Time Heals Everything

by Linda Swain

  She had grown somehow, without Nick even noticing; but it was more than that, Nick thought. Even the young woman who had danced at dawn in the arms of an imaginary lover wasn’t the one who stood before him now. The woman who stood at the piano just now was singing as though her heart was shattered and the pieces lay around her feet, never to be repaired. The song touched a part of him that he had never known existed, a part of him that wondered how he had ever been so lucky to have this gem drop into his lap from out of the blue.

  A single clarinet piped sad and lonely notes into the close air of the club as a single floodlight followed Kat onto the small stage. As her voice rang clear and true throughout the club, even the most unruly patron fell silent within the first few bars of the new song.

  As she sang, all the heartache in the world came into her voice, darkening it and filling it with sorrow and undeniable loneliness. When the song ended and the last note faded away into the stunned silence surrounding Kat, the club burst into an uproar such as Nick had never seen. Women silently wiped tears from their eyes, while almost every red-blooded male seemed to circle Kat as she left the stage, as if she were fresh meat on the open market.

  Only one man in an elegantly cut white dinner coat, seemed to hold back, observing quietly from his corner table. Outside of the fact he drank the most expensive champagne in the house, Nick thought little of him as he muscled his way through the throng until he reached Kat’s side.

  “Okay, everyone let the little lady breathe. She’ll be back later to entertain you.” Swiftly, his striking blue eyes pinned his bartender in place. “Tim,” he called out, his voice taking on a jovial tone, “set up a round for everyone, on the house.” Ignoring the startled look on Tim’s handsome face, Nick quietly led Kat outside.

  “I told you, Nick,” she said in a laughing rush as she whirled about the balcony floor. “I told you that it would be my song . . . they loved me out there.”

  Once again, Nick wondered if he had ever been this enthusiastic about life. “Easy, kid,” he warned with a casual wave of his hand. “This was only the first night . . . it’s a novelty. What about tomorrow or the night after that?”

  She was spinning in light, graceful moves of unrestrained excitement that stopped when she was inches from him. Her eyes gazed intently on his face. “They loved me in there, Nick. They loved me,” she repeated. “And they’ll love me tomorrow just as much.” She came up and put her slender hands on his broad chest, peering up at him with eyes that glittered like green ice. But she never got the chance to finish her words. Suddenly she was wrapped in his embrace; his arms iron bands around her waist.

  She fits so perfectly here,” he thought. The scent of lilacs, something that he had begun to associate only with her, was suddenly driving him wild. Silently he ran his fingers though her mass of curls. They danced through his fingers, warm and electric as he tilted her face up to his, his mouth crushing down on hers on one hard motion.

  How innocent she is, he thought dimly. So sweet, so eager. His fingers tightened on her shoulders as he tilted his mouth to take even more of her inside of him. He wanted her . . . wanted her more than he had ever wanted a woman in his life; but he also knew that he could never have what he wanted and knew that this was as far as it should go. Gently, he caressed her cheek even as he drew away. “Careful, kid,” he murmured, trying not to sound breathless. “You’re treading on awfully thin ice.”

  “Am I, Nick?” she questioned, her hands still on his shoulders. “I’m not afraid.”

  “Well, you should be,” he replied gruffly, his feet moving him even further away from temptation. “In fact, if either of us had any sense, you’d be on the next train back to whatever Podunk town you came from.”

  “There’s nothing and no one to go back to, and you know it!” Stunned, hurt shining in her eyes, her lashes filled with tears that she refused to let fall. “Why is it that you do that? Why is it that every time I piss you off . . . or even when we’re having a laugh or two, you push me away?” She took two sharp steps towards him, her eyes flaring brightly with fury when she saw him step back. “Well, let me tell you something, you can’t send me anywhere. I’m an orphan. My adoptive parents died the year before we met, so I have no one and no place. All I have is . . . Buddy and this club.” Gripping the cement wall, Kat slowly shook her head, her voice suddenly old and tired. “I never knew who my biological parents were. I was adopted when I was a toddler and my adoptive parents were the only ones that I knew. Then one night, a drunk ran a stop sign and . . . before it was over, I had enough in savings and their insurance to keep me going for a while.”

