Page 66 of Song Bird Hearts
Knox meets my eyes and I see the emotion flicker there even if he keeps it locked down tight. The stoic man can’t seem to keep his emotions completely hidden from me anymore, and that makes me feel just a little lighter.
Wolf doesn’t speak. His eyes trace around the room, looking at Gilden, who winks at him. At Knox, who doesn’t smile, but nods once. And then at me. I smile at him and thread my fingers with his.
“I’m a good weapon,” he promises suddenly, and I know he doesn’t understand what a family is. That’s okay. We’ll spend the rest of whatever lifetime I have left teaching him.
“I don’t need a weapon,” I whisper, and his eyes shutter. “I just need you.”
The way his eyes blink, the way his fingers squeeze my hand.
The way Gilden’s presence is behind me, his hand on my shoulder.
The way Knox stands like a silent sentinel, our protector.
The loneliness that has held my heart for so long finally disappears completely.
Chapter33
Valerie
The world is soft at the edges as dust paints itself over White Stag Pastures.
I hold my guitar case in one hand and reach back with the other, grabbing the fingers of whoever will take it. It ends up being Gilden, because of course it is. He always offers his hand before I ever think to ask.
“Where are we headed,mon rossignol?” he asks, easy and warm.
“My favorite place,” I answer. “Come on.”
The three men follow without question, their boots crunching on worn pasture grass as we pass the last fence line and head west, where the Green River winds its slow, lazy way past the ranch. The trail narrows ahead of us, wildflowers thriving under the spring sun brushing against my jeans as we pass them. Crickets start to chirp as the sky darkens, singing us their song like we belong among them. Somewhere nearby, a nightbird trills, high and morose, as if he’s still looking for his mate.
I lead them to the small area that kisses the edge of the water, a flat open bend where the river curves shallow and wide. The stones here are worn smooth, the grass lush from the runoff, and as the sun drops lower, the fireflies begin to blink into existence. At first, it’s just one or two, then a dozen, then too many to count. The air shimmers like it’s been dusted in stardust.
“This is. . .” Knox mutters behind her, his voice low and reverent. “Somethin’ else.”
“I know,” I say, smiling, before I let myself sink down into the grass and open my guitar case. “Sit. Relax.”
Gilden drops beside me, laying back in the grass. With his legs outstretched and his arms behind his head, he looks completely at ease here in the tall grass. Knox hangs back for a second before slowly folding down next to me on the opposite side, ever-watchful as he pretends he isn’t. Wolf sits carefully, the edge of his expression tight with pain, but when my eyes meet his, he nods.
“You shouldn’t have come out here with cracked ribs,” I say gently.
“You brought music,” he murmurs. “I’d rather die than miss that.”
I bite back the flutter in my throat and focus on tuning the guitar. My fingers are as familiar with the strings as my lungs are with breathing, the muscle memory wrapping around notes like home as I begin to pluck the strings. It’s the same guitar I’ve been carrying around, the one my mama gave me. It makes me feel a little more at home to see the songbird on the front of it. It makes me feel a little more like me.
The song bubbles up in my chest, one I’ve never sung on a stage, but that’s been tucked away inside my journal for a few weeks. The label will never let me sing it, always claiming my stuff is too raw, but I know my fans would love it. Maybe I’ll play it for them anyways.
In the hush of the fireflies and soft grass, I start to play, the notes soft and rhythmic.
“I’m goin’ out west to chase cowboys,
Not the kind that stay in line.
Give me boots on the dash, whiskey lips,
And hands that know they’re mine.
I ain’t lookin’ for a white picket future,
Just a lasso and a little bit of sin.
