She examined the passing landscape. They weren’t going fast, so maybe if she rolled down her window, she could just flick the mouse out.
The soft cadence of Henry’s accent stopped. She hadn’t heard a single word, but she conjured up another question as distraction—one she hoped he hadn’t already answered already.
“How soon do you hope to buy a house of your own?”
His eyes narrowed, one brow taking a northerly turn. “Like I said, as soon as possible. I’ve been saving a long time and had some solid success with my last few projects.”
“Oh, how wonderful. Which movies have been your favorite to write the music for?”
Silence followed her question, so she glanced his way.
“Are you all right?”
She nodded like the energizer bunny. “Mmmhmmm.”
After another pause, his voice filled the space again, becoming the background music for the battle between pregnant woman and her furry, brown nemesis. With almost imperceptible movement, she stretched her fingers to the window button. Only an inch at first. The mouse didn’t move, just kept plotting. Just a little more…
His whiskers twitched.
Another car passed them on the left.
Another inch. Julia released her hold on the window button and began a stealthy ascent toward the furry rodent, ready to bump him right out the window, but at the touch of the wind on his fur, he took off…across the dashboard, stopping directly in front of Henry.
“There’s something about creating the unexpected and having others appreciate it that’s reward—”
Yep. Henry saw the mouse. Man and beast stared each other down. Well, as much as a grown man and a pint-sized rodent could have a stare down. Could a little field mouse be referred to as a beast? From the expression on Henry’s face, maybe.
Julia tried to keep her gaze forward and somehow prepare to vault in front of Henry should the mouse decide to leap. Her abdomen tensed in protest. “In thirty seconds, I can pull over.”
“It’s staring at me.” He rasped in a pitch much too high for his usual cello-sounding voice.
“I’ve never heard of anyone dying from a mouse attack. I promise. Twenty seconds and we’ll pull over.”
He’d gripped the armrests so hard that his knuckles turned white. “I may have a heart attack in ten because my pulse is playing a hard and fast drumroll in my ears.”
Julia accelerated. “Ten seconds.”
“Do you think it’s rabid? Is this typical mouse behavior?”
The mouse shifted its feet, and Henry pressed back as far into the seat as he could. At his movement, the mouse skidded off the dashboard and disappeared…somewhere…onto the floorboard.
“Ahh!” Henry’s feet slid up onto the seat. How on earth could an adult male manage to squeeze himself onto the small space?
The sudden need to laugh—or cry—at the entire situation nearly brought Julia to tears. Her body began shaking all over—little tremors from her clenched muscles screaming for relief.
“Where is it?” Henry’s gaze roved the floor in a frantic search.
“I don’t know.” Julia pressed the button to roll down all the windows and pulled over on the side of the road.
Before the car stopped, Henry vaulted from the vehicle. Julia’s vault resembled more of a wounded elephant’s attempted leap. She’d barely cleared the car door before she lost her balance. In a vain attempt to keep from falling, she flailed one arm to catch the open door but missed and stumbled head-first toward the ground.
Before she made contact with dirt and gravel, strong arms wrapped around her, tugging her into vanilla-scented cotton and strength. She pressed into him, trying to collect her thoughts, but the unexpected embrace distracted her from the next step of her mouse-eradication plan. He steadied her and she looked up, mere inches between their faces.
A fission of anxiety forked through her chest and into her throat, but the sweetness of his presence battled against her fear with an almost impenetrable force. His palms slid over her shoulders to her arms, comforting, and his gaze searched hers.
Then came the anxiety, swooping in with unwelcome claws to steal her momentary calm. Oh, she wanted to hold on to the warmth.
He smiled, a teasing glimmer lighting his eyes. “You promised to protect me from mice.”
The unexpected humor put a hitch in her rising fear and she laughed. “In my defense, I’ve never had one crawl up my leg while driving my car before.”
His bottom lip dropped. “The mouse did what?” His gaze dropped to her legs. “Thank heavens you were wearing trousers.”
