“Is that any way to treat a lady, you mongrel?” He tried to sternly reprimand the pup but she could hear laughter in his voice.
“Jake Smith, I swear! I can’t believe in less than five minutes you ruined yet another suit.”
“It wasn’t my fault,” he replied as he stood and then it was Cheyenne’s turn to laugh. A wet spot spread across the side of his polo shirt and ran down the leg of his khaki slacks. “He’s just happy to see you.”
She looked up to find his gaze intent on her. “I’m very happy to see you, too.” And magically her world righted again.
Jake cleared his throat. “I came to give my uncle what he wants.”
“Have you seen him?” she asked.
He shook his head. “He wasn’t my first priority.”
“You could have come with me,” she said softly.
Again he shook his head. “The puppy needed shots before transport and,” he paused, looking off to the side, “there was business to finish.”
Cheyenne realized the puppy had nothing to do with it. Jake had waited past the deadline to return so that he could win. Yet he had come home, so in truth his uncle had also won. And then it dawned on her what he really meant.
“You finished it?”
He nodded.
“But the deadline for the Camelot Awards was last week.”
“It was in the mail by then.” His gaze found hers and all she could do was smile.
“What did you title it?”
“A Mermaid’s Tears.”
She immediately shook her head. “That doesn’t sound inspiring. You have no sense of style.” She waved toward the puppy. “Just look what you named that adorable puppy.”
He slowly walked toward her until they were toe to toe. He cradled her face in his hands; those long slender fingers sliding into her hair and shaking it loose from her clip. His kiss was as light as butterfly wings, yet it singed her clear to her toes.
“I love you, Cheyenne Alyce Tucker. If I titled it Tales of a Mermaid, would it have a happy ending?”
She could feel tears slipping from beneath her lashes. “If you tell me again that you love me.”
He did, and she knew the mermaid would live happily ever after.
* * *
The winner of the Camelot Award for Excellence in Musical Composition was announced the next week. Jake was at his uncle’s bedside as the old man read the letter from the committee. He didn’t show much reaction, but then he hadn’t spoken in months and could barely lift his head from his pillow. The letter dropped to the coverlet but when Jake reached for it, his uncle covered the single sheet with his bony hand, fingers shaking as he blindly felt for the embossed seal of the Camelot Institute. His other hand shook as he raised it and Jake clasped it in both of his.
He looked up, found his uncle’s watery gaze and gave him his best smile. His uncle’s eyes closed and the air stilled around them. Tears fell as he gently laid his uncle’s lifeless hand on his chest, picked up the letter and walked out of the room. Cheyenne would probably want to frame it and glancing down, he had to admit he wasn’t disappointed.
Dear Misters Donovan,
It is with pleasure that the Camelot Institute is offering the Camelot Award to “Tales of a Mermaid”, composed by Sebastian and Joseph Donovan.
The demo CD submitted by Michael Gilbert of the Los Angeles Symphony left the committee breathless and in awe of the genius combination of melodies that created this true work of art. Mr. Gilbert’s nomination letter leads us to believe that without Sebastian Donovan’s exceptional assiduousness and Joseph Donovan’s incredible gift, this composition might never have been born. That would, indeed, have been a tragic loss for the musical world.
Congratulations.
Epilogue
It was the third year for the Donovan Music Camp and as usual the place was busy. Cheyenne wandered from the office through the kitchen, grabbing a fresh baked chocolate chip cookie from the tray Brenda Kay had just pulled from the oven.
“Watch yourself. Those are hot,” she said. Eyeing Cheyenne’s nonexistent waist, she added, “Are you even supposed to be eating chocolate?”
“The nice thing about being pregnant is I can eat whatever I please. The problem will come after the birth when I have to get rid of the extra pounds. Do you know where Jake is?”
