Songs for Perri (15 page)

She couldn't read his eyes of course, but his mouth kicked up in a quirky grin and his hand squeezed hers again, as that richly eloquent voice of his shook her emotions. "Of course you wouldn't, sweetheart. I know. That's not your style."

For a moment they stood there, staring amazed at each other, as shaken by the minor exchange as if they had just promised to wed.

What had happened? Why did she feel like she had given this man her life? That whatever he demanded of her, was his?

She must not think this way. Already he was too skilled at reading her thoughts.

Perri squeezed her eyes tightly closed while attempting to calm her breathing. Her impulsive need to reassure him had just cancelled out any progress she might have made towards cooling down their relationship.

In the meantime, his endeavors to entertain her and keep her by him had its advantages. For one thing, there was no longer the danger of having to fend off unwanted males, attracted to a single woman on her own. Hugo had his uses. He was a safe protector.

But, she thought uneasily as she followed him into the sunshine, was she going to need protection from herself?

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The small black and red motorcycle Hugo rented was the perfect way to see Mazatlan. Seated behind him, she had but to hang on to his muscular frame and enjoy the tour. He seemed intent upon pointing out styles of buildings, crisscrossing the residential areas with a sure knowledge of the terrain.

Twice he stopped so that they could watch some of the building being done throughout Mazatlan; from large hotels to small sheds. It never failed to fascinate Perri, how the workers mixed their cement, sand and water on the flat sidewalks, shoveled the mixed concrete into pails and then carried it up the many wooden ladders to pour into place. To make a "ceiling," a forest of sticks propped up innumerable wooden pallets which supported the concrete until it set. Walls were done with brick and mortar and reinforcing rods. Then everything was smoothed over with a trowel and mortar.

"It would give our building inspectors fits," Hugo remarked.

"But it works."

"That's because they don't have any freezing weather," he reminded her. "They don't have to worry about broken water pipes or insulating a wall."

"Or labor costs."

"Right."

"But it sure does play havoc with the sidewalks. They never seem to get all those little piles of concrete scraped up."

"That just makes it more interesting for the skateboarders," he quipped.

She laughed aloud at that, remembering her own amazement at the skill and daring of the youngsters flying down the unpredictable sidewalks on their skateboards.

It was all part of the charm of the city. Things got built...not how a foreigner would think it should be done, or in the time frame expected; but, it got done. A project would be undertaken that an engineer from the states wouldn't even dream of, much less attempt, if limited to the simple tools the local builders used. Perri felt only admiration for them.

With her blonde hair flying behind her like the tail of a shooting star, she and Hugo motored through the outlying parts of the city, stopping now and then to look at the varied sights around the town. They covered a surprising amount of area in a short time, zipping around the narrow streets with enthusiasm.

Hugo took it upon himself to play guide, laughing and joking, his jovial manner causing her to relax and enjoy the day. There was nothing much else she could do anyway.

Perri found it easy to relax when she was with him. He knew much of the history of the city, and pointed out places such as Ice Box Hill and the lighthouse, El Faro; telling of their part in the history of the city. Some were new to her as she usually didn’t take in too many sights while on a buying trip.

Confident, a strong leader, he made the decisions, but only after inquiring if it suited her. Perri fell in quite willingly with his plans, letting him do all the work. He also knew the best eating places, subtly planning their route so that they ended their tour at a small cafe. A leisurely lunch was followed by more sightseeing in other residential areas.

Later that afternoon they returned the motorcycle and took a taxi to the mining village of Copala, about an hour's drive from Mazatlan. Here too, Hugo knew the history of fortunes made, dreams realized.

"Somewhat like my dreams, Perri," he said as they sat resting on a low wall. They were alone and he pulled off the dark glasses, rubbing the area around his eyes. "Sudden and immense wealth, a blessing only if handled with care. Wealth and fame have their drawbacks: alcohol, drugs and people acting like you're someone important, when you aren't."

"But you are," she protested.

"What's a singer? Just having a voice doesn't make anyone special." he scoffed.

