Geronimo (A Songbird Novel) Page 2

  “I’m yours forever, Blake.” I brushed the pads of my fingers over his carving. “I love you.”

  Turning from our tree, I ambled back to the car, my soul flirting with that peace I’d been so desperately craving. It wasn’t all-consuming, just the whisper of hope that somehow I could do this. I could move on. I could keep going. I would find my way.

  Happiness didn’t need to be out of my grasp anymore.

  Blake was still with me. We were joined for life.

  It was time for me to start living again…for the both of us.

  Chapter Two

  Harry

  I wasn’t actually in the mood for drinking, but it was Wednesday night and I always went to the pub on Wednesdays. Devan and her brother, Tommy, tended bar mid-week, and they were often good for a laugh. I needed a laugh that night. Work had been hard going, with one annoying client who just couldn’t seem to believe I had a better eye for design than he did. It was only my full-time job, right? What the hell would I know about marketing and enticing people to stay on a website? Like a busy, over-cluttered home page would get people clicking. It didn’t help that he owned the world’s smallest bookstore and was somehow under the delusion that a website would make it world-famous.

  I cringed, looking forward to wrapping up with him as soon as possible. Pulling the door wide, the music hit me immediately. The thump of the drum and strum of the guitar filled me with the sense of calm it always did. People’s chatter added to the hum of noise coming from the friendly pub. There was a familiarity about the place that comforted me every time. I stepped aside to make way for Mr. and Mrs. Fedley, nodding and saying hello to the middle-aged couple. They’d been coming to The Whistle Inn since I was a baby in a high chair. I’d been born and raised in the little town of Rye. Sure, I’d spread my wings to London, and Europe for holidays, but I always seemed to find my way back home. I told myself it was because of Nan. She was eighty-nine and not exactly getting younger, but some days I wondered if I was just a big, fat liar.

  I’d been itching to go overseas for months, and that itch just kept getting stronger. I knew escape wouldn’t save me from what happened, but it’d been a while now and maybe I was ready to move on.

  With a sniff, I pushed my hands into my pockets and sauntered up to the bar, ready to take my usual seat and order a pint of Guinness.

  But something stopped me.

  Something red and intriguing.

  A girl I’d never seen in the Whistle before.

  We got a lot of tourists in Rye. I wasn’t complaining; it kept my mum’s B&B afloat. I usually didn’t pay them much attention. But they weren’t usually pretty little redheads with pale skin, ginger freckles, and eyes as green as emeralds. They weren’t usually sitting all by themselves with sad smiles on their pink lips. The end of a pen was nipped between her teeth as she gazed down at a crumpled sheet of paper.

  I rested my hand on the bar, unable to stop myself from stealing another glimpse of her. Why was she so sad? Something about her face seemed to radiate a heartbreaking loneliness.

  I understood it.

  My heart squeezed and writhed within me, urging me to turn away from the girl…and my memories.

  But I couldn’t.

  “Pint of Guinny, Harry?” Devan asked.

  “Yeah.” I nodded, keeping my eyes on the stranger. She was taking a sip of beer. The glass mug looked huge in her slender hands. Her fingers were long. Everything about her seemed long and elegant. Her hands were more suited to a wineglass than a tankard of ale.

  Devan slapped a cardboard coaster by my elbow, followed by the pint. I curled my fingers around the handle and took a slow sip.

  “If you keep staring at her like that she’s going to think you’re a serial killer.”

  I swiveled on my stool and grinned at my friend. She was a few years older than me but we went to school together. She used to bully me on the playground until my older brother, Simon, punched her one. Still couldn’t believe he hit a girl, but Simon argued that she’d been hitting me for years and it was only fair. Enough was enough.

  And it was.

  Battle ended. Friendship begun.

  “Do you know anything about her?” I brushed the curls off my forehead.

  Devan looked at me in surprise, resting her hands against the bar and smirking. “You really interested in this girl?”

  “No.” I scoffed. “I just…” Looking over my shoulder, I took in her sad loneliness and sensed the commonality between us.

