Sara's Song

by Fern Michaels

  “He told you the truth, Dallas. You have to be careful with the people you hire. You need to do background checks and don’t ever let them handle your money. I had a lawyer once who tried to double bill me. You also have to pay careful attention to your credit-card charges, too. People make mistakes all the time. Today you just can’t be careless. This all looks like a monster job. Did your brother take care of things by himself or does he have office help?”

  “I don’t know. Adam is the kind of person who can do anything. He sees everything through to the end. I get frustrated and quit if it doesn’t go right. Adam never gives up. He’s like me, he doesn’t have a private life. The music, the business, the money, it takes over and consumes you. Sometimes I wish I was a janitor. There are days when I want to run away and never come back.”

  Sara laughed. “Sometimes I wish I was a schoolteacher. Let’s open a bottle of wine and make a toast while I get the turkey ready. You can call your brother and wish him a happy Thanksgiving.”

  “I like you, Sara. I really do.”

  “I like you too, Dallas. I really do.”

  “Once we’re married I’m going to hire security guards for you.”

  “Oh, no, Dallas. Don’t do that. My patients won’t like it.”

  “They’ll chew you up and spit you out. They rip your clothes off. They follow you and stare at you while you’re eating. They try to break into your house and your cars. Some women actually send me their underwear: I don’t know if you can handle it. It won’t go away, and it only gets worse.”

  “We can talk about that later. Let’s get that wine and start the turkey.”

  “What shall we drink to, Sara?”

  Sara’s stomach lurched. “How about to a long and happy life?”

  “I like that. To our long and happy life.”

  The knot in Sara’s stomach doubled in size. Maybe this was all a dream. On the other hand, maybe she was insane. As she sipped at her wine she argued with herself.

  No one else is knocking on my door. Every relationship I’ve had has been a bust. Plus, I have strange feelings that I have to come to terms with. This man is going to make my life comfortable and luxurious. He won’t make demands on me. I can have my own hospital. I can help people who otherwise wouldn’t receive help. I can help save more lives. I won’t have to answer to money-hungry bottom-line medical corporations manned by greedy doctors. I’m going to be forty years old soon. Men aren’t interested in forty-year-old women. Men want young, dumb, and stupid women who they believe will make them feel young again. There’s nothing wrong with what I’m going to do. I committed. I’m doing it. I can handle being Mrs. Dallas Lord. Sara Lord. Dr. Sara Lord. No, it should be Dr. Sara Killian. I’m not giving up my name for anyone. I was born with it and I’ll die with it.

  After Sara slid the turkey into the oven on the bottom rack, the two pumpkin pies on the top, Dallas said, “Did I ever show you my gymnasium?”

  “No. I didn’t know you had one.”

  “Come on, Dr. Killian, and feast your eyes on this room. It even has a sauna.” Sara trotted after Dallas like a puppy.

  “Wow! My sister works out regularly. She’d love this room.”

  “It’s got everything. Sixty-inch television screen, stairmaster, treadmill, NordicTrack, rowing machine, state-of-the-art muscle-building equipment, stationary bike, and all that stuff over there that I haven’t figured out yet. The sauna is behind the door, and there’s a complete bathroom with Jacuzzi.”

  “I’m getting tired just looking at all this. Do you use it much?”

  Dallas flushed. “I’ve never used it. I just wanted to have it. You know, in case I ever wanted to use it. Adam has a gym, too. He exercises religiously. He eats healthy food, too. He hardly ever eats red meat. He’ll only have one drink at a time. Once in a while he smokes. He quit a long time ago, but sometimes he takes a cigarette. Especially when I get on his nerves. He’s a really good cook. When the band first started up he used to cook for us so we could save money by not eating out. It was a job because there were so many of us. Even when times were lean we always had enough good food.”

  “Sometimes, Dallas, you make your brother sound like the devil and an angel at the same time. Did you ever sit down with him and tell him what you really feel? Brother to brother. Carly and I do it all the time. It helps to clear the air. I thought you were going to call him. ”Do you want to do it now?”

  “Later. Let’s go down to the studio. I want to play a couple of songs for you. Or, would you rather watch a movie?”

