Making Magic: Books of the Kindling, Book 3

by Donna June Cooper

  It seemed Thea’s damn gift was both powerful and unreliable. Wasn’t that thrilling?

  “How long will this concert last?” Greg asked. “I’m starved.”

  “We can grab something at one of the vendors after this. There’s some great—”

  “I thought we could actually sit down somewhere to eat. Maybe at a restaurant where the chairs aren’t attached to the table?” Greg reluctantly sank to the blanket.

  Thea closed her eyes. She would not compel Greg to leave and never come back. Not yet anyway. Some perverse part of her wanted him to hear her play. It would be like thumbing her nose at the life she’d just left, and at him.

  “The restaurants are packed during the festival. You would have to stand in line for hours to get in. People eat here instead,” she explained. “Or cook out at the campgrounds.”

  “Really?” He looked around with a pinched expression on his face.

  Up on the stage Jake hadn’t missed their entrance. He gazed down at her with a broad smile. She waved at him.

  He held up his hands as if to play a flute and cocked his head with a question in his eyes. Oddly, there was a spatter of applause around the crowd at his gesture.

  Thea glanced down at her tote. The Burkart was in there along with her Irish whistle. She looked back up into those warm, whiskey-colored eyes. Playing here again might be another step toward absolution. What she had done at Hartford hadn’t helped half as much as playing out her grief on the mountain or even admitting her part in the wreck to her family. But she still needed to confess to Jake.

  He might think she was crazy or even hate her, but at least he would understand why staying here was impossible. Imagining any kind of normal relationship with anyone, including him, was insane.

  First, she would play. She smiled and nodded her answer. He grinned broadly and there was more applause. When she looked around, she saw that a lot of people in the crowd had been watching their little nonverbal exchange. She felt her face heat. There couldn’t be that many people here who remembered her from so long ago?

  Greg looked around in confusion, trying to see why everyone was applauding.

  “Ladies and gents,” Jake said into his mike. He gestured to the band. “I’m Jake Moser and we are Songs in the Wood. We’d like to spend some time seeing if we can coax some songs out of these instruments of ours for you.”

  Everyone clapped as the band began a rousing rendition of “Tripping Up the Stairs”. All the dread that Thea had felt at being here again seemed to shrink before the joyous music.

  Jake watched her as they went through their set, rarely looking away except to glance at the band for cues. Thea was caught up in the rhythm and felt as if she should get up and dance, just like the wedding reception. It felt as if he was playing just for her. She wasn’t surprised that, after a few songs, her heartbeat had accelerated, her skin felt hot and she had completely forgotten that Greg was sitting there beside her.

  When she closed her eyes, she felt the music throbbing inside her, caressing her skin and whirling around her like a mischievous breeze, tousling her hair, across her cheeks, teasing at her lips. It reminded her of Jake’s surprised response to her kiss last night—the way his breath had caught and his hands had gripped her waist. Then Jake missed a few notes, which was odd.

  “Thea?” Greg said urgently.

  “Um?”

  “What are you doing?”

  She opened her eyes to see Jake’s staring down at her. Damn, her legs were no longer on the blanket. She was floating a bit above it. She quickly put her hand down, but instead of falling, this time she settled back onto the blanket, carefully shifting herself into a different position. “My leg fell asleep,” she said quickly. From his angle, Greg couldn’t have seen that she was completely off the ground, but Jake may have.

  When she looked back up, Jake looked anxious and a bit shaky. She was going to have to make that confession soon.

  The band finished the reel “Whiskey Before Breakfast” with a flourish and Jake stepped up to the fiddle player’s mike.

  “We have a special treat for you today,” he announced. “Thea Woodruff—” there was a spate of applause, “—has agreed to play a few tunes with us. While she’s getting up here and assembling her flute, we’ll play a little tune dedicated to my newest girlfriend—Thea’s adorable little dog, Bailey.”

