In the Mood for Love (11 page)

“Which one?”

“The lead singer. Ivy Vine.”

“Nope. But I know the guitar player.” He pointed to the short-haired sprite in the flowery dress and cowboy boots. “Peppy Redding. Marvin Redding’s daughter. Vince’s granddaughter.”

“Sugar Creek native,” Adam said. “Why don’t I know her?” he asked, even as his gaze gravitated back to Ivy.

“She was a few years behind us in school, plus she bounced back and forth between her mom and dad. Split custody. Her mom transplanted to Nashville. Peppy’s been bouncing around the country the last couple of years, chasing fame. Heard she fell on hard times and now she’s back and staying with her dad. According to Vince, that’s not going so well. Speaking of, I’ll be damned. Check it out.”

Adam looked to where Nash pointed. Vince Redding and Daisy Monroe sat at a table, close to the stage. Too close for Vince if the napkins he’d just jammed in his ears were any indication. Daisy, on the other hand, bopped back and forth to “Goodbye Earl,” an old hit by the Dixie Chicks. Not in time exactly, but bopping nonetheless. “Your grandma’s a riot, Nash.”

“She’s something all right.” Nash drank more beer then gestured back to the stage. “Ivy sort of looks like Rocky.”

What?
Adam did a double take. Oh, hell, no. She did. Tall and curvy. Tight jeans, fitted T-shirt.
Blond braids
. Once upon a time Adam had had a secret friends-with-benefits affair with Rocky. She was married to someone else now and Adam had put whatever affection he’d felt for Rocky to bed, so to speak. Still, his heart had taken a beating. It wasn’t the first time. Aside from a short fling he’d had with a gorgeous brunette over Christmas, his apparent heartbreaker of choice was the stereotypical Hollywood blonde.

Nash nudged him. “Introduce yourself when they go on break.”

“She looks like trouble.”

“With a capital
T
. If you’re taking a pass, let me know. Ivy’s hot. Actually, they’re all hot. Except maybe Peppy. Don’t get me wrong. She’s cute. But subdued. You know, it might help her career if she showed some cleavage or curves or both. She’s in show biz, after all.” Nash polished off his beer then nodded toward the lanes. “Come on. Let’s knock back a few pins. Get a feel for this place.” He ordered two more beers then took the lead.

Adam followed although his mind lingered with Ivy. Maybe she was different. Maybe she was down-to-earth and looking for a long-term relationship. Something Adam had been craving for a long while. No harm in introducing himself. Near as he could tell she was single. No ring. Maybe she’d be up for a late-night breakfast.

An hour and a few games later, Adam drifted back to the Rockin’ R stage while Nash hit the john. The band was on break. He didn’t see Ivy, but he spied Peppy getting up from Vince and Daisy’s table and moving toward the bar. Trying to look nonchalant, he ordered two Buds just as Peppy stepped up and ordered three drinks, one being a Fuzzy Navel that had to be for Daisy. Nash’s grandma’s taste for wacky cocktails was town renowned.

“Great music,” Adam said.

Peppy glanced his way. She looked like she wanted to argue, but instead said, “Thanks.”

“Not a local band.”

“No,” she said. “The group’s based in Pixley. We’re booked here for the next four Fridays, though.”

She turned her attention back to Clive who slid her the first of three drinks. Nash was right. Peppy was cute. Petite in height and build. Impish features. Dark brown hair cut in short wispy layers. Kind of a boyish cut but on her it looked … cute. If she had curves, he couldn’t tell, but her bone structure was slight and from what he could see she had nice legs.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” she said.

Busted.
Adam met her amber gaze, saw a flicker of amusement and a slight flush of red to her freckled cheeks. At least she wasn’t pissed. He smiled. “Let me buy your drinks.”

“Thanks, but I’m good.” She slid Clive some cash.

“So your lead singer,” Adam said.

“What about her?”

“Is she single?”

Peppy’s expression turned from amused to annoyed. “What are you, in fifth grade?” She managed the three drinks like a pro, smirked at Adam. “Ask her yourself.”

“Smooth,” Clive said to Adam after Peppy hustled away.

Adam closed his eyes and cursed. He hadn’t meant to hurt Peppy’s feelings. In fact, he’d meant to go against type and to flirt with her instead, but then he’d gotten flustered.
That
was a first.