  “Let’s go to the studio. I’d love to hear you sing. I love Roy Orbison. I have all his tapes.”

  “I do too.”

  “Then let’s go.” Sara linked her arm with Dallas’s. It felt right and it felt good.

  “You should smile more often, Dr. Killian.”

  Sara laughed. “So should you, Mr. Lord.”

  “Sit right here, Sara. I’m going to sing you a song. It needs some backup, and you can do that once you’ve heard it. Are you ready?”

  Sara sat cross-legged on a pile of thick cushions, her attention rapt as Dallas positioned his guitar. He closed his eyes. She knew he was in another world, a world of his own making. Tears blurred her vision as she listened to the words Dallas had created just for her.

  A long time later, Dallas hunched his shoulders, his eyes wide-open. “Did you likes it?”

  “Like it! I loved it! It’s beautiful. Does it have a name?”

  “Of course. ‘Sara’s Song.’ I love writing ballads. I think I got just the right mix. It’s sad, it’s haunting, and yet it’s alive. It’s just two verses. It’s what I feel for you, Sara. I wrote it just for you. When I fine-tune it, we’ll record it. Do you feel comfortable singing with me?”

  “No!” Sara blurted. “I don’t think I’m good enough to sing with Dallas Lord. Just because I sing with the choir doesn’t mean I’m good enough to be professional.”

  “You worry too much. All this stuff is digital. I can make you sound better than Sandi and the other girls. Besides, this is just for you. Or us, if you prefer. No one is ever going to hear it but the two of us. That’s what makes it special. I’ll make two copies for you, the master and an extra. I wanted to do something special for you. It’s all I know how to do, Sara. Do you really like it?”

  “Dallas, I don’t know what to say. It was so beautiful it brought tears to my eyes. What an incredible talent you have. I will treasure this song forever. I want to say something, but I don’t know the words.” Her voice turned suddenly shy. “I feel the same way, but I wouldn’t have been able to express it like you did. I guess I am still stunned. Thank you, Dallas. I’ll keep it safe forever and ever.”

  Dallas laughed. “Forever is a very long time, Sara. You have to keep the master copy safe. There are people out there who pirate our stuff. A Dallas Lord song goes for big bucks. Will you promise me that you won’t play it for anyone? I want it to be ours. Maybe someday, when we’re really old, we can decide if we want to release the song. Are you okay with that?”

  “Sure. What if someone steals it? I’ve been known to lose things. I’m not saying I will, but what if?”

  “You have the master. Once I give it to you, you are responsible for it. That’s why it’s called a gift.” Dallas chuckled.

  “I’ll probably worry myself sick over it.” Sara’s heart felt like it was swelling inside her chest. The overwhelming urge to have him take her in his arms was back with her. She closed her eyes to ward off the lightheadedness she was feeling.

  “Don’t tell anyone about it,” Dallas said. “If you keep it a secret, no one will know you even have it.”

  “Did you tell anyone you were writing the song, Dallas?”

  “Only Sandi. She won’t tell anyone.”

  A chill ran up Sara’s back. “I promise I’ll keep it safe for us,” she said.

  “Of course you will. It’s going to be my wedding present to you. It just needs a little fine-tuning. D
o you want to hear the song I’m working on for Billy’s memory? After I play it for you we can do ‘Sara’s Song’ with you doing the backup. I have a copy of the words for you. This is great, isn’t it, Sara?”

  Sara shivered. “It really is great, Dallas. When are you going to call your brother?”

  “You really want me to do that, don’t you?”

  “Only if you want to, and I think you do. I can go out to the kitchen while you make the call.”

  “All right, I’ll do it now. You can stay.”

  Sara shook her head. “I’ll baste the turkey. Are you going to tell him about the song?”

  “No way!” Dallas’s voice was vehement. “I’ll buzz you on the intercom when I finish the call.”

