A Little Country Christmas

by Carolyn Brown

  But here she was, tucking the fiddle under her chin and finally looking over at him. Good gracious, he was one handsome man, with a slightly wild mane of salt-and-pepper hair and those merry eyes that were twinkling at her right now, sparking anticipation for the music to begin.

  Or maybe for something else she hadn’t felt in way too long a time. Dammit, she was attracted to him. To his long fingers resting on the piano keys and his blue eyes that seemed to see right into her soul.

  She nodded, and he turned and played the first few chords of the sonata. The opening theme was dark and rich and almost dirgelike, until the violin joined in, taking the musical variation high above the piano in a swirling, romantic style reminiscent of Brahms.

  They played the movement through to its end, which took ten minutes. During that time, Brenda became utterly lost inside the music. Jim was a stellar accompanist.

  What was it about music? Sometimes, when she least expected it, music could make the world and all its troubles fade away until only the notes and the rhythm remained. Once upon a time, before she had lost so much, Brenda had told Momma that playing the violin was like praying. God lived inside the music.

  This time, though, it wasn’t God she felt. It was Jim.

  When the last note of the movement faded away, they turned toward each other. His eyes were shiny, and her heart pounded like timpani in her chest.

  For an instant, the connection held, and then he burst into a bright laugh. “That was fun,” he said.

  She tucked the violin under her arm as heat crawled up her cheeks. She was an idiot. She’d promised herself, long ago, never to let anyone into her life who could push her around. And suddenly it seemed as if she had.

  She put her violin in the case, avoiding eye contact. “So…,” she said on a long breath, “I guess I should get busy looking at the music for the concert.”

  “I guess maybe you should, unless you want to help me and Dylan decorate a boat for the Festival of Lights.”

  She cocked her head. “You have a boat?”

  “No, but Jude St. Pierre just bought a new one. It’s a 150-foot gaff-rigged schooner. Built back in the 1930s. They just christened it Synchronicity Too. He must have spent a fortune fitting that boat out, but I reckon he’ll earn it back with more people on his sunset cruises. Anyway, the boat has two masts and a bunch of yardarms. It’s going to take a lot of twinkle lights to make it shine during the Christmas boat parade. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind extra help.”

  “No thanks. I’m not climbing up any boat masts. I’m afraid of heights.”

  “Really? Or is it just Christmas lights you have a problem with?” He winked.

  “I really need to get ready for the rehearsal on Monday.”

  “All work and no play…,” he said.

  “Jim, do you want me to direct your chorale, or do you want me to suddenly have a magical transformation and throw myself into Christmas like the rest of the people in this town?”

  “Well, actually, I’d love to see both.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you need a little Christmas.”

  “And now, thanks to your Christmas Gala, I have exactly that. A little Christmas. A little Christmas goes a long, long way.”

  “So, I guess you wouldn’t want to actually ride on Synchronicity Too.”

  Brenda blinked. What the hell? “Are you asking me out on one of the sunset cruises?” she blurted.

  He laughed. “No. I’m asking you to participate in this year’s Festival of Lights. Jude’s invited some of the kids from the clinic, and he wants to go full-out pirate for this.”

  “Pirate?”

  “Jude is advertising his pirate cruises, and you know how the kids love pirates in this town. So anyway, everyone on the boat is going to dress up like a pirate…or a wench. And there will be lots of fun for the clinic kids.”

  “Pirates and Christmas? Together? Really?”

  “Yup. Which is why taking a ride on Synchronicity Too would be perfect for you.”

  “Perfect how?”

  “It will get you out of the house, and I promise there will be no elves or Santas involved.”

  “But it’s a Christmas parade.”

  “Okay, if you want to get technical…” He rolled his beautiful blue eyes, and damn if she didn’t suddenly want to dress up like a pirate wench.

  “Are you dressing up?” she asked.

  “In a tricorn hat and a big frock coat.”

  The idea of seeing him dressed up like that appealed to her in a completely forbidden way. He’d look really good in a frock coat and knee britches.

