“Now there’s the idea, boy.” Nate gave the table an approving tap. “You’re here to research mountain folks. Well, you can write a whole lot better stories if you know what you’re talking about.”
Henry paused his movements and scanned between Nate and Wes for clarification.
“Henry doesn’t write stories, Nate. He writes the music for the movies.”
“Say what?”
“You know, Dad.” Eisley leaned forward, the glimmer in her eyes matching her energetic tone. “Like the themes for the Indiana Jones or Star Wars series. Henry adds the music behind the acting and scenes.”
The man’s dark eyebrows shot high. “You wrote the music for Indiana Jones?”
“No.” Henry choked on his water and laughed through the awkward silence. “I’m not as advanced as the composer who wrote those themes, but I have composed…do compose…for movies.”
“Did you write the music for Spiderman?” Pete’s voice rose above the throng, his bright blue eyes wide.
The tension in Henry’s shoulders deflated a little. “No, Pete, but I’m certain I could create a Spiderman-like theme just for you.”
Pete gasped. “My own Spiderman music?”
“You realize you have a friend for life now, right?” Eisley beamed and turned to wipe Emily’s mouth. “And he’ll ask you about that theme until you create one, so you’d better prepare yourself.”
“A composer, eh?” Nate took a swig of his tea and nodded, studying Henry for a few seconds, his stormy brow furrowed tightly against his tanned skin. Seconds that could have been minutes ticked by as Nate continued to examine him. What was he thinking?
As if he’d finally accepted Henry’s involvement in some sort of musical career, Nate sighed into his chair and loaded his fork with dumplings. “Hmm…Well, what else do you do?”
A dumpling lump lodged in Henry’s throat. “Pardon?”
“You can’t make a living out of writing music. Do you sing too? I reckon them people who’re up on stage dancin’ around in their shiny clothes makes all sorts of money.” He sniffed and raised another brow. “Though you don’t seem the fancy sort.”
“There’s quite a business for composing, Nate,” Wes intervened, clearly struggling with his smile. Surely Wes could tell Henry was quite out of his element in this conversation. And what did fancy sort even mean? “Henry’s made a name for himself in England, and it’s only a matter of time before his talent is recognized by larger studios. He’s very good at what he does.”
“It’s pretty neat meeting a living composer.” Greg poked a knife in the air toward his father. Did every Jenkins use their utensils as conversational props? “Most of the ones we learned about in school were foreign and dead.”
“What do you think of the creasies, Henry?” The unexpected question came from Nathan, his hazel eyes blinking behind his glasses.
“I…I’ve not tried them yet.”
“I don’t like them at all.” The boy’s nose crinkled in a frown. “But I like the vinegar.”
“Julia enjoys those dead composers, don’t you, sugar?” The question brought the focus of the conversation back to the Jenkins patriarch, which was probably good because Henry’s forehead had started to ache from the tension of trying to keep up with the conversation…or conversations, as it were. Though, he’d made it further into dinner than last time before the warning signs began.
Julia slouched forward, almost in resignation, then held his gaze, as if in apology, before turning to answer her father. “And a few living ones. Gifted composers have a real job, Dad. It’s not just a hobby like my love for music.”
Nate rested his elbow on the table and turned his body toward Henry. “Here’s what we’re gonna do, boy. I got a real job in Julia’s shop that needs doin’—laying a new floor. Greg’s off to some critter conference and Fancy Pants can’t help me ‘cause of this acting stuff he’s doing.” He gestured toward Wes with his chin, shook his head as if his daughter’s soon-to-be fiancé’s excuse wasn’t satisfactory, and returned his eyes to Henry. “You don’t even have to talk in the movie. You need something to do.”
Panic rushed to the defense. “I can assure you, Nate, I am sufficiently engaged in learning the music of this culture and researching how to—”
“Didn’t you say you had some free time in the morning, though, Henry?” Greg’s eyes danced with childlike mischief.
