Lost Melody

by Roz Lee

  He glanced at her. The tension in her shoulders made him think she was holding herself together with nothing more than willpower and determination. It didn't make any sense. There wasn't any way she could deny she enjoyed the kiss, but she wasn’t going to let him inside her protective shell for more than a minute.

  He tamped down on the frustration boiling beneath the surface. Pushing her too fast wasn’t going to work. He needed to slow things down or he would lose her for sure. More than ever, losing her was not an option. What had began as a practical arrangement just a few days ago had quickly become more. He took a deep, calming breath and let it out. He still had three weeks to convince her they would be good together, and he would use every minute of it if necessary.

  “How about I throw a backyard party this weekend for the gang?” he offered. “I can invite my entire graduating class, all twenty-five of them and their assorted spouses and children. You can do your own version of grilling them while I grill burgers and hot dogs.”

  She palmed the dampness from her cheeks. “You don’t need to go to so much trouble. I can meet with some of them individually and get plenty of material.”

  “That would take a lot of time.” Time he didn’t want her to be away from him. “And you would have to hear the same stories over and over. You can hear them as a group and conduct individual interviews on the side. Believe me, there's no end to the number of embarrassing stories they can come up with.”

  “Do you think they’ll come?”

  “Sure. I’ve known most of them my whole life. They’ll come. Of course, I reserve the right to tell my own stories about them. They can’t get off Scot-free for embarrassing the life out of me.”

  “Okay. Let’s do it, but I insist on buying the food.”

  Chapter Seven

  Guests began arriving well before lunch on Saturday. Hank and his father set up makeshift tables under the oak and pecan trees in the backyard while Mel took charge of the paper plates, napkins, and plastic utensils.

  Hank’s pool-playing buddy, Chris, arrived with his family and a giant galvanized tub they filled with ice and sodas so everyone could help themselves. Despite his insistence they needn’t bring anything, no one arrived empty-handed. She had never seen so many varieties of potato salad in her life. The dessert table held enough sweets to put an entire army into a sugar coma. Homemade pies, cakes, cookies of every description, and delectable treats from Cathy’s bakery tempted her the entire day.

  The men took turns cooking, filling soft springtime air with the mouth-watering aroma of charcoal and flame-grilled meat. People came and went. They arrived after work, following their children’s Little League game, or as an excuse to get out of mowing the lawn.

  She had never seen anything like it. It was a party, yet it held none of the awkwardness she expected. Though unrelated by blood, they were a family—close-knit by the commonality of growing up together in a small town and sharing a classroom from Kindergarten to high school graduation.

  Hank made sure she met every new arrival, snaking his arm around her waist in a possessive way that insured her acceptance as a friend. Everyone seemed eager to talk, and stories flew so fast she scrambled to keep up. She used Hank’s office to conduct individual interviews with the people he indicated were particularly close to him. She talked to girls he’d kissed under the cottonwood trees along the creek and guys he’d shared girly magazines with in the back of the school bus. He censored nothing. Knowing what a private person he was, his openness humbled her.

  As the last guest waved their farewell, she sank into a lawn chair. Hank fell into the one next to her. They sat for a long time, listening to night music provided by crickets and frogs.

  “I’m glad that’s over.” Hank rolled his head to look at her. “Did you get enough?”

  She chuckled. “I have enough stories to write two books. Hank Travis, Boy Wonder, and Hank Travis, Hero of Willowbrook.”

  Silence stretched between them. After a while, she glanced in his direction. The hard set of his jaw, the thin line of his lips betrayed his feelings. He pushed to his feet and began to gather the stray cups and plates, tossing them into a large trash can with more force than necessary.

  “Hank, I’m kidding. Everyone in town thinks you walk on water, but I can sort through the hyperbole to find the truth. It’s a credit to your good nature that you let them go on the way they did. A few of them had better watch out. You have a justifiable case of whopper-telling against them.”

