Читать книгу A Cowboy For Christmas - Rachel Lee - Страница 8

Chapter Three

The clouds that had lumbered over the mountains moved through without dropping any rain or snow, but they left a deep chill in their wake. Frost covered the ground in the early morning hours and Regina started bundling up before heading out to catch the school bus.

Rory had returned to spending his days in his barn studio, and Abby spent her free time online, looking for classes she might be able to afford that would give her transferable credits for when she returned to school.

A kind of anticipatory excitement began to fill her, and all her gloominess and boredom blew away. So many subjects interested her, and she enjoyed looking into the requirements for a number of majors, trying to decide what might suit her best. It was a step toward a future, the first real one she’d taken since Porter’s betrayal.

Her improved outlook brightened everything around her, and when she looked up from her computer to realize that Regina was already returning from school one afternoon, she was astonished at how the time had flown. She hadn’t even started dinner, and her mind immediately shifted gears as she glanced at the clock and tried to decide what she could manage quickly.

Regina had taken to popping in to say hi when she got home, spending only a few minutes in the kitchen with Abby. Today was no different. She grabbed her can of soda and a bag of pretzels and sat down at the table, indicating the laptop.

“Getting anywhere?”

“Your suggestion about looking for online classes was great.”

Regina screwed up her face. “I can hardly wait to be done with school.”

Abby felt immediate concern. “Something bad happen?”

Regina shook her head. “Just boring. I’d rather be riding a horse.”

Abby laughed. “I keep hearing that.”

“Dad isn’t listening so well.” Regina flashed a grin and shrugged. “He will eventually. Every girl should have a horse.”

“I’m sure most girls your age would agree.”

“Did you have one?”

Abby shook her head. She’d had a period of infatuation with horses, a lot of girls did, but she’d lived in town and her parents couldn’t afford it. They’d taken her out for a few trail rides at the Ironheart ranch, but that had been it. “Not possible.” Then she shifted the subject purposefully. She didn’t want Regina to try to drag her into the middle of her campaign for a horse. That was solely between her and Rory. “I need to come up with a quick dinner. I lost track of time.”

“I won’t die if we eat late,” Regina said, grabbing another pretzel. “Who knows if Dad will even surface?”

He’d been doing a good job of it most of the time. Given what Rory had said when he’d first arrived, Abby was surprised by how often he turned up for dinner. Of course, since Regina joined him in the studio most days after school, he probably found it hard to forget time.

She wondered if that was giving him any problem with his composing. She hoped not.

Regina picked up her bag of pretzels. “I’d better get out there. Rally is probably getting frantic.”

Just then, as if in answer to her thoughts, Rally’s feet could be heart clacking and padding down the hall from the back door. He zoomed into the kitchen and began to lick Regina’s cheek. She shrieked a giggle.

“Somebody was missing you, girl,” Rory called from the hall, sounding amused.

“Sorry, Dad, I was talking with Abby.”

Abby felt pleasant anticipation humming along her nerves. She always enjoyed seeing Rory, however rarely or briefly, and she was growing more impressed with how ordinary he seemed. Fame and wealth hadn’t gone to his head as far as she could tell. But more than that, he filled out jeans and a Western shirt better than any man she’d ever seen. Broad shoulders, narrow hips, just the sight of him seemed to zoom straight to her core.

But that was the only way he was ordinary. She felt almost guilty the way everything inside her seemed to leap at the sight of him. Guilty and maybe a little silly, like a fan with a crush. She’d even sneaked online to listen to a couple of his songs, to learn something about the music that was so important to him. Listening, she had wondered how she’d managed to miss this phenom for so long.

But it was her guilty secret and pleasure. She didn’t want to lose her job because she acted like a star-struck fool around him, nor did she want to cause the kinds of problems Regina had mentioned. She did wonder, however, if he felt as used as Regina had sensed. That would be awful.

