Second Chances

by Leigh Morgan

  What he hadn’t counted on was his ability to learn scholastically. He learned French, German and some basic Gaelic in less time than he could have imagined. They tested his I.Q. and even his father was surprised when it came back at 154.

  Of course Seamus blamed it all on Ram’s Welsh mother, but Seamus’s Scottish and Viking blood held true. Ram could sing, drink and make friends with the best of them. If only he could win the professor’s heart so easily.

  “Pentla is a house.” Ram said shooting Rhia a quick glance. Ram shook off the past and his prickling conscience, hiding himself again. He’d let his guard down, something he couldn’t afford to do with this woman. She was smarter than he was, and he’d do well to remember it. Fortunately, he was more devious.

  Rhia just lifted a brow and harrumphed. She also put her bare feet on his dashboard. If he didn’t have to think about what he was going to say next, he would have chastised her. What was she thinking anyway? This wasn’t a minivan, it was the greatest Britain had to offer in the form of manufacturing, and it rocked.

  “I do own Pentla House. I inherited half of it when my mother died. My aunt Lynda gave me her share after my dad died, and I added a little to it. End of story.”

  Well, adding ‘a little’ to Pentla House meant adding ninety-nine percent of what was currently there. The house Ram inherited was eight-hundred square feet. He was lucky that it came with six lots that his great-grandparents purchased prior to World War One.

  Ram added to the house so Flossie and David could stay. Then he more than tripled the size of the house so he could bring his family here someday. He had the architect finish the plans six months after his father died. All he’d been able to think about at the time was that he wanted the deep kind of love his parents had in his life and that he’d bring it here.

  What a silly, fruitless hope. Ram may have asked Becca to marry him, but he’d never brought her to Pentla. For the women who knew him, Pentla was way below what they would expect him to provide. It wasn’t even close to Rodeo Drive. It didn’t have the panache of the estates other rockers owned. Pentla, when it came right down to it, was a house. A house in a remote part of Wales super-models and actresses, even the aspiring kind, didn’t want to live in. Hell, even the paparazzi would get lost trying to get here. Perhaps that’s why Richard Burton always escaped to Ponty. Aside from it being the place where he grew up, he and Elizabeth sought refuge from their chaotic lives here, and found it with the locals.

  Ram never brought anyone to Pentla. It was his sanctuary and, until now, there was no one he trusted enough to share it with.

  “Do you like Pentla, Rhia?” Ram tried to keep his voice neutral.

  Rhia dropped her feet from the dash, curled them under her and smiled at him. “I’d give up my house, my 401k, and at least one toe to make Pentla my home.” She was kidding about the toe.

  “Why?”

  “It’s about the most magical place I’ve seen. Your mansion is beautiful Ram, but it’s more than that. I love Ponty. The people are so open. The view from my bedroom is extraordinary. And I like going to the pub. Molly’s teaching me the Welsh national anthem.” Rhia sighed, silently saying goodbye to the Cornish countryside.

  She was so happy here. She missed Hunter and Ethan, but she didn’t miss work or the home she’d worked so hard to own.

  “I’m a different person here. I like who I am here. I like this place.” She didn’t add “I like being with you”, but it resonated anyway.

  “You got sicker than a dog the night you and Molly stumbled home from the rugby club. And as I recall, the two of you were slurring the words to every national anthem you knew. I wouldn’t call that singing.” Ram smiled at her. Rhia had been hammered that night. Molly had introduced her to Strongbow cider and Rhia had taken to it like a kid with ice cream.

  Rhia poked him in the ribs. “I seem to recall you singing a few rather nasty songs with the guys.”

  “Have you ever thought of singing the songs you write? You have a wonderful voice. Really Ram, you shouldn’t just write songs, you should sing them too. It might take a while to get noticed but it’s worth a shot. Isn’t it?”