  He paused, paper plate in hand. “I have never in my life heard such blatant lies as I heard today. I should have put a stop to it hours ago.” He took his frustration out on the plate, slamming it into the garbage.

  She stood. “Yet, you never once stopped them or told them to keep quiet.” She took the two steps to bring her face to face with him and placed her hand on his chest. “They’re your friends. You wouldn’t embarrass them by correcting them in public. You’re a good man, Hank Travis.”

  “I really did want to pound a few heads today, so I’m not as good as you seem to think.”

  “Yes, you are, Hank. You wouldn’t hurt a fly. I know that, now.” She wrapped her arms around his waist. He held her close in the deep shadow of the oak’s sweeping branches. She closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of him against her, his strong arms folded around her. She felt safe, protected, in his embrace. His shirt smelled of charcoal and mesquite from the grill, but inhaling deeply she detected the subtle musk, the distinctive scent that was Hank. His heart beat strong beneath her ear, and desire pooled low in her belly. Shocked at her unwanted reaction, she pushed out of his arms. He let her go.

  “Let’s get this mess cleaned up,” she said.

  They worked together, collecting scattered debris and carting dirty dishes into the kitchen. It was late when they finished, and he offered to drive her into town.

  Not really wanting the evening to end, but knowing it had to, she accepted the ride. They rode in virtual silence, enjoying the night air through open windows.

  He walked her to her door. “I’m exhausted,” she as she fished her house key from her purse.

  “Me, too.”

  “Do you mind if we take tomorrow off?” she asked. It was getting harder and harder to keep an emotional buffer between them, and after today she wasn’t even sure she wanted to anymore. She felt like a planet orbiting his sun, drawing closer and closer with each new thing she learned about him. If she didn’t find a way to distance herself soon…

  “If it’s what you want,” he said, pulling her close. He didn’t try to kiss her, and a part of her thought that was a good thing while another part prayed he would.

  “I think we should.”

  He hugged her tight. “Okay. Just remember it was your idea. I’ll see you on Monday.”

  * * *

  She set her voice recorder on the nightstand and snuggled under the handmade quilt she had picked up at the Methodist Church bizarre. She played back the recording from earlier in the week. Her skin tingled just listening to the smooth timbre of his voice. Things had been going so well, and then she’d lost control of yet another interview.

  There was a gap on the tape, and her memory filled in the words before she heard them. “For this.” The tape went silent again, except for the faint rustling of clothing. Tears formed as she remembered the joy of being in his arms, the heat of his body, the feel of his arousal grinding against her.

  The bedside phone rang, jolting her from her memories. She grabbed the handset. “Hello.”

  “I need to see you tomorrow.”

  “Hank,” she protested. “We agreed to take tomorrow off.”

  “Come to Dallas with me. I’ll leave the dog with Dad, and we’ll spend the day together. No interviewing allowed.”

  She was tempted. “Is is possible? I mean, to be out in public?”

  “Sure. No one expects to find you in Dallas, and with a haircut like mine, no one will recognize me.”

  “I’ve been me
aning to ask you about the haircut.” She smiled even though he couldn’t see her.

  “Yeah. It’s something isn’t it? Judd has been cutting my hair all my life. I’ll let it grow out before I go on tour again. When I get back from a tour, the first thing I do is go see Judd. He fixes me right up. Instant disguise. So, will you go with me tomorrow? We’ll just be a pretty girl and a nerd out on the town.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I’ll pick you up at eight. Dress casual.” He hung up before she could argue further.

  * * *

  Hank accelerated up the freeway on ramp, and she panicked. “Are you sure no one will recognize us?”

  He glanced over his shoulder, moved into the left lane, and shifted his attention to her. “No, I’m not sure no one will recognize me. I do have friends, and there are fans who might pick me out of a crowd, but for the most part, I don’t expect to be noticed at all. Have you ever seen someone in a mall or at a ballgame and thought you recognized them but you couldn’t place where you knew them from?”