Silently Perri agreed, feeling his attitude toward himself was the thing that really made him special.

"But you've handled it well, even keeping your identity a secret. I don't think I'd have been able, if it was me."

"It's hard. I've succeeded mainly by keeping my different lives completely separate. During most of the time I'm a rancher from Arizona; when we go on tour I'm just Hugo, the stagehand who sets up the instruments and makes sure the lighting and electronic gear is set up properly. When show time comes, I switch to Donegal. And as soon as it's over, I switch back to Hugo. Now and then I make an appearance as Donegal...but a calculated one where I figure I won't lose my wig. My manager keeps all of Donegal's papers and things, so no one will inadvertently find them in my room."

"But Hugo's your real name?"

"Yes. I was born in a blizzard in Hugo, Colorado. My dad took a fancy to the name and tacked it onto me."

"I like it," Perri admitted, nodding her head with surprise at how adamant she was. She suddenly realized that not only did she like the name, she favored it—exceedingly.

He grinned, dark eyes gleaming, intrigued at her avid admission. "Why, thank you. Maybe I'll keep it."

"I should hope so. People don't change their name just because someone doesn't like it."

"It depends on who that someone is," he remarked, his eyebrows flicking suggestively upwards, provocative as ever. "Women change their names. Why can't men?"

She rushed to disagree, trying to hide the extent of her interest in him. "Cause they usually don't, that's why. If you changed your name all the time, people would never know who you are."

"They don't know now," he declared, delighted with her sudden state of confusion.

"But I know. You told me."

"So I did."

"Why did you tell me?"

"I wanted to."

Her bewilderment was plain in her voice and expression as she continued. "But you hardly know me at all, and to tell me something so extremely important...that's a lot of trust on your part."

He dug a tiny trench with his toe in the dirt, then wiped it out again. "Not really."

"What if I’d have told? It would have ruined everything for you?" she asked, agonizing over what she felt was an unfounded trust in people he scarcely knew. If he told other people as soon after meeting them as he'd told her....

"That's true. But I had to tell you."

"Why?"

"Why? Because you have a basic honesty about you that's hard to find...and impossible to fake."

"So you don't go around telling everyone—”

"No, no," he laughed, easing her fears. "Only one other woman knew. She kept my secret well. I never had to worry about her...either." His voice dropped, the laughter gone from it as he spoke the last sentence; his eyes abruptly saddened.

Puzzled, Perri reflected on the tense of the verbs he'd used. Past tense. The woman was dead then. His wife? Or a former love? Perri refrained from asking, for the catch in his voice indicated the pain was still present...and Perri knew all about that kind of pain.

Hugo took her slender hand in his strong broad one, turning it over so that he could run his thumb across the palm. "It's been good to tell you. Good to share my secret with someone."

Perri nodded. She had had that kind of feeling, too.

"It gets kind of lonely," he added slowly, "whenever I’m Donegal. There's no one I can have a heart to heart with, other than my manager. I live so much of the time pretending to be whom I'm not." Again he shifted his quietly intense gaze upon her, so that she felt the full impact of his personality.

"But you are him, you are Donegal."

"I don't feel like him."

"Why not?"

"I feel like Hugo. I am Hugo."

"So?"

"The other man, Donegal; he's like Santa Claus—a costume I put on, an act I carry out."

"I see."

"I don't relate to him or even to his type of music much at all. One of these days—well, I thought I'd bury him. Quietly. Let the press wonder what happened."

"And will you then reappear as a new singing sensation?"

"Ha!" He paused. "I dunno. A lot of Donegal's popularity is stage presence...knowing how to hold a crowd. He's not a very good singer."

"I disagree. You're too hard on yourself."

"No—just hard on Donegal."

"But you're very musical. I can't write songs. I even sing slightly off key."

Her admission changed his introspective mood to one of gentle humor. "Most people do, a little. They just haven't been trained to hear pitch, that's all."

"And you were trained?"

"Oh yeah. All my life. Both my parents sing opera—supporting roles. I grew up with music."

