Soulful Alliance

Soulful Alliance

By

Mickie Sherwood

Note: Sweetly intimate relationship-based love Story

Synopsis

Hounded by a childhood tragedy most of her adult life, Marcy Rayburn tucks tail and hides out in Bayou Country, forsaking a high-profile singing career and all chances of any meaningful relationships. No matter how long she’s been out of the limelight, the reclusive entertainer finds that she’s still fodder for the gossip news. Will the appearance of Jack, an unannounced interloper, cast her back into the spotlight and her heart into a tailspin?

Unceremoniously dumped by his fiancée, Jack Connolly has spent the last few years living in an alternate reality. Going down South to repair and retrieve the company’s helicopter is a pain in his rear. That pain soon has a name, and ultimately, a grip on his walled-off heart. Is he willing to revisit his old world and sacrifice his freedom to give Marcy what she needs?

Two hearts ache. But, will a soulful alliance only mask the hurt or remedy the pain?

Copyright © September 2018 by Mickie Sherwood

All rights reserved.

Notice: Formerly Louisiana Hot Sauce

This romance is rewritten, re-edited, re-titled, and re-covered.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are coincidental, and if not coincidental, are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental. No part of this eBook may be reproduced or shared by any electronic or mechanical means, including but not limited to printing, file sharing, and email, without prior written permission from Mickie Sherwood.

Credits

Editor/Proofreader: www.watchjanewrite.com

Cover art: www.cheekycovers.com

Chapter 1

On the last Sunday in May, Marcy Rayburn was a cloud against the rainbow landscaping in her drab navy pantsuit, bunned natural hairdo, and squirrely movements. The grassy knoll beside the Pleasant Hill Baptist Church burst into color like a spring bouquet. After service, she darted through the obstacle course of nattily-dressed parishioners in a race to reach her car. The exhilarating scene came alive with romping children, their energized voices vibrating cheerily in the afternoon air. She looked over the lawn, noting the stark contrast to the solemn moods of those visiting loved ones out back in the church cemetery.

 “It worked, Miss Rayburn!”

Marcy faltered, making a tricky step on her bad ankle to abort slipping in the grass. The teenage girl sprang on her, wrapped her arms around her, and nearly knocked her down. Behind her, Mrs. Parker pushed Mrs. Brown, her elderly mother, in a wheelchair across the rutted terrain.

“Standing on my toes to reach that high note worked just like you said it would.”

Marcy’s cherub features broke into a smile when she was released. “I told you so, Tracilynn. It’s an old songstress trick I—” She stopped short. “Well, anyway, you did a wonderful job on that song. Congratulations.”

“You brought proud tears to my eyes, granddaughter.” Mrs. Parker complimented Tracilynn.

“I nailed it,” she exclaimed, twirling in a circle, her choir robe billowing around her as white as cotton.

“Keep that prideful conceit out of your voice, young lady.”

Marcy shared a conspiratorial look with Mrs. Parker. She cultivated the teen’s desire to use her singing gift while she tried to curtail any conceit.

“I was so gosh-darned busy that day.” Grief echoed in her ears. Marcy looked at Mrs. Brown whose eyes fixed on something unseen. “But, that old devil…he was busier.”

“What other tips can you tell me?” Tracilynn asked excitedly, uninhibited by her great-grandmother’s conversation.

“Shh, Mama.” Mrs. Parker bent to pat her mother’s wrinkled hand. “You did your best.”

 “Breathe from your diaphragm”—Marcy responded to Tracilynn—“not from your stomach.” Then, she demonstrated with the flat of her hand pressed to her own abdomen. “You’ll have better control and fuller, clearer notes.”

“How do you know so much about singing, Miss Rayburn?” Tracilynn inquired.

“I once had an interest in singing.” Thoughtfully, she added, “But, that was eons ago.”

Mrs. Parker laughed. “My goodness, girl. You sound like an eighty-year-old has-been.”

