ALMOST EVERYTHING

by Williams, Mary J.

  “I’ll make certain he’s there.”

  “Here’s my number.” Morgan handed Hallstrom his card. “In case you need to reschedule.”

  “Did I miss something?” Marcy asked a minute later. India sat three rows back, and Hallstrom, his phone to his ear, frowned at the noise and moved toward the exit. “Seemed you were speaking in a code I couldn’t decipher.”

  “Hallstrom understood,” Morgan said. “Right now, he’s scrambling.”

  Marcy frowned.

  “Again, code. Scrambling about what?”

  “Business.” Morgan shrugged.

  Hallstrom was over a financial barrel—maneuvered there by Morgan. He kept looking for a way not to fall, but he was boxed in on all sides. A fact he would realize soon enough.

  “And India?” Sven wanted to know. “Did she say something without saying anything?”

  “Maybe.”

  Morgan glanced over his shoulder. He found India’s eyes on him. She didn’t look away, she didn’t blink. Yes, he thought, hope slowly taking root, something had changed.

  In the end, and the beginning, and the middle, the evening turned out to be more about rubbernecking and speculation than issues concerning the good of the town.

  Though as Marcy would later say, after the dust had settled and life coasted into a newer version of normal, what was good for Morgan and India, was good for Lake Darwell.

  Perhaps she was right, in a very roundabout sort of way. However, as the drama played out in real time, Morgan found he didn’t care about the town or revenge. Well, he couldn’t throw five years of obsession completely out the window. Not when revenge meant the end of Allard Hallstrom in India’s life.

  Morgan could picture a time in the very near future where Hallstrom’s view of the world was blocked by a set of iron bars. Right next to him, dressed in the same prison garb, would be his co-conspirator, Rance Curtis.

  A few hours later, town business done for the night, Marcy stretched her arms over her head and sighed.

  “Probably the most interesting town hall meeting I can remember,” she said after the mayor banged his gavel for the final time.

  Grateful for a chance to stand and move around, Morgan shot Marcy a knowing look accompanied by an indulgent smile.

  “Name one issue on the docket.”

  “New paint for the flagpole outside the sheriff’s department,” Marcy declared with confidence. When Sven shook his head, she frowned. “Submissions for Winter Carnival themes?”

  “Nope,” Morgan said. “Care to swing at strike three?”

  “What I need to do is to make certain the potluck is ready for a horde of hungry Lake Darwellites.”

  “Chicken,” Morgan called as Marcy dashed to where the buffet was fully laid out and ready to go.

  “You hungry?” Sven asked. “Food’s always plentiful, but you get a better selection if you move fast.”

  “Go ahead. I’ll catch up.” Morgan searched the crowd for India and instantly found her. Internal radar—the kind he thought long gone where she was concerned. “I need to take care of something first.”

  Morgan didn’t know if the crowd spontaneously parted, or, seeing his singlemindedness, everyone wisely moved from his path. Either way, he found his way to India’s side without the need to dodge and weave.

  “Hi,” he said.

  “Hello,” India answered. She smiled, and the room turned a bit brighter.

  “Feels like every eye in the place is looking our way.”

  “Close enough.” India nodded. “I wasn’t aware our past relationship was common knowledge. And yet, we seem to be the main topic of conversation.”

  Morgan glanced to his right. Across the room, Hallstrom didn’t seem concerned by the proximity of his wife to her ex-lover. Still, looks could be deceiving. Right now, he didn’t care what anyone thought. The only person who mattered was India.

  “Meet me outside?” When she nodded, Morgan let out a sigh of relief. “Someplace close, but private.”

  “Percy Park.”

  “Across the street?” Morgan asked.

  India smiled, as though their conversation concerned the weather, not a secret rendezvous.

  “Not tonight.”

  Morgan resisted the urge to take her hand in his.

  “Tomorrow. But not the park. Come to the farm.”

  “Friday is a problem. I have somewhere to be. It’s important,” India said. “The next day?”

