Once More From the Top (The Women of Willow Bay) (3 page)

“He’ll have a ball working with those little kids, don’t worry about him.”
Jules took a big bite of the muffin before washing it down with a gulp of coffee.

“It’s not him I’m worried about.” Carrie said. “It’s me. I’
ll be lost without him.”

“The experience will be great for you
too, if you let it. Maybe it would be a good time for you to try getting a life. Like, I don’t know, dating?” Julie arched one brow. “You’re forty and—”

“Hey, you’ve got me by ten years, so watch it. And my life is just fine, thank you.” She waved away Julie’s concern like
an annoying fly. “I have two weddings to photograph this summer, the church directory photos, and senior pictures. I can help Uncle Noah at the marina, sail, swim, and do my thing at the bar. I’m well into the
middle
of my life, so don’t start that ‘begin your life’ crap again. I’m going to miss him, that’s all. And by the way there’s more to life than men, Jules.”

The conversation was old territory. Jules had been fixing her up with various men practically from the moment they’d met. Carrie enjoyed dating, but Jack was her focus and she never brought men home. It was an unwritten rule that she kept her dating completely separate
from her home life. She’d experimented with relationships, but the encounters left her unfulfilled and vaguely dissatisfied, as though something she couldn’t define was missing.

“I’m just saying—”

“Don’t you have a mani-pedi in about two minutes?” Carrie interrupted.

“Oh shit.” Julie stuffed the last of her muffin in her mouth, swallowed, and grabbed her coffee. “Call me later.”

“Want to grab a pizza tonight?” Carrie asked hopefully. It would be good opportunity to talk to her about Liam.

“Thanks, but no. I’m planning an empty-nest celebration of champagne and hot sex with my husband.” She waggled her perfect brows as she backed away from the table.

“Ah, Julie, you’re killin’ us here,” Ben said while Al and Gary elbowed each other and snickered.

“Sorry, guys. TMI.” Julie swung past the counter to settle up with Perry before breezing out on an audible sigh from the group at the table by the door. “Enjoy your coffee, gentlemen.”

Carrie watched wistfully, half-wishing she had the time to join her friend at the nail salon. An hour of self-indulgence would go a long way toward easing the knot in her stomach. She nibbled her scone, and the crowd dissipated as the merchants headed out to begin their days. Senior pictures started today, but her first appointment wasn’t until ten-thirty. She had time to finish her coffee and read the paper.

The headline jumped out at her as
she shook the
Record-Eagle
open to the Arts and Entertainment section, hoping to find dates and times for performances at the local playhouse of
Belle of Amherst,
a play
she’d looked forward to attending. There it was in bold black letters.
The Most Influential Conductor Since Bernstein.
The article ran two columns above the fold, hailing the virtues of Maestro Liam Reilly, but as she tried to read it, the print jumbled together over words like
dramatic flair
and
intellectual vigor.

“Don’t believe everything you read
in the papers, sweetheart.”

She gasped as her mind registered the identity of the man standing
beside her. He hadn’t changed much—a little brawnier, a few gray strands threading through his dark red hair, some lines around his eyes. The gray-streaked goatee was new, but basically he was the same Liam.

What a crummy thing to do, blindsiding me in the coffee shop in front of the whole town.

“Mind if I join you?”

She shook her head since he was already pulling out the chair opposite hers. When she was finally able to speak, her voice was raspy. “What are you doing here?”

“Getting coffee?”

She gave an exasperated sigh.
“I mean what are you doing in Willow Bay?”

“Vacation… with a little work thrown in.” He eyed her over the lid of his cup before
taking a sip. “How are you, Carrie?”

How was he so cool and calm, while she was about to burst apart at the seams?
Folding the newspaper back into a neat rectangle, she laid it carefully in the center of the table.

“Good. I’m good,” she replied with a tight smile. “How about you, Maestro?”

“I’m good, too.” The quaver in his voice was so slight, she’d have missed it if she hadn’t been so attuned. It gave her courage.

“Great. I’m glad to hear it.” She rose. “Well, I’ve got to run. Enjoy your stay.”

He stopped her with a hand on her wrist, his eyes locked on hers. “Wait. Don’t go. Can we… catch up? It’s been a long time.”

