by Jen Gilroy
Seth’s stomach roiled. “You can’t blame yourself. You were young. He took advantage of you.” His ex-wife had lots of dreams, too, and although she’d liked the idea of a baby, the reality was different. But at least Dylan knew who his mom was and Amanda had always tried to have some kind of relationship with him. “I understand if singing at the fundraiser is too much for you and—”
“No.” She took one hand away from his and raised a gentle finger to his lips. “I have enough regrets. I don’t want to regret not singing tomorrow night, too.” She straightened her shoulders. “You may have to scrape me off the stage after it’s over, but if I don’t sing, I’ll never be truly free of Todd or able to let go of how he made me feel.” Her laugh was hollow. “Besides, these are kickass boots. It would be a shame to waste them.”
“Then don’t.” Seth squeezed Annie’s hand. “Have you talked to anyone else about this?”
“My sisters a bit, but not really.” Her eyes were enormous—and haunted—in her white face. “I wanted to forget about what happened. Mom and Brendan said I should get child support, but I never wanted it. Today, though, these boots from you . . . they reminded me . . .” She shrugged, and her expression was bleak.
“I understand.” His chest constricted because he understood more than he wanted. And he was falling for her—falling so hard maybe he was already a goner. But too many ugly things had happened to her and, like him, she had too many memories of things she’d left behind, as well as too many fears.
He could look out for her and help her with her music. And maybe, with some of his industry contacts, he could do some digging so that no matter if he was dead or alive, she could put Todd out of her life once and for all.
But for Annie’s sake, as well as his own, he couldn’t let himself fall any further, or hope for anything beyond friendship.
Chapter 13
“Breathe, Mom.” Hannah flipped her hair away from her face and tapped one foot in time to the cheers for the Irish dance troupe, whose talent-show winning performance had brought the audience to its feet. “Chill and feel the energy from the crowd.”
“Shouldn’t that be my line?” Annie forced the words out. She could barely speak, so how could she get up on that stage in a few minutes and sing?
She scanned the Black Duck. For tonight’s show, the staff had opened the folding doors between the bar and restaurant to make one big space. Red, white, and blue bunting hung from the ceiling, and each round table was decorated with a small American flag stuck in a Mason jar with lilacs and greenery. The scent of the spring flowers mingled with the aroma of hot dogs, burgers, and fries.
“You’re gonna be great.” Hannah squeezed her hand. “I’ll love you forever for letting me do this.”
“I’m your mother. You have to love me forever.” But as Annie laughed, the thick blanket of fear that had enveloped her since before she’d gotten out of bed that morning eased. She could do this. She’d sung to bigger crowds than this one. Her family and friends were here, and they loved her, whether she sang a note or not. They wouldn’t betray her, either. And since telling Seth about Todd, she felt lighter than she had for years, maybe ever.
“You’re not too disappointed about coming third in the talent show?” She studied Hannah’s face. Her daughter hadn’t seemed upset, but Annie had to be sure.
“Nope.” Hannah gave her a half-smile. “Sure, I’d liked to have won, but those dancers are great. And what chance did I have against Mr. Flaherty and his dog in their routine with top hats?”
Annie laughed. “You’re a good sport, and I’m proud of you.”
“I’m proud of you, too.” Hannah’s voice was serious.
Annie’s eyes smarted, and the crowd clapped again as Seth came to the front of the stage, a microphone in one hand and Jake’s Gibson slung over his other shoulder. “You’ve been a great audience tonight, and we’ve raised a lot of money for folks who need it.”
As he thanked everyone, from the mayor to the PTA, Annie’s breath got short again and she stared at her boots. New boots, new start. She repeated the words in her head in two-two time.
“We’ve got a special treat for you now.”
She looked up and met Seth’s gaze on the stage above her. His white shirt glowed in the spotlight and black jeans hugged his thighs. “Annie Quinn had the idea for this talent show, and she’s worked harder than anyone to put it together. Now she and her daughter, Hannah, are going to sing for us. And what’s even better is they’re singing a song Annie wrote. Let’s give a big Irish Falls welcome to two hometown girls singing ‘My Hometown Heart.’ Annie and Hannah Quinn.”
Annie sucked air into her constricted lungs and reached for Seth’s hand to navigate the few steps up to the stage.
“The first time I heard this song, I knew it was special. I’m sure you’ll agree.” Seth handed Annie the microphone and gave her a small wink. It gave her courage, and her heart stilled its frantic pace.
“Go for it, Annie-Bella,” he said under the noise of the crowd.
Annie wrapped her hands around the mike and smiled at the audience, without seeing them. She coiled her toes inside her boots. This was it. It was her show and she planned on owning it.
Time slowed as the crowd settled, and she inhaled the rush of expectancy. She nodded at Seth, and the first notes of her song came out of Jake’s guitar. The sound was rich and haunting, and it wrapped around her and reached every corner of the room to catch the crowd’s attention and hold.
Then she opened her mouth and sang like she’d never sung before. She didn’t sing for the audience, or even for Hannah, who stood off to one side, her voice rising in harmony like they’d rehearsed. She didn’t sing for Seth, either, who accompanied her with such tenderness and sensitivity, like the guitar, the music, and his fingers were one. She sang for herself to conquer old fears, heal old hurts, and to prove something she needed to prove.