A sudden cold splashed through her chest. The thought hadn’t occurred to her. What if she’d been wearing one of her usual dresses. A tremor started at the base of her spine and moved up to shake her shoulders. “Thanks for that. I’m sure to dream about it tonight.”
He grimaced. “Sorry.” They both turned to look at Julia’s car sitting on the side of the road, all its doors open.
“What do we do now? Do you think it will just leave on its own?”
She almost whimpered, knowing her next course of action. “We’ll probably have to encourage it.”
“How?”
She stared at the car for a second. They’d have to scare it out, but how?
With a deep breath, Julia marched toward the open door, a madwoman laugh in the back of her throat waiting for release. This had to be the most bizarre moment she’d experienced in her adult life. A Braxton Hicks contraction slowed her steps, but she reached inside the car and snatched her purse. Those practice contractions had really increased their intensity over the past few weeks.
Her bright pink purse sitting by the front seat caught her attention, and she took mental inventory of its contents. Yep, it would be a good weight, and the strap was long enough.
Why not end this three-stooges scene with a classic purse-whompin’?
Without giving Henry warning of her upcoming antics, she grabbed the purse and began beating any visible space inside her car. Every seat. The floormats. Dust flew. Papers crunched. Protesting contractions continued, as she took out her frustration on the car until the little critter finally leapt from the car and into the nearby field, running as if it knew exactly what would happen if it made contact with her swing.
“There it went.” She sighed, and with a little swagger in her spin—or as much swagger as massively pregnant woman could possess—turned back toward Henry, who stared wide-eyed, his mouth open.
“What?”
He cleared his throat, his expression softening. “I actually feel sorry for the mouse now. You and your purse are terrifying.”
Julia stared at him for a moment then all the tension she’d held since the mouse first greeted her from her kneecap released into a torrent of laughter. She laughed until tears streaked her cheeks and her stomach hardened into another Braxton Hicks. She’d had more in the past five minutes than she’d had in the last month. When she finally found her breath again, she placed a hand on her hip and sent him a challenging look. “Told you I’d protect you from mice.”
He stepped closer, his grin emerging with a playful tilt. “My hero…ine.”
∞ ∞ ∞
Wednesday hadn’t been as productive in giving clues to Aunt Millie’s mysterious past as Tuesday had been, but Henry couldn’t fault the day at all. He’d spent the morning in Julia’s company—even if their time involved a mouse fiasco rather than, say, a preferred four-hands duet. She was simply perfect. In his past he’d never been comfortable having deep conversations with women, and though his humor usually emerged after a somewhat brief acquaintance, Julia had brought him out as no woman ever had. Perhaps it was her genuine sweetness mixed with her humor, but he knew, regardless of the obstacles ahead, he’d make any effort to see a future with her.
He certainly hadn’t planned on an instant family, and his mother would be appalled at the idea, but he’d tasted this authentic mutual partnership, this genuine comradery, a
nd he wouldn’t return to the pretense of what he’d known before. Not when Julia lived in his world.
He’d spent the afternoon with prominent luthier Lark Spencer, learning how bluegrass instruments were created. Afterward, Lark invited Henry to his home for dinner and an evening jam session during which Lark’s family had played and sung bluegrass together until late. Their music held a magical, almost mesmerizing quality Henry had never heard before. Their tight harmonies, unique to the blends of family voices, paired with their music to capture what Henry had come to love most about the Jenkins family: a beautiful melding not just of hearts but of personalities and history. Of hardships and celebrations. Of longing and loving. The music visited all those poignant emotions, instrumentally and vocally, pulsing deeper into Henry and creating its own melody.
Another theme for the movie and for whatever else God ushered him to in the future.
The song of Appalachia would stay with him.
