Blood & Rust (Lock & Key #4) (63 page)

A new beginning.

Everyone rose and drifted into the main room. Bottles clinked, laughing, music filled the lounge, but I stayed seated at the great table. I leaned back in my chair and took in the row of photos along the wall, many crooked, badly framed, a few cracked.

Jump, Dig, Dready, and me hiking in Yellowstone. Young Wreck and Willy in their first years as members, holding up a trophy from some bike race down in Florida. Boner and Kicker as prospects, jumping off a ridge into the reservoir. Others were of men from the ’70s and ’80s, whom I’d never met, but knew their crazy stories. I heard their voices in my ears though, spewing foul curses, roaring with laughter. Men who had fucked up, men who had won big. I felt the shove of their bodies against mine, the thunder of their bikes before me on the road.

My brothers.

We who were all a part of this body. This heritage. A lineage. All of us together, as one, moving forward, always forward.

Our metal bloodline.

Truly fucking priceless.

“
DID THE PROSPECTS
do exactly as you wanted?” Butler surveyed the new installation at the gallery.

Gerhard and Astrid’s work would finally be revealed to the world tonight.

I slid my arm through his. “Jimmy and Teach were terrific. They followed my directions to the letter and took good care of the fragile pieces. Most impressively, they didn’t freak out when I kept changing my mind about placement.”

“Shit, that is impressive.”

“Shut up.” I shoved at his side, and he laughed. “Are you keeping track for their Jacks report card?”

“Something like that.” He shifted his weight. “This exhibit, which is way more than an ordinary exhibit, looks really good. Makes you want to linger over every weird little detail.”

All the H-bomb paintings and the gelatin silver prints I’d bought were up on the walls, and with long hooks, I’d hung Gerhard’s glass Christmas tree ornaments on a vintage fifties dress form.

“I’m so thrilled that it’s actually happening. Gerhard deserves to have his work seen.”

“And the world deserves to see it. This is a huge night for you, too, you know. Not just Gerhard and his babe-a-licious.”

“You had a little something to do with this as well. I have something for you to commemorate that.” I handed him a small navy blue cardboard box. “It’s your piece of this to keep with you always.”

“What’s this?”

“Open it.”

He opened it, and his lips parted at the sight of the silver pendant.

He glanced at me. “The hummingbird skull.”

“I had a copy made of the one you found in Gerhard’s house.”

He removed it from the box, and it hung on its chain between us.

“Those precious, fragile pieces of old bone and tiny skulls,” I said. “You noticed them, and you knew what they were. The jeweler loved the skull, by the way. He asked me if he could make more of them from the mold he cast. I think it’s macho enough for you to wear—if you want to, that is.”

“Put it on me.”

“You like it?”

“Put it on me.” His voice came out hoarse, low.

I bit down on my lower lip as I took the pendant from him, opened the clasp of the long silver chain, and fastened the necklace around his neck. I righted it over his chest and planted a little kiss on the silver skull, my fingertips stroking over his warm skin.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“My pleasure. Really.”

Butler wrapped an arm around my shoulders, his gaze settling on Astrid’s crown, a direct spotlight shining on it as it sat in the Plexiglas cube, next to the silver prints of her wearing it. “Love that crown.”

“Me, too. It’ll be hard to see it go once this show is over. I still remember finding it. God, I thought I’d faint from the shock.”

He planted a kiss on the side of my head. “You looked good in that crown.”

I snaked an arm around his middle, and a little piece of me glowed deep inside. I loved his compliments. They surprised me, excited me. Would I ever get used to them? Never.

“Oh, I did, huh?”

“Fuck yeah.” The husky tone in his voice and the concentrated focus of those aqua-blue eyes made my pulse speed up. His face twitched, a smile curling the edges of his lips.

I eyed him. “What is it now?”

“I was wondering—”

“Here we go.”

He narrowed his eyes at me, acknowledging my gibe. “Are you going to wear a tight dress and high heels for the opening tonight?”

“Why?”

“’Cause I really, really like you in a tight dress and high heels.” His hand slid down over my ass.

I pressed against him. “I’ll take that under consideration.”

“You do that, Scarlett.” He laid a deep tongue-ridden kiss on me.

I melted against him, and a chuckle escaped from the back of his throat.

“I’m not picky, babe. Heels and no dress, or heels with just that crown, or heels and nothing else works real, real good for me.”

Four hours later, and the opening party at the gallery had begun. I had invited the Innocents back to play, and their piano player and bassist were filling the space with a jazzy riff.

I admired the fat tin bucket that I’d found at my great grandmother's house, which now graced the round wood table at the entrance of the store. Butler had a huge bouquet of sunflowers delivered after he’d left earlier. A surprise for me. A perfect one.

“You did good, Tania. It looks fantastic,” said Neil, sipping from the clear plastic cup of wine in his hand. “I have a surprise for you. I wanted to tell you in person.”

I tore my eyes away from my gorgeous, vibrant flowers. “A surprise?”