  “Saturday’s perfect. Come for lunch.” Morgan locked his gaze with hers. “Promise.”

  India shook her head.

  “We both know that kind of promise begs to be broken. Things happen, Morgan. Unforeseen things.” She shrugged. “I’ll do everything in my power to be there.”

  Morgan needed India to understand.

  “I still have questions.”

  “Good,” she said. “Because I finally can give you the answers.”

  India brushed against him as she walked by—the same way she had when they were in high school. Morgan, so close to once again handing over his heart, didn’t know if he was a fool, or on the verge of fulfilling the one dream he thought was lost to him forever.

  Someone touched Morgan’s arm. Glancing down, he found a delicately built hand and long slender fingers tipped by nails painted the color of ripe apricots. Frowning, his nose caught hold of a familiar scent. Light, a little spicy, unforgettable.

  As Morgan filled his lungs, he breathed in a memory.

  “Joplin.”

  “Hello, stranger.”

  Joplin Ashford. Morgan would know her voice anywhere. Slightly husky, Kane Harrison once described the sound—and the woman—as sex on a very dangerous stick.

  Morgan found himself transported back in time. He was twenty-one years old, a member of Razor’s Edge, and, like the rest of his bandmates, barely making ends meet. On weekends, they played dive bars and college town hot spots. To keep a few bucks in their pockets, they booked weddings and the occasional wake.

  One night, out of the blue, Joplin walked into their lives and changed everything. She was the reason they were hired as the opening act for The Ryder Hart Band. As they zigzagged the world, she more than anyone, kept Razor’s Edge together long enough to finish the tour.

  When Morgan left and the band broke up, she had to clean up their mess. To this day, he still received royalty checks for the songs he co-wrote, he assumed she did a good job. Hardly a surprise. Joplin was the music industry’s version of his Dionne. Scarily efficient and so smart if she weren’t so down to earth, she would scare the shit out of him.

  The word gorgeous didn’t do Joplin justice. She wore her blond hair shorter than he remembered, but the color was still like warm honey. The shoulder-length cut suited her, a golden frame for her killer cheekbones and full lips. She was tall and slender, filled out a bit more in all the right places. Each subtle change suited her.

  Morgan wrapped his arms around her and held on. Warm, comforting, loving, Joplin gave the best hugs, a fact he’d exploited in the past on more than one occasion.

  “Of all the gin joints in all the world, you end up in Lake Darwell.” Morgan grinned, doing a very bad Bogart impression. “You look as though you just stepped off the cover of a magazine—as usual. Though the first time we met, you dressed like a typical college student. One of the few times I saw you in jeans and a ponytail.”

  “I wanted to blend in.”

  “Impossible,” Morgan said, shaking his head.

  “What about you? Without the beard and shaved head, you’re beautiful.”

  “Come on,” Morgan scoffed.

  “Blond hair—thick and wavy,” Joplin said with a grin. “I thought your eyes were brown. Instead, they’re green like mine.”

  “No one has green eyes like yours,” Morgan assured her. “Mine are flat like jade, yours sparkle like emeralds.”

  “Such a poet.” She smiled. “Do you still pla
y and write?”

  “Haven’t had the time.”

  “Bull.”

  Naturally, Joplin saw right through him. Taking a deep breath, Morgan, for once, told the truth.

  “I don’t hear the music in my head the way I once did,” he said. “When I do, the notes are dark, as though all the light was sucked away. Not depressing as much as disturbing.”

  Joplin’s first instinct had always been to comfort. She rubbed his arm, her gaze sympathetic.

  “Could be you need to write down the dark to get back to the light.”

  The thought had occurred to Morgan. He simply couldn’t bring himself to try.

  “Someday. Maybe.” He shook off the somber thoughts. “So good to see you, Joplin. Always was, right from the start. You sat at a table in that bar in Oregon, taking notes.”

  “I watched and listened to Razor’s Edge, every weekend for a month. Tell the truth,” Joplin said with a knowing smile. “You didn’t notice me.”

