4 - It's a Hybrid, Darlin'

“Hey, baby doll!”   

“Hey, yourself,” Jon returned with a smile as the garage door slammed shut. 

Putting the twice-read newspaper aside, he spun the kitchen stool and lifted his face for a kiss, but she was oblivious.  Cassidy breezed past him in a cloud of antiseptic and blue scrubs without stopping.

“I’m gonna jump in the shower real quick.  Do me a favor and grab my jeans from the dryer, would ya?  Not the faded or the dark, but the ones with….”  She drew up short, waving an impatient hand and pivoting back toward the laundry room. “Nevermind.  It’s easier to do it myself.  How was your day?”

“Fine.  And slow the fuck down.  You’re early, so we’ve got plenty of time. 

“Not in Friday evenin’ traffic we don’t.”

When she emerged from the laundry room with jeans in tow, Jon snagged an elbow before she could escape.  With one eyebrow lifted, he pointedly observed, “You drive like a bat out of hell.  Pretty sure you can make up the time it takes to give me a damn kiss.”

“I’m not drivin’ tonight,” she countered but graced him with a smiling smooch before slipping free.

“What?  You actually gonna let me drive?” 

She never let him behind the wheel of her little SUV, claiming – much as she had with the jeans – that it was easier to do it herself.  He admittedly wasn’t as familiar with the streets in Nashville but didn’t agree that a Jersey boy didn’t have the patience to drive in the South.  Huffing and swearing under his breath weren’t anywhere close to flat-out road rage, but whatever made her happy made him happy, so Jon went with it.

“No,” she chuckled.  “A car is gonna to pick us up in twenty minutes.  I almost got a ticket for textin’ and drivin’ but I managed to get one.”

Okay, fine.  She didn’t want to drive and didn’t trust him to.  Jon wasn’t all that keen on trying to find parking downtown, anyway.  A driver was the logical choice.  Still…

“You realize I’m capable of ordering car service, right?” he called after her.

“My way is better,” was the laughing assurance from the staircase.

A frown tugged at the corners of his mouth as Jon grunted in quiet disgust.  This day wasn’t going at all as planned.

Oh sure, he’d accomplished his errand and was pleased with the finished product, but that was the only thing going for him.  Between Cassidy’s full workday and rushing around to get ready for a dinner Jon didn’t care about, they had yet to spend a full minute together.

That made it exceptionally hard to find the “right” time to present her with that finished product – or bring up performing tomorrow night.  It also eliminated any opportunity for something as mundane as holding her hand and talking while soaking in her smile and slow, sweet drawl. 

These last few weeks had been necessary, but they sure as hell hadn’t been fun.  Jon missed his girl.

Now, instead of taking advantage of the hired car’s backseat in more pleasurable ways, he had to take care of business, as it were.  Because there was no way he could let Cassidy blindly walk into Merchants tonight without knowing his plan to put her on stage.  If he did, David would make a concentrated effort to break the news first – and do it with an evil smile.

The trick was finding an angle that kept her from immediately digging in her stubborn heels and refusing. 

Easier said than done. 

Six months he’d spent trying to come up with one logical explanation that wouldn’t invite her obstinacy, and still no luck.  Chances were good that she wouldn’t listen to ten words once she got the gist of what he was saying, because the woman was hell-bent on doing everything on her own.

Every.  Fucking.  Thing.

She loved having Jon in residence anytime he wanted to come, but there was no doubt who this house belonged to. 

Cassidy paid the mortgage, insurance and utilities.  She had the numbers for her favorite handyman and plumber on the refrigerator – right under the magnet with the lawn service name and logo.  She thought the lawn service charged too much for snow removal, though, so her teenage neighbor was in charge of shoveling the driveway.  The downstairs guest bath had needed remodeling last fall, and she did the demolition work – with the help of Libby -  to reduce the cost of contract labor. 

It was obvious she’d never been married or been coddled by a father who took care of everything.  When her parents had died, they left her with a strong woman who had raised Cassidy in her image. 

Jon admired that strength and was damn proud of her. 

There were just sometimes when…

“How do I look?”

It had been mere minutes since she went upstairs, but Cassidy looked like a million bucks as she sauntered back into the kitchen, ready to go. 

Her makeup and ponytail were now flawless, as was the curve of her backside in the Levi’s she’d chosen from the dryer.  The powder blue of a soft cowl neck sweater made her already bright blue eyes pop with light and stacked-heel ankle boots thumped gently on the hardwood until she stopped in front of before him.  When both arms lifted straight out to her sides, he caught sight of the leather bracelets made from his belt. 

“Fucking beautiful.”

“Sweet talkin’ brevity.  It makes my heart go pitty pat,” she teased gently when crossing those braceleted wrists behind his neck. 

Jon cupped the backs of shapely thighs that wedged between his and wished he didn’t have to worry about dinner, careers or stubbornness tonight.  He’d give anything to crawl between her legs for a dose of the soul-soothing sanity he couldn’t find anywhere else. 

Since that wasn’t an option right now, he squeezed her thighs with a lopsided grin.  “I’ve always known what makes your panties wet.”

“That you have,” she agreed with an affectionate stroke of his cheek.  “But how ‘bout we keep ‘em dry until after dinner, hmm?”

Jon’s fingers crept around her thighs to rub at the center seam on the jeans, and he grinned when she jumped.  He was sure it had nothing to do with the text message chiming from her back pocket.  “Wet’s a helluva lot more fun.”

