her. “You might say that.”

  “Okay, honey, you can catch me up on it tomorrow night. I’ll be glad to take over for you. After all, what chance do a handful of local yokels stand against me? I’ll have ‘em eating out of my hand in no time, begging us to break ground on the damn park. Sheryn’s World, for better or worse, is on its way to Heartbreak.”

  “You’re right about that—better or worse,” Amber said, glad for a change in subject away from her personal problems. “The word is that some folks here won’t be too happy about sharing their little corner of paradise with thousands of tourists. And—” Amber swallowed hard before continuing. “The mayor is unsympathetic to outside development. I think we might have something of a battle there.”

  After a few more minutes of talk, she hung up the phone slowly. The feeling of relief that had washed over her when Gray agreed to come and help out had been replaced by anxiety. Sleep would not come easy tonight.

  She really ought to call Dean. She’d told him she needed “time to think,” but they both knew that was the beginning of the end. All that remained when she got back to Nashville was to sever the last fragile strands that kept their relationship together.

  He’d be fine—of that Amber was confident. His rapid rise to country music semi-stardom, and his perfect good looks, ensured that women went out of their way to catch his attention.

  She’d met Dean while he’d been opening for Sheryn during her last tour, and she’d been drawn to his determination to succeed, seeing something of her own struggle reflected in his. Lately, though, she was beginning to wonder if he would ever be satisfied. He couldn’t pass a mirror without looking into it, searching his handsome face for the reassurance that he was still the best-looking man in the room. He got to bed when the sun was rising, unable to refuse any fan an autograph after an appearance, soaking up their admiration like a plant absorbs the sun.

  And he’d begun to pressure her to change, too, pouting if she missed one of his shows, demanding they go to the hottest new restaurants and nightclubs rather than the cozier spots she favored, pointing out sexy outfits he thought she should try on. His intentions were thinly veiled. To Amber it was clear that he thought that more public appearances, more glad-handing, a flashier look would all reflect well on him.

  Amber looked down at her hands, suddenly aware she had clenched them into fists and was digging her nails into the soft flesh of her palms. She unfolded them slowly, exhaling as she saw the angry red marks left by the nails.

  No one was going to force her to change. Not Dean, who wanted a showpiece on his arm, a complement to his own charismatic presence. She’d worked too hard, too long, to remake herself into what she was now. And she would find success on her own terms.

  The question, she realized, was—now that she’d shaped herself so carefully, like an architect working from a detailed plan, what was left? What had she lost in the process? Who was the real Amber?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “Polk’s Hardware rents bicycles,” Amber said, glancing at the notes she’d taken that morning as she waited for Sheryn to finish getting ready. “We could bike out to the reservoir and have a picnic.”

  Sheryn turned from the mirror, where she was carefully applying mascara, and grimaced. Today’s outfit featured an orange tank top, orange stretch denim jeans, and a matching vest on which hundreds of yellow and orange bugle beads had been sewn in ornate swirls. The up-do had been replaced by a sportier look, a ponytail secured by a fluffy yellow chiffon ribbon.

  “Bicycles?” Sheryn said dubiously. “I don’t know—isn’t it supposed to get kind of hot today?”

  Amber sighed in exasperation. In fact, the mercury was already creeping above eighty-five though it was barely ten in the morning. Still, she was running out of ideas. As charmed as Sheryn initially seemed by the slow pace of Heartbreak, she was showing signs of boredom. Amber had found her staring dispiritedly at a talk show when she walked in the door to Sheryn’s room half an hour earlier. The rooms opened onto a walkway overlooking the parking lot below, and the door was propped open with a chair to let air in, since the ancient cooling system was unreliable at best. Only a faint breeze circulated in the room.

  “Yes, it’s hot,” Amber said, as patiently as she could manage. “But I’m running out of ideas. Besides, you can always squeeze in another shower before Gray gets here.”

  Sheryn grimaced, peering at her lashes, wand poised in mid-air. “Hmmm. I don’t know...what else do you have there?”

  “Well, you’ve already been up and down Main—I’m sure the local merchants are thrilled, of course, since you seem to have cleared out their entire inventory.” Amber gestured at the stacks of packages lining one wall.

  “Just a few trinkets for the gang,” Sheryn shrugged. She was already missing her band and crew, who were no doubt enjoying their unplanned vacation.

  “Okay, we haven’t been to the speedway yet—”

  “Ugh—those little match cars?” Sheryn interjected.

  “Well, it’s hardly the Indy 500.”

  “I’ll pass.” Finished with her makeup, Sheryn snapped the sizable case shut and sat down on the other bed.

  “There’s Coombs cave. Have you ever been spelunking?”

  “Poking around in some musty old hole in the ground? No thanks,” Sheryn said, wrinkling her nose in response.

  Then she suddenly sucked in her breath in a low whistle. “Can I help you?” she said, looking over Amber’s shoulder out the door, and dropping her voice to its throaty lower range.

  Amber whirled around, to find Mac filling up the door frame.

  Mac hesitated in the doorway, suddenly unsure
what to do with his hands. The prospect of seeing Amber again made him feel uncharacteristically awkward, but it couldn’t be avoided. Better to get a handle on this mess from the start. Confront Sheryn Sawyer and lay it out in no uncertain terms: Heartbreak wasn’t for sale, not to her, not to anyone.

  That was the reason he’d called the shop and told them to get by without him for a few hours. He’d nearly convinced himself that seeing Amber again had nothing to do with it.

  But now, seeing her in the bright morning light, he didn’t feel nearly so sure of himself. The conversation of the night before came back to him in fragments. The thoughts which had kept him from sleep the night before now threatened to drive him crazy. On his way to Amber’s motel he silenced, if only temporarily, the questions in his mind. He focused on putting one foot in front of the other, turning the key in the ignition, driving the streets he’d driven thousands of times in his life.

  And now, finally, he found himself once again in her presence, his heart pounding every bit as hard. He could see Amber perched on the end of one of the beds in the motel room, and Sheryn Sawyer in an outrageous orange getup on the other.

  For a moment he paused. Amber, unaware of being observed, was frowning and flipping through the pages of a book. A cream-colored silk blouse and linen skirt showcased her pale skin. Despite the hot, humid air, she looked fresh, like a new-picked peach. Her glossy hair curved to her long neck, the graceful line broken only by the dangling jet earrings, the large well-cut ebony stones set in loops of silver.

  Once again, the earrings were the only bit of indulgence, the only thing that detracted from an appearance that was otherwise perfectly understated, unapproachable.

  The glasses she wore made him smile. So serious. It was almost as though the Amber he’d once known had dressed up for a costume ball, had gone through a theater’s prop department choosing all the right accessories to mask her true self, slipping into character like an actress preparing for the stage.