“Sometimes I feel that way, Mrs. Parker.” Marcy noted Mrs. Brown showed instant signs of lucidity. The gaze she showered on her felt somehow comforting.

“You stopped singing?” The resounding question didn’t come from a feeble old lady. Someone in full control of all of her faculties delivered it.

“I was never that good.” Marcy minimized her success as a singer.

Mrs. Brown contradicted her. “I know you can sing, always could.”

The statement stunned Marcy. “How would you—”

“Tracilynn, take your grammy to the van and turn on the air condition. It’s hot out here. I’ll be along shortly.”

Mrs. Parker’s instructions knocked the rest of Marcy’s question aside. The statement puzzled Marcy. She’d taken care to hide her identity from those who had no need to know. Every calculated move to acquire the place where she now laid her head constituted a surreptitious orchestration. Therefore, no one should have been the wiser regarding her former profession. Particularly, not those with whom she worshipped.

Marcy’s scram radar kicked in.

“S-sing, swe-e-tie.” Mrs. Brown called over her shoulder, the words shaky from her bumpy ride. “Don’t let nothing stop you. That’s where your salvation lies.”

 All Marcy could do was watch Tracilynn remove the old lady from the scene without Mrs. Brown having much say in the matter. Unsettled, for the life of her, she missed how the interest shifted from Tracilynn to herself. Regardless, Marcy called out, “Remember what I said, Tracilynn.”

“I will, Miss Rayburn,” Tracilynn promised. “Thank you.”

Mrs. Parker carried on as if nothing transpired. “You know you’re too young for such reclusive behavior. You need to get out more. Meet people your own age instead of staying cooped up out there in that old farmhouse.”

Marcy tried to smile. This time she knew her efforts failed.

“What better place to meet people than right here on Sundays? I converse. I mingle. I leave.” From her perspective, that was quite enough company.

“We’re having a birthday barbeque for Mama today at the house. Why don’t you stop by?” Mrs. Parker invited. “There’ll be plenty of food, plenty of people, and maybe even a couple of single fellows.”

That’s the last thing I need. “I’ll think—” she stopped mid-sentence at the vibration coming from her purse. A look at the screen and she felt a pucker crease between her eyes. “That’s sweet, Mrs. Parker.” Her life was about to take one of its drastic turns. The insistent buzzing said so. “Unfortunately, I have other plans for the day.” That wasn’t a lie, just an uncomfortable premonition.

Marcy broke from her church member and started toward her car. The tomato-red body of her trusty old Honda Accord hung on to some semblance of a shine, even though it was now pollen dusty. “Have a good time.”

“You be careful out there by yourself. I tell you, I worry about you being out there all alone.” Mrs. Parker stood on the gently sloping hill.

“I’m not alone. I’ve got Jack.” Marcy reminded. She flung an arm out of the window. “See you next time.”

Cringing at the thought of returning the call, she lowered the other window and opened the moonroof. Hot Louisiana wind whipped in, ridding her brain of the cobwebby thoughts the caller’s image left behind. However, the velocity wasn’t enough to whisk her concerns away. “Foot! Foot! Foot!”

A one number tap and she heard the phone ring.

“What took you so long? You know my time is precious.”

“I’m just getting out of church,” she explained. “What kind of trouble are you in, this time?”

“You’re always so bitchy.”

“Look, Mel. Get to the point. What do you want?” Marcy’s obvious impatience exhibited in her words and sighs. A baby’s mewling blended with the ongoing conversation.

“You’ve got to take this crying brat. She’s getting on my nerves.”

Marcy hadn’t heard her sister’s voice in months. Believe it or not, she was complaining even then—about something else entirely different—but complaining nonetheless. “What brat are we talking about?”

“You’re an auntie. Didn’t I tell you the last time we talked?”

The answer stunned Marcy. “I didn’t know you were pregnant.”

“I’m not; now.”

“So I hear. Who’s the father?” she asked, afraid of the answer.

