Sam’s voice lowered and he dodged her gaze. “He, um…he doesn’t want people to know. He’s sure that chemo would kill him and he doesn’t want anybody to try to talk him into it.”
A subtle shock consumed her. She lowered herself onto the stage edge, remembering how awful chemo had been for her own dad. Her mother had relayed every painful detail. He had suffered so much and hadn’t survived long after. “What’s he going to do?” Her voice felt frail.
He eased down next to her. “There’s this clinic in Germany. It’s unconventional, but their track record with his type of bone cancer is phenomenal.”
“That’s encouraging.”
“Well yeah, but the cost isn’t. Then there’s the follow-up.”
Her brain felt rattled. “He doesn’t have insurance?”
“For what it’s worth. Insurance won’t touch alternative treatments like this.”
Her heart ached. The pieces of the puzzle were all falling into place, and the picture they formed wasn’t pretty. “So, those smaller offers for the theatre wouldn’t be enough?”
“Not by a long shot. Lucy and Bob and Nancy and I prayed for months, and then Langley’s offer came from out of nowhere. I’ve been asking God for confirmation that this is the right thing to do.”
He looked up and caught her studying him. Her stomach knotted, but when his eyes didn’t waver, her own gaze stayed strong. Her defenses abandoned her. She wanted to open up to him, to tell him she knew exactly what he was going through. She knew because she’d been through it too.
She gravitated toward him, giving in to the magnetism of his rich mocha eyes. He leaned in as well, his countenance seeming hopeful. For a moment, everything else faded to black. All that existed in the world was Grace, Sam, and the gradually diminishing space between them.
Just as their lips were about to meet, a noise jerked them apart. They both looked toward the audience, but there was nothing there—just darkness covering empty seats, and the dim outline of the exit. They looked at each other in confirmation that the sound had been the dull thud of the door shutting.
“Must be Nancy.” Sam’s tone held more curiosity than concern.
Grace bit her lower lip. He was probably right. Who else would still have reason to be there?
They sat for a moment, not looking at each other, but letting the reality of what had passed between them simmer. What was she doing? Sam was involved with someone else, and that just wasn’t right.
When he finally spoke, his voice was soft. “I know you think it’s a mistake.”
A mistake? She drew in a sobering breath. Did he think it was a mistake? “Sam—”
“Please just listen.” His look beseeched understanding. “My dad deserves a chance.”
His dad? Grace could practically hear her mental gears shifting. Of course. That mistake.
An edge of desperation crept into his voice. “I just don’t see any other way.”
Her mind raced. There was another way. She was the one who’d been selfish. An image of her own dad the last time she saw him took center stage in her head. What she wouldn’t have given for the chance to help him. She looked into Sam’s eyes and firmed her resolve.
“Sam.” She touched his bicep. “I have to tell you something.”
A glimmer of expectation twinkled as he looked at her. “What is it?”
She let out a long breath. “I think I know of a way that—”
The door at the back of the house whooshed open and Devon’s prominent form appeared backlit by the muted light. Tension thickened the air like smoke as Grace let her hand slip from Sam’s arm.
“Grace.” Devon’s voice was firm but strained. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen Sophia.”
Puzzled by the question, she shook her head.
Devon stepped fully into the auditorium, allowing the door to ease shut behind him. “No, I didn’t think so.”
Grace stood and Sam followed her lead. Devon strode slowly down the aisle, his eyes fixed pointedly on Sam.
Grace looked from one to the other, feeling like she’d stumbled onto the set of High Noon. She stepped between them, forcing a casual tone. “We were just talking about the theatre.”
Keeping his eyes on Sam, Devon stopped by Grace’s side. “Don’t let me interrupt.” He placed his arm firmly around her shoulders, turning her so that they both faced the stage.
She wanted to pull away, her attraction to Devon suddenly diluted. Whatever the problem was between these two, she couldn’t let Devon blow their cover. What if Sophia walked in? “Devon, I—”
“You’re kidding me.” Sam stared at them, his voice rumbling like distant thunder.
Devon remained cool, resisting Grace’s subtle attempt to remove herself from his grasp. “Too bad for you, Roberts. Some guys have all the luck.”
Sam’s eyes widened with controlled rage. “Grace, do you even know what this guy is like? He’s the one who—”
Devon took a step toward him, his arm trailing off Grace’s shoulder. “Watch it, Roberts.”
“No, I’m sick of keeping this quiet. She needs to know.” Sam looked at her, his eyes earnest. “He’s behind this whole casino thing. He’s the one who’s orchestrating it.”
Grace’s breath left her. She looked to Devon for some sort of denial.
His eyes shot fire at Sam, but his voice remained steady and controlled. “Don’t blow this, Roberts. Your dad needs this deal.”
Sam stared, a tightness forming around his eyes and mouth.
Devon smiled slightly. “I think you’d better leave before anything unfortunate happens.”
Grace interceded. “Devon—”
“I’m thinking about you, Grace.” His gaze on Sam stayed firm, as if looking away would signal defeat.
Sam shook his head, then looked at Grace with something that resembled pity. Reaching back to grab his guitar case, he retreated up the aisle and out the door.
