The Gunny & The Jazz Singer (Birchwood Falls #1) (2 page)

Butch came out immediately and
greeted him with a hearty handshake and a welcome home.

"Come on back to my desk,
Rahn. It's good to see you in one piece. Are you coming back to B Falls to live
or just passing through?"

They walked past a few officers
doing paperwork or talking on the phones. "I'm only on a six-week leave
and not sure about the future, Butch."

"After graduation no one knew
what happened to you beyond going into the Marines."

"Yeah…" His throat
clogged with emotion. He'd hated the town after his parents died. But to
forestall more questions he wasn't ready to answer, he asked one himself. "How
about you? How long have you been a cop?"

"Since after college. I like
it here. Not quite as quiet as Mayberry but it suits me." Butch indicated
a chair for Marc as he sat down behind his own desk.

Sitting, Marc leaned back, brought
his right ankle up to rest on his left knee and chuckled at the reference to
the old Andy Griffith TV show. "Married? Kids?"

"Nah, not yet. For either. I've
got someone in mind though. You?"

Marc gave a quick shake of his
head. "Nope."

"Well, I'll have to show you
around the hot spots of the burg, such as they are."

"Sure." He wasn't too
enthusiastic about it, but Butch could be a good source of information.

"How about tonight? Later,
like nine."

Marc nodded this time. "Where."

"I'll pick you up. Marietty's
moved to Dad's resort. Oh sorry, you probably don't know my dad built a resort
along the river, south of the church. Marietty's is part of it. Good music,
booze, and food."

"Sounds fine but I'll meet you
there."

"Okay. Great. I'll introduce
you to the singer. She's mine."

His?
That sounded like an overly possessive thing to say. "Yeah, but before I
go I wanted to ask about any records or files you might have here about my
parents' car accident."

"Damn, Marc, that was so long
ago. Anything we have would be in storage, but I doubt there's much."
Butch fiddled with papers on his desk, sliding them from one pile to another.

"Still, I'd like to see
whatever you got."

"Why do you want to rehash
that?"

Marc didn't want to tip his hand.
He hadn't thought it was an accident for several years. He'd come back to town
to lay the matter to rest once and for all. There was some reason his folks'
car ran off the road, and he couldn't believe his dad had been drinking. He
needed to know what would explain them careening nose-first into Falls River
that night. "I just want to be sure."

"Yeah, okay, I understand. I
can order up the files. Do you want to come back tomorrow morning?"

At that, Marc nodded. Butch walked
him to the door of the sheriff's office where they shook hands. "I'll see
you later on at Marietty's."

Well, that hadn't been too bad. The
last semester of high school had been a blur of grief and shock, but older
memories were coming back as he strolled around Courthouse Square. Some of the
stores—more than he'd expected—were the same. Fourth Street had a pet store and
Third had a chain coffee shop. Those were new.

He just couldn't get over how quiet
it was, with grass, trees, neat lawns, and flower beds. He'd been on the other
side of the world for so many years that it would take some getting used to
seeing green grass instead of tan sand and dust. Just thinking about the dust
made him thirsty, so he turned in to Java Joe's.

Taking his iced coffee, he strolled
through the short hallway into the bookshop.
What the people of the Middle East wouldn't give for normalcy like
this, the safety and security of a cup of joe and the peace to read a book.

A quick flash of bright pink caught
his eye. A woman's hair—her bangs to be exact. The figure had brushed past him
from behind then turned around to speak to a store clerk. His body heated. He'd
know that face anywhere even though he'd mostly ogled her body. Just this
morning it had been. Yup. It was the same delicate, pretty face and petite body
of the woman in the picture window.

When she glanced up at him, warm
green eyes widened in recognition, then shuttered. She obviously remembered him
from that morning, but since two red spots flamed across her pale cheeks she
was understandably embarrassed.
She
shouldn't be.

His cock swelled and his balls
tightened as he did his own remembering of her lovely body. It had been a long
time since he'd been with a woman. Surprisingly it hadn't been the first thing
on his mind lately. He was that focused on his parents.

