by C J Burright
His mouth turned down in a considering expression then softened into reluctant humor. “I suppose that might be difficult.”
“We can’t all be lucky enough to spend our days on arts-and-crafts time.”
“You’re right. I’m fortunate that my passion pays for groceries.”
“And swanky cars.”
“My violin cost more than the car, Miss Dumont.” He squared his shoulders, his eyes hooded. “It’s not a crime to possess a luxury.”
“Never said it was. Guilty conscience?”
He grinned, and just like that, the tension vanished. “Very well, in case the music program is indeed cut, I’ll make my time with the kids count. I’ll pack the most I can into our hours together and make the recital something they’ll never forget.” A dozen new ideas sparkled in his eyes. “It’ll be a grade-school musical masterpiece.”
Adara planted her palms on the couch, suddenly lightheaded. The weapons in her arsenal seemed only to scratch. It was a battle utterly lost. He refused to let her drive him away. She’d intended to destroy pieces of his passion, and he instead found a way to twist it into something positive. This was bad. Forced to fight his smile every day would wind up with casualties…hers.
He bumped her shoulder with his, and while it was a friendly gesture, not romantic, it sent warmth skidding through her. “Are you running tomorrow?”
“Probably.” Blast. The subject change and disturbance combo threw her off, enough she answered before thinking it through.
“Good. I’ll go with you. It’ll be a trade-off for getting ice cream tonight, the consequences of our tie. We can go look at some real stars.” He held out a hand to her. “You in?”
She hesitated. Slipping her fingers into his would be a huge mistake, give him the wrong idea and reveal that he’d won. Instead, she held out her fist and waited until he bumped her knuckles with his. “Just this once.”
Chapter Nine
Garret locked the science center door and reset the alarm. So he’d got an Adara fist bump instead of the privilege of holding her hand. The fact that she’d offered any contact at all was a victory.
Stuffing the keys into his pocket, he pivoted toward the parking lot and paused. Adara strolled along the sidewalk, her face tipped to the sky, already on her stargazing mission without him. The snow-crusted lawn on either side glittered in the glow from the streetlight near his car, a winter wonderland created to contrast the night, to highlight Adara’s ethereal beauty. She could hide beneath old jeans and ratty sweatshirts all she wanted. Nothing could diminish her, not even the cage she kept securely sealed around herself.
His chest ached—a quick, hard spasm. She’d heard I Knew I Loved You before—the light in her eyes had revealed that much—yet she’d denied it, denied her win, given up her chance to go home. He wasn’t sure why, and he certainly wasn’t going to press her. Whatever the reason, he’d make the most of their time together.
On a whim, he crouched and gathered a handful of snow, carefully packing it, watching Adara to make sure she didn’t turn around and see what he was up to. He stood and lobbed the snowball at her. It smacked her in the butt instead of between her shoulder blades. His aim needed some work. He winced as she spun, her glare on high.
“Practicing at fitting in with the third-graders, Ambrose?” Adara swiped at her jeans, dislodging snow and ice. She leaned over and scraped snow into her hand. “I have no qualms with putting temporary music mentors in a time-out.”
He didn’t bother trying to shut down his smile. “Do you have a naughty chair, Miss Dumont? I might make a point to misbehave if I get to sit there with you—”
Adara’s missile exploded in his face, shooting white into his mouth and eyes. Her aim needed no practice. None. Guh. Was there a rock mixed with the snow? He shook his head, wiped the wet from his eyes, and met her gaze. “Challenge accepted.”
“That was a reprisal, not a dare.” She stared him down as he bent to arm himself. “Don’t go there, violin boy.”
“Or what?” He scooped more snow and wriggled his eyebrows. “Afraid you’ll lose yet again?”
Her full, lovely mouth thinned, exactly the same way it had a second before she’d accepted his carnival game challenge. She was so easy to read, and if all it took to stay in her life was presenting her with an endless line of contests? Done.
In the next breath, she had another fistful of snow and fired it at his head. He ducked and the ice bomb hissed by his ear, barely missing. Once Adara started playing, she went for the kill, but the fire in her eyes was worth any potential pain. And he planned to entice her to play often.
