She narrowed her eyes, jaw hardening as she pulled herself out of my reach. “You want to know what happened to me back in Chickasaw Ridge, Fallon?” Her normally singsong voice was threaded with fire. “You think you’re ready for that?”
“You think you’re ready for what the fuck happened to me? You’re still the selfish little girl I used to know if you think you’re the only one who was affected by you leaving.”
“I didn’t leave.” Her voice was suddenly quiet, but the ferocity in her eyes still flaring bright.
She was even more gorgeous when she was angry. Still didn’t know what the fuck I had done to deserve this kind of torture.
I thought running from her memory had been hell, but it was here. Five-foot-two and mad as a motherfucker, rooted in front of me now.
“I didn’t leave, Fallon. You should know that.” Her voice was nearly a whisper.
“How the hell would I know anything?” I tossed my arms in air, mind out of control as the possibilities warred within me. “Christ, I thought you were dead, and can ya blame me? Wouldn’t have been the first time.” She narrowed her eyes, and I knew my arrows had hit their mark.
“Done yet?” The chill in her voice rattled my bones.
Bitterness rose in my throat, that whiskey bottle calling my name louder than ever. “Just gettin’ started, sweetheart.”
I turned back to my truck, pulling the door open when a flash of black sped past my head, followed by a pair of red Converse stepping up onto the running board.
Augusta Belle and her backpack were perched in the front seat.
I ducked out of the back, muscles tremoring with need for the numb escape they were used to, knocking my head against the frame as I went. “Fuck!”
“You shouldn’t allow yourself to get so stressed. Not good for your health, and the way you’re already taxing that liver…”
“Jesus, what did I do to deserve this?” The slow pounding in my head grew to a deafening decibel. “You’re not coming with me, Branson. No fucking way.”
“Sure am.” The confident grin gracing her face boiled my insides.
“No—” I yanked her backpack out of the car and held it in the air “—you’re not.” I dropped the backpack in the dust at my feet, then climbed into the truck. “Now, get out.”
“Not going anywhere.” She crossed her arms, settling in.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” I kicked the door open, throwing myself out, boots first. “Why the hell not?”
“Aw.” Her eyes whipped up and down my form, drawn tighter than a crossbow. “You look like a spoiled schoolboy with your hands on your hips like that.” She tilted her head, blond waves falling over one shoulder. “Or my mother.”
I growled, dropping my hands to my sides, stupidly self-conscious for the first time…well…since the last time I saw Augusta Belle.
I trekked around the front of my truck, throwing the passenger door open and climbing up into the cab, lips hovering just out of reach of her succulent, pert, stubborn-as-hell little mouth. “Please leave, Augusta.” My palm pushed up the curve of her thigh, soft, worn denim rubbing against my fingertips and grating on every last nerve. “Don’t make me do something we’ll both end up regretting.”
The delicate little concave indentation of her throat flexed as she swallowed before her head began a slow shake. “I didn’t come this far to have you drive off into the sunset, booze in hand, without even talkin’ to me.”
“And how far did you come, exactly?” I pressed an inch higher, hovering just out of reach of the top of her thigh, eyes burning up the space between us.
“Not far.” She swallowed again. “You think I’d let you come anywhere near the state of Tennessee and not hunt you down?”
The fog cleared for a minute, whiskey haze burning off for the first time in days. “I don’t even know what town I’m in.”
A small huff pushed past her lips. “Figures. Cherry Valley? Tennessee?” She waited for me to say something. But instead, I hovered silently, unpacking the years it’d been since I’d crossed the Tennessee state line.
Heady peaches and honey filled my memories as the feeling of home settled over me. I guess in the back of my mind somewhere I knew I was in Tennessee, but these hills and hollers all looked the same after a lot of late nights playing music. The notion that she was back hadn’t even occurred to me. The Bransons never had family outside of Chickasaw Ridge that I’d heard about, so when she’d disappeared, she’d vanished and left me without a trail to follow. “Where you living?”
Her little hand grazed my bicep. Made me angry how this woman’s touch still had that same old thrilling effect on me. “I’m back home. For now. Workin’ on puttin’ the house up for sale.”
“Oh.” I moved away, pushing a hand through my hair and letting the knowledge that her parents had probably passed settle in.
“I’m desperate for a shower, though. Your next stop is in Memphis according to your website, so that should only take us a few hours if we get on the road.”
