Trouble in Tourmaline (Silhouette Special Edition)

by Jane Toombs

  “The ballerina. It’s my fault, I goofed. I didn’t think about her limp. Do you realize Sarah’s dream was to be a ballerina? She clung to it until the last doctor she was taken to said bluntly, in her hearing, that no surgery could correct the shorter leg.”

  David’s chest constricted with the pain he felt for his daughter.

  “I’m so sorry,” Amy told him. “I wouldn’t’ve hurt her for the world.”

  “It’s not your fault. How could you know? I didn’t even know.”

  “It’s true no one knew—Sarah said she’d never told anyone. Another thing came out. She hates what she calls her ‘ugly’ shoes, the orthopedic ones she has to wear to make up for the shorter leg. I took a look at the one with the lift and I think someone who works with such things could put something similar in a good pair of sandals or sneakers so she’d feel more like the other kids.”

  “I wish she’d said something to me.”

  “Sarah keeps a lot to herself. In a way, it’s just as well I goofed about the ballerina, because she let some of what’s bothering her come out. She may be more open from now on.”

  “I’m going to find something unusual she can enjoy doing,” David said. “I’m not sure what, but I’ll find it.”

  Amy smiled at him. “An excellent idea. It’ll build up her self-esteem.” She reached for the ballerina music box. “I’ll take this back to Gert.”

  As she turned toward the door, David stopped her and gave her a heartfelt hug. “I take back all my nasty cracks about shrinks,” he said as he let her go. “You’re really helping me with Sarah.”

  “I’m very fond of her. She’s a resourceful and intelligent child who loves her father more than you may realize.”

  David blinked against the sting of tears. He’d done little to deserve it, but Sarah loved him, anyway. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

  “Sarah keeps asking when you can come with us again,” he said. “Gert says there’s a children’s museum in Carson City with hands-on stuff for kids. How about going there with us on Saturday?”

  “I’d like to. See you then.”

  David smiled as he closed the door behind her. He was as interested in having Amy along as Sarah was, and not just because she helped him understand his daughter better. Amy was good company. More than that. If he didn’t make love to her soon, he’d be a basket case.

  The children’s museum turned out to be a good place for kids, as Gert had predicted, Amy thought as she, Sarah and David wandered from one exhibit to another. The kids could touch almost everything there, which made it much more interesting to them. Looking at her watch, Amy saw the Music for Children event was about to begin so she guided the other two toward the room where it was being held.

  Unsure what to expect, Amy was pleased to find that after the demonstration, the kids were going to actually be able to hold and try to play small-size instruments. Sarah watched with some interest as the man and woman running the event played notes on a clarinet, a flute, a trumpet, a xylophone, a guitar and, lastly, a violin.

  David reached over Sarah’s head to touch Amy’s shoulder when the violinist began, pointing at his daughter, who stared raptly at the woman as she coaxed sweetness from the strings with her bow. When the time came for the kids to hold the small instruments, Amy was amazed at how correctly Sarah placed the violin under her chin and how carefully she drew the bow across the strings.

  “Can I learn to play this?” she asked her father.

  “If I can find someone to teach you, you can,” he said.

  As it turned out, the woman running the event, Nell Archer, was beginning a Suzuki class in violin for children four to seven. “After that, they need a larger instrument than the miniature,” Nell said. “If any of the children in the class show definite musical talent and wish to go on, I can arrange for private lessons.”

  David signed Sarah up for the class, which was beginning in Gardnerville, not too far from Tourmaline, in a week.

  “That should allow you enough time to purchase or lease an instrument,” Nell said, and gave him the name of a music store in Reno that handled the small violins. “Be sure and let your child chose the instrument herself,” she added. “It’s important she establish a rapport with her instrument even before she learns to play it.”

  “What’s rapport mean?” Sarah asked Nell, surprising both Amy and David because she didn’t usually speak to strangers.

