Natural Born Charmer

by Susan Elizabeth Phillips

“You have a lot of opinions about what I should do, but what about what I want you to do? It’s my birthday, and I only asked for one thing.”

  Riley wished she’d never brought up the subject. “I can’t sing in public,” she said. “My guitar playing isn’t good enough.”

  “Piffle. I gave you all those ballet lessons, and you won’t do one little thing for me.”

  “It’s not little!”

  “You sing better than any of those hoods in that band. I never heard so much racket in all my life.”

  “I’ll sing for you back at your house. Just the two of us.”

  “You think I wasn’t scared the first time I danced in public? I was so scared I almost fainted. But I didn’t let that stop me.”

  “I don’t have my guitar.”

  “They have guitars.” She jabbed her cane toward the band.

  “They’re electric.”

  “One of them isn’t.”

  Riley didn’t think Nita had noticed the lead guitar player trading his electric for an acoustic when they tried to sing Green Day’s “Time of Your Life.” “I can’t borrow somebody else’s guitar. They wouldn’t let me.”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  To Riley’s horror, Nita pushed herself off the bench and shuffled toward the band. Less than half the crowd was left, mainly families letting their kids play and some teenagers hanging out. Dean came in through the park’s side entrance, and she rushed across the grass to get to him. “Mrs. Garrison’s trying to make me sing. She says it’s her birthday present.”

  Dean didn’t like Mrs. Garrison, and she waited for him to get mad, but he seemed to be thinking about something else. “Are you going to do it?”

  “No! You know I can’t. A lot of people are still around.”

  He looked over her head, like he was trying to find somebody. “Not so many.”

  “I can’t sing in front of people.”

  “You sing for me and for Mrs. Garrison.”

  “That’s different. That was private. I can’t sing in front of strangers.”

  Finally, he seemed to be paying attention to her. “You can’t sing in front of strangers, or you won’t sing in front of Jack?”

  When she’d explained how she felt, she’d made him promise never to say anything about it. Now he was using it against her. “You don’t understand.”

  “I understand.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Sorry, Rile. You’ll have to figure this out for yourself.”

  “You wouldn’t have got up and sung when you were my age.”

  “I can’t sing like you.”

  “You sing pretty good.”

  “Jack’s trying,” he said. “If you sing, it won’t change the way he feels about you.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Neither do you. Maybe it’s time to find out for sure.”

  “I already know for sure.”

  His smile looked a little fake, and she thought he might be sort of disappointed in her. “All right,” he said. “Let me see if I can get the old bat to leave you alone.”

  As he headed over to talk to Mrs. Garrison, Riley started to feel dizzy. In the old days before she’d come to the farm, she’d always had to stick up for herself, but now Dean was sticking up for her, just like he had when her dad wanted to take her back to Nashville. And he wasn’t the only one. April and Blue stood up for her around Mrs. Garrison, even though she didn’t need them to. And her dad had stuck up for her the night he’d thought Dean was chasing her for real.

  Mrs. Garrison was talking to the lead guitar player when Dean reached her side. Riley bit her fingernail. Her dad was standing by himself next to the fence, but she’d seen a couple of people look at him funny. April was helping clean up, and Blue had just wrapped some leftover birthday cake for Mrs. Garrison to take home. Mrs. Garrison said that if people kept their light under a bushel, the candle went out, and that Riley would shrivel up into a nobody if she didn’t start being true to herself.

  Her armpits were wet, and she felt like throwing up. What if she started to sing and she totally sucked? She stared at her dad. Even worse, what if she didn’t suck at all?

  Jack straightened as he saw his daughter walk toward the band’s microphone, a guitar in her arms. Even from the other side of the park, he could see how frightened she was. Was she really going to play?

  “My name is Riley,” she whispered into the mike.

  She looked small and defenseless. He didn’t know why she was doing this, only that he wouldn’t let her be hurt. He began to move, but she’d already started to play. No one had bothered to plug the acoustic into an amp, and, at first, the crowd ignored her. But Jack could hear, and even though the intro was barely audible, he recognized “Why Not Smile?” The pit of his stomach contracted as Riley began to sing.