Henry’s heart rate shot to a higher speed, pulsing in his ears. He didn’t know anything about flooring—and spending time alone with Nate Jenkins produced the most discordant internal reaction. Would laying flooring with Nate mean he’d see Julia more often? Warmth spread up his skin beneath his polo. Did he want that? Would she want that?
“See? You’ve got all the time in the world.” Nate stabbed Henry with a look of unadulterated challenge that Henry felt to his toes. “A bit of hard work won’t hurt your fiddle pickin’ fingers a’tall.”
“Unless he hits one with your hammer,” Sophie called from the end of the table. “Wes lost his fingernail from the smash your hammer gave him when he helped you work last time.”
Nate’s laugh rumbled through the room. “That’s right, ain’t it, Wes? And you passed the cussin’ test despite it all.”
Henry’s eyes enlarged so much he could have sworn they reached his eyebrows. He knew that story. Remembered Wes telling him about Nate’s interrogation about Wes’s intentions toward Eisley. But why on earth would the man feel the need to interrogate him? It wasn’t as though he had intentions toward…
“See there, Henry. Wes ain’t no worse for the wear. And it’s a good skill to learn. Just think—you can go back home to your fancy house and put down your own floors. Fiddlin’ and floor installin’. That sounds like music to my ears.” Nate laughed at his pun and almost pulled Henry from his fight-or-flight response.
Could he possibly make it through a morning alone with Nate Jenkins?
“I’m off to finish making the banana pudding.” Julia rose from the table, her lips in a tight smile and her attention zeroed in on him. “I wonder, Henry”—her gaze flitted to his— “would you mind giving me a hand? I see you’ve finished your meal.”
Her raised brow and subtle gesture with her chin encouraged his immediate cooperation. He pushed back from the table with a grin, pretty sure he’d never seen anything as beautiful as Julia Jenkins to the rescue.
∞ ∞ ∞
Heat rose into Julia’s cheeks as she waited for Henry to stand. Everyone in the family would make assumptions about her feelings for Henry, but she had to do something. The longer her father had kept talking, the wider Henry’s eyes had became, the farther she’d pushed back from the table in anticipation of an intervention. She couldn’t let him sit there without some assistance.
He’d hardly eaten anything, but at her not-so-subtle suggestion, he popped up with plate in hand and started toward the kitchen. “I’d be happy to help.”
Poor guy! She knew that look of desperation all too well—and no one instilled it with such unintentional—or sometimes intentional—accuracy as her dad.
“Julia knows when an introvert needs saving from her brute of a dad.” Her mother chuckled and grazed Henry with a tender look. “He’ll grow on you, Henry. There’s a lot of fluff beneath the growl.”
Dad’s brows dipped, and he patted his belly. “Hey now, don’t talk about my fluff.”
Henry’s smile wobbled to life, and he slowed his pace as he disappeared through the kitchen door.
Julia patted her dad’s shoulder as she passed him, but he caught her wrist before she could escape, looking as confused as a man could be. “I wasn’t mean a’tall. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with asking a boy to help do some real work now and again.”
Julia squeezed her eyes closed, refraining from groaning once more at another of her father’s brusque remarks. Her mom’s chuckle grew into a laugh along with Eisley’s and Sophie’s.
He really didn’t have bad intentions. “Music is
real work, Dad. I know it’s hard to believe that a piano or a violin or a cello could actually be a workman’s tool like a hammer or saw but they can.”
He rolled his eyes. “You ain’t gonna see nobody building a house with a violin.”
“No.” She sighed, her gaze flipping to the kitchen door. “But they can build a world or mend a heart.”
“Oh, how beautiful,” Sophie called from the other side of the room. “That sounds dreamy.”
“A bunch of malarkey is what it sounds like.” The teasing glint in her dad’s eyes belied the gruffness in his voice. He loved music. Not her tastes, so much, but give him a bluegrass band and he’d clap with more delight than Pete with a Spiderman goo web blaster. He pointed his finger up to her. “You just be careful, you hear. You and this introverted foreigner who builds worlds with music.” He rolled his eyes. “I’m keeping my eye on him.”
