“Watch it,” he snapped. “This young girl’s in pain.”
“Sorry. I was just trying to catch my balloons.”
Hearing my voice, he turned his head, and the anger faded away. “I heard you were back.” His eyes searched mine. “How come you never told me when you were going?”
“You didn’t ask.” Turning to the girl, I spoke softly, “You okay, hon? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
“No, the bump didn’t hurt, but my leg does, and it’s itchy. I want to scratch it, but I’ve got this stupid thing on.” She pointed to a tubular pressure garment on her right leg. “I don’t want to wear this. Do I have to?”
“’Fraid so, dear. It’s going to make your skin all pretty and soft again.”
Her eyes filled, and her bottom lip trembled. “It looks ugly—like a burnt sausage right now.”
Brett spoke soothingly, “Kim, I told you it’s going to be fine. It just takes time. A few months and you’ll be as good as new.”
Kim looked at Brett’s disfigurement, and her eyes reflected fear. “You’ve got scars. How long have you had them? How long will I look like that?” Her cheeks turned pink. “Sorry, that was rude.”
I tied the balloons at the end of the bed, and folded my arms, giving Brett my rapt attention. I couldn’t wait to hear what he would tell the girl. That he’d refused operations, and liked his scars just fine?
That he was a stubborn, obstinate fool who would prefer to risk his health and further complications, than to accept professional care?
As I waited for him to speak, I saw the muscle in his jaw pop in and out like it does when he’s upset.
I swallowed a sudden lump in my throat and spoke for him. “Not long at all.” My eyes roamed over his face, and I didn’t even try to stop my love from showing. Let him see, let the whole world see. “He’s having more treatments done, but it takes time, and you have to be patient. They will go away, I promise you that.”
His face was a little flushed, and instead of looking at me he kept his eyes on the girl. That was okay. I loved him and if he didn’t love me back, so what? Love doesn’t have to be a two-way street.
“I…” he began. I shot him a warning glance, and he shut up.
“His are a lot worse than yours,” I said to Kim. A tear rolled down her cheek as she looked at his ravaged face.
“You risk your life to save people. You saved me.” I could see he was choked up, so I took over until he could gain his composure.
“Yes, he did, and a few months before that he battled another fire, and saved more lives. That was how he got burned.” I looked at Brett, and hoped all the longing I felt wouldn’t embarrass him terribly, but I refused to hide it. Let him deal with it.
Kim asked, “Are those balloons for me?”
“They sure are, sweetie.” I handed her one. “What would you like me to make for you?” While I was talking, I made one into a sausage dog. “See how easy it is?” She smiled, and I felt as though I’d won the lotto.
Brett grabbed one. “Let me try that.”
I put my hands over his, and tried not to feel so damn happy. Even telling myself he was only being nice to me because of the little girl, my heart did a Congo beat. My hands were shaky, and it took me longer than usual to teach him how to make shapes out of the balloons. The close proximity to him made breathing difficult.
I kept my eyes on the balloons, but I knew his were on me. My cheeks were flushed, and my fingers felt as clumsy as having five thumbs. I darted a look at him, and found him smiling. If Kim hadn’t been in the room, I might have kissed him. She watched us, and her eyes were shining.
She giggled, “You like him, don’t you?”
“No way!” I wrinkled my nose at her. “He’s a boy, and we don’t like boys, do we?”
Brett pretended to look offended.
She gazed at him with hero worship in her young innocent eyes. “He’s okay. I don’t like most boys though.”
I laughed. “That’s what I thought.”
My eyes met Brett’s, and we shared a smile.
“I’m going to leave you two alone,” I said quickly. With a firm grip on the remainder of the balloons, I headed for the door. I had to leave. Now. Before I did something idiotic, like give him a big, sloppy kiss, right here in this ward. “I’ll make my rounds, and see you later.” I winked at Kim. “Bye.”
Her eyes clung to mine. “Come back later. Please?”
“I will. I promise.”
I had only taken a few steps when Brett joined me in the hall. “Susie. I have something to say to you. Something that just can’t wait.”