Brenda Kay had handed her restaurant in town over to her daughter and son-in-law and now ran the kitchen at the camp where they served three meals a day to growing eight to fifteen year olds. The only stipulation Cheyenne had made at the time Jake hired her was that whatever she fixed for meals, silverware was required. Now, she absently waved a hand, which meant Jake could be anywhere on the three acre compound.
The clicking sound of Fish Bait’s toe nails echoed her flip-flops as they walked across the cavernous cafeteria, the gleaming tiles and newly painted walls awash in morning light from the skylights above. To her right was the dormitory that housed the boys and girls for a month at a time as they attended camp. To the left of the cafeteria, which also served as performance hall, were a row of individual, state of the art, practice cubicles.
Jake had purchased the small cottage and surrounding land upon their return to Lockabee after their honeymoon. Construction on the facilities had started immediately and the first camp had followed the next summer.
She slipped on her sunglasses as she exited the building, or actually Jake’s glasses as she was constantly losing hers and she rather liked wearing his aviator style mirrored shades. She absently patted the big dog’s head as she looked about for her husband. Even though Jake had originally brought the dog to Chicago, he had always been Cheyenne’s dog. He was extremely protective, especially now when she was pregnant, sometimes even growling at Jake.
Off to the south past the cottage she heard hollering as the afternoon swim lessons were in full force, but she turned the opposite way, having an intuitive feel for where her husband might be. She rounded the corner of the main building, looking past the basketball courts and sand volleyball pit to the baseball field.
It might look like an ordinary camp, if one didn’t know Jake’s background. While most of the children who attended had exceptional musical talent, the camp was open to anyone. And though music took up a large portion of the campers’ day, there was always time for swimming and sports, all the types of activities Jake had missed out on as a youngster. There were fishing excursions, campfires and hikes through the woods.
Through word of mouth alone, the camp was often host to world renowned musical celebrities, all wanting to help instill a love of music in the youngsters who attended. Many of those same celebrities gave very generous donations to the camp because no one paid tuition. Travel scholarships were readily available to any impoverished child who wrote Jake a simple request. And that was exactly why she needed to speak to him.
She found him at home plate, patiently giving instructions to the batter, who swung too low, the bat slipping out of his little hands and flying straight at Jake’s shin. Cheyenne winced as he hopped in a circle, then seeing her, slowly hobbled over to where she stood, safely behind the fence.
“Why the face?” he asked, as if he didn’t know. It wasn’t that long ago that he had ended up at Doctor Stephen’s with a twisted ankle after a free-for-all basketball game with a bunch of campers. The man refused to grow up.
“I do not need you to be a patient in the hospital at the same time I am,” she said, rubbing her belly.
He circled her waist, pulling her back against his chest and tapping his fingers across her abdomen like he was playing a piano keyboard. The baby returned his attention with a healthy kick, making him laugh.
“What else?” he asked at her sigh.
She held up the ledger sheets but knew if it wasn’t a musical score, Jake could care less. “We’re still losing money.”
He kissed the side of her neck and a shiver raced down her spine. He could still make a mess of her with a simple kiss.
&n
bsp; “Are we destitute?”
“Well, of course not, but…”
His breath tickled her ear. “Then it’s all good, mermaid.” The baby kicked against his hand again. “In fact, it’s absolutely perfect.”
The End
Also by Barbara Baldwin from Books We Love
Hold On To The Past
Spinning Through Time
A Game of Love
Always Believe
Prospecting for Love
If Wishes Were Magic
Tenderhearted Cowboy
Love in Disguise
An Interlude
Barbara resides in the Midwest but she loves to travel and explore new places, which usually means each of her novels is set in a different locale. She has been published in formats from poetry and short stories to full-length fiction and is happy that BWL is bringing out this, her 20th novel. She really loves writing romance, whether it is contemporary, historical or time travel. She has an MA in Communication and has taught every grade from Kindergarten to college. Visit her website at http://www.authorsden.com/barbarajbaldwin.
Prelude and Promises Page 20