Home To Copper Mountain

by Rebecca Winters

  “No. By that time I was listening to country music like all my friends. I wanted to learn how to play guitar, so the teacher who taught orchestra and band let me use his old electric guitar to fool around with at home.”

  “Did you ever get formal training on the guitar?”

  “No.”

  He shook his head. “You’re unbelievable.”

  “Uncle David and Pam didn’t know what to make of me. I still practiced my violin and did my chores. When it was time for bed, I went up to the attic with the guitar. I’d hook it up and then work out harmonies while I listened to the country and rock stations on the radio. The lyrics could be pretty heart-wrenching sometimes. I found myself making up my own songs just for the fun of it.”

  She eyed Rick. “Your father told me you did the same thing. You’d hibernate in the garage after dark, no matter how freezing it was. I understand you bought a little heater with the money you earned from doing chores, and then you’d work on your go-cart while you listened to Mozart.”

  His eyes softened. “Let’s stick to you for now. I want to hear the rest.”

  “The rest, huh?” She sighed. “My freshman year in high school the orchestra and a cappella students went on a field trip by bus to attend a performance of the Austin Symphony Orchestra. My world changed that day. I heard Saint-Saën’s The Swan. It was a composition for harp and violin.”

  “I know the piece,” Rick replied. “It was one of my mother’s favorites.”

  Audra nodded. “It became mine. As soon as I got home, I told Pam and Uncle David I wanted to stop the violin and take harp lessons. I promised to earn all the money myself and do whatever I had to do because I knew the harp was my instrument. Pam arranged to drive me into Austin twice a week for lessons with a local harpist. The first time I was able to play a piece, the experience was magical. The only thing I can liken it to would be the way you must have felt when you suited up, sat in a real race car and did a few laps around the track.”

  “You mean like you’d died and gone to heaven?” His facial expression reflected that moment of epiphany.

  “Yes. That’s exactly how it felt. I wanted to play the harp all the time and made arrangements to rent one. A month before my graduation, my uncle bought me my own harp.”

  Her eyes filled. “You’ll never know how much it meant to me.”

  “I think I do,” he said in a low voice. “He believed in you and wanted you to know it.”

  Audra sniffed. “I played a harp solo on it at my graduation. It was Debussy’s Girl With the Flaxen Hair.

  “My harp teacher was in the audience and she’d brought a friend with her, Clea Marks. Clea played the harp with the Austin Symphony Orchestra and was a faculty member in the fine arts department at the University of Texas at Austin.

  “After hearing me play, it was decided Clea would start giving me lessons in her spare time. So I attended the university in Austin and received my fine arts degree. We became very good friends.”

  “That happens with a special mentor,” Rick mused aloud. “I had one in my crew chief, Wally. He’d been a racer. He knew the ropes, and knew how to help me.”

  “Clea was wonderful in that same way. She urged me to continue studying harp at the Paris Conservatory.”

  “How long were you in France?” He acted as if he really wanted to know.

  “Two years.”

  “We would have been there at the same time. I was in Europe for a lot of races. When I had time off, I often went to concerts. I must have been in Paris at least six or seven times to hear various performances.”

  She stared at him. “Do I dare admit I’ve never been to a Formula One race?”

  “Dare all you want. What you were doing with your time couldn’t be compared to watching a bunch of testosterone-filled drivers try to beat each other around a track with the fastest time.”

  “It’s all important if it’s what you have to do with your life, Rick. Of course, I didn’t spend every second of my time studying music,” she admitted.

  When she thought of Boris now, it didn’t hurt.

  Before Rick could jump in with the one question she didn’t want to answer, she said, “Upon my return home, Clea asked me to join her harp ensemble.

  “She was friends with two other renowned harpists from New York and Boston. The four of us did some television appearances that aired nationally. Last summer we went on a summer concert tour back East. A local radio station host in Austin did an in-depth interview with me and Clea over the air before we left.”

  Rick crossed one ankle over the other. “He knew he’d struck pure gold. I bet the second the broadcast ended, the owner hit you up with a radio spot of your own and a monetary offer you couldn’t refuse.”

  Her cheeks went warm. “Something like that.”

  “Have you made your own CDs to sell?”

  “Only for the listeners when they call in and request one. My boss insists on having some available.”

  “How many agents have come along begging you to let them make you a film star?”

  “Oh, three or four,” she teased. “But that was before my accident. The camera wouldn’t be kind to a gal with a gimp leg.” She winked at him before reaching for her crutches.

  His expression sobered. “When’s your next tour with the ensemble?”

  “This summer, provided I’ve finished my physical therapy by then.” She got off the bed and gathered the cards.

  “What are you doing? We haven’t had our poker game yet.”

  “Your eyelids are fluttering like a baby’s. All this talk about my job has reminded me I’ve got to phone the station manager before I do my program tonight. I’ll wake you for dinner. Go to sleep.”

  “I will on one condition.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Put on a CD of you playing Girl With the Flaxen Hair.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  “THIS IS 580 on your AM dial, the Hill Country station out of Austin. You’re listening to the Red Jarrett Show and I’m taking requests. My producer, Jack, tells me Theresa is on the line. Hi, Theresa.”

