SING ME HOME (Love Finds A Home - Book One)

by Jerri Corgiat

  He punched the doorbell again, but nobody answered. Maybe Lil had run out on some last-minute errand.

  Mel tugged his arm. “Daddy, everybody’ll be here soon, and I want to put on the outfit Lil made me before they get here!”

  “Okay, baby.” He dug in his pocket and pulled out his old key. He opened the door, and music swelled from the back of the house. Lil was playing the piano. Loud.

  The kids scooted around him and scattered to their rooms. He reset the alarm and took a deep breath, growing dizzy on the familiar scents. Her perfume flirted with a bowl of lilacs on the coffee table and mingled with the smell of dust wax. He crossed the room and paused in the doorway to the rec room.

  Her straight back faced him. A light breeze from the door to the porch played with her curls. Her hair was shorter, still tousled on top but cropped close at the sides and back, shaping her head and emphasizing the long arch of her neck. Sophisticated. Used to be she would have dressed in a denim jumper, but today’s outfit was a stylish, smart suit.

  A pang went through him. She’d changed.

  Instead of the romantic composers she preferred, she played a Russian piece, a composition of large chords in a minor key, a piece of heavy drama and discordant sound. She played adagio. Using only her left hand, weighty chords sounded with restraint, slow, leashing the power of the music. Piano. Soft, then building, beckoning.

  He wished he had the right to tiptoe up behind her, slide his arms around her waist and lay a soft kiss on that smooth sweep of bare neck. Continuing his charade would take all his theatrical skill. He knew she didn’t believe him, but it was a shield he could keep between them.

  Her right hand joined the left. The volume and speed increased; the melody sounded above the chords, plaintive and haunting, at once tentative, then gathering strength.

  Sweat built on his brow. She was more alluring than ever. Forte. Louder. Fortissimo. No holding back. It wasn’t just the haircut or the clothes that made her a stranger. Somehow, she felt different. Her playing carried confidence and determination. Sweet Jesus, he wouldn’t have thought it possible, but he loved her even more.

  Her lovely hands struck the keys without hesitation, until the piano rang with barely controlled violence, gasping with all it had to give. In each note, he heard anguish, and he was shamed at his role in her emotions. The final chord blistered. Her hands fell to her lap. Outside, a sparrow chattered.

  “I’ve never heard you play that well.”

  She twisted around. Her face whitened, then flushed, eyes delft-blue saucers. “Jon.”

  He wanted to sweep her up, but instead he leaned against the jamb, suddenly needing something solid to prop him up. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to spook you.”

  “Where are the children?”

  “Getting ready for the party.”

  She looked at her watch, stood up and made a business of stuffing sheet music into the piano bench while her cat watched her. “I lost track of time. I still have a lot to do.” Avoiding his eyes, she slammed shut the bench.

  When she would have pushed past him, he touched her arm, and she froze. “Uh, Lil?”

  Her eyes softened. Too late, he realized he’d sounded pathetic. He let his hand drop, his mind filling with past images of Lil meeting his eyes with love in her own, opening her arms. He battled to sound offhand. “Thanks. For calling me about Belinda, I mean.”

  When his tone changed, her mouth tightened again. She shrugged. “I thought you should know before tomorrow.” The custody hearing was at ten-thirty. An uncomfortable silence gathered like a cloud between them and then she sagged against the opposite jamb. “In fact, there’s a few other things you should know before tomorrow.” She glanced toward the children’s rooms, then finally met his eyes. “I did a lot of thinking after you left and consulted my own lawyer. I decided to—”

  He couldn’t stand it. He knew she wanted to tell him something about the hearing, but she stood so near, he couldn’t think. All he’d need to do was reach out a few inches, and he could brush the satin side of her cheek, run his hand into her hair and pull the mouth he remembered all too well against his. The plea for understanding lurking in her eyes told him she wouldn’t resist. Her feelings hadn’t changed. He’d put her through all this, and still, her feelings hadn’t changed.