  “Do you remember when we were young,

  And every dream we had felt like the first one?”

  He didn’t care if he blew his cover. He had to get up there. This was no song for an eleven-year-old, and he wouldn’t let her be embarrassed.

  “I don’t expect you to understand

  With everything you’ve seen. I’m not asking for that.”

  Her soft, lilting voice was such a marked contrast to the band’s off-key yowling that the crowd began to fall silent. She’d be crushed if they laughed. He quickened his steps only to have April appear at his side and reach out to stop him. “Listen, Jack. Listen to her.”

  He did.

  “I know that life is cruel.

  You know that better than I do.”

  Riley missed a chord change, but her voice never wavered.

  “Baby, why not smile?

  Baby, why not smile?

  Baby, why not smile?”

  The crowd had grown silent, and the band members’ adolescent sneers faded. Listening to a little girl sing those adult words should have been funny, but no one laughed. When Jack performed “Why Not Smile?” he turned it into an angry, confrontational assault. Riley was pure vocal heartbreak.

  She brought the song to an end, hitting an F instead of a C. She’d been concentrating so hard on the chord changes that she hadn’t made eye contact with the crowd, and she seemed startled when they began to applaud. He waited for her to flee. Instead, she moved closer to the microphone and said softly, “That song was for my friend, Mrs. Garrison.”

  People in the audience began calling out for more. Dean smiled, and so did Blue. Riley stuck the guitar pick between her lips and retuned. With no regard for copyrights or the secrecy that always accompanied the release of a new Patriot song, Riley slipped into “Cry Like I Do,” one of the songs he’d been working on at the cottage. He couldn’t have been prouder. At the end, the crowd clapped, and she went into the Moffatts’ “Down and Dirty.” He realized her song choices were based more on whether she thought she could manage the chord changes than the song itself. This time when she finished, she said a simple thank-you and handed the guitar back, ignoring the crowd’s demand for an encore. Like any great performer, she was smart enough to get out while they wanted more.

  Dean reached her first and stuck to her side as people gathered to compliment her. Riley had a hard time meeting anyone’s eyes. Mrs. Garrison looked as smug as if she’d been the one doing the singing. Blue couldn’t stop beaming, and April kept laughing.

  Riley wouldn’t look at him. He remembered the e-mail he’d sent Dean when he’d been trying to understand why she was so secretive about her singing.

  Figure it out for yourself, Dean had said.

  At the time, he’d thought Riley was afraid he wouldn’t love her if she didn’t sing well enough, but he understood his daughter better now. She knew exactly how well she sang, and she wanted something entirely different.

  As the crowd began to drift away, more people openly stared at him. Someone snapped his picture. A middle-aged woman edged over to him. “E-excuse me, but…Aren’t you Jack Patriot?”

  Dean had seen it unf
olding, and he immediately appeared at her side. “How about giving him a break?”

  The woman flushed. “I cain’t believe it’s him. Here in Garrison. What are you doin’ here, Mr. Patriot?”

  “It’s a nice town.” He glanced past her to see Nita and Blue guarding Riley.

  “Jack’s a friend of mine. He’s staying at my farm,” Dean said. “I know the thing he likes most about Garrison is having some privacy.”

  “Sure, I understand.”

  Somehow Dean managed to keep the rest of the curious onlookers away. Blue and April herded Nita toward her car. Dean nudged Riley toward her father and then disappeared, leaving her no choice but to approach. She looked so anxious that Jack’s heart ached. What if he was wrong about this? But he had no time for second-guessing. He gave her a quick peck on top of her head. She smelled like birthday cake. “You were great up there,” he said. “But I want a daughter, not some teenybopper rock star.”

  Her head shot up. He held his breath. Her eyes turned into puddles of disbelief. “Really?” she said on a single long exhalation.

