by Rula Sinara
Ciara grinned as Finn pointed at the revolving order rack. “By my count, you have half a dozen orders to cook up.” She grabbed her pad and headed for the dining room. “Better get busy, because I’ll be back in a minute with a couple more.”
Ciara feigned a look of disapproval. “Now, Finn, is that—is that any way to talk to your assistant manager?”
“Hey. Whose side are you on?” Finn wrapped her in a fierce hug, then finger combed Ciara’s wavy brown bangs. “You have customers, too, sister dear,” she said, turning her toward the counter. “You’d better get crackin’, too.”
Rowdy filled the twelve-slice toaster and pushed the lever. “Don’t mind her, kid. Finn’s old before her time, but it ain’t her fault.”
“I know,” Ciara said.
Before the accident, her sister had been an athletic, straight-A student. Afterward, she’d become a stumbling, stuttering girl who didn’t remember the drunken argument that had made their dad stomp on the gas until the already battered Jeep rolled end over end before coming to a screeching, grinding halt alongside the highway. She didn’t remember spending weeks in the hospital, enduring six operations, the months of physical therapy that followed, or the fact that Misty and Connor had left town instead of dealing with their parental duties or taking responsibility for what they’d done to her.
But Finn remembered. And she’d never forgive them for it.
Shake it off, Finn. They’ll never change. And, as Pete loved to say, What’s done is done, so just accept it. Besides, she’d played a small role in the accident, too...
Finn stepped up to Mark’s table. “What can I get you gents?”
“Sweet tea and a burger,” he said. “Medium rare, with a side of fries.”
“For breakfast?” Sam chuckled. “Broke up with the dietician already, did you?”
“Mind your own business, smart guy. This pretty young gal has better things to do than watch you poke your nose where it doesn’t belong.”
“Ah, but it does belong. As your partner, I’m concerned about your health.”
Even Finn had to laugh at that.
“I’ll have what he’s having,” Sam told her.
“When I deliver your orders,” she said, winking at Mark, “you’ll have to tell me all about the woman who almost talked you into a health food diet.” She pointed her pencil at Sam. “If he starts talking about her before I get back, stop him, hear?”
“Yes, ma’am. I mean, no, ma’am.”
Ciara had been half right, Finn thought, clipping the order to a mini clothespin on the order wheel. Sam was handsome...but he had a sense of humor. In her experience, the two didn’t coexist nearly often enough.
“I don’t get it,” Rowdy said, snapping the ticket from the rotating wheel. “Why does Mark eat two meals a day in here when he could eat free at his own place?”
“I know why,” Ciara said, clapping like a schoolgirl. “Mark eats here because he’s bored with the food on his own menu, that’s why!”
Innocence radiated from Ciara’s brown eyes, prompting Finn to draw her into another hug. “You are so smart!”
“Not as smart as you, but—but—but that’s okay, because I’m the pretty sister.”
Laughing, Finn said, “Yes, you sure are.” She was lovely, even with the ropelike scar that started near her right nostril and disappeared in her hair...one more reason to resent their parents.
“Did I tell you that Mommy called me today?”
Finn took a moment to gather her self-control. “Really,” she said through clenched teeth. A call from Misty could only mean one thing: trouble.
“She’s coming to Nashville in a few months, and, and she wants to stay with us!”
There was barely room for the two of them in the apartment above the diner, even before Misty’s suitcases exploded with clothes, shoes, makeup and hair products.
“I’ll book her a room at a nice hotel. We’ll all enjoy the visit more if we’re not stepping on each other’s toes all day and night.”
“But, Finn... Mommy misses us. She said—she said she wants to snuggle and watch old movies together. And eat popcorn.” Ciara raised both shoulders, smiling. “And drink cocoa!”
“It’s August, Kee. Nobody drinks cocoa in August.”
“Why not? We have air-conditioning.”
Oh, if only she had Ciara’s “keep it simple” gift!
“Did she say when she’ll get here?”
“No. She, she need to make some arrange—arrangements.”