  He dug into his back pocket and pulled out a thick envelope. He’d wanted to do this gently, but if he waited, he’d succumb to the overpowering urge he had to taste her again. Steeling himself against her reaction, he handed her the envelope and reminded himself of all the reasons he’d let Lil go. Locking a grin on his face, he said, “Before this party gets started, there’s a little business we need to conclude.”

  “Something about the depositions? The custody hearing?”

  “Uh, no.”

  Lil gave him a perplexed look, then peeled back the flap and withdrew the contents. Jon’s gut went tight as she unfolded the papers.

  She looked up at him, open-mouthed. “You’ve had divorce papers prepared?”

  He held on to the grin and crossed his arms, afraid he’d reach for her. “I know we said we’d wait, but I thought, what’s the point? Figured once the hearing’s over, there won’t be any further need for charades. We could just move on, you know?” He didn’t tell her he’d come to that decision after he’d received her Valentine’s Day email. Like nothing else would have, that letter convinced him neither one of them could go through another two years of this.

  Her gaze continued to search his. “And the children?”

  “By then, I’ll have custody, but you’ll be the adoptive mother.” He gave a nod to the papers. “You’ll see some lingo in there about my visitation rights. They’re generous, but the kids would stay with you.” He looked around. “This is their home.” He realized his voice had grown bleak and pressed his lips together.

  Her gaze continued to search his. He held himself still, prepared to fend off her pleas and protests. To his surprise, she didn’t clutch his arm nor did she blink back tears. Instead, her jaw hardened, and her eyes went from a springtime sky to a summer storm.

  “Fine.” She spit out the word. “If you are determined to believe the absolute worst about yourself, if you refuse to admit, even for one stinking moment you might be wrong about Belinda, so be it. I won’t fight you. But I will fight for what’s best for those children.” The phone rang. Her mouth tightened. “Excuse me.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  AN HOUR later, Lil slapped some fresh napkins on the dining room table and ardently wished the evening would end. Low conversation droned in the living room, punctuated by Zinnia’s “honeybunches” and the children’s laughter. Except for Roy, stationed in the driveway to keep an eye out for the press, who had eventually followed Jon here, everyone else was watching Melanie open her gifts.

  Every so often, she heard Seamus’s or Jon’s voice underneath the others. The looks they’d directed at each other were hostile, but they’d maintained a chilly truce. Of course, Jon had earned a cold shoulder from most of her family. Except for Zinnia, they didn’t know details, but they knew the gossip, and they knew he’d hurt Lil. Her father acted like he couldn’t see him, Alcea was in ice-queen mode, and even Patsy Lee’s lips tightened when he was around. The children seemed restlessly aware of the currents beneath the polite talk, but her mother—her mother!—acted like nothing had happened at all.

  Lil righted a candle on the pink-frosted cake. Once Mari arrived, they’d light the damn thing, sing happy birthday, then everyone could leave. She looked at her watch. Shouldn’t be long. Mari had agreed to fill in for the layout artist at the Sun this weekend and had said she’d come as soon as the paper was put to bed.

  Alcea had appeared late, looking drawn and muttering curses under her breath at Stan’s refusal to allow Kathleen to come, too—supposedly since this was one of his weekends with their daughter, but in reality because he’d do anything he thought might twist Alcea’s nose out of joint.

  Lil
thunked the paper plates next to the napkins. Separation and divorce must destroy the brain cells in whatever lobe held any measure of rationality.

  Jon was a case in point. He still thought Belinda would just roll over when he flashed her some cash. Well, she wouldn’t. And tomorrow was soon enough for him to find out exactly what Lil had done to stop her. The shock would serve him right!

  She jerked up the almost-empty vegetable platter and carried it to the kitchen. She plunked it on the counter, and dip splattered her blouse. She stared down in dismay. Like a silly adolescent on a first date, she’d spent hours preparing herself for the evening.

  She shrugged out of her new suit jacket, muttering. She scrubbed the offending stain, then tossed the garment on a stool. Pausing, she stared out the open kitchen window. A shower had left the air redolent with an earthy smell. Threatening clouds were leading to an early dusk.