She ought to know. She felt she had been used by Porter and Joan. How long must they have been carrying on behind her back? Using her for cover to prevent talk? She had no idea, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

Bad enough that she felt branded by shame. She wasn’t going to make it worse be allowing herself to go overboard about Rory. She was just a housekeeper. She needed to remember that.

But Rory didn’t come into the kitchen. She heard music coming from the piano in the living room and perked up, listening. It was a gentle melody, almost mournful, yet achingly beautiful.

Regina fell silent, listening, too. Then she hopped up and went to the living room.

Abby didn’t feel she had the right to follow, but the melody, soon accompanied by some minor chords, held her riveted.

A weight fell on Abby’s thigh and she looked down to see that Rally had laid his head there. Not since that one night had he come into her room, but now he looked up with those sad eyes, as if asking for something.

She scratched his huge head. His tail wagged, but only a little. Was he hungry? Regina always fed him at dinnertime and it was still too early. Maybe a treat?

The melody still drifted from the living room, but the dog’s intervention broke the spell and she rose. There were treats in the pantry, and no one had told her she couldn’t give one to the dog. A soft bacon chew settled him down, then she leaned against the doorway listening to the music.

She could hear the stops and restarts as Rory seemed to be searching for something just right. She heard no voices, just the music. It would have been nice to keep on listening, but inevitably she remembered she had a job and needed to figure out a fast dinner.

Sighing, she began to hunt in the refrigerator and pantry when she would have vastly preferred to creep into the living room and just sit and listen.

Magic was being created out there, and she wished she could be part of it.

Dinner was a tossed-together affair. Rory didn’t return to his studio, but instead staked out the living room and piano. Eventually Regina popped into the kitchen to say good-night. That was Abby’s cue to head for her apartment.

But just as she was turning out the light, Rory’s voice startled her from across the foyer. “What do you think?”

She paused, her hand on the switch. “The music?”

He smiled faintly. “The almost music, yes.”

“It’s beautiful. I love it.”

“It’s mournful.” He paused. “Sometimes I guess you need to mourn. Unless you’re busy, come and sit with me. I’d like your reactions.”

Her reactions? She knew nothing about music at all. But the desire to be with him overrode every other consideration. “Coffee?” she asked.

“Yeah, I’ll probably be up most of the night. Thanks.”

So she brewed another pot and ten minutes later carried two hot mugs into the living room. He was sitting at the piano, staring into space, noodling some keys. She wondered where to put his coffee, but he pointed to a nearby end table without saying anything. Then she sat in one of those huge chairs with hers.

He continued to stare at nothing, probably more involved with what was going on inside him as he touched occasional keys as if trying them out. He seemed lost in another world, and she wondered why he needed her at all.

She rested her coffee on the end table, then closed her eyes and let her head fall back. Interrupted though the music was, often changing to random notes as if he were seeking something, she found it easy to let it carry her away. A while later he spoke.

“Abby?”

She opened her eyes without moving her head. “Yes?”

“Were you sleeping?”

“No, I was listening.” She turned her head just enough to see him, thinking how gorgeous he was. She hadn’t met many men who looked like a feast for the eyes. This one did.

“What do you think? Is it like a dirge?”

That popped her head up. “Not at all. It’s melancholy, but a beautiful melancholy. It’s kind of like...” She hesitated. “I shouldn’t say anything. I don’t know music.”

“Most of the people I play and sing for don’t know music. They know what they like is all. I’m not asking a technical question. I want to know how it makes you feel.”

She rolled her head a little more. “Play the melody part again. With the chords.”

So he did, letting the notes ripple through the room. It stopped too soon.

“So?” he asked.

“It makes me feel like I’m drifting on a warm, slow river all by myself. It’s pretty, but kind of lonely.” Making those statements seemed awfully bold, but they were as true an expression as she could find.

He nodded. “It’s not my usual,” he admitted. “But it’s my heart.”

Touched, she felt an unexpected sadness for him. So he felt lonesome, too? But then she wondered if everyone didn’t at times. As if something was lacking or missing. She gathered her courage. “It’s like looking for something you can’t quite remember.”

