He parked on the street a few blocks away and entered the bar. Just as he thought, it was packed, teeming with costume-clad adults out celebrating. The bar was buzzing and boisterous as a band played, and patrons knocked back shots and sipped on local Kansas City craft brews. Em wasn’t hard to find. Her braided red hair may have looked childish on someone else, but on her, it was stunning—auburn with hints of gold and fiery like the sun. He hadn’t noticed her leggings were ripped, giving everyone a glimpse of her creamy thighs. Her blue eyes seemed larger outlined in dark smoky makeup.
Christ, she was sexy.
Em had an edge about her, something that said, I might be small, but I will fuck you up. Petite and curvy in all the right places, she moved toward the bar like she owned the place.
She hadn’t noticed him. He planted himself on a stool near the far end of the bar. He hunched forward and pulled up the hoodie, trying to disguise his six-foot-four-inch frame. From his vantage point, he was able to observe Em’s every move. She was a siren. His jaw twitched watching man after man vie for her attention. She’d let a few buy her a drink, but her eyes kept scanning the crowd like a wolf.
A trio of men settled in at the bar next to her, and Michael breathed a sigh of relief as he took in the group’s apprehensive posture. These were not your typical bar brawling, pickup artists. These guys were the type more at home in a lab or deciphering lines of code. Nerd could not be Em’s type. That he thought he knew for sure, until she turned on her stool, tapped one of the men on the shoulder, and flashed him an alluring smile.
The nerd had taped a shit-ton of gray paint samples on his t-shirt. Fifty shades of actual gray. Christ almighty, this is what Em liked? She leaned in and fingered one of the samples, pulling Fifty Shades in closer. Michael rose to his feet. He needed to get a closer look.
It was easy for him to watch her but still stay out of her line of sight. The place was packed with several layers of patrons standing around the bar, many trying to jockey their way in to order drinks. Michael settled in next to a large group. His jaw tightened as he watched Fifty Shades lean in and whisper something into Em’s ear. Her legs were crossed between his, revealing more of her thigh. The position looked intimate, and Michael nearly charged the bar when the guy placed his hand on her knee, but his attention was drawn lower as Em rubbed her boot against the nerd’s leg.
Like a black widow luring in a mate, Em was in control. Michael saw the assertive glint in her eyes, the confident lift of her chin and grew hard. Watching Em toy with this nerd was the hottest thing he’d ever seen. What would he do if it were his hand gripping her thigh? He’d rip those leggings and press her up against the bar. He’d fuck her right there in the middle of all these people. But just as he was about to lose himself in the fantasy, Em stood and led Fifty Shades over to the dance floor.
From his vantage point, he could still keep Em in his sights. His erection strained against his pants as she snaked her arms around the nerd’s neck and pressed her body into his. She moved her hips in rhythmic circles, grinding into Fifty Shade’s cock. Michael’s system flooded with a torrid mixture of anger and arousal.
The guy smiled like a kid on Christmas and lowered his hands to rest above her ass. Michael’s fingers twitched, and he forced them into fists. His gaze was locked on her perfect ass wrapped in that little skirt, and another barrage of filthy thoughts flooded his mind.
Jesus Christ—had he ever felt this kind of attraction?
Or was he bewitched by Em like the poor guy she was toying with on the dance floor?
He ran his hand over the auburn scruff on his face. He had to stop thinking about what it would feel like to be inside her—fucking heaven if his cock had anything to say about it. He needed to make sure this guy, or any other joker, didn’t get the chance to find out either.
What the hell was he going to do? Storm in and throw her over his shoulder like a caveman? Punch Fifty Shades in the jaw for reacting to Em in the exact way he had? Luckily, Em seemed less concerned with the guy as her gaze focused on the band.
A local progressive bluegrass band was on stage tonight. Michael had seen them a few times in Langley Park when they played the neighborhood bar and grill, Park Tavern. The five-member group included a fiddle player. Em watched him intently and her brow creased in agitation. She pulled free of Fifty Shades and walked over to the side of the stage.
She gestured to the fiddle player, a young man, who probably thought she was going to try and hit on him as a cocksure smile lit his face. He crouched down to her level, but his smile disappeared when she yanked him by the collar and shouted in his ear, his eyes moving back and forth between Em and his instrument.
Michael crossed his arms. What the hell was she doing?
The song ended, and the lead singer addressed her over the mic with a curious grin. “What’s going on, Red?”
Em lifted her chin. “I was trying to help your violinist stop fucking up the music.”
The singer laughed, and the bar went still. “It’s a fiddle. He’s my fiddler.”
“Fiddle or violin,” Em said, stepping onto the stage, “they’re the same fucking instrument. The difference is only the type of music that’s played.”
Michael’s jaw dropped. But she was right. The violin could be considered a fiddle when playing bluegrass, folk, country, or more danceable tunes. The instrument was considered a violin when playing classical music and jazz. But neither of those were hard fast rules.
“Looks like we’ve got a real know-it-all with us tonight, folks,” the singer said, but the smile of his face appeared more amused than irritated. “You care to show my lowly fiddle player how it’s done, Red?”