“No one you know. No one I really know, either,” Mel admitted honestly.

“He has a say in this, you know. Have you given him the opportunity to be a father to his child?”

“Geez, listen to yourself, Marcy. You’re definitely old school.”

“Apparently, school had little to do with this situation, or you wouldn’t be caught up like you are,” she chastised.

“Save the lecture. Her sniveling is so irritating.”

“I can’t believe you said that. She’s your daughter for Christ’s sake.”

“Christ has nothing to do with this. Being a singer on the road with a bothersome baby cramps my style and limits my gigs.”

“You should have thought about that before you got your freak on.” Marcy held nothing back.

“That’s something you don’t know anything about, do you, Big Sis?”

Marcy fumbled for words, oblivious now to the picturesque countryside along the two-lane roadway.

“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?”

“Actually, no, Melody.” She recovered enough to answer. “My intimacy—or the lack thereof—isn’t open for discussion. Period.” Marcy flipped the sun visor down against the brilliant sunrays. The truth was she couldn’t resist a quick glance in the visor’s lighted mirror.

There were subtle changes in her appearance brought on by the passing of time. Even so, her face held up pretty good, if she did say so herself. The flap snapped upward. Now, her body was a different matter. A little more rounded about the edges, but everything still held on the northern hemisphere and hadn’t plummeted south.

“Are you still there? Marcy? I’ m sorry. Okay?”

“She’s your flesh and blood, Mel. You can be a great mother. All you have to do is put your baby girl first.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You threw away all of your opportunities. And for what? You barely squeak by. I’m not walking that path. I want things. A good life.”

“Do you hear yourself?” Her sister’s attitude riled her. “So self-centered.”

“I’m good at what I do, Marcy. You know I am.”

“You are, Melody,” she agreed. “I think you’ll go far if managed by the proper people. Right now, you’re in over your head. They’re using you. You and I both know that.”

“You’re jealous because you failed at this.”

Marcy realized the conversation was a dead-end one. She turned off the road onto the hard-packed dirt pathway. The lane curved behind a cloak of pine trees and led to her house. Melody had kept up her inane whining the full twenty minutes it took her to get home. “Tell me what I can do to help further your career.”

She slammed the door after parking in the carport instead of the detached garage. The noise generated thumping sounds in her kitchen.

“I told you already. Come get Mya. You can have her.”

The red Labrador Retriever nudged Marcy playfully against her knees when she entered. “Good grief. Are you high on something?” She fiddled with his ears, drawing a satisfied moan.

“Either you take her or I’ll leave her on a fire station’s doorstep.”

“You can’t be my little sister.” Marcy practically screamed into the cell. “We weren’t raised like that.” She sat heavily on a chair at the kitchen table.

“You don’t know how I was raised. You weren’t there. I have dreams to follow whether you approve or not. Now, what’s your answer?”

Melody played on her sense of family and propriety, knowing how tenderhearted she was. “Where are you?”

“New York.”

“Bring Mya here, Mel. I’ll keep her until you get on your feet.”

“There’s no time for me to get to Louisiana. I’m singing backup tonight in Atlanta. Meet me there.”

Head to hand, elbow to table, Marcy objected. “I can’t get there tonight, Mel.”

“Book a flight.”

Marcy shook her head in utter disbelief. “You just finished scolding me on my finances. Plane fare isn’t in my budget at the moment.”

“Then say goodbye to your niece.”

“Oh, all right! I’ll be there.” She relented with grave despair. “Give me the details.”

Marcy fought hard to suppress her anxiety while jotting down the venue information. The call ended on a downbeat for her. As far as she could tell, Melody perked up tremendously.

“Jack, we have a long drive ahead of us.”

He followed her every move as she collected a change of clothing. Finally, she ordered him to lie down. He stayed put but kept tabs on her with his roving eyes. Marcy packed a bag for him, also, becoming increasingly nervous about the trip.

“A dog and a baby on a road trip.” She worried aloud. “I’ve got to be out of my mind.”