  Ram started coughing. Rhia pounded his back but he couldn’t seem to stop. She pulled a small bottled water out of her purse. “Pull over before you get us killed.” She said, still pounding him unmercifully.

  “Damn it Ram, pull over and let me drive for awhile.” She pushed the water into his hand. “Drink this.”

  That was how Rhia drove his Jaguar for the first time, a feat Ram had not allowed another living soul. No one else drove his Jags. He hated having them valet parked.

  “Wow this thing really accelerates.”

  “Take it easy. This is a narrow road, Rhia.” Ram said between fits of coughing. The water didn’t seem to be helping.

  “Don’t worry. I took a defensive driving class right after my divorce. I thought it would help with some of the aggression I was feeling.” Rhia gave it a little more gas. The road was incredibly narrow, but fun.

  Ram grabbed the bar above the passenger door. “Dammit Rhia, slow down.” He shouted, spilling water on his five hundred dollar jeans, thankful she hadn’t handed him coffee.

  Rhia had the audacity to grin at him. “Just wanted to see how she handles.”

  “She handles just fine doing the speed limit.” Ram grumbled.

  “You know for such a hip and with it young guy you sure have a conservative streak. You need to lighten up.” Ram wasn’t sure if she was teasing or admonishing him.

  “I’m conservative enough to put you over my knee if you try that again with my car.” He wasn’t kidding, but Rhia wasn’t intimidated.

  She blew him a kiss. “Promise?”

  Ram laughed. The fact that she’d slowed down eased his nerves considerably. “I’m burning that sex manual when we get home. You’re becoming too sassy for your own good.”

  “Yea and you’re loving each and every moment of my transformation. It’s your own fault. You bought those boots, and all that leather and silk underwear. Not to mention that feather thing you used to...”

  “Okay....Okay....Uncle. Just stop talking about it. We’ve got another three hours until we’re home and I can’t keep a hard-on that long.” He didn’t need to go into what they did with those feathers. He had some other things he wanted to show her, but he had a question to ask her first.

  And that would have to wait until they got back to Pentla, where he kept his mother’s wedding ring.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The hurricane hit the gulf coast causing devastation that was unthinkable just hours before. Relief efforts were mobilizing, but government assistance was minimal. People needed water, food and shelter and they needed it now.

  Flossie hit them with the news the moment they walked through the door. Ram listened, then sat with Rhia in the family room watching the devastation in real time on the television. They were both stunned. Suddenly the reasons they had for worry in their own lives seemed inconsequential and insignificant.

  Ram knew there was something he could do about it.

  Excusing himself he went to his study and started making phone calls. Rhia was so engrossed in the images on TV she didn’t pay any attention to what Ram was doing or how long he was gone.

  Ram booked the earliest flight out he could. He’d meet Cowboy, his bass player and best friend in Purple Orchid, at LAX tomorrow evening. They both agreed to call in every favor they could to make Ram’s plan work. Time mattered now and every hour wasted meant more death. Neither was willing to let that happen when they could play a small, but important, part in helping the victims.

  After four hours on the phone and more payback commitments than he cared to count, Ram made his way to the shower. Feeling human again, he opened the top drawer of his dresser and took out the red silk covered box his mother had given him the night she died.

  Ram opened it with trembling fingers. He bought a seventy-thousand dollar diamond solitaire w
hen he proposed to Becca. He hadn’t even thought about giving her his mother’s ring.

  Ram fingered the small rose gold band. Grace Macleod was a small woman. She looked so fragile next to her bear of a husband and her son, who at the time of her death was already over six feet. In fact, Rhia was just about Grace’s size before the cancer shrunk her to the point where this small band no longer fit her slim finger.

  Ram brushed the tears from his eyes remembering his mother’s words. “I love you Ramsey. I love my big man too. From the moment that overgrown Scotsman asked me to dance, I loved him.” Grace placed the box in Ram’s teenaged hands. He didn’t want her ring. Not then. He wanted his mother. But Ram listened and he took his mother’s most prized possession because she needed him to.