  Her green eyes darted toward me as if she could sense my gaze. I offered a closed-mouth smile which she returned before glancing at the stage.

  O’Brian’s was playing. They were my favorite local band, always choosing the perfect covers. Nothing too loud or obnoxious, just brilliant background music to set the right tone. They must have been on a Sheppard kick that week, because they started playing “Be More Barrio,” and I was positive I’d heard it at least twice every time they performed.

  Devan confirmed my thinking with an eye roll. “Here we go. Set number two, exactly the same as last night.”

  “It’s not so bad.” I lifted my chin at the stage. “I like this song.”

  “You’re not the only one.” Devan tipped her head toward the round table to my right, and I glanced at the redhead again.

  She was bobbing her head in time to the beat, a soft smile pulling at her lips.

  “Do you know anything?” I took another sip of beer, wondering why I was so curious. It wasn’t like I wanted to get involved with another girl. I’d learned from experience that love could rip your heart out. I’d only just gotten it back inside my chest; I wasn’t about to risk losing it all over again.

  I turned away, reminding myself not to be a fool.

  “All I know is that she came in here yesterday and booked a room for two nights. She sounds American to me.”

  “Right.” I nodded then shook my head, hunching over the bar and resisting the urge to approach her.

  I didn’t even understand it. I wasn’t interested!

  Inevitably, my gaze traveled back, drawn by her red hair…or maybe the distant, familiar look in her eyes. She nibbled her bottom lip, then took a breath and crossed something off on her sheet of paper. Blinking rapidly, she stared at the sheet, the paper trembling ever so slightly in her hands.

  “Go on.” Devan flicked my shoulder. “Show some courage, man. There’s no harm in talking to her.”

  “Be More Barrio” finished, and like some kind of sign from the gods, the guitarist started in with the familiar riff of “Geronimo.” I knew the song before the lead singer had even opened his mouth. It had become a favorite of mine.

  Spinning on my stool, I gulped down the rest of my beer and slapped the mug on the counter. Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I straightened my shirt, whispered “Geronimo,” and walked toward the lonely redhead and her mysterious sheet of paper.

  Chapter Three

  Jane

  I sensed him approaching and turned as he closed the distance. I had no idea who he was or why he wanted to talk to me.

  I mean, I guess I had some vague idea. But I’d been out of the dating scene for a very long time. In fact, I’d met Blake in my first couple of weeks at Stanford, so I kind of felt like I’d never really been in the dating scene.

  I wasn’t interested of course, but I didn’t want to be rude, so when the scruffy-haired, unshaven guy stopped by my table and gave me a kind smile, I reciprocated.

  My lips felt stiff and awkward, and I looked back to the stage the second after our eyes met.

  “Hi, um…” He raised his hand in greeting. “Hi.”

  “Hello,” I clipped then bit my lips together, keeping my head away from him but aware of everything out of the corner of my eye—the long dimples that formed on his cheeks when he grinned, the way his sharp nose twitched as his eyes darted to the rumpled piece of paper on the table. Sliding the list into my hand, I folded it and tucked it away in my back pock
et.

  “I hope you don’t mind me just coming up to you like this. I’m not interested in trying to woo you or get you to have sex with me. Don’t get me wrong, you’re very attractive. I’m just… I’m not interested…in that. I mean, I like sex, very much, but I’m not standing here with some classy one-liner up my sleeve and a bunch of ulterior motives. I just wanted to make that clear before I introduced myself. Although, after this completely absurd first impression, I’m guessing you’ll be kicking me back to the bar any moment now.”

  Oh man, he was adorable.

  His accent combined with the nervous drivel coming out of his mouth… I couldn’t help a little snort and snicker. I slapped my hand over my mouth and nose, my shoulders shaking as I tried to contain my laughter.

  The guy winced and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do you mind if I start again?”

  “By all means.” I giggled.

