Sing to Me (The Highlands Book 1)

by Ali M. Cross

  He stopped at the bar and knocked on it once to get Kipper’s attention—she was busy shimmying to the sultry jazz and topping off a mug of beer. She turned when she heard the knock, a look of annoyance flitting across her features before she saw Nix standing there.

  “What’s up?” She set the mug on the bar top and leaned on it with one elbow.

  “When’s the first set?” Nix asked, momentarily distracted from his mission by his business. He didn’t need the place to succeed in order to live—he had plenty of money—but he needed the place to succeed because he wanted it to. He loved variety acts; and while he knew karaoke was the “in” thing, and a club in the middle of nowhere hardly seemed like the place to introduce something so unusual as impromptu variety acts, here he was. He had his reasons for choosing this place, the old Rednecks Bar. Variety would succeed. He knew it would.

  “Earth to Nix,” Kipper said with a rap of her knuckles to his head. “I said, first act’s up in thirty.”

  “Right. After that?” Nix slipped on the cowboy hat he’d started wearing once the weather turned nippy at night. The guy over at the shop in Winter Park said that’s what people—or folk, as the salesman had said—wore around here. And so far, judging by the number of hats on tables or on hooks at the side of booths, Nix felt pretty secure in his fashion choices. Plus, it made him feel legit. Like he belonged here.

  Kipper eyed him suspiciously. He knew he was acting weird. He felt weird. For the first time since he’d opened, he was about to leave the club during business hours. He never left the shows to Kipper. Her job was the bar. He hesitated, knowing he was about to ask a lot of her, maybe too much, but also knowing that he had to act on this prompting now. He had to see Fiona MacDonald and apologize for scaring her, maybe even hurting her.

  Nix had chosen to quit singing, had chosen to leave that life behind—but something had happened to Fiona to rip it away from her. She’d been robbed of the greatest moment of her life and maybe she’d never get her music back. Nix couldn’t even imagine that. He would sing again—if and when the Lord wished it. But for now, he chose silence. How would he feel if he hadn’t chosen, but God had chosen for him? How could he live knowing all that he’d worked for was for nothing?

  “It’s straight-up karaoke, right?”

  Kipper checked the sign-up sheet on the bar. “Yeah, first four sets are karaoke, then Hammond’s coming in with his doll.” She rolled her eyes. Hammond was a very bad ventriloquist whose dummy told very bad jokes. He used to tell off-color jokes about Kipper until Nix had put an end to that. He’d told Hammond he owed Kip an apology, and that he wouldn’t tolerate him using crudeness as a cover for his lack of talent. Hammond had returned the next week with a bouquet and an apology for Kipper and a whole new really lame—but clean—act.

  “Okay, so you’ve got at least an hour thirty that you can manage without me.”

  “Wait. I don’t want to manage without you. It’ll be pickin’ up by then.” Kipper didn’t whine. She complained. In a very bossy, I’m-gonna-kick-your-butt kind of way. It worked on most people, but not Nix. He’d grown up in the music business with agents and tutors and even maids trying to tell him what to do. He’d had to grow a backbone or he’d have grown up a wuss the size of Texas.

  “I’ve got an errand. I’ll be as fast as possible.”

  “What, seriously? Now?”

  Nix pushed away from the bar, pulling his hat down lower over his eyes. “Yup. Hold down the fort, Kip.”

  “You can’t do this!” she called after him. “I quit!” But she’d still be there when Nix got back, and both of them knew it.

  FIONA WOKE WITH A START AND STRANGLED CRY. Adrenaline rushed through her, pushing her back to the headboard. She clutched the afghan to her chest as if it were a shield.

  “Gosh, Fiona.” Lindsay stood in the doorway, her own hand pressed to her chest. Her voice softened when she added, “What happened to you, Fi? This isn’t like you at all.”

  “It’s been six years, Lindsay. I’ve changed, remember?” Fiona fought to make her voice sound smooth and reproachful, but she didn’t know how successful she’d been. She’d been dreaming about the attack again—it seemed to be all she dreamt about these days—and she still felt the fear pulsing through her. She’d rather Lindsay think she’d changed than think she was still a baby, scared of things that go bump in the night.

