Harlequin Heartwarming May 2016 Box Set: Through the StormHome for KeepsThe Firefighter's RefrainTo Catch a Wife

by Rula Sinara

  “Nope, never. My ancestors settled the land during the 1800s, and the Marshall clan grows deep, deep roots.”

  His expression softened, making it clear that he loved the place and the people who called it home. Just one more bit of proof in her mind that musicians weren’t to be trusted. Nothing—not even a beloved home and family—would stand in the way of their dreams of stardom.

  Finn envied him a little and tried to imagine what it would have been like, living in one place for decades, instead of weeks or months. And thanked the good Lord that she’d had Ciara to make it more tolerable.

  “Do you have brothers and sisters?”

  “Three sisters, two older and one younger. And two cousins who’ve always been more like brothers to me. Zach and Nate and I spent every spare minute together as kids.” Another quiet laugh, and then, “We got into some crazy situations. Crazy enough that everybody for miles around would see us and say, ‘Lock up the good china...here come those Marshall boys!’”

  Finn couldn’t help but smile at the obviously fond, fun memories...even though she envied him, just a little bit.

  “And they all stayed at the ranch?”

  “Zach joined the marines after graduation, did a couple tours of duty in Afghanistan. He lived in Vail for a while, teaching women how to defend themselves against predators, but he’s home now. He and his wife just had a baby. Nate left for a while, too. Spent a few years on the East Coast, pitching for a major-league baseball team. But he’s home now, too, making plans to marry Eden. She’s a counselor of some kind...teenage boys. After the wedding, they’ll adopt the lot of ’em.”

  “How many are there?”

  “Twelve, thirteen? I forget. Good kids, though. Especially considering what their lives were like before Eden got hold of them.”

  Finn wouldn’t mind meeting the couple who’d saved a dozen wayward kids. Wouldn’t mind meeting the boys, either, because there had been plenty of times when she’d almost taken the wrong fork in the road.

  “How did you end up in Nashville, of all places?”

  “Same as most folks, I reckon. Had a knack for stringing words together and matching them up with notes and chords.” He shrugged. “Not well enough to earn a living at it, though. I’d been a volunteer firefighter back home, so I took a chance that what I’d learned there would give me an in here, with the NFD.”

  “And it did.”

  “Not right away. Had to go to school, as they say. Pay my dues. Put in the time.”

  “How long were you on the job before you were injured?”

  It must have been the weight of memories that turned down one corner of his mouth. Turned off the sparkle in his eyes, too. It made Finn wish she hadn’t asked the question.

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t like a slice of pie?”

  “I’m sure.”

  He twisted the water bottle’s cap—on, off, on, off—without removing it. It dawned on her that Sam had come here tonight to tell her something. Or ask her something. And her inquisition had gotten in the way of that.

  “So you had something to run by me?”

  “Oh. Right. That.” He slapped a hand to the back of his neck, then leaned forward, hands clasped on the table. “This thing you have about musicians...”

  It wasn’t a thing. It was a decision, made years ago, after her parents and their so-called friends, not to mention Finn’s so-called boyfriend back then, let her down. Big-time. And repeatedly.

  “Is it a hard and fast rule for full-time professionals? Or is there some wiggle room for guys like me, who only...dabble?”

  “You’ll have a hard time convincing me you dabble at anything.”

  He stroked his chin. “Not sure I follow you.”

  She liked him. Respected him, too, not only because of his career choice, but because he’d back-burnered his Nashville dreams to stick with it. Ciara stuttered and stammered far less around him, and Finn had learned to rely on her sister’s “good people” barometer. Sam could become a friend to both of them...if she didn’t blow it by lumping him in with others who’d proved themselves untrustworthy.

  “Let’s just say I admire your sticking power.”

  “Sticking power?”

  “I haven’t met very many people in this town with that quality. So if you’re here to ask if you and Ciara and I can be friends, the answer is yes.”

