Chapter 57: Bad Girls Wear Cheetahs

Check out Madam in their church clothes, in the header above...

Mac

Two days changes a lot of things.

It's been two days since Adam's surgery, and it seems like it never happened. Adam feels fully recovered. I know this because he made love to me this morning with the fury of five men.

"It's Sunday morning," he murmured in my ear as he licked up the side of my neck and massaged my ass to wake me. "I can't think of anything better than a religious experience. Then we can get dressed and go to church."

When he entered me from behind a few seconds later, he definitely had me beseeching god. I leaned back against him, reveling in  the amazing rhythms of my favorite bass player, as I buried my face in the pillow, using it to muffle my various moans, blasphemes, and profanities. He showed amazing vocal restraint, hissing quietly through his forceful claiming of me. Three orgasms later—two mine, one his, he jumped up and jetted off for a shower as I lay dazed, marveling at how his energy had been restored, and now I was layed out.

Yeah, two days and proper motivation—the idea of fucking me dirty in his childhood bed—was all Adam needed to recover.

Two days is also how long has taken for me to learn that being embraced by the Heartley's is a bit of a mixed blessing. Now, they seem perfectly comfortable with me, and I swear, I almost preferred it when they were hating on me.

Being a Heartley is damn exhausting. I'm just not used to this much...frank feedback and attention.

Which is ironic, considering I'm a celebrity, I realize. But Dawes and Trace are the only people in my life that tell  me like it is, and now I have a clan of Heartley's doing the same, although some doing it with a little more grace than others. Joely rivals Trace for blunt speech, and Janie rivals Dawes in shade-throwing while "helping."

It's not just the advice or constructive criticisms...it's their attempts to get to know me, too. Heartley attention is so intimate. They ask me a million questions about my childhood, and about me and Adam, and about our plans for the baby, and how long we will settle in Nashville before the birth, and how long we will stay, and what kind of place we will be looking for...and there's like a dozen of them, so I've had this conversation a dozen times. Basically deflecting every question because I don't like talking about my childhood and home life—it's such a stark contrast to the Heartley upbringing. And I damn sure don't want to talk about how I humped and dumped Adam for years. And I also can't talk about our plans for the birth or coming to stay in Nashville, because we have made no decisions about the tour.

All band business communications have gone dark. Leed, Trace, Bodie, Adam all change the subject every time I talk about the tour. Trace did say he thought we should enjoy the rest of the visit and pick up business after our show next week. Which I can appreciate, but somehow I can't help but feel like I'm being handled. Like, just because there's a human being growing in my uterus, they all think I need to be shielded from the business realities facing us.

Don't get me wrong. Now that Adam is all good, I'm enjoying myself, for the most part. It's a beautiful life here in Heartleyville—a life that maybe Adam and I are going to be able to enjoy—in small doses. Like a vacation or something. But we have a life life that we will have to manage also. And every single Heartley and every single Soundcrusher seems to have forgotten that for the moment.

Even Adam, though I can hardly blame him. It's his birthday, and he's recuperating from emergency surgery, and he hasn't been home in more than a year, so of course he wants to kick back and relax.

It's a lot for me to cope with—all this relaxing. But I'm trying.

Adam has already showered and dressed in his church clothes. He's rocking a very slim cut silver-grey suit, a bright white collarless shirt, and white vans.

It's been a while since I've seen Adam in a suit—he wears them very, very well.

"Lookin' good, Preacher. Why don't you come back to bed?" I'm only half-joking.

He leans over me, brushing my hair away from my face and kissing my forehead. "I'm going to send Tamara up to help you. We have a little less than an hour before we have to leave."

I grab onto his lapels. "Or we could stay in bed," I wheedle, sliding the sheet down to reveal one of my bare breasts. Adam grins, licks my nipple, then pulls me to sitting by the hands.

"I know what you are doing. You are trying to get out of going to church."

I cross my arms over my bare chest. "Can you blame me? I mean, hello? Unmarried pregnant baby-mama of the Reverend's Prodigal Son? I'm afraid they are either going to stone me or force us to the front of the church with shot-guns."