  Nell smiled. “Rapport means that you feel a certain violin call to you. Not out loud, of course, but here, in your heart.” She put her hand on her chest. “It means that violin wants to be yours and the two of you will become close friends.”

  Wide-eyed, Sarah looked from Nell to her father.

  “Ms. Archer is the expert when it comes to violins,” he told Sarah.

  Amy smiled inwardly. A perfect answer. David probably thought rapport with an inanimate object was as unlikely as she did, but he hadn’t let his skepticism show. He might need to learn a few things yet, but he was a natural father.

  After they left the museum, Sarah said, “Can we go find my violin right now, Daddy?”

  David smiled and said, “As long as we’re this close to Reno, we might as well do it today.”

  Sarah was beside herself with excitement on the drive there, but when they parked in the music store lot, she quieted down and, by the time they went inside, looked frightened. “What if none of the violins want to be my friend?” she asked in a small voice.

  “One of them will. Just wait and see.” David sounded so positive that Sarah perked up a bit.

  The salesman, an older man, led them to the children’s section of the store and patiently handed Sarah one violin after another, telling her to hold each under her chin to see how it fit. There were seven in all and Sarah had begun to look worried by the time he handed her the sixth. As she fitted it under her chin her eyes widened.

  “Daddy, I can feel it,” she cried. “This is my violin.”

  Completely outfitted with not only the violin, but a bow, a case, resin and extra strings, Sarah insisted on carrying the cased instrument herself. After putting her and the case in the back cab, David whispered to Amy, “Do you suppose Nell isn’t a flake, after all?”

  Amy shrugged. “Since I never played an instrument in my life, how do I know?”

  “Me, neither, but I have to admit I feel close to my grandpa’s old Colt .45. Rapport, do you suppose?”

  She poked him with her elbow. “What is it with men and guns?”

  Instead of answering, he ran a finger along her spine, saying, “Then there’s you and me. Rapport like you wouldn’t believe.”

  “I am not an inanimate object,” she told him.

  He grinned at her. “I suspected as much.”

  Since the lessons began on a Saturday, Amy came with Sarah and David for the first one, held at a grammar school in Gardnerville. Nell Archer greeted them pleasantly, but when the time came for the lessons to begin, she announced that having parents present distracted the children. All the adults were dismissed and the door shut behind them.

  “I guess I’m just as glad,” one of the mothers said to Amy. “I’d be more nervous than Betty.”

  “She’s your daughter?” Amy asked.

  The woman nodded. “I’m Cary McBride. Betty’s the one with red hair and freckles. What’s your daughter’s name?”

  Before Amy could explain, David spoke up. “She’s Sarah—brown hair and blue eyes.”

  “Actually I think she and Betty are seated next to each other. Do you live in town?”

  “Tourmaline,” David told her.

  “Really? How wonderful. So do we. Could we exchange phone numbers? Maybe the girls can practice together sometimes. I used to play the violin myself and I know practice is sometimes a drag alone.”

  “Sounds like a winner.” David took the pen and notepad Amy handed him from her purse, scribbling his number on a sheet and handing it to Cary before taking hers down.


  Cary thanked him, then glanced at her watch. “Do you think I have enough time to grocery shop here before the class is over? I’m way behind with everything.”

  “Go ahead,” Amy said. “If it takes longer than you think, we’ll tell Betty where you are and keep an eye on her while we all wait in the schoolyard.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate it.” Cary hurried off.

  Amy’s first thought had been “harried mother,” but on second thought, there might be more going on than that. Cary had been visibly tense.

  “Practice,” David said. “That means I have to listen to a beginning violinist—right?”

  Amy nodded. “Maybe even two at a time.”

  He winced.

  They wandered out to the schoolyard and Amy sat on a swing. David eased in back of her, said, “Hang on,” and began to push the swing.

  As she gradually rose higher and higher, she called to him, “I have an old picture of my great-grandmother being pushed in a swing on a Broadway stage. I guess it was romantically risqué in those days.”