Since she was paying attention, he flung his next snowball with more force. It hit her square in the chest—a fine, wet splatter right down the neck of her sweatshirt.
She stiffened and gasped. “You’re so dead.” Her gray eyes flashed like storm clouds, and she grabbed a fistful of snow, ice and rocks. Drawing her arm back, readying to destroy him, her boot slipped. She landed flat on her back with an oof…and didn’t move.
“Adara!” Garret rushed to where she sprawled on the sidewalk, staring up at the sky as if she’d merely resumed her stargazing. He dropped to his knees beside her, not caring that snow seeped into his jeans, cold and wet. “Talk to me. Are you okay?”
She shook her head, the movement so small, so weak, that his heart squeezed. He was entirely to blame. If he’d just walked her to the car instead of goofing off, she wouldn’t be hurt. “I’m so sorry—”
Grabbing his shirt, she jerked him down and shoved what she’d hidden in her other hand down his collar. While he wheezed, she ground the snow against his chest with the heel of her hand, her grip on his shirt unrelenting.
“There.” She released him and sat up. “I feel one hundred percent better now.”
He leaped up and shook the loose snow from his shirt, an icy rivulet or two trailing his stomach, into his jeans. “Vicious woman.”
“Don’t forget it.” Adara tried to stand then sat back down, wincing. The wince almost immediately morphed into an accusing glare. “My ankle is messed up.”
“Um, yeah.” Garret shook his head. “Not falling for that one again.”
“I’m not screwing around, Ambrose.” She shoved up one pant leg, not that it revealed anything but her boot. “I twisted my ankle.”
He inched closer, keeping an eye on her hands and any hidden fistfuls of snow, but she truly seemed to be in pain, grimacing as she worked at her boot laces. He crouched by her foot. “Let me.”
Adara sighed with an edge of annoyance but gave in. Laces undone, he attempted to remove the boot and she yelped.
He gently set her foot down and sat back on his heels. “I’m taking you to the ER.”
“No, you’re not.” Her gaze was steady but a betraying sheen of sweat glistened on her brow. “It’s just a mild sprain. Take me home. I’ll deal.”
He straightened. Any other day he’d gladly help her deal with anything at her home. But he’d caused this, she was injured and he wasn’t about to leave her to her own devices. He scooped her off the ground.
“Hey!” Even as she scowled, she hooked an arm around his neck. “It’s only a few yards to the car. I prefer hopping on one foot over being manhandled. Put me down. I’ll be fine.”
“Sure you will.” He grinned at her, liking the press of her against him, close enough to feel her warmth, smell her sweet shampoo. Definitely coconut. “You’d slip again, and since I feel responsible, I’d have to push you around in a wheelchair, feed you grapes and cater to your every need. No matter what you believe, I do have other life matters to attend to.”
She rolled her eyes then hissed as he strode toward the car. Her arm around his neck tightened. If the slight jostling from simply walking hurt, that wheelchair he’d joked about might be a reality. He got her into the car, seatbelt snicked and began their drive across town.
Fifteen minutes later, Garret carried a pale-faced and increasingly snappish Adara throu
gh the emergency room doors. She adamantly refused to let him accompany her to the exam, so he waited with expired nature magazines and watered-down coffee. An hour later, the doctor finally appeared.
“The swelling and bruising make it look uglier than it is.” He handed Garret what was left of Adara’s boot. One side was sliced open, ruined. He guessed he owed her a pair of boots too. Next, a handful of paperwork crackled in his grip. “She needs to stay off the foot for at least two weeks, so crutches are in order.” The exam room door swished open and a nurse wheeled Adara near. “I gave her a shot for the pain. Don’t expect any deep conversation tonight.”
Chara. If he wasn’t previously on her kill list, he was now. He shook the doctor’s hand. “Thanks. I’ll make sure she avoids anymore snowball fights.”