  “Okay.” He nodded and then puffed out a breath, sticking out his hand and saying, “Hi, my name’s Harry Tindal. I live here in the lovely town of Rye, and I would just like to welcome you.”

  I wrapped my fingers around his hand, noticing the quiet strength behind his grasp. “Hello, Harry. I’m Georjana Buford.”

  I have no idea what possessed me to use my full name. My mother was about the only person on the planet to ever refer to me as Georjana. I inwardly cringed, waiting for that standard look of pity.

  But Harry just grinned. “Ah, like the duchess.”

  I raised my eyebrows and nodded. “Almost. Slightly different spelling, but I think my mother had Georgiana Cavendish in mind when she named me. Not only does she teach history, but she’s a sucker for those royals.” I took a sip of my beer, liking the taste of it, hoping it’d numb the nerves bouncing around inside of me. I was talking to a strange man in a pub. I didn’t do that kind of thing.

  I licked my top lip, trying to decide if I should invite him to sit down or not.

  He was standing there, waiting for me, so I cleared my throat and smiled. “She’ll always be a proud patriot, I guess.”

  Harry’s eyes narrowed and he took a seat anyway, balancing his long body on the edge of the stool beside me. “You know, for a Brit, you have quite the American accent.”

  I chuckled. “My father’s American, and he met my mother when he moved here to start working at the American Embassy. I actually lived in London until I was fifteen.”

  “Yet you lost your accent?”

  “I’m sure it will return soon enough. It often does when I’m back here.”

  He smiled at me again, his gaze warm. His eyes were hazel—could have been brown or green depending on the light. There was a soft sparkle in them. It reminded me of Sarah. Some people just oozed kindness…and Harry was one of them.

  Comforted by my conclusion, I leaned my arms on the table, lightly threading my fingers together, aware of the missing ring on my fourth finger. It was nearly enough to send me running for my room, but something kept me grounded, gave me the courage to smile and ask, “So, Harry, what brings you to my table this evening?”

  “Oh! Uh, Dutch courage?” He chuckled and shook his head. “Actually, I don’t know. I just saw you sitting over here and you looked lonely and then the song started playing and well…” He shrugged. “Geronimo, I suppose.”

  “Geronimo.” I snickered, glancing at the stage. The song was coming to an end, the female backup singing, “Bombs away.” I bobbed my head and smiled.

  “So, uh, Georjana, what brings you to the little town of Rye?”

  “Jane.” My heart thrummed a wild beat as I tried to avoid the question. “Just Jane.”

  “Okay.” He grinned. “So, what brings you to my town, Just Jane?”

  I laughed at his quip, scratching my chin and being as vague as I could. “Self-discovery, I guess.”

  “Oh, really.” He leaned in to the table. “Well, that is intriguing.”

  The way his hazel eyes searched my face made me pull back. Leaning away from him, I forgot there was no back to my stool and started to wobble. He captured my arm, steadying me while I let out a breathy, embarrassed chuckle.

  “You all right?” He patted my elbow then let me go.

  I could still feel his fingers on me though. It made me realize how long it’d been since I’d been touched by a man.

  “Yes, I’m fine. I’m just…” I cleared my throat and ran my finger beneath my long bangs, tucking them behind my right ear.

  “You’re not drunk already, are you? It’s only eight o’clock.”

  I laughed and shook my head, my skin no doubt glowing red. I hated my pale white skin and giveaway blush.

  Tapping the table, Harry turned and waved his finger at the bartender. She nodded and called, “I’ll bring you one in a sec, love.”

  Turning back with a friendly smile, he bumped my arm with his knuckle. “Tell me, how do you plan on discovering yourself? Is there a magic formula no one’s told me about?”

  “No. I wish.” I cringed and ran my finger round the lip of my mug. “I have two weeks before I need to get back for work, and I thought I’d come over here and see where the road takes me. Try to cross a few things off my list.”

  “Hang on.” He frowned at me. “You’re going to see where the road takes you, but you’ve made a list? Isn’t that a contradiction?”