  “Not me,” Morgan admitted. “Kane did. Right from the start.”

  Only a blind man would have missed the flash of pain in Joplin’s clear green eyes. Morgan wanted to kick himself—then track down Kane and beat his ass. The bastard hadn’t deserved Joplin’s love. She would have been smart to fall for someone else.

  As Morgan knew, smart had little to do with love. The heart wanted what the heart wanted. And from the moment she saw him, Joplin wanted Kane Harrison.

  “Do I want to know why you’re here?” Morgan asked, changing the subject. He squeezed her hand and had a terrible thought.

  “Who died?”

  Joplin’s eyes widened a second before she threw her head back in laughter.

  “Death is funny?”

  “No,” she said, wiping her eyes. “Do you know Beck asked me the same question? Sometimes I used to wonder if the two of you shared a brain. Seems you still think alike.”

  Morgan felt the familiar ache of loss—for his friend, his brother.

  “You talked to Beck?”

  “And Jax. And Skye.” Joplin held up a hand. “Before the questions flow, let’s sit down. My feet are killing me.”

  “I wonder why?” Morgan glanced at her boots. “Five-inch heels?”

  “No one said fashion was painless. Besides, with the added height, I can almost look you in the eye.”

  Laughing, Morgan grabbed a couple of chairs. Placing them away from the flow of traffic, he waited until Joplin took her seat then joined her. A hundred questions circled his brain. He didn’t have the chance to settle on one.

  “Joplin?”

  “Hi, Marcy.”

  Speechless, Morgan watched as the women exchanged enthusiastic hugs.

  “How?” he asked.

  “How do we know each other?” Joplin grinned. “Simple. When you disappeared five years ago, I was worried. Since I had Marcy’s phone number from when she and Sven attended the concert in Las Angeles, I called to see if she’d heard from you. After she assured me you were in good health, we stayed in touch.”

  Made sense, Morgan thought. Needing the other side of the story, he turned to Marcy.

  “You’ve been in contact with Joplin all these years and didn’t think to tell me?”

  “Your rock star days are a subject you prefer to avoid,” Marcy explained. “A sore spot.”

  “I don’t like to talk about the band, sure. Not Joplin.”

  “Now I know.” Marcy patted his hand, then smiled at Joplin. “You’ll stay the night?”

  “Thank you. I’ve always wanted to see the famous Reinhold Farms.”

  “Unbelievable,” Morgan muttered.

  “Don’t be angry with Marcy,” Joplin said.

  “I’m not.” He sighed. “Tonight’s been filled with surprises.”

  “Might as well hit you with another while we’re at it.”

  “Give me a second.” Morgan took a deep breath. “Okay. All at once, like pulling off a Band-Aid.”

  “Uncle Danny is dying. Brain tumor. His last wish, a Razor’s Edge reunion which is why I’m here,” Joplin gasped the information in one long stream. “Fast enough for you?”

  “I’m sorry, Joplin. I know how close you and Danny have always been.”

  Danny Graham was the man who gave Razor’s Edge their big break. Though Joplin discovered the band, Danny, a music legend then and now, acted as their manager. His niece believed in their talent, but he had the power and connections to make things happen.

  “A brain tumor. How long— Wait.” Morgan ran Joplin’s words through his head. “Did you say a Razor’s Edge reunion?”

  “Wondered when that little tidbit would register,” she said with a wry chuckle.

  “No.” Morgan shook his head. “Absolutely not. Even if hell freezes over.”

  “You may not want to play with the band again, but you’re right in step with how they reacted.”

  “Did you honestly believe any of us would say yes?”

  The very thought was ludicrous.

  “I warned Danny what your reactions would be.” Joplin rubbed her eyes and sighed. “He practically raised me. Taught me everything I know about the music business. Gave me my big break. How could I say no to his one last wish?”

  Some people could. Not Joplin.

  “I’m your fourth stop?”

  Joplin nodded.

  “What kind of schedule are you on?

  “A tight one.”

