Harlequin Superromance May 2018 Box Set

by Amber Leigh Williams

  “I’m not talking about this, remember?” he said through gritted teeth.

  “You want to change but you can’t. Despite all your success and your clients’ hits, you think you’re a failure. You’ll never be happy until you get over this stage fright or whatever it is.” She pointed a finger. “Admit it, you’re scared.”

  “I don’t need fixing,” he growled. “How many times do I have to say it?”

  “Counseling could help you figure out what’s holding you back,” she said. “Just because it didn’t work with one therapist doesn’t mean it’s hopeless. Try someone else.”

  His face darkened. “I’m warning you. Don’t push me on this.”

  “You’re in denial,” Carly called after him. “And I don’t mean the river in Egypt!”

  He took the stairs two at a time. The door at the top of the staircase shut behind him with an angry click.

  Carly’s lower lip wobbled and she blinked rapidly. She hated fighting and to fight with Finn… Screw him. She didn’t have time to fix him, anyway. He was leaving soon and so was she.

  Yes, she liked helping people. But he was wrong about her thinking she’d made a mistake. She was through being a touchy-feely, nurturing type who took her homemade lunch to work. Bring on the expense account and the fancy apartment. Carly Maxwell knew what she wanted. And it wasn’t to hang out in Fairhaven, baking sourdough.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  FINN PULLED OFF the twine binding the gate shut and unscrewed the broken latch. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about how angry he’d gotten at Carly, who he counted as one of his closest friends even if he hadn’t seen her in more than a decade. Or how badly he felt now because of their argument.

  He’d wanted to reassure himself that Carly, at least, thought well of him, and when she’d drilled right down to the bone he’d picked a fight to avoid talking about his problem. She’d been in an edgy mood herself, spoiling for someone to take out her unhappiness and uncertainty on. Didn’t mean he should feed that beast. Yesterday at the beach, they’d been so close. Today that had all fallen apart and it sucked.

  He tossed the old latch on the ground and picked up the new one he’d bought at the hardware store on the way over. Unlike Carly, he knew his way around tools, thanks to his handyman dad. Not that she was to blame for her lack of experience in that area. And despite her family’s wealth, her father had instilled in her a work ethic. Finn respected the fact that she made her own way and didn’t rely on daddy’s money. Irene, too, deserved credit for keeping Carly grounded and exposing her to a different sort of life here in Fairhaven. The small town had lots going for it—the ocean, the forest, a close-knit community who cared about their neighbors.

  It was scary how perceptive Carly was about him. She’d hit the nail on the head earlier. Yes, he was scared. Yes, he felt like a failure. And he hated that she knew it in case she thought him weak. But she was wrong in thinking he didn’t want to work at his music. It was just…hard in a way he couldn’t deal with. Maybe he was in denial.

  He shouldn’t have attacked her about her job. Who was he to give career advice? She was smart, she knew what she was doing. And anyway, she was grieving. Actually, they both were. Anger was one of the stages of grief and manifested itself in unexpected ways. For all Carly’s inner strength, right now she seemed to be barely holding herself together. Truth was, they were both fragile right now.

  He put down the screwdriver and pushed on the post to test how solid it was. Like a rock. Good. Carly wouldn’t want to replace the whole fence if she was looking for a quick sale on the property.

  He turned to admire the soaring graceful lines of the house. The peacock-blue siding and white trim looked recently painted. But he’d noticed a few loose boards in the porch and the downstairs bathroom sink knocked when water ran. Those would have to be dealt with before the house went on the market.

  Thinking of Irene’s heritage home going into the hands of strangers made his chest constrict. This house had seen some of his proudest moments. Irene had been the first person outside his family to believe in him and her praise had meant more than any award. She’d been teaching music at his elementary school and had singled him out as having promise. Once she’d convinced his parents he should have private lessons his mother had begun her campaign for him to mine his talent for all it was worth.