“Yes?” I held my breath.
“I’m sorry about everything, and I was wrong. I wanted to tell you right away, but you were gone.” His eyes were full of hurt. “You left without saying goodbye to me.”
“You knew where I was.”
“I figured you didn’t want to have anything to do with me after the way I’d treated you and Melody. I couldn’t blame you for that.”
“That’s okay, Brett. Melody’s happy, and so am I.”
“You saved my life that night.” He came up close to me, and whispered, “and you know what they say—when you save somebody’s life, you own it. My life is now in your hands.”
I shook my head. “No, it isn’t. Everyone has a responsibility to themselves. You taught me that.”
“I’ve missed you, Susie. I know it’s probably too late to tell you this, but I have to. I love you.”
“Oh, Brett…”
“I called your father, and I have an appointment set up.” He clenched his jaw. “I’m going to stop acting like some damn sissy, and get the rest of the surgery done.” I would have spoken, but he put his finger over my lips. “I want to do this. It’s not for you. It’s for me.”
I nodded, and tears of joy spilled down my cheeks. “I love you too. So much.” I grabbed his face and gave him a slow, satisfying kiss. Pulling back, I looked into his eyes, and his scars were gone. When I looked deeper, I saw children around us, and I knew that Brett and I were going to have a long and happy life together.
After all, I can see the future.
THE END
Night Music
Patrice Wilton
CHAPTER ONE
FRAN
If I had to describe myself in one word, I’d say survivor. I could also add resilient, stubborn, tenacious, feisty, and a whole slew of other words, but you get my point. If a tornado came my way, I’d probably swallow it whole and spit the damn thing out. That’s me. Fran Sherman. Constitution of a tank and just as indestructible. Ask the breast cancer that I beat to smithereens.
So why am I acting more like the cowardly lion, afraid to go onstage and sing in front of a small crowd? It’s not as if I’m performing at the Grammies or the Super Bowl, competing for attention with a zillion clever ads. I’m at my favorite hang-out, the Candy Bar in South Beach, owned by my very good friend…Candy.
It’s not even my first time singing here. I’ve filled in a few times and once broke a guitar over some lead singer’s head. He deserved it—the guy was being a real A-hole, after Candy ordered him to pack up and leave. When he didn’t comply, I settled the matter with a wham, bam, and then sang to a cheering crowd. I know how to appeal to the masses. But tonight? Everything’s different. I’m different.
“Hey, Fran.” Brett put a hand on my elbow and guided me toward his table, near the stage. Away from the exit. “Candy’s trying to get your attention.”
Brett Hamilton is a hunky fire fighter engaged to another dear friend of mine, Susie. He’s here for his stag party, which means Susie couldn’t come tonight. Gotta keep the guys and gals separate, for some archaic reason that doesn’t matter anymore. As much as I adore Brett, I’d rather have Susie’s support. She’d understand my sudden need to disappear.
“I just need a minute to calm down. Nerves.” I ran my damp palms down the side of hips and took a couple of deep breaths.
“That’s
not like you,” Brett said with a pat to my shoulder. “You’re Fearless Fran.”
I smiled, liking that name for myself. “You think? Thanks, Brett.” I didn’t feel fearless. Instead, each nerve ending pulsed with apprehension. I sang because I liked it. Enjoyed it for me. Not because I needed to escape financial ruin.
One of Brett’s friends joined us, handing Brett a very large Bachelor Night beer. He introduced himself as John Hanley, Fire Chief. “Can I buy you a drink?”
“No, thanks.” I could tell the man was just being polite by the bored expression in his eyes. “I’m singing in a minute.” I glanced at Candy standing on the stage, dressed in a leather vest and skinny jeans, wearing her trademark cowboy boots and straw hat. She beckoned me forward. I couldn’t stall any longer. “I’ve got to go.”
“You don’t look so good,” the fire chief said, his eyes on me. “Face is flushed. Maybe you should sit down a second.” He scrutinized me like I was a CPR mannequin that might need a blockage cleared.
I know I’m not traditionally pretty, but it would be nice if every once in a while a man eyed me like he wanted to give me mouth to mouth.