  Morgan felt a surge of guilt. A closer look and he realized she was exhausted, mentally and physically. As usual, Joplin put everyone before herself. As usual, everyone let her.

  “You need food. And sleep.”

  “Yes, please.” Joplin’s whole body seemed to wilt. “I spent most of the last two days in airports. One flight was delayed, another canceled. I haven’t had a decent meal since the one I shared with Beck and his wife.”

  “Beck is married?” Morgan asked. The information made him smile.

  “Her name is Sawyer, and she’s perfect for him. Their marriage is a little rocky—drama, drama everywhere. Still, I have every hope they’ll come to their senses and work things out.”

  “Whoa! Information overload.” Morgan stood. “Food first. Then, you can fill me in.”

  “Or, you could call Beck and let him give you the lowdown himself.”

  “I—”

  Whatever Morgan wanted to say was lost when someone called out Joplin’s name. Unexpected interruptions had turned into the theme for the evening.

  “I can’t believe you’re here.” India rushed to return Joplin’s hug. “Why didn’t you let me know you were coming?”

  Morgan tried to wrap his head around the revelation. India and Joplin? Friends? What the hell?

  “Care to explain this sudden turn of events?” he asked, looking at one woman then the other.

  “Nothing sudden. We’ve known each other for years.”

  “Years?” Morgan scoffed. “How?”

  “I had asked Marcy why you left the band. Seemed like an obvious question. Instead of an answer, she gave me India’s phone number,” Joplin said. “We had an instant connection.”

  Of course, they did. Morgan rolled his eyes and wondered if Joplin was best friends with anyone else from his past. Perhaps she’d buddied up with the whole town? And how much had India shared with her? Did Joplin have the answers to the questions that haunted Morgan? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

  “Stay. Talk. I’ll get the food.”

  As Morgan stood in line, three plates in his hands, waiting for his turn at the buffet, he glanced over his shoulder. Thick as thieves, India and Joplin had their heads together, talking, laughing. Dark hair and light. Beautiful, each in their own unique way.

  Two women, two important parts of a complicated past. His feelings for Joplin were easy to interpret. They were friends. Then and now. India was the love of his life. But they were at a place that felt both new and familiar
. Exciting and terrifying.

  Morgan knew too well how their story ended that last time. The thought he could lose her again made him hesitate. The knowledge they might have a future cleared his doubts.

  The fact that India was a married woman was the least of his worries. What he needed was the truth and just maybe, they would finally be free.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  ♫~♫~♫

  THE RIDE BACK to the mansion was made in silence. India didn’t care. Unlike many wives, she preferred when her husband didn’t speak. She would rather he drop off the face of the earth, but some days you had to take what you could get.

  “What are you up to?”

  India sighed. So much for precious silence.

  “Nothing but sitting beside you like a good little wife.”

  “Except you aren’t good. You’re barely a wife.” Allard glanced at the band circling her ring finger. “We had a deal. Lately, you aren’t holding up your end.”

  “How so?” India asked.

  “Let’s start with the hair. You know how I feel about all those ridiculous curls.” Allard shook his head. “You look like—”

  “Myself?”

  “Wild,” he said. “My wife needs to present a certain image. Which brings me to your lover.”

  India didn’t blink. She was through with pretending. Through, period. As he would soon discover.

  “Ex-lover. You’re the cheater, not me.”

  Allard ignored the jab. He didn’t think of their marriage as a partnership. His extra-marital activities were not up for debate. Conversely, everything India did was scrutinized and criticized.

  “What did McCloud say? Did he mention me? Does he seem interested in working with me?”

  India’s answer was a shrug. She knew nothing about Morgan’s company. However, she could bet every dime she’d squirreled away that he would not do business with Allard—now or ever.

  The car stopped at the front steps. India didn’t wait for the driver to open her door. She was tired and had a long drive ahead of her in the morning. The trip always drained her, physically and emotionally.

  The only thing India wanted was to get away from Allard’s whining and find a few uninterrupted hours of sleep.