Southern Sinner (North Carolina Highlands 3)

“Who hurt you?” My hands go still. “And where can I find him?”

She makes an annoyed sound in the back of her throat and rolls her eyes, elbowing me aside to take over again. “This is why I don’t tell y’all shit. It’s nothing. End of conversation.”

She’s using the same tone Mama does when she means business. I want to know more, but I also want to play some music with Stevie.

So I let it go and run home and back. Literally. As I bolt through Samuel’s front door again, guitar and tambourine in hand, heart drumming hard inside my chest, another truth hits me: I like having someone to hustle back to.

Someone to hustle for.

I make sure Stevie gets the homemade vanilla bean ice cream and caramel apple pie Samuel prepared for dessert before we head to the great room. Beau’s stoking the fire, two chairs already pulled up in front of it for us. My family trickles in with bowls of ice cream in their hands and smiles on their faces.

I know I’m not the only reason they’re having a good time. But Milly and I chatted often while I was gone, and she always mentioned how Sunday suppers were “quiet” since I’d left.

The Beauregards do not do quiet. They’re certainly not quiet tonight. It makes me feel good, knowing they’re glad I’m back. Or at the very least, able to relax when I’m around. Glancing at Stevie, I realize it also makes me feel a little bad. My family is happy to see me, but they’re also happy for me. They’re celebrating the fact that I found someone. What’s gonna happen when Stevie leaves on Monday afternoon and never comes back?

I shove the thought from my head. I’ll cross that bridge when I get there.

Stevie picks up the tambourine and gives it a little shake. “Any pointers?”

“You’re the Stevie in this relationship.” I duck underneath my guitar strap. “You tell me.”

She watches me tune the guitar, eyes lingering on my hands a beat too long. “I’m just buzzed enough to think I could be good at this.”

“You’re gonna be the best. Here, let’s sit.”

Stevie glances over her shoulder before sitting in the chair to my left. “What are we playing first?”

My knee brushes hers as I sit beside her, adjusting the guitar so it sits in my lap just right. “Someone’s bedtime is coming up.” Glancing at Maisie, I give her a wink. “So I think we’ll start with this one. Ready?”

Stevie meets my eyes. She’s wearing this cute smile that’s a little shy and a lot eager, her eyes glimmering with a challenge. Let’s show them how obsessed we are.

I nod. Done.

I give her a one, a two, a one, two, three, four, and then I burst into a rousing rendition of “Wheels on The Bus.”

Stevie laughs at the same moment Maisie literally screams with delight. I try to remember all the verses Bel would sing to Maisie when she was really little.

It turns out, I don’t remember much.

To my surprise—why am I surprised?—Stevie fills in the gaps for me, guiding me through one verse after another. All the while, she uses the tambourine to do the hand motions—wheels turning, doors opening and shut—and Maisie follows her, padding right up to us to get in on the action.

I watch Maisie watching Stevie. Damn, that little turkey is cute. Egged on by Stevie’s encouragement, she follows her motions, clapping her little hands and stomping her little socked feet.

I watch Stevie. She’s an uninhibited, enthusiastic participant, eyes going wide at just the right moments, her smile growing just like Maisie’s. She keeps the beat with the tambourine, and gives it an extra shake every now and then to make Maisie laugh.

My heart wrenches.

This.

This right here. I don’t know what it is, exactly, but something about Stevie and Maisie and “Wheels on the Bus” feels . . . right.

I can’t get enough of it.

The song ends, and we get a big round of applause, Stevie handing Maisie the tambourine and letting out a holler when the little girl shakes the thing for all it’s worth.

Maisie screams again. Only this time, it’s because she drops the tambourine on one of those little feet.

“Oooh, sweetie, I bet that hurt!” Stevie bends down to rub Maisie’s foot. “I’m so sorry.”

Beau lifts the baby into his arms. “And that’s our cue. Time to go night-night.” Annabel starts to get up, but Beau waves her away, hiking the baby onto his hip. “You stay and relax. I’ll put her to bed.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” she replies, kissing him before settling back into her spot on the sofa. “It’s been way too long since I heard Hank play.”

Beau turns back to us. Leaning down, he presses a kiss to Stevie’s cheek. “We really are glad you’re here, Stevie. If this crew doesn’t scare you off between now and then, I’ll see you in the morning, all right?”