A Little Night Music Read online

  Table of Contents

  Excerpt

  A. E. Easterlin’s books

  A Little Night Music

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  Tall, dark, and handsome finished his beer and cocked a crooked smile at Kate. So did Blondie. She couldn’t tell about Sunglasses, but he put his beer on the bar and faced her way as if all his attention was for her and her alone.

  Her intentions to test the waters changed. Maybe she was ready for a swim. Something was going on inside her. A rapid heartbeat. A hitch in her breath. A pooling of moisture between her legs.

  Heat emanated from the trio of sexy men, and she unconsciously licked her lips. So delicious, each man in his own way a temptation to her romance-starved heart. Excitement sent adrenaline straight to her bloodstream.

  She slid her eyes to Ellie, whose aqua orbs held steady, patiently encouraging.

  “Why did I agree to this? I’m not ready for the single scene again. It’s too soon.” A moment of panic. She shot a censorious glare at Gigi, and stood as if to leave. Ellie pushed her back down.

  There would be no escaping this bar without a genuine effort on her part to at least speak to a man. Her friends cared about her, wanted the best for her, had been by her side through thick and thin since they’d known each other. No, there would be no backing out this time.

  A. E. Easterlin’s books

  at The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  A Necessary Woman

  and the Heroes and Half-Notes Series so far…

  Sonata By Moonlight, Book One

  A Little Night Music, Book Two

  A Little

  Night Music

  by

  A. E. Easterlin

  Heroes and Half-Notes, Book Two

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  A Little Night Music

  COPYRIGHT © 2016 by A. E. Easterlin

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: [email protected]

  Cover Art by Kim Mendoza

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First Champagne Rose Edition, 2016

  Print ISBN 978-1-5092-0907-1

  Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-0908-8

  Heroes and Half-Notes, Book Two

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  My heartfelt appreciation to all the staff and fellow authors at The Wild Rose Press for their support and interest. To Rhonda Penders for the opportunity to work with such an exceptional organization, to Nan Swanson, editor-extraordinaire, and Stacy Holmes, who continues to keep me on the straight and narrow.

  To my family, for their love and patience. And, as always, to my husband—you have always been my hero.

  A shout-out to the Florida Romance Writers, for providing instruction and encouragement.

  To all of these…my gratitude.

  Chapter One

  Katherine carefully pulled back the edges of her fluffy spa robe and forced herself to look down at her chest. She swallowed the lump in her throat as she stared at the body that was hers and yet not.

  Cancer.

  Even the word made her blood run cold.

  Almost two years ago, she’d stared death in the face, and vanquished it. But the specter of the disease remained.

  It always would.

  Barely approaching thirty, she was young to have received such a terrifying diagnosis. As kind as the doctors had been, the fear and horror of hearing those words were as fresh today as when she’d first heard them. Even though she’d done well, her general good health a factor in the success of the procedures, the memory haunted her.

  She’d felt assaulted. Raped. Violated. She hated the doctors who touched her body, altering it forever, even though it was for her own good and saved her life.

  Yes, the feeling was irrational. Her mind knew the mastectomy was necessary, and accepted what had to be done. But her soul cried out at the loss of a part of her femininity, part of what made her a woman. A desirable woman. A woman with a future that should include a home, a husband, a family.

  Kate touched her damaged breast. The reconstruction incisions had healed exactly as the surgeon predicted. No redness, no swelling. Partial sensation. As good as it was going to get. The magic scar cream the nurses clued her in on had lessened the raw appearance and helped diminish the evidence of her surgery. Her surgeon had promised a good outcome, and no more wearing of the hated prosthesis. She didn’t regret having it done, but she still resented cancer. Her arch-enemy. The enemy of women everywhere. Death or disfigurement—what a choice.

  Now the only thing marring her torso were the thin scars and the asymmetrical swell on the left side of her chest. Otherwise known as her new “breast.” She fought tears, but they fell anyway and burned skinny, acid rivers down her cheeks.

  She shouldn’t cry. Like her dearest friends often reminded her, she was alive. That should be enough. Not the same as before, but alive. Her pity parties became fewer and far between.

  A wasted emotion—pity. Served no good purpose, not at all. But every now and then, it came, welcome or not.

  Nobody really understood. They tried. But if they hadn’t walked in the shoes of the diagnosis of breast cancer, there was no way they could fully understand. “Be grateful,” they said. “It’ll work out in the end. So many have lost the fight. You’re a role model, an inspiration.”

  Well, she didn’t feel like an inspiration. She felt like a lopsided freak. Half a woman. So tired of pretending everything was okay—that it didn’t hurt mentally, physically, emotionally. So tired of presenting a brave front to the world only to fall apart when she was alone and the doubt and fear came to call.

  The cost was more than monetary, more than emotional or physical. It had cost her everything.

  The man she loved, depended on, lived with, and promised to marry had left her in horrendous circumstances, and for the last eighteen months she’d grieved, denied, fumed, and finally accepted the obvious. It was over.

  Loss was a part of life. It hurt, but it didn’t change anything. When all was said and done, it was over.

  What mattered was what came after. Right? Living again. Pulling yourself up by the bootstraps, plastering a smile on your face, pretending
you weren’t crying inside while the world went about its merry way, concerned with its own problems and totally oblivious to your pain.

  That’s what was really hard to do.

  Once more, she should know.

  The “should know” was what had led her to this place on this night. Her best friends, Gigi Monroe and Ellie Compton, had determined it was time for her to engage humanity again. No more hiding, hurting, or sulking. No more nights of ice cream binges, tears, and feeling sorry for herself. No more wallowing in what might have been.