“While I don’t disagree, it would appear as though our ride’s here.”  After softly brushing their lips together, Cassidy back-pedaled out of his grasp.  “Where’s your jacket?  Hall closet?”

“Yeah, but I’ll get it.”

Her natural-nailed hand waved him off for the second time in twenty minutes.  “I’m halfway there already.  Besides, I need mine.  I got a new one you’ll like.”

Jon had little choice but to follow along like a puppy, but it didn’t keep him from complaining, “Valentine’s was three days ago.  Why didn’t you tell me about a coat when I asked what you wanted?”

“Because you were tryin’ to pretend you actually gave a fig about Valentine’s when you don’t, and I’d already ordered it,” she explained easily, handing his black leather out of the closet.  While he slipped it on, she also pushed her arms into sleeves and turned with a smile.  “Like it?”

Even through the annoyance that she was right about his Valentine’s Day sentiments, he could acknowledge she’d made a good choice with the jacket.  It was deep-red leather that perfectly hugged her curves, and the banded collar sat perfectly beneath her sweater’s neckline. 

The color was nearly the same as that of her guitar and would go well with…

“Nice, but what?  No ruby heels?”

Cassidy patted the voluminous bag she’d pulled from the closet and was using for a purse tonight.  Her grin was Cheshire Cat worthy when outlining, “Boots for outdoors and ruby slippers for indoors.  Now let’s get goin’ before our Uber leaves us.”

“Uber?” he demanded as the crisp winter air hit his lungs.  “That’s what you’re calling a hired car?”

Even under the porch light’s muted glow, he could see that the eyes cutting his way danced with amusement.  “You pay ‘em to drive you.  That’s the definition of hired, baby doll.”

The sun had set over an hour ago, so Jon couldn’t decipher the make and model of the vehicle whose lights were glowing in the driveway, but it damn-sure wasn’t his preferred SUV.  It wasn’t even a Town Car.    

“It looks like a damn Matchbox car.”

She laughed at his quiet mutter.  “The app said a Prius.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

“It’s a hybrid, darlin’.  Good for the environment.”

Jon was all about conserving the environment, but he’d rather not sit in the driver’s lap to do it.  He would’ve told her that if she wasn’t already leaning in the open back door with a cheery, “Hi there!  How are ya this evenin’?”

“Great,” the twenty-something guy returned, a smile slashing through the dark beard and moustache.  “You Cassidy?”

“I am.  And you must be Elliott.” 

“True story.  Dinner at Merchants, right?”

Her shapely rear slid across the short back seat to make room for Jon, whose foot got caught on the doorway.  Swearing under his breath, he decided next time he’d take his chances on parking availability. 

“We’re supposed to be there at seven,” she confirmed with apology.  “Since that’s only fifteen minutes from now, I know we’re not gonna make it, but if you could do your best, we’d be real appreciative.  Wouldn’t we, honey?”

Jon grunted when a petite elbow dug into his ribs.  “Yeah.  Right.”

“Elliott, this here’s Jon.  He’s the strong silent type, so don’t be offended if he don’t talk your ear off.”

The driver’s eyes found his in the rearview mirror and grew wide with recognition.  “Uhh…  Hi.  Wow.  I….  You don’t have a limousine or something?  Man.  Jon Bon Jovi is in my Prius.  I can’t believe it.”

Neither can I, man.  Neither can I.

Swallowing his sigh, Jon forced his features into some semblance of pleasantry.  “No limo.  My girl likes to keep me humble.”

“Oh, man!  You’re that Cassidy?  Cassidy Starr?”  To his credit, the guy’s gushing didn’t stop him from peeling the Prius out of the driveway and zipping down the street.  “My girlfriend loves the song you’ve got on the radio.  Well, I do, too.  We’re both going to the Bon Jovi show tomorrow night.  Any chance you’re opening for them, since he’s… you know?”

Her laughter was light and friendly when slipping a hand inside Jon’s.  “Well, I ‘preciate you thinkin’ I’d be good enough to open for the likes of Bon Jovi, but that’s not gonna happen.”

And any chance I had of it happening, just got pissed into the wind. 

There was no way he could have that conversation now, with fan-boy Elliott chattering away about what a shame it was.  Cassidy was going to find out from David, which meant there wasn’t a chance in hell of Jon convincing her to do it. 

Unless I get to Dave first.

While the driver asked about her album release, Jon pulled the phone from his back pocket. 

[6:49 PM]JON: I need a favor, Lema.  A big one.

3 - Change of Plans

“For Christ’s sake, Dave,” Jon lamely griped from the back of his hired car.  “I just saw you last night.  Why the fuck are you calling me?”

“In case nobody’s mentioned it lately, your acting sucks balls.  Since pretending to be pissed is out of your reach, I’ll assume you got laid.”

What choice did he have but to laugh?  The man was right.  Jon had gotten a much-needed dose of happy from his favorite dealer and it kept him from working up a believable annoyance.

“None of your damn business.”

“Fine,” the Jersey keyboardist sighed boredly.  “I’d rather have sex with her than hear about it, anyway.”

“Lem-aaa…”

The chortle that rattled the phone was pure fucking evil.  “Now that’s the surly sonofabitch I share a plane with.  This Jekyll and Hyde thing she inspires in you is a riot, man.”

“You have exactly three seconds before I hang up on your psychotic ass.” 