  He sighed and pushed away from the fence post. All that was a long time ago. He’d put those days firmly behind him—until now. It was no wonder he was feeling churned up. Returning to Fairhaven had brought him face to face with his past, and how he’d crumbled under the weight of expectations when he’d most needed to step up.

  Dusk was falling by the time he finished repairing the latch. After making sure the gate was shut tightly he went in through the back door to the kitchen where the rising sourdough gave off a warm, yeasty aroma. Rufus, lying on his bed in the corner, thumped his tail when he saw Finn. Carly was tying up a large black garbage bag. She continued what she was doing without looking at him.

  “The gate is fixed. You can let Rufus out.” Finn went to the sink to wash his hands. “I’ll go to the hardware store again tomorrow to pick up a few other things. Is there anything you need?”

  She carried the garbage bag to the back door, still avoiding his gaze. “Packing boxes. Do they carry those at a hardware store?”

  “I could try to find a moving and storage company.” He paused. “What are you going to do with everything when you’ve got it all boxed up?”

  She pushed strands of hair off her forehead with the back of her hand. “Whatever is left after my uncle and cousin receive their bequests I’ll give to whoever wants it.”

  He nodded, hating the awkward distance between them, wanting to bridge it before it grew. “I, uh, said stuff I shouldn’t have earlier. You’re going to be awesome in your new job. I hope it turns out well for you.”

  She turned to him, her expression troubled. “I was out of line, too. I haven’t seen you for years. I had no right.”

  “Yeah, you have a right. You knew the ‘other’ me. Few people do nowadays. The only time I get asked hard questions is in Fairhaven.” He kept so far below the radar that his LA friends knew little of his past. And that was the way he wanted it. “Must be why I come here so frequently,” he added drily.

  “You don’t have to prove anything to anyone,” Carly said.

  “Neither do you.” He wished he could make her understand he wasn’t a failure, that he was still a musical force to be reckoned with, a valued part of the industry. Except that raised the question, was he? “Well, I’d better be going.”

  “Are you still staying with Dingo and Marla?” she asked.

  “They don’t have room for a house guest on an extended visit. I’ll go to a hotel.”

  A beat went by. “There’s plenty of space here.”

  He was tempted. But despite their mutual apologies the atmosphere felt too tense. The last thing he wanted was to risk getting into another argument. “I’ve already booked a room. I’ll come by tomorrow.”

  “Okay.”

  He nodded at the dough. “I see you wrestled it into submission.”

  “I’m taking your advice to let it rise overnight,” she said. “Anyway, Taylor phoned and he’s going to be working in his lab until late. I’m off the hook for another night as far as dinner goes.”

  He hesitated. “Do you want to grab a bite to eat with me?”

  “Thanks but I’m really tired,” she said, subdued. “I need an early night.”

  “See you tomorrow then.” He headed for the back door. “My boots are dirty. I’ll leave by the side gate.” He hesitated, wanting to reach for her, if only to squeeze her hand. But she was hanging back so he didn’t.

  Finn fired up the Mustang and flipped throughout the loose CDs in the console for something to listen to. His tiptoeing fingers li
ngered on an unmarked recording he’d made of himself playing his own music. Not even Tom, who managed his songwriting career, knew about it. The YouTube clips he’d mentioned to Carly were old. This was new, the best work he’d ever done.

  If Carly found out, she’d hit him with inspirational talks aimed at helping him reach his “full potential.” No doubt in her opinion anyone was capable of scaling Mt. Everest—without oxygen and carrying an extra pack on his back—if only they wanted it badly enough. It would never occur to her that he might already be living up to his potential.

  Ah, who needed stardom anyway, with the pressure and the lack of privacy, the screaming fans? Look what happened to Michael Jackson, Jim Morrison, any number of rock stars dead before their time. Fame had a price. He was happy enough the way he was.

  Was he? Or was he still on that river in Egypt?

  * * *

  THE NEXT MORNING when Carly woke, the birdsong in the big maple tree sounded cheerful, like something out of a kids’ movie. Good omen. Yesterday was the past. She would put it and the fight with Finn behind her. She swung her legs out of bed and almost tripped over Rufus, lying next to her on the floor. He wagged his tail, wriggling his pleasure at seeing her.

