That Certain Summer (19 page)

David took a swig of his soda and crossed an ankle over his knee. That didn't make sense. Val was a young woman. She was attractive, intelligent, and compassionate. She could have her pick of men. And she was smart enough to find a way to juggle a job with marriage and motherhood.

So why had she written off a family? Was there something in her past that was holding her back?

Maybe.

Because as she'd said good-bye today, he'd heard more in her words than a mere parting for the day. While their paths would cross again at the rehab center, he'd had the distinct feeling she was closing a door between them—and posting a No Trespassing sign.

He tipped the can against his lips again. Perhaps he should be grateful if she backed off. He didn't need another complicated relationship, and Val was complicated. Whatever secrets she harbored, whatever issues she was grappling with, could create problems for all of them. If he was smart, he'd do the safe thing. He'd write off her summertime visit as a chance encounter and move on.

With a sigh, he rose and crushed the empty can in his hand. That plan was sound. Logical. Smart.

But his heart and his mind were duking it out when it came to Val.

And he had no idea which one would win.

“Okay, I think that should do it for tonight. Those two pieces will be in great shape for the benefit, thanks to your hard work. I'll see you all on Sunday.”

As Scott dismissed the choir and gathered up his music, he glanced at Karen. She was talking to Teresa Ramirez, but he didn't intend to let her leave without broaching the idea he'd been mulling over since he'd taken note of her lyrical soprano voice.

It wasn't going to be an easy sell, though. He'd been watching her, and she worked hard to blend in with the rest of the choir, trying her best not to stand out. After meeting her critical mother and beautiful, successful sister, he could understand why she might lack confidence in her singing ability—and perhaps in other things as well.

But her inferiority complex was undeserved.

As Teresa moved away, Karen began stuffing her music into her tote bag.

His cue.

Crossing the room to join her, he summoned up his most winning smile. “Do you have a few minutes to talk about the benefit?”

Her head jerked up, and she gave him a startled look. “Sure.”

Man, she had beautiful brown eyes. Soft. Warm. Inviting. And as for those supple, expressive lips . . .

Focus, Walker. This isn't about your feelings. It's about helping this woman gain some confidence.

He swallowed and took the seat beside her. “I'm starting to work with Steven Ramsey on the keyboard. He happened to be here one night when I stopped in, and he has a strong interest in music. After only a couple of sessions it's clear to me he has real talent. Do you think it might be possible to include him in the program? It would build his self-esteem and give him a goal to work toward. I think he'd be ready to do one or two simple pieces.”

Her eyebrows rose. “You're giving Steven piano lessons?”

“It's no big deal. I have a lot of time on my hands.”

“Of course we'll include him! If you've discovered a way to give him a new sense of purpose and direction, you'll have done a great service to him and his family. That's a very thoughtful gesture.”

His neck warmed. “There are benefits on both sides. But that's not the only thing I wanted to talk with you about. Did you notice that one of the selections we practiced tonight for the benefit has a solo soprano section?”

“Yes. This one.” She picked up a piece of sheet music from her lap. “We skipped over that part.”

“I'd like you to do it.”

She stared at him as several beats of silence ticked by. “I beg your pardon?”

“I'd like you to do it.”

“You mean . . . sing by myself?”

“Yes.”

“You can't be serious.”

“Yes, I am. I've been listening to you. You have a lovely voice, with a tonal quality that's perfect for that piece. Clear and pure and ethereal.”

More silence as she regarded him with an expression of disbelief
and alarm. “I couldn't sing in front of five people, let alone the five hundred we expect for the benefit.”

“Why not?”

“I'm not . . . I've never had . . .” She fingered the piece of music and took a deep breath. “Look, I can carry a tune, and singing with the group is fine, but singing alone . . . I couldn't.”

“I'll work with you on it. In private, if you like, until you feel ready to do it in front of other people.”

Her mouth twisted. “That could take far longer than we have. Years, maybe.”

“We could give it a try, at least. If you want to back out later, we'll eliminate that section, like we did tonight.” When she hesitated, he rose. “I'll tell you what. Why don't we run through it, just you and me? See if the range is comfortable.”

“Now?”

“To paraphrase a line from
The King and I
, now is always a good time. Unless you have another commitment?”

Again, she hesitated. “I do have some work to finish that I brought home from the office, but . . .”

He could see she was tempted, and he pressed that advantage. “Take the leap, Karen. Sometimes our biggest successes come when we take a chance.”

Her grip on the music tightened, crinkling the edges. “There's also a risk you can fall on your face.”

“That's not going to happen in this case. I've spent my life in the music business. I know how to evaluate talent.”

Her cheeks pinked. “I appreciate that assessment, but talent is one thing. Confidence is another.”

“I have enough of that for both of us. Come on. Give it a try. Trust me on this.” He extended a hand—hoping she'd take him up on his offer.

For both their sakes.

As Karen looked at Scott's outstretched fingers, she bit her lower lip. Hugged her music folder to her chest. Tried to quell the butterflies in her stomach.

He was right, of course. Risk and reward went hand in hand. You couldn't succeed if you didn't try. Didn't stretch yourself. And he'd given her an exit strategy. She could back out if things didn't go well.