Sadly, it had more to do with Jon’s arrival at his destination than anger.  He was in too good of a mood to let the juvenile antics get under his skin.  Besides, he had it on excellent authority that Dixie wouldn’t fuck Dave “even if his tallywhacker twirled like one of those electronic Jack Rabbit things”.

Someday, he was going to give his buddy that direct quote, but he was waiting for the perfect occasion.  Today wasn’t it. 

“Okay, okay.  I wanted to talk to the Dixie Diva, but I’m not getting an answer on the house phone or her cell.  She with you?”

“No,” Jon answered while ignoring the intentional dropping of the “Dixie” nickname that Dave was expressly forbidden to use.  Drawing attention to it only fed the rebellion.  “She’s working until noon.”

“What the fuck is with her and this work thing?  Her first single has already dropped, and the album goes full-blown in a couple weeks.  She should be reveling, not working a menial job.”

Jon rolled his eyes at the flurry of snow swirling around the car and crammed one fist into a pocket on his leather jacket.  “She’s a fucking medical professional.  Hardly a menial job.”

“Whatever.  You know what I mean.”

Yes, Jon knew what he meant.  He also knew that his Dixie was the most goddamn independent woman on the planet.  It was hell even finding her a gift that she didn’t consider extravagant.  Her ruby Takamine had been a tough sell last Christmas, and it cost under a thousand dollars.  That’s how he ended up gifting her with his time this Christmas – by helping with the album.

The woman liked personal things, not expensive ones.  It’s why, after only giving her a call for Valentine’s Day, his car was sliding up in front of the artisan shop where he’d once gotten leather bracelets made.

Gesturing to the driver to give him a minute, he said into the phone, “She isn’t going to quit at the clinic until she’s banked two years’ salary from the album.  That’s what she said last time I tried to suggest quitting, anyway.”

“Well,” David preened.  “With elite producers like you, me and Obie on the liner notes, that won’t take long.”

“I hope not.  She works eighteen hours a day.”

“After tomorrow’s show, I think her tune will change.  You did tell her about the show, right?”

“There hasn’t been a chance,” Jon defended against the accusing question, without explaining that he didn’t get in until two and she left for work at six-thirty.   What was the point?

He knew that no amount of justification would deter his friend’s sarcastic, “There hasn’t been a chance in six months?  Because that’s how long I’ve known where Nashville fell on the tour schedule.  You knew before that and still haven’t found a chance to invite your girlfriend onstage?  Douchebag.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Sure, it is!  ‘Sing with us in Nashville, Dixie.’  Six words.  Not even remotely fucking hard.”

“Listen, fucktard.  Do you know how long she fought having my name on those liner notes you mentioned?” Jon demanded with frustration.  “I had to make my participation a fucking Christmas gift before she’d let me near the studio.  Cassidy wants to ride or die because of her talent, not who she fucks.”

“Which brings me to another point that I’ve been politely biting my tongue about.  When the hell are you gonna ask that girl to be more than a serial fuck buddy?”

Oh, for the love of God!

“What are you, her father?”

“Since she doesn’t have one, I don’t mind stepping in,” the voice on the other end obliged easily.  “She deserves to be more than your dose of Valium.  At least move in together, for fuck’s sake, so the tabloids will stop calling her your ‘Nashville mistress’.”

Jesus, Mary and Joseph.  Why had David Bryan chosen to make Cassidy his cause of the day?  Today, of all days, when the only thing Jon wanted to do was make up for time lost over the last three weeks.  Was it so much to ask that he get to simply enjoy his goddamn girlfriend without the interference of meddling busybodies?

“I’m not even acknowledging that bullshit with a response.  Good-bye, David.”

“Wait!”  For reasons only God could understand, Jon did. “I wanna see the Dixie Diva while I’m in town, outside of the show.  Dinner tonight – Merchants or her house?”

If they had to do this, Jon’s preference was the place he considered home in Nashville.  He could be truly comfortable there and Cassidy wouldn’t feel compelled to make herself up for the paparazzi.  She was beautiful fresh out of the shower, but according to her, going out required an extra thirty minutes of primping so that she was “fit to be photographed with such a pretty man”. 

He thought it was utter bullshit and told her to go as she was, but as in everything else, his girlfriend was quietly stubborn and did as she saw fit.  Staying in would save her the trouble, and he was on the verge of saying so when a thought occurred to him. 

David wouldn’t be as easy to get out of Dixie’s cozy house as he would a restaurant.  Not with three extra bedrooms available.  Hell, he’d probably spend the night, and while Jon loved the guy….

“Make reservations at Merchants.  Seven o’clock.”

At least he and Cassidy would get the afternoon together. 

♫♫♫♫♫

[11:50AM]CASSIDY:  After I told our other doctor to go skiing for the weekend, my relief called in with the flu.  I’m stuck at the clinic until 6.  ☹

[11:52AM]JON:  Fuck.  Ok.

Cassidy didn’t hear anything more from him throughout the afternoon, nor had she expected to.  Jon tolerated her job with the same resigned acceptance that she showed his busy life.  They had to do what they had to do, and neither wasted time engineering pointless guilt trips. 

This time around, Cassidy felt guilty enough all on her own, anyway.  She should’ve taken the whole day off to begin with.  There wasn’t a lot of time for this visit, and as each patient passed through, she grew unnaturally resentful at being there.   Her only consolation was sneaking in ten minutes this morning to take care of an unplanned task.  