Garret barely noticed the doctor’s departure or the nurse as she parked the wheelchair before him and left too. He crouched before Adara. Her usually straight, sleek hair looked as if she’d forgot to comb it after a restless night, and one leg of her over-loved jeans had been cut to allow room for the bulky medical boot strapped to her injured foot. The lines of pain in her face had vanished, leaving her skin smooth, her expression utterly relaxed.
She blinked slowly at him, her gray eyes dove soft. “There you are.”
“Here I am,” he agreed. She sounded happy to find him waiting for her. He could get used to that. “Feeling better?”
“Oh.” Her generous lips stretched into a dreamy smile. “Yeah.”
He sighed. “Of course. You have to be drugged up to smile at me like that.”
Her brow furrowed. “How else would I smile at you?”
“I’ve experienced the Dumont sneer, an occasional smirk when you think I’m not looking, a twitch of those gorgeous lips that I’ve pegged as the Adara Absolute Refusal, but not once have you genuinely smiled for me.”
Still frowning, she dragged his beanie off his head and patted him. He might as well be a dog. “You have pretty hair.”
“Thank you?”
“You’re welcome.” Her smile switched to brilliant.
He sucked in a breath. Ben-zonna. He’d do everything in his power to earn another of those smiles—a true one, not influenced by narcotics. “I like this version of Adara. Can I keep you?”
“Yeah-uh.” She stuck his hat on her head at a lopsided angle and leaned forward. Her gaze locked on his, her expression suddenly serious. “I can’t run with you tomorrow. The doctor said. You shouldn’t go alone.” She petted his face—first his nose, then his jaw, then his forehead. “You might die.”
He closed his eyes and laughed, even as he struggled not to take her hand between his and kiss her palm. Letting her freely stroke him like her favorite cat gave him ideas—none that he could explore with her tonight—and whether or not she was aware of what she’d said, he’d chalk it up to a reflection of the inner sweetness that she kept leashed tight and hidden, particularly from him.
“I need to get you home before I lose all pride, curl up on your lap and purr.” He stood, and she dragged her fingertips down his shirt and hooked at his belt, shooting sparks through his veins. Gently, he removed her grip and, despite his earlier resolve, pressed his lips to her knuckles.
She cocked her head, her eyes wide and considering. “You purr?”
His laugh was a little on the strained side. “For you, neshama, I’d do more than purr, but we’ll have to save that for another day.”
“Tomorrow.” She said the word like a promise, hushed and solemn.
Garret slipped behind the wheelchair and started pushing her toward the exit before he made any more promises, promises that, when she came to her senses tomorrow, she probably wouldn’t want him to keep.
Adara fell asleep before he’d buckled his seatbelt and she didn’t move the entire drive back to her house. The sedatives prevented any protest to his music selection, but he’d prefer to listen to her husky voice articulating non-answers to his snoopy questions. She didn’t stir, even when he unbuckled the seatbelt and drew her close again.
Luckily, she kept her keys in her coat pocket. He fumbled one-handed with the lock. It opened easily, already unlocked. He’d have to talk to her about that. Small towns did not mean safe.
He pushed the door shut with his heel, thankful the foyer light was on. Besides a glimpse from the porch, he hadn’t seen the layout of her house and groping around in the dark would probably end up with bumping Adara’s foot and shooting him higher on her black list, if he didn’t already hold the number one spot.
Moving deeper into the house, he shivered as his chin brushed her sleek hair, still coconut-sweet after everything. No matter how much she denied it—and she would—tonight he’d made progress. She’d cracked her heart door, compromised when she could have won their contest. She could blame the stars all she wanted, but sedated, she was as sweet as a kitten, all pretenses and guardrails gone.
He peeked into the closest room, the darkness not hiding the lines of light-colored living room furniture, and kept going. Cozying her up on a couch wasn’t good enough. He passed the kitchen entrance and paused in the hallway, the line of closed doors offering no clue as to which one was Adara’s bedroom. With her head nestled in the crook of his neck, her steady breath warm on his collarbone, he hated to wake her up. He’d go with trial and error.