They were mere feet apart and
staring at each other when someone jostled him. He muttered a perfunctory "sorry".
But the moment passed. Another woman—he hadn't noticed her—took Pink Bangs'
arm. Before they could move on he touched his brow with two fingers, giving his
new neighbor a sharp salute.

Her mouth opened, then closed. She
gave a slight smile and short nod in acknowledgement.

For someone who displayed her naked
self in her front window she acted shy, something he wouldn't have expected.
Pretty women usually came on to him. He didn't even have to try. She didn't
turn around as they exited the bookshop, but her friend did and shot him a
questioning glance. He could hear the start of her question. "Who was…?"

They were gone, and he trailed
around the bookstore, gazing at the colorful displays and book spines on the
shelves. After a while he wandered back outside. He didn't recognize any faces
on the street, but since he'd been gone so long he didn't really expect to. He
didn't know them, and they didn't know him anymore. That didn't keep him from
searching faces for some recognition.

He found himself walking south
toward the location of the old Rahn hardware store. His stomach churned with
nerves.

Knowing the building was gone didn't
help. So many days had been spent there helping out his dad and mom in the
store. He couldn't count the number of times he'd slipped out the side door and
perched on the rocks along the riverbank to throw his fishing line into the
rushing water. Shade trees helped keep him cool in the hot summer sun.

Will
the rocks still be there? In the same place?
He doubted it if Wilcox had
built a resort and marina, but a boy could hope, couldn't he?

The immense gray-stone church
looked the same, the big town cemetery right behind it. The rectory had been
built onto over the years since he'd been gone, the addition white clapboard.

Right next door a five-story hotel
loomed up, all straight lines except for filigree iron balconies off each room.
Some overlooked the cemetery—he figured those room rates were probably
discounted.
Who'd really want to pay to
overlook that, peaceful though it might be?

His parents. Their graves were in
that cemetery. His heart hurt at that memory.

Moving south on Hickory Street
angling east, he continued walking until the rest of the resort came into view.
There was a marina on each side of the Falls River joined by a footbridge, then
two more hotel buildings three stories tall on the south side with a large
green park between the marina and hotel section. Right at the corner of the
street and the river was Marietty's Jazz Club.

In his day it had been on the other
side of town, across from Birch Park. He remembered the old club—all pine-plank
walls, the smoky interior smelling of yeasty beer and customers' cologne and
sweat. Dingy. But you always heard great music at Marietty's—rock and country
back in those days. It appeared from the sign on top of the building it now
featured jazz.

Taking the bridge over the river,
he squeezed his eyes shut because the sight of the spot where the hardware
store had been was too painful. He turned his gaze away, balanced both elbows
on the railing, and stared into the water. Back he went, back years to his grief
and confusion.

He'd lost his whole family in one
moment in time. There'd only been the three of them, and now he was the only
one left. His stomach knotted. He didn't know if he could stop himself from
giving in to the excruciating pain.

Heartsick, he'd been too shocked to
display emotion during the days, weeks, and months following the accident. He'd
quit football and finished up high school in a daze. He only talked to a couple
of the guys but never about the accident or his feelings.

Every once in a while over the
years he'd let memories through, but collapsing in sorrow and wallowing in
grief didn't help. He'd put all his focus on the Marines and the people in Iraq
and now Afghanistan whom he was supposed to be fighting for.

Maybe coming back to his hometown
was the wrong thing to do. It would force him to remember, to go back over the
few known details of what happened that night. He'd been all alone in the
world, alone emotionally, for so long it had become his default.

What made him dwell on that? Alone
had always suited him. The only people he'd trusted were his Marines. They
weren't here now. He didn't need anyone.
Just
the truth.

Chapter Three

Phoebe was running on nervous
energy by the time her nine o'clock set started at Marietty's. Tonight was her
Al Green cover night. She'd thought about the man across the street all day,
especially after seeing him in the bookstore. On the way home, she'd stopped to
talk to a couple of her neighbors. None of them knew anything about him.