  She nodded. “I have. I saw a guy in the grocery store once and I knew I had seen him before. It drove me crazy for days until I saw him on TV. He was the weather guy on one of the local stations.”

  “Once in a while I get that look, and sometimes the person will come up to me. If they don’t come up with my name, and sometimes even if they do, I just shake my head and say, nah, you have the wrong guy.”

  “And it works?”

  “Ninety-nine percent of the time. But don’t worry. I doubt we’ll see anyone today who would recognize me, and as long as you don’t shout your name out loud, no one will know who you are either.”

  “You never said where we’re going. Am I dressed okay?”

  “Shorts are perfect. I thought we would go to the Dallas Arboretum. I saw it on the news the other day. They said the flowers should be in bloom this week.”

  “I love flowers!”

  “So, I did good?”

  “You did excellent.”

  “What else do you like, Mel Harper?”

  She discovered they both loved Mexican food, snow skiing, and Willie Nelson, then the conversation moved on to the worst restaurants they’d ever been in, and their favorite movies and books.

  They strolled hand-in-hand along the Paseo de Flores at the Arboretum and took pictures of the blooming azaleas, tulips, daffodils, and dogwoods. Hank stopped another couple and asked them to take a photograph of the two of them with his cell phone camera, surrounded by spring blooms.

  Later, Hank took her to an inexpensive Mexican restaurant where they stuffed themselves with all their favorite dishes before they headed back to Willowbrook. It had been the most perfect date she had ever been on. Spending time with Hank was like being with a best friend. Conversation came easy and he seemed to enjoy a few minutes of silence to take everything in as much as she did.

  “I had a great time, but I’m exhausted. Plus, I ate too much.” She yawned. “I need a nap.”

  “Go ahead. I’ll wake you when we get home.”

  “I’ll just close my eyes for a few minutes.”

  He selected a Willie Nelson CD from his collection and turned the volume down low. He hadn’t driven five miles before the music and the droning of tires on pavement lulled her to sleep. She bore more resemblance to the little girl he’d seen in the internet photos when she was sleeping. Her lips parted slightly, and her head rolled to one side. He moved into the far right lane and slowed to well below the speed limit. Getting home at a particular time didn’t mean anything, but spending time with her, even if she was asleep, did.

  He took the long way back to Willowbrook, and when he cut the engine in front of her house about an hour later than they had anticipated, she didn’t stir. Slumped against the passenger side door, her breathing was slow and even. In the light of the street lamp, he could just make out her long lashes feathered over pale cheeks. He watched her sleep until he worried a nosy neighbor might alert the police to a strange vehicle parked in front of Mel’s house. It was late, but not too late for someone in the neighborhood to be out walking a dog or coming home after a movie.

  He remembered her words the other day, “I don’t sleep well at night.” Well, she was sleeping now, and he hated to disturb her.

  Her purse sat on the seat between them. He found her house key and eased out of the truck cab. After unlocking the front door, he returned for his sleeping beauty.

  He released the seatbelt and scooped her into his arms. She curled against his chest like a kitten seeking warmth. Lord, it felt good to hold her. There was something about her that made him throw good sense to the wind. He placed a kiss on the top of her head. Her hair smelled of roses, and an errant strand tickled his nose.

  It took some doing to manage the screen and front door with his bundle, but at last, he settled her onto the bed. By the light spilling in from the hallway, he removed her shoes and covered her with the quilt folded across the foot. She sighed and turned onto her side, pillowing her face onto her hand.

  Damn. She was so sweet lying there. He had no idea what kind of things disturbed her sleep, but standing there watching her all curled up and innocently seductive, he had the overwhelming urge to crawl in beside her and hug her tight against him. If demons crept into her dreams, he wanted to be there to slay them. But she wouldn’t appreciate his efforts—not yet anyway. So, he placed a gentle kiss on her temple and left before he did something she would never forgive him for.