[5:26PM]JON: I promised Dave we’d meet him for dinner at 7.  Merchants.  You want me to cancel?

Honestly, yes.  Their hours together were already at a minimum, but the string of unanswered text messages from Jon’s friend reflected such excitement at seeing her that Cassidy couldn’t do it.  Besides, it wasn’t like Jon wouldn’t be there, too.  They’d still be together, just not naked and alone together.

[5:28PM]CASSIDY: You do and he’ll just turn up at the house.  I’ll meet y’all there as soon as I can.

[5:29PM]JON: We’ll go together.  See you when you get home.

Home. 

It wasn’t like he was referring to it as his home, because it wasn’t.  He didn’t view it that way.  Time and again, he’d called it her house or her place, and it never bothered her before.  Why did it give her a twinge this afternoon?

Because of that damn meddling sister of yours. 

“The last patient just cancelled,” the meddler herself announced from the doorway.  “You best get outta here while the gettin’s good.”

Cassidy let her phone drop to the desk in the tiny doctor’s office and glared at her sister.  “I’m still mad at you.”

“Gee, really?”  The woman who couldn’t care less rolled huge blue eyes toward her strawberry-blonde hairline.  “The way you’ve cut me to ribbons every time our paths crossed today never woulda clued me in.   And as far as I’m concerned, be as mad as you want but do it on the way outta here.  No sense wastin’ your five minutes of normal relationship time on me.  I’ll still be here when he’s gone again.”

Hating that what Libby said was the truth, Cassidy nonetheless rose and shed her white medical coat, hanging it on the coat rack by the window. 

Outside it, evening had settled into the murky winter gray that descended just before nightfall, and the hue alone was enough to create a chill.  A light flurry of snowflakes dancing under the streetlight made her grateful for the down jacket that was far warmer than her long-sleeved t-shirt and scrub top.  

Annoyance was also warming and prompted her to deliver a caustic, “Just because you’re happily married now don’t make you a relationship expert.”

“Bein’ happily married also don’t make me blind.  Too bad I can’t say the same for you, ‘cause you’re blinder ‘n a bat when it comes to that man, Glory Star.  I adore him, but he needs to do right by you.”

After one last check for text messages, she shoved her phone into the purse taken from a desk drawer and zipped it with more force than necessary.  “Mind your own beeswax, Libby.  Your definition of right ain’t the only one.”

“Maybe not,” the feistier of the two sisters agreed with unnerving calm.  It was even more unnerving when she crossed both arms over her chest to softly add, “But it’s the same as yours – if you’d stop lyin’ to yourself.”

The girl’s right, Glory, and if the Good Lord hadn’t needed me here so’s you could meet that Jon of yours, I’d be havin’ me a talk with that boy.

Great.  Now her grandmother was chiming in from Heaven, when all Cassidy wanted to do was enjoy living in the moments she was given. 

Slinging the strap of her mini backpack onto a shoulder, she cut her sister another withering look.  “I’m done talkin’ about this, Liberty.  And if you and Wes still want to go backstage with me tomorrow night, you’re done with it, too.  Do I make myself clear?”

“I reckon.”

One eyebrow arched damningly in a move she’d used for decades to intimidate her little sister.  “You mention so much as one single word about my relationship with Jon, and I’ll have his brother escort you outta that arena so fast your head will spin.  Then I’ll march right to the music store and buy Judson that banjo you keep talkin’ him out of.”

Libby winced as though she’d been struck.  “Lord a’mercy, spare us all the pain of a banjo.  How did I raise a boy who likes bluegrass music?”

It was the first time today that Cassidy cracked a smile at the younger woman.  “MeMaw henpecked the Lord into it as payback for your hellion ways.”

The soul-deep sigh was the purest admission of defeat.  “Prob’ly so.  And she’d probably find him a band to join if I piss you off, so I’ll be sweet as honey to Jon and keep my trap shut.”

“See that you do.” 

2 - I Like Him Just the Same

Jon slipped between the creamy flannel sheets with a quiet groan. 

Sex with Cassidy still brought him the same “sanity” as it had that first night twenty months ago.  She quieted places inside him that nobody knew were screaming – even him, sometimes.  She was his oasis in the middle of this desert of life, and he was grateful every fucking day.   

She might keep his soul perfectly intact, but his fucking body?  Well, that was another story.  It was full of aches and pains that weren’t so quick to go away.

“Roll over, baby doll,” she murmured with a nudge at his side.  “I’ll rub your back.”

She always knew what he needed and didn’t hesitate to give it.  How could a woman be both selfless and independent?  He hadn’t quite figured it out the how and why of it yet, but whether he understood it or not, that was his Dixie.  Selflessly independent. 

A little too independent sometimes.

“I’m fine,” he lied rolling her way and laying a guiding palm at the small of her back.  It didn’t take much effort to pull her against him on the king-size mattress.  “Tell me about the song.”

She turned her face so that the sigh that lifted from the four-poster bed to the recessed ceiling.  The winter moonlight was bright coming through the windows, and it fully illuminated her pucker of annoyance.

“I already told ya.  It’s just somethin’ I was foolin’ with.”

“Alright.  Then let me tell you something – in the interest of there being no misunderstanding.”  At least she smirked when looking his way this time.  “To the guy who hasn’t seen his girlfriend in too fucking long, it sounded like you’re planning to dump my ass.  Am I close?”

