by Cate Masters
He’d gone out of his way to help Oren, not only donating the sizeable balance he needed for Jack’s operation, but driving him there then keeping him company while Rainey operated on the dog. Had he only done it to garner media attention? She didn’t recognize the photographer at their send-off, but the guy sure seemed to know Carter.
Shotsie rose, winding her scarf around her neck. “I better get back. What do I owe you?”
She waved her away. “Nothing, I ruined your tea.”
“It was my third cup, remember?”
Was it? She had no idea, but shook her head. “I can’t charge you when I made such a mistake.”
“All right. I’ll buy something extra next time I’m in. See you, darlin’.” On her way out, she sang, “Only love can break your heart.” Shotsie passed by the front window, her breath a fog in front of her as she continued to sing.
She sang softly, “Try to be sure right from the start.” Sage advice, but Neil forgot to include in the lyrics the way anyone could be certain. Oh, she’d been positive in high school. Youth lent some superhuman kind of certainty about everything. The simple act of wanting something made it happen, back then.
Now, nothing seemed like a sure thing except the very real possibility of heartbreak.
***
More attuned to a laptop keyboard than steel strings, Carter’s fingers stung. How many times had he gone over the same chords and notes, only to emit a tinny, ear-piercing sound? After his mini-lesson with Rosalie, he’d practiced every night. Even tucked the guitar into the trunk of his BMW so he wouldn’t miss an opportunity. Even stayed at his parents’ this Saturday morning instead of making a beeline for The Sweet Spot. Four days away from Bliss and he missed Sierra more than he thought possible. But he had to get this right.
“It’s hopeless.” He set it beside the bed. Maybe he should focus on convincing Sierra the old fashioned way.
Over and over, he’d practiced. So why did he still suck?
Shotsie. She’d know. He grabbed the instrument and his coat and in minutes was downtown.
The sublime guitar of Hendrix filled his ears as he entered The Bliss Music Emporium.
With her eyes closed, Shotsie nodded in time with the beat, waving a hand in the air like a maestro to an invisible band. With her wiry blonde hair streaked with gray, she might have been Joplin herself returned to the living—or maybe vanished to Bliss to escape a crazy rock ’n roll life?
Mouthing the words, she twisted and writhed, gripped by the lyrics. Not until the song ended did she hang her head back, take a cleansing breath, and finally open her eyes. It took a moment for her to notice him, and longer than that to recognize him.
Finally, she threw her arms wide. “Carter. I didn’t expect to see you so soon.” She sounded like an old radio that had been left on forever, all static and gravel, ready to blow out.
“I need your help, Shotsie.”
“Come on in. What…is that your old guitar?” She reached for it.
He handed it over, amazed she recognized it. “Yeah, I’ve been, uh, practicing.”
She fitted it against her and strummed. “A little out of tune, is all.”
“No, that’s not the kind of help I need.” If only it were that easy.
Suddenly serious, she grabbed his arm. “What’s wrong, honey?”
“No matter how many times I play a song, it still sounds like garbage.” Saying it, he felt eighteen again.
All business again, she pressed the instrument into his hands. “Let’s hear it.” She led him to the corner where two chairs angled toward a stand holding sheet music. The lesson corner.
He shook off his nervousness and sat. After two false starts, he launched into the song.
From her wince, he knew how badly he still sucked. “Awful, isn’t it?”
She tapped her chin, her expression thoughtful. “It isn’t so much the way you play it as what you put into it.”
Huh? He shrugged.
“That song,” she explained, “contains waves and waves of emotion. Love,” she sang, hands clenched and trembling, “rain on me. You’re playing it in a mechanical way, interpreting the notes too literally. Play it from here.” She held a palm over her heart. “Feel it. Don’t just play it, let it flow from you. Like Janis did. Think of the one person you want to rain your love down upon, and let the song pour out of you.”