Pouring herself into a red knit
dress that displayed a generous portion of slim thigh, a feather boa angled
diagonally across her breast to cover the nipple ring, she slid her feet into
four-inch stilettos, and did her slinky stroll onto the stage to the sound of
applause.
Man, I love that sound.

She never had stage fright. It was
her second home—maybe really her first, the one place that completely suited
her, where she was the center of attention with all eyes focused on her. And
she always gave her audience a great show.

"Ain't no sunshine…"

With deep, earthy tones she
serenaded the microphone, her lips pursed as if kissing it. She wrapped one arm
around her waist. Through narrowed eyes she saw him, big as life.
Bigger.
His shoulders filled the
entryway as he paused there. His eyes met hers. She sang directly to him, her
heart pounding, voice fraught with sensual resonance. The audience thought it
was part of the song. She had no way of knowing what he thought.

Singing on automatic pilot, she
watched his gaze roam every inch of her, stopping at the spots he'd surely seen
this morning. Her belly tightened, and her nipples pinged with anticipatory
pleasure.

The song ended, and all she could
focus on was him. Suddenly closer to the stage, he'd slipped down the side of
the room and enveloped himself in a nearby dark alcove, never releasing her
from his compelling gaze.

She felt an overwhelming frisson of
something like fear. This had never happened before. She'd never had this
primal reaction to a man. But then she'd never even seen a man who looked this
raw. He was big and dark, his huge muscles bulging beneath the sleeves of his
T-shirt. Jeans hugged him like a second skin. She could almost feel the wet
flat of his tongue circling her…

Then she froze. She was so wrapped
up in the man she hadn't noticed Butch Wilcox standing right beside him. Were
they together? Was the hunk a cop too? Her heart did a little flip-flop. Any
fantasy about the neighbor guy would have to be abandoned if he turned out to
be anything like Butch Wilcox.

Oh
God.
Silence. Flicking a glance at the audience, it was as if they'd caught
the interplay between the stranger and her. Face flaming, she felt sweat pop
out on her upper lip.
Get it together,
girl!

He hadn't moved. Didn't give her
any help. She was on her own. Summoning her long-practiced stage presence, she
towed a tall stool toward the baby grand, her knees too rubbery to stand.
Settling herself and leaning her elbow on the piano, she dove into the next
number and sang the Al Green lyrics…

"You're my one desire…"

Being this
"full of fire"
for a stranger was a precarious
development. It got worse. Singing about raging fires and getting next to him
was not helping any. Finishing the last chorus brought her own silence and the
audience's stomping and applause. The stomping would be from her friends. She
bowed her head, supposing it to be dramatic, but the truth was if she glanced
up it would be at the man. If he was still there.

Get
a damn grip! Show some professionalism.

With her own exhortation, she lifted
her chin and aimed a smile at Moira and Davy. Thank God for their support.
Smiling more broadly, she included the rest of the audience, her eyes skipping
over the dark corner. Except—too late. It was empty.

Disgruntled that she'd so
completely lost her composure, she pulled herself together and blew kisses at
the audience, murmured a husky thank-you into the mic and exited the stage. She
had to get to the little corner in the back that was her dressing room, if you
could call it that. The cramped bathroom used by male and female employees
alike had the only walls.

She put everything she had in her
into the next set. Performing was her life's dream, and she'd be damned if she'd
let some man distract her. No one was going to ruin this for her.

She'd gone on a couple of dates
with Butch but wasn't serious about him. Since he didn't excite her, she
recollected past boyfriends to inspire the lyrics of the rest of the songs.
Anything to keep the neighbor hunk out of her mind. She didn't even know his
name, so how could she sing the blues about him?

After singing the final song and
changing into jeans and a blouse, she joined her friends at their table. Moira
handed her a glass of icy champagne. As Phoebe sipped slowly, the bubbles
popped in her mouth, and she focused only on that pleasure. Now that she could
relax, she wondered if he were still here. For some reason she thought she
could feel his presence, and it was odd to have that sensation about a man she
didn't know.