"Well the congregation doesn't know you are pregnant, so I'm sure no stoning is being planned. But I think my mom did tell the boys to bring the shot-guns," he teases. "They know it's the only way they are going to get us down the aisle anytime soon."

Uhhhh, yeah, I may have recanted my challenge to Adam about putting that ring on my finger. Yesterday he asked me if Sawyer should overnight the ring—if we should top this whole drama off with an official engagement. I told him it was just too much—to add an engagement onto the pile of his families advice and questions. I can't imagine fielding a million more questions and pieces of advice about getting married on top of all the questions about Babycakes. Adam said he and I were totally on the same page, to let it ride until after Babycakes is born, and see how we feel then.

But the rest of the family doesn't see it so.

"I heard your Mom and Janie talking yesterday. Speculating about whether we are going to get married before the baby is born. Like it's any of their business. Your sister actually said that a lot of people in Peyton's congregation would talk, if we don't. And your mom said she was sure there would be talk at your dad's church, too, and they would just have to rise above it. It's like this place is a hundred years behind the times," I grumble.

"No, it's just that gossip is timeless. Didn't we just learn that, with the whole abortion misunderstanding? In fact," he pulls me to my feet, "aren't you just making yourself upset by eavesdropping on my Mom and Janie? I don't give a fuck about what people have to say about us. I go to church to express gratitude, to get a moment of grace to see me through the crazy parts of life, maybe learn a little something about the human condition so that I can treat other people right, and most importantly..." he grins. "for the music."

I squint my eyes. "The music's good, huh?"

"Shortcake, we're in Nashville. There is no better church music."

"Maybe Memphis," I object. "Or New Orleans."

"Mmmm," he kisses my head. "One day when we get some time off, we'll go on a church tour to all the music towns, and find out for sure."

"Make sure you mention that to Dawes," I say with an evil smirk. "I'm sure the label would contract us out for a travel channel show."

He swats my ass. "Are you coming with or not?"

"Of course, because it's important to you. I'm happy to go to church with you, Adam."

Adam's face softens into tender adoration. "Thank you," he kisses my hand, strolling away as I hold the sheet around me. He points a finger and his expression turns devilish. "Hot it up, Shortcake. If people are gonna talk, let's give 'em something to talk about."

By the time I have showered, Tamara has three dresses layed out on my bed, complete with bags, shoes, accessories. She went shopping at Nordstrom's yesterday...so the dresses aren't maybe what I'd wear to an LA event, but they are still pretty nice for off-the-rack.

My eyes wander over the two pastel, cap-sleeved, perfectly "nice" options, but I'm kind of over trying to be whatever it is I think the Heartley's expect me to be. I need to be...me. My eyes settle on the third. "That one."

"Oh yeah," Tamara says with glee. "Mac is back!"

I'm ready in plenty of time, and so is Tamara, and so is Kat, who gleefully swooped up my two cast-off outfits when I offered them to her. I suspect the accessories—Vuitton and Prada—were more of the reason than the dresses.

When I make my way down into the kitchen, one of Alex's younger daughters—Rachel, six or so—comes up to me in her pretty little purple sundress and says, "Did you know there's a cheetah on your dress?"

"There's one on my bag, too," I tell her, showing her the no-name miracle bag that Tamara found in a boutique yesterday. It's not designer but I don't care, because it's perfect. Just like this wild dress. I'm a man-eater, after all.

It's hilarious how—when Rachel says cheetah— every woman in that kitchen swivels all at once. I'm sure they were picturing some animal print stripper attire—with cut-outs and fishnets.

Actually, my dress is quite appropriate for church. Sleeveless, yes, but with a modest neck, fitted bodice, and flared skirt to the knee. The style is demure, the pattern is bold. A full palette of color woven into bold Southeast Asian floral design. And yes, Rachel is right...there is a cheetah stretching across the left-hand hemline. I have no idea how Tamara finds this stuff. Half of the clothes she buys me look like nothing special on the rack. Just like this. This is absolutely a matronly church dress—bordering on tacky. But this dress, on me, with my figure, a tuck here, a stitch there, and the way I've learned to carry myself in LA...the dress is not tacky at all. It works.

Adam strolls into the kitchen and freezes, looking me over from head to toe. "Fluking.Hell." he murmurs.