Em’s chin fell a fraction, but then she had it back in place. “I don’t know if you’ll be able to keep up.”
Who was this woman? Not the sweet, innocent girl he had kissed back at Sadie’s Hollow.
The crowd was loving this exchange. A patron in zombie makeup yelled out, “Charlie Daniels Band, “Devil Went Down to Georgia.” Put your money where your mouth is, Sweetheart!”
“That song’s not usually in our set, but I think we can accommodate the zombie-gentleman,” the singer replied. “What do you say, Red? You up for the challenge?”
The bar cheered as the fiddle player handed his violin to Em, arms outstretched with an exaggerated bow that sent the audience into chanting, “Red, Red, Red!”
She stiffened but took the instrument.
The singer gestured for her to stand next to him center stage.
She stepped into the spotlight. “It’s been a while since I played.”
“Is that the way it is, Red? Are you all talk? You can always hand the fiddle back.”
Em brought the violin to her chin and lifted the bow.
The breath caught in Michael’s throat.
She met the singer’s gaze. “Try to keep up.”
The drummer played four quick beats, and what happened on that stage brought the crowd to complete silence as Em pulled the bow across the strings. The singer, visibly shocked at her talent, stumbled over the first few lyrics but recovered. The crowd joined in, dancing and singing along.
Em’s fingers moved at lightning speed, and a smirk graced her lips. She leaned in toward the singer. They looked as if they’d been performing this song for years.
The crowd was loving it, but Michael was paralyzed.
He’d seen her play plenty before the accident but only classical pieces. While she was always captivating to watch, her body becoming one with the music, this was something altogether different. This was sexy and powerful.
Em turned toward the other musicians, and they jammed together in perfect synchronicity. The energy from the stage was pulsing as they finished the song. The crowd cheered, and the singer picked Em up around the waist and gave her a twirl.
“And that,” the singer said into the mic, breathless and grinning ear to ear, “is how you play the mother fucking fiddle, ladies and gentlemen!”
<
br /> The crowd called out for an encore. Em smiled and raised her hand to block the bright stage lights. She looked out into the sea of people, and her euphoric expression changed to one of horror as she met his gaze.
8
Em pushed her way through the crowd. The cold October air sliced her skin as she burst through the bar’s exit and onto the sidewalk.
“Em,” Michael called out from behind.
She kept walking. Why the hell was Michael there?
Then, like a bullet penetrating flesh, a thought pierced her brain. She had played the violin. She’d held the bow, let her fingers caress each string, let the music take over and flow through her body just as oxygen entered her lungs. Nothing had felt this real since the last time she had held Polly—the night she played the Paganini piece before she met up with Zoe to go to Sadie’s Hollow.
The night her friends ditched her.
Anger gripped her heart and contracted like a fist.
“Mary Michelle MacCaslin! I’m talking to you.”
She stiffened. The sound of Michael calling her by her real name sent shivers up her spine.
“Oh,” she said and turned to face him. “It’s Mary Michelle now, is it?” Puffs of air billowed into white bursts of sound as she bit out each word into the freezing night air.
“Em, you can still play?” Michael’s eyes were wide with disbelief.
She shook her head. “I don’t play anymore. I can’t. I have you and Zoe to thank for that, don’t I?”
His eyes pleaded with her. “Em, I just saw you. You were incredible.”
What the hell had gotten into her? Why didn’t she leave the bar when she saw the band playing? She had stayed far, far away from music over the last twelve years. Spending time with her deaf Australian grandmother and helping her mother with her research with deaf children had allowed her to live a life with little exposure to music. But now that she was back in Langley Park, the rules and limitations she had relied upon to insulate herself from the world of music were disintegrating like sugar cubes in a scalding mug of tea.
She squared her jaw and met Michael’s gaze. “I will never, never be able to play like I used to.” She raised her hand and revealed the long scar that zigzagged down her ring finger. “This is why I will never be able to play.”
Michael took a step back.
“It’s what you wanted to see, right? I saw you looking at my hand after Zoe’s brother and his Barbie-doll family left.”
Michael winced.
She knew it! All she was to him was some carnival attraction that peaked his curiosity.
The wind whooshed down the street, and an icy rain fell from the sky. Em shivered and pulled her jacket across her body.
Michael stripped off his hoodie. “You’re freezing. Put this on.”
The gesture made her laugh. “You have got to be kidding me. So now you care about my well-being?”
“I’ve always cared about you, Em,” he said, his words thick with emotion. “Now take the hoodie. You’re not dressed for the cold.”
“Excuse me? You don’t get to have an opinion on how I dress!”
She wasn’t about to wait for his reply and walked away. She didn’t know where she was going, but it needed to be someplace where she didn’t have to look at Michael MacCarron’s face. Somewhere she didn’t have to feel the intensity radiating off of him. They were like two live wires dancing precariously close to each other. If they were to touch, sparks would fly.
She quickened her pace, but his heavy steps followed behind her. The heels were a bad choice, and within seconds, she pitched forward on the ice-slick pavement and fell into a group of people clustered together on the sidewalk.
“Easy does it,” came a man’s voice.
She looked up and tried to place the person who was holding on to her elbow. “Do I know you?”