  “Okay. I’ll think about it,” she said.

  He grinned, and she melted a little.

  “Good,” he said, and then headed toward the door. But he stopped before he opened it. “I loved playing music with you. Maybe we could get together again sometime?”

  A fire ignited in her middle. “I’d like that,” she said.

  Chapter Six

  Brenda stood in the middle of the Rutledge High School cafeteria checking her watch. It was five minutes to seven, and half the chairs set up at the end of the room were empty. Where was everyone? Had they boycotted the first rehearsal because she’d agreed to be the choir director?

  Even her accompanist, the talented and infuriating Doc Killough, was MIA. She wasn’t entirely sure what she’d do if Jim didn’t show up. She could play the piano, but she was no accompanist, and playing the piano while simultaneously trying to direct would be difficult.

  She dug into the box of music Jim had given her on Saturday and pulled out thirty sets of an arrangement of “Joy to the World” and “He’s Got the Whole World in His Hands.” It was easy to learn and upbeat—a perfect song for the opening of their program. She was scratching the song Simon had selected because it was one of the pieces her choir had planned to sing the night Katie Liao was killed.

  There were too many bad memories associated with “In the Bleak Midwinter.”

  She passed out the music to the choir members who were sitting in their chairs. But at 7:03 p.m., a quarter of the chairs were still empty.

  “Where is everyone?” she asked Jim, who had finally arrived at the stroke of seven and seated himself at the electronic piano they were borrowing from the high school’s music department. He took the sheet music and began studying the piece. His presence sent an electric hum through her body that she tried, without any success, to suppress.

  “They’ll be along, eventually,” he said.

  She pulled her gaze away from the doctor and checked her watch again, irritation mounting. She had only one hour each Monday night to get the group ready for their concert. How the heck was she supposed to whip these people into a choir if folks didn’t show up on time?

  Just then, Donna Cuthbert and Leanne Milford strolled into the room, talking and laughing.

  “I’m so glad you could join us,” Brenda said, glaring at them.

  They stopped and stared at her with surprised faces.

  “You’re late. Rehearsal starts at seven o’clock.”

  The two women glanced at each other and then shucked their coats as a few more choir members wandered in.

  Brenda waited, grinding her teeth as they found their seats. There were still a few empty chairs. She glanced over at Jim, who was giving her a little frown. What? Did he expect her to be nice to everyone and not rock any boats? She stomped on the urge to ask his permission to take charge. She didn’t need permission. Choirs were not democracies. Either the singers followed the director or the result was cacophony.

  Brenda took her place in front of the music stand facing the choir. “Let me make my expectations clear. I don’t know how Simon managed this group in the past. But I’m not Simon. I’m…” She paused a moment because she almost referred to herself as Ms. McMillan, as if they were a class of high school students and not adults.

  “I’m Brenda,” she said. “And I expect you to be here at 7:00 p.m. Not five minutes
later. And I expect you not to talk while I’m talking.” She turned and glared at the soprano section where Donna Cuthbert was whispering something into Lori Colbert’s ear. The ladies snapped to attention, and Donna’s face flushed red.

  “How many of you can read music?”

  The majority of the group raised their hands.

  “Good. Because we’re making a few changes in the program. We’re dropping ‘In the Bleak Midwinter’ and adding ‘Joy to the Whole World.’ I also want to add an arrangement of ‘Silent Night’ toward the end of the program, but I will need to find and purchase some music before next week. So stand by.”

  There was an audible hum of distress among the group.

  “None of the new songs will be difficult to learn. I’m sure you’re all capable.”

  But after an hour of working with them, she wondered just how capable any of them were. They had been working with Simon for three weeks before he’d been stricken, and yet they didn’t know their parts, even for the easy pieces. She was able to get through only two of the songs, and there were a few more audible grumbles as the choir members filed out of the cafeteria when rehearsal was finished.

  Well, too bad. It was a classic case of be careful what you wish for.

