by Rachel Lee
“Did you ever want to leave this place?” he asked her as he dipped a corner of his toast in egg yolk.
She wondered why he was asking. Her heart lifted a little. Maybe he wanted a housekeeper back in Nashville? But that would get her nowhere, really. She needed to build a future, and housekeeping wasn’t her idea of one. “I’m thinking about going back to college,” she offered. “I dropped out to marry Porter.”
“Seldom a good idea,” he remarked. “Hormones rule, don’t they? So what did you want to do? Or rather, what do you want to do now?”
“I’m not sure,” she admitted. “My parents’ business was failing and I hung on with them until they couldn’t make it anymore. Dad found a job in Colorado Springs and I started at the state university in Laramie. Then Porter.”
“Porter seems to be a big bump on the road of life.”
Again he made her laugh. “Good description. Anyway, I lost sight of everything else for a few years. Now I’m thinking about it again, and much to my surprise, I’m interested in a whole lot of things, even subjects that didn’t use to interest me.”
He glanced up from his plate, smiling at her. The smile warmed her all the way to her toes, and inklings of hunger for him reawoke. She licked her lips, ignoring the desire. “That’s a great position to be in, every door open to you, nothing that’s got you too tied down to do what you want.”
She nodded. “It feels kind of freeing when I browse school catalogs online. I don’t need to make up my mind right away. First I need to save up so I can avoid a lot of debt. Then we’ll see.” She hesitated. “You’re tied down, aren’t you?”
“Pretty much.” He sighed and reached for another slice of toast. “One of my friends did something I started thinking about after I got Regina back. He settled where his kids were going to school and gave up touring so he could be with them. A man could make a worse choice.”
“Would that hurt your career?”
“Can’t say for sure. He’s going back to touring now they’re grown up, and the concerts are selling out. Doesn’t mean it’d be the same for me. But if it isn’t...” He shook his head a little. “I came back here to start writing my own music again. If I can do that, I don’t especially care anymore who sings it. I’ve kind of lost the taste for performing. That could change, though.”
He gave her a crooked smile and touched the back of her hand briefly, a light caress that renewed her desire for him. She couldn’t help but imagine being touched like that all over. “One of my friends called this a midlife crisis.”
“Is it?”
“I don’t think so. Needing a change isn’t always a crisis. It’s just a recognition that things aren’t satisfying in some way. I told you I left here with big dreams. I’ve fulfilled them. Now I guess I need a new set.” He finished his breakfast and rose, carrying his plate to the sink where he scrubbed the egg yolk off it before putting it in the dishwasher. “Look at that. It’s blowing up again and getting darker. I guess I ought to see if I can find the weather on one of these dang TVs.”
“Why do you have so many?”
His smile was wry. “You’d have to ask the decorator. I almost never turn them on.”
He helped with the dishes, then headed back to the living room, telling her to join him if she wanted. After her upset over Stella’s actions yesterday, she’d done about all the cleaning she could, so she didn’t feel guilty. Unplugging the laptop she’d been using in the kitchen, she went out to the living room, planning to look over some more college websites. Kinda silly she supposed, since she’d need to attend a state college for financial reasons, but looking over the breadth of career options available to her was becoming a little addictive.
Rory wasn’t sitting at the piano. He was leaning forward on the couch, holding a battered old guitar on his knee, twisting the keys as he tuned it.
“That looks like it’s traveled a lot of miles,” she remarked.
“Cracked, worn and still beautiful,” he answered. “My granddad used it for years. Then he passed it to me. Great tone, for such an old, battered instrument.”
Satisfied, he strummed the nylon strings and nodded to himself. Then he astonished her by playing a flamenco piece. A country musician playing classical music? But it was so upbeat and powerful that she found her toe tapping and the laptop forgotten.
He flashed her a grin as the last notes faded away. “Now all we need is a couple of dancers.”
“I love flamenco.”
“It’s amazing, all right.” But now his fingers wandered off into something quieter and more mournful. “I keep remembering what your friend said about the sun rising and setting in her eyes. There’s got to be a song in there.”
“I wouldn’t know. Like I said, I thought it was silly at the time. Not so much anymore, but it’s still trite.” She sighed. “Trite may not be the best thing for a song.”
“Things become trite because they’re true at a deep level everyone recognizes. And most of my songs could be called trite.”
She felt her cheeks heat. “I didn’t mean...”
“Relax, Abby. I didn’t take it wrong.” Quiet, melodious chords issued from the guitar. “It’s like the way folks scorn romance novels, you know? But what are most songs about? Love and romance.”
“Lost love,” she reminded him.
He smiled. “Yeah. I need to write one where the guy gets the wife, the pickup truck and the dog back.”
She laughed. “You are too much!”
“Well, it’d be a change.”
Deciding she might be disturbing him, she opened the laptop and began scanning college websites again. She was just beginning to get a sense that she might like to go into nursing or teaching. But there were so many other possibilities out there that she wasn’t going to dismiss one of them this soon. Heck, maybe she could even be an engineer. At this point she didn’t know where her talents lay, or even her deepest interests.