What did she have to lose?

Lifting her chin, she took his hand. His long, lean fingers gave hers an encouraging squeeze, and then he dazzled her with that killer smile. The one that transformed his face and never failed to make her heart stumble. Nor did her legs feel any too steady as he led her to the piano.

But that was nerves, pure and simple. What else could it be?

She dismissed the other possibility that came to mind.

“I'm still not comfortable with this, Scott.”

“We'll take it slow and easy.” He slid onto the bench and opened the music. “Don't push. Let the sound flow.”

She lifted her music. It shook in her hands. As he began to play, her breathing went haywire. When he approached her cue, her throat tightened and she couldn't produce a sound.

Flushing in embarrassment, she laid the music on the piano. “I can't do it.” Somehow she managed to choke out the words.

Scott spoke in a quiet but firm voice. “Yes, you can.”

“I wish I could.” She shook her head in regret. “But I can't.”

“All right. We'll do it together until you're comfortable.”

Before she could respond, he launched into the intro again, refusing to take no for an answer. Karen sucked in a deep breath and tried to pull herself together. Okay, maybe if he sang along she could manage to get through it. But she'd never be able to do it alone. And she could imagine what her mother would say if she knew her oldest daughter was even
thinking
about singing a solo!

Scott played the final chord of the intro, gave her an encouraging smile, and began to sing the melody in his pleasant baritone.
Karen did her best, but her voice was shaky and she wavered on the high notes. Still, she made it to the end.

Finishing the final measure with a one-handed flourish, he turned to her. “See. You did it.”

“True. But it was awful.”

One side of his mouth quirked up. “That's a little extreme. The first attempt is always rough, whether singing or playing an instrument. Let's try it again.”

Once more he played the intro, and once more he sang along with her. This time, her voice was a little steadier and she didn't have quite as much trouble with the high notes.

“Better.” He gave her a pleased nod. “Let's try it again.”

They ran through the song half a dozen times. The last time he dropped out halfway through. She glanced at him in panic and her voice wavered, but he gave her a steady look.

“Keep going.”

And she did.

As the last note died away, he angled toward her, resting an arm on the music stand. There was warmth in his eyes—almost as much as was in her heart. “I'd say we made great progress tonight. And the next rehearsal will be even better. We'll try it with the choir next week.”

Karen's brief spurt of elation evaporated. “I'm still not sure I can sing in front of anyone else.”

He studied her for a moment. “I'll tell you what. Would you feel more comfortable if the two of us got together again first to rehearse?”

“I don't want to impose.”

“I'll be here Saturday morning with Steven. If you came around ten, we could spend a few minutes working on the piece after I'm finished with him.”

“Are you sure you don't mind?”

“I'm sure.”

At his definitive tone—and the intensity in his eyes—her pulse
tripped into a staccato beat again. “Okay. Thank you. I think that would help.” Then she tacked on a caveat. “But I'm not ready to commit to anything. Singing with you, or with the choir, is a lot different than singing in front of an audience.”

“Yes, it is. But in my experience, if you practice a lot, it's not as big a leap to a real performance as you think it is.”

“Since Val is the only one with performance experience in our family, I'll have to take your word on that.”

“It's true. Trust me.”

Trust me.

His words echoed in her mind as she collected her music, said good night, and walked toward her car.

And even though she'd met Scott just a few weeks ago, even though she'd been betrayed by a man she thought she'd known well enough to marry, she did, indeed, trust Scott.

“How did practice go?”

Scott stopped rummaging in the refrigerator and turned toward his mother, who stood in the doorway. “Good. We worked on some pieces for the benefit. Is there any leftover pot roast from yesterday?”

“Yes. Are you hungry?” There was surprise—and hope—in her voice.

“Starved.”

Some of the tension in her features dissipated. “I think there are some potatoes too.” She crossed the kitchen and nudged him away from the refrigerator. “Do you want me to heat them up?”

“That would be great.” He retrieved a glass from a cabinet and headed toward the sink. “Is there a YMCA anywhere around here?”

“Yes. Not too far from church. Why?”

“I think I might join. I need to get back into my exercise routine. I was always good about it on the road, but after the accident, I . . . anyway, it's time.”

After punching a few numbers on the microwave, Dorothy leaned back against the counter. “How are things going with Steven?”

“Better than I expected. He's got great potential.”

“His mother tells me your offer of music lessons was the answer to her prayers.”

“She was praying Steven could have piano lessons?” Scott twisted the tap off.

“No. She was praying something would come along to make him want to live. To give him hope.” She paused for a second, her expression troubled. “Did you know he tried to commit suicide right after the accident?”

Shock hurtled through him. “No. I didn't.”

“According to Martha, he thought his life was over. Everything but his physical life, anyway. That kind of black despair can cause people to do uncharacteristic things.”

That was true.

Scott examined the glass of water in his hand. It was half full. Or half empty, depending on your perspective. And he understood Steven's perspective. He'd been there himself. But bit by bit, the darkness was receding. While he still didn't know what lay ahead, the black void that had once dominated his vision of the future was beginning to brighten.