I bite back a smile and swish my skirt a little. Brett laughs.

"Preacher's Dream," Alex blurts beneath a cough and turns back to the coffeepot. Janie snorts in disapproval. Joely smiles one of those motherly I-can't-decide-whether-to-laugh-or-scold-smiles. Adam swallows as he focuses on my shoes...satin yellow gold sandals that have a wide gold toe band and very slim gold straps climbing my feet and ankles. I know exactly what he's doing...adding these shoes to the mental list of ones he plans to fuck me in.

He comes over and hugs me. "You look like an angel," he murmurs. "A sexy angel."

"Better than a sexy penguin," I cheese. He waggles my chin, but he doesn't kiss me...not in his mama's kitchen. For some reason, I find his restraint incredibly sexy. There's something...nice...about playing nice after all.

————————————————-

"Oh wow," I exclaim, as we enter the church where Adam grew up and grew his faith. It's a Presbyterian congregation, but the church itself looks more like a old-world cathedral. Inside, the beautiful wood-raftered ceiling draws the eye, and the stained glass windows stream optimism. But more than I feel the bones of the place, I feel the life-blood. There's an energy here.

Adam has my hand firmly in his, and I tug at him. "Do you feel that? The...lightness?"

He grins at me, his smile the dawn and my favorite blanket at the same time. "Yeah. My dad would call it the Holy Spirit. Brett would say it's an alignment of collective energy. What do you think it is?" His face is thoughtful. He's actually asking my opinion. I look out at the congregation smiling, greeting one another.

"I guess I would just call it...group love," I shrug.

Adam stops and looks down at me. His smile fades to reverence "That works. That works very well." He wraps his arm around my waist as he moves us down the very long aisle.

Jesus, this aisle is long.

Like she can read my fucking mind, Alex says, "We all got married here. Everyone of us made it down this aisle without tripping on our wedding dresses."

"You had the Reverend Heartley for support. All I would have is Leed."

"A-ha!" Brett hisses in my ear. "So you are thinking about it." She pokes her mom in the ribs. "This church does it every time. Bridal-lust, already..." she murmurs.

"It is a beautiful church," Joely says serenely.

I glare at them all as we take our seats. They just smile smugly to themselves. Adam pretends not to notice.

As the service begins, I realize Adam is right about the music. We've come to the contemporary worship service, and the band, backed by a spiritual choir, is very good. They open with a Newsong cover—the one that people always do at weddings. It's an inspiring song, about two people being created for each other. I give Adam a sideways glance.

"Yeah, I'm getting the feeling this is a set-up. This whole congregation might be getting the Madam Matrimony sermon," Adam confesses. "Sorry, Shorty. I think my dad...my family...just wants us...happy?"

I search his face. "Aren't we happy?"

He draws my hand into his lap and cradles it in both of his own. "Blissfully. But they think...commitment works better blessed by God." He kisses my hand. "I'm sorry they are being so...pushy."

I focus on his eyes so I can see the truth as as I ask, "And what do you think?"

The flare in his eyes tells me what I need to know, but his words don't exactly lie. "I hope...one day...I can pledge my commitment to you...before a power we both believe in."

I smile at him. Adam is so open and seeking. He makes me want to seek, too. Maybe one day, we'll be on the same page, but it's hard for me to see marriage in any other light than I learned it. Despite all my flirtations with accepting Adam's proposal, I still don't view marriage positively. There's a large part of me that still feels like marriage is fool's dream...that a wedding is just a very contrived magical elixir you swallow thinking it will make love last.

It doesn't.

People make love last. Two people stoking their fire for one another. That, at least, I believe in. That I can do, with Adam.

But apparently our commitment is somewhat in question, even to the Reverend Heartley. His sermon is all about the sanctity of marriage, and surrendering the halves to the union of something much greater. Actually, his message is quite eloquent, even if I don't necessarily agree with his opinion. I don't take offense; I never feel any particular Madam digs, but Adam is right: it is definitely meant to be instructive for us.

After the service, Adam gets  swarmed, old friends all wanting to greet him. John is with us of course, but there is no cause for concern, every single person waiting for Adam's acknowledgment is friendly and patient. Adam introduces me to people whose names I can never hope to remember, although I know I'll see many of the familiar faces at the barbecue tonight. Eventually, I edge away from him to intercept Mike Rawlins and his wife.