  There was a great deal of laughter as the band started into “Pretty Little Dog”. Thea grinned as she got to her feet with her tote in hand.

  “Are you seriously going up there?” Greg hissed at her in disbelief.

  “Yes.”

  Thea ran for the steps to the sound of applause, pleased by Jake’s warm expression. She had never put her flute together so fast before. She joined them as the tune ended.

  “‘Lover’s Waltz’,” Jake said.

  She nodded. Having spent last night memorizing the playlist and practicing a bit, she already had her flute at her lips.

  This one was a favorite. It was basically a duet, originally written for fiddle and piano, and Jake had played it with his fiddler at Daniel’s wedding. The fiddle-player stepped back and gestured for her to take the lead. So it was Jake and Thea at the front of the stage.

  Jake’s eyes flashed dark gold at her as he played. She was swaying, nearly dancing around his dulcimer as she followed. Halfway through, the arrangement had her carrying the melody. Neither of them had even glanced at the audience the entire time. But this was what they were here for. The music came first.

  As the song climaxed, she finally understood why she had come home—for this feeling. She had dreamed of playing her flute in this sun-dappled glade next to the river—of playing this kind of music, which spoke to the soul of anyone who loved the mountains. At last, she was doing what she loved, with someone who loved it as much.

  The last note hit. She barely heard the loud applause as she lowered her flute.

  After a moment, he seemed to shake himself and grabbed the mike. “See folks? A real treat, isn’t she?”

  There was more applause.

  “Now Thea and I would like to play something a little different. This one is dedicated to my little sister.” He met Thea’s eyes. “For Becca.”

  Thea pressed her lips together and swallowed. She could do this.

  “Understand that Johann Sebastian Bach wrote this piece for a harpsichord, which is a hell of a lot bigger than my dulcimer, but I’ll do my best to make up for it,” he said. There were a few gasps and laughs, but most of the crowd seemed to be waiting expectantly.

  Thea nodded to Jake and they were off.

  It was as if the intervening years had never happened. Even as the rest of the band backed away, ceding the stage to them, they were lost in the intricate composition. His hands moved in a blur on the hammers and he watched her face intently. This piece was even more like a dance between the two instruments, back and forth. One led, the other followed, then they exchanged parts as one skipped away, while the other chased.

  It was as if they were dancing, as it had been at the wedding. She could almost feel Jake’s hand across her back while the rhythm of his playing resonated inside her. She could almost see Becca, sitting cross-legged behind him on a piece of equipment, as she had been when they played that night so long ago. In Thea’s mind, she would always be that Becca—sitting there holding her fiddle, her face enraptured, completely entranced by their duet. Jake followed her gaze then smiled at her. She knew he was picturing it too.

  The duet, which they had shortened from its lengthy seven and a half minutes, wound to its slow and intricate ending. Thea was standing beside him as they hit the last note.

  There was a long silence, during which they just looked at each other, catching their breath.

  Then the audience erupted into wild applause. While they had played, the number of people watching had s
welled and possibly doubled. Thea laughed nervously. Jake stood, took her hand and they bowed deeply, resulting in even more applause and whistling. It took a while for everything to settle down as Jake waved the band back onto the stage.

  “Get your Irish whistle,” he said to Thea, then called out, “Enough,” to the audience as she went to retrieve it. He had to try again. “Enough of all this classical stuff!”

  There was additional applause and some hooting, but soon it died down.

  “Let’s go out with a bang. This is ‘Drowsy Maggie’ and ‘Toss the Feathers’!”

  The four of them—she and Jake along with Becca and Eric—had loved to play these two tunes. The rousing reels always brought their audience, big or small, to their feet. If she didn’t look at the others, but kept her eyes on Jake as he played, it was Eric on the bodhrán and that wild fiddle behind her was Becca, playing along with that big smile on her face. And Pops was there, at the edge of the stage, clapping to the rhythm as happy as could be.