*****

The glare from the oncoming cars bothered Marcy’s eyes. Her squint created spangled colored spears ahead of her on the road. At 10 P.M., she rolled into Atlanta after a grueling nine-hour trip. Interstate traffic pushed her to speeds that made reading the highway signs and committing to a route dangerously engaging. Some vehicles careened around her. She crossed four lanes of traffic, gunning the engine for the drag racer’s exit off the freeway.

Minutes later, she parked on the perimeter of The Factory’s parking lot in Buckhead, unable to get any closer.

Marcy called Melody. “I’m outside the assembly center.”

“It took you long enough.”

“Look, just get your ungrateful butt out here. I’m parked on the street directly in front of the Southwest Entrance.”

“You’ll have to meet me. We go on in fifteen minutes.”

“I’ve got Jack out here,” she complained to deaf ears.

“I’m walking as fast as I can. I’m in the lobby now.”

“Be right back, Jack.”

Marcy was uneasy leaving Jack locked in the car, considering it had been two hours since he last emptied his bladder. He was up in age, and holding his water for an indeterminable amount of time was detrimental to his health. She hustled across the concrete in the midst of the waiting mob with her cell phone to her ear, trying to maintain a consciousness about her surroundings.

“Mel, I’m standing outside near the door. Where are you?”

“Right behind you.”

Marcy turned to see her sister’s emaciated figure lagging with a carrier and weighed down by a couple of diaper bags. “Mel!”

“Don’t start. I don’t have the time to quarrel.” Melody placed the carrier at her feet, dropped the bags, and started back the way she came.

“You’re not taking care of yourself.” Melody was always the pretty one. Everybody said so. Now, she was pretty thin—thin enough for a light breeze to blow her away.

“Thin is in,” she chanted.

“That may be in some circles, Mel. However, it looks like you’re so in you’re on your way out—of this world, I mean.” Marcy’s words were blunt to incite Melody to think about what she did to herself. “Come with us, Mel.”

“Not on your life, Marcy.” Melody dashed toward the door.

“You’re not going to kiss your baby goodbye?” Marcy asked, appalled, to her sister’s retreating form.

Melody continued to widen the distance between them. “I’m late already. Take care of her, Marcy. Love ya.”Just like that, Melody disappeared into the building.

Marcy was left with her mouth open, primed to catch flies. She glanced down at the baby sleeping peacefully at her feet, monitored the boisterous crowd gaining access to the event, and wondered where Melody’s life had taken the wrong turn. The hoisted bags draped each shoulder. Now, she grabbed the handle of the carrier to trek back to the car.

Jack waited patiently, his hot breath fogging up the windshields. He yelped to be free. She tossed the bags on the driver’s seat, eternally grateful the baby slept on. “Come on, big boy.”

Jack lunged out the moment Marcy opened the back door. Luckily, he stopped just shy of the highway next to a tree to do his business. She snagged his collar. What a sight she made in the shadowy darkness of a strange city, hobbled to an oversized critter and an innocent baby.

 The success of her challenge buoyed her to continue her journey. Light from overhead lamps splashed into the car’s interior, briefly illuminating Mya’s features. She exuded pure innocence, making the pain in Marcy’s chest almost unbearable. Then, Mya wiggled in her sleep, screwed up her sweet little face, and opened her eyes—then her mouth.

“Uh-uh.”

The baby’s howls ricocheted from side to side and front to back, causing Jack to react wildly.

“It’s okay, big boy,” she soothed. “She’s a baby. Baby’s make frightening noises like that.”

Marcy’s calm voice, at last, won his acceptance of circumstances beyond his control. He curled on his section of the backseat, expelling a deep resigning sigh. She was just close enough to fondle under the baby’s chin where she remembered seeing a pacifier. With one eye on the road and the other on the squirming bundle, her nimble fingers worked it into place, quieting the noise.

“Get used to it, Jack,” she said of the racket. “This is our new life for a spell.”

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