  He drove the few blocks to his father’s house and let himself in without knocking. Henry was engrossed in a documentary on the History Channel and barely noted Hank’s arrival.

  “There’s coffee,” he said, without taking his eyes off the television.

  Hank helped himself to a cup and stretched out on the sofa. Betty Boop ambled over for some attention. He rubbed her behind her ears and she plopped at his feet. He waited for a commercial break before he spoke.

  “Dad.”

  Henry found the remote and muted the television.

  “I don’t know what to do.”

  “About what?” his dad asked.

  “I think I may be falling in love with Melody Ravenswood.”

  “I didn’t know you knew her.”

  “Don’t give me that crap. You made a donation and arranged for her to write the article about it. I wondered why you had me come over to review your tax returns so early in the morning. It didn’t take me long to figure it out, especially when you didn’t come home on time.”

  He shrugged. “I’ve been found out.”

  Hank shook his head. His father didn’t sound the least bit contrite about meddling in his son’s personal life.

  “Well, thanks. For once, you may have done me a favor. Did you know who she was before you set me up?”

  “Yeah. You know I’ve always been a fan of RavensBlood. When I heard her name, I thought it sounded familiar, so I did a little digging.”

  “You researched her on the Internet.”

  “Yep. It’s amazing what you can find there.”

  Hank groaned. “Well, she doesn’t want anything to do with me. She has a lot of baggage, and I don’t know if I’m strong enough to carry it all for her.”

  “Sure you are. She’ll come around. I suspect she came here to have a life, a real life. You manage it pretty well, so I figure you can show her how to do it, too.”

  “What makes you think she came here so she could have a life? Did it ever cross your mind she may have come here for some other reason?”

  “Like, to get an interview with you? You don’t believe that any more than I do.”

  “Why doesn’t she move to England? She owns a castle or some-such there.”

  “Maybe she wants more than to live like a prisoner, no matter how luxurious the prison. What kind of life would she have there? She’s young. And she must have led a pretty sheltered life to have stayed out of the tabloids all these years. Maybe she just wants to be normal, average.”r />
  “And you think I’m normal and average? I only fit the image when I’m in Willowbrook. I’m Hank the Hammer when I’m on the road, her worst nightmare come to life.” The epiphany hit him square between the eyes, and he sprang from the sofa. “Oh shit! Nightmares. She has nightmares, Dad.”

  He paced the small room. He’d never been a demon slayer before, but the instinct was there, and he couldn’t ignore it.

  “Her father died when she was just a kid. And tragically at that,” his dad said.

  “Yeah, that would mess with your head, for sure. I remember when it happened, and I didn’t even know the man.”

  “It was all over the news for days.”

  Hank sat back down, trying his best to remember the details from so long ago. “Tell me what you remember about how Earl Ravenswood died.”

  * * *

  Mel woke Monday morning in her own bed, wearing the clothes she had worn to Dallas the previous day—minus her shoes. She propped against the headboard and tried to piece together her ragged memory of the night before.

  She remembered leaving Dallas and telling Hank she needed a nap. After that…nothing. He must have carried her into the house and put her to bed. How else would she have gotten here? She glanced at the clock and realized she had slept for almost twelve hours. It was more sleep than she usually managed in a week. Exhaustion had never been the answer before, so what was different about last night?

  She hurried through her shower, already late for her day with Hank. She stopped at The Donut Hole to get a chocolate and sugar infusion, and to see her friend.

  “Hi, girl!” Cathy greeted her. “Nice party on Saturday. Thanks for inviting me. It was a great impromptu class reunion.”

  “All the thanks go to Hank. It was his idea. He thought it would be easier for me to hear all the stories in one place, rather than tracking everyone down. I think it may have backfired somewhat. The stories got more outlandish as the day went on. I’m not sure I believe half of them.”