  When she turned to face him, her eyes were as cold and hard as his were. “The day that we met, I had enough money for one more night in that boarding house and scraps for Buddy to eat. That was it. After that, it would have been the streets for both me and the dog.”

  Briefly closing his eyes, Nick didn’t want to think of what the streets would have done to someone like Kat. She never would have made it a month on her own. God, no. Reaching out his hand, he meant to touch her, only to have her brush him aside.

  “It’s time for me to go back.” Pushing past him, she turned at the door, staring at his shadowed face. “Just remember one thing, Nick. Maybe you don’t want me, but there’s a houseful of guys in there that do.”

  He turned to watch her slender figure disappear into a mass of bodies, as an enthusiastic crowd milled around her. Rubbing the back of his neck, he watched coldly. Let just one of those jerks touch you, or linger one second longer over your hand, and I’ll kill the son of a bitch!

  He paused, stepping back, surprised at the depth of his feelings. Jealous? Me? It isn’t possible. There was nothing between them, and there never would be. She was business – a moneymaker, a crowd pleaser. But not a lover. He remained in the shadows as he ruthlessly reined in his emotions. When he moved back inside the club, his demeanor was smooth and under control, as always.

  Sliding up to the bar, he gazed down at the tabs piling up next to the cash register and blinked. Hard. Shaking his head, he grabbed Tim by the arm. “Who’s buying the champagne as if it was about to become illegal?”

  Tim glanced at him quizzically, moving closer to hear over the boisterous noise of the club. “What? Oh, I dunno, some Count somebody. He says that you know his mother.”

  A corner of Nick’s mouth lifted into an amused smile that brightened Nick’s blue eyes. “I know a lot of guys – but not their mother’s. Count somebody, huh? Is it the dinner jacket? You know the guy wearing about two months’ worth of your salary on his back?”

  There was something in Tim’s cocky grin that told Nick that the salary that he paid Tim on the books, and what cash he took home were two entirely different things. “Yeah, you could say that – but if you want the skinny, you can ask him yourself, ‘cause he’s heading this way.”

  Turning, Nick met the man’s eyes easily, although the strange, shifting color of them took him back a step.

  The green-gold depths of them stared calmly at him, recognizing the momentary unease he could sense there. Nodding his head, he extended his hand, a gold signet ring blinking under the house lights. “Nicholas O’Connor, isn’t it?” His French accent was thick, the words coming out as a soft purr.

  Instantly, Nick knew that more than one woman – and maybe even more than one at a time, -- had fallen prey to that smooth sound. The man was exquisitely dressed, -- not to hide any flaws, but rather, it was as if he used his body to accentuate the excellent cut of his clothing.

  “It’s Nick,” he answered politely as he shook the man’s hand. “Just Nick, and what can I do for you?”

  Perfectly white, straight teeth showed a quick, feral smile. “I wanted to thank you, m’sieu, in place of my . . . mother. I am Ashton Montserrat, and Megan is my mother. You have done her a great favor, giving her the opportunity to teach your young protégée. She is . . . très belle, as they would say in my country. Quite beautiful. You are
fortunate to have found her.”

  For a brief moment, Nick seemed distracted by the sound of Kat’s laughter, his eyes easily finding her in the crowded room. “I’m happy that I could do your mother a good turn. She’s a great lady.” Staring into those unusual eyes, at the dark hair styled so elegantly, Nick mentally shook his head as he compared his memories of Megan with the man who stood in front of him. I don’t know who she is to you, buster, but that old woman is no more your mother than I am.

  “Bien sùr.” His tone was light, but his eyes were watchful as an awkward silence fell between them.

  Well, Nick decided, aristocrat or not, his money still works in the till. So treat him like a customer and find out what he wants. “So now that we’ve gotten the pleasantries out of the way, what can I get for you, Count?”

  An elegant hand waved the title away even as the odd green eyes sharpened on him, recognizing that perhaps Nick knew more than he should have. “Just Ashton, please. Another bottle of champagne, perhaps? That would be excellent.”