  Lindsay sat on the edge of the bed and smoothed the hair that had escaped from Fiona’s neat ponytail. “I’m sure you have changed—you’ve grown up. You’ve made your dreams come true.” Lindsay smiled softly and Fiona’s eyes welled with tears. Everything’s ruined now, she wanted to say. She looked down, poking her fingers in and out of the afghan.

  “But this—the crying, and the nightmare?” She laid a hand on Fiona’s knee. “Did something happen to you in New York, Fi? Something bad?” She ducked her head, trying to meet Fiona’s eyes. “You cried out—cried for help.” When Fiona didn’t reply, Lindsay gave her knee a squeeze and said, “I’m here when you’re ready to talk, hon.”

  She stood and reached out her hand for Fiona. “Come on. There’s a crackling fire, a cozy blanket on a cozy couch and a big ol’ cuppa hot chocolate waiting for you downstairs.” Fiona stared at the offered hand a moment, then sighed. With everything else that had changed in her life, Lindsay was the same. Solid, dependable. Caring. For the first time in a very long time, Fiona felt like being home was a good thing. She threw off the blanket and let her sister drag her off the bed.

  Halfway down the stairs Lindsay added, “And there’s a handsome man waiting for ya, too.”

  She kept going as if she hadn’t just thrown a grenade at Fiona’s feet, but Fiona paused, suddenly unsure if she should go downstairs or run back to her room. Who could be visiting me here? Her mind raced over the possibilities. Who even knew she was back? Since Katie knew, probably everybody else did, too. There weren’t that many people in her Summit High graduating class and none she could really think would want to see her. No guys, anyway.

  “Come on, Fiona,” Lindsay called from below, adding humiliation to Fiona’s already edgy mood. At this point she didn’t care what Whoever He Was thought about her—she stomped down the stairs and rounded the corner, determined to give the full force of the Ice Queen’s glare.

  She pulled up short at the sight of the tall man with shaggy dark hair, a cowboy hat clutched to his chest. He didn’t look entirely comfortable in his leather coat, dark jeans and still-new looking brown leather boots—like he was wearing a cowboy costume, rather than owning it like all the rest of the men in her tiny hometown. His steady gaze was confident and sure, though. Like he might not quite belong here, but he knew who he was and what he was about. Fiona wished for that kind of self-assurance, but she didn’t like the way he seemed to see into her soul—and the way he seemed to understand her better than she did herself. She wished she could run and hide, yet she felt inexplicably drawn to him. To Nix.

  The only man who’d seen her cry.

  “Fiona, I…” His mellow tenor voice spoke alarmingly near and she blinked. She stood directly in front of him, only inches apart. She shuffled backward, the memory of her panic attack at Variety shoving into her mind like a punch to the gut. She was out of control. Her whole life was out of control.

  She cast her eyes around the room, desperate for some sister or brotherly interference, but they were alone. She collapsed into one of the overstuffed recliners and wrapped her arms around her body, working hard to even out her breathing.

  “I’m sorry I let them go after you like that. I—” Didn’t want them to know I was crying? Didn’t want them to know that terror lurked beneath my skin? Didn’t want them to know I was broken and needed help? She shook her head, unable to explain.

  He hesitated for a minute, then gestured toward the couch with his hat. “May I?”

  Fiona would rather he take one of the recliners, preferably the one farthest away, but she found herself nodding. Nix sat unc
omfortably close.

  His lips quirked to the side, and Fiona’s insides clenched. She’d seen plenty of men smile—there was no reason this one should make her all fluttery. She didn’t go for the down-home country type, even if he was just play-acting. A cowboy hat? Boots? Please.

  She wasn’t looking for a leading man and even if she were, it wouldn’t be Nix. She sat up taller and raised her chin. “I should have come to you to apologize, and I’m sorry I didn’t. Seems I’m sorry for a lot of things these days.” She met his gaze, adopting her best aloof expression. “So thank you for coming to get it. I’m very sorry for the trouble I caused you.” He grinned and her brows drew together. “It’s okay for you to go now.”

