The Gunny & The Jazz Singer (Birchwood Falls #1) (18 page)

"Phoebe." He opened his
eyes. She wasn't there.

***

"Hey Rahn, great to see you,
buddy!" Mike Banning strode from behind the bar to pump Marc's hand.

"I'm glad to see you, too."

"Are you back for good?"

"Yes, I think so."

"Do you need a job? I can put
you to work here for a while."

"No, I'm good," Marc
assured. "Is Phoebe in town?" The intensity of his need to see her
again sometimes overwhelmed him, but he wanted to play it cool in front of his
old pal.

"She's working in Chicago.
Moira would know where."

Marc nodded.
Not here, but not far away. Okay.
He could deal with that. Next
stop, Moira Logan's office. "I'll see you later, Mike. I've got some
things to do."

"Will you come back tonight so
we can give you a good old B Falls welcome home?"

"I don't want any hoopla."
He gave Mike a mock frown.

"How about burgers and beer
with my mom and dad? That'll be low-key hoopla," Mike assured with a
chuckle.

"Just that, okay?"

"Sure, buddy."

"Okay. I'll see you tonight."
Marc left Ollie's not entirely confident in Mike's promise, but he had other
business to attend to. He headed across First Street to the courthouse. It didn't
take long to be shown into Moira's office.

"Welcome back, Marc." Moira
indicated a chair for him and repeated Mike's question. "Is this for good?"

"That depends."

"On?"

He just looked at her. Surely she
knew from Phoebe what their relationship had been like, but she'd have no idea
how serious he was about finding her. "On where Phoebe is."

"Are you sure she wants to see
you?" Moira leaned back in her seat.

"I don't know why not. It's
not like we had an argument." He just wanted to know where she was and
wasn't in the mood for an interrogation.

"I know, but she's almost
where she wants to be in her career."

"She's singing in Chicago?
Where?"

Moira hesitated.

"All respect due to you,
Moira, but this isn't your decision to make." He could understand her care
for her friend and said so. "But this is between Phoebe and me."

Moira nodded. "You're right,
of course." Digging in her purse, she pulled out an address book. "I
like to keep important things on paper. You never know what might happen with
your iPhone." Writing on a piece of paper, she handed it to Marc. "Here's
her address. She misses you."

He climbed to his feet. "Yeah?
Is she happy?"

Moira smiled ruefully. "Almost."

Marc looked questioningly at her.

"She misses you." Moira
shrugged. "If you want her, go get her."

Before he headed to Chicago, he
made a stop at the cemetery, again with gardenias. He murmured as he lay the
flowers in front of their stone, "Wish me luck, Mom. I want what you and
Dad had." He knelt on one knee to pull some weeds that had grown up around
the base. "You guys would love her, and she'd love you." Kissing his
hand, he laid it on the top of the stone. "
I
love you."

Chapter Eighteen

"Mom, Dad! Wow, you surprised
me. I didn't know you were coming." Phoebe was surprised by how happy she
was to see her parents. Every minute of living with them after they adopted her
had been wonderful. They gave her every opportunity to shine with singing and
dancing lessons, saying they recognized a great talent when they saw it. She
never forgot the early years of foster families, but Roger and Maudie Barnes
had tried to make it all better.

"We wanted to see you perform,
we love Chicago and add you to the mix—how could we not come?" Her mom
wrapped Phoebe in her arms and hugged tightly.

"You look wonderful, guys."
They were only in their early fifties, having been in their mid-thirties when
they adopted her after trying to have a child for many years. "Are you
staying with me?"

"We have a hotel. I know your
place is pretty small, and we didn't want to cramp you up."

"Thanks, Dad. That's probably
a good idea, but we'll spend as much time together as we can."

"That's why we're here!"
Roger gave her one of his big bear hugs. He wasn't a tall man, only five-ten
with a bit of a belly, but he knew how to put his arms around her and make her
feel safe—just like the other man who made her feel safe. Her dad's one point
of vanity was his hair. He sure hadn't lost any so far. It was gray now but
still thick.