  He traced the swirls on the red Formica tabletop. And he still wasn’t smiling.

  “So what was it like, growing up in the shadow of the Rockies?” she tried.

  “Humbling.”

  She’d expected him to describe the vista. The wildlife. The ever-changing weather that defined the mighty mountain range. Instead, with just one quietly reverent word, he’d acknowledged how insignificant and powerless he felt by comparison. It gave her yet another reason to respect him.

  “How’s this for an idea... I was planning a trip home over the Christmas holidays, but my sister talked me into going for Thanksgiving instead. Why don’t you and Ciara come with me? My folks have a guest room with twin beds. And I have a boatload of frequent flier miles racked up.”

  Well, that came out of the blue! “As wonderful as that sounds, I have a business to run.”

  “Aw, Rowdy can handle things for a couple of days, can’t he?”

  He probably could...if she’d let him.

  “Well, November’s a long way off yet. You don’t have to decide right now.”

  “Are you kidding? It’s nearly September, and you know how time flies!”

  Sam got to his feet, and she followed suit.

  “There’s something else I need to tell you...”

  Please, don’t say you just signed a record deal!

  “Do you know Mark’s brother?”

  “Eli? Yes, I’ve met him a time or two.” An alcoholic musician, he reminded her of Connor, so she’d kept her distance.

  “He’s going on tour with Duke Miller and wanted out of The Meetinghouse partnership. That left Mark in the lurch, so he asked me to buy into the business.”

  So he’d said yes to Mark’s offer that day in the diner. He wasn’t “just” a musician anymore. Surrounded by others who shared his dreams, night after night, how long before he followed Eli’s example?

  “Are you a full partner?”

  “More or less. Mark and Torry are old hands at running the place. My job is to make sure the amps and mics are plugged in, see to it no one can trip over the wires. The guys know, of course, but that’s it...and I’d like to keep it on the down-low. Last thing I need is a bunch of hopefuls hanging around, hoping I can get them an audition with agents or producers.”

  “Because if you had the power to do that, you’d do it for yourself, right?”

  In the silence that followed her question, Finn had a horrible thought: if Connor found out, they’d all pay a price, but none more than Sam.

  “I need to ask you a favor, Sam.”

  “Anything.”

  Judging by that look on his face, he meant it, even before hearing what she might ask of him. Oh, to have some assurance that Sam was as good and decent as he seemed!

  “Promise me you won’t tell my father that—”

  Connor padded into the room on white-socked feet, scratching his head with one hand, his chest with the other.

  “Don’t tell your father what?” he said around a yawn. After helping himself to a bottle of water, he faced Sam and frowned slightly. “Don’t tell me what?”

  “That I, ah, that I’m taking your girls out for a night on the town. Dinner at Old Hickory and a show at the Opry. Next week. I only had three tickets, though, and Finn didn’t want you to feel left out.”

  “It’ll take one heckuva lot more than missing dinner and a show to hurt this old buzzard’s feelin
gs. Besides, it’ll be nice having the apartment all to myself for a couple of hours.”

  He must have realized how ungrateful that sounded because he quickly said, “That’s really it, honey? You thought I’d feel left out?”

  “Pretty much, yeah.”

  Finn added another item to her Reasons to Resent Connor list: he’d put Sam in the awkward position of lying to spare his feelings, which forced her to compound the lie with one of her own.

  Faced with this new bit of information, Connor adopted a concerned, contrite expression. He put down the water and gave her a sideways hug.

  “This nose-to-the-grindstone girl of mine could use a night out. So thanks.” He let her go and retrieved the bottle. “Don’t stay too late, Sam. Finn has big, important decisions to make first thing in the morning and needs her sleep.”

  When he was out of sight, Finn hung her head.

  Sam crouched to meet her eyes. “I mean no disrespect, because he’s your father, after all, but I’ve met his type before. So don’t worry.”

  Interesting word, worry.