  She was collecting her music from the stand when Jim walked up behind her. She felt his approach long before he arrived. The man seemed to generate heat wherever he went.

  “So,” he said, “that went well.”

  She turned. “You think?”

  “You took charge. That’s important.”

  A little frisson of relief washed through her. “Glad you understand.”

  “I never expected anything less. Simon used to annoy me sometimes. He always took his work at Grace Methodist more seriously than what we did here.”

  “I see,” she said, wondering why Simon would do something like that. A choir director needed to make sure his performers didn’t make fools of themselves.

  So,” Jim said cocking his head, “have you thought about my invitation?”

  “To dress up like a pirate wench?”

  His mouth curled, and the twinkle in his eyes deepened. “Yup.”

  She’d all but decided to tell him no, but standing there, looking up into those incredible blue eyes, she suddenly wanted to say yes. It had been a long time since she’d wanted to say yes to anything. But she couldn’t say yes, could she?

  “What’s stopping you?” he asked as if he could read her mind.

  So many things. “People are going to laugh at me for dressing up like a pirate wench,” she said. “And besides, I’m too old for something like that.”

  “No you’re not. You’re younger than I am.”

  “It’s not the same. I’m going to be wearing one of those bodices, you know, and…” Her voice faded away. She was not about to say something stupid like her cleavage was too old to be on display like that.

  “Yeah. I know,” he said, a flirty smile lighting up his face.

  She blinked and blushed, the heat climbing her face.

  He rushed into the awkward moment with more words. “And no one is going to laugh. People love pirates in this town. It’s part of our history. And even if they do, they’ll be laughing along with us, right? I mean, Yo ho ho.”

  She laughed. Because it was funny. And it struck her right then that Keith McMillan would never have dressed up as a pirate. Not in a million years. Because he wasn’t comfortable with his masculinity.

  “I guess it is kind of funny in a good way,” she admitted.

  “There you go. Say yes. Please.”

  “Why? Because I need a little Christmas?”

  He shook his head. “No. Because I’d like you to come.” He paused for a moment. “And I’d like to see you wearing that costume.”

  For an instant, she might have been riding on the Tower of Terror. Her stomach dropped, and she was free-falling. She certainly didn’t want to fall in love, and she was probably too old for lust. And besides, if she had to fall into anything, it would be best not to do it during the holidays. That would be just plain dumb and risky. “I don’t know,” she said in a strangled tone.

  “Please,” he murmured.

  She drew in a sharp breath filled with his scent, which was one-part vanilla and another part clean and astringent. She closed her eyes. Would it be so bad to say yes? She opened her eyes and found herself trapped in his twinkly gaze. “Okay.” She breathed the word.

  “Great. I’ll drop by with your costume in the next day or two. Maybe we can play the Amy Beach again. I’d really like that.”

  “I would too.”

  And then he turned and headed out the doors, leaving her alone and weak in the knees.

  Chapter Seven

  Dylan was furious about something, but Jim couldn’t figure out what. They were sitting in the middle of Rafferty’s dining room grabbing a bite after work, and his son hadn’t said one word in the last fifteen minutes. That wasn’t like Dylan. He would talk about sports or his passion for fly-fishing, but he rarely sat rigid like that, with a pinched look to his mouth.

  “You want to tell me what’s bugging you?” Jim asked.

  Dylan leaned forward, shoulders hunched. “Have you lost your mind?” he asked in a harsh whisper as if he didn’t want anyone at the next table over to hear him.

  Jim glanced in that direction. It looked as if Kerri Eaton was having a nice evening out with her girlfriends. He didn’t think Kerri, the proprietor of the Daffy Down Dilly boutique on Harbor Drive, cared one whit about the discussion happening at Jim’s table. The girls seemed to be having a lovely time.

  “I don’t think I’ve lost my mind. What’s the problem?”

  “I heard from Debbie Shane that you’ve been visiting Brenda McMillan out at her place. In the evenings. Are you sleeping with that woman?”