T
hat simple touch sent her pulse into orbit. Damn the man for having any effect on her at all. He was still too sexy for his own good. For
her
own good. Beltless jeans rode just below his waist. His tucked chambray shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, the sleeves rolled back to reveal the soft hair on his arms. Why couldn’t he have been bald or sporting a giant pot belly? Anything but still
her
Liam?

Frightened and frustrated, she was dying to touch him. Instead she gripped her purse,
slipped into her chair, and gave him the most casual smile she could muster. “I only have a few minutes.”

“So
, what’ve you been up to?” His smile nearly melted her into the floor of the coffee shop. “How did you end up here?”

“My aunt and uncle live here. I came
up after my dad died and I liked it. Now it’s home.”

“You cut your hair.”
He leaned back in the chair, assessing her with narrowed eyes.

Heat rose in her cheeks. Dammit, she hated blushing. It was so juvenile. She chuckled, trying to cover her discomfort. “Several times. As you said, it’s been a long time.”

“You still look fantastic.” His deep voice caressed her, just as it had so long ago.

“Thanks. So do you.”

He
did
look good. Better than good. All the photos and television appearances didn’t do him justice. With a strong jaw, gray eyes, and thick hair, he looked more like a cowboy than a musician. He exuded sex appeal—which was exactly how he’d been marketed to the public. As classical music became a hot commodity, Liam rode that interest right to the top. According to the press, he mingled with musical celebrities and Hollywood types alike, drawing crowds of star-struck women into concert halls around the world.

Tugging
the lid off her coffee cup, she shoved the napkin containing a bit of leftover scone into it and snapped it back on before meeting his gaze straight on. There was no point in letting him reduce her to a silly school girl. They needed an even playing field. “Life on the road certainly agrees with you.”

“It’s been a hell of a ride.”
He sipped his coffee. “What’re
you
doing these days?”

D
imples showed around the beard when he grinned, and his resemblance to Jack startled her speechless. “Um… I’m a–a photographer. I own a studio a couple of blocks from here.” She cocked her head toward the front of the shop. “I do weddings and portraits… that sort of thing.”

“A photographer? Wow, I had no idea you were
even interested in photography.” He seemed truly surprised. “Your own studio? How wonderful.”

“
Thanks.” She nodded with a smile. “It pays the bills.”

He dipped his head and
that stray lock of hair fell across his forehead. “What about your music? I thought you were headed to Carnegie Hall like your mother.” His question was hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure he should bring up the topic. “Now, you’re playing jazz in a hotel bar on Saturday nights? What happened?”

“Just didn’t work out.”

Carrie rose, unable to sit still for another second. What a surreal situation! Liam here, sitting across from her, the two of them exchanging pleasantries like a couple of old classmates. There was so much he didn’t know, so many things she’d do over if she had another chance, but this wasn’t the time or place. His questions were too probing and she wasn’t ready to tell him.

Not yet.

“I need to get going, I have stuff to do. Really good to see you, Liam.”

“I’
ll be here a while.” His gray eyes raked her body before returning to her face. “Let’s get together for dinner one night. Maybe you can show me around.”

Carrie’s palms were sweating and she longed to hurl herself into his arms with a
Yes, yes, let’s have dinner.
How wondrous would it be to simply confess all her sins to him?
But instead she stood, dry-mouthed, fidgeting with her purse strap.

His gaze held hers, a question in his eyes.

She wasn’t prepared to answer any more questions, so she simply shrugged. “Maybe. We’ll see.”

And she walked away.

THREE

Liam smacked his palm on the steering wheel of his Mercedes roadster as he sat in the parking spot in front of the Daily Grind sipping his second cup of coffee. The plan had been simple when he saw her sitting in the coffee shop. Drop by and check out an old lover. Maybe share a few memories that might reveal why she’d dumped him so unceremoniously. That was it—nothing more. He expected her to be wary, but not so coolly polite, as if they’d never been more than passing acquaintances.