I speak to Mike's wife, but then I get to the point. "Trace says you did a great job on the dock. Thanks very much, I really appreciate it. Adam and I haven't had a chance to get down to the lake yet because of the whole appendectomy thing, but we are going down after brunch. Adam still doesn't know, so keep it on the down-low if you speak to him, okay?"

"Ahhh, got it," Mike says with a smile. His wife is drawn away by family, leaving Mike and I standing alone. He rubs his jaw, watching Adam surrounded by his church family, and rolls a little awkwardly on back and forth on his feet. "Listen...speaking of the down-low...I know it's all water under the bridge...but you know...I would never say anything to Adam...about...back in the day...Nat doesn't know...never seemed important...it was......a long time ago...and nothing serious, obviously..."

I smile, because I do know. It seems like a million years ago to me, that I was hooking up with Mike. He's changed alot—from a douchey, arrogant, good-ole-boy into an earnest, Southern Gentlemen. It's evident that he's completely in love with his wife, Natalie, and so happy about the family they are starting. Rawlins grew up fast—even faster than me and Adam.

"Adam knows. I told him, quite recently, actually. He was a little bit surprised, but it's cool."

Mike's eyes grow wide. "Really?" I see his Adam's apple bob nervously as Adam watches us across the group that surrounds him. Adam gives Mike a joking glare and a slight shake of the head. Then he grins and winks at me. "Uhhhh, are you sure he's cool?"

I slap Mike on the arm, just as Janie walks up. I'm not even sure why she's here. Shouldn't she be doing the Pastor's Wife thing at her husband's church? I guess she just couldn't stand missing out on the Prodigal Son thing going on with the Heartley clan, or perhaps she just wants every opportunity to snark and swipe. Still, I refuse to live in fear of Janie, I refuse to let her change what I was going to say to Mike to close the subject of our history. "If Adam were going to sweat every guy I've been with, he'd spend the rest of his life angry. Trust me, he's cool."

Mike looks embarrassed. Janie looks between us, but it's hard to say how she interprets what I just said. She focuses on me. "You say that like you are proud."

I turn around to her. "Well, no point in being ashamed, is there? The past is the past, you can't change it. Oh look Janie, isn't that Mason, writing in a church hymnal with a marker? I hope he spells fluking right."

Janie whirls around to deal with her naughtiest child. Mike laughs as she storms off. "I see Janie has finally met her match."

"She has no idea," I grin. "Though, you should probably tell your wife that we used to hook up, before Janie takes what she overheard and makes some gossip about it to annoy me. I think Adam and I might be around more...maybe get a place, I know he counts you as a friend, and I'd hate for it to be awkward, because of me." I shrug.

"It would be nice for you guys to be around Nashville," he says automatically, then he pales, watching his pretty wife smiling and laughing with another heavily pregnant girl. "You don't think Janie would really say anything to Nat, do you? I mean Janie's a handful, but she's not evil...and it's not the best time right now to tell Nat something like that...she's nine months pregnant and a little tired and frustrated, and you are...you know..." He doesn't even look at me...he just slings a hand to indicate my appearance. I hold back on telling him that he'll have the perfect opportunity to tell her when the situation is reversed—when I'm nine months round and Nat has recovered her athletic form. Rawlins is a fairly sharp guy...he'll figure that out for himself, eventually.

I shrug. "If you say so. Just don't blame me if the Evil Queen makes trouble."

"You really think Janie's an Evil Queen?" Mike chuckles at me.

I wink. "Yeah. It takes one to know one."

"Maybe Janie just needs to know you aren't gunning for her kingdom," Mike suggests as he moves to catch up with his wife. He waves at the press of people around Adam. "Adam's got too many admirers. Tell him I'll catch up with him tonight at the barbecue." He moves to give me a casual side hug, I thrust out my hand again. This time, he seems to get the vibe. He laughs and pumps my hand up and down.

___________________

We arrive at the Heartley farm and it's like we step into the 1950's. The men all stroll out to the deck to chat with the rest the SCIC that opted to sleep in instead of church. The Heartley women don aprons and fall to work in the kitchen. I stand by the french doors, trying to decide which way I should go. Adam glances over at me, reads the situation at once and grimaces.