  “Hi, Red. You have a super show.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Man, it’s been hard to get in. We’ve tried since Christmas. Anyway, my friends and I were closing up the restaurant a long time back and you sang a great song called ‘Hey Wanda? Bring The Blue Plate Special.’ We’d all like to hear it again, and we want to know if we can order it on CD.”

  “You bet. Stay on the line and the producer will tell you how to get it. What’s the name of your restaurant?”

  “The Longhorn Steak and Grill.”

  “I’ve eaten there. Great steaks by the way. Don’t you serve those nummy little deep-fried mashed-potato balls?”

  “Yes ma’am. The chef’s going to love it that you remembered.”

  “They’re good.”

  Rick grinned at the way Audra exaggerated the word good with that sexy Texas accent. He’d been lying on one of the twin beds watching her do her show. He never wanted her to stop.

  “This song is dedicated to all of you hardworking people at the Longhorn.”

  He watched her pick up her guitar and put in a backup tape. While she was occupied, he kept pressing the redial button on his phone to get the station.

  It was only quarter after twelve. He was starting early because he had a request of his own to make. In case he got through, he’d opened his wallet to pull out his credit card and another card with some addresses and telephone numbers on it.

  Hey Wanda?

  Bring the blue plate special,

  I’m eating alone tonight.

  Put me in the corner,

  Away from all the light.

  If anyone should ask for me,

  You know what to say,

  All I want’s the blue plate special,

  Everyone else just stay away.

  Don’t come any closer,

  Don’t
sit down with me,

  Don’t tangle with me, honey,

  Just leave me be.

  I want the blue plate special,

  Without the company.

  Other guys have tried,

  Much braver than you,

  Save yourself the trouble,

  I’ll give you a clue.

  I want the blue plate special,

  I don’t want you.

  You don’t want to be around me,

  You don’t know who I am,

  You think you have the answers,

  But honey, I don’t give a damn.

  I want the blue plate special,

  Did you hear me? Scram!

  Hey Wanda?

  If anyone should ask for me,

  You know what to say,

  All I want’s the blue plate special,

  Everyone else just stay away.

  Audra’s songs not only came from the gut, they hit you in the gut. How many times after a race had Rick walked into a place to eat and just wanted to be left alone to think without some woman from the track coming up to his table to join him.

  More than once when he’d been in a mood, whether reflective or foul, he’d paid a waiter or a waitress to find him a place in a corner well out of sight.

  Audra, Audra.

  Where have you been all my life?

  Enchanted by the fabulous show she was putting on, he was stunned when he finally connected with the producer at the station. The time had almost gone and he hadn’t noticed. It was quarter to three.

  She hadn’t looked at him the whole time. At the moment, she was busy playing the taped commercials. With her headphones on, she had no idea what he was up to.

  “You have a request for Red?”

  “Yes. It’s ‘Racetrack Lover.’ I’m Rick, the guy who had the accident on the horse.”

  “Oh yeah. I remember. I’ll tell her. She didn’t know if you were listening or not. This is going to make her day.”

  Audra knew now, but her reaction hadn’t told him much at the time.

  “I’d also like to order some CDs she’s made.”

  “Hang on. After she takes your request, I’ll get the information.”

  Rick was put on hold. He could hear Audra speaking into the mike.

  “We’re coming up on three o’clock. Time for one more request. My producer says…Rick is on the line.”

  Rick heard the slight pause before her shocked blue gaze darted to his from across the room.

  “Hello, Rick.”

  “Hello, yourself.” He’d never had this much fun in his life. “May I make a comment before you sing ‘Racetrack Lover’?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Race-car drivers are just like other men. They have their good and bad qualities. They can be afraid and lonely. They want what every man wants.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “A chance to be understood.”

  “Did the listening audience catch what he said? You’ve just heard from the living legend Lucky Hawkins, one of the greatest Formula One race-car drivers in the world.

  “The station is honored you would call in, Rick. After such a frank confession, no one in the audience could accuse you of being like the racetrack lover in my song.

  “May I take this opportunity to wish you a speedy recovery after your accident? Those who heard my program the other night learned that Rick’s horse fell on him. He’s out of commission at the moment, but not for long. One day soon we’ll hear he’s won the Laguna Seca for the fourth time.”

  His pulse started to race. How did she know about that unless she’d plied his father with questions?

  Rick watched her reach for the guitar and put in another backup tape. While she let it rip, the producer started talking into the phone.

  “I’m Jack, Audra’s producer. I can’t believe you’re Rick Hawkins!” He sounded as excited as Brent Marsden did the first time they were introduced.

  “I watch you race every chance I get. You’re the best, man. Did you and Audra meet in Europe? Because if you did and she’s been keeping this from us, she’s in deep trouble. Our boss is a big fan of yours, too!”

  “Thank you. Actually, Audra and I met very recently. It’s a long story. I’m anxious to collect everything she’s put on CD. Would you be willing to Express Mail whatever you’ve got?”