Ivy drifted into view, beer bottle in hand, laughing and flirting with the three men surrounding her. Peppy was sipping cola through a straw and entertaining two seniors. If Daisy and her granddad weren’t there, would she be sitting alone in a corner, biding her time until the next set while her hot bandmates enjoyed all the attention?

Nash breezed in and nodded toward Ivy. “Looks like Bill Tully and friends beat you to the punch.”

Adam dragged a hand through his hair, wondering if he was ever going to meet the girl of his dreams. “I’m outta here for the night.”

“Something I said?”

“No.” Adam gave Peppy a parting glance then waved to Nash. “Something I said.”

ELEVEN

Saturday morning dawned and Sam couldn’t decide if it was a new day or a continuation of the day before. He blinked into the hazy morning, senses fuzzy. He’d drifted off at some point during the night, but he was fairly certain he’d never reached REM. No dreaming. Just a barrage of memories and projections. Life before with Paula. Life ahead with Harper. A tornado of emotions, but mostly a sense of anticipation.

Worry had contributed to his insomnia, as well. Braced for an emergency text, he’d checked his phone several times throughout the night. Even though Harper had seemed calm and stable when he’d driven her home, that didn’t mean she wouldn’t suffer a bout of panic at any given moment. That spa shooting preyed on her heart and mind and no doubt haunted her dreams. Sam was perplexed by the severity of her reaction to the attack since she hadn’t actually
witnessed
the horror. Although she had heard the shots, the screams. Her imagination had probably taken it from there, painting a bloody picture and cranking the terror up a notch. Plus there’d been the news reports, the graphic descriptions, and a leaked crime-scene photo. Sam had easily researched the incident on the Internet. A definite dose of ugly.

Regardless, Harper had made it through the night without reaching out to Sam. He was glad and, also, oddly disappointed. It was nice to be needed.

He glanced at his bedside clock. Seven
A.M.
Was she awake? Showering? Exercising? Surfing the Net or the television? He’d asked her to lay off the hard news, specifically bad news. Being informed was one thing. Obsessing another. She’d noted his logic, but was she following his advice?

Sam stared up at the ceiling, obsessing in his own right, aching for a bedmate. Specifically Harper. They’d never slept together through the night. He looked forward to that as much as their next round of lovemaking. Although he’d put the kibosh on sex until after they’d married. Part of his strategic plan—one that focused on emotional rather than physical intimacy. At least it sounded good in theory.

Sporting morning wood and a dull headache, Sam forced his thoughts away from his future wife and focused on how he was going to make that future happen. Time was of the essence and he’d yet to broach the subject of marriage with the kids. He was still waging the best campaign. Since Ben and Mina spent every other weekend with their maternal grandparents, Sam would have these next two days to get his act together. Two days to sort through details of his alliance with Harper. Two days to strengthen their bond and to lay groundwork with his family. Two days to figure out the best way to break the news to Ben and Mina.

Suddenly a tour of duty sounded like a cakewalk compared to tackling this next phase of his life.

“Pull it together, McCloud.”

He swung his legs over the side of the bed just as his bedroom door flew open and a little girl skidded into his room.

“Da-
deeeee
!”

Mina’s high-pitched screech would have tweaked his concern, except she didn’t look scared or hurt or upset. She looked pissed. Sam regarded his tangle-haired, red-faced daughter with a raised brow and strained patience. She’d been at war with her brother for more than two weeks. “What did Ben do now?”

“He won’t let me flip the pancakes.”

“What pancakes?”

“The pancakes we’re making for breakfast.”

Sam blinked. What the …

Adrenaline spiking, he stabbed his legs into his sweatpants. Since Paula had died, he’d taken to sleeping in boxers and a tee, always at the ready should the kids cry out in the middle of the night, always decent should they burst into his room without knocking which they almost always did. He nabbed his phone with one hand then scooped up Mina—ratty teddy bear and all. “You’re not supposed to use the stove without me being there.”

Two weeks before, there’d been an incident when Mina had taken it upon herself to roast a marshmallow over the gas burner, and not long before that she’d fritzed the microwave by nuking soup in the fricking can. Ben had more kitchen sense, but his mind often wandered. “Dammit, honey.”

“You said a bad word.”

“I know. I’m sorry. But I wish you would have asked me first.”

She scrunched up her impish face. “We wanted to surprise you.”