“I think I understand.” In theory, at least. He’d channeled every bit of spare energy into his business. If he’d ever known how, he’d forgotten how to give, though Sierra and Oren helped him remember. Worse, he’d forgotten how to give the most important gift—himself. The song would prove he could give her what she needed most.
He picked the strings at the song’s opener.
She patted his fingers, halting their movement, and gestured like a maestro. “Every note is a raindrop. Da da dum, da da dum, da da dum.”
Each trio of notes seemed to intone, Si-er-ra, Si-er-ra, Si-er-ra. Just as Shotsie had said, the song began to flow out from his heart to his fingers.
“Sing.” She prompted him softly, “Only love….”
He took up the lyrics from there. They came alive with meaning. Took shape with force. He sang like a freaking rock star, and forgot where he was, who he was. All he knew was what he saw in his mind: Sierra. Smiling, walking toward him, into his arms, the rest of the world a blur behind a curtain of rain that enveloped them, isolated them.
The strings resonated on the last chord, and faded into silence.
An audible silence.
He peeked at Shotsie.
She’d tilted her head back, the overhead shop lights and her satisfied grin glowing on her face. “Ahhh.”
“Was that all right?” He’d been so wrapped up in it, he hadn’t been listening. The music seemed to move through him rather than the usual painstaking process of plucking each string, concentrating on which chord came next.
She beamed at him. “Better than sex. Almost.” Barking a laugh, she squeezed his knee as she stood. “You still need to practice, but you didn’t need my help.”
“Yes, I did. You made all the difference.” He had to repay her somehow. “I’ve been thinking maybe I should get a new Fender.”
She waved him off. “You don’t owe me anything, babe.”
“I need to buy a Christmas gift for my secretary. Her boy, I mean.”
“You don’t say.” Shotsie sent him a sly grin.
“Yes. Actually, I think he likes keyboards better.” A quick scan of the store, and he strode to that section. “What do you recommend?”
She seemed to consider it. “How old is he?”
He wanted to laugh out loud with joy. Maybe she’d judged a kid’s need to create music more important than stubbornness.
“Ten? Twelve?” He should really know, but didn’t.
“Not ready for the concert circuit yet, then. Here’s a good starter one.” She ran loving fingers across a small electronic model.
He moved to a larger, more expensive one. “How about this one?”
She scrunched up her mouth. “A bit more advanced.”
“He’s a smart kid.” Though Carter last remembered Karen boasting he could fit four blocks together. Had it really been years since he’d seen the kid? “Listen, I have to leave town, but I’ll be back. Can you keep it on hold for me?”
“Of course. You staying in Bliss much longer?”
“Yeah.” Much, much longer. “Well, if I can play that song again as well as I did here, that is. Wish me luck.”
“Babe, you don’t need luck. Let your soul shine through the song, and everything else will follow.”
“Thanks for everything, Shotsie.” Giving her a quick hug, he headed for the door, nerves already tighter than an overwound steel string as he imagined playing the song for Sierra. The most important gig of his life was only weeks away.
Chapter Six
With the last of the branches inserted into the frame of the artificial Christmas tre
e, Sierra made a quick check of the tables in The Sweet Spot ensuring no customers needed anything. Her scan automatically went to the table Carter usually occupied.
Empty. So weird, how fast she’d gotten used to seeing him there. How fast he’d become part of her life again. And how fast he could leave again.
He said he had to go out of town on business, which is none of your business.
“Are you all right, sweetie?” Ellie asked.
Caught daydreaming again. “Yep.” She opened the ornament boxes. “Gotta love these pre-lit trees.” Though fake evergreens couldn’t compare to live ones. No scent of pine filling the air, and somehow, less magical than real trees.
Her mother hung a glistening snowflake. “Yes, one less thing for your poor father to do. He has enough lights to hang, between home and the shop.”
“Tell Dad not to worry about my place. I’ll do it myself.”
“I’m surprised you haven’t already. You used to start begging us to put them up right after Halloween. Christmas is a week away.”