Putting my palms to my hot cheeks cooled them a bit. Was I coming down with something? The way my life was going, I might have the pox or something else highly contagious. I should probably dart out the back, run home and hide under the covers.
I knew I couldn’t. Candy’s one of the biggest hearted, best friends a gal could ever hope for, and I couldn’t run out on her, even if I wanted.
“We have a wonderful entertainer tonight,” Candy shouted above the bar noise. “A few of you lucky patrons might remember Frannie May? Well, she’s making her official debut here before going on to win America Loves Country.” Candy grinned and waved me up to the stage. The spotlight. Had I lost my damn mind? I had a one in a million chance to win the jackpot. “She’s being a little shy tonight. Let’s give her a warm welcome, please.”
I tossed my head back. So what if they don’t like me and I get booed off stage? I’ve survived far worse in my life. A helicopter crash, the loss of my baby, cancer. This is nothing in the big picture of life. Right?
Wrong. I need this gig. I need the money. And that really sucks the big one. I don’t like needing people, or things, or favors of any kind. I prefer to think I’m an independent, invincible, self-reliant force of nature, but tonight, I feel vulnerable, as though something out of my control just might get the better of me.
A few people clapped but most continued drinking and chatting amongst themselves, never glancing toward the stage or me. The fact that no one cared was hugely reassuring.
I’d lived half of my life invisible. Floating in the background, aware of everything going on around me while not asserting myself or becoming emotionally invested. Piece of cake for tonight—just sing a few songs. Make some money. Practice for the gold ring—a recording contract. I looked over the crowd at my friends.
I don’t have many, but they’re extremely special, and I wouldn’t trade them for the world.
Susie, banished home because of Brett’s bachelor party, is an artist and does amazing murals for children’s hospitals. She was a screwball before she found her way, dancing from one disastrous career choice to another. I mean, she was a party entertainer and showed up as a bumblebee for some kid’s birthday, for heaven’s sake.
Candy, well, Candy is the coolest person on the planet. Single mom with a centerfold figure, and owner of the hottest bar in Florida.
Lydia, smooching at a private table with her new husband, is one of the smartest divorce attorney’s in the state. Single by choice at forty, due to her profession. She only saw broken marriages, not the good ones, and thought marriage was for suckers and romantics, which luckily kept her in business. Then she got knocked up one night at the Candy Bar. Her career took a rocky path, while her personal life blossomed.
Stepping up to Candy, I took the mic from her outstretched hands, willing mine to stop trembling. “Hey, everybody. I’m so glad to be here tonight, and I know you are too. Isn’t this the best bar in South Beach?”
Everyone cheered, and I winked at Candy, shooing her toward the steps. “Well, kick back and enjoy yourselves while I entertain you with a few songs.”
I chose a tune that wasn’t too country and not too pop but figured most of the people knew. It also suited my voice. I blocked everything and everybody out except the music.
Then I forgot my enormous mountain of medical bills and sang as I always did in the church choir. I raised my voice and looked over everyone’s heads, as if singing to an unknown power.
When the song ended, I glanced up. A young, shaggy-haired guy barely old enough to shave stood inches from the stage, staring directly at me.
“Frannie May. Is that something like Maggie May?” More than slightly off tune, he sang, “Wake up, Maggie, I’ve got something to say to you. Your voice sucks and so do you…”
My blood ran hot, and I had to restrain myself from hitting the guy over the head with my expensive guitar. Instead, I clapped loudly, effectively shutting him down. “Very good. You like Rod Stewart?” I asked in a soft, sexy voice that entranced the watching crowd.
“Yeah. He’s good. Great lyrics, aren’t they?”
“The best. Now, why don’t you go sit down and let me sing? Unless you want to, of course.” The bar patrons snickered.
“Country’s for rednecks and illiterates.” He burped. “Can’t you sing anything else?”
Candy, furious, headed our way, one of her big, brawly bouncers right behind her. Brett stood, speaking calmly in an obvious attempt to diffuse the situation. “Sit down and stop hassling the lady. We want to hear her. Not you.” Slinging one arm around the kid’s slim shoulders, I shouted to the crowd, “Anyone here like country?”