Maudie was a little shorter than
her husband and thin. She swam and walked to keep in shape. "I'm so happy
to see you both," cried Phoebe.

"Can you have lunch with us?"

"I'd love to, Mom." As
they stood in the lobby of the club where she was rehearsing, she introduced
her folks to the other members of her troupe as they filed by to head out to
their own lunch plans. "There's a place a block down the street that we go
to a lot."

After being seated and ordering
lunch she asked, "How long are you staying?"

"We have a long weekend and
have to start back Monday afternoon."

Phoebe nodded. Since it was now
Saturday noon, they'd have to pack in a lot of togetherness. "I have a
show tonight, but I'm off after that."

"We surprised you, so we hope
you didn't have other plans. If you did that's okay," Maudie added.

"No, I'm really so glad to see
you. I miss—"

"Moira called us last week."

"What about, Mom? Is
everything all right with her? And Davy?"
God, I miss them so much.

"Oh, yes. They're fine. They
just miss you too," Maudie said.

"I know. I text them and talk
on the phone a lot."

"Don't you miss B Falls?"
Roger asked.

"Yeah. To tell you the truth,
I thought I'd love the big city compared to
Podunk
,
Iowa. I mean, I love singing here, love the clubs, and I've learned so much
from the other performers but—"

"Do you ever hear from Marc?"
Maudie asked softly.

An odd combination of cold chills
and heated memories flowed through her at the mention of his name. "I
tried to make him understand that I was moving on and that I didn't think we
had a future. He's not the kind of man who wants to follow a performer around
from town to town."

"But you miss him too?"

Her mom
would
get to the heart of the matter. "It doesn't make any
difference at this point. He's in Afghanistan. He's got a job to do there."

Maudie reached across the table to
grasp her hand. Just then the food arrived, and Phoebe pulled her hand back.
What difference did it make if she missed him or not? He was half a world away
physically, and they were miles apart in what they wanted out of life. Weren't
they?

"Sweetie, there's nothing
wrong with missing good friends, and there's nothing wrong with small-town life
either," Roger advised.

"You guys are barking up the
wrong tree," Phoebe interrupted, chuckling at their obvious manipulations.
"Yes, I miss all of you, but that's life. People move on. Marc wouldn't
want to be in my entourage." She barked a laugh. "He'd be my
entourage. Besides, he hasn't made any moves to contact me."

"As long as you're happy, that's
all we care about," her dad declared.

"And I'm happy here, so quit
worrying. This is what I've wanted. You know that. I'm a professional singer
being paid to sing in Chicago clubs. There's only upward to go from here."

She hoped she sold that. Loving her
life now was true, but she did miss her friends, did feel at times as if
something was missing, as if her life were empty. Hell, it was just horniness.
She hadn't had sex since Marc. That's what the problem was. She needed to get
laid. The trouble was that she hadn't met anyone who really appealed to her
enough to get naked with.

After the Saturday night show,
Phoebe spent the rest of the weekend with her parents showing them Chicago
shopping and restaurants. They went to the Art Institute and the Adler
Planetarium. Waving them off right after lunch on Monday, she felt a bout of
loneliness. It had been so good to be with them again.

Maybe she should see if Moira and
Davy would like to come into town. Maybe she missed everyone more than she
would admit. Fame or semi-fame was wonderful, but friends and family were
better.

Well she was booked at this club
through the end of the year. That was the life of a performer. Short-term gigs.
None of them lasted forever.

It was early afternoon as Phoebe
exited the club. She'd rehearsed all morning and was now starving for some
lunch. Instead of going home, she intended to stop in the diner at the corner
for a salad.

Digging in her purse to make sure
she had enough money, her head down, she suddenly had black loafers in her line
of sight. She curled her fingers around her canister of mace and looked up.

Marc.
She couldn't speak, just looked and looked and looked. For long minutes, all
she wanted to do was look at him. As if memories of him had ever actually
dimmed. Nothing had dimmed. Every night the thought of him colored her dreams
and fantasies.

