Secrets (49 page)

But Lance said, “No.” He had a strange look on his face as he started for the van. Two men got out, and the three of them converged, hooking fingers and slapping backs in a male ritual of recognition. Baxter thrust himself into the melee with doggy delight.

These were people he knew. She observed the tussle with mixed emotions, the joy of their reunion stinging in a way it shouldn’t, worse than last night with Star. As though Lance had no right to other relationships. Pathetic. He motioned her over.

“Rese, this is Rico Mirez and Chaz Fortier.”

She shook hands with Rico, who wore two small hoops in both ears, his hair layered to his shoulders with a strand on the side wrapped in colorful thread. His face was narrow, and his slight, compact frame made Lance seem tall. Then she looked up to the elegant features of the one he called Chaz, who clasped her hands in long dark fingers and spoke with an accent. Lance rested his hand on the small of her back in a gesture she recognized as proprietary, though no one had laid claim to her before.

“Whatchu doin’ here?” New York stood out in Lance’s speech with that one phrase, though she hadn’t noticed it before.

Rico tapped a rhythm on the side of the van. “You got a gig, man. Jake told us.”

“I played one night in a dining room.” Lance cupped his hand around her side. “As an experiment.”

Rico took a folded paper from his pocket, opened it and displayed one of the flyers she’d hung. Lance and his guitar looked out from the page. “It says Saturdays.”

He frowned. “We’re still figuring it out.”

Rese glanced at Lance. Why was he denying it? His first night had been a roaring success. She fully intended him to play again, and he’d never been reluctant where his music was concerned.

Rico pinned her in his gaze. “He was hot, wasn’t he?”

“Sure, put her on the spot, Rico.” Lance shoved his friend’s shoulder. “And that’s not the point. I’m not—”

“You’re playing.”

“I’m not getting paid.”

“You’re performing.”

Lance rubbed his face and glanced at her sidelong.

She wasn’t sure what was going on, but she said, “We only opened last weekend. Nothing’s settled yet.”

“We’ll settle it.” Rico was as wiry and intense as a terrier. He opened the back of the van. “We brought the equipment. I told Mr. Samuels we’d send a CD. He’s hungry, Lance. We need to feed him.”

Rese eyed the sound equipment, instrument cases, and drum set in the van. Was this the band Lance had played with?

“This is a bed-and-breakfast, Rico. Not the Village.”

Chaz had stood grinning through all of it. His smile broadened now, forming two long creases in his cheeks. But he said nothing, letting the two smaller men argue.

Rico tugged a case free and opened it on the edge of the van’s floor. “Just look at her.”

The guitar was reddish-hued, detailed with mother of pearl, and Rese could swear even the outlining was inlaid wood. She didn’t know much about instruments, but the craftsmanship was incredible.

Lance shouldered Rico aside. “If you’ve banged that up…”

“I wrapped her like a baby.”

“I know how you drive.”

“I drove like a grandmother.” Rico’s fingers tapped his thigh. “Tell him, Chaz.”

Chaz leaned on the van. “Like your Nonna Antonia.”

“Yeah, she could have won the Indy.” Lance’s hands were on the guitar.

He didn’t take it out of the case, but Rese saw his desire to. The other guitar was his travel companion … and this one?

“She was lonely.” Rico’s voice grew velvety. “You can’t leave her so long without stroking her.”

Lance glared at him and closed the case. “Cheap shot, Rico.”

Rico tugged a tightly packed sleeping bag from the van. “So where do we camp?”

Lance looked from Rico to Chaz. “Got a couple hundred for a room?”

Chaz’s smile shrank. “I told you we should call, mon.” He shook his head at Ricardo.

Rese stepped forward. “If they’re your friends, Lance—”

“They can have the attic. For tonight.”

She shot him a glance. The attic?

“Great.” Rico shouldered his bag and pulled a navy duffle free. He flashed Lance a grin as incorrigible as any she’d seen.

Rese hid her own behind her fist. It was satisfying to see Lance steam- rolled for a change.

Chaz bowed his head her way. “Is that all right with you?”

Turn away his friends? She would not have offered the attic; maybe the carriage house with Lance, but he’d spoken first. She shrugged. “No one’s using that space.”

“Except the ghosts.” Lance sent Rico an incorrigible smile of his own.“Was it moans you heard, Rese?”

“It’s been quiet lately.” And she’d been way too stressed to even think of ghosts. She looked up at the attic window.

Lance took his guitar from the van, but he didn’t offer to help with anything else. A contradiction of emotions emanated from him. Excitement and affection, irritation and strain. When he started for the carriage house, she told the others, “I’ll show you the attic.”

She hadn’t been up there since Lance finished cleaning it out, and it spread before her now with surprising size and emptiness. The others walked in and eyed it.

“Wow. We could set up at the end and have tables and a dance floor— our own private club.” Rico did a quick shuffle and spin that, even laden with his luggage, displayed a fluid motion. She could almost see the wheels turning in his head as he considered the possibilities.

Chaz looked down on them both, his shaved head the most perfectly shaped she’d ever seen. Hair would spoil it, just as hair gave Rico his rakish look, and Lance his style. All of them so different from those she’d worked with. Or maybe she hadn’t noticed the defining characteristics before.

But these were Lance’s friends, people who mattered to him—who proved he was real? “Have you known Lance long?”

“A while.” Chaz set his things against the wall. “Ricardo grew up with him.”