  He’d come so far with her this summer, and the slightest misstep could wipe all that out. “I’m not saying I don’t want you to sing—that’s entirely up to you—but you need to keep a clear head about it. You have an amazing voice, but your real friends are the people who’d love you even if you couldn’t sing a note.” He paused. “Like me.”

  Her dark brown eyes, so much like his, widened.

  “Dean and April, too,” he said. “Blue. Even Mrs. Garrison.” He was laying it on thick, but he needed to make sure she was clear. “You don’t have to sing to earn anybody’s friendship. Or their love.”

  “You know,” she whispered.

  He pretended to misunderstand. “I’ve been in the business a lot of years. I’ve pretty much seen it all.”

  Now she was getting worried. “But I can still sing for people, can’t I? After I don’t suck so much at the guitar.”

  “Only if you want to. And only if you don’t let anybody judge who you are just by that voice of yours.”

  “I promise.”

  He wrapped his arm around her and drew her close. “I love you, Riley.”

  Her cheek fell against his chest. “I love you, too, Dad.”

  It was the first time she’d said the words.

  They walked toward the car with their arms around each other. Just before they got there, she said, “Could we talk about my future? Not the singing, but school and where I’m going to live and all that.”

  Right then, he knew exactly how he was going to handle this. “Too late,” he said. “I’ve already made up my mind.”

  The old guarded look sprang back into her eyes. “That’s not fair.”

  “I’m the dad, and I make the decisions. I hate to be the one to break the bad news, star baby, but you’re not getting anywhere near Aunt Gayle and Trinity no matter how much you beg.”

  “Really?” The word came out as a soft gasp.

  “I don’t have the details worked out, but we’re going to L.A. together. We’ll find a good school for you out there. Not a boarding school, either. I want you around where I can keep my eye on you. We’ll hire a housekeeper both of us like so you’ll have somebody to keep you company when I have to travel. You’ll get to see April sometimes—I’m still working on that part. What do you think?”

  “I think—I think it’s the best thing ever!”

  “So do I.”

  As he climbed in his car, he smiled to himself. Rock and roll might keep you young, but there was something to be said for finally growing up.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Blue arrived at the farm an hour late. She’d traded in this afternoon’s yellow sundress for a plain white tank and a new pair of khaki shorts, both of which actually fit her. Dean hoped Jack and Riley would stay away like they were supposed to. “I don’t want to do this,” Blue said as she came into the foyer.

  Dean resisted kissing her and closed the front door instead. “My advice is to get it over with fast. Go into the dining room ahead of me and turn on all the lights so I get the full miserable effect as soon as I walk in.”

  He couldn’t coax even the shadow of a smile from her. It was strange to see Blue so undone.

  “You’re right.” She and her new purple sandals strode past him into the dining room. He wanted to pitch those shoes into the trash and make her wear those ugly black biker boots. The dining room lights went on. “You’re going to hate them,” she said from inside.

  “I think you’ve mentioned that before.” He smiled. “Maybe I should get drunk first.” He walked around the corner and into the dining room. His smile faded.

  He’d been prepared for a lot of things, but not for what he saw. Blue had created a woodland glade of mist and fantasy. Straws of pale custard light peeked through the leaves of gossamer trees. A swing made of flowering vines swayed from a curving branch. Blooms never seen in nature grew in a bright carpet around a gypsy caravan perched by the side of a fantasy pond. He couldn’t think of one thing to say. Except the wrong thing. “Is that a fairy?”

  “J—just a small one.” She gazed up at the tiny creature peering down at them from above the front window. Then she buried her face in her hands. “I know! It’s awful! I should never have done it, but my brush got away from me. I should have painted her out. And…the others, too.”

  “There are more?”

  “It takes awhile to see them all.” She sagged into a chair between the windows and spoke in a small, stricken voice. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to do it. This is a dining room. These murals belong in a—a kid’s bedroom or a—a preschool. But the walls were so perfect, and the light was exquisite, and I didn’t know how much I wanted to paint like this.”

