Whiskey and Country

“No. I felt I would. I’ve never thought small towns were my thing. But you were right about the mountain air. It’s addictive. I can see myself living here full time. Ask me again in six months, though. But I’m pretty certain my answer will be the same. People here take the time to just be. To live. To be happy. It’s refreshing.”

Dahlia pressed her head to my shoulder. “Glad to hear it. If you didn’t like Green Mountain, you’d break my heart. Big time.”

“Don’t worry. It’s the last thing I wanna do.”

Dahlia pulled me onto a rocky path between two lines of trees. It was pitch black there, the moonlight not reaching us in this tunnel of branches.

“Where are we going?” I whispered. “If you’re going to kill me, you can do it here. I think we’re far enough from the civilization.”

“C’mon, it will be worth it. I forgot my ax, so your life is safe. For now.” I helped her over a low fence made of old birch trees, and we remained suspended in time as I held her in my arms, my hands clutching her hipbones. Her floral scent spiraled into me, both of us panting as if we’d just run a dozen miles.

When I released her, Dahlia smoothed her shirt with her fingers and glanced down until her breathing evened.

“Let’s go. We’re almost there.”

“In a million years, I would’ve never thought I’d be trespassing on private property with the famous Dahlia Ellis. Not even in my wildest dreams.”

She grimaced and punched my arm.

“Shut up, we’re not trespassing. I know the owners. Mr. and Mrs. McLoughlin. See, I know their names. Jack and I always come here.”

“In the dark with a toddler, sweet move.”

Dahlia poked me in the ribcage. “Stop messing with me. You’ll see it’s worth getting caught.” She lowered her voice. “Even if they chase us with a rifle.”

“A rifle? People use them around here? I thought it was only in movies.”

“Guess we’d better not find out.”

We walked through high grass for two minutes before stopping in front of a dark barn. I couldn’t make out the color of the siding in the darkness, even with my headlamp still on.

Dahlia let go of my hand and slid the doors open, gesturing for me to follow her. Once inside, she flipped a switch, and a soft glow cast shadows on the walls. A strong odor of the stable went straight to my nose, stealing away every remnant scent of her perfume.

I scrunched up my nose, getting acclimated to the scent.

Once my eyes got used to the low light, they traveled all around me, taking in every detail of this place. High ceilings, probably thirty feet high, wood-panel walls, haystack piled in one corner. Three horses—one white and two brown—in separate stalls. Dahlia neared the biggest one—brown with a black stripe going from its muzzle to its crest.

“Nick, this is George Maloney,” she said, petting the horse between his eyes.

“Like the actor?”

She nodded. “Come closer. Let him sniff you.”

“Hey buddy,” I said, the horse butting my hand. “You like that?”

“Jack and I come to visit these fellows at least once a week. It’s so calm in here. Brownies,” she said, pointing to the smaller brown horse, “is Lady Baba’s pony. She had him four years ago after Mr. and Mrs. McLoughlin rescued her from a pony farm. George isn’t his dad, but he adopted Brownies as his own. They are one big happy family now.”

Dahlia grabbed my hand in hers. “Come.”

She climbed a wooden ladder that led to a mezzanine on one side of the barn. I followed her close, not wanting to risk her falling if she lost her footing.

We sat on stacks of hay covered with a tarp when Dahlia made a guitar appear from somewhere behind us.

“You keep it here?”

She smiled, the sight warming up my heart like a wildfire. “Something Stud used to do when he was a kid. He had it rough and kept a guitar in an old barn, music giving him the courage to keep dreaming. I loved the idea. And one night, not long after I moved here, we found this place. And he said every time I felt sad, I should come here and play. Sing my sadness and heartbreak away.” She shrugged. “When Jack is with Cart and I feel alone, this is my go-to spot. My special place where I follow my friend’s advice. Somehow it works. And the horses downstairs are a great crowd.”

I scooted on the makeshift bench, clearing my throat. “Dahlia, would you sing for me?” I asked as she positioned herself between my legs, her fingers strumming the chords as she adjusted the tuning keys.

“What do you want me to sing?”

I shut my eyes and inhaled a cleansing breath, my body humming at the proximity of her.

My voice sounded huskier as I spoke the words out. “The song that speaks to you the most.”

Oh, oh, oooh, you walked into the room

And suddenly I couldn’t breathe

You looked at me with those eyes

And suddenly nothing existed but you

You took my hand in yours

And suddenly my entire world became you

Dahlia had the most beautiful voice, raw and clear, soft and strong. All my hair stood on end as she sang one of Carter Hills Band ballads, one that was barely ever heard on the radio. One I didn’t know the lyrics to.

I leaned back, perched on my straight arms, every word coming out of her mouth powerful enough to shake even my soul.

You and me, that’s how the story should be

You and me, forever it will be

Oh baby, you and me, forever it will be

Dahlia strummed the last chord, my heart vibrating to the same rhythm.

“Wow. I’m speechless. Wow. That was beautiful. You have an amazing voice.” I pushed her hair over her shoulder, in a movement way too personal for two friends, my lips shuddering to connect with the skin of her nape. Shivers crept along Dahlia’s spine as my hands landed on her hips. I felt the tremors as they traveled through me too.

All my senses were attuned to this woman.

Dahlia leaned back in my arms, and I fought the urge to grip her around the waist.

“I haven’t sung to anyone but Jack in three years,” she said, breaking the silence, the words floating between us. “You’re the first one.”

“Thanks. I’m flattered,” I said.

A heartfelt laugh bubbled out. “You should be. I gave you a private concert. It counts for something, sealing our friendship.”

“Thanks for giving me a sneak peek into your world. It means a lot to me.”

Dahlia began to say something but stopped. She turned in my arms, folding her legs before her, pressing them against my chest.

“I’ve never brought Carter here. He doesn’t know about this place—”

I quirked a brow. “He doesn’t?”

Dahlia shook her head.

“Why?”