Lost Melody (21 page)

“Okay. I’ll spend some time at the
farm. I can interview the band members and their families, maybe
write a few articles for the Gazette, but I can’t do it
twenty-four-seven. I still have a job, you know.”

“Quit the Gazette,” he said. “If money
is an issue, I’ll pay you.”

Mel shook her head. “You are paying
me, in a roundabout way. Since I own the rights to every song
you’re recording, I’m going to make a lot of money off this cover
album.”

“True enough. So quit the Gazette and
spend the summer at the farm.” He reached out and stroked his index
finger along her arm from her shoulder to her elbow. “With me,” he
added, his voice dropping an octave.

His finger left a ribbon of
heat on her skin, a reminder of the way he warmed her from the
inside out.
Tell him no
.

“I’ll see what I can do, but I’m not
going to promise anything.”

After Hank left, she took her time,
soaking in the tub before dressing and going downtown to the
Gazette offices. An hour later, she had officially taken leave of
her good sense and a leave of absence from her job. The latter came
with a promise to turn in one article each week chronicling the
work going on at Hank’s farm.

Agreeing to chronicle the recording
was stupid and impulsive. But her stupid, impulsive heart wanted to
be there. She wanted to see Hank work, even if it meant hearing her
father's songs. She ignored the tiny voice of reason in the back of
her mind chanting a warning about broken hearts and shattered
dreams.

She loaded up on pastries at the Donut
Hole and left a standing order for more of the same, twice a week.
With a little luck, the bribery would loosen tongues and open doors
with the band and crew.

A large truck from a local equipment
rental company had pulled into Hank’s backyard, and an army of men
in coveralls struggled to unload poles, ropes, and canvas. If she
didn’t know better, she’d swear the circus had come to town.
Children cavorted around the workers, excited and eager to see what
was going on. Betty Boop sat on the back porch, wisely overseeing
the confusion. She spied Hank and his father across the yard,
talking to yet another coverall-clad worker.

“Things are a little crazy around
here,” she said.

Hank turned and graced her with a
smile. “Boy, am I glad to see you.” He grabbed her in a bear hug.
“Let’s run off together and leave all these people here to fend for
themselves,” he whispered in her ear.

“It’s too late, I’m afraid.” She
pushed out of his arms, aware of the speculative looks from the
workers. “Hello, Henry,” she addressed Hank’s father. “I hope Uncle
Jonathan wasn’t any trouble last night.”

“No. Not at all. We had a good
time.”

“
Enough chit-chat,” Hank
interrupted. “We need to get the tent up before lunch.”

He turned back to the worker. “Just
put it over there, same as last time.”

“What’s the tent for?” she
asked.

“Everyone takes breaks at the same
time, so we came up with the idea of a big tent to accommodate the
whole bunch at once. So, rain or shine, we can feed everybody and
get back to work.”

“You’ve thought of everything, it
seems.”

“There will be problems. There always
are,” he said.

“I brought doughnuts.”

Hank smiled. “A woman after my
heart.”

He dispatched some workers to get the
pastry boxes from her car and ushered her into his office. He
closed and locked the door before drawing her into his arms. In the
space of a heartbeat, his lips were on hers, seeking,
taking.

Lord, it was heaven to be in his arms
again, and it would be hell when she eventually had to leave. But
she would savor the moment and leave the recriminations for later.
She kissed him back, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing
her body against his.

He broke the kiss and eased her away.
“We can’t do this right now. As much as I want to, I have to work.”
He cradled her head against his chest. “I love you, and I’m so
damned glad you’re here.”

Beneath her cheek, his heart beat out
a rapid rhythm matching her own. As good as it felt to be close to
him, they needed to be more discreet.

“Work aside, we can’t keep meeting
behind closed doors. People will talk.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry. It won’t
happen again, I promise. I know you don’t want anyone to know about
us, so I’ll keep my hands to myself.” He stepped back. “So, are you
here to stay? Did you quit the Gazette?”

“Yes and no. I’m on a working leave of
absence.” She told him about the deal she’d made with her boss. “I
brought the doughnuts as a bribe for the band and crew.”

“They’ll appreciate it.” Hank, all
business now, sat behind his desk, and Mel took a chair in front.
She had asked to appear all business around the others, so why did
it feel so wrong?

“Tell me what you have in mind for
your articles and I’ll talk to the guys, see what they’re willing
to do,” he said.

“I’m not sure. Maybe a series of
articles featuring each of the band members from a personal
standpoint?”

“I’ll ask, but I don’t think it’ll be
a problem as long as you don’t get too personal.” He winked, and
she blushed, remembering an earlier conversation on the subject of
where they purchased their underwear.

She relaxed. “I promise I won’t print
anything they aren’t willing to share.”

“I guess we’re all set,” he said and
started to rise.

“Wait, Hank.” Mel halted him with her
upraised palm, and he dropped back into his chair. She wrung her
hands in her lap. “I’m going to try, but I don’t know if I can
handle being here. I think I’ll be okay with the technical end of
the recording, but I don’t know if I can stand to hear the music
every day. Maybe if it was anything but RavensBlood, it would be
different.”

“You can do it. You’re stronger than
you think you are, but if it gets to be too much, you’re free to
walk away.”

She took a deep breath and let it out
on a sigh. “Thanks for understanding. I promise I’ll try.” Her time
with Hank was limited to the next few months, and she would do
anything to spend as much time with him as possible. When he went
on tour again, she would leave Willowbrook. She couldn’t stay here
alone, wondering, worrying, and waiting.

“So, what happens today?” she
asked.