They’d surprised him all right. They’d somehow gotten past his room and down the stairs without rousing his attention. Even when sleeping Sam was attuned to every creak in the floorboards, every footfall on the steps. Whispers, murmurs, sighs, coughs, sneezes, cries …

Sam descended the carpeted stairway with his young daughter on his hip. His pulse settled as he hit the first floor—no sight or smell of smoke or fire. Concern gave way to curiosity as he cleared the kitchen and spied his son expertly shifting a fat golden-brown pancake from skillet to platter.

Short and slight for his age, Ben peered over his scrawny shoulder and glared at his sister. “You’re such a baby, Mina. We were supposed to spring the surprise together.”

“I’m not a baby,” Mina blasted, clutching her teddy bear tighter.

“Are so.”

“Am not.”

“You tattled to Dad just cuz I wouldn’t let you cook. You’re not allowed to cook.”

“Neither are you,” Sam reminded his son. “Not unsupervised.”

Ben turned back to the skillet, turned off the burner. “I was careful,” he said in a quiet voice.

Since Ben typically played by the rules, Sam was doubly intrigued.
We wanted to surprise you
. Setting Mina to the floor, Sam marveled that he’d been oblivious to the early-morning activity. How could he have been so distracted, so immersed in his own thoughts? Either Ben and Mina had been quiet as mice or Sam was really off his game. The counter was a cluttered mess of bowls, measuring cups, a quart of milk, and a box of Bisquick. In contrast the kitchen table was neat as a pin, three places set with a small vase of wildflowers in the center. His nose twitched and he glanced to the coffee maker. Sludge-black java dripped into the glass carafe.

“Can I flip a pancake
now
?” Mina asked.

“All done,” Ben said as he set the spatula aside. “You get the juice.”

“And the syrup!” Looking excited now, Mina hustled to the fridge.

Head spinning, Sam eyed his son as he set the heaping platter on the table then doubled back for a small basket of toast. The pancakes looked fluffy and delicious. Ben had never had a head for sports or mechanics, but he remembered everything Sam had ever taught him in the kitchen and devoured any game, show, or book in the fantasy realm. The boy, God love him, had inherited Paula’s domestic and whimsical qualities. He was also painfully shy.

Mina, who wasn’t the least bit timid, set a carton of orange juice on the table then raided the pantry for the maple syrup. They’d cooked … on their own. Set the table … on their own. Working as a team to prove … what? Suspicious, Sam helped himself to a mug of what looked like espresso. “Who taught you to make coffee?” he asked his son.

“Bridgett.”

One of the three sitters Sam relied on. Especially in the summer when the kids were out of school and Sam was up to his eyeballs in carpentry work. Bridgett had been the sitter-on-duty while Sam had attended the Cupcake Lover meeting.

Sam sipped his coffee and smothered a grimace. Yup.
Sludge
. Either Ben had added too little water or too many grounds or Bridgett couldn’t make coffee worth jack. Sam kept that speculation to himself. He also squelched the scolding crowding his tongue regarding the stove. Something about the way Ben’s shoulders were squared. A determination and confidence that Sam rarely saw in his boy. “What’s the occasion?” he asked as they all three took a seat.

“We’re grown-up now,” Mina said.

“Self-sufficient,” Ben said.

Sam raised a brow.

“We even packed our bags for the weekend,” Ben added. “And don’t worry about this mess. We’ll clean it up.” He narrowed his eyes on his little sister. “Right, Mina?”

“Yup.”

“The word is
yes,
” Sam corrected, then, “You’re willing to help your brother with the dishes?”

“Yup. I mean, yes.
Sir
.”

Sam eyed them both. “You two in cahoots? What’s going on?”

“What’s cahoots?” Mina asked.

“Bridgett said you won’t get married, because you don’t trust anyone to take care of us,” Ben blurted, eyes glued on his plate.

Sam fumbled his fork. “She told you that?”

“No. She told Rudy.”

Bridgett’s boyfriend
. “Rudy was here?”

“They were talking on the phone,” Mina said as she chewed.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, honey.” Sam didn’t appreciate knowing he’d been the subject of gossip in his own home. Especially given what Ben and Mina had overheard. Regardless, he strove for casual as he nabbed a piece of toast. “It’s not polite to listen in on people’s conversations,” he told them both.

“We weren’t listening on purpose,” Mina said. “She was talking really loud.”