  She looked good, but Jon didn’t. The gold shirt that matched the flecks in his eyes hung from his shoulders and tapered into leather pants that looked a size too big. His face was chiseled in sharp relief. Fine lines she didn’t remember cornered his mouth. Dark smudges arced under his eyes. He acted unconcerned about what would happen tomorrow, but his looks said otherwise. She felt… Dammit. She wished she could just turn off her feelings.

  As a hand reached around her from behind, she jumped. It was Zeke. Smiling, he plucked a celery stick from the vegetable plate, then lounged against the counter. “I’m glad to see you, Lil. You look good. Different.”

  “I am different,” she snapped, in no mood for Zeke’s oblique remarks.

  He looked unperturbed. “How’ve you been?”

  She opened the fridge, pushed Petunia’s nose aside and sent him an incredulous look. How did he think she’d been? She didn’t believe Jon hadn’t told him everything. “I’m just fine.” She knew she sounded petulant, but she didn’t care. She dug into the vegetable bin. “Business is good. The children are thriving. And, as for the state of my heart, that’s none of your business.”

  His eyebrows arced up. “Okay. Stupid question.” He popped the last of the celery in his mouth and carefully blotted his beard with the edge of a tea towel. “If it makes you feel any better, Jon’s been through hell.”

  “It doesn’t,” she lied. She hoped he’d suffered all kinds of agony, but she didn’t know why he would. It seemed leaving her, divorcing her, wasn’t any big deal. She resumed her hunt for the bag of carrots.

  “He has plans to move here, did you know that?”

  Hands stuck between a bag of broccoli and a head of lettuce, she froze. “Why in the world would he do that?”

  “Looks good on the parenting plan he gave to the court.”

  She banged the bin shut. “I should have known.” All fake. All of it. Their marriage, his parenting plan.

  “And he wants to be near them. After your divorce.”

  She stared at Zeke. Would Jon really put the children ahead of his career? “Oh, for Pete’s sake. He wouldn’t do that. What would he do here?”

  “Set up a recording studio. He’s serious. He’s not just talking—ah, how would you locals put it—hogswallow?”

  “You must be mistaken. Start a recording studio? Here?” She snorted and thought of Joey Beadlesworth. “Cordelia’s not exactly a hotbed of musical talent.”

  “He’s an ace composer, and he knows the ropes. Sessions can be done anyplace and zipped through a modem. People would flock anywhere to record with the famous Jon Van Castle. Or to record a song by him.”

  “He wouldn’t. He cares too much about the band.”

  “His heart isn’t in it anymore. His heart’s with—” He pointed at a bag of carrots on the counter. “Is that what you’re pursuing?”

  She snatched up the bag. “His heart’s with what?”

  “Not what. Who. I’ve never seen him like this. The man loves you, Lil.”

  “I know that! I love him, too. Or at least, I did. Now I don’t know how I feel.” Her fingers tightened on the bag. “He’s destroyed—is destroying—us, Zeke.”

  “I’d say Belinda’s doing that. She always knew how to play him like a fiddle.” Zeke ran a tongue along his teeth. “Have a toothpick?” She pointed to a box. “He doesn’t remember sleeping with her. Says it’s all a blank after he got to Dodo’s house.” The toothpick slipped from one side of his mouth to the other. “She’s lying. Wouldn’t be the first time Miss Belinda has shaved the truth.”

  Lil dropped the bag of carrots back on the counter and leaned a hip back, considering Zeke. “That’s what I told him. Have you told Jon what you think?”

  “Of course.” The eyebrows rose again. “But you know him. The poor man suffers from the delusion he’ll destroy any woman he touches. And now he’s ready to portray himself as evil personified to protect you.” Zeke sighed. “Not to mention he thinks Belinda can be bought off. She’ll pull some stunt tomorrow.”

  “I think I’ve taken care of that.”

  Zeke smiled. “Thought you would.”

  “Jon won’t like it.”

  “Who cares? Just as I told him, the man’s an idiot.”

  Lil eyed Zeke, then relaxed against the counter as the last of her anger drained away. Her lips curved. “Yes, he is, isn’t he?”