When the last note drifted into the half-darkness, silence hit her. Had everyone hated it? She glanced at Seth. He quirked an eyebrow and a small smile played around a corner of his mouth.
Then the applause broke over her like a wave, along with shouts and cheers. The crowd stood and stamped their feet and, above it all, a piercing whistle rang out. Brendan.
Her brother stood at the back of the room near the door wearing a black T-shirt with “Security Volunteer” on it in white letters. He gave her a thumbs-up and smiled. The tension in Annie’s shoulders eased. There was no way Todd would ever have found her here. She’d worried about nothing.
Hannah grabbed her hand. “Way to go, Mom.” Her daughter’s face was flushed and her eyes were bright. “You rocked it.”
“You did, too.” Except for right at the beginning, though, Annie hadn’t registered Hannah. She’d only heard her voice—her real voice, instead of the one she’d gotten used to hearing when she sang with the choir. Emotion bubbled up to choke her. Excitement, relief, and so much happiness she might have been floating several feet above the stage.
“You both rocked it. I’m so proud of you.” Seth hugged them before he held up a hand to quiet the crowd. “Thanks for showing Annie and Hannah how much you liked ‘My Hometown Heart.’ It’s a song that reaches deep inside and touches you, and I hope we get to hear it again on the radio someday.”
“The radio?” Annie darted a glance at Seth as the crowd roared approval.
“Why not?” He grinned.
Hannah bounced at her side. “I want to do this again. I want to do it for the rest of my life. It’s totally wild, you know?”
Annie slung an arm around Hannah’s shoulders. She knew that wildness too well, but she wouldn’t dim Hannah’s excitement, at least not tonight. “I’m glad you had fun, honey. Seeing you happy makes me happy.”
Seth started to speak again, and the crowd hushed. “We’
re closing this show with one last song. It’s a Blake Shelton tune. Hannah chose it, and Annie and I are singing it together for everybody who listens to my morning show and as a thank you for supporting local radio. Although I haven’t lived here long, I know how much Irish Falls loves country music so ‘Country on the Radio’ is for you.”
Hannah slipped off the stage, and Annie and Seth sang together. The music swirled and forged a palpable connection between them. When they finished, there was that same hush as before, and then another crash of applause.
“You were fantastic.” Tara pulled Annie off the stage and into a hug.
“We knew you could do it.” Wearing a raspberry-pink PTA shirt, Rowan joined the hug. “You looked gorgeous, you sang gorgeous, and if I could do what you do, there’s no way I’d spend my life baking cupcakes.” She gave a quick laugh. “Or, in my case, teaching kids improper fractions.”
“I like baking.” But she liked singing more. Annie’s heart gave a dull thud as the truth slithered through her. But she wasn’t a kid any more, and she had responsibilities.
“I’m so proud of you, Annie.” Her mom’s face shone as she wrapped Annie in a hug in her turn. “It’s been so long, I’d almost forgotten what a pair of lungs you have. Your dad is up there in heaven bursting with pride, too.” Her voice was husky, and she hugged Annie closer.
“Well done.” Duncan reached around her mom to pat Annie’s shoulder. He was paler than usual and had dark circles under his eyes. “You’re a pro.”
Annie’s throat got tight and she blinked away the sudden moisture behind her eyes. “I need a few minutes to freshen up.” She tugged on Tara’s arm. “If Hannah looks for me, let her know?”
“Sure.” Tara nodded. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” And she’d make herself believe it when she’d put the pieces of herself back together again. Even though it was only a small-town roadhouse, being up on that stage had cracked her wide open to leave her way too raw and exposed.
Tara gave her an understanding smile, followed by another hug. “I love you, Annie-Bella, and tonight is only the start. You have to keep singing. You can’t stop now.”
Annie gulped as she pushed her way through the crowd and nodded and smiled to acknowledge the congratulations. She reached the back door and grabbed her sweater from behind the screened area that served as a dressing room for the talent show performers. When she pulled open the door, a welcome blast of cool air washed over her, and moonlight dappled the flagstone path that wound from the Black Duck’s patio toward the dark forest behind.
She walked along the path until it ended at a split-rail fence, her boots making a soft thud on the stones. She stopped, shrugged into her sweater, and rested her arms on top of a weathered wooden rail. Apart from the faint splash of water on rocks from the river far below, the night was silent and still, waiting.
The crisp pine-scented air tickled her nose. Her heartbeat slowed and the roaring in her ears faded. Animal tracks indented the mud around the fence—coyotes and white-tailed deer. Her dad had known this land like the back of his hand, and he’d made sure his kids did, too.
“Once you’re a northern girl, you’re always a northern girl.” She couldn’t remember the sound of her dad’s voice, but she remembered his words and how he’d lifted her up to sit on this same fence when it was taller than she was.
Lacing her fingers together, she stared into the velvety shadows of the trees. The wind flicked the leaves with a gentle rustle. She’d proved to herself she could get up on a stage and sing again. She’d told herself all she had to do was sing once and her life would be the same as it was before, but she’d been wrong. And what was she going to do about it?