“Em’s fine, Kyle,” came Michael’s clipped voice. “I was about to take her home.”
“Kyle Benson?” Em asked, finding her balance.
A look of shock crossed Kyle’s face, but he replaced it with a hesitant smile. “Looks like you remembered me. It’s been a long time, Em.”
She glanced at Michael. He was glaring at her and clenching the hoodie in his hands.
She ignored Michael’s seething gaze. “Did you drive here, Kyle?”
“I did. I’m parked across the street. Do you need a ride?”
“She doesn’t need a ride anywhere,” Michael growled.
“Actually, Kyle,” Em said, meeting Michael’s stony gaze, “I would love a ride home. I’m staying at my dad’s place.”
Michael blew out an audible breath. “For Christ’s sake, Em! We live right next door to each other.”
“It’s no trouble,” Kyle said, fumbling with a set of keys. “I still live in Langley Park. It won’t be out of my way at all to bring you home.”
“At least take the hoodie.” Michael draped the worn sweatshirt over her shoulders.
He pulled the soft cotton around her neck. She inhaled his scent, and hints of spearmint and lemongrass sent her reeling back to the night he kissed her. His warm fingers pressed into her bare neck, and a flash of those fingers twined with her grandmother’s pearls flooded her mind. She shivered, but it had nothing to do with the cold.
“And Kyle,” Michael said, his hands skimming her collarbone, “head straight home. This sleet may turn to ice, and I don’t want you driving Em anywhere in an ice storm.”
She wanted to tell Michael to fuck off. Who was he to make any demands? But her body was too preoccupied with his fingers as they brushed against her neck. She didn’t even notice the sleet creating an icy layer on the pavement.
Damn this stupid crush she’d always harbored for Michael MacCarron. Damn that tiny space in her heart that would never forget the way he kissed her.
A hand pressed against her lower back. She recoiled and arched away from the touch. It was Kyle’s hand. She stepped back and gave him an apologetic smile.
Michael shoved his hands into his pockets, but his eyes stayed locked on her. She met his gaze. They were like children in a staring contest, neither giving any indication of conceding defeat.
Kyle broke their standoff. “We should go, Em. Michael’s right about getting ahead of the weather.”
* * *
Em rubbed at the scar on her ring finger. Coming back to Langley Park was like entering an alternate reality. A reality where she could play the violin and everything she had tried to forget about Michael MacCarron came hurtling back at her at lightning speed.
“Em, are you okay?” Kyle asked.
She blinked. “Did you say something. I’m sorry, I’m all in my head right now. What was it you asked?”
Kyle pressed a button on the car’s console. “Are you warm enough?”
“I’m fine,” she replied curtly, then decided to temper her response. Kyle was kind enough to take her home. She had no reason to be cruel to him. He didn’t make her play the violin. He didn’t ask Michael to follow her to the bar. “Thank you for driving me home. I hope I didn’t ruin your plans. I saw you were with friends.”
Kyle flipped on the blinker and turned his F-150 pickup truck onto the Langley Parkway. “It’s no bother. I was just leaving a small fundraising event nearby.”
“What were you raising money for on Halloween?” Em asked, relieved to focus on Kyle and take her mind off Michael MacCarron.
“It was for me.”
“For you?”
Kyle adjusted his grip on the steering wheel. “Yes, some folks would like to see me run for state representative.”
“Kyle, that’s wonderful! I never knew you were interested in politics. I thought it was…”
“Photography,” he supplied.
“Yes, photography! Is that still a hobby of yours?
“It’s my profession.”
“Is it?” Em asked, settling into the front seat and relaxing her hands in her lap.
“I do a little of every
thing, but my passion is nature photography.”
Em nodded and looked out the window as they passed by the Langley Park Senior Living Campus.
Kyle tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “I don’t mean to pry, but my mom mentioned your dad moved into the assisted living cottages.”
Em rubbed the back of her neck. Just the thought of Anita Benson made her tense. “Yeah, he went through a real rough patch with his health. A cottage opened up, and his doctors urged him to take it. I’m in town for a couple of months to get the house into shape so he can put it on the market. Then I’ll head back to Australia.”
“My mom mentioned running into you.” He said it almost like an apology.
She let out a nervous laugh. “I don’t think I’m on the list of her favorite people.”
“There are days I’m not even sure if I’d make that list. She’s an intense person. She expects a lot, but her heart is always in the right place.”
Em rubbed at her scar. “Your mom was the nurse who admitted me after I was hurt at Sadie’s Hollow.”
“I know,” he said, fingers still drumming. “My mom said you didn’t remember what happened that night.”
She nodded. “I hardly remember anything—and everything I do remember doesn’t make any sense.”
He gave her a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry. That’s got to be terrible.”
Em sat forward. “Do you remember seeing me that night? I mean, I remember bumping into you, but after that, everything gets fuzzy.”
“I’m sorry, Em. There were a ton of people. I was just hanging out with everyone.”
“I really need to know what happened that night, Kyle. Even if my injury was all my fault, I just need to know.”
“What do you think could have happened?” he asked, turning onto Foxglove Lane.
The Sound of Home Page 6