“Aha.” Finn recognized it as Misty speak for I’ll be there, eventually...unless someone makes me a better offer.
“Promise me you won’t be too disappointed if Misty can’t come. You know how...busy she is.”
“I won’t be disappointed because she’ll be here! She can sleep in my bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.”
Finn and Rowdy exchanged a wary glance.
“You’ll see,” Ciara added. “She’ll come. You won’t—you won’t really make her stay in a hotel, will you?”
“Maybe you ought to book a room for yourself,” Rowdy told Finn.
But his joke fell flat as she recalled Misty’s last spontaneous visit. A local newswoman had reserved the diner for a bachelorette party, and while Finn had worked, Misty had decided to treat Ciara to her first pub crawl. Not only had she forgotten that even one piña colada would interact poorly with Ciara’s medications, but she’d left Ciara alone—supposedly “just long enough for a few dances.” Alone, afraid and out of her element, Ciara had panicked and wandered off. If not for the elderly Baltimore couple who’d coaxed Finn’s number from her...
Finn shuddered at the awful things that could have happened to someone as sweet tempered and naive as Ciara.
Rowdy shoved two plates onto the serving counter. “Order up.”
“Can I deliver it, Finn? I won’t drop anything. I promise.”
She’d assigned Ciara the lunch counter to save her from having to walk while balancing food-laden trays. But this request seemed important to her, and what better way to let her sister prove herself than with two identical orders, delivered to two easygoing guys?
Ciara took a plate in each hand. “Two trips are better than making a mess, right? I’ll be right back for their—for their sweet tea.”
Finn got a little teary-eyed watching Ciara approach the table, then engage in friendly conversation with Sam and Mark. She’d been through so much since the accident, but instead of coming out the other side bitter and self-pitying, Ciara woke every morning smiling, looking forward to the day. Finn plucked a paper napkin from a dispenser on the counter and blotted her eyes.
“Quit worrying about her,” Rowdy said, patting Finn’s shoulder. “She’s a happy, well-adjusted young woman, thanks mostly to you.”
Rowdy thought he knew the whole story, but he didn’t. He meant well, though, so Finn sent him a feeble smile anyway. Keeping a roof over Ciara’s head and food in her belly—well, anyone with a half a heart and a steady paycheck could do that much. Finn believed she owed her the rest. Whoever her sister was—and might become—was due to her own persistence and good-hearted nature. Finn wouldn’t take credit for that.
Rowdy pointed. “Shape up, girl. Here she comes.”
She picked up a clean cloth and spritzed disinfectant on the lunch counter. If Ciara saw her tears, Finn could blame the cleaning product.
“They changed their minds. They—they want sodas instead of sweet tea.” Ciara scooped crushed ice into identical red plastic glasses. “You know, I think that Sam guy likes you.”
“All of my customers like me,” Finn teased.
“Yeah, but he’s the only one who stares at you that way.”
“What way?” Finn looked across the diner, straight into the big blue eyes of
Sam Marshall, whose dimple appeared at the same time as his charming, slanted smile. It didn’t seem rehearsed, like the flirtations of so many other rock star hopefuls who frequented The Right Note.
“See there?” Ciara wrapped her hands around the full, fizzing tumblers and started back to the table. “Told you he liked you.”
Rowdy chuckled and went back to his over-easy eggs. “By Jove, I think she’s right.”
“Stow your bow, Cupid.” Finn returned the cleaning supplies to their shelf and faced him. “You’re wasting perfectly good arrows, shooting at the likes of me.”
He put down his spatula and, wiping enormous hands on a corner of his apron, stepped up to the service counter.
“Finnegan Ula Logan Leary...”
She hated Misty’s silly reason for choosing the mostly male names that appeared on her birth certificate: “Your initials spell FULL, and that’s what I want your life to be!” If she’d been the least bit sincere, would she have made choices that left Finn feeling empty and afraid...and alone?
“...why are you determined to make life so hard for yourself?”