  Jim almost choked on his beer.

  “Dad, are you okay?”

  Jim waved Dylan away as he coughed. What the hell? Did Dylan think he was romantically involved with Brenda?

  He leaned back in his chair, wiping his mouth with his napkin, and the idea opened in his mind like a beautiful rose. A romance with Brenda might be fun. It had been a very long time since he’d had a romance with anyone. And he had thoroughly enjoyed the couple of times he’d gone out to her place to work on the Amy Beach sonata.

  “Dad? Are you with me?” Dylan asked in an urgent tone.

  “I’m fine.”

  “So? What’s the deal with you and that woman?”

  That woman? Wow. “I’m not sleeping with her,” Jim said. “We’ve been working on a piano and violin sonata. It’s been a long time since I had anyone to play classical music with.”

  “So it’s true. You have been going out to her house at night.”

  “Is this an interrogation?”

  “No. But there’s a lot of gossip, Dad.”

  “There always is.”

  “And I just heard from Jude that you’ve invited Brenda to join you on Synchronicity Too during the Festival of Lights. You can see how people are putting one and one together. Are you serious about this woman?”

  “I guess so. We’re playing serious music together.”

  “Really?” Dylan rolled his eyes, clearly not enjoying Jim’s lame dad joke.

  “Look, I’m serious about trying to help Brenda find a way to enjoy the holiday. I thought it might be fun for her to join me on Jude’s boat and wear a costume. There are psychological benefits to—”

  “A costume?” Dylan sounded deeply distressed. “What costume?”

  “Jude didn’t tell you? He wants everyone dressed up as a pirate or a wench. It’s a shameless piece of marketing on his part. But for a variety of reasons, getting Brenda to dress up like a pirate wench is going to be good for her.”

  “Oh my God. People are going to laugh. At both of you.”

  “So?”

  Dylan cocked his head. “You don’t even care, do you?”

  “About what?”<
br />
  “Your reputation.”

  “My reputation is fine, thank you.”

  Dylan huffed out an exasperated sigh. “I don’t think she’s good for you.”

  “That’s not the point. I’m trying to be good for her.”

  His son blinked and stared. “What does that even mean?”

  “Give it up, Dylan. She’s coming with me on the Festival of Lights cruise.” He paused a moment to pop a shrimp into his mouth and chew. “And we’ll both be wearing costumes.”

  Dylan’s mouth dropped open. “You’re too old for this.”

  Oh boy. Dylan rarely annoyed him, but being told that he was too old to enjoy dressing up and having some fun was irritating as hell. He leaned forward, catching Dylan’s stare. “How old is too old?” he asked.

  Dylan shrugged. “I don’t know. But…”

  “I’m over the hill at fifty-one? Is that it?” Jim’s voice sounded tight.

  “No. But…”

  “Then why did you say I was too old to dress up as a pirate or enjoy being with a woman dressed up as a wench?”

  “Damn. I’m digging a big hole, aren’t I?” Dylan said.

  “All the way to China, boy.”

  “Just be careful, okay? The last time you had a lady friend, she turned out to be a witch.”

  “Yeah, well, Brenda isn’t a witch.”

  “No? From what I’ve heard she’s downright scary at choir rehearsals.”

  Jim stifled a smile. He could see how people might be intimidated by her because Brenda was the epitome of a tough and demanding high school teacher. Simon had never imposed any discipline on the choir, but Brenda was cut from different cloth. So there were some grumbles. But there were also a lot of others who were relieved to have someone who knew what they were doing. The whole town would soon discover Brenda’s talents. This year’s performance was going to give people goose bumps.

  “Well, call me foolish,” Jim said, dipping another shrimp into cocktail sauce, “but I like a good challenge.”

  “Oh my God. You aren’t even denying it, are you?”

  Jim said nothing because his son was behaving like a petulant child who didn’t like the idea of his widowed father dating someone. But damn, if he was going to date anyone, Brenda would be right there at the top of his list.