  In the sterile-looking kitchen, Sara leaned over the kitchen sink. Is this what she went to school for, all those years? Was Dallas Lord her destiny? If her parents were alive, what would they say if they knew she was going to marry a rock star for material reasons? She wasn’t going to think about the love and passion part right now. If she put all her own fears and worries aside, could she be happy knowing and believing she could make Dallas’s life better and her own as well? Dallas needed her. I need him, too. God, what will people say when they hear about this? The last time someone needed me was when Carly was fifteen. An eternity ago.

  She sighed. “Like Scarlett said, I’ll think about this tomorrow.”

  Chapter Eight

  Adam Lord tugged, wrestled, and finally—using his booted foot—shoved the monster Christmas tree through the gates leading to the courtyard. He heaved a mighty sigh when he became aware of seven curious sets of eyes on him. “The real challenge,” he muttered to the dogs, “is getting it into the living room.” The six pups yipped and squeaked their excitement at these strange goings-on. The mother dog, now named Izzie, barked as the pups scrambled in and among the branches. Izzie continued to bark, running back and forth to the gate and then finally tugging on Adam’s pant leg. She backed up and ran back to the gate, her barks more shrill and harsh-sounding.

  “Okay, okay, I get it. I didn’t padlock the gate. You want to see me do it. You want to hear the sound of the lock. That means your pups are safe.” The padlock snapped into place, hitting the metal flange. “No one goes in and no one goes out. The guys are safe, Izzie.”

  Adam eyed the huge fir tree and the pups crawling in the branches, Izzie hovering nearby. His very first Christmas tree. In his very own house. He felt happy, wonderful, and at peace with himself. It was the Christmas season, and he was going all out for the first time in his life. He’d even planned a small cocktail party—inviting the broker who’d sold him the house, two of his neighbors, a Wachovia Bank officer and his wife, his new veterinarian, and the florist who’d decorated his house with fragrant evergreen boughs, mistletoe, and poinsettias. He even had presents to put under the tree, all dog gifts ordered from the Delight Doggie Shoppe.

  Ninety minutes later, Adam stood back to survey his handiwork. The sixteen-foot-high Douglas fir stood regally in the corner, its tip reaching the vaulted ceiling. He sucked in his breath as he bent to rescue two of the precocious pups guzzling water from the tree stand. He looked around. The house was definitely lived-in now. Everywhere he looked there were pee stains. Even though he’d cleaned and scrubbed, the stains were still there. Well, he had a lead on that, too, a dog trainer, supposedly the best in his field, was due to arrive shortly. The man had guaranteed tranquility by nightfall.

  Fit and trim, light on his feet, Adam was no match for the six cavorting pups as they beelined for the low branches of the tree, tugging ferociously, snapping and snarling when the needles scratched their tiny faces. Izzie watched indulgently as Adam picked the pups up and carried them to the sink in the laundry room. He washed them with a citrus-smelling shampoo and wrapped them in fluffy yellow towels. He should have worn a raincoat.

  The bath ordeal over, Adam headed for the second floor, all seven dogs trailing behind. Izzie was last, so she could boost the runt whose rump was too fat to make the steps. They watched his every move. The moment his Nikes thumped on the floor the pups were on top of them. As it was, his shoelaces were little more than thin threads, the inner soles tattered. When he returned from the bathroom, fully dressed, one pup was asleep inside his sneaker, one was curled up on his wet jeans, two of them were tugging on his sock. He could see the holes from where he was standing. Pups three and four were tussling with each other as Izzie watched from her position on Adam’s pillow.

  Adam jumped out of the way when the doorbell shrilled to life. They were a mini herd as they galloped to the top of the steps, then tumbled down the rest of the way. He opened the door to admit a pudgy man wearing a Braves baseball cap with a whistle around his neck. The bedlam was silenced immediately when the whistle blew. Adam blinked. The trainer’s voice was musical-sounding when he said, “Mr. Lord, it’s 1:20. By 6:20 this evening, you will be able to hear yourself think. Show me where their beds are, get me a beer, and do yourself a favor and disappear until 6:15. Adam did as instructed and retired to the living room, where he closed the pocket doors before proceeding to string the lights on his Christmas tree. From time to time he smiled as he listened to the whistle in the kitchen.