He’d barely sat down in his driver’s seat before he pulled out his phone and violin to record a simple melody for remembrance until his fingers and heart could fill out the tune later. The orchestral score resounded in his mind behind the fragile melody of his violin. He could hear it, growing wide as the mountain vista, plunging the depths of fog-covered valleys and swooping over the timbered peaks like a golden-feathered hawk on the hunt.
With a month left in the Blue Ridge Mountains, he’d found all the melodies he needed to bring to life the music of Wes’s movie. The surge of his calling, this music-making, coursed through his fingers onto his violin with a force beyond his understanding—a deep certainty of God’s pleasure.
As his creator fashioned the world with words, on a much lesser level, Henry shaped music into a story. Over the past few years, his composing had fallen prey to consumerism and the pressure to develop something quick and easy, and the inauthentic pressure dulled the sheen from the purpose of his gifts. But God had brought him here to renew that passion, that beauty.
He’d rediscovered the love of the music for the sake of the music.
And, perhaps, found the love of his life too.
He slipped through the back door of the bakery and tiptoed into the kitchen, following the call of his growling stomach. The clock over the stove read 12:50am. He cringed, slowing his pace to ensure his stealth. Music, Appalachian history, and intricate harmonies rang through his mind but perhaps a spot of tea, and a biscuit or two, might appease the creativity monster until morning. After a few minutes of scouring the cabinets, he located a teapot and filled it with water, but just as he reached to turn on the stovetop, a movement to his left froze his steps.
Julia stood in the doorway, her mass of golden hair spilling over the shoulders of her pale blue robe, her saucer-sized eyes staring back at him in the pale light of the room…and in her hands, raised for the attack, a music stand.
Henry’s body thawed enough to place the teapot onto the counter before it slipped from his hands. The faint strains of When You Wish Upon a Star flitted through his mind as he contemplated her resemblance to the Blue Fairy. Of course, the Blue Fairy didn’t arrive with a homicidal look in her eyes or a music stand in her hands, so perhaps Henry’s mental orchestra needed adjusting.
She’d frozen too, staring at him as if trying to remember who he was.
“Henry?” She blinked and looked around the kitchen. “What…what are you doing here?”
“Making tea?” He gestured toward the teapot as evidence. “What are you doing with a music stand raised as a weapon?”
“It’s one o’clock in the morning and you’re making tea?”
“It’s quieter than making music right now.” He walked over to her, palms raised, and gently helped her lower the music stand to the floor, her fragrance wrapping around him like an aphrodisiac. “I’ve seen your skills with a purse and have no desire to see how you wield a music stand.”
She exaggerated her eye roll and almost smiled. Good progress. “I don’t usually have people other than myself in my—Amy’s kitchen in the middle of the night.”
“Point made.” He searched her upturned face, her hair in unruly gold waves over her shoulders. “And why a music stand?”
She released a sigh and let go of her hold on the would-be weapon. “I heard someone downstairs, so I picked it up from the music room as I passed in case I needed to defend myself.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “On a high note for you, the piano was too heavy for me to utilize in this particular situation.”
“A high note?” He grinned with unabashed pleasure. “I don’t mean to harp on the music-stand idea, but did you plan to beat me to death with it or did that idea fall flat once you saw I wasn’t a vagrant?”
She tilted her head, examining him as if he’d gone mad, and then a smile tipped in response to the challenge. “Well, using a purse is more my forte, but this was all I had available, so I thought it would have to measure up.”
“You’re brilliant,” he whispered, basking in her adorableness. “But truly, tonight is more of a minor offense than the major mouse catastrophe.”
“That one was bad.”
He shrugged a shoulder. “I’ll scale back on the puns, if you will.”
“Good idea.” She walked to the counter and tossed a smile over her shoulder. “We should give it a rest.”
He snickered. “Excellent. You have a great gift for puns.”
“Yes, yes.” She reached for a bottle from her spice rack and shook it at him. “Some of the time.”
And…simply put, he loved her.
She peeked into his teapot then transferred it to the stovetop. “Why are you coming in so late? Everything alright?”