  “I hope you’re a Garth Brooks fan, because I have it on good authority that he’s in town next week.”

  He had the most soothing voice, deep and mellow and mesmerizingly slow. If she didn’t know better, Finn would say Sam was trying to hypnotize her. If you’re not careful, she warned herself, that’ll happen whether or not you let it.

  “Garth Brooks, performing at the Opry,” she repeated.

  “Shh...it’s a surprise guest spot. Only reason I know is because I’m pals with the band that’s his opening act.”

  “He’s Ciara’s favorite entertainer.”

  “I’d call that a lucky break.”

  She hid a yawn, and he said, “Your dad made a good point—you have lots to do tomorrow, so I’ll let you hit the hay.”

  Side by side, they walked toward the door. “We’ll work out the details later,” he said. “Just be sure you wear something pretty, like you did today.”

  The implied compliment made her heart flutter. Stop it, you ninny. Stop it right now.

  “So you’re serious, then. That story wasn’t just something you cooked up on the spot for Connor’s benefit?”

  “Trust me, okay?”

  To start a mad scramble for last-minute tickets?

  “I thought you needed reservations weeks in advance at Old Hick—”

  Sam pressed a fingertip to her lips, effectively silencing her. “Such a suspicious little thing.” He took a step closer.

  As Finn looked up at him, his arms went around her. And she didn’t fight it.

  “Even if that were true, some dabbling musicians have connections.”

  “Oh?”

  He bracketed her face with big, tender hands. And she let him.

  He drew gentle circles on her cheek with his thumb. It had been a long time—too long—since she’d felt safe and cared for. Finn liked the feeling. Liked it far too much.

  “So, it’s a date then?”

  She shrugged one shoulder. “Who could say no to Garth Brooks?”

  His lips were touching hers when he said, “Garth who?”

  Then he kissed her, soft and long and sweet...

  ...and she let him.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “WHAT’S WRONG, KEE? Another headache?”

  Ciara sat on the couch, rubbing her temples. “Yeah. It isn’t—isn’t as bad as last time, though.” She sent Finn a feeble smile. “Hey. There are two of you. That’s pretty funny, huh, Finn?”

  Finn did her best not to show her concern. “Two of me? Before my first cup of coffee? I’m surprised you didn’t say scary instead of funny!” She sat beside Ciara. “How long have you been seeing two of everything?”

  “Just, just since I woke up.” She pointed. “Two TVs, two recliners, two Starry Night prints on the wall...” Ciara laughed softly, then hugged her knees and hid her face in the crook of one elbow. “Ugh,” she said. “It makes—it makes me kinda dizzy.”

  Finn grabbed her cell phone and scrolled to Ciara’s doctor’s number. While waiting for the call to connect, she wondered what test he’d missed. In her quest to solve the puzzle of Ciara’s recurring headaches, Finn had pushed for every imaginable analysis to rule out food allergies, vision problems and eyestrain, and reaction to her antiseizure medications. She’d been vigilant about protecting her sister from stress, bright lights, too much TV.

  It didn’t surprise her when, immediately following the fallen-tree episode, Ciara had voluntarily turned in early, or that when Connor showed up from out of the blue—after nearly eight months without a word—she’d asked for an ibuprofen. But double vision? That was a new and disturbing development.

  Finally, a nurse answered, and because Ciara sat close enough to hear every word, Finn matter-of-factly explained the problem. Some might call her overprotective, but she didn’t care. If Ciara so much as sniffled, she saw the doctor. Finn sensed the unease in the woman’s voice.

  “I’m sure Dr. Peterson will want to see her ASAP. I’ll call you back, Finn, just as soon as I find a way to squeeze her in.”

  Hours later, following a thorough exam, Dr. Peterson called ahead to the Vanderbilt University Medical Center and ordered an immediate MRI and a CT scan. “Mostly as a precaution,” he whispered to Finn. “Double vision might be as simple as scar tissue putting pressure on the optic nerve.” But she’d gotten to know him well, too, and picked up on the apprehension in his voice: the symptom could be a lot more serious than that.