The second Sam was gone, Devon turned to her. “I’m so sorry you had to witness that.”
Her words exploded in a fireball of rage. “Is it true? You’re in charge of this casino fiasco? That’s your ‘deal’?”
He nodded almost imperceptibly. “Grace, hear me out, please. Mr. Roberts is sick. He needs money for his treatment and this is his only chance. You think this land is worth anything near what Langley’s offering? He’s being very generous.”
“But what does this have to do with you? You’re a director.”
“I’m a businessman. You know how it is with the arts. You need to develop other skills to keep yourself afloat at times.”
Her head swam. “So you do what? Work out deals for real estate developers?”
“Exactly. They tell me what they need and I scout out locations. When the deal closes, I get a finder’s fee.”
She pushed him away. “And you don’t care what the casino’s going to do to the integrity of this town?”
“I think you’re overreacting. People might be upset at first, but it’s going to do wonders for the economy here. Pretty soon they’ll be happy about it.”
Her gut ached at the memory of her own version of that ugly thought. “Maybe, but why didn’t you tell me?”
“I wanted to wait till the time was right. Mr. Roberts and I agreed to keep it under wraps for the sake of all concerned. It’s not like I lied to you. I just didn’t give you all the details.”
“And now I’m supposed to trust you?”
“Grace. I hate to point this out, but aren’t you the one who lied in the beginning?”
Her voice caught. “That was for a justifiable reason.”
“Yes. And I still trust you. Please tell me you can give me the same benefit of the doubt.”
She wanted with all her heart to accept what he was saying. He was right. She had lied to him and he hadn’t even blinked when she’d come clean. Why couldn’t she be as understanding with him?
She clutched her lower arms to her belly. “I’m just not sure…”
Her eyes met him in a moment of confirmation. He’d gotten the job. Was he telling her she’d gotten the job as well?
A coy smile pried at his lips. “You’ll make a lovely Carmen.”
She could hardly believe it. Not only would she be returning to New York, but she’d be launching a new phase of her career. It was almost too much to believe. Letting loose a laugh, she threw her arms around him. “I don’t know how to thank you!”
“You already have.” Easing back from their embrace, he clasped her upper arms. “From now on, just roll with the flow.”
Her doubts melted. What had she gotten so upset about? The casino was going to be a reality, she had to accept that. To Devon it was purely a business deal, and it wasn’t fair for her to expect him to see it any other way. He was enterprising, an admirable quality in any man.
Looking into his eyes, she knew she’d behaved rashly with Sam. It was better for everyone if she kept her focus where it belonged—on her singing and on romantic prospects who were available and appropriate. Anything else was just an invitation for trouble, and she didn’t need any more of that.
“So,” his tone was efficient and upbeat. “If all goes well, I’ll be ready to leave for New York the day after tomorrow, right after Roberts and his lawyer sign the papers.”
Her heart pinged against her chest. “That soon? I have so much to do.” There was packing, and getting the house ready to rent. Pushing their plans forward would necessitate hiring and training her replacement at the theatre.
Devon held up a palm. “Don’t worry. You should have at least a couple of weeks.”
Her brow furrowed. “But, you said we’d be leaving the day after tomorrow.”
“You misunderstood.” The back of his hand grazed her cheek as his eyes betrayed a slight discomfort. “I meant me. I want you to stay here until we have the money to set things up right. I want you to feel safe.”
Her heart fell to her shoes. This wasn’t how she had planned it. She had envisioned taking the painting herself, not sending it with Devon.
“It’s really for the best this way.” Devon’s voice soothed.
“But, won’t I be needed for rehearsals?”
His voice remained steady, confident. “I’ll have them overnight the music to you. You’ve got weeks before you’ll be needed for blocking.”
Something felt unsettling to her, but she couldn’t say what. “Okay. But—”
“Don’t worry.” He rubbed her arms. “Life is going to be amazing. I can’t wait to get away from this Podunk place.”
Curiously, his condemnation of the town stung. Hadn’t he once expressed a fondness for Madison Falls?
She pulled back from him, sorting through everything that had transpired in the last few minutes. Her fists clamped together. If she had gained anything from her experience with Kirk, it was the ability to recognize her own intuition. Something here wasn’t right.
His face was difficult to read, but his voice quivered with impatience. “Grace, what’s wrong?”
“I’m not sure.” She frowned. Thinking straight was impossible in such close proximity to him. Pivoting, she paced a few steps up the aisle, then turned and gave him a long look. “I trust you, Devon, but I need you to trust me with just one thing.”
“What’s that?” His eyes entreated.
She pulled in a deep, strengthening breath. “When you go, it will be without my painting.” She firmed her stance. “I want you to give it back to me.”
Chapter 36
Grace bit down hard on her upper lip. Her hand flew to her face and she quickly checked her fingertips. Relieved that she hadn’t drawn blood, she scoffed at her own negligence. Thinking about Kirk always did that to her.
She scanned the roomful of opening night revelers. From her position behind the concession counter she could see most of the lobby, but no Devon. He still hadn’t given her the painting but she couldn’t exactly go hunting for him, not with Sophia lurking.