  “If you were wearing a short, flared skirt, it might be the same today,” he called back.

  “Dreamer.”

  After a time he said, “Going to let the old cat die,” and sat on the swing next to her.

  “I never heard that one,” Amy told him as the arcs of her swing grew less and less.

  “Courtesy of my grandfather. He always said that when he stopped pushing the swing I was in.”

  “In your cowboy era.”

  “Right. Which reminds me—what did you want to be when you grew up?”

  She struck a dramatic pose. “The world’s greatest actress, what else?”

  “Then what?”

  She sighed. “My father wanted me to be a lawyer, like he was. Like my brother was before he defected.”

  “You’re not one, though.”

  “I started out to be, but…” Her words trailed off. She wasn’t ready to tell him or anyone what had happened to her in college.

  “So you defected like your brother. Is he the one with the horse ranch?”

  She nodded. “Russ is doing what he always wanted to do.”

  “Good for him.”

  “We all should be working at what we want to do.”

  “Are you?”

  Amy nodded. “I realized I wanted to help people with their problems.” Which was part of the truth. When she’d dropped out of pre-law, she’d already decided drama wasn’t for her. She’d chosen a psych major mostly because she’d hoped learning more about the mind would help her. Wanting to help others came later.

  Should she ask David if he was doing what he wanted to do? Better not, he’d gotten touchy about that kind of question from her. She’d lay off for a while.

  “Ever come close to getting married?” he asked.

  “Not really.” It wasn’t a lie. After all, Vince had certainly never considered marrying her even if she’d once believed differently. Marriage to him would have been more of a disaster than what had happened. “And I’m not sorry,” she added, a bit more emphatically than she meant to.

  “You’ve met Iris,” David said.

  He obviously intended to let the statement speak for itself.

  “Yes.” She hadn’t liked the woman, but she wasn’t going to say anything negative about Sarah’s mother.

  “Even if she hadn’t taken up with that bastard we couldn’t have made a go of it,” he said.

  That had been clear to Amy from the moment she met the woman, but she kept her words neutral. “People often go into marriages with unrealistic expectations.”

  “Yeah. I’m cured. Once bitten, twice shy.”

  “Grandpa again?”

  David nodded.

  Though she wanted to point out what might apply to a marriage didn’t necessarily apply to his profession, she kept her mouth shut.

  After a silence, she said, “I asked Gert about a place that you might take Sarah to see about shoes other than ‘ugly’ ones. She called an orthopedist she knew and he gave her the name of a guy in Carson City who does that sort of thing. I’ll give you the phone number and address when we get back.”

  “Thanks, I’ll get on it next week.”

  “Which reminds me. My brother invited me to bring you and Sarah out to his ranch next Saturday. I told him that was the powwow date so he upped it to the following Saturday. Sarah will get to ride a pony.”

  “Nice of him. Let’s plan on it. I’d like to meet this lawyer who defected.”

  Not long after the hour was up they went inside the school. The door to the room was open and it sounded as though all ten violin students were talking at once.

  As they entered the room Amy saw that the red-haired girl who must be Betty was chattering to Sarah as both girls placed their violins back in the cases.

  “Hi, Betty,” Amy said. “Your mother went shopping for groceries. I told her you’d be with us on the playground until she got back.”

  “Awesome,” Betty said. “Sarah and I’ll get to hang out longer.”

  Sarah looked happy at the prospect, which meant she liked Betty.

  Outside, violin cases placed out of the way, the two girls grabbed swings. David pushed Sarah and Amy pushed Betty until Cary McBride came rushing up.

  “I’m so sorry I’m late,” she said. “It took longer than I thought.”

  “No problem,” David told her. “The girls enjoyed the extra time together.”

  “I’m so glad.” She glanced at her watch. “Hurry up, Betty, you know we have to get home before your father does.”