  Then he was gone, slipping away into the crowd, but it didn’t take Nick long to pick him out. Although Simply Blues’ clientele wasn’t shabby by any means, it would take quite a few more regulars to combine the wealth or the poise of the mysterious aristocrat who had appeared out of nowhere. Nick watched him for a few minutes. Watched how he took the bottle from the waiter, opening it himself before pouring for his companion, who was as elegantly dressed, if not so well refined.

  He couldn’t hear their conversation, but then he didn’t need to. Ashton’s pretty young companion had been one with which Nick had a passing acquaintance, but he didn’t think he would be seeing much of her if she managed to stay tied to this count’s wallet. Not that it matters anyway. She’s not the dame for me. Not that there is one for me, but if there were, she wouldn’t be it.

  Bored, he turned his attention back to the mechanics of working a busy club, telling himself that its demands were a blessing in disguise. The bar was packed, Kat was pulling customers in by the handful, and the bottom line was that was all he needed.

  Chapter Three

  Kat’s success continued to grow, and when he stood at the open door to her dressing room a few days later, he released a long, low whistle. Yeah, she’s a moneymaker, all right, and not just for me. I would bet that all those flowers cost more than what she’ll make in a year. “Want to tell me who bought out the flower shops?”

  Bright laughter greeted him as she stepped out from behind a changing screen. “It’s amazing, isn’t it? I don’t think that I’ve ever seen so many flowers in my life. Look Nick, those roses are from Errol Flynn!” Rapidly she thumbed through a stack of cards that had accompanied the flowers. “See! There it is, and I think that it’s his handwriting!” With a gleeful smile, she held out the pristine white card for his inspection.

  Almost indifferently, he glanced down. “Yeah, I’d say that’s his handwriting all right. God knows I’ve seen it on enough of his bar tabs over the years.” Absently, he reached out to stroke the smooth bob into which she had recently started styling her hair. She looked sweet – beautiful as ever -- but he felt a keen loss at the lack of her riot of unruly curls.

  When she looked up at him, her green eyes smiled dreamily. “Really, Nick? Darn, a girl from nowhere and Errol Flynn, isn’t that a kick?” She instantly caught the change of his expression before sitting back, a small laugh escaping. “Oh dear,” she murmured. “I know that look when I see it.”

  “And what look is that?” he asked quietly, his hand still on her hair.

  “The one that says that there is a lecture coming.” With a dramatic sigh, she tilted her head. “Okay, what’s wrong?”

  “Wrong?” Moving away, he leaned casually against the door jam. “What could be wrong? You’re packing them in every night to the point where I’ve had to hire an extra bar back and the waiters are asking for more money. I’m making money hand over fist, so what could be wrong?” He looked at her with a cool gaze, one brow lifting as he saw the speculation in her eyes. “You’re a hit, kid. Enjoy it while it lasts.” Some instinct told him to duck, and he grinned as he did when a slipper barely missed his head.

  “I intend to enjoy it,” she answered slowly, turning her attention to the mirror in front of her. “And someday, people will point to this place and say ‘This is where that singer Katherine Collins got her start.’ Who knows, maybe they’ll even want your autograph.”

  Slowly, Nick’s brow rose as he reached for the discarded slipper. Crossing the room, he dropped it into her lap before crossing his arms. “Maybe they will, but in the meantime, you’ve got a set to get ready for.”

  Raising her pale face to his, she refused to drop her gaze. “It’s customary for the proprietor to send flowers to his main act. Where are yours?”

  “There never will be,” he answered quietly as he turned to leave. “I won’t send you roses, or remember your birthday. If you’re looking for someone to do those things, you’re looking at the wrong damn guy. There’s not a romantic bone in my body, and the only thing that I love more than myself is this club.” Coldly, his eyes met hers. “And if you’re smart, you’ll remember that.”

  “Wow boss, will you look at the crowd tonight? It’s going to be a packed house.”