She rolled over with a delicate huff, bringing her face close enough to lick if he felt like it.  “No, you stubborn-ass man. If you must know, Libby called this evenin’, buttin’ into stuff that’s none of her business.”

“Like…?”

Easing back, Cassidy laid on her side against him and draped a forearm across his stomach.  “Like how long I’m gonna be content with our relationship the way it is.”

No. 

No, no, no. 

Goddammit, he hadn’t wanted to be right.  This was not the time for her sweet-but-meddling sister to stir up insecurities.  Jon didn’t need his oasis of happiness dicked with right now.    

“What’d you tell her?”

“That I’d be content as long as I know you’re happy.  If I catch sight of that gray cloud of… yuck that you had when we first met, I’d walk away.”

Selfless.  Motherfucking selfless. 

She deserved more than what she’d gotten out of this relationship so far.  He knew that.  Had known it for some time now.  Hell, he wanted more for her, but that just wasn’t how their dice had rolled so far. 

Jon needed to be in or near New York, where his kids were.  Cassidy preferred living in Tennessee, saying it was about as far north as she cared to be.  That didn’t mean she wouldn’t venture to the city for a few days at a time, especially during the holidays when he absolutely couldn’t justify leaving his family. 

The job she wouldn’t let go of didn’t help matters.  She’d earned that Doctor of Nursing Practice degree and was now overseeing a local clinic – in between planning Libby’s wedding last spring, pulling strings to get Calliope into Johns Hopkins for residency, and putting together the album she’d finished before Thanksgiving. 

His Dixie had it in her head that, since he’d released Burning Bridges on her birthday, she wanted to release her debut album – Castle in the Clouds – on his birthday.  Because that’s how she rolled.  The woman whose jewelry box held a gum wrapper ring and bracelets made from an old belt was driven more by sentiment than conventionality.

Jon wouldn’t be one more of her projects, though.  She sometimes didn’t get that he wasn’t just somebody else to take care of.  They were supposed to be partners, and it was time to drive that point home. 

“Dixie…”

“Stop,” she instructed while laying a shushing finger over his lips.  “It ain’t none of Libby’s business, just like I said.  She just got me to thinkin’ ‘bout how I might feel if that day ever came along.  And whilst I was thinkin’, it occurred to me that other folks may already be livin’ that day.  That they might relate to a song about it.  That’s all.”

It was three in the morning.  Did Jon fight this fight now, or did he wait? 

You can’t win tonight.  Not the way you want to. 

So he gently removed her finger, kissed the tip, and used his brevity superpower to cut to the heart of it all.  “I love you, Dix.”

“I know you do, baby doll,” she gently assured, leaning up to give him a soft peck on the lips.  “And you know I feel the same ‘bout you.” 

He bit his tongue while watching her stretch to the nightstand for her phone, because dammit, he really didn’t like leaving it here.  But as she dimmed the screen and snuggled into his chest, Jon’s couldn’t make himself utter more than, “We need to talk tomorrow.”

“Alright,” she agreed, yawning delicately and giving him a conciliatory pat.  “Now, how ‘bout we get some sleep?  I wasn’t expectin’ you ‘til noon tomorrow, so I scheduled a half-day at the clinic – startin’ in four hours.”

He’d once thought himself a workaholic – and then he met Glory Star Cassidy.  Now Jon knew the real meaning of workaholic. 

At least I won’t have to make excuses to get into Nashville without her tomorrow.

“By the way,” she added.  “I wanna do your hair for the show Saturday night.”

She was going to be doing more than his hair at that show, but rather than getting into that now, he settled for a gently chuckled, “Okay, baby.”

♫♫♫♫♫

“Well, good mornin’, Verla Jean,” Cassidy greeted her first patient of the morning with a smile.  The woman nodding beneath a mop of tousled blonde curls lived two doors down and across the street.  She’d been friendly ever since they became neighbors last year. 

“Mornin’, Cassidy.”

Sliding the rolling stool to the foot of the exam table where Verla Jean was seated, she flipped open the dog-eared chart.  “Says here you’re havin’ trouble with your thumb?”

“Yeah.”  A quick thumbs-up showed how swollen and purple it was.  “I mashed it in the car door yesterday evenin’.  I told Earl there was nothin’ to be done about it, but he insisted I come get checked out anyway.” 

Gingerly turning the woman’s fist one way and then another, Cassidy inspected the damaged digit.  “Well, I’m glad you decided to appease ole Earl, because this looks nasty.  Can you bend it?”

“Not really.”

The grimace of pain at her attempt confirmed that, at the very least, the thumb was fractured.  “Verla Jean, I’m gonna send you right down the hall and let Libby take an x-ray of that.  If it’s not broken, we’ll just wrap it up and give it some rest.”

Libby had graduated x-ray school about the time Cassidy took over the clinic, which happened to be in need of an x-ray technician.  The timing was such that the Cassidy girls were now co-workers as well as sisters – although Libby was now a Walters, thanks to her wedding six months ago. 

Wes Walters was nothing like that scoundrel Darrell, thank the good Lord above. Libby’s husband was as honest as the day was long, and ironically, a deputy for the sheriff’s department. 

Once upon a time, that might’ve been a problem, but since Cassidy was on the right side of the law now, there was nothing to worry about.   She liked her brother-in-law and appreciated how well he treated Libby and the boys.

She also appreciated how he moved them out of her house, but that was beside the point.  Her sister and nephews were well-loved and cared for.  That was what mattered most. 