~ ~ ~
Seth shut the back door of the Black Duck behind him—the same door Annie had gone out of five minutes before. He squinted as his eyes adapted to the dark night. “Annie?” He started down a path made of stones. The grass on either side was wet, and the cool air had a peaty smell.
At the end of the path, by a fence, a figure turned. Overhanging tree branches shadowed Annie’s face, but a shaft of moonlight stole through to illuminate her hair.
“Hey.” Her voice was flat.
“I saw you leave and I was worried about you.” He held out a paper cup. “I brought you some water. What’s wrong?”
The vibrant woman he’d sung with on the stage had almost disappeared, and she looked smaller, almost frail.
Annie took the cup. “Thanks. Singing. It—” She swallowed some water. “Although it gave me something—something important—it took something away too.”
He moved to join her under the tree. “Music can do that.”
“I needed a few minutes to put myself back together.” She gave him a faint smile.
“I understand.” The show had taken something from him, too. “I’ll go. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” He took a step back, and his boot heels sunk into the damp ground.
“No, stay.” She curved her hands around the cup of water and stared at her feet. “You were up there with me. You know what it’s like. If you sing from your heart, you give a piece of yourself to the audience. Before tonight, I hadn’t done that in a long time.”
“You did yourself proud, and I don’t only mean the singing.” His voice got rough.
“You helped me do it. You helped Hannah, too.”
The little sparkles on Annie’s top peeped between her sweater buttons and winked at him below a strip of creamy skin.
His mouth went dry. “Did you see Hannah’s expression when she sang?”
“No.” Her laugh was embarrassed. “I can’t let Hannah guess, but once I got up there, I forgot about her. The music took over. I forgot about the audience, too. You’re a great accompanist.”
“You’re easy to accompany.” And when he’d played for her, there had been a bond between them that went beyond the music. “Hannah’s a natural performer. With luck and hard work, she could be the real deal someday.”
“Maybe, but she’s still young.” Annie drained the water and crumpled the empty cup.
“How old were you when you first sang to an audience?”
“Eight, at a school Christmas concert.” She gave Seth a dry smile. “But apart from that, the first time I sang to people I didn’t know was at a music festival when I was almost thirteen. I bugged my mom to let me take part, and she finally gave in. My dad had just died, and I was lost. But when I sang . . .” She stopped and shivered.
“You found yourself again?” He slung an arm around her hunched shoulders.
“How did you know?” She tilted her head to look at him.
“Because that happened to me when I was around that age.” He looped a loose curl of her hair around his fingers. “I saw your face tonight. You loved singing as much as Hannah did, maybe even more.”
“I did, but it’s complicated.” She leaned against him, and Seth’s nerve ends tingled.
“Aw, Annie-Bella.” His voice hitched as he turned her around and took her in his arms. “It’s more than the singing that’s complicated. I told myself I wouldn’t do this, but I can’t help it.” And he was tired of fighting whatever this was. He brushed his mouth along her jaw and then covered her lips with his.
She moaned and stumbled against him as he traced the seam of her lips and coaxed her mouth open. The paper cup brushed his side as it fell to the ground, and she wrapped her arms around his waist.
As Seth deepened the kiss, she ran her hands up his back, and his muscles corded under her touch.
“I . . .” Reluctantly, he dragged his mouth away from hers. “I want to kiss you, and touch you, and . . .” His heart thudded as he slipped one hand under her sweater. Even through her silky top, her skin was hot. “I couldn’t keep my eyes off you tonight.”
She stiffene
d. “Because I look different?”
“No.” He dropped kisses along the curve of her neck, and she moaned again. “This outfit is great, but I can’t keep my eyes off you in your bakery apron, either.”
“But when I sang . . .” She gasped as his hand explored farther and traced the generous curve of her breast.
“I saw all of you, the real you.” His breath got short, and when her hand fumbled with the buttons on his shirt front, he quivered. Her hand connected with his bare chest, and his body flooded with warmth. “Yes . . .”
“No.” She pulled her hand away like she’d been burned and stepped from the shelter of his arms. “I’m sorry.” Her voice was dull.
“But . . .” Seth swallowed and clenched his fists.
Her face flushed, and her chest heaved.
“I thought you wanted this too.”
“Maybe I do, but I can’t . . . Hannah’s in there, and I . . .” Above the neck of her sweater her skin flushed dark red. “It’s not you. It’s me.” Her voice was high, and her expression strained.
“I won’t hurt you.” He took a deep breath. What Todd had done to her was even worse than he’d thought. “Or Hannah, either.”
“I didn’t mean . . .” Annie yanked at her sweater. “I shouldn’t have led you on.”
“You didn’t.” Seth buttoned his shirt and stuffed it back into his jeans. “You were into me, and I was into you, but I won’t take it any further.” He scraped a hand across his face. “Not unless you tell me you want me to. It’s your call.”
“I wish . . .” Her voice cracked, and the moonlight threw the naked vulnerability in her eyes into sharp—and even more painful—relief.