  “I’ll send it tomorrow. You’ll have it Wednesday afternoon if you’re within the U.S.”

  Rick gave him his father’s address at the main ranch house.

  “I’d like another set sent to a Nate Hawkins.” He read off his brother’s address in Colorado Springs, then gave Jack the credit card information.

  “That’s it. Don’t be a stranger, Rick. Call in again anytime.”

  “I promise.”

  “Can I quote you on that to the boss?”

  “You can.” Most definitely you can.

  He hung up in time to hear Audra say her closing comments before the show went off the air.

  AUDRA REACHED for her crutches and stood up. She wasn’t as exhausted as she’d been last week after doing her program.

  By now Rick was on his feet. He moved faster than before. His color was good. The two patients were getting better.

  “I didn’t know you were a masochist,” she said.

  The corner of his mouth lifted. “You mean because I wanted to hear ‘Racetrack Lover’ again? I find I’ve developed a fondness for the song.”

  “You’re a nice man, Rick Hawkins. Knowing your father, he couldn’t have raised any other kind. Now it’s time we were both in bed. Let’s agree to sleep in. I’ll fix us a big lunch.”

  “You’ll get no complaints from me.”

  She followed him out of the room and turned off the light. “Can I bring you anything from the kitchen?”

  “I was going to ask you the same question.”

  Audra shook her head. “All I want is sleep.”

  “In other words, the blue plate special.”

  She laughed. “Please don’t take everything I say or do literally. I’m feeling bad enough to think I might have hurt your feelings when I wrote ‘Racetrack Lover.’”

  “Maybe my pride took a little beating.”

  It was hard to tell if he was teasing or not. “Am I forgiven?”

  “Do you want to be?”

  What kind of question was that? “Of course.”

  “When we’re both free of our restraints, how would you like to watch a Formula One race with me? Purely as spectators. I’ll go incognito. We’ll watch from the bleachers and you can ask me all the questions you want so you’ll have some understanding of the sport. Understanding takes away fear.”

  Her heart gave a tremendous thud.

  She knew all she needed to know about racing. It could kill a driver instantly. Rick planned to return to the sport the minute he got better.

  The last thing she wanted to do was learn all about it from him. She would never know another moment’s peace.

  But what she said to him was, “Ask me that question again when we’ve both been given a clean bill of health from our doctors.” By the time she’d finished her physical therapy, he’d be long gone.

  His eyes had narrowed until she couldn’t see the gray irises. “You can count on it. Good night, Audra. Your program was superb.”

  “Thank you for being such an appreciative audience.”

  He turned away from her and disappeared down the hall to his room.

  Within five minutes she’d climbed into bed wearing a loose-fitting T-shirt and her cutoffs. After such a long day, she would sleep tonight.

  Or so she’d thought.

  When we’re both free of our restraints, how would you like to watch a Formula One race with me? Purely as spectators. I’ll go incognito. We’ll watch from the bleachers and you can ask me all the questions you want so you’ll have some understanding of the sport. Understanding takes away fear.

  If Rick had asked her to go anywhere else but the race
track, Audra would have been thrilled to her bones.

  It was unfair of her to feel the way she did. She made her living through her music. He made his through racing. She’d shown him her world. He wanted to show her his.

  No matter what the future held, their lives would always be connected because of Clint and Pam. It was critical for her and Rick to get along. He had understood that sooner. Being the more pragmatic of the two, he’d issued the invitation as an olive branch of sorts.

  Being the more prickly of the two, Audra hadn’t chosen to take hold of it. Not yet. Maybe not ever, she thought as her eyes closed.

  “PAM? Did you see that crash? No— It’s Rick—Help me get to him— Help me— So many people. Let me through— I’m coming, Rick—it’s Audra. Can you hear me?

  “Rick— You’re bleeding— Dear God, there’s so much blood— Don’t die, Rick— Please don’t die.

  “Somebody help him— He’s trapped inside the car— Pull him out— Get him out— Don’t let him die— I couldn’t bear it— Someone save him, oh please God, save him— Rick—”

  “Audra? I’m right here. I’m all right. Audra. Wake up.”

  She could hear Rick’s voice reaching down inside her.

  “Rick?”

  “Yes, Audra. You were having a bad dream.”

  “It was a dream?” she cried. “It seemed so real. You were in this crash. Your race car rolled and landed upside down. No one could get to you, and—”

  “I know, but it didn’t happen. I’m here with you. Go back to sleep.”

  “I thought you were dead.” She broke down sobbing. “You were trapped and your face looked so white—”

  “It was just a dream. Shh.” She felt his lips against her closed lids, her cheeks. He was real and alive. “I’m right here and I’m not going to leave you.”

  “Don’t ever leave me—”

  “No, Audra—I’ll never do that.”

  WHAT ON EARTH?

  Something had happened to her pillow.

  Audra turned her head. It felt as if she was lying against someone’s shoulder.

  Her eyelids flew open to discover a pair of gray eyes only inches away from hers. They were studying her features rather intently.