  “This ring has seen a lot of love and it absorbed it all. Give it to the woman who touches your soul and fills your heart Ramsey. May she love you as hard and as deep as I love my Seamus. Look after him, Ramsey. He’s going to need you.” Grace died that night in Seamus’s arms. Having given her son the token of her heart and her love, she rested peacefully in her lover’s arms.

  Big Seamus’s heart had given out less than two years later, although the doctors said there was no genetic reason why. Just one of those freak things.

  Ram knew better. Seamus died of a broken heart. He’d seen Ramsey graduate from military school and make his first record, which went gold in a matter of weeks. Two months later, after fishing in Canada with his son, Seamus Macleod’s heart stopped in his sleep.

  Ram didn’t blame his father for re-uniting with Grace. It sounded strange for a grown man to admit, but he was sure his parents were together, two hearts floating through the universe. He just wished he had them both with him. He was sure they’d approve of Rhiannon, and she’d love them both. Rhia would have begged for every story each of them could remember and Ram knew from experience both of his Celtic parents were full of fanciful stories.

  Ram shut the red box. Shucking into his jeans, he put the small box in his front pocket. He didn’t bother with any other clothing, he just wanted to get to Rí and hold her. Maybe holding her would erase the reality of what was happening back home, at least for a little while.

  Thinking about his parents left Ram feeling vulnerable and yet inextricably hopeful too. He needed to hold Rhia, smell the wildflower scent of her hair and dream of never having to let her go again.

  Maybe he could have the kind of love his parents shared. Maybe it wasn’t a just a dream. Life was short, Ram mused. Now that he found someone to hold his heart, he had no intention of letting her go.

  ...

  “Do you love me?”

  The question caught Rhia off guard. She and Ram were curled on her couch listening to some classical recording of Ram’s. They were both emotionally spent by the images of the flooding and were snuggling and snacking on Flossie’s cold-cut dinner before bed.

  Ram had been tense since he’d joined her in her suite, but Rhia thought that tension had to do with the news. No doubt some of it did, but that didn’t account for his question.

  “What?” She said stalling for time as her heart went into overdrive.

  “You heard me the first time Rhiannon.” Ram said pulling her close and tucking her head under his chin. “Do you love me?”

  Did she?

  Yes.

  Did she want to share that information, well...?

  “Ram, do we have to discuss this now?” Diversion was a tactic she’d learned from her kids. It worked most of the time.

  “Yes, Rí. We do. We need to discuss this right now. I’m leaving in the morning and I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.” Ram was glad she couldn’t see his face. The fear coursing through him had to be clearly etched there. He knew that by the time he got back she’d know who he was, and he needed to be certain of her love before that happened.

  Rhia turned in his embrace. His tone was so serious she was beginning to worry. “What’s wrong?”

  Ram looked into Rhia’s pale blue eyes, memorizing the pattern of light freckles that graced the curve of her rosy cheeks and the tip of her pert nose. God, she was beautiful. In the way the stream running through Ponty and the mountains surrounding the village were beautiful. She wasn’t finely chiseled or polished, but the lines on her face were real and the spattering of white blending with deep gold above her left temple only made her more compelling.

  Ram felt his throat clench at the thought of losing her. It wasn’t just her physical beauty that attracted him, it was the way her spirit sparkled with energy and light. He loved her. He loved the way she elevated him whenever she was near. If circumstances were different he wouldn’t leave.

  “You saw the news tonight Rí. Things along the gulf are bad. In the next few days they’ll get worse. I need to do what I can to help.”

  Rhia’s soft hands caressed the side of his face. He’d forgotten to button his jeans, although they were zipped, Rhia noticed. He was so serious now she didn’t tease him about it. The look in his moss green eyes tore through her. He was usually so carefree that he rarely let others see what lay beneath the surface.