Oh, and Verla Jean, in this particular moment.

“And what if it is broken?”

“Then we’ll send you to the orthopedist to see what they wanna do.”

“Dammit,” the normally bubbly woman swore with disgust.  “This is gonna ruin my concert pictures.  Why couldn’t I have busted my left thumb?  I don’t prop the camera on that one.”

“Ain’t it funny how it always seems to be the important hand?”  Smiling faintly, Cassidy glanced up from making notations in the chart.  “Who ya goin’ to see?”

“Well, honey, who do you think I’m goin’ to see?  That handsome fella that’s been wavin’ at me as he comes in and outta your house, of course.  He’s been so nice, I felt obliged to be nice right back and buy a couple tickets to his show.  Did you know even complimented my wave petunias back in the summer?  Said they added a beautiful touch of color to the street.”

Cassidy was pretty sure that Jon didn’t give a tinker’s damn about flowers, but he did know how to charm the birds out of the trees when he wanted to.  Convincing her neighbors to see him as a regular guy instead of a celebrity was reason enough to want to.  He’d said several times that taking a minute to speak to them meant they’d accept him as one of their own, and thereby discourage “stalkers” from loitering around the neighborhood.  

If anybody should know about deterring stalkers it would be Jon Bon Jovi, so Cassidy didn’t discourage him.  She merely applauded the wisdom. 

“Girl, do you know how lucky you are to have a man who’s hotter’n the hinges of Hades and sociable to the neighbors?”

Tucking one corner of her mouth tight to control a grin, she finished the x-ray order and agreed, “Oh, I know, Verla Jean.  Trust me, I know – and I’ll make sure he knows you’re comin’ to the show.  He’ll be real appreciative.”

“You’re gonna sing with him, aren’t ya?”

Rolling her exam stool back with a chuckle, Cassidy chided gently, “At his show?  No, ma’am.”

“Well, why not? You did a fine job at the county fair, and that album of yours is comin’ out real soon.  Heck fire, I heard you on the satellite radio yesterday.  You’re a bona fide professional!”  She huffed with bewilderment.  “Still not quite sure what you’re doin’ workin’ in a clinic when you’re on the daggone radio.”

The truth was that Cassidy couldn’t let herself pin too much on the dream of being a professional singer.  Working in the clinic kept her grounded and was a safety net if this flight of fancy flew like the Hindenberg.  For all she knew, the only people who would buy the blasted album were Libby, Calliope, her cousin Gerald Ray and Jon.  Oh, and David and Obie. 

Six copies wouldn’t exactly earn her a place in history, so she was working hard while keeping her expectations in check. 

Kind of like her relationship with Jon, if the truth be told.  In both instances, she would graciously accept whatever came along and try to convince herself there was nothing better – even if she wanted more. 

Damn you for plantin’ doubts in my head, Libby.

Before her sister butted in last night throwing around words like “gullible” and “fool”, everything had been fine and dandy.   Cassidy and Jon had separate lives that they made a point of intersecting.  He didn’t want a woman in his hip pocket, and she didn’t want to be there. 

Just because Libby thought he came and went as though he was still dropping in on a mistress….  Well, that didn’t make it so. 

He’d asked her to move to New York, after all.   It just hadn’t felt right leaving her world behind for his.  Maybe she was old-fashioned, but relationships were supposed to be about compromise.  Taking up residence in New York and leaving behind everything she’d worked for just hadn’t made sense to her. 

There was also the fact that his kids still weren’t wild about the new woman in their daddy’s life.  Maybe that had something to do with their mother and maybe it didn’t.  Cassidy didn’t know or care to.  That family had the right to feel any way they wanted about Jon and Dorothea’s divorce without judgment from her – and she had the right to stay out of the direct line of their feelings until they weren’t running quite so high. 

That’s why she’d sold Jon on the notion that she belonged in the South.  It wasn’t her usual open and honest approach, but it was the kindest way to give everyone the space they needed.

If you want to be more than a drop-in girlfriend, some of that space is gonna have to go.

Things had been better last time she visited the city and spent the evening with his kids.  They hadn’t been as snide or snotty, so maybe the time had come to insert herself a bit more…

“Honey?”

Verla Jean was peering expectantly from the exam table, reminding Cassidy that she was at work and not daydreaming in a bubble bath. 

“Lordy, I’m sorry,” she apologized with a broad smile while blinking away thoughts of her relationship with Jon.  “Guess I need a second cup of coffee to chase away the cobwebs.  What were you sayin’?”

“I was wonderin’ why you’re still workin’ here with a song on Sirius XM.”

Cassidy waved a careless hand.  “Just ‘cause a song’s on the radio don’t make it any good.  Remember all those one-hit wonders back in the eighties?  Well, as it stands, they’ve got one more hit than I do.” 

“Seems like it’s only a matter of time, though,” Verla Jean insisted.  “You oughta be enjoyin’ the calm before the storm.”

“Maybe so,” she agreed kindly.  “But my mortgage isn’t gonna pay itself durin’ the calm.”

“Mortgage?  You mean he didn’t buy your house for ya?”

She dipped her chin and regarded the other woman with an arched brow.  “No, ma’am, he did not.”

Although it irritated her, Cassidy could hardly blame Verla Jean for the misconception.  Most of the free world probably thought Jon’s money bought her home – and it would’ve if she wasn’t dead-set against it. 