Perusing the room again, she couldn’t help but wonder if Sam would make an appearance. That moment they had shared the night before had been a mistake—that was painfully clear. He had a girlfriend after all, and Grace was…well…leaving soon.
She rearranged the cookies on the platter in front of her, thinking again how timely Devon’s entrance had been. What if she had promised Sam the money before realizing the full implications? She had been moments away from causing the downfall of Devon’s deal. She hated to think it, but would that have cost her the role of a lifetime?
Laughter and music permeated the cheerful space, and she tried to ignore the image of a wrecking ball swinging through the window. She forced back the ache in her throat that had been fighting for her attention all day, reminding her that the money from the painting could still save the theatre. Her gaze drifted to the ceiling. How could she possibly make this decision on her own?
Smiling mechanically, she handed a cookie and a soda to a patron and scooped up the change he’d plopped on the counter. She pondered. If Mr. Roberts needed the full million that the sale of the buildings would provide, would half the proceeds from the painting even make a difference for him?
She opened the till. Not only that, but she still had herself to think about. Would a mere half a million provide for her own protection? Having no idea how long the Kirk threat might continue, she had to assume that her need would be ongoing. What if his obsession never let up? She might need a bodyguard for the rest of her life.
Massaging the back of her neck, she turned to survey the concession stand mess. On top of everything else, Salvatore had started spurting out coffee grounds near the end of intermission and she had no idea why.
Now, standing amidst the post-show clutter, she folded her arms and surveyed the large silver cylinder that stood next to her beloved machine. Hank had come to her rescue, toting the urn from the green room to act as coffee understudy. Crinkling her nose, she inhaled the pungent odor that had worried her at first, until Hank had assured her that was normal for such an old appliance.
She glanced at the heavy rope-like cord that stuck out its backside like a frayed tail and wound its way down the counter and to the outlet in the lobby. This machine looked old enough to have served at JFK’s memorial, or at least its local equivalent.
“Grace.”
Snapping around, she looked into the eyes that brought out a reluctant yearning for a grande mocha. “Sam.” She gulped, frantically swabbing the counter between them.
He looked down at her hands as if resisting the urge to reach out and still them. His words were slow and guarded. “Can we talk?”
“Uh…sure.” A wave of apprehension passed through her as she navigated a small mound of crumbs into her hand. He was the last person she wanted to talk to right now.
“It’s probably none of my business.” His delivery seemed carefully rehearsed. “But last night, you…” He wrinkled his nose like a rabbit. “What’s that smell?”
Grace sniffed the air. “I don’t know. What’s it smell like?”
His features contorted. “Burnt coffee and chemistry class.”
Grace patted the top of the coffee urn. “Sal’s on the fritz.”
“Oh.” He sounded concerned, like they were discussing an old friend. “What’s wrong with him?”
“I don’t know.” Grace said. “He just started spitting out coffee grounds.”
“You want me to take a look?” He gazed past her, as if already developing a diagnosis. “I can probably fix him.”
“Oh…” Of course he could. He could fix anything. “That would really help. Thanks.” She pressed against the side of the stand to make way for him.
Taking his Swiss army knife from his pocket, he started to remove Sal’s side. “Anyway
, I’ve been thinking about it, and—”
“There you are.” Lucy popped into view, with Bob close behind. “We’re heading home.” Her eyes darted to Sam, then back to Grace. “I don’t suppose you’d like to walk with us.”
“Oh, no thanks.” Grace watched as Lucy and Bob shared a look. A blush crept down her neck for no logical reason. “I mean, I have my car right out front.”
Lucy gave her a smile that implied a shared secret. She hooked her arm into Bob’s and they strolled away like a pair of college kids on a date. Envious of the air of romance that seemed to hover over them wherever they went, Grace trailed them with her gaze.
She let out a sigh as she contemplated Sam, whose frowning focus was on the now partially degutted Salvatore. What was it about him?
He glanced over to where Lucy and Bob had been, then sent a look her way. “So, I was trying to say that…” He stopped himself, catching her studying him.
As their eyes met, her heart rolled over in her chest. His face held such intensity that she felt her breath being pulled from her lungs. She retracted her gaze. If she allowed herself to get trapped in the vortex of his eyes, she might say something she’d later regret.
“It’s about Devon.” His voice was low and somber.
She shot him a look. Devon. Of course.
Suddenly, a pair of giggly women stepped up to the stand. Grace turned, gawking in recognition. What was Sam’s hardware store hussy doing with his girlfriend?
Looking more glamorous than she had in her bathrobe, the tall attractive blonde lit up like a Christmas tree when she saw Sam. “Hey, there’s our boy.”
Grace turned a dumbfounded glare on him, expecting a reaction that conveyed the appropriate horror of the situation. Instead, he gave up a tight-lipped smile and turned his attention back to his repair job. Talk about a poker face.
Grace scoffed. A mighty casual response for a guy facing the allegiance of his apparent paramour with his partner.
“Sam!” Jill, a petite brown-haired girl-next-door, leaned in to claim his attention. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?” She tipped her head toward Grace.
Saving Grace (Madison Falls) Page 22