  They had determined it was time for her to rejoin the land of the living. Drying her hair, putting on a light touch of make-up and her go-to black dress that now hung loosely on her body, and then she gave herself one last look in the mirror. As good as it was going to get. She grabbed her keys and drove to meet her friends. A celebration of sorts—Katherine Sanders was back.

  So here she was, at a meat market called Tortilla Joe’s, meeting Gigi and Ellie for the first stick-your-toe-in-the-water experience. Her appearance at Joe’s giving tacit agreement to their strategy. Find Kate a new guy. Enjoy a little night music. Prove there were men out there who weren’t the scum of the earth, cheaters. This was a place to sift through rubble and gaze at the world through fresh eyes.

  She pushed open the heavy door, spied the dark brown curls of Ellie and the long, red mane of Gigi, and made her way through the crowd to the corner booth they’d already claimed. The music blared like a blast of hot air around her, the room crowded and full of people meeting, greeting, and having a good time. At least the mood was upbeat.

  After kissing each girl on the cheek, she slid across the leather seat, and a margarita immediately appeared before her. Patrόn and citrus—a welcome remedy for the indecision headache that had begun on her way over.

  Gigi shot her a sly smile. “We’ve already scoped out the possibilities. The best prospects are standing at the end of the bar. What do you think?”

  “I think I need a drink first,” she replied, widening her eyes at her friend. “Give a girl a minute.”

  Gigi pursed her lips. “One drink, and then we get serious.”

  Ellie the compassionate shoulder-bumped her with a commiserating smile. “I know it was hard to come—but you have to quit hiding yourself away. You’re too young and pretty to close yourself off from men just because of one lousy jerk of a guy. There are still good ones out there.”

  “Ya think? If there are so many ‘good’ guys available, then why aren’t either one of you in a relationship?”

  “Because we’re concentrating on you,” Gigi answered. “Once we have you squared away, we can focus on our own love lives. Although tonight we might all get lucky.” She began to eye-cruise the room, no doubt seeking persons of interest.

  Taking advantage of the preoccupation of both women, Kate sipped her smoky drink and let her eyes rest. Her friends were probably right, but while a breakup was hard, starting over was equally as difficult. That must be why her heart beat like a high-speed metronome in her chest.

  Rocking her head to the music, she smiled at her companions as they all relaxed in a corner booth, eating chips and salsa, drinking Patrόn margaritas and surveying the possibilities at the rocking establishment. They’d done this for her; she did this for them. Gave in. Agreed to come—gave mingling with the opposite sex a shot.

  Friday nights, the crowded bar filled with twenty- and thirty-somethings, and most were on the prowl. Tonight was no exception. Music was loud, conversation louder as it blended with the music to amp the decibels to an alarming degree. Laughter interspersed with the bump and grind of singles competed with marrieds pretending to be singles looking for a good time and a hook-up.

  Typical party night after a long, hard week in the trenches. And—as the line in the movie said—the crowd promised a “target-rich environment.”

  For her two best friends, this was a good thing.

  For her? Not so much.

  She’d been pretty well done with men up until this point. At least, that had been her claim. But she was here, wasn’t she? She’d made an appearance, and that had to say something about the true state of her intentions. Maybe her friends knew her better than she knew herself. Maybe they were right all along. Maybe she was—in some convoluted way—ready to play the dating game again.

  For the most part, she was happy being alone. Extremely. Rarely lonely. Okay, occasionally lonely. And had gradually morphed into a woman astoundingly accomplished at denial and self-delusion. So accomplished, it seemed, she began to believe her own lies and had evolved into a pseudo-hermit before she realized it. Granted, it was foolish and a colossal waste of time. But the solitude had been a comfort, a time for healing, adjusting, and hours of reflection. All a part of the scheme of life. Grow from failure. Learn from defeat.

  Made sense.

  Except she was out with her friends and not hiding at home for the first time in a long time. And on the first night of the weekend. Hook-up night. Ambivalence had become her forte in the past two years. That was the first tell. Still, she hoped her friends didn’t read too much into her capitulation. They thought she was ready to hit the market again. In her mind, the jury was still out.

  Refusing to accept that fact, Gigi Monroe, pseudo-sister, glamour girl, and all-around man-magnet, took a sip of round two and leaned across the table toward Kate.

  “Quit stewing. It’s like riding a bike—you never forget how to play the game. Anyway, if you’re so certain you’re done with romance, why did you show tonight? Methinks you’re not so sure. Methinks you’re ready to put yourself out there. Methinks—”

  “Enough of the ‘methinks’ already. Pay attention.” Ellie Marsden, all-around sweetie, wagged her brows and nodded over her left shoulder. “Hunk alert. Two o’clock. The perfect number—three. One for Gigi, one for you, and one for me. Perfect.”

  Ignoring Ellie for the moment, Kate dissected Gigi’s comment. Her friend made a valid point. If she really didn’t want to get back into the dating scene, then why did she come tonight? Not sure if she liked the unavoidable conclusion, it hammered her anyway. She might not be ready for a relationship, but she was interested in testing the waters.

  Hating herself for doing so, Kate casually glanced toward the bar line-up of drool-worthy men Ellie had spotted. One dark, one blond, one of particular interest wearing dark glasses and a sexy grin on his face. Two of the guys stared across the distance and targeted their table. The middle one—the blond—elbowed tall, dark, and handsome. His head belatedly swiveled toward their table.

  Unconcerned with appearing obvious, