"I'm fine. Sorry for the confusion," Darien said.
"Confusion is an understatement. Why didn't you tell me you were canceling appearances? I’m supposed to know these things; that's what agents are for. What the hell is going on?"
Darien heard the sound of a car door slamming. For half a second it diverted him from the bombshell he was about to drop on his friend -- on the entire country music world.
He saw that though Melodi had parked by the big house, she was making her way across the yard to the guesthouse. Her arms were full of shopping bags and books.
Darien couldn't account for the pleasure seeing her gave him.
Another screech in his ear brought his attention back to Jimmy.
"Hey, are you listening to me?" Jimmy shouted.
"Yeah. Here's the story. I have a virus. The end result is I lose my singing voice. I'm recuperating and I don't want you or anyone else to know where because the doctors say that the less I strain my voice, the better it will be once the virus has run its course." Darien kept his words precise and calm though he knew that Jimmy felt the force of the facts just as he did.
Jimmy's reaction wasn't a complete surprise.
"You're in the Caribbean again, aren't you?" Jimmy snickered. "Who is it this time, one of the dancers from the last video? No, don't tell me. It's that model you were dating a month ago. That's gotta be it, right?"
"Wrong. I'm sorry to have to break it to you this way. We've been friends a long time. Hell, you started me on the way to the top. I owe you." The telltale tingling in the back of his throat warned Darien that he needed to stop talking soon.
"Tell me this is some kind of sick joke. Come on, Darien, enough's enough. You want fewer concerts, a bigger cut of the admissions, a larger record contract? Just tell me. I'll get it for you."
"Sick, yes. Joke, no. What I need you to do is think about representing my song writing instead of my singing career." Darien's voice diminished to a hoarse whisper. Sweat broke out on his forehead. He struggled to make himself understood.
"Maybe a rest, some time off is a good idea. You've been working hard this last year, playing hard, too." Jimmy's voice was thoughtful. "I don't want to hear anymore about writing. Give me the phone number wherever you are. I'll be in touch."
The sound of a screen door slapping shut reached Darien. Melodi must be headed this way. Great, just what he needed, another confrontation. She'd take one look at his shaking legs and perspiring face and order him around again. Bossy woman.
"Here's my doctor's number. You can confirm this with him. Start thinking about a press release."
At least that's what he meant to say. Nothing came out of his mouth when he opened it to speak. Not a cough, not a croak, not even a whisper. He tried to clear his throat, couldn't work up the smallest choke of noise.
He stared at the phone. An unfamiliar sense of panic clutched his gut. This was for real. He'd tried to accept it rationally before. But this… the first time his voice just disappeared hit hard.
"Darien, are you still there?" Jimmy's voice blared across the miles. "Come on, Darien, let's talk this over."
Before he could hang up, the phone was plucked from his hand. Melodi winked at him as she spoke to his agent.
"Mr. Stewart is temporarily indisposed. May I take a message?"
Her phony British accent caused a momentary tremor in Darien. What was she up to?
"Really, that language is uncalled for. For your information, I am Mr. Stewart's new executive assistant." A pause. Jimmy's voice squawked from six inches away from Melodi's ear. "I don't think that's physically possible, but I'll certainly pass on your comments to Mr. Stewart. He will be in touch. Good day."
As she turned back to Darien, a twinkle turned her dark eyes to sparkling spring water. The dimple he'd caught a glimpse of last night gave her face an impish look. That, combined with her tousled short hair and the sprinkling of freckles across her nose made Darien wonder again just how old she was.
"You look like hell," she commented. "I suppose you're one of those people who make terrible, irritable patients?" At his nod, she continued. "Fine, because I'm not very good with sick people. I never get sick"
He raised his eyebrows but appeared to be calming down. When she'd entered the room ready to call him on the carpet for disregarding the doctor's orders, the sight of his hands on his throat and the panic in his eyes had set her heart pumping. Instinct had taken over as she'd finished his phone call for him.
The man on the other end of the line -- definitely a show biz type. Who was he to Darien? It didn't matter now. All that mattered was for Darien to get well so that she could get back to her work.
"Have you had lunch?"
He shook his head.
"I'll fix us some soup and sandwiches. I'm starving."
Darien grabbed her arm before she could leave the room. He moved pretty fast for a sick man. His lips worked but no sound emerged. The set of his lips and the frown on his forehead spoke his frustration eloquently.
From her experiences with her brother and father, Melodi knew that even when men professed that they didn't like fussing, when they were sick they liked to be taken care of. Darien no doubt hated the thought of going against the manly image given out in all the magazines she'd read this morning. He was in a pickle, that's for sure.
"Don't worry, I'm not going to any trouble. Like I said, I'm hungry. Canned soup and deli sandwiches are as fancy as I get. There's plenty for two. How about joining me?" She grinned. "Your presence should add a certain elegance to the table."
Darien glanced at the sweats he wore. Feeble humor though it was, his face relaxed into a mega-watt smile. The first Melodi had seen on him. It disarmed her. No wonder females threw themselves at him.
She backed away from the sexiest smile she'd ever encountered. It transformed Darien from her friend's sick brother into a hungry wolf. She was the main course. She swallowed hard.
"I'll, ah, just warm the soup and, ah, make some tea."
She fled into the kitchen. Any more time in the presence of that smile, on that man, and she'd be the one shaking with fever. Not from an illness. Nope, lust pure and simple.
"That's all, just lust. A purely human response," she muttered. She cut herself on the lid of the can she'd just opened. "Ouch."
Before she could respond, a hand snaked around from behind her and pulled her to the sink. Cold water and direct pressure stopped the first spurt of blood. The cut wasn't deep. Darien turned off the water and kept pressure on the wound.
The touch of his hand sent a shiver of warmth through her. She felt the calluses on his fingers; was aware of his hands, large competent, and sure. His thumb stroked the inside of her palm. The action sent bursts of flame shooting up the back of her neck.
Chapter Three
He could stroke a guitar until it cried. Melodi had no doubt his talent with women was just as expert.
She struggled not to whimper.
Other women, she thought, not her. She jerked her hand away.
"I'll be right back," she gasped.
The nearest bathroom held first-aid supplies. She welcomed the burning of the antiseptic. It provided a tangible counter-point to her emotional confusion. By the time she'd bandaged her finger, her trembling limbs and rampant imagination were also under control.
In the kitchen she interpreted Darien's raised eyebrows as a signal of concern. She held up the bandaged digit and shrugged. He'd been busy while she took care of her injury. Soup simmered on the stove and two bowls waited on the table.
"I'll put the groceries away before we eat," Melodi said.
Darien shook his head as Melodi began to put cans and packages away. He removed the food from the shelves as soon as she put it up. It was almost comic. At last she threw up her hands, defeated.
"I have every intention of itemizing what you eat and presenting you with a bill," she said. "Graduate student grants don't allow for feeding indigent musicians with sore throats."
Melodi relented. Deliberate cruelty was not in her, even though she knew at an instinctive level that Darien wouldn't hesitate to make the most of any of her weaknesses, cruel or not. That was the difference between them, well, one of them at least.
"I'm sorry I taunted you. Look at what I found. It might ease communicating while you rest your throat."
From a small bag she pulled a child's secret message writer, the kind you wrote on with a stylus then lifted the cover to erase the marks. A bevy of cartoon characters danced across the top of the device in a rainbow of colors. Melodi relished Darien's grin as he took it from her.
"Thanks," he wrote. "What do I owe you?"
She told him the figure then served their meal. As they ate in silence the warmth of the sun and the sight of the lake in the distance provided an unexpected note of peace in this disjointed day
Darien's color was better than when she'd come back, but he looked tired. Nurturing was alien to Melodi. What she felt for Darien was nothing like she imagined nurturing felt like. She didn't understand what he aroused in her.
Whatever it was, she was astute enough to know that he needed more rest. He'd more likely get some if she were out of sight for a while.
The afternoon stretched before her. Since darkness fell early this time of year it was too late to take the boat across the lake. Instead, she'd take her notes out to the picnic table in the sun. Besides her work, she needed time to consider the facts she'd discovered about Darien.
Though he might deny it, his recovery was far from over. If the illness was what she thought it was, her research through the library's databases had been fast but thorough, his life would never be the same again.
"I'm off. Work to do. There's another cup of tea in the pot. I'll see you at supper time." She tried to beat a hasty exit but Darien blocked her way.
Forced to tip her head back to look at his face, she was aware of his height. In his stocking feet he must be at least six-two. Melodi couldn't tell what emotion he hid behind his heavily lidded eyes. His proximity had her heart beating triple time.
"Thank you for not asking questions," his lips formed.
At least Melodi thought that's what he meant. A moment later it didn't matter. One of his large hands cupped her face as he dropped gentle kiss on her upturned lips.
Gratitude, that's all it was. Sure. But when his feather-light touch sent a shaft of fire through her from scalp to toes, she gasped. Darien lifted his head. Small points of light gleamed in his eyes. A quirky grin tugged at one corner of his hot lips.
Melodi's knees turned to jelly as he lowered his head again. Somehow she found the strength to pull away. He grinned.
"Didn't I warn you about keeping your distance," Melodi snapped.
His dimple deepened.
"Egotistical man." She pushed her way around him.
He let her go, but not without one last caress along her cheek as she walked by.
She stalked up the path to her cottage. She wanted to run all the way to Bangor, away from the spell that man spun around her. Without speaking a word he mesmerized her.
Talk about a distraction. If this continued, she'd have to find someplace else to work out of self-preservation. His combination of strength and vulnerability, sheer physical presence, and her own innate compassion were enough to subvert her scholarly instincts.
Almost enough. She pulled her worn backpack from the closet and pushed some notes along with a reference book or two into it and went outside. Study had never failed her. She'd always been able to submerge herself in the study of early Eastern Woodland Indian culture. Often to such an extent that her friends suggested she would have been happier living then.
"They might be right about that," she said as she settled in the autumn sunshine.
The shimmering lake calmed her ruffled emotions. Keeping her back to the house where the cause of those emotions lurked, Melodi focused on her work.
She didn't look up again until the sun sat on the edge of the world. Fingers of darkness crept across her books and papers. An accompanying chill shivered across her shoulders.
She'd been reviewing her notes about housing and transportation. In her state of mind, she half expected to see a birch bark canoe, paddled by buckskin clad men, skimming the surface of the water. The lingering image was so real that she smelled the wood smoke from their evening fires. She knew the cedar bark wigwams would be just around that bend in the shoreline….
Wait a minute. She shook herself. That's better, back in the present. The smell of wood smoke lingered in the air. Of course. She turned and saw the telltale signs curl from one of the several chimneys of the big house. Darien must have lit a fire.
Laughing at her flight of fancy, Melodi gathered up her materials and wound her way to her own silent cottage. By her clock she had some time before the dinner hour. Time to pack an overnight bag and transcribe some notes into her notebook computer.
The main house looked dark by the time Melodi arrived at the kitchen door. Night bag, backpack full of books and papers, and her CD player with her favorite music filled her hands. She sighed when she realized Darien wasn't around to help her. Not that she would have let him, but it would have been nice for him to offer. The only things that greeted her were the hum of the refrigerator and the lunch dishes, dirty in the sink.
"I'm not his maid," Melodi sniffed. To be fair, she had left right after lunch.
She had filled the sink with hot, soapy water and put the few dishes in to soak before she realized the implications.
Wood smoke, apple wood she guessed, gave the house an intimate perfume. The silence unnerved her. Where was he? This spooked sensation was new for her. It was curious, considering her work. Anthropologists studied dead people and their cultures. Some days dead people were her best friends. She couldn't come up with a single reason that uneasiness filled her tonight.
This house contained two people who were very much alive.
Light, more light would improve matters. Odd that Darien was alone in the dark.
She left the kitchen to search for him, turning lights on in each room as she passed through. There were many rooms. This house had been a bed and breakfast inn years ago.
Now the many rooms stretched on forever. The wrap-around porch, glassed in at this time of year, winked the reflected lights back at her.
Melodi caught herself looking over her shoulders more than once before she found Darien. The sight of his sleeping form in front of the dying embers in the fireplace did little to soothe her. A sense of anticipation, like the build up of electric charges before a lightning storm, had grown in her as she'd walked through the house. The sensation came to a head as she glanced at Darien's peaceful face.
She should have been pleased that he was heeding the doctor's advice.
She should have left him to sleep and heal.
She should have turned the lights out and walked away.
On impulse, and maybe because she was irritated that he was so peaceful while she was so wound up, she pulled her wooden recorder from her pocket. Melodi could play the simple instrument expertly. Though she couldn't sing worth a darn she had a keen ear for tone and pitch.
She put the instrument to her lips and blew.
She intended to play a rousing folk song. To her surprise the tune that her fingers played took on a life of its own. It was her tune, the one she'd heard just before Darien's arrival last night. She'd played it on the piano that morning. The melody stirred such deep-seated feelings of longing and desire in her that tears sprang to her eyes.
Even though choked with an emotion she could not admit to, Melodi continued to play. She turned away from the fireplace and faced the window. The darkness outside was complete. Her reflection stared at her from the glass. She played softer now. As she played, a sensation of movement surrounded her. No, n
ot movement, it was more like a shift in perception.
At that exact moment a luminous white fog glowed through the window. It swirled, almost in… invitation.
When Melodi took the recorder from her lips the song played on in her mind. It didn't crescendo to a consciousness blowing level this time. It tugged at her to join it.
The swirls of fog diminished. Sunlight, the unique way it had of sparkling off water's surface, broke through.
This couldn't be happening. It was night. The moon wouldn't rise for an hour yet.
A glimpse of rocks and green meadow swam through the fog.
She shook her head, trying to clear her vision. She saw people, but what people. They came right out of an exhibit at the Natural History Museum. From their buckskin clothing to the bark-covered dwellings, they were the people she'd spent the afternoon studying.
Self-preservation warred with curiosity. This was the second time the tune had caused her to lose touch with reality.
In her mind the tune's intensity softened. The fog returned, obscuring the scene.
No, I want to see more.
As the fog closed in, a man ran up to the window. The astonishment on his face was plain. He looked Melodi directly in the eyes. This was not figment of her imagination. The man saw her. His lips moved. She couldn't hear his voice.
The tune grew louder. The fog closed off her view of that earlier life. The last thing she saw before night closed in again was a pair of brilliant blue eyes.
She blinked. The fog was gone, but the eyes continued to stare at her.
Chapter Four
"Is something out there?" Darien asked. His reflection stood close behind her own.
She turned, recorder clasped in her hands.
"Did you see them?" she demanded.
"Who? It's pitch dark out there."
"Did you hear the song?
"Of course I did. I was right over there." He pointed to the sofa.
"I don't mean my recorder. I mean in here." She touched her head.
Darien was confused. Melodi was distraught. The whole situation took on a tragic-comedic tone.
Melodis Tune Page 3