“I will. Soon. I mean, I’ve been thinking about it.” Thinking about how it wouldn’t help cheer her one bit. She’d still have no one to kiss under the mistletoe, no one to snuggle with beside the fire. No, she couldn’t quite throw herself into the spirit this year.
“Thinking about it? Honey, if you—”
The bell jingled, and she turned. “Oh, here’s Rosalie.”
“Is that her boyfriend?” her mother asked in a hushed tone.
“Yes, that’s Paul.” She waved them over.
“Don’t you like him?” Mom whispered without moving her lips.
“Yes, why?”
“You sounded, I don’t know, disappointed when they walked in.” In a cheery voice, she called, “Hello, Rosalie.”
She mumbled, “I didn’t mean to.” Except that Rosalie couldn’t go out for coffee the night before because she had plans to meet Paul. Couldn’t have lunch yesterday because she saw something in a store that she wanted to surprise Paul with. The classic girlfriend dilemma, balancing friendships with boyfriends. The scale always tipped toward the boyfriend.
Arm in arm with him, Rosalie bounced toward them, while Paul seemed to drag his feet. “Hey, love the tree. Mrs. O’Brien, have you met Paul?” She tugged him closer.
Paul extended his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Glitter stuck to her fingers, so she brushed them together. “Need something to warm you up?”
Rosalie turned to Paul. “A quick something?”
He gave a nod. “Sounds good.”
Now she has to check with him before answering? “Are you on your way somewhere?” Sierra asked.
Rosalie hesitated. “Kind of.”
Sorry she’d asked, she headed to the front. “The usual, Rosalie? Oh, I bet you’d love the peppermint chocolate lattes. One of our holiday specials and everyone loves it.”
To Paul, Rosalie asked, “Want to try one?”
“Make it two,” he said, perpetual grin in place.
While mixing it, Sierra felt anonymous behind the counter. Rosalie and Paul held hands, their conversation low and private, punctuated by his smiles and her giggles.
She set the two cardboard cups on the counter. “So when are you playing again, Rosalie?”
Paul peeled a twenty from his billfold and handed it to her as the two exchanged an embarrassed glance. What was that about?
“Tonight, didn’t I tell you?”
She shook her head. “No. But we haven’t had much chance to talk.” Was she imagining things, or was Rosalie being evasive?
“True, I’ve been a bit preoccupied.” She wrinkled her nose at Paul, and then reached for the drinks. “Wish we could stay and catch up, but we have errands.”
We—their errands had already become shared. She tried to smile. “’Tis the season. Have fun.”
Rosalie scanned the shop. “Where’s Carter? Did he go home?”
The suggestion slammed into her hard. “Maybe. Who knows, he’s never been one to stick around.”
“Oh, he’ll be back.”
Paul shuffled away. “We better….” He gestured to the door with his cup and stepped backward. “Bye, Sierra.”
Alarm crossed Rosalie’s face. “Yes, see you. Call me, we’ll have lunch. Soon.” She scurried to catch up to Paul, and waved on the way out.
A funny feeling crept over her, and she kept watching. Outside, the two huddled right away, their synchronized walk not as unnerving as the furtive looks toward her.
She lifted her hand in a tentative wave. As if only then realizing she could see them, the pair broke into unnaturally wide smiles and returned the gesture.
On the way to the tree, she tried not to frown. Her gaze followed them until they were out of view.
From behind a branch, her mother said, “He seems nice.”
All she could manage was a thoughtful, “Mmm.” Nice and bland.
“No?” Ellie rummaged in the bottom of the box.
“Sure, he’s fine. Not who I imagined Rosalie to fall for, but so long as she’s happy, I’m happy for her.”
“Why don’t you go to Rosalie’s show tonight?”
She’d heard? Of course, her radar extended beyond normal human capabilities. “No, I don’t want to be a third wheel.”
“Then go out and meet some nice young man.” Ellie handed her the star for the top of the tree. “Here, would you do the honors?”