The first door led to the bathroom. As he opened the next door, a cold draft slipped free, smelling of dust and disuse. He flicked the light switch on and froze. A baby grand slept in the corner, its lid down, a layer of gray dulling the maple finish. Various-sized instrument cases leaned against the piano, boxed in by stacks of music books, paper and a broken guitar. The bed, neatly made, held a definite masculine air, from the navy-blue comforter to the mahogany furniture.
Joey’s room.
His heart lodged in his throat, a sharp, jagged rock, and he slowly backed out and shut the door without a sound. She’d kept her brother’s belongings, and from the coat of grime, probably hadn’t disturbed his room since his death. She held on to his possessions as tightly as she did her grief. He gently squeezed her tighter and rested his cheek on her hair, as if he could shield her from the memories, the pain. But there was no shield that could prevent the pain life brought, and the only way to get through the hard moments was to embrace them, sieve them through the soul and let them go. Not that he wouldn’t shield her if he could… Garret kissed her cool brow.
Adara’s room was the last door. The second he stepped inside, he knew it was hers, no light required. The coconut lacing the air gave it away. He hit the light switch and paused. Shelves lined one wall, with books and knickknacks arranged in an almost-artistic pattern. Someday, he’d return to investigate what books she kept, what little things she’d arranged so carefully among the books and what they meant to her. White walls, black shelves, white down comforter on the queen bed, black nightstand. The only splash of color came from the plants tucked on the windowsill, subtle proof that life persisted.
He eased her onto the bed and wrangled her jacket free, thankful his muttered curse didn’t wake her. She rolled onto her side and curled up with a sigh. He slipped off her remaining boot, pulled the comforter over her and crouched beside the bed, drinking her in.
Chara, she was so beautiful and lost, the lamplight a soft glow on her moon-pale skin, her sleek hair framing her delicate face. All the careful emotions she clung to while awake had softened into only peace.
That tiny part inside him that was always loose and restless shifted, winding around his heart and settling in place. He wanted to climb into her bed and wrap around her until she believed that, someday, everything would be okay—until she believed that the good parts of life were worth living.
Garret wiped a hand over his face. In only a few days, she’d completely enchanted him. One minute at a time, he’d convince her not to push him away.
He stood and pulled off the last page of the doctor’s instructions containing the usual warnings of medical side
effects and checked his watch. Eleven-thirty-nine p.m. While the conclusion wasn’t what he’d hoped, the night was longer than he’d expected. He carefully wrote a number at the center of the paper, folded it into an origami boat and set it on her nightstand.
“Sweet dreams, neshama.” He killed the light and left her to her dreams.
Chapter Ten
The smell of bacon cooking dragged Adara awake. Morning sunlight leaked through her window and dazzled off the white walls. She’d been dreaming of a snowman conducting an orchestra in space, which had zero connection to the mouth-watering sizzle of frying meat. She rolled over and smacked her bare toes on the clunky contraption strapped to her other ankle.
Pain radiated through her booted foot and everything rushed back to her—the Name That Tune contest, the stars, the snowball tussle and subsequent slip.
Garret frickin’ Ambrose.
She sat up fast and the room spun. Planting her hands on the mattress, she squeezed her eyes shut and waited for the dizziness to pass. Somehow, someway, the aroma of food wafted nearer.
“Good morning, my dark ray of starshine.” Garret’s voice joined the carousel in her head. He stood in the doorway, a plate in one hand, a cup of steaming coffee in the other, his smile bright.
Adara squinted at him, ignoring how her stomach growled. Her annoyance burned too hot to allow for any surprise. “You.”
“Me,” he agreed smoothly. “With a breakfast peace offering.”
“Not hungry.”
“Don’t be grumpy.” He set the food and mug on her nightstand and lifted the pair of crutches she hadn’t noticed leaning against the wall. “For travel.” He tapped the prescription bottle beside the plate. “For pain.”
“What about that?” She pointed at the origami boat on the nightstand corner.
“Homework.” He crouched beside the bed, bringing a draft of sunshine and citrus-scented air. His hair was shower-damp and his clothes were a few steps up from the ones from the previous night, jeans minus holes and a button-down shirt. His smile faded and his dark eyes searched her face. “I feel terrible.”