"How exciting."

"Huh!" He smiled wryly in bitter reminiscence. "I didn't think so, not at the time. They were gone so much during opera season."

"And the rest of the time?" Her voice was gentle.

"They sang around the house, and trained me, trained my voice for speaking and singing. They wanted me to sing opera and I'm grateful for what they did. But I didn't want to play at life; I wanted more excitement."

So that was why his voice carried with such a beautiful, almost echoing resonance. "I would think being a singer is very exciting."

"Being Donegal sure is."

"Then you don't sing classical music at all?"

"A little. I notice a lot more power in my voice as I'm getting older, so I might do more. I made some records—three of them. Mostly to repay my folks. I'd rather compose."

"Your records. What name—?"

"There you go again. Asking...."

She smiled. "...what I shouldn't?"

"How do you know I use a different name?"

She just knew. "You do, don't you?"

"Hugh van de Veld. My manager thought—”

"I've heard you!" That name was much more impressive to her than Donegal and she was suitably awe-struck. Ellen Craig, one of Perri’s sisters at Virginia Tech, had a large collection of classical music...including two CDs by Hugh van de Veld that she had played constantly. "You...you're good. Very good!"

"If you say so." Casually, he dismissed her words. "Always call me Hugo, though. Never use my other names...unless that's who I am, at the time."

"Of course. Don't worry."

"I won't, love. You're the least of my worries."

"Good." She knew people in show business used endearments all the time, so maybe Hugo didn't mean the word "love" the way it sounded. Did she want him to? She could still back out of forming a deeper relationship with him...if she did it pretty soon. While her heart was still whole.

"Shall we head back? The boys want to do a little practicing tonight and I said I'd join them."

He put his arm around her as they traveled back to the hotel. It felt natural and right, as if it belonged; and she felt a great contentment. She could be happy with Hugo, if Donegal stayed out of the way.

Hugo had a letter at the front desk which he glanced at briefly, then smiled. "Things are looking up," he told her. "Another engagement...this time in Las Vegas."

He was bouncy with the good news and when they reached her room, he followed her inside and kissed her; his left hand slipping under her shirt, low on her back, his right hand lifting her chin so that his lips met hers in a kiss so perfect, so exquisitely given, Perri's senses reeled from desire.

His kisses were like his eyes—freed once more from the dark glasses—powerful and able to penetrate to the very center of her emotions.

Taking a step forward he pushed her gently against the closed connecting door. With the hard wood of the door at her back and Hugo softly pressing her against it, it was like being surrounded by him...immersed in his love. She could feel it, sense it in the care he took with her...the almost delicate touch of his hand, the gentle questing of his lips.

There was respect in the way he held her, almost reverence. His touch was firm and commanding, but Perri knew he would release her instantly...if she asked him to.

For the first time in her adult life, Perri felt herself reaching out towards someone she totally admired. Somewhere during their days together, Hugo had been slowly stealing her heart.

Was this really happening to her? Was this fascinating man finding her fascinating too? Her heart leaped to keep pace with his, which she could feel pounding furiously under her fingers.

Senses reeling, she asked herself if he was falling in love with her as she was with him?

This was not the time to try to find out, she reminded herself severely. Joe was due. Until she knew that he had made contact with Owen, she had to put that first.

Reluctantly Perri forced herself to turn her face away enough to discourage Hugo’s kiss and reclaim her emotions before they skyrocketed totally out of control.

It was time to call it off.

"No," she murmured. "Hugo, cool it!"

He pulled back, looking down at her from his advantageous height. His voice was rough with emotion. "That's hard to do. You send me up in flames."

"So I noticed." Free of his arms, she stepped back and motioned with her thumb toward the connecting door. "I'm not ready for a full scale fire. Let's put things on the back burner...you can cool off in your own room."

Hitching his jeans higher on his hips, he eyed the door grudgingly, then her. "Kicking me out, eh? Okay for now, love. I can wait. I'll meet with the band, maybe see you later."