  No one in their right mind had seven dogs. No one in their right mind bought an all-terrain vehicle for $70,000 just for seven dogs. The Range Rover was his Christmas present to himself. The keys were on the mantel. He was still trying to make up his mind whether to wrap them or not.

  The tree was finished at three o’clock. The dogs’ presents—chewies, squeak toys, new leashes and collars—all wrapped by four. He looked around. It was definitely festive. He wished suddenly that someone was sitting next to him on the sofa. Someone to talk to. Someone to tell him the tree looked beautiful. He didn’t stop to think, he reached for the phone to dial his brother’s number.

  “Dallas, it’s Adam. Listen, I was wondering if you’d like to come to South Carolina and spend Christmas with me. Just the two of us. I put my tree up today and decorated it myself. Yeah, I know it’s early, but it’s my first time. I want to have plenty of time to enjoy it. I have these seven dogs. Yeah, yeah, seven. You’re right, Dallas, I almost forgot you’re leaving for Vegas. The dogs take up all my time. When you wind it up, come here instead of going back to LA. We can talk about that mess in your bedroom when you get here. Hell, yes, the house is already decorated. From top to bottom. I swear, Dallas, it looks just like those pictures we used to look at in Millie’s catalogues. Do you remember how we used to promise each other we’d have houses like that someday? I have the house, but it doesn’t feel right because you aren’t here. What’s there to think about, Dallas? Either you want to come or you don’t. We need to talk, Dallas. And, each of us needs to listen to the other one. I’m glad you’re getting married. No, of course I’m not angry that you want Al for your best man. It’s your wedding. All I ever wanted, Dallas, was for you to be happy. Okay, then, it’s settled. Call me when you’re ready to leave Vegas. I’ll pick you up at the airport. You want me to bring all seven of the dogs. Sure. I just call them One, Two, Three, Four, Five, and Six. The mother’s name is Izzie. The runt is Six. You want me to call him Dallas? Sure. Dallas Six it is. You want me to do what, Dallas? Sure, sure, licorice, Jujubes, and a new comic book in an orange string bag. It’s okay, Dallas. I knew where you were coming from back then. Have a safe flight. Dedicate your first number to Dallas Six. I’ll see you next week. Dallas, I do love you. I just want you to know that. I guess I’m getting mushy in my old age. Maybe it’s that my little brother is getting married. The rest of the stuff is all bullshit. Okay, Dallas.” His voice was gruff and choked-sounding. To his ear, Dallas’s voice sounded the same way. “Good-bye.”

  Adam smacked his hands together. “Ah, life is looking good.” He looked at his watch. He had time to run to Harris Teeter to get the orange bag.

  Later, he was all thumbs when he cut the orange, nylon mesh in the pattern of a Chr
istmas stocking. Twice he got a lump in his throat when he remembered how Dallas had thrown the stocking at him when they were children. Well, that was then, this was now. He jammed the stocking full of Jujubes, and licorice, squeezing the Superman comic book down into the toe of the stocking. He attached a red velvet bow to the top of the stocking with Scotch tape before he hung it on the mantel next to the seven stockings for the dogs. He started to laugh when he stared at the seven red velvet stockings with their appliquéd designs at fifty bucks a pop. Dallas’s homemade creation was six dollars tops, if you didn’t count the cost of the red bow. And he had a dozen oranges to eat.

  It was ten minutes of six when Adam popped a cola drink, his feet on the coffee table. It was dark out now, the lights on the tree winking in the dark room. The room looked so beautiful he felt himself start to choke up. It occurred to him suddenly that he hadn’t heard the whistle for a long time. Five minutes to go. He slid the pocket doors open, tiptoeing quietly toward the kitchen. He peeked around the corner, clapping his hand over his mouth to keep from laughing. Mother and offspring were lined up in a neat row, their eyes expectant as they waited for their next order. When the whistle sounded two short blasts of sound, the line moved to the right. Seven more blasts followed. One by one the dogs ran to their tartan plaid beds. Five and Six mixed up the beds and were rewarded with one long piercing belt of sound. They immediately rectified the situation and were rewarded with a treat.

  Tom Silk clapped his hands, his musical voice full of praise as he patted the dogs and tweaked their noses.