  “It’s not that kind of list.” I hesitated, wondering why I was compelled to show him. The only other person who’d seen it was Sarah.

  His hazel eyes studied me, the warm smile within them enough to have me reaching for my back pocket. My cheeks were already burning red; I figured I may as well make them neon.

  Unfolding the sheet of paper, I cleared my throat and placed my list on the table between us.

  “Jane’s Life List,” Harry murmured, picking it up and scanning the contents. I had about ten things on there. A mix of the simple, like reading The Great Gatsby and watching Gone with the Wind, to the adventurous, like skydiving and learning how to surf.

  His lips curled at the edges, and I guessed he was up to the two Sarah added before I left on my trip: horseback riding on the beach and skinny-dipping in the ocean.

  “Nice.” He nodded and then passed it back to me. “Aren’t those normally called a bucket list?”

  “Yes, well.” I tipped my head, gazing at my scribble. “I decided to change the title.”

  “Why?” He asked it so softly, so nicely, I started answering him before even thinking about it.

  “I’ve been in a rut, I guess you could say, and I just needed something to bring me back to life.”

  I hoped it was a sufficient answer. I really didn’t want to go into detail.

  Harry went still, studying me with a look of wonder. My words obviously resonated with him, because a slow smile worked over his lips and he started nodding.

  “I like the sound of that,” he whispered.

  Our eyes connected, pulled together by something we shared. I wasn’t sure what it was but I sensed an understanding. Forcing my gaze away, I concentrated on refolding my list and putting it back in my pocket.

  “So, that first item you crossed off. The ‘saying goodbye’ one. Is that some metaphor for leaving your rut behind?”

  I wasn’t about to tell him the truth, that I crossed it off because today at my tree, I realized that Blake would always be with me. I didn’t need to say goodbye to him anymore. We were destined to spend eternity together, and I could go forward and achieve the list for both of us.

  But for some reason, I didn’t want to bring Blake into my conversation with Harry, so instead I just smiled and mumbled, “Something like that.”

  “Well, you’re in the perfect place to do some of those things. Europe’s just a stone’s throw away. I can already think of about three different places you could go to start crossing off your list…and adding to it.” He winked.

  His reaction inspired me and I pulled out the list again, smoothing it out on the table and uncapping the pen with my teet
h. Blake danced through my mind, powering ideas through my head. A smile worked over my lips as I imagined him beside me, coaxing the truth out of me.

  “Come on, carrots, what are we going to do? Be wild about it, honey. Make me proud.”

  I chuckled and started writing and talking at the same time. “I want to see something ancient and beautiful. I want to soak in the sun. Swim in water so clear I can see my toes.” I looked down at what I’d added.

  See an ancient wonder.

  Swim in crystal clear waters.

  Tapping my pen on the sheet of paper, I glanced up at Harry and kept going. “I just want to stop thinking and get outside of my own head. I want to live and do things that will make me laugh. I want to feel unchecked joy. I want to be crazy and spontaneous.” I could hear Blake’s voice in my words.

  Harry’s awe-filled gaze was still in place, his eyes searching my expression.

  Would he think I was a fraud? I was sitting there spouting stuff that would have come from Blake’s mouth. But as I said them, I realized how badly I wanted that dream honeymoon Blake and I had planned. He’d been set on making me do a bunch of crazy stuff, pulling me out of my comfort zone. I had a responsibility to do it, didn’t I?

  Suddenly stunted by doubts, I looked back at my list.

  Would I have the courage to go through with any of them?

  Recapping my pen, I laid it down on the paper and frowned. My shoulders slumped as I leaned my elbows on the table. “I’m probably coming across like some crazy person. I don’t even know if I can do these things. I’m not wild. I plan, I organize. I like to know exactly what’s going on, so why the hell do I think I can do this?”

  Because Blake would have wanted me to.

  Harry distracted me with his soft voice. “I don’t think you’re crazy. You’re coming across like a woman who’s in search of a new future. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  I gave him a grateful smile, glad when he was distracted by the lady bringing him a beer.