“Yep, Henry is a scary one.” Eisley raised her glass with a shake of her head. “What gave it away, Dad? That he wants to create a Spiderman theme for Pete or that he was gentleman enough not to pull up his shirt to prove his chest-hair status?”
Dad pointed his fork at Wes, his moustache twitching. “That English gentleman thing is what got you going googly-eyed over Mr. Fancy Pants.”
Eisley leaned her head on Wes’s shoulder and exaggerated her sigh. “Indeed, it did.”
Of course, Wes’s grin grew three sizes…and so did Julia’s gratitude. God had sent her sister more than any of them could have imagined when he brought Wes into Eisley’s life. Julia placed her hand on her dad’s shoulder. “Dad, you’re like Mom’s chocolate chip torte.”
He nodded, his chin lifted to accept the compliment. “Sweet, smooth, and rich taste.”
Julia laughed. “And most people can only handle a few small bites at a time.” She gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Be easy on Henry. He could use the grace.” Her grin tilted. “And you could use the practice.”
Chapter Nine
“Thanks for giving me a ride into town to pick up my car, Julia.” Sophie tugged her long honey-colored hair into a flawless side-braid as they rode along. Paired with her fitted cold-shoulder top, skinny jeans, and flats, her little sister defined a cute classy-country mix that matched her natural charm. In fact, it seemed that all the Jenkins charm and looks had landed on her youngest sibling.
Sophie bubbled with enough charisma and energy to light an entire stage. “I’m so excited to have bought my own car—and without Dad at my side during the test rides and negotiations. Landon at the garage said it checked out well, so I can now prove to Dad that I’m not car-stupid.” Her index finger rose in defense. “I did my research and held my ground.” She bounced in her seat, her fingers tapping against the dark blue fabric of her jeans, then she released an ear-splitting squeal. “And it’s teal.” She blinked her hazel eyes, all hint of the maturity accrued within her twenty-three years erased her excitement. “Teal is so beautiful.”
“I can’t wait to see it.”
She sighed back into the seat. “It’s four doors, so I can be an awesome aunt and tote baby Jenkins around whenever you want me to.” Her attention flipped to Julia’s abdomen, and she unleashed her wrinkled-nose grin. “In style.”
Julia chuckled. “I can’t imagine you doing anything that wasn’t in style.” She tried to imitate her sister’s toss of her hair, and Sophie’s laughter bubbled through the space.
“Well, I have to find some way to stand out from the crowd. After all, I am the youngest in the Jenkins herd.”
Julia shook her head, her smile growing. “Sophie, you’ve never had difficulty standing out in a crowd. Besides, I was driving this way for one of my meetings with Karen, so it all worked out anyway.”
“Oh yeah? How are the counseling sessions going? You’re down to twice a month now, right?”
Julia stared ahead, clinging to the renewed strength her previous few sessions had brought about. Dr. Karen Owensby had been pleased with Julia’s healing process, attributing much of it to the strength of her faith when going into the ordeal and the support her family continued to provide her afterward. Yes, she’d struggled with nightmares and phobias and some avoidance of unfamiliar males for a while, but distance from the assault as well as the sweetness her family shrouded her in buoyed her to near-normalcy. “We both agreed to keep them at twice a month until the baby is born. After that, she thinks I can reduce to one session per month.”
“That’s great, Julia. Maybe then you can start hanging out with your friends, too.” Sophie gestured toward the green, white, and red striped awning of Jay’s Pizza and Subs. “You know, you used to meet up with your college friends at Jay’s every Tuesday. Maybe they’ll be there tonight.”
The familiar void swelled into Julia’s throat, and she shifted her attention away from the restaurant windows. The court case and Julia’s college sabbatical had created a rift among her small group of friends. Penelope had been the only one of the four who’d kept in touch with Julia over the past four months, and the last time she’d called Erica, the energetic blonde had told Julia the girls weren’t getting together much anymore. Things had changed.
Oh, things had most certainly changed.