My question met with shouts and cheers. My ‘friend’ and I walked to the edge of the stage, where I handed him over to the bouncer before raising my hands over my head and clapping. “Help me out, country fans. I want to hear plenty of voices.” I planned to do another LeAnn Rimes hit song but decided on Willie Nelson.
“Mama, don’t let your babies grow up to be cowboys,” I sang to a huge roar of approval. Happy voices joined in. I followed up with “Honky Talk Woman” which had the crowd on their feet.
I was starting to enjoy myself when the same shaggy-headed dude jumped up on the stage, staggered a little, then grabbed me by the waist. “Maggie May. Have we slept together? If not, how about later?”
I shook my head, not even close to amused. “Not tonight, sweetheart. Your mommy’s probably waiting up for you.”
Candy stood near the steps, ready to throw this guy out of the bar for good. I waved her back. I wanted to handle this jerk alone.
John Hanley bypassed the bouncer and leaped up on stage. “Take your seat buddy, before I have to throw you out.”
I hadn’t realized the paunchy fire chief had such broad shoulders, or a deep voice. Or would stand up and fight for me. But then again, he was a hero who braved burning buildings and saved lives for a living. What did I know?
“No problemo.” The kid gave my backside a pat then hopped down, stumbling a little before he regained his balance. When he had both feet firmly planted, he turned and grinned at me. “Your name sure rings a bell. If you were ten years younger, I’d let you ring mine.”
John jerked his thumb toward the back door. Had he said my cheeks were red? His were practically purple. “Out.”
Soon it would be a free-for-all if I didn’t gain control. I glanced at the fire chief. “Don’t worry, Sugarcakes, I can handle this one. And anyone else drunk enough to try. Thanks though.”
The chief looked from me to the kid, then shrugged his shoulders and returned to his seat. Without warning a crash of lightning hit outside, the skies opened, and rain pelted down in thunderous beats against the red tiled roof.
The Candy Bar, once an old Spanish Mission, sits on an ancient Indian burial ground. Or so legend has it
. Candy swears magic breathes in the Candy Bar on nights like this.
All I know for certain is that my eyes drew to the chief, just as the lights began to flicker, and the brick wall behind the bar began to sweat.
Candy laughingly yelled to her customers, “Magic is in the air—be careful what you wish for.”
I couldn’t look away from the chief with the big mustache and the adorable beer belly. We locked eyes, and for some reason, I couldn’t break free. My heart raced. My palms grew damp. Blood rushed to my head, and my toes tingled.
Personally, I’d never experienced the magic surrounding this place, and I didn’t want to either. I was very content with my life, except for the little fact that I desperately needed money to pay my medical bills before my retirement condo consisted of a cardboard box. The cancer treatments had eaten my savings and put me in serious debt. That’s all I wanted, just to stay healthy and get out of this financial hole. Nevertheless, I found myself wishing for more.
After winning the contest and the prize money, I wanted to become a nationally acclaimed recording star, sing at sold-out concerts, and hand out awards on Grammy night. Since I was wishing for things unlikely to happen, I decided to make the most of it by wishing to have a wild fling with a hot guy on my road to success.
That’s all I clearly remember.
A bright light appeared as I continued gazing at the middle-aged firefighter. He looked dazed too. I felt my body start to hum, my insides heat up, and energy zap me from head to toe.
Damn it seven ways to Sunday. I’d been touched by magic.
CHAPTER TWO
JOHN
What the hell? Rotating my shoulder muscles, I tried to shake off whatever the fuck was happening. My eyes stared at some dame, and for the life of me, I couldn’t look away.
Magic, my ass. But there was definitely something weird going down. Felt like somebody decided to do a highland fling over my grave. My entire body had chills then caught fire as my eyes locked with the woman on stage. What did she call herself? Frannie May. Wasn’t that a mortgage company or some damn thing?
The Candy Bar Complete - 4 book box set: Candy Bar Series Page 46