When the purchase for the house went through, he was still in the midst of his divorce, so there was no debate over who would pay the mortgage.  As soon as he came back from Saudi Arabia a single man and stepped foot inside the house, however, he’d immediately tried to pay it off.

She’d flatly refused, saying that she wasn’t his wife or daughter.  That meant her house was her house and would stay that way. 

It was the only time he’d directed any real anger at her, but Cassidy had stood her ground and made every one of the nineteen payments on her own.   That left only three-hundred and forty-one more. 

“Girl,” Verla Jean sighed.  “You sure are peculiar.  I’m not quite sure you’re fit to have that man.”

Mustering up the broadest smile in her arsenal, Cassidy delivered a wink and sassed, “You’re absolutely right.  I’m too good for that man – but I like him just the same.”

1 - Intimate Duet

Cassidy strummed the guitar that was finally starting to feel more natural in her grasp. 

It had been almost two years her first guitar lesson from a rock star by the name of Jon Bon Jovi, and he’d followed it up six months later with a Takamine for Christmas.  With her luscious curves and sprigs of dainty flowers etched into the pick guard, there was no doubt in Cassidy’s mind that her new instrument was all woman., and the deep red acoustic beauty had practically begged to be called “Ruby”.

Who wanted to deny her?  Not Cassidy. 

She and Ruby became the best of friends, spending hours each day together, which meant the strings weren’t as biting tonight as they’d once been.  The pressure was barely noticeable against her fingertips as she hummed the tune that haunted her this week.  Not satisfied that her fingers and voice were on the same page, she tried a different chord and pitched the hum a half-step lower. 

That half-step created a more comfortable vocal register, and the music vibrating in her throat grew fuller.  Prettier.  Sadder. 

This wasn’t a feel-good song.  That much she knew, but lyrics hadn’t crossed her conscious mind as of yet.  Notes had seemed more important, and now that they flowed effortlessly, she could let herself ramble. 

Why not?  There was no one else in her family room – or anyplace else within the walls of this thirty-six hundred square foot house – at two in the morning.  There was nothing or no one to keep her from singing whatever came to mind. 

“If tomorrow is another yesterday

I’m not interested in stayin’.

The agony of walking way

Hurts less than findin’

I wasn’t enough 

To keep you… hap-py.”

The chord trickled into nothingness, resonating in the silence of her mind until there came a quiet, “Do I want to know what inspired that?”

“Lord a’mercy!” she exclaimed around the heart lodged in her throat and whirled around to find Jon standing behind the couch.  “What in Sam Hill are you doin’ here?  I thought you were spendin’ the night in Alabama.”

“Wanted to surprise you.”

“Well, you surely did that,” she laughed as the shock faded into pleasure. 

Three weeks had passed since his last visit to her home outside Nashville, and it was their longest separation since reuniting at the Civil War Museum.  There was usually no more than ten days between his visits, but he’d been preoccupied lately with rehearsals and preparations for the new tour. 

They were a week into that tour with the Nashville show scheduled for day after tomorrow.  She was looking forward to going backstage that night but hadn’t expected Jon to arrive so soon.  He must’ve hopped a flight right after that evening’s Birmingham show.   

While she was surprised, the Good Lord knew that she wasn’t complaining about getting an extra night with her boyfriend.  She’d take all she could get.    

Parking Ruby on the sofa cushion next to her, she bounced up to wrap him in a fierce hug.  Cassidy briefly wished she was wearing something nicer than a lumberjack shirt and yoga pants that used to be black but wardrobe shame didn’t keep her chin from tipping up to deliver a bright smile. 

“It’s good to see you, baby doll.”

Jon’s mouth slanted over hers briefly and without the usual fervor of their reunion kisses.  There was an unusual squiggle of consternation wedged between his eyebrows as well.   

“Tell me about the song, Dixie.”

“Oh, honey,” she laughed, patting the fine black cashmere of his sweater before twining their fingers together and leading him to the sitting side of the sofa.  “It’s just a song.”

“I call bullshit on that.  There’s no thing as ’just a song’ and we both know it.”

That was true.  All of the songs on her upcoming debut album held a personal element, and some more so than others.  Family secrets, accidental love, hard-working women, trust and castles in the clouds were all represented, simply because she was still too new at songwriting to do anything besides draw on experience.

“I was playin’ around with somethin’ is all,” she stubbornly insisted while climbing onto his lap and planting knees outside his hips.  “You really wanna waste time quibblin’ about my foolishness when we can be doin’ somethin’ more fun?”

In reality, the song lyrics stemmed from a phone conversation with her younger sister earlier this evening, but Cassidy had no interest in revisiting it.  Not when a certain handsome man was pushing desperate hands into her hair and whispering, “Fuck, I’ve missed you.”

The squiggle between his brows was now smooth, as were the rest of the lines in his face.  Intensity lingered only in the steady blue gaze that lit her from the inside out – and even that was diluted by a glaze of tranquility.   

He was happy now.  That’s all that mattered.

“Back at ya, handsome,” Cassidy breathed into his mouth, chasing the words with a tongue eager to sample her favorite delicacy. 

The flavor that flooded her mouth had a familiar undertone that told he’d been drinking tonight.  It wasn’t hard to pinpoint hint of fermented grapes, and she suckled the tang from his taste buds.  In both drink preference and personality, he was wine to her whiskey, but it didn’t deter the desire to get drunk on him. 