  “Smells really good in here,” he said. “Like hot chocolate.” He waited, like he was expecting her to say something. “I think Lindsay said there was a pot of it…”

  Why wouldn’t he just go away?

  “Why are you being so nice? Fiona asked. “I accused you of attacking me and sicked my brothers on you. Should you be yelling and stomping around and demanding an apology or something?”

  “Well, I could stomp around a bit if it’d help, but I’m not much of a yeller. Never have been. And you apologized, didn’t you?”

  She nodded her head.

  “Then we’re good. Hot chocolate?” Nix prompted.

  Fiona felt her cheeks warm. “Yes, um. Lindsay did say there was hot chocolate.” She swallowed, wondering why her brain didn’t seem to be working properly.

  “Mind if I get some for us?” he asked around that annoying, cheeky grin. “And myself one, too?”

  “Well, it’s my place, so—” She started to rise, but he waved her down, dropped his hat on the coffee table, and went into the kitchen. “The mugs are—”

  “In the cupboard above the toaster, I know. Been here a couple times for game night.”

  Fiona slumped back into the chair, then leaned over to the couch to swipe the minky blanket off its arm. She didn’t know how she felt about him—this stranger, this guy who’d seen her at her worse and paid the price for it—knowing his way around her house. A house that she belonged to less than he seemed to. When Nix returned a few moments later, she frowned at the mugs in his hand.

  He proffered her a big, black mug with Diva spelled out in glittery, golden cursive. Whipped cream towered high above the rim, dusted with—she sniffed—pumpkin spice. She glared at him.

  He just smiled again, that shy-sly smile that twisted her gut and made her like him. She didn’t want to like him. She was way too screwed up to be liking anybody. Heck, she didn’t even like herself. Nix shrugged. “It’s autumn. Figured it’d be a nice touch.” She took the mug from him and decided not to comment on the fact he also chose her favorite mug—the only one that was obviously hers. No one else in her family would be caught dead using a mug that spelled out Diva.

  “Thanks,” she murmured. She did not want to chat with this guy. She just wanted him to move along. “Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be at your bar or whatever?” Now she had that bite in her voice, and it felt good. The edge helped her stay focused. Helped her remember that she didn’t belong here. Didn’t want to belong here and wouldn’t be staying long.

  “First, we haven’t been properly introduced. I’m Nix. Nix Elliott.”

  He held out a hand. Something about his name rang a bell and Fiona’s frown deepened. Had Lindsay said his last name? She’d heard that name in a different context, though she couldn’t quite place it. It didn’t matter, anyway. She didn’t know him, and they were obviously from two different worlds. Once she returned to New York, she’d never see him again.

  She stared at his hand a beat too long before clasping it then releasing it quickly. Not so quickly that she hadn’t noticed the way their palms had fit together. “Fiona,” she said.

  “Second, thank you for apologizing, but I also wanted to apologize to you.” He inched closer to her, their knees practically touching. Fiona felt the heat travelling from his knees across the three inches separating them. She wanted to swing her legs more that way so they would touch. She wanted to bolt to the other side of the room. “I thought you were choking.” He set down his mug—without using a coaster—and clasped his hands around his throat. “This is the universal sign of choking. And you were doing that. That’s why I tried to help.” He finally dropped his hands and looked at her, waiting for her to agree, or to challenge him, she didn’t know. She opened her mouth to defend herself, then snapped it shut when he continued.

  “Third, it’s not a bar.” He said the word “bar” like she had a moment ago, as if it was a dirty word. “It’s a variety club.”

  Curiosity finally parted Fiona’s lips. “What in the world is a variety club?”

  Nix smiled as if that question was his favorite in the world, despite being delivered in the most condescending tone possible. “It’s like a karaoke bar, except it’s not just for singing. Anybody is welcome to come share their performance talent. We get ventriloquists, acrobats—jugglers?” He said the last word as if expecting some reaction from her, but she didn’t know what to say. She didn’t much care for any of those acts. Especially jugglers. It was always the same, nothing new, nothing creative. It seemed all they could do was juggle more and more dangerous things and the chance that an arm might get chopped off with a chain saw didn’t thrill her one bit.