  “Good dog!” She stroked his silky ears, pleased that he’d stopped sleeping outside Irene’s door. But she hated to think about what would happen if he became too attached to her and she couldn’t keep him.

  She threw on a light dressing gown over her cami and pajama bottoms and ran downstairs to the kitchen, the Irish setter hot on her heels. Holding her breath, she lifted the lid on the sourdough. The wobbly, bubbly mass half-filled the container.

  “It rose, Rufus!” Not as much as she’d hoped, but she hadn’t fed the starter. Grinning, she danced on the spot. Rufus woofed and pranced. “Fresh homemade bread tonight.”

  She put on coffee to brew. Then, following the instructions she’d printed out, she stretched the dough and shaped it into a loaf before placing it into the special mold Irene used. Then she covered it with plastic wrap for another long proofing.

  “Good morning.” Taylor came into the kitchen, looking bright-eyed and ready for the day. “I’ll just grab a drink of water before I go.”

  “I made coffee,” she offered. “If you’ve got a few minutes I’d like a chat.”

  Taylor set his briefcase on the floor and sat at the table. “What is it?”

  Carly handed him a steaming cup. “I just wanted to confirm what we talked about before. Turns out I inherited the house. I’ll be putting it on the market as soon as I’ve done some basic repairs. So it would be a good idea for you to look for another room so you’re not caught short. You don’t have to give me any notice and I’ll refund any rent paid in advance.”

  “I appreciate that.” Taylor sipped his coffee, frowning. “There weren’t a lot of rentals in this area when I was looking.”

  “Could you go home, just as a stopgap?” Carly asked.

  “No, I’ll… I’ll sleep in my lab before I do that.”

  Carly’s eyebrows rose. Taylor had to be in his midtwenties but he had the air of a much younger guy. She knew it was a mistake to interfere, or even to get to know him, but she couldn’t help herself. “I take it you had a difficult time with your mother?”

  “Not difficult. I mean, she was good to me.” He leaned forward, both hands gripping the coffee mug. “Too good.”

  From her days counseling high school students, Carly recognized a tortured young man who’d kept his troubles bottled up for too long. A guy who was longing to spill his guts to a sympathetic ear. “Go on.”

  “She did everything for me,” Taylor said. “She was always hovering, asking questions about where I was going and when I’d be home. It was impossible to have…” Red filled his cheeks. “Friends around.”

  Oh, now she was getting somewhere. “Do you have a girlfriend, Taylor?”

  “No.”

  “Boyfriend?”

  “No. I’m not…” He rubbed the large knuckles of one hand. “I had a girlfriend. For a while.”

  “What happened?”

  Taylor gave a diffident shrug of his wide, bony shoulders. “Not much.”

  Carly bit her lip, fighting her urge to get involved. But if she could draw him out, find out what the problem was, maybe she could give him some useful advice. A parting gift before she evicted him. “Tell me about her.”

  “Kristin was from my statistics class, really smart and pretty,” Taylor said. “Everything was great until I took her home to meet my mom.”

  “Didn’t your mother like her?”

  “Mom was fine, welcoming.” He sipped at his coffee. “Kristin understood that I was trying to save money by living at home, but when she saw how Mom fussed over me…”

  “When you say fussed, what do you mean exactly?” Carly asked.

  “She did everything from making my packed lunch to buying my underwear. What was worse in Kristin’s eyes was how I allowed it. She told me—pretty darn bluntly—that she was looking for a man, not a boy.”

  “Ouch.” Carly remembered how much she’d loved her mother and how she’d missed her when she’d passed. Her dad was great but he worked a lot and didn’t have much time for her. The housekeeper was kind but she wasn’t a blood relative. Irene had filled the gap in her life her mother had left. The warmth of their relationship every summer had sustained her through the rest of the year.