What he
truly hadn’t counted on was her effect on him. She still had that haughty tilt to her chin that was such a turn-on when he first met her, mainly because it was contrary to who she actually was. And she’d bolted when he asked about her music, never even acknowledging his presence at her gig at the bar. The way she kept him at arm’s length piqued his interest even more. What happened to the open, passionate girl he’d known? How had she become this closed-up, cool woman he barely recognized?

Instead of driving back to the marina, he got out of the car
, wandered out into the street, and took a turn toward the lake shimmering in the distance. Rounding another corner brought him to Waterfront Drive, where he settled on a bench by the water’s edge to finish his coffee. Boats filled the public harbor docks, and he craned his neck to catch a glimpse of his own yacht, docked at Dixon’s Marina. Everything was so close in this town. Eliot was right. He could have walked it in no time—which probably would’ve been better for him in more ways than one. Now his mind was a morass of memories and emotions.

Reminiscences
of Carrie washed over him. The two of them had been together every moment for an entire week. Endless walks across the McGill campus, talking for hours. Passionate kisses at the end of an evening. Time spent watching each other’s rehearsals. From that first moment, he had wanted to know more of her, wanted desperately to touch her—perhaps because she appeared so untouched. Her quiet grace and innocence had surrounded him with a warm glow that held none of the pseudo-sophistication and artifice of other women he had known.

When he’d attended her audition, t
he music wrapped around him, the technique perfect, the emotion of the allegro coming through as she played the piece superbly—exactly as she’d played it at the bar. By the time the audition was over, his self-control was gone. They’d barely made it to his apartment, where he took her straight to bed. He hadn’t had a sexual experience like that before or since. Carrie gave herself to him freely, without a moment’s hesitation. When he loved her, he knew he had all of her.

But now she’s closed up tight…
unreceptive. What the hell happened in the intervening years?

He finished his drink
and tossed his cup into a nearby recycling bin. Still too restless to drive back to the boat, he explored the town, which was just waking up. The shops might not be open yet, but Willow Bay was already abuzz with activity. Sailboats skimmed across the surface as charter boats docked and offloaded their morning fishing parties. He wandered down Main Street, pretending he wasn’t looking for Carrie’s studio. It was closed up and there was no sign of her. But when he passed it, he peered in the window, checking out the portraits there. She was damn good if her storefront display was any indication.

The townsfolk were friendly but not intrusive, smiling and nodding as he passed by. It was a pretty little village that seemed to be doing a thriving tourist business even this early in June. From what
he’d discovered in his online reading, tourism
was
the area’s main industry. Willow Bay was known for being a four-season destination, offering everything from snow skiing to bicycling to boating and fishing.

Just as he found himself back at the harbor
side park, his phone vibrated in his pocket.

Marty. Again.

With a sigh, he reined in his growing resentment and answered the call. “Hi, Marty.”

“
Where are you, man?”

“On vacation.”

“Liam, do you think these orchestras are going to invite you back if you snub them this year? Do you?”

“
I’ve already spoken to Karen at BSO about Tanglewood—she understood perfectly, and she’s already invited me back next summer.” A dull throbbing started above Liam’s eyes, so he took several deep breaths as he paced along the wharf. How many more times were they going to have to have this particular discussion? “And Will’s been in contact with ISO, National, Atlanta, and the rest. They’re all fine with it. Why can’t you be?”

Liam heard
Marty light a cigarette and take a deep drag. He pictured him on the deck of his house in Malibu, sipping coffee and smoking.

“What the hell are you and Will doing making calls to BSO
or any other orchestra? That’s
my
job.”

“You aren’t
doing
your job, Marty.”

“My job is to get you booked, Maestro. To keep you working.” He coughed as he said it.

Liam shook his head at the phlegmy sound. Marty had been a heavy smoker since the day they met, something that caused Liam great distress for the first few years they’d worked together. He finally figured out that he wasn’t going to stop his agent from lighting up, so he’d simply laid down some ground rules about where and when Marty could smoke. Not in Liam’s presence was basically the rule. “No, your job is to manage my career.
My
career, not yours. If I tell you I need a break, your job is to honor that request.”

“Where are you?” Marty took a new tack, his voice softening to that persuasive timbre he’d used too many times in the past. But even over the phone, Liam could hear the anger simmering below the surface.

