Page 17 of A Little Campfire Blues
“Hi,” one replied, though I couldn’t tell which with the darkness and shadow shapes of vehicles between us. “Did we drop something?”
“No,” I replied, a little out of breath by the time I’d caught up.
Now that I was face-to-face with them, I realized what a dumb plan it was to approach without first figuring out what the hell I intended to say.
“Can we help you with something?” the larger one asked.
The smaller pair stood a half foot behind him, fingers entwined.
“Just wanted to introduce myself to a fellow guitar player and his friends,” I blurted.
The truth, good or bad, was always the right place to start, even if it did come off as lame.
“I’m not a guitar player,” the man said, even as he carried proof positive in the form of the case he held by the handle. “I just dabble from time to time.”
“Sounded like more than dabbling to me.”
“Somehow I doubt that, especially coming from you.”
“Why do you say that?” I asked, momentarily caught off guard by the emotionless tone in his voice. “Have we met before?”
“Met? No, but I’d have known you even without seeing your girl, but she’s pretty distinct,” the guitarist, and he was one despite what he’d said, replied. “You’re Mackenzie Redding.”
I chuckled at that and nodded. “You got me; I am indeed Mackenzie Redding, and you are?”
“Nobody.”
“Well, nobody,” I said, chuckling a little more, 'cause he was a stubborn one, and I love stubborn. “Who does that make your friends?”
“I’m Roman, and this is Ezzy,” the biggest one said with a heavy sigh, a reproachful look creeping across his features before he turned away from the light to point to the spiky-haired one.
Funny that he made no attempt at all to tell me the guitarist’s name, though I was certain he’d have tried to stop Roman if he had.
“I saw you play in Deadwood, at Outlaw Fest,” the guitarist blurted. “You guys were awesome.”
At least he didn’t ask what had happened to the band the way most people did when I acknowledged who I was. Funny, but having it turned around on me like he’d done wasn’t a good feeling.
“Were you there as a performer or a spectator?”
“Both.”
“Not gonna tell me what band, are you? Or were you playing solo?”
“Band doesn’t matter; it doesn’t exist anymore.”
“Yeah, I know what that’s like,” I admitted, running a hand through my hair.
“I’m Axis,” he softly admitted.
Damn, the name was familiar, but I couldn’t place the band, and I’d never gotten a clear look at him while he’d been sitting around the bonfire. Not with the way he’d kept his head down through a lot of it.
“Nice to meet you, Axis,” I said. “Nice to meet all of you. I don’t mean to hold you up if you’re in a hurry to get back to your cabin, but I wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed your playing and the way you and Ezzy sounded when you sang together. I hope you’ll continue to share your talents around the bonfire. You truly do sound wonderful when you harmonize like that.”
“I’m not a singer,” Ezzy said. “But I love those songs, and it’s been too many years since I’ve gotten to sing while he played.”
Well, that was interesting.
“You might not be a singer, but when you tipped your head back and let the firelight shimmer over you, I could tell every note you sang came from your soul.”