  Betty obeyed with no dawdling. That, combined with the note of strain in Cary’s voice, made Amy wonder if the father might be a petty tyrant.

  “Bye,” Sarah called after her.

  “See you next week,” Betty called back.

  “I really like her,” Sarah confided as she climbed into the back cab of the truck. “She’s fun.”

  Amy took note that Sarah didn’t ask if they thought Betty liked her. Bless that little redhead for her exuberant friendliness. A few friends like Betty would do wonders for the girl.

  “I’m cooking dinner tonight for you both,” she told David and Sarah once they were on the road. “I asked Gert, but she’s busy.”

  “What have we done to deserve it?” David asked.

  “Nothing. You’re my friends, that’s all.”

  “I’ll bring wine,” he said.

  “I think I like Great-aunt Gert, too,” Sarah said. “She tells awesome stories.”

  “See, I told you,” David said. “Counting Sheba, you’ve already used up all the fingers on one hand.”

  Amy understood he must be referring to those Sarah liked—or maybe those who liked Sarah. Or both.

  Dinner was a success despite the fact Amy forgot the potatoes and they almost burned. Afterward, Sarah drifted into the living room because she’d been promised she could watch the newest Disney movie on the VCR. David started it for her, then went back to help Amy with the cleanup.

  The dishwasher took care of almost everything so they were soon finished. “We could go watch the movie with Sarah,” she suggested.

  “If I sit on a couch with you,” he told her, “watching a Disney movie will be the furthest thing from my mind. How about sitting out on the balcony?”

  Since each second-floor apartment had a tiny balcony off the living room, the balconies weren’t exactly private. Which was just as well, Amy decided, remembering all too clearly what a struggle she’d had pulling herself away from David when he kissed her in the bedroom last week at Gert’s.

  Private or not, they had no sooner walked through the sliding door onto the balcony before he pulled her into his arms. “Long time between kisses,” he murmured as he covered her mouth with his.

  Every time he kissed her, she melted, there was no help for it. Never before had any man’s kiss made the world blur and then vanish. Never before had her entire being responded to the touch of a man’s lips. Only with
David.

  There could be only one resolution to how he made her feel. Somehow, though, it never seemed to be the right time or the right place to make love. The knowledge that this night and this balcony was neither didn’t prevent her from pressing closer, clinging to him while he held her tight against him, her softness pressed against his hardness.

  “We fit,” he whispered against her lips.

  The sound she made in agreement was somewhere between a moan and a purr. How had she let herself get into such a state? One touch and she felt like a sparkler, sizzling and shimmering all over. What had happened to her boast to herself that no man could ever make her lose control? They hadn’t even gotten naked yet and she was so far gone that if he threw her down on the cement floor of the balcony all she’d do was encourage him.

  When finally they drew apart, she had to lean against the railing to steady herself.

  “We’ll drive us both crazy if we go on like this much longer,” he rasped.

  “I know.”

  It wasn’t as simple as her going to his apartment after Sarah was asleep and sharing his bed. What if Sarah woke up? No matter how much she wanted to make love with him, she’d never do anything that might upset Sarah. And, of course, he couldn’t come to her apartment and leave Sarah alone in his, even if she was asleep.

  “I’ve heard anticipation is half the fun,” she said, trying to inject a lighter tone.

  “To hell with anticipation. I want you now.”

  The growl in his voice settled deep into her bones, setting up vibrations that threatened to undo her. He must know how much she wanted him, too. Now.

  A picture flashed into her mind—some comic, was it Carol Burnett?—ripping open her dress and leaping onto the lap of a startled man crying, “Take me, I’m yours!”

  Imagining herself doing the same thing, Amy began to giggle.

  “What’s so funny?”

  Between giggles, she tried to tell him.

  The end result was a hard kiss, one that left her breathless, then a swat on her butt, sending her toward the door. “Disney it is,” he said ruefully.

  Chapter Eight