He walked her through the schedule for
the week and gave her a quick tour of the activity in the barn.
Cords and wires lay everywhere in what appeared to be organized
chaos. Workmen crowded every room, and the studio itself was in an
uproar as the techs installed microphones and wired them to the
control room.

Hank introduced her to Rick, the
technician who would be in charge of his drum kit for the duration
of the recording. He was young, but watching him tape down the lugs
on the kit, he appeared to know what he was doing.

“Why do you do that?” she
asked.

“Anything with the potential to rattle
is taped down to minimize extraneous noise on the track,” Rick
said.

“I won’t wear my watch, and I’ll empty
my pockets before we record,” Hank added. “The microphones are
sensitive enough to pick up the slightest sound. It doesn’t matter
so much on stage because the audience can’t hear over the music.
But in the studio, everything matters. It’s Rick’s job to make sure
the drum heads are replaced, the lugs are tight, and the drums are
tuned, and he gets to shake me down before I sit on the
throne.”

Rick laughed. “Just make sure I get
billing on the final album. Babysitting you can be a real pain in
the ass. And remember, I get to keep anything that comes out of
your pockets.”

Mel stepped over coils of wires and
peered into the control room where two electricians were hard at
work.

“We’re upgrading some of the equipment
to digital, so we called in the experts to install it,” Hank
explained. “The installation was supposed to be completed last
week, but they ran into a few problems.”

Jonathan was in one of the isolation
rooms, playing his guitar. Hank opened the door and stuck his head
in. “I brought someone to see you.”

Mel pushed around Hank and gave
Jonathan a hug. “I see you found the only quiet place in the whole
building. What are you playing?”

“I’m brushing up on a few oldies. The
guys asked me to sit in on few of the tracks. I thought I might
need a little practice. It’s been a long time since I played for
anyone other than myself.”

Mel kissed his cheek. “That’s
wonderful, Uncle Jonathan!” She turned to Hank.

He smiled. “No need to thank me. Our
motives were purely self-serving. We got together the other day and
were talking about how great it was to have Sir Jonathan here, and
how incredible it would be to play with him. The next thing we
know, we got the bright idea to ask him to join us. We didn’t
really think he would, but he said yes. We’re all as excited as a
bunch of kids with a new puppy.” He winked at her.

They left Jonathan to his practice and
went to see how the tent was progressing. The canvas covered roof
sat in the center of the support poles, ready to be hoisted into
place. Workers made final checks before dividing into groups and
lifting the heavy roof. The children sat on the back porch under
their mothers’ watchful eyes, fascinated by the process of erecting
the giant tent.

Observing from a shady spot, Hank took
Mel’s hand in his, lacing their fingers together. “We’re having a
Karaoke party in the tent tonight for everyone. Crew, electricians,
even the kids. We even invited the guys setting up the tent. You
should come back for it.”

“I don’t know….”

“It will be totally G rated. With the
kids invited, the music will be everything from The Wiggles to
BlackWing. No alcohol, wives’ orders.”

She should say no. Keeping her
association strictly business would be wise, and a lawn party
wasn’t business.

“Maybe we can sneak out after dark and
be alone.” He squeezed her hand and she caved to
temptation.

“Okay. I’ll come, but I won’t
sing.”

A crooked smile lit up his face. “It
starts at five. You don’t have to bring anything. We hired a
caterer.”

Chapter
Eighteen

The sweet smell of barbeque drifted on
the late afternoon air. Her mouth watered at the wonderful aroma,
and she suddenly couldn’t wait to sink her teeth into the promised
feast. She located the source of the aroma, a large portable
barbeque pit, tended by two men in red aprons and black cowboy
hats. Tables covered with red-checkered cloths had been set up
along one side. The round banquet tables had been covered in the
same cloth, and boasted centerpieces created from old vinyl LP’s
molded into bowls. Summer flowers added to the cheerful
atmosphere.

Hank and his friends, Chris and Randy,
worked at a table at the back of the tent trying to figure out
which wire went where on the Karaoke machine. She moved closer,
watching the men argue over whose idea was the most likely to be
correct. Satisfied at last with the placement of the wires, Hank
looked up and saw her.

“Ah, our first victim. Come here and
try this thing out for us.”

She took a step back, shaking her
head. “Uh uh. Nope. Not me. You’re the singer, you try
it.”

Hank scanned the play-list and
selected a song. He stepped around the table and grabbed her hand,
dragging her to a spot where she could see the screen. “It’s a
duet. Sing with me.”

She tried to protest, but the music
began, and she recognized the song. It was a fun one, a karaoke
favorite. Hank launched into the Kenny Roger’s solo, giving it all
he had. His voice was smooth and rich, drawing her in until there
was only Hank and her. She would never get tired of hearing him
sing.

When the chorus came up, he took her
hand and their eyes met. Without conscious thought, her voice
joined his, and then she was watching the words scroll across the
screen and singing Dolly Parton’s solo all by herself. When the
final chorus came up, Hank wrapped his arm around her waist and
their eyes met and held. Their voices blended in the familiar words
and, as the last note faded away, his head dipped.

There was nothing in the world but the
two of them blending seamlessly, body and soul. The thrill of it
ran like hot lava through her veins, and she shifted in order to
press herself closer to the man who made her feel more than she
ever thought possible.

Applause rained down around
them like shattered glass. Startled, Mel jerked away from Hank. A
shrill whistle from the porch had her spinning around. The entire
band and their wives stood on the porch, applauding. Uncle Jonathan
and Hank’s father were with them. She buried her face against
Hank’s shoulder and silently wished the earth would open up and
swallow her.
So much for
professionalism.

“Thank you very much. Now go away,”
Hank admonished the group.