Jingle ate, watching her uncle warily. He ate, ignoring her for the most part.
After the second course was brought out, a succulent steamed fish with vegetables, he looked at her and said, “I’ve been thinking. You’ll be twenty-one in two weeks, Jingle, and it’s time for you to begin thinking of marriage.”
If you’d like the rest (for free), just click here.
Excerpt:
Elvis Gets His Groove Back
Moonchuckle Bay #5
Years ago, siren Charlie Melodi saved a newly made werewolf and his alpha owes her. Today, after nearly killing a man, she calls in her marker. He sends a werewolf to bring her from Vegas to Moonchuckle Bay — and that werewolf looks suspiciously like Elvis. Can two people who have vowed to never sing again still make beautiful music together?
CHAPTER ONE
IN THE LAST SONG OF her show, Charlie Melodia came to the crescendo at the end — and hit the high note, sticking it, holding it out, second after second.
It was beautiful to feel the music pouring out of her.
She heard people gasping, but they were always enticed and surprised by her Siren Song.
She held the last few seconds of that high, crystal clear note, then opened her eyes, expecting the audience members to be looking at her with rapt expressions, as they usually were.
And most of them were.
But others were focused on two men and a woman who were standing and clutching at their chests.
Dread slammed into her. She’d lost control? She hadn’t done that in decades.
Ten feet from the stage, one of the men standing toppled over onto the ground, a man and woman jumping up and grabbing for him before he hit his head. They eased him to the ground.
A flush ran up Charlie’s body and face.
She’d lost control! She might have killed this man! And she’d injured others!
As the two other people stopped clutching at their shirts and sank back into their seats, she assumed they were all right, but her eyes went back to the fallen man.
Finally, the guitar player of the group came forward and said, into the mic, “Has someone called an ambulance?”
A woman in the crowd held up a phone and nodded.
The guitarist turned to Charlie, concern in his eyes. “Are you all right, Charlie? Your face is red and you look like you’re about to pass out.”
She drew in a breath, dragging her eyes from the fallen man. The possibly dying man. “I’m not feeling well.”
It was the truth. She couldn’t bear hurting people.
He put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay. We were pretty much done. That was your usual finale song. You just won’t come back out for the encore songs. The band and I will cover it for you.”
With great relief, she said, “Thank you.”
He spoke into the mic again. “Can we have a round of applause for the beautiful and talented Charlie Melodia, folks?”
As EMTs raced up the aisle toward the front, the crowd clapped, while their attention was also on the man who’d dropped, who was still obviously struggling to breathe.
The guitarist signaled to the band and they struck up a song, and he led Charlie off the stage. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
Stricken, she managed a nod. “Thank you,” she said again. “I did better before Hank died.”
He nodded. “I know.”
Then he went back on stage and she stood, trembling, leaning against a wall for support.
She couldn’t stay here. Not in this building. Not in this town. Not in this career.
With her power growing stronger but without Hank’s calming influence, she couldn’t control it any longer. She had to admit it to herself.
Where could she possibly find someone as peaceful as Hank to be around? Someone who calmed her? Hank had been her manager for most of his life, and they’d been friends for all that time. Never romantically inclined, just good friends. As he’d grown old and then infirm, she’d moved in to care for him until he died.
Just last week. This was her first show since his funeral.
She could still hear his voice in her head: Charlie, just keep moving. Baby steps. Take the next baby step.
She could do that. She fumbled to pull her coat around her shoulders and carried her purse outside. The crowd didn’t seem to recognize her, for which she was extremely grateful.
She couldn’t handle even one more thing at this moment, or she’d crack — just like that man’s heart had when she’d hit that high note. Just as crystal glasses cracked when regular singers hit high notes.
Thanks again!
You’re amazing!
Heather Horrocks
www.BooksByHeatherHorrocks.com
The Fireman Finds His Flame Page 12