He strolls away from the deck, wrapping an arm around me and walking me into the kitchen. "I'm going to steal Mac away, okay? Maybe take her for a Gator ride of the whole property."

The women look up from the busy brunch-making. They nod pleasantly. To my surprise, Brett frowns a little in front of the open refrigerator. "Noooo," she pouts at me. "I was just coming to get you and ask what we should make for the So-Cal crowd."

"Most of them are Southern boys," I remind her. "I'm sure they'll love biscuits and gravy." I bite my lip, looking out at the crowd. "Leed, Kat and Riley don't eat gluten, but they'll be fine with eggs..."

Brett pulls eggs from the refrigerator, along with a bunch of fresh tomatoes and a variety of peppers and looks at me with a pixie smirk. "Okay, don't be mad, but I stalk your Instagram..."

"I stalk yours too," I confess.

"Alright, but I also follow Leed's," she admits freely, "Cause his posts are alway so funny..."

"I think they are mostly dumb, but eighty million people agree with you," I laugh.

"And I saw that post he made a few months ago, about the famous Lawson Huevos Rancheros Recipe...that you two perfected."

Adam laughs. "Mac and Leed don't cook."

I slap him on the chest. "We cook. We only cook fun food, or recipes are no good as take-out."

Adam looks offended. "You been holding out on me all these years? You know how I love hot stuff in my eggs..."

"Well, we just started cooking stuff like that when I moved in with Leed. And you weren't exactly coming around for breakfast..." I mutter.

Adam rubs my back and kisses my temple. "You right."

"So anyway," Brett presses on, "I thought it would be fun to learn the recipe. I even ordered the masa Leed raved about as the secret ingredient for the tortillas..." she glides to the pantry and pulls out the package of ground corn.

"The tortillas are all Leed," I say, "I make the salsa and the beans. Leed cooks the eggs and the tortillas. He does make the best fresh tortillas," I agree.

Brett nods eagerly, "I bet he does. Do you think we could convince Leed to teach me?"

"Do I hear my praises being sung?" my lanky brother strolls into the kitchen and throws an arm around Brett with a devilish smirk. "You want me to school you, baby? What did you have in mind?"

She laughs and shoves the sack of masa at him. "Tortillas, Lawson. You should know, my husband owns a construction company. Flirt with me again and he'll probably bury you in concrete."

"New job starting on Monday," Tyler yells amiably from the deck, sipping on coffee. "Pouring a foundation...we could always add a little Rock Star to the mix!"

Wow. It's not just the mini-men in this family with good hearing.

Leed laughs, removing his arm from Brett and cradling the masa like a baby. "Duly noted, Ty!" He looks over at me. "Mac, you just gonna stand there lookin' pretty or are you gonna put an apron on and teach Adam how to make the salsa? When we get back to LA eventually, I'll start comin' over for breakfast with you two at his house..."

Adam grins and shirks out of his suit jacket, grabbing me an apron from a hook on the wall and dropping his jacket there. I know exactly what Adam's grin is about, and it isn't Huevos Rancheros. Leed just let us both know, he already accepts what I haven't had the heart to tell him—that I'm moving out of his place whenever we get back to LA.

Leed does what Leed does, and charms that whole damn kitchen full of women—even Janie—while Adam and I chop tomatoes, peppers, and onions, laughing at Leed's antics and Janie's begrudging surrender to a good mood. We laugh until we cry.

Well, maybe the onions were partly to blame, too.

Wow, those Heartleys are a perseverant gang, aren't they? They seem determined to get Madam married. Think it will happen, or will Mac stand firm in her "wait and see" stance?  How about Brett...luring Leed and, thus Adam and Mac, into the kitchen? I kinda like her easy way of dragging these Heartley's out of the twentieth century! Also, Leed's way of finally showing Mac and Adam that he now views Madam as  a good thing, not a cause for worry...

Spoiler: Next chapter is the big barbecue...Mac and Adam will make a few decisions...Leed will sing country and tell one of his famous "stories" to the audience...I think we'll be saying goodbye to Nashville after that...