  Rhia had seen the sharp wit and the little acts of kindness he tried to conceal, but he was more intense tonight than he had been since he threw her over his shoulder and made love to her until she was so exhausted she couldn’t stay awake.

  “What can you do Ram? You can wire a donation from here. I’m going to tomorrow. Why do you have to leave? It’s dangerous there. I don’t want anything to happen to you.” Tears welled in her eyes. Until that moment Rhia didn’t realize just how devastating losing him, or knowing he was hurt, could be.

  Ram caught her hand against his face and held it there. “I can do more than wire a donation. I can help get other people to contribute. It’s going to take a lot of cash to buy water, food and clothing for those people. And that’s just the beginning. People lost their homes, their pets, their lives. Hell, their security just washed away. I know what it’s like to lose your family. I can’t imagine what it’s like to lose your home and everything you own too.”

  Ram let Rhia’s hand go and he looked away. Her hand didn’t leave him, she moved it to his nape and was running her fingers through his hair. It wasn’t sexual, not really. It was more comforting than arousing and yet he felt it all the way to his toes.

  “Ram, I understand the need to help. I just don’t get why you need to leave to do it.”

  He got up and left Rhia’s room without answering. He was barefoot and the lack of noise as he left had the same effect as a slamming door.

  Was this how people left, quietly, without explanation or hope?

  Ram was back before she could get too worked up, carrying a large blond colored guitar with him. He didn’t sit next to her this time, but in the chair across from the couch. She could see him more clearly, but she missed his warmth.

  “This is what I do Rí. I write songs. I play music.” He said looking into her, willing her to understand without really saying any more. This was one of the few times in his life words completely escaped him. So he let his music speak to her.

  Ram’s long fingers strummed the guitar filling the room with soft sound that resonated through Rhia’s nerve endings, exciting and relaxing her at the same time.

  He started with Fleetwood Mac’s song Rhiannon. Ram changed a few of the lyrics making it even more intimate. His deep voice adding a texture she’d never associated with that song, although it had always been one of her favorites. Now she’d never be able to hear it and not think of Ram, bare-chested, serenading her.

  He sang an old Beatles song, and one from Anne and Nancy Wilson about keeping love alive. He played some Celtic songs, and even one she recognized from the Carbon Leaf CD.

  Ram played for about an hour. He sang softly, with his eyes closed. It wasn’t until he sang Amazing Grace that Rhia heard the power he was able to generate with his voice. She’d always loved that song, but Ram’s rendition had tears streaming down her
face.

  He put the guitar down next to the chair but he didn’t come back to the couch to hold her. She needed to be held, so she crossed the room and snuggled into his lap. Ram’s arms came around her instantly.

  She pressed her damp cheek into the side of his neck and held him tightly. Her hands found his hair and she seemed to draw comfort from running her hands through the silky strands.

  “You play beautifully.”

  “No I don’t. I play well enough to get the job done. I’m actually better with the fiddle and the harp, but I don’t get the chance to play either these days.” Actually he played the violin almost every day. It was his mother’s instrument and she taught him how to play adequately by the time he was four. He rarely played the harp. Grace loved the harp and she and her sister, Lynda, played while his father sang. Lynda hadn’t touched the harp since his father’s funeral. Ram played, but he still felt more pain than joy when he did, so he only played on the anniversary of Grace’s death and Christmas day.

  He heard Rhia’s sniffle and smiled. This woman didn’t cry well. Her face got all splotchy and her eyes turned red. She wasn’t quiet about it either. That thought banished some of his sadness and reminded him how good he felt just being with her.

  Ram held her to him as he got up and grabbed a box of tissues from the counter. He settled her back in his lap as he sunk into the oversized chair. Rhia was such a lightweight, he was constantly amazed how small she really was. Every time she opened her mouth she seemed six feet tall. Her personality was just bigger than she was.

  “Ram, don’t take this the wrong way. I love the way you sing. But I don’t think playing your guitar and singing for the victims is going to help as much as donating food and water and medical supplies.”