“I’ve got Carl Trenton on my ass about the Gerhard collection. And, I mean, each and every piece.”

I grabbed his arm. “Are you serious?”

Carl Trenton was a contemporary art dealer in New York, who had a personal passion for American outsider art, which he collected for himself. Neil had cultivated a friendship with him back when he worked with the Alden Merrick Gallery.

“I went to New York and showed Carl your photos myself. We talked. The timing couldn’t be more perfect. Last year he left his hole-in-the-wall space in Chelsea and moved into this huge loft on the Lower East Side, and he wants to showcase something different. I pitched him the idea of setting up his gallery like Gerhard’s studio with a lot of the original props alongside the artwork.”

“And?”

Neil grinned as he took a sip of wine. “After the show is over and you send me the pieces, he’s coming to Chicago to see what we have.”

“Oh my God, Neil!” I hugged him, spilling his wine.

He laughed. “I tried to convince him to come all the way out here to the Wild West to see this, but that was a no-go.” He rolled his eyes. “Anyhow, we’ve been talking about doing a traveling exhibition, giving the collection a real sense of importance. I want to begin with me in Chicago and then send it to Carl in New York. And—”

“And?”

“And a curator from a major arts center in the Midwest called me back.”

“Oh, Neil.”

He raised his cup at me. “Here’s to you, Tania.”

“Here’s to Gerhard,” I said. “Dave and his family are here from Sioux Falls. I’ll introduce you.”

“Ah, good.”

The Innocents finished their song, and the crowd burst into applause.

“Thank you!” Den, the guitarist and lead singer, spoke. “We’ve got a special guest performer with us. A friend of ours from right here in Meager.”

The brittle strum of an acoustic guitar filled the space, and the bassist plucked a slow, slinking rhythm underneath it. The singer’s voice broke through, husky and smooth. Earnest and rough.

My pulse burst, sending a rush of heat through my veins.
That voice.

I let go of Neil’s arm and edged past a couple standing in front of us.

That deep voice growled and declared.

And I saw
him
.

Butler.

Onstage.

Playing his guitar.

Singing.

Singing
that song
. One of my very favorite songs ever, Carly Simon’s “Touched by the Sun
.
”
That song was me. That song—

My stomach dropped, and shivers raced over my skin as the piano erupted, intensifying the drama. Butler wore a black linen men’s shirt, most of the buttons open, revealing his silver hummingbird necklace hanging against his phenomenal bare chest. The lights made his wavy longish blond hair even lighter, setting him apart from the other musicians.

The drummer pounded out a haunting beat beneath. Butler’s clear deep voice filled the room, his chords driving through me. His voice was almost gentle and then pleading and determined. I moved toward the stage, as if drawn there by a supernatural force, brushing past people, slipping through the crowd grouped around the small raised platform.

I got to the front and was rooted to the spot, entranced by his smooth-with-a-hint-of-gruff-at-the-edge voice, his sexy and confident stage presence.

Den joined Butler in a gorgeous harmony, his electric guitar grinding out a heated solo. Butler jumped in again, declaring his do-or-die passion. He was thinking and feeling every line, delivering pure emotion. His warm, almost grainy voice gave life to the lyrics, a fervent vow to dream, dare, and soar. He was resolute, adamant, committed, ready to risk, desperate to feel the burning heat of the sun.

He sang the title words, his shoulders rolling with his movements over the guitar, with the driving rhythm of the song. We’d discussed music and our favorite songs many times before. He knew how much this song meant to me; obviously it meant the very same to him.

I sang that triumph with him.

His voice roared, and my heart roared with it. His eyes found mine, and he called, he beckoned, he insisted.

The music swelled as the musicians headed toward the powerful climax, Den’s electric guitar wailing, the pianist and drummer flying in. Then, it was only Butler’s voice along with his guitar strumming the final splintery chords.

We cheered and clapped loudly. Boner and Kicker’s whistles ripped through the room, Lock and Dready joining in.

Butler scraped a hand through his hair. “Thank you. A huge thank you to The Innocents for putting up with me, so I could give my woman a special gift on her big night.”

“Anytime!” Den shouted out over the fresh round of applause. “That is one good set of pipes on you, man.”

Butler tagged fists with Den and the rest of the band, and then he turned and headed straight for me.

The band started a new song. The thundering drum line burst and rolled through me like a fresh wave of adrenaline and purpose.

My heart beat like that drum.

Butler was coming for me.

My very own rock and roller.

My man among men.

My Rhett.

His lips curved into that wicked, arrogant grin, setting my blood on fire.

He adored me.

And I was a pile of fangirling excitement and swooning mush.

I was going to lay a huge kiss on him.

And let him kiss the hell out of me. In front of everybody.

Crush
.

Swoosh
.

God, yes.

He released me, an arm holding me close, as the Jacks crowded around us, each brother slapping him on the back, high-fiving him. The excited faces of Grace, Alicia, Lenore, Mary Lynn, and my sister filled my vision.