  He couldn’t seem to take it in. Wherever he looked, he saw something new. A bird with a beribboned basket in its beak flew across the sky. A rainbow arched near the doorframe, and a cloud with the face of an apple-cheeked old woman gazed down on the gypsy caravan. On the longest wall, a unicorn dipped its nose into the water at the edge of the pond. No wonder Riley loved these murals so much. And no wonder April had looked worried when he’d asked her about them. How could his tough, razor-tongued Blue have created something so soft, so magical?

  Because she wasn’t tough at all. Blue’s toughness was merely the armor she’d drawn around herself to make it through life. Inside, she was as fragile as the dewdrops she’d painted on a spray of floral bells.

  Her fingers poked through her curls as she dropped her forehead in her hands. “They’re terrible. I knew how wrong they were while I was painting them, but I couldn’t stop myself. It was like something broke loose inside me, and all this poured out. I’ll return your check, and if you give me a few months, I’ll reimburse you for whatever it costs to have the room repainted.”

  He knelt in front of her and pulled her hands from her face. “Nobody’s repainting anything,” he said, gazing into her eyes. “I love them.”

  And I love you.

  The knowledge passed through him as easily as a breath of air. He’d met his destiny when he’d stopped on that highway outside Denver. Blue challenged him, fascinated him, turned him on—God, did she ever turn him on. She also understood him, and he understood her. These murals let him see the dreamer inside, the woman who was determined to run away from him on Monday morning.

  “You don’t have to pretend,” she said. “I’ve told you how much I hate it when you’re nice. If your friends saw this—”

  “When my friends see this, I won’t have to worry about any lags in the dinner conversation, that’s for sure.”

  “They’ll think you’ve lost your mind.”

  Not after they meet you.

  Looking as serious as he’d ever seen her, she slipped her hand into his hair. “You have a flawless sense of style, Dean. This house is masculine. Everything in it. You know how wrong these murals are.”

  “They’re completely wrong. An
d incredibly beautiful.” Just like you. “Have I told you how amazing you are?”

  She searched his face. She’d always been able to see through him, and her expression gradually turned to wonder. “You really do like them, don’t you? You’re not just saying it to be kind.”

  “I’d never lie to you about anything important. They’re wonderful. You’re wonderful.” He began kissing her—the corners of her eyes, the curve of her cheek, the bow at the top of her lip. The room cast a spell over them, and soon she was in his arms. He picked her up and carried her outside, moving from one magical world into another—the haven of the gypsy caravan. Under the painted vines and fanciful flowers, they made love. Silently. Tenderly. Perfectly. Blue was finally his.

  The vacant pillow beside him the next morning was his own fault for not getting around to ordering that Porta Potti. He pulled on his shorts and T-shirt. She’d better have the coffee going. He intended to sit on the porch with her, drinking the whole pot and talking about the rest of their lives. But when he walked across the yard, he saw that the red Corvette was missing. He rushed inside and was greeted with a ringing telephone.

  “Get over here right now!” Nita exclaimed when he answered. “Blue’s leaving.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “She set us up, telling us she was going on Monday. All the time, she planned to slip away today. Chauncey Crole went with her to pick up her rental car, and she’s heading out toward the garage now to load it up. I knew something wasn’t right. She’s been—”

  Dean didn’t wait to hear the rest.

  Fifteen minutes later, he turned in to the alley behind Nita’s house and skidded to a stop next to the garbage cans. Blue stood by the open trunk of a late-model Corolla. Despite the heat, she wore a black muscle shirt, jeans, and her biker’s boots. He wouldn’t have been surprised to see a spiked leather collar around her neck. The only thing soft about her was that fluffy little haircut. He sprang out of the truck. “Thanks for nothing.”

  She dropped a box of painting supplies into the trunk. The backseat was already loaded up. “I had my fill of good-byes when I was a kid,” she said stonily. “I don’t put myself through that anymore. By the way, you’ll be happy to know I got my period.”