He pushed the music stand against the wall, farther from her grip. “I spent an amazing evening with the Spencer family and their music. It was remarkable. I felt it here.” He pressed his palm against his chest. “Found it here.”
She sent him a knowing look before reaching for a cannister on the shelf, then a mixing bowl in the cabinet nearby. “They’re fantastic.” She began placing ingredients into the bowl. “One of the best around here.”
Henry moved closer to her side, glancing from her actions to her face. “What are you doing?”
She shrugged a shoulder. “I’m awake. Baking makes me sleepy.”
“Baking makes you sleepy?”
“I enjoy reading too, but this way I’m productive. Besides, I’m already down here.”
His chest deflated. Not only had he frightened her, but he’d stolen some much-needed sleep? “I’m sorry I interrupted your sleep.”
She reached out and touched his arm. “I wasn’t asleep anyway, Henry. At this stage in my pregnancy, getting comfortable is a challenge at best.”
He looked down at where her hand lay. What would it feel like to take her fingers into his? Soft? Most certainly.
Pink flushed her cheeks as their eyes met, and she slipped her hand away, leaving flour-fingerprints on his navy shirt.
“Oh goodness.” She dusted at the marks. “I’m sorry about that.”
“It’s nothing, Julia.”
Her gaze flickered to his and away. She retreated to the refrigerator and brought back butter. “Sometimes I even play the piano to help with sleep.”
“The right music works wonders.”
“Exactly.” The sweet scent of sugar filled the space as she readied more ingredients for what looked like a cookie concoction.
He leaned against the counter and folded his arms across his chest, trying not to stare at the way the lowlight fingered bright and dim gold over her hair. “Have you ever wished to play professionally?”
She took the teapot from the stove and added bags to steep. “I’m not a performer. Music is my…comfort, I guess. Not something I have to do for a paycheck, but something I want to do as a joy.” Her eyes widened and she shook her head. “Obviously you love your job, so you get the best of both worlds.”
“For someone who uses music as a hobby, your talent is extr
aordinary.”
“Thank you. It’s been fun playing with a fellow musician recently. I’d forgotten the pleasure of sharing music with someone who…understands.”
“Me too.”
The corner of her smile tipped and he took another step closer, now at the corner of the counter where she worked. She turned off the mixer, drew the bowl out, and took two spoons from a nearby drawer. After swirling them in the taupe-colored batter dotted with chocolate chips, she offered him a loaded spoon.
“Isn’t this cookie dough?”
She pushed the spoon closer. “You know your dough.”
“But…but are you supposed to eat dough uncooked?”
Her eyes glittered like two sapphires, golden brow raised in defense. “I didn’t add the eggs yet, just so we can taste test. It’s always important to taste the dough, Henry. Sometimes it’s even a good idea to only eat the dough.”
Her playfulness caught and held. He paused, studying her face, her eyes, a soft cello solo melding through his thoughts in the quiet of the moment. “I see.” He took the spoon and placed it into his mouth. “This is delicious.”
She paused the spoon on its way to her lips. “You’ve never eaten raw cookie dough before?”
“No, never. I don’t think I’ve been in the kitchen at my home more than a handful of times.”
“Well, then, this dough will definitely not be cooked tonight.” She scooped out a large dollop of dough and placed it into a small bowl then repeated. “One for you and one for me. A perfect addition to midnight tea, don’t you think?”
And excellent company only made it even better. “Perfect, indeed.”
Chapter Eighteen
“You’ve mentioned your family a few times, but not enough to give a clear picture. I get the sense you’re not close to your mom and younger brother?”
Julia studied him from her place across the table. Would he open up to her as he’d allowed her to do? A gentle encouragement to deepen this unexpected friendship? The bits of information he’d shared painted a lonely childhood with little glimmers of sweetness from his grandmother and father, but nothing like hers.
When You Look at Me (A Pleasant Gap Romance Book 2) Page 17