“I’m cruising on the
Allegro
, exactly where I told you I was going to spend the summer.”

“Hang on a minute. How the hell does Will know who to talk to? He’s a goddamn
bean counter for Christ’s sake.”

“He’s not just
my accountant and financial advisor, Marty—he’s also my friend. I gave him the list. He made the calls. I had to head you off somehow. You weren’t listening to me.” Liam pinched the bridge of his nose in an effort to stave off the headache that always occurred when he tried to reason with Marty. “I need a break, okay? And not just from conducting.”

“Then why are you doing the benefit in Michigan?”

“It’s a favor for an old friend.”

“
What friend? How much are they paying you?” Marty’s voice rose a half step. “Where’s the contract? I need to go over it before you sign.”

“There
is
no contract.”

“You can’t perform without a contract. I don’t care what the reason is, you—
”

“I’m hanging up now, Marty. Enjoy your summer. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“Goddammit, Liam, wait—”

Liam disconnected and shoved the phone in his pocket, heartsick at how their relationship had deteriorated. The summer concert circuit was only one more thing in the list of differences between him and his
agent of nearly twenty years. Ever since… since the cancer scare six years ago, Liam had come to realize that he and Marty were poles apart about his career.

But he couldn’t think about that now, not while his mind and heart were elsewhere. He made his way to his car, drove back to Dixon’s, and headed for the boat. Stopping on the dock, he stared up at the boathouse apartment for a long moment. It didn’t go
all that well in the coffee shop earlier, but she’d had time to process his reappearance in her life. Maybe he could try again.

When he knocked on her door, he received no answer, and when he tried the knob, it was locked.
Her studio had been closed, too. He gazed around the marina, squinting in the bright sunlight that reflected off the water. The big red barn where he’d filled out the papers for the slip had a bait shop. Maybe Carrie’s Uncle Noah would know where he could find her.

“Hi, can I help you?” The young man behind the counter gave him a smile as he scooped night crawlers into a container.

“No, I’m just wandering around, getting acquainted with the place.” Liam extended his hand. “I’m in berth thirty-eight. Liam Reilly.”

“Brandon Mc—oh. Oh!” The kid’s brows rose. “Very nice to meet you, sir. My mom’s gonna freak
when she hears I met you in person. She’s a huge fan. She and Dad already have their tickets for your concert.”

“That’s great. Tell your parents Lawson appreciates their support, okay?” Liam gazed around the shop. “Where’s Mr. Dixon?

“He’s out gassing up a boat.” Brandon jerked his head toward the docks. “He’ll be right back in.”

“Okay, thanks.” Liam wandered among the aisles of fishing gear, amazed there was so much paraphernalia available just to catch a fish. When he and his brothers fished in the farm pond as kids, they had cane poles with balsa wood bobbers.

He walked back to the door and peered out at Noah, chatting with a customer as he filled the tank on a fishing boat rigged out with antennas and fishing poles of all sizes. A bright green bulletin board covered with photographs of people and their catches drew his attention. Right in the center was a print of a young man at the tiller of a wooden sailboat and a girl riding in the bow.

Liam squinted at the photo before pulling his glasses from his shirt pocket. Slipping them on, he plucked the thumbtack and took the picture over to the door to get a better look. God, the kid looked almost exactly like his nephew, Jamie—dark red hair, long, lanky limbs…
the boy wore sunglasses, so he couldn’t see the color of his eyes.

How weird.

He shook his head with a smile. Didn’t they say everyone has a twin somewhere? Jamie would probably get a kick out of knowing that his doppelganger was here in Michigan.

He started to pin the picture back up when his heart began to pound in his chest and his mouth was suddenly dry.
He knew the girl in the front of the boat. It was Carrie—wearing the same gauzy flowered shirt she had had on at the coffee shop. Stepping out into the sunlight, he stared at it again. Yeah, it was Carrie alright. The boy looked to be about Jamie’s age, fifteen.

Fifteen…oh, Jesus, no way!

His hand shook as he tried to swallow the panic that welled up in his throat and attempted some quick calculations in his head. Fifteen years and nine months ago, he and Carrie Halligan were in his bed in Montreal.