  Jake couldn’t go back to being a county sheriff any more than she could go back to being a corporate attorney. He needed music and he needed to sell his gorgeous instruments so others could make music of their own. She had to think of a way to help make that dream come true. To make Songs in the Wood, both of them, successful.

  When they finished with a long flourish, the audience was all on their feet—even Greg, although he had probably stood to survive the throng.

  “We’ve come to the end of our time with you,” Jake said. “I’d like to introduce the members of Songs in the Wood.”

  The two men in the band came up to be introduced and take their bows. As they did, Thea picked up the Burkart, preparing to play the song she had seen on the end of his list.

  “And so we leave you tonight with a song that says what we feel,” Jake said. “‘Ashokan Farewell,’ for the Woodsman.”

  Thea smiled as he nodded at her. She began to play.

  Pops would have been so proud. She had never asked, unwilling to admit even that much interest in Jake, but Pops had always kept her updated on Jake’s life. Pops had always said that Jake’s calling wasn’t in law enforcement and Jake would figure it out someday.

  And here he was, figuring it out. From what Mel had said, he really was thinking of handing in his badge. She had a feeling that he had been waiting for something—perhaps for the festival, to see if he really could follow his dream.

  She turned her attention on the crowd. Out there in the audience were some of his ideal customers. For a brief moment, she really thought about taking the microphone and using the voice on the musicians in the crowd: “Consider buying one of Jake’s instruments or, better yet, go to the shop to take a look at them.”

  Of course, she would never do that—ethics aside, the resulting stampede would be suspicious—but it was fun to think about Jake’s reaction as she played.

  When they had finished, the audience was clapping and stomping in appreciation. Thea stepped back as the guys came forward to bow again and she leaned down to pick up her case, frowning as a headache began to throb and her nose began to run. She snagged a loose tissue out of her case and wiped at her nose.

  She stared at the tissue. A nosebleed? Maybe it was the stress of playing. It had been a while since she had played for this long—her jaw was a bit sore too. She dabbed at her nose.

  Jake snagged her by the hand, tugging her forward to bow with them. She crumpled the tissue.

  “Encore!” someone yelled. “Encore!” The chant was picked up and got louder and louder.

  “Do you have an encore planned?” Thea winced at the throb in her head.

  “I do, but you’ll need your Irish whistle.” Jake waved his arms at the crowd. “Okay! Okay! One more, but we have to clear the stage for the next act you know! So let’s go out ‘Swinging on a Gate’!”

  Thea pulled out the whistle, took another quick swipe at her nose and pushed away any worries about the headache or nosebleed. The fiddle took the lead and people in the audience danced, swinging each other around in an impromptu reel. Jake nodded with encouragement as she picked up the melody. They played faster and faster until he signaled the final round.

  When they finished, the crowd in front of the stage exploded into loud and lengthy applause. They clasped hands and bowed deeply.

  Thea turned to Jake. “Thanks for letting me play!” she yelled over the din.

  “Are you kidding?” He put his hands at her waist, picked her up and kissed her.

  Thea promptly forgot where they were and threw her arms around his neck while a delicious tingle danced through her, curling her hair and her toes.

  When he set her back on her feet, she wobbled for a moment, then looked up to find his expression had become…possessive.

  “Jake!” someone yelled. “Hey, Jake!”

  A group of people stood at the edge of the stage.

  “You selling that dulcimer? The one you played?” one of them asked.

  “Wait a minute, I was here first!” someone else shouted.

  “Can I have a business card?”

  “Are you selling those online?”

  “Do you build psalteries?”

  Jake stooped down to talk to the group, amazed by the reaction.

  His fellow musicians were crowding up to ask about his instruments. It was exactly what she had hoped would happen.

  But she hadn’t said the words. She rubbed her throbbing temple and searched for another tissue. It couldn’t have been her.

  Could it?

  This could not be real.