  They shared a companionable silence, then Lil straightened. “So, I not only have to take care of the hearing, I have to prove to him he’s not the devil. Any ideas?”

  Zeke pulled out the toothpick. “One, but you might have some objections. The gentleman—and I use the term loosely—is a friend of yours, after all.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “When Jon went to that bar— What’s the name? Something about chickens?”

  “The Rooster,” she said dryly.

  “Right. When he went to the Rooster, your friend, that cowboy out there, made a point of warning him off.”

  “Seamus warned him off?” She stiffened.

  “Warned him off.” Zeke nodded, the toothpick doing a lazy spin in his fingers. He watched it. “It occurs to me the timing that night was quite favorable to Miss Belinda. Very coincidental, isn’t it, that she’d show up where Jon was.”

  “That’s what I think, but how could she have known?”

  “If I’m not mistaken, and I don’t think I am, it seems your friend is rather smitten with you. Maybe he can shed some light on events.” Zeke looked up. His expression remained languid, but his eyes were sharp and intelligent.

  “Zeke, what exactly are you saying?”

  “Am I interrupting?” Seamus materialized in the doorway, and she started, knocking a few carrots on the floor.

  Zeke pitched his toothpick at the wastebasket and straightened. “We’re through. Lil and I were just catching up on old times.” He gave her a slow wink and ambled out.

  Lil bent for the wayward carrots and busied herself washing them at the sink. Behind her, she felt Seamus approach.

  “Tough evening for you, isn’t it?” he murmured. One hand settled on her waist, and she felt his breath on her neck.

  She scrunched her shoulders and slipped from his touch. Twisting, she found him too close. She flattened her hips against the counter.

  He frowned. “What is it, Lil?”

  “What did you tell Jon?”

  Irritation flickered in his eyes. “Tell him? I haven’t said two words to the man.”

  “Not tonight. That other night, when he went to the Rooster. What did you say?”

  “Not much. The man was three sheets to the wind. A reasonable discussion was out of his reach.”

  “You must have said something.”

  “What’s this all about, Lil?”

  She banged a fist on the counter and the platter jumped. “That’s what I’m trying to find out. What did you say to him? What did you do?”

  His eyes slipped off hers. “Might have said a few things.”

  “What, for God’s sake?”

  “Might have said the two of you don�
�t fit. Maybe said you’re better off without him.”

  “You told him I was better off without—”

  She wanted to screech. That night, when she’d inadvertently compared Jon to Robbie, the self-worth Jon had built in the past months with her had fissured; Seamus’s words would have fractured it further. Then, when Jon had awakened next to Belinda that morning, his fragile self-respect had been utterly destroyed. “And, did you—did you let Belinda know Jon was at the Rooster?”

  Seamus was silent. A muscle convulsed in his jaw, then was still.

  She looked at the man who’d held her when she cried, bolstered her when she despaired, and, who, out of his love for her, had brought disaster and heartbreak down on her head. “Oh, Seamus.”

  He gripped her hands. “The truth, Lil. I told him nothing but the truth. You belong here. You belong to Cordelia. To your family. To me.”

  “I never thought of you that way.” She pulled away. She thought of Jon, aggravating, selfish, maddening—an idiot, like Zeke and she had agreed—and so very dear. “I need to tell him.”

  But Seamus grabbed her by the shoulders. “Hell, you do. Wake up. First you carry the torch for Robert long after he’s gone, now it’s this jerk who’s dragged you through hell and back.” His eyes gleamed with an intensity she’d never seen in them before. “He’s no good. I may have made a call, but he’s the one who cheated on you, and now some other woman carries his brat.”

  She pushed off his hands. “That’s only what she says.”

  “You’d think she’d know.”

  “But it doesn’t mean she’d tell the truth.”

  “Then who’s baby is it?” He halted abruptly, face suddenly going thoughtful—maybe he was thinking of Neil like she had—then he tensed again, eyes hard on hers. “I’m the one who loves you. I’m the one you’ve always come to. Don’t do this to me, Lil.”