Rico shrugged. “We didn’t nurse at the same breast, but most everything else.”

They had behaved like siblings, like people with history and familiarity.“So I guess you know about Tony.”

Rico fixed her with a stare that confirmed Lance had not made that up. Had she doubted it? The pain he’d shared was too real.

But Rico was reassessing her now. He shot a glance at Chaz. “Gotta be a record.” He thumped his bags down by the window and looked out.

“What record?” She asked Chaz.

He spread his hands. “Rico says crazy things. Don’t listen to him.”

At the window Rico just laughed.

Lance took the top three stairs at a jog, stopped and eyed the sound equipment and instruments set up at the far wall. Not
déjà vu
exactly, but something close. Rico tapped an air brush on the cymbal he’d just tightened into place. “Great jammin’ room.”

Lance hadn’t thought of that when he’d proposed the attic, only a place they wouldn’t find too comfortable. As good as it was to see them, he couldn’t encourage Rico. One note of eagerness, and the man would pounce.“You’re wasting your time.”

Rico laughed. If he was getting ideas, this would not be pretty. Only Rico would think he could drive out there with the setup and lure him back in.

Chaz leaned against the wall. “You look better.”

Compared to when they’d last been together? Seeing Nonna incapaci- tated, knowing she needed something from him, had caused a strain he hadn’t bothered to hide. They’d have seen through his attempts anyway.

“He ought to.” Rico did a roll on the snare with his fingers and ended with the brush on the cymbal. “He’s got a hot mama.”

“It’s not like that.” Lance frowned. He’d put his arm around Rese to warn Rico off, not give the impression he’d obviously gotten.

“Man, you had me searching my conscience in sackcloth and ashes with all that ‘finding the meaning of life’ talk.”

“I meant it. And there’s nothing happening with Rese.”

“She’s eating out of your hand.”

“I’m the cook.”

Three inches shorter than Lance and weighing the same as he had at fifteen, Rico still faced off like a pugnacious Chihuahua. “You told her about Tony.”

“So?” But Rico knew he would never have shared that with someone who didn’t matter. He was pressing an advantage. With their fiery natures and Rico’s quick trigger, they had ended up in a clench too many times because Rico baited him as he was now.

“I care about her. But there’s nothing happening.”

Rico snorted, reminding him of Rese.

“I meant everything I said before. I still do. You’re wasting your time.”

Chaz opened his bag and took out a water bottle. “The Lord has called him out of darkness.” He took a long drink.

Rico scowled. “I’m not talking darkness, Chaz, just fame and success. Not listed in the seven deadly sins.”

“They should be,” Lance said softly. “They sure lead to them.”

“Only if you let them.” Chaz had said that before, but Chaz didn’t have the same temptations. The oldest son of a minister in Kingston, Jamaica, he’d seen degradation, violence, and iniquity—and had been chiseled into a pillar of integrity Lance both envied and admired. No lifestyle, no surroundings, no temptations shook him from his course. At least that Lance could see.

They had met on a coordinated effort with Chaz’s father’s church, and in the evenings, after days of sweat-soaked labor, there had been music for the soul. How many guys played Mozart on a steel drum? Chaz’s talent and Lance’s sponsorship had brought him to New York, and the money he sent home kept his family and most of their church alive.

The three of them shared an apartment in the building his family had owned for years. They contributed enough rent to cover the property taxes and they provided all the maintenance. What the three of them couldn’t do themselves, they paid for. It was a good arrangement for everyone. But the guys had come to Sonoma now, and Lance knew why.

“You can find another guitar, Rico.”

Rico shook his head. “It’s not the same.” He held up two fingers stuck together.

Yes, they were close, closer than he’d been to Tony. From the time they could walk, he and Rico were inseparable—which was the main reason Lance had found so much trouble. The sisters had learned quickly that alphabetical order sat them next to each other and scrapped that method of seating. But nothing could really separate them, except for the life-changing impact of Tony’s death.

Lance rubbed his face. “Have you guys eaten?”

His friends shared a look, and Rico grinned. “And spoil your fun?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Lance shook his head. Having grown up on Nonna’s fare, Rico said nothing derogatory when Lance took up where she left off. He knew a good thing when he saw it. Lance didn’t miss the irony of their coming to Nonna’s old house just as he’d switched focus back to Rese. But it was one more complication in a situation already spinning out of control.

Evvy had not thought of Ralph’s stories in a long time. But waking from her nap with the name Quillan Shepard on her lips put her in mind of the man Ralph had said his family revered like a saint. She didn’t go in for any of that, but she understood a debt. According to Ralph, his father, Joseph, owed Quillan Shepard his life, and that was somehow connected to the villa next door.

He never did tell her the nature of the debt or how exactly it came about. She suspected Ralph didn’t know, or he would have enjoyed the recounting. But when she teased him about leaving the old place since it was too big for him, he’d say there was only one thing that could get him out of there. One thing….

Evvy shook her head. In the end, it was something else, something he hadn’t wanted but couldn’t stop. His own son’s plans. There should be a lesson in that, but never having children of her own left her without insight into that particular aspect of life.

She had thought once that she was missing something, but she’d obvi- ously not missed motherhood too much, or she’d have made it happen. Childbearing might be a noble cause, but there were other ways to fill up God’s kingdom—like reaching out to the offspring of other wombs. She didn’t have to bear them to be burdened by the souls around her, so when she stepped outside and saw Rese and the dog near the end of the driveway she started toward them.