  Jake had hoped to sell a couple of instruments after the concert, maybe see some traffic come into the shop, but this was amazing.

  He stood in the door of the shop staring out at the street with Rita humming away inside. Nearly all his instruments were gone. There was one bowed psaltery left and he had barely hung on to his favorite hammered dulcimer. But he had sold everything else and nearly run out of business cards for the shop and the band.

  Amazing.

  A crowd of fellow performers and aspiring musicians had almost overwhelmed him at the festival stage then showed up at the shop before he could even unpack the truck. Rita was in a dither trying to deal with them until he could get inside.

  It had exceeded his wildest dreams. He had prepaid orders for a half dozen mountain dulcimers and three more hammered dulcimers—three. In addition, the band had several offers to perform at various venues and two couples had approached him about their weddings.

  But he had lost control during the concert, lifting Thea a little off the ground. She seemed to have that effect on him. At least this time he hadn’t sprained her ankle.

  Why hadn’t she freaked out about finding herself floating inches off the ground? Instead, she had simply covered it up and acted as if nothing unusual was going on.

  On top of that, how could that ankle of hers that had been so swollen Wednesday night suddenly look so slender and shapely the next day? He hadn’t pinned her down about that one yet, but he needed to—and about what she had said to his mom to make her behave for an entire night.

  If that Greg guy hadn’t gotten in the way, he would’ve asked her about it by now.

  Even though confronting her about this meant he might have to reveal his odd talent to her, he knew that he wanted to, because he wanted her. He’d wanted Thea Woodruff since he could remember. That kiss they shared on stage still hummed in his blood and had his hair, and other things, on end.

  Dusk was approaching and the air was soft with the promise of a warm summer night. He wondered if Thea was still over at the festival with that jerk.

  “I guess this means they’re going to have an election to replace the sheriff soon, after all, hmmm?” Rita said.

  A few of those same people who had approached him after the concert, had also asked when he w
as coming back as sheriff. A couple of others had actually expressed a concern that he might leave his office for the music. “I guess so,” Jake said.

  “I’m not in the least bit surprised,” Rita said. “But I am happy for you. And all those folks told me your concert was wonderful. A couple of them said Songs in the Wood should record an album.”

  “It was pretty damn incredible,” he said. “But the best bits were Thea Woodruff on that flute—and her Irish whistle.”

  Rita nodded. “Yes. They mentioned her too.”

  “Did they?”

  “You do know it’s all over your face when you talk about her, don’t you?” Rita said.

  For a moment he wasn’t sure what she had said. “What?”

  She laughed. “All I have to say is, I want some of whatever magic you’ve got going on these days.”

  Jake watched his mother and Sarah leave the psychic’s shop and head across the street. “I can handle the rest of the day. Why don’t you go on home?”

  “Why’s that?” She followed his gaze out the window. “Oh. I can cover for you, if you want to sneak out the back.”

  Jake put his hand on her shoulder. “You are priceless, Rita. No, you go on. I’ll be fine.”

  “Hah. You’ve got more patience than most, at any rate,” She squeezed his arm and went to get her purse.

  “Thanks, Rita. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Jake stepped back into the shop and waved as Rita left. She turned up the sidewalk without acknowledging the two women passing her. There was no love lost between Rita and Sarah.

  His mom looked like a prim Southern lady in her summer dress and Sarah was decked out like an old-time granny witch as they walked up to his door. His mom peered into the dimness of the shop searching for him. When she spotted him, she motioned Sarah to follow in behind her. It seemed Sarah was her backup today. This was going to be interesting. Or painful. Probably both.

  “Ladies,” he said with a smile. “I thought you would be running your booth over at the festival, Sarah.”

  Sarah glowered at him. In fact, the organizers had barred her from setting up at the festival this year because of all the complaints over the past few years. Sarah had tried to turn a fun fortune-telling experience into an expensive swindle for some of her customers.