  “I was so wrapped up in my research that I didn’t see myself until I did through Kristin’s eyes,” Taylor went on. “After that I tried to do more but somehow Mom always anticipated my needs.” He paused, looking miserable. “Anyway, it was too little, too late for Kristin. She’s long gone.”

  “I think you did the right thing by moving out,” Carly said.

  “I left Mom on her own only a year after she and my dad divorced,” Taylor said, clearly wracked with guilt. “I promised I’d look after her and the house.”

  Instead, his mother was still looking after him. “I assume she’s not helpless if she’s still doing all that stuff for you,” Carly said. “How old are you?”

  “Nearly twenty-six.” He made an expression of frustration. “I don’t want to end up forty years old and be still living at home with my mother doing my laundry and cooking my meals.”

  Scaring away every woman he brought home. “Was your mom upset when you said you were moving out?”

  “Yeah. I explained that I needed to be closer to the university since my research mostly takes place at night.” He picked at a hangnail on his thumb. “She thinks that when I’m done I’ll move back home. She isn’t used to living on her own. I do worry about her.”

  “I’m sure you’re a good son but she needs to make a new life for herself. The longer she’s emotionally dependent on you, the harder that will be.” Carly thought back to her regular Sunday evening phone calls with Irene, how much they’d meant to both of them. “Call her every now and then, let her know you’re thinking of her. Maybe arrange to visit every few weeks.”

  “You think that will be enough?” Taylor said hopefully.

  “Give her credit,” Carly said with an encouraging smile. “She’ll find the strength. Maybe this is the nudge she needs to forge her own life.”

  “I hope so.” Taylor checked his watch and grabbed his briefcase. “I’d better run. Thanks for the talk.”

  “No problem.” Carly carried the coffee cups to the sink. Finn was right—she had a habit of taking in strays. But when she saw someone in pain or in need, she simply had to help.

  Hearing banging out front she went through the house and opened the front door. Finn was tearing up the broken step. Planks of wood lay on the lawn next to a package of sandpaper and tins of paint. A stack of packing cartons sat on the doorstep. She was on the point of telling him again she would hire a handyman to do the repairs when she consid
ered the possibility that he might want to do it for his own sake. It might be his way of repaying Irene for all she’d given him. If it made him feel better, then fine.

  Yesterday hadn’t been the greatest day for either her or Finn. Even though they’d parted civilly last night their dispute had left behind a new coolness and she still felt bad about the low blows she’d thrown at him. Someone who was hurting needed support, not antagonism.

  “Thanks for these,” she said, picking up the cartons. Finn glanced up, grunted acknowledgement, and carried on with what he was doing.

  She carried the empty cartons into the living room and started to pack books from the bookcase. A music magazine lying atop a stack of industry periodicals caught her eye. She leafed through, curious. There was an article on a famous opera singer, another on a violin maker, one on the interest in ukuleles, a notice about a Steinway piano exhibition. Pages of ads for music suppliers and employment opportunities for musicians.

  A half page ad caught her eye. Molto Music, a top recording company, had an opening for a senior staff songwriter. Would Finn have the qualifications? He’d had a hit song recently but a giant firm like Molto would want a proven track record.

  She carried the magazine to the kitchen table where her laptop was set up and tapped Finn Farrell into the browser. Two-hundred-thousand-plus results came up, referencing songs he’d written and the artists who’d recorded them. Some she’d never heard of, some she had. Finn was prolific, no doubt about that. Checking the Molto ad again she saw that the return address was in Los Angeles. Perfect.

  With Rufus at her heels, she carried the magazine, a cup of coffee and the last of Frankie’s blueberry muffins out to the front porch. “Ready for a break?”

  “Sure, thanks.” Finn put down the hammer and reached for the mug and plate. He leaned against the railing, his long denim-clad legs stretched down the steps.

  “There’s a songwriter position going that I thought might interest you.” Carly handed him the magazine open to the page. “Check out the salary range. Pretty good, huh? I could help you put together an application if you like.”