  From his position, Nick could see how accurate Tim’s prediction was. There was a line at the door of people waiting for an open table or a spot at the bar – not that there was one available. He nodded and looked down the bar. “Better make sure that we’ve got plenty of champagne on ice in case that Count decides to make an appearance. Like him or not, he does bring in people with him almost every night – and none of them order cheap.”

  As he stood at the bar, Nick watched as tray after tray of drinks made its way to Kat and her crowd of fans. Not that she doesn’t deserve it. She brings in a good deal of money from what the swells spend on her alone. His eyes narrowed as he noticed the sleek black gown that caressed her luscious curves, the new necklace that graced her throat, as well as the long chandelier earrings that dangled from her lobes. Looks like they’re not just spending money on her drinks, either. Now, where did she get all of that? That getup set someone back a pretty penny, and I don’t even want to think what she did to deserve it.

  As the sound of her laughter floated above the din, he heard a different tone in her voice – a higher, lighter sound than usual. Grabbing one of the waiters, Nick scowled as he nodded toward her table. “Just how much has our songbird had to drink tonight?”

  “Gosh, boss, I just pulled two dead ones from her table and she’s got another one sitting on ice. Do you want me to . . .” He made a motion across his throat, but Nick slowly shook his head.

  “Nah, thanks, this is something I need to take care of myself.”

  As soon as Kat noticed Nick crossing the room, she knew that there was going to be hell to pay. His smile was just a bit too cordial and his eyes entirely too cold. “Gents, I hope you’re having a good time!”

  She winced as he patted one man on the back and shook the hand of another; he was the perfect image of a club’s host. A picture of bonhomie, she thought, as she hid a giggle behind a gloved hand. That is, he was, until one took a good look at the expression on Nick’s face. Turning to her, his smile could have chilled ice. “And you, my dear, as lovely as usual. If you don’t mind, fellas, I think I’d like a dance with my little songbird.”

  Extending his hand, Nick knew she had little choice but to accept it gracefully. His eyes narrowed as she stumbled slightly when moving onto the dance floor. Very few would have noticed that slight misstep, but Nick did. Silently, they worked their way onto a bare spot as the musicians moved into the strains of a popular song. Smiling tightly, he whisked her slowly across the floor.

  “Sing to me, Kat.” He was more than aware of how often she sang the number playing now, just judging by the number of times it had been requested. It was a song that made every man dream that she was singing just for him.r />
  “What?” Her eyes grew large as panic clutched at her stomach. “You want me to sing it here? Now?”

  “Now,” he insisted. “Just for me. You’ve sang it for every joker in this place, so why not for me?”

  “Oh . . . okay,” she stammered, all the while trying to keep her feet firmly on the floor and ignore the sudden knocking of her knees. Okay, she thought if the boss wants me to sing, who am I to argue? Swallowing a nervous hiccup, she pushed words past her thick tongue, but still the words stumbled until Nick was feeding her the lyrics.

  “You’re drunk,” he snarled. “You’re screwing up a song that you should be able to do in your sleep.” Gripping her hand tightly, he tugged her away to the outdoor balcony, ignoring the raucous laughter and the crude jokes. “Damn it,” he hissed. “How could you do this to yourself?”

  Sliding onto a wrought iron chair, she leaned her head against her hand, peering up at him with a lazy smile. “You’re awfully cute when you’re angry, do you know that?” Covering her mouth, her laughter was muffled by her gloved hand. “I’ve always wanted to say that to a guy. Now you know how it feels,” she slurred.

  “Yeah,” he growled, trying to regain his composure. “And in the morning, you’re going to know what a hangover feels like.”

  “Hey, Buster,” she growled, pointing a wavering hand in his general direction. “I’ve been to college. I’ve even been more intox . . . intox . . . drunker than this!”

  “Really?” His tone was dry as he inhaled deeply from a fresh cigarette. “When?”

  “The night that I lost my . . . you know, my innocence,” she announced, a sly smile on her face. “I can’t say that I remember much of that night, but it must have been a lulu.”

  “The night that you lost your . . .” He stopped to look at her, his voice suddenly growing colder. “Now, I know that you’re drunk. You have to be to talk like that.”