She dragged a chair over and climbed up, grateful for the opportunity to avoid the subject. After adjusting the star, she stepped down. “Look okay?”
Her mother drew her into a hug. “Perfect.”
She spied a mistletoe ball nestled beneath tissue wrapping. “What’s this?”
“A kissing ball. I picked it up last year, but haven’t decided where to use it.”
Sierra climbed on the chair again, and fastened it to a hook in the ceiling. “I know. Here.”
Ellie tilted her head. “Why there?”
She shrugged. “It just feels right.”
“Fine by me,” Mom said. “Thanks for all your help today.”
“Don’t thank me. I love helping.”
“Why don’t you take the rest of the day off? Go do something you enjoy, and maybe go out and listen to Rosalie tonight?”
“Are you trying to get rid of me?”
Ellie jerked her attention to the tree. “Don’t be silly. I simply thought you should get out and enjoy yourself while you’re young.”
Oookay. Had she and Dad had a fight? Something seemed off. “You’re right. I will. Thanks, Mom.”
On her way past the empty booth, she rubbed her arms, missing the warmth of Carter’s presence. She stopped to straighten the newspapers in the rack, all of them out of place. The national paper should sit beside the local, not behind it.
When she lifted one up, the front page photo caught her eye. Carter. Had something happened? A closer look at the familiar background deepened her chill. Not Carter at a business function—Carter in Bliss. Millionaire businessman makes holidays brighter. Beneath the picture, Carter Grove in his hometown of Bliss, Pa., donates thousands for dog’s operation.
“No.” So it had been a PR stunt? Why? Carter didn’t need more media exposure. Except this had nothing to do with business. Dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, he smiled toward the camera like he knew the photographer.
In despair, she glanced back. Ellie stared, shoulders slumped, looking every bit as ready to cry as Sierra felt.
“Great.” She shoved the newspaper into the rack then grabbed a copy before putting on her coat. Later, if she could stomach it, she’d read the article.
The chill stayed with her as she bustled down the streets of Bliss toward home, the holiday lights not cheering her as usual.
Five days, he’d been gone. Stupid of her to miss him. Even more stupid to expect him to come back. Bliss wasn’t his home. He had a life, a very busy life, and it didn’t include her. If anything proved it, th
e article did.
Upon reaching her front porch, she practically burst into the house. She jerked off her scarf and coat and tossed them onto a chair.
What made you think anything would be different? Nothing was going as she’d planned. The business launch still unrealized, she couldn’t seem to stop dragging her feet about everything these days, like she was stuck in a Groundhog Day of her own, repeating the same cycle and not knowing how to break out of it.
Some Christmas this would be. What if Carter really didn’t return? Why hadn’t he called? He said he’d only be away a few days. She wasn’t the clingy type, didn’t need constant affirmation. What she did need was an explanation. Don’t get all melodramatic. She sniffled and plopped onto the sofa.
A tree. Maybe I should go get one right now, and set it up. The thought alone tired her, and she curled into a ball. She drew up her feet and gave into the heaviness dragging her eyelids closed. A short rest, and then she’d work on the blog, at least.
When she awoke hours later, her throat dry and scratchy, she shuffled to the kitchen to make tea. One cup didn’t soothe it, so she made another. Heaviness weighted her entire body. A sneeze wracked her.
Oh no. Not a cold. Sickness didn’t fit into her plans. How would she ever make up for lost time? What if Carter did return, and she wasn’t at the shop? Would he leave?
She fumbled in the bathroom cabinet for the nighttime cold formula.
Tomorrow. She’d feel better after a night’s rest which, tonight, would be no problem. By the time she made it to the bedroom, shivering uncontrollably as she changed into her pink snowflake thermal PJs, she’d already begun to succumb to the cold medicine. Once beneath the blankets, she drifted into sleep, imagining Carter snuggled against her, warmer and more comforting than the downy cover.
***
Carter couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Carl, we have to wrap this up next week. You know the manufacturers are set for production before the beginning of the year.”