Except for Rory, of course. Her interest in him just kept growing until he occupied most of her thoughts. Him and Regina. And all that was doing was muddying the waters. She’d been burned so badly by Porter that she’d vowed never to expose herself to that kind of pain again.
Apparently the heart was an unreasonable organ.
She stared grimly at the computer screen, remembering his question about whether she’d ever thought of leaving this area. The truthful answer was no. She’d never felt the call of big-city lights and crowded places. She was a happy little country mouse, it seemed. Well, maybe not happy, but certainly a country mouse.
Soft liquid notes poured through the room, making a promise of some kind, trying to draw forth a whole new series of feelings in her. She closed her eyes and let them flow, filling her with yearnings that had no name.
The music stopped. She opened her eyes to find him staring at her.
“Am I making you blue?” he asked.
“No. It’s beautiful. I’m just drifting on it, letting it take me wherever it wants.”
He smiled. “Abby, you have an innate appreciation of music. You’re not even looking for words, you’re going with the flow.”
“Do words mess it up for you?”
“Sometimes. But audiences want songs, you know? The music is a backdrop for most people, and a lot of people don’t even realize how bad those same words would sound without the music. Kinda like the movies. You ever seen a film clip with the music removed? More than half the tension and meaning goes out of the scene. Some people create poetry with words. Few singers do. Our poetry comes from the melding of words and music together.”
“Music is evocative.”
“Exactly. Words can be, too, but most songs wouldn’t stand on words alone. That’s why I’m trying to get my music back.”
“Don’t let me get in your way.”
“You’re not.”
He went back to playing. Her computer had gone to sleep, so she hit a key to wake it up. Focus on her future. One thing she was sure about, it didn’t lie here with this man.
* * *
A couple of hours later, the phone rang. Rory reached for the cordless set nearby and put it to his ear.
“Oh, for pity’s sake, Stella,” she heard him snap. “The girl’s spending a weekend with a friend. If she doesn’t want to be bothered, what’s wrong with that? And yes, I know she’s okay. No, I’m not giving you the friend’s number. If you have anything to say, say it to my lawyer.”
He disconnected without even saying goodbye, his knuckles white as he gripped the phone. “Of course she’s not answering her phone, you witch. Why would she after the stuff you dumped on her yesterday?” After a moment, he put the phone down, but he also put aside the guitar.
“Damn, I need a walk.” A glance at the front window apparently told him how that would be foolhardy right now. Even the most seasoned person could get lost out there.
She sat where she was, listening to him run up and down the stairs a dozen times. Then she heard the sounds of the shower running. Maybe an hour later he reappeared, dressed in fresh clothes, his hair a little damp.
“Fit for company again,” he remarked.
“Expecting some?”
“Just you.” Then the phone rang again. He glared at it. “Oh, for the love of Pete...” He snatched it up. “Hello?”
She watched him uncoil a bit. “Not yet, Brian. I don’t care how much they’re offering. I’m on sabbatical and I’m not changing my mind.
“Yeah... Yeah...” He walked into another room. Abby felt almost like an eavesdropper on his life and wondered if she should go hide out in her apartment. But he’d invited her in here, and she sensed he really didn’t want to be alone right now. Given what had happened since yesterday morning, she could understand it.
She had thought she had a peck of troubles, but she was beginning to think that she didn’t know what real troubles were. She’d been ditched by Porter, who’d said some nasty things. That didn’t come close to having to fight for custody of his daughter, or an ex calling to shrew at him or, apparently, a manager who wanted him to start making money again.
When he returned again, the conversation was over. He stood looking at her. “My manager. Apparently I’m passing up a great opportunity.”
“You’re probably passing on more than one.”
“Yeah. And I’m beginning to wonder if coming out here wasn’t just a mistake. I’m learning an important lesson all over again.”
“Which is?”
“That wherever you go, you take yourself and your troubles with you. Can’t escape it.”
All of a sudden he crossed the room and squatted in front of her. “Shoot me for a dog, but I want to disconnect the phone and make love to you.”
The statement was so bold and unexpected that it left Abby breathless. When she could find her voice she finally said, “Yeah, right.”
He lifted a hand and cupped her cheek. “You, Abby. Not just anyone. You.” Then he rose and moved away, apparently taking her words as a no.
Her thoughts scrambled like mice trying to escape a hawk, so fast that she couldn’t grab on to one. Reactions poured through her in heated waves. Explosions seemed to be going off in her head.
“You’re my boss,” she said, the one cogent thought that emerged from the morass of longing and fear and hope. Everything else in her had already decided.
“I sure as hell am,” he muttered. “Forget I said it. You’re safe with me.”
“And...and...”
“And what?”
Pain poured from her then. “I don’t want to be just an easy escape for you.”
“Escape?” He froze, looking thunderstruck. “Is that what you think?”
“You’ve got a whole lot of things upsetting you. Who wouldn’t want to forget for a few hours?”