His smile grew. “That’s it. That’s what I was trying for.”

“Then you succeeded because I think it’s going to follow me into my dreams. It’s...haunting.”

“It’ll drive my manager and agent crazy.” He sighed and turned back to the keyboard, running through it again, his fingers delicate on the keys. A rippling current of music and magic ran through the room.

“There’s a part of me,” he said as he played, “that vanished a long time ago. That’s what I came back here to find.” As he spoke, his baritone began to echo the music. Not lyrics, not yet, but she guessed they were starting to come to him.

He stopped playing and held out an arm toward her. “Come sit over here with me,” he said. “I think we’re both a little mournful and wistful.”

Nervously, but feeling a kind of hope anyway, she rose and walked over. He drew her down on the bench beside him until their shoulders were touching.

“Lost long ago. Homesickness for something we can’t quite remember. Dreams?”

She wasn’t sure how to answer. He began playing again, and she watched his hands glide over the keys. This time he played the haunting melody more strongly, and this time he didn’t pause as missing notes seemed to spring from his fingertips. When he finished, the last notes trailed slowly away.

Then he smiled at her, causing her heart to leap. “You’re a great Muse,” he said. “And I’ve stolen your evening. Sorry.”

“You just gave me a wonderful gift. I loved it.” The words came straight from her heart. She felt blessed to have shared this with him, to have entered however briefly into his creative process and to have been one of the first to hear a truly incredible piece of music.

Much as she didn’t want to, she rose to go to her rooms. She sensed he wanted to be alone now. The haunting notes of the melody followed her all the way down the hall to her quarters. She was reluctant to leave them behind, but since she’d taken to leaving her door open a few inches since Regina’s arrival, she didn’t entirely close out the music.

Changes had begun to happen inside her, she realized. They frightened her a bit. Little by little she was exposing her heart again, to a man and his daughter.

She ought to know better after Porter. She thought she had known better, but apparently not. Somehow she had to quell her growing desire for him.

If there was one thing she was sure about, it was that there could be no future with Rory McLane, so why have a messy present?

* * *

Rory was sorry to see her go, but he knew he’d intruded on her evening. He’d never meant for her to be at his beck and call round the clock, and considered her evening hours to be sacrosanct. Yet tonight he’d intruded.

It wasn’t just the music, although that had been part of it. He occasionally liked some feedback from a naive listener, and from what she’d said, he gathered Abby didn’t know much about who he was or his music.

That was fine by him. Running back to Conard County he had hoped to escape a lot of that. Oh, he had friends in the business, people who shared all the highs and lows, the stresses, the good times and bad. But it was like a closed loop, and one day he’d realized that it had closed him in and cut off part of him.

Maybe it was ridiculous of him to want to reach back in time to a boy he’d once been. After all, life happened to everyone, changed everyone, and twenty years had happened to him, for better or worse.

But that feeling of being homesick for something you couldn’t quite remember—that was a powerful feeling. Abby had nailed that one. It had been troubling him more and more until he had decided that he needed to get away for a while.

But even here in his hidey-hole, life wasn’t what it had been when he was sharing a ranch with his parents as a kid. No, he was surrounded by luxury, living a self-indulgent life. How many people had the choice of throwing over their work for months to take a sabbatical? Not many.

He was a lucky man and he knew it. Luckier now that he had custody of Regina. Lucky that for the first time since the divorce he’d have her for both upcoming holidays.

At least Abby hadn’t seemed to mind being called upon to be his audience for a while. He wondered if the song was going to be about her, because he sensed in her many of the same discontents and sorrows he knew. Undoubtedly a different degree, undoubtedly not exactly the same, but still he felt an emotional recognition of something in her.

The little bit she’d said about her marriage made him wonder about her. Deserted by her husband for her former boss? Ugly. Wounding. He couldn’t imagine the skein of bad feelings that must have left her with. At least with Stella, he hadn’t been either surprised or especially wounded when she decided to move on. Except for Regina it would have been a clean, cheerful split.