He stood tall and broad-shouldered,
his hands on his hips, and an adorable smile creasing his strong features. The
smile didn't quite reach his eyes. They looked a little uncertain.

"Hi, Phoebe. You look as beautiful
as ever."

Her insides fluttered at the rumble
of his deep voice. She'd been a fool to think she could forget him. "Are
you on leave again?" Her voice came out all wispy, breathless with
longing.

"No. I'm out for good."

"Are you all right? Not injured
or anything?"

He stretched his arms out and
beamed a huge grin. "Not a scratch. Maybe a little sand in unmentionable
places, but it washes out."

A flood of heat suffused her body. "You
look mighty clean to me."
What an
idiotic thing to say.

"And you look mighty good to
me."

His serious gaze captured her. She
bit at the prickly feeling on her lips, and her sex throbbed at the hot,
sensual look in his eyes.

"Can we go somewhere?"

Panic-stricken, she froze.

"Talk? We'll just talk? Unless
you want to do something else?"

His hopeful look made her laugh
aloud.

"Whatever you want. I need
to-to be with you. I've missed you so much."

"I've missed you too." Oh
boy, had she missed him. She'd been in Chicago six months, had worked steadily
and made a nice income. New friends in the entertainment community had
introduced her to an interesting social life.

She loved the city and all it had
to offer, but she was lonely for Moira and Davy. Lonely for the pretty small
town of Birchwood Falls. Lonely for the wonderful Marine who'd saved her life
and made love to her so well she'd never been able to get him out of her mind.

She couldn't take her eyes off him.
From nothing they'd grown together in a way she'd never imagined. He was
everything a man should be—honorable, strong, protective, steadfast—not to
mention gorgeous and built. He'd never mentioned the possibility of a future
between them, but why else was he here now? Curiosity? Horniness?

If only she could see a way to have
Marc and a career. He was no
himbo
.
He couldn't stand trailing after her from town to town, one performance to
another. Could she have him one more time, just to get fantasies of him out of
her mind?

"Marc," she heard herself
asking before thinking through the ramifications of the question. "Why are
you here?"

She didn't know what she wanted to
hear—that he wanted a quickie before moving on? That he couldn't live without
her? Her mouth dried up. Her heart felt like a huge, hard fist in her chest.

"I want to kiss you, for
starters," he murmured.

The fist in her chest tightened.

"Then I want to make love to
you in a bed and with no interruptions."

She closed her eyes, then opened
them fast to wipe away the vision of that.

"And I want to spend the rest
of my days with you."

She let out a breath. "That wasn't
what I expected you to say."

"Hey Phoebe, you want to get
some lunch?"

Her gaze jerked toward the people
who'd come out of the theater—her coworkers. Marc moved closer to her as if to
send a message. "No. I'll see you tonight. Okay?" She smiled and waved
them off.

When they were gone, Marc said, "Talk,
make love? Or get married?"

"Wait. You're moving too fast."
God.
She wanted the make love part,
almost moaning aloud at the memory of being up against the wall with his cock
inside her.

"Talk then. Where can we go
that's private?"

It would have to be in public. She
couldn't trust either of them if she took him back to her apartment. "There's
a park a block away."

He made a face.

"That's all I can offer you
right now."

A slow smile dimpled his cheeks. "Okay,
honey. We'll start with a talk." He offered his arm.

Slipping her hand into the crook of
his arm, she felt the muscles, the heat of his body as he pulled her closer to
his side.
Oh God, I missed him.

Chapter Nineteen

Marc sighed. He had Phoebe close to
him. They were together—not in bed but still close. It wasn't summer weather in
Chicago, but it was the mildest winter he could remember. The fact that it wasn't
the desert or the mountains of Afghanistan was also a plus.

He understood why she wanted to
remain in public. If he had her in a private place, he'd be inside her in a
matter of minutes, if not seconds. They sat next to each other on the park
bench, his arm around her shoulders. She didn't shrug it off. He hid his smile
at that little victory.

"You've been working?"
Okay, let's get going with this.