Something in his face tightened. “I shouldn’t have said anything. You’re right, I’m your boss and I don’t want you to feel pressured in order to keep your job. But I want you to understand something else. Listen to me very clearly, Abby. Really listen.”
Her fists knotted, she managed a jerky nod. She’d been fighting this attraction from the start, telling herself she was a fool, that she’d only get hurt, but now here she was hurting herself by arguing against the very thing she wanted, and had wanted even more since their kiss and hug. Why did it all have to be so complicated? Why did she fear a man who been unfailingly kind to her?
Because she didn’t trust. Not just him, but men in general. She could lay that directly at Porter’s door.
“Are you listening?” Rory asked again.
“Yes,” she managed to say. Her heart was thudding in her chest now, a heavy beat full of fear, though she was no longer sure exactly what kind. Fear of being hurt? Fear of being used? Or, bigger yet, fear that he didn’t mean what he was saying?
“I’ve been attracted to you since the first moment I saw you. I also knew you’d been hurt. Do you think I want to add to that?”
Actually, no she didn’t. But he might anyway. The real question was did she want him enough to risk it? Sometimes she thought so, but then she’d remember he could have his pick of women, so why should he want her?
“I’m spending more time thinking about you than thinking about my music. Yes, I want you. I’m crazy with wanting you. I think you want me, too. But it has to be more than that, for you especially. You’re not a one-night stand kind of woman, and if you were I wouldn’t be interested. I had my share of that. And I’m making a mess of this. Just trust me on one thing, Abby, even if you can’t trust anything else. I want you all the way to my soul. For real. Just you. And now I’ll go up to my room before I scare you into running. You can forget I ever said anything; we’ll go back to the way things were. Just don’t hit the road. I’d never forgive myself if you felt you couldn’t trust me not to bother you again.”
She listened to him climb the stairs and wondered what was wrong with her. She sat on, alone and lonely, and wondered how she had become so broken that she found it hard to believe Rory wanted anything more from her than a roll in the hay and a chance to forget his problems for a few hours.
He could have the same worries as she did. He was a famous man with all kinds of groupies living in a world of people who used him one way or another. Why should he trust her? For all he knew, she might be looking for a ticket to better life.
He’d asked her about it, hadn’t he? Whether she wanted to leave this place, what kind of future she wanted. She had thought that natural curiosity, but maybe he’d been trying to sense if she wanted something from him. Like everyone else.
It was a mess. Two people with plenty of reasons to distrust. He’d been used more times than she could imagine. More times than she had for sure. She had nothing anyone wanted. Except her body, apparently.
That kind of surprised her. Despite his comments about how wrong Porter had been, she guessed she hadn’t really taken it to heart. He’d been trying to tell her then how attractive she was.
But was attraction enough? Of course not, in the long run. But why was she looking at the long run? She hadn’t even imagined one yet, except for some vague future in which she saved enough money from this job to get her started in college eventually.
Life offered no guarantees. How long was she going to stay curled up in her shell, avoiding everything because she was afraid? There’d be no relationship with Rory, but did that mean she had to deny herself the first thing she had really yearned for since Porter had broken her?
Or maybe she needed to learn to take a risk again. To just live for now, because there was no way to know what tomorrow might bring.
She heard him moving overhead,
using the bathroom to wash up, then crossing his bedroom. An experience, a possibility, was slipping out of her hands while she dithered about things that might never happen.
But to trust herself to get into bed with a man again?
Then she remembered all he’d said.
Before she knew it, aching need propelled her up the stairs, swamping rational thought. When she reached his room, the door was open and he was standing in the dim light of one lamp, his shirt off, revealing an expanse of well-muscled chest and strong arms. His jeans were unbuttoned, unzipped, hanging low on his hips. He’d shed his boots and socks.
Eye candy, some idiotic corner of her mind noted.
Startled, he looked at her. “Everything’s okay, Abby. Really.”
“No, it’s not.” Clenching her hands until even her short nails bit deeply, she took a step into the room.
“Abby?” he questioned.
“I don’t know if I’m being a fool. I was a fool once before.”
He nodded, but didn’t try to persuade her.
“You could have any woman in the world,” she said, her voice cracking.
“I don’t want any woman in the world.” The answer was quiet and firm. “And I sure as hell don’t want to make your life any harder. I should have kept my mouth shut.”
“No.” She was glad he hadn’t, because in addition to the simmering desire he woke in her, she felt a new glowing kernel, one that seemed to be emerging from the destruction Porter had left in his wake. A sense of self, of worth. Just a kernel, but he’d brought that back to life.
“You...” She trailed off, unsure what to say. Then, “You make me feel like a woman again.”
The smallest, gentlest of smiles curved his lips. “No less than you deserve. I’m glad.”
“I don’t know if this is smart. No promises.”
“None,” he agreed. “Maybe that’s not good for you.”
“Maybe that’s exactly what I need.”
His brows lifted. “How so?”
“Just to be. Just to feel like a woman. Just to know I can please...”