  “We get a lot of comedians, too,” he continued. “But we’ve never had an opera singer.”

  The hot chocolate had been good, and she enjoyed the feel of the warm mug between her hands, but now she set it on the table with a definitive thunk. She slouched back in the chair and crossed her arms over her chest. “And you probably never will.” She knew he was trying to bait her, trying to get her to appear at his little club. As if. She was so far beyond the “stage” at Variety on the highway between River Mile and the summit of Green Mountain. Never mind that she probably couldn’t even sing right now— and maybe never would.

  Nix leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, hands dangling dangerously close to touching her. He wished he could, if only to convey his sincerity as he brought the conversation around to the reason he came. He felt awkward and displaced around this woman—a distinctly unfamiliar state of being for him. From the moment she came down the stairs he’d wanted to touch her. She’d looked so vulnerable with her hair frizzing out of her ponytail, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes still glassy from sleep. But he knew touching her would likely be akin to shouting “fire!” in a crowded concert hall. He cleared his throat and clasped his hands together in an effort to make them behave.

  He waited, watching her face, waiting for that moment when she’d raise those stormy eyes and make contact with him. When she did, he felt that zing he’d felt the first time he saw her. Like being struck by lightning out of a clear blue sky.

  He shook his head and tucked that line of thought away for evaluation later. “Listen, Fiona. I didn’t mean to hurt you by bringing that up. It was just me trying to segue into what I really wanted to talk to you about.” He paused, hoping she’d respond, let him know she was open to a conversation. She didn’t move, didn’t respond, but her mouth softened and there was a flicker of something in her eyes—maybe fear, maybe tears—that made him want to figure this woman out—to ease her pain if he could.

  She pretended to be an Ice Queen, and maybe she fooled most people, but he’d worked with truly unpleasant women in the past and they were nothing like Fiona. He didn’t know how or why he felt so sure he was right, but he believed she played this part because she was afraid and alone. She put up this giant wall to keep people out—and from what he gleaned from her family, she’d been doing a pretty good job for a long time. He got the feeling from Lindsay, and from Jake and Gavin when they’d come to the club earlier, that they loved their sister, but didn’t understand her. Didn’t know her.

  Nix felt an overwhelming need to know her.

  Not to love her—she was exactly the opposit
e of what he was looking for. He wanted nothing to do with the spotlight while Fiona was fighting for it with all her might. But maybe he could be her friend, maybe a friend was all she really needed. And God knew he needed one, too.

  “I read about you online,” he finally said. He watched as emotions flitted by on her face, almost too fast to catch, but he’d been watching and so he saw. Plus he knew, or at least could imagine, those feelings. Desperation, loss, need, shame and fear. Lots and lots of fear. “I know something of what it’s like to work your whole life for something, only to have your hopes and dreams turned upside down. I hope you get your voice back, Fiona. I listened to a recording of you from that Falstaff performance at Jacobs your senior year. You were…breathtaking. I hope to hear you sing in person one day.”

  She visibly softened as he spoke and her arms unfolded. “You watched that?”

  He felt his face warm. Maybe she’d talk to him after all. Maybe this visit wouldn’t have been for nothing. “Yeah—well, snippets, anyway. I’ll admit I’m not much of an opera lover, but I can appreciate the complexity of the music and the talent and work that goes into performing it. I skimmed that production just to hear you sing.” He glanced down at his hands, suddenly wishing he had something to hold. To grip and twist. He glanced at his mug on the table, but he wasn’t sure he could keep the contents from sloshing over the sides. “The papers said you were a phenom of the twenty-first century. That the world would wait another hundred years to hear a voice like yours. Of course I had to hear it for myself.”

  She tipped her upper body slightly forward. “And what’d you think?” Someone else might have thought she really was a diva, always wanting to talk about herself, searching for compliments rather than talking about the big issue—like the possibility of never singing again. But Nix knew about this, too—performers were incessantly insecure. They ate and breathed paranoia like their lives depended on it. Competition lay everywhere, in every back-up singer, in every band member. Everyone was just looking for their opportunity to climb on your back so they could stand higher than you ever did.