  Now, as she listened to the radiographer’s fingers tapping his computer keys, Finn tried not to fidget. From her vantage point near the back wall, she watched her sister on the monitor, eyes closed and humming along with the music wafting from her headphones. Much as she detested sedatives, Finn agreed that the mild tranquilizer would help Ciara remain still throughout the tests.

  During the ten-minute drive between the hospital and home, Ciara leaned forward in the passenger seat and pointed skyward.

  “I can’t—can’t believe it’s going to rain again.” She exhaled a long, shaky sigh. “I’m tired of rain.” Turning slightly, she added, “Can cloudy weather cause headaches?”

  I sure hope it’s that simple. “I suppose.” Finn reached across the console and patted her sister’s hand. “In a few days, the results from all those tests will be back, and we’ll have a better idea what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours.”

  “Maybe. And—and maybe not.” She sighed again. “Remember what Dr. Peterson said?”

  “He said a lot.”

  “He said—he said, ‘We’ll do everything we can to get to the bottom of this. But don’t put all your hopes in a couple of—of test results.’”

  How had she heard Peterson’s warning through the closed door of the changing room?

  “You barely touched your scrambled eggs this morning. Bet you’re hungry now, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah—yeah, I am.”

  Relieved to hear Ciara still had an appetite, Finn said, “We’ll grab a couple of burgers, take them home and eat while we watch an old movie. How’s that sound?”

  “Like—like we did when I was little?”

  “Yup, just like when you were a little girl.”

  It hurt like crazy to admit it, but Ciara would always be a little girl, thanks to the brain damage she’d sustained in the crash.

  “Can we get a hamburger for Dad, too? He loves them. It will make him so—so happy.”

  Only Ciara would consider the happiness of the man who’d caused her problems.

  “Sure, we can.” And he’d better act like he enjoys it, even if he isn’t hungry, Finn thought, or else!

  When he heard about their morning, Connor would act out a concerned-father show
, and upset Ciara even more. In her present condition, no good could come of that. Finn decided to wait until the test results were in, when she could report that an adjustment to her meds would bring everything back to normal. Or as normal as possible, considering her injury.

  Finn guided Ciara up the stairs and got her settled on the sofa.

  “Where’s—where’s Dad?” she asked as Finn draped a throw over her legs.

  Hopefully not out looking for whiskey. “Oh, he probably got bored and went for a walk.” She handed Ciara a stack of DVDs. “Are you still seeing two of everything?”

  “No. I’m a little bit—little bit dizzy still. But except for that, I’m better.”

  “Good. You choose a movie for us while I bring the food upstairs.”

  Finn started for the door but paused in the opening. She’d only be outside a few minutes...more than enough time for Ciara to succumb to a dizzy spell and...

  “Do you need to use the bathroom or anything?”

  “Nope.”

  “Are you thirsty?”

  “Nope.”

  “Good. You sit tight, then. Don’t get up, not for any reason until I get back, okay?”

  Nodding, Ciara began flipping through the plastic cases.

  Finn hurried down the back stairs. She’d barely gathered up the bags and kicked the car door shut when, from out of nowhere, an all-too-familiar voice said, “There’s m’girl!”

  “Good grief, Connor—I mean, Dad! You scared me half to death!”

  “Sorry, sweetie.” He relieved her of the drink tray. “Where have you guys been all morning?”

  Remembering her fears that he’d make a fuss, Finn said, “Ciara was feeling a little off, so I took her to see Dr. Peterson. It’s probably just a twenty-four-hour bug.”

  “You don’t know what a relief it is to know you’re always there for her.”

  He entered the apartment ahead of her, and as Finn doled out the meal, Connor sat beside Ciara.

  “You don’t feel feverish,” he said, pressing a palm to her forehead.

  “Feverish?” She glanced at Finn in confusion.