“You know, Sophie, I’ve always preferred a small circle of people in my life. Those friends are still great to have, but my family, including a few girls from church, is enough for me. I’m not like you, with your love for the social scene.”
Sophie blew out a noisy stream of air between her pursed lips. “Well, you can’t marry someone in your family, Julia, so eventually you’re going to have to find friends outside of us.”
The knot solidified in her throat. “I’m not really looking for marriage right now, Soph. Having a newborn is going to be plenty, especially with all the other changes going on in my life.”
Elation from hidden knowledge only sisters and best friends could guess glimmered in her sister’s eyes. “Oh yes, yes!” She patted her hands together like a five-year-old with a birthday cake. “Dreams-coming-true time. Your own inn? You’ll be so great at it, Julia! You were called for hospitality. It just flows from you like the music you play. You’ve wanted to run your own inn ever since you were in Mrs. Smith’s home economics class in middle school. Would you look for a place away from Pleasant Gap? Maybe somewhere closer to the city? Or what about the beach?”
“Whatever I choose, I’m going to take my time and make sure it’s what’s best for me and this little one.” She rubbed one palm over her belly and allowed hope to pearl warmth within her. The bud of a dream shook away a few more cobweb-y doubts. “But…well…I think I’d like to see what’s out there. Maybe. The possibilities.”
“Yes!” Sophie’s fists shot into the air before she collapsed against the car’s seat. “Oh Jules, traveling with Aunt Amelia had to have inspired you to dream big and reach wide.” Her eyes grew as round as cupcakes. “What about France? Or Italy? Or England? Oh! England would be nice.”
England? Where on earth had Sophie pulled that thought from? Surely her sister hadn’t discovered Julia’s teenage journal. Her shoulders fell. Knowing Sophie and her penchant for snooping, she could have discovered her journal, teen-crush posters, and the boyfriend-girlfriend letter she never sent to Bobby Thompson in ninth grade. It was an excellent letter though, so someone needed to appreciate it.
“Whoa there, day dreamer. I don’t think I’m ready for an adventure quite that grand.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Sophie’s raised brow contradicted her nonchalant shrug. “You’ve always had something about you that set a room at ease, that…well…that created a sense of welcome. God has something amazing planned for you and your gifts, and I’m excited to witness the plan unfold.”
Julia quelled a shudder at the faith Sophie’s words held. Amazing? God certainly wasn’t taking the shortcut for her to get there. “With a newborn on my hip and a bruised reputation, I don’t think you should hold your breath for anything too amazing from me, Soph.”
Henry’s name snagged her pulse for only a second, but it was enough that she wished she’d ignored the minute shift, especially with Sophie watching. “Acquaintance, perhaps. I don’t think we know each other well enough to say we’re friends.”
Sophie waved away her words. “Well, I’ve decided our new acquaintance isn’t the right man for me after all.”
“Oh really?” Julia’s laugh burst out of her with abandon. “And how did you come to this certain conclusion?”
“Don’t get me wrong.” Her palm shot up. “He’s a nice guy, he’s English, and he smells good enough to eat, but the poor man hardly says a word and he rarely shows real emotion, besides shock. How can that possibly lead to any romance?”
Julia tapped the steering wheel as she formulated her defense. “He talks when he has something to say.” Like he had with her on several occasions. They’d conversed about the virtues of Bach and Beethoven while serving the banana pudding after lunch, after all. “And he seems very sweet.”
Yes, she could see him as a friend. But she’d keep that to herself for now.
“And he plays the piano more expressively than some people ever talk.”
“He does? Sounds like you sometimes.”
She blinked away the softening of her thoughts and attempted to keep her expression as neutral as possible. Sophie didn’t need ammunition for romantic notions. They practically oozed from her pores as it was. Besides, this was no time to even consider falling for a guy, especially one who lived halfway around the world. She had a child on the way and the wounds of an assault to work through, not to mention a house and business to sell—though, both of those tasks were almost finished.
When You Look at Me (A Pleasant Gap Romance Book 2) Page 8