His impassioned tug of copper waves had them tingling at the roots, and an involuntary sigh flared her nostrils.  She would forever love the way he fisted her hair.  The way his mouth ate at hers like she was his dying meal.  The way he forced her to swallow his groan because the pleasure was both too much and not enough. 

Not a time would go by that she didn’t itch to burrow under his shirt.  That she didn’t savor the soft pelt of fur that coated his chest and belly.  That she didn’t succumb to the tempting trail dipping behind the button fly that opened under her touch. 

Every time she touched the silk sheathed steel between his legs…

“My dick missed you almost as much as I did.” 

His roguish smile twinkled around the edges and set Cassidy’s lady bits to twinkling right along with it. 

Like any woman, she had sexual needs.  When those needs stirred, she wasn’t shy about making her own pleasure.  Did it quite often, in fact, but her fingers and battery-operated devices could never replace the man separating the plackets of her flannel shirt. 

It took a flesh-and-blood man to pepper jalapeno-hot kisses along her cleavage.  Only a living, breathing testosterone factory could push aside the lacy bra cup.  And only Jon could make her crazy with the way he devoured the uncovered tip.    

“Oh, baby doll,” she purred to the ceiling while taking her turn at fisting hair.  “I do like that.”

The pop of his release made her very core quiver with desire.  “You’re not the only one.  I have dreams about those fat nipples of yours.”

Lordy, how she loved getting intimate with this man.  He was just this side of raunchy with no reservations about crossing to the other side.  They’d done some… questionable things in the name of lusty fun, and she fingered one of her favorite props.

“No.”  There was no room for negotiation in his tone or harsh capture of her hand.  “No belt tonight.  Just me and you.”

“Alright.”

Eager to comply, Cassidy shed the red flannel and bra before standing to shuck the rest of her clothes.  He was similarly occupied with pushing his jeans down and stripping away the sweater, and when there was nothing left to separate them, Jon pulled her close.  With a quiet grumble, he skated determined fingertips along the fleshy seam that identified her as a woman. 

“Have I ever mentioned how good your pussy feels?”

“You might’a screamed it a time or two,” she teased into the crook of his neck.  The tip of her tongue darted out to taste the skin there and found it tinged with the soap from a recent shower.  Not that she didn’t appreciate the effort, but she liked a little more salt on her Jon.  “I’d like to try sweaty post-show sex sometime.”

He drew back from her neck kisses and peered down in disbelief.  “I stink after a show.”

“Yeah, but how do you taste?”  She drew a sharp breath as at least two fingers invaded her hoo-ha.  If she had any ovaries in there, they would’ve been tossing eggs in a hero’s welcome. 

“Don’t wanna find out.  I’d rather eat you.”

The gruff statement shot a bottle rocket from her hoo-ha to nipples that were diamond hard.  The man did enjoy all things oral. 

“That sounds fine and dandy, but how bout we get that ‘welcome back’ orgasm outta the way first, huh?”

The chuckle that found her ear was dirty.  So delightfully dirty. 

“Wet as my fingers are, I thought you’d already come.  Lemme take care of that for ya.”  A little erotic samba had Cassidy’s kneeling on the couch cushions and her elbows on the back.  She felt unmistakable body heat approaching from behind, and his right foot found a spot just next to her knee before…

“Unnh!”

Buried to the hilt didn’t seem descriptive enough for what he was.  That first drive took him so deep that she nearly choked.  Anatomically possible or not, she’d swear he’d found a way to lodge himself in her throat. 

“Honey… I’m home.  And fuck if it doesn’t feel good.”

Lord, I know it’s a mite improper to be prayin’ durin’ the deed, but I’d be remiss if I didn’t send up a quick thank You for this fella.  I ‘preciate you makin’ us to suit one another.  Amen.

“Glad you’re enjoyin’ bein’ all snug as a bug in my rug, but how ‘bout you start movin’ that fine ass of yours?”

A crack of flesh on flesh split the air and was immediately chased by the stinging of her backside. 

“No ass is finer than yours – especially with my mark on it.”

MeMaw raised her to believe that no man should ever lay a hand on a woman, but her hoo-ha evidently hadn’t taken that lesson to heart.  The sting of “his mark” rattled the core of her womanhood, driving Cassidy to the edge of desperation.

“Less jawin’, more screwin’.”

His hips wasted no time in following her terse demand.  There was a definite purpose behind the thrusts that were filling her in all the right ways, but Jon was not the meek and obedient type.  He didn’t take orders like a waiter at the Olive Garden.    

That’s why wine breath was hot against her ear as he murmured, “What’sa matter, baby?  You actually counting on me to get you off?  Huh?  You trust me to do that?”

“You know I do,” was her pant of frustration. 

Since that first time he’d asked her to, Cassidy had put her pleasure in Jon’s hands – and he’d never let her down.  Not once.

“Sweet, sweet Dix.  That still turns me on like a fucking faucet.”

A hard arm banded her waist while the opposite hand kneaded her breast.  He twisted and plucked at her “fat nipples” while finding the perfect angle for both their pleasure.  The thick crown of his man-parts sensually abused her womanly counterparts, lifting her to the heights she’d been missing.

“Yes, baby doll.  Just… like… that!”

Her internal muscles rippled with a wave of release, and it was only a gasping breath later his satisfaction filled her womb.  Cassidy grunted with pleasure at both the fiery splatter and Jon’s guttural cries. 

The man was sexy when he sang, but when they did an orgasmic duet…

Lord, I just wanna thank Ya one more time.