Of all people, Rowdy should know the answer to that. He’d been there when Pete had provided a home for her and Ciara after Misty and Connor had taken off.
“Times like these,” Rowdy continued, “I wish Pete was still alive. He’s the only one who could ever talk sense into you.”
She couldn’t deny it. But Pete Maxon had earned the right to scold and advise her since, at the dawn of his golden years, the never-married Pete had accepted the mantle of friend and father to her and Ciara. And he’d done a far better job of it than Connor ever had.
“You have a right to a normal, happy life, Finn. Husband. Kids. A home of your own. She wants that for you, too.” Using his chin as a pointer, he drew her attention to her sister, laughing and joking with a family in the corner booth.
Ciara turned, as if she sensed they were talking about her. When their eyes locked, Finn saw pure childlike love in her sister’s expression. That was what had prompted her to devote herself to Ciara, no matter what. Well, that, and her role in the accident. If doing right by Ciara meant foregoing the white-picket-fence scene, so be it.
“I did some checking,” Rowdy was saying. “Sam hails from a big, tight-knit family out west. Could be just the type who’d love that girl almost as much as you do.”
Ciara stacked dirty plates in her arms and made her way back to the counter. The effort needed to keep things in balance showed on her face. Finn took a step forward, thinking to relieve her of the burden.
“Don’t,” Rowdy said, anticipating her intentions. “She’s doing fine.”
Ciara proved him right by easing the soiled dishes into a tub. And without a word or fanfare of any kind, she carried the whole mess into the kitchen.
“Look, Teddy! I brought—I brought you a surprise!” she announced, sliding the tub onto the dishwasher’s conveyor belt.
Grinning, the boy rolled his eyes. “Gee, thanks. You’re my new best friend.”
Heart swelling, Finn fought tears of joy and pride.
“You ought to smile more,” a DJ-deep voice said from behind her. “Because you’re mighty pretty when you do.”
Turning, she met the smiling eyes of firefighter, musician and comes-from-stable-stock Sam Marshall...
...and hoped he couldn’t hear her hard-beating heart.
CHAPTER FIVE
“IF YOU’RE INTERESTED, make a move!”
Sam tapped the mic to test the amp’s volume. “See, that’s your trouble. You make moves without thinking. I’d rather look a few moves ahead.”
“Your chess analogy isn’t lost on me.” Mark leaned his forearms on the edge of the stage. “But Finn isn’t a game player, dude. I’ve known her a while. Watched her interact with people at the diner. She’s different around you. So I say go for it.”
Yesterday, Sam had complimented her smile, and he still hadn’t figured out if her reaction had been more shock or suspicion.
“Thanks, but no thanks. One trip-up with her is one too many.”
“That’s a sorry excuse if ever I heard one. Broken dishes and stuff spilled on the floor is all part of the restaurant business.”
Maybe, Sam thought, but he’d never been one to repeat a stupid mistake. At least, not if he could help it.
“So you’ll be okay without me tonight?”
Mark nodded. “Yeah, Torry’s gonna open with a comedy set, then we’ll play for a couple of hours and he’ll close the show.”
The comic waved Sam and Mark closer. “Little birdie told me a hotshot Hollywood producer is in town,” Torry whispered. “You’d better believe we’re gonna give it all we’ve got tonight.”
Mark patted his wallet and started walking toward the office. “I’m only interested in making this fatter, so knock yourself out.”
Torry pulled his thick, carrot-red hair into a ponytail. “He’ll sing a new tune when one of us gets signed to costar in the next blockbuster movie.”
Sam chuckled. “Not to rain on your parade, but I thought Hollyweird talent scouts went the way of the dodo bird.”
Torry’s exaggerated gasp sent him backward a step. “Silence! You’ll jinx it!” A mischievous grin lit his dark eyes. “Hollyweird, huh? That’s funny enough to use in my act.” He winked. “I may or may not give you credit.”
He climbed onto the stage and shaded his eyes from the spot. “I hate those things. Why do we need searchlight wattage?”
“So the audience can key into your facial expressions. Besides, the audience can’t distract us if we can’t see them.”
The comedian lifted one shoulder. “See, there’s the difference between what you do and what I do. I don’t need them to see the nuance of my facial expressions. What I need is to see their faces, so I can gauge their reactions to my jokes.”
“How long have you known Finn Leary?”
“Whoa. I had no idea you were an award winner.”
Sam didn’t get it and said so.
“Where should we hang your Change the Subject Fast award?”
“How about right beside your Avoid the Subject plaque?”
Torry narrowed one eye. “This club ain’t big enough for two comics. I have a contract, you know.” He squinted at Sam. “Now, what were we talking about?”
Sam opened his mouth to repeat her name, but Torry beat him to it.
“I’ve been chowing down at The Right Note for as long as I can remember. All the way back to the days when Pete still owned the place. So I’ve known Finn for years. Literally.” Arms folded over his broad chest, he frowned. “Why?”
“No reason, really. Just curious.”
“About what?”
“About what happened to her parents, for one thing.”
“Mark didn’t tell you?”
“Nope.”
The comedian sat on a tall stool. “Well, there was a wreck six or seven years ago,” he began. “Bad one. Nearly killed her whole family. Everybody came out of it more or less okay, except for Ciara’s head injury.”
Nodding, Sam pictured Finn’s younger sister. “How old is she?”
“I dunno...twenty-two, twenty-three.” He held up a hand. “Wait. I thought you were interested in Finn. You can’t hit on Ciara. She’s too sweet and innocent for the likes of you!”
“I agree. The little sister is a sweetheart, but I...” Shut up, Marshall. You’ve already said too much.
“Now that you’re management,” Torry said, fingertips drawing quote marks around the word, “you’d better learn how to take a joke.” He leaned forward. “’Cause I’m the comedian, remember?”
Torry studied Sam’s face for a moment, then continued with his story. “Okay, so here’s what I know. Her parents were ad
dicts. Nix that. Are addicts. Which might explain why nobody—not even Finn and Ciara—has a clue where they are most of the time. Pete, who pretty much built The Right Note from the ground up, never married, never had kids—” he gave Sam a playful elbow jab “—that we know of. Anyway, when the Learys split, Pete took pity on the girls and put ’em up in the apartment above the diner. Gave ’em odd jobs to do so they’d feel like they were earning their keep. When he retired, he made Finn his manager, and when he died, he left everything to her.”
“Huh,” Sam said. Under similar circumstances, would he have the backbone and generosity to take care of two nearly orphaned teenage girls?
“Well...?”
Sam looked at Torry. “Well, what?”
“You don’t want to know if she’s married or not?”
“I didn’t see a wedding band.”
“That doesn’t mean diddly. Safety regs and all that, y’know?”
Yeah, Sam had considered that possibility.
“Well?” Torry repeated.
Seemed to Sam he could save a lot of time by just asking, straight out, whether or not there was a man in Finn’s life.
“So is she available?”
“I thought you’d never ask!” The full-bodied laughter echoed throughout The Meetinghouse. He whistled. Flapped his arms. “She’s free as a bird.” And then his expression turned serious. “Not that it’s gonna do you much good. She’s turned down a lot of guys like you.”
“Guys like me? What does that mean?”
“You know. Cowboy types.” He pointed at Sam’s pointy-toed boots and Western-style shirt. His hands formed a rectangle, like a photographer lining up a shot. “More specifically, guys who want to see their names on the marquee at the Ryman and the Opry house. Wannabe singers with big Nashville dreams. She’s antimusician. Big-time antimusician.”
“Oh?”
“Her folks have been in the business for decades.”
The Learys must have done far more than crash a car to inspire her opinion that all musicians were bad news. Frankly, Sam didn’t know if he wanted to learn the details. He already had way too many demands on his time. Besides, how did that old saying go? Take care when trying to fix a broken person, because you might cut yourself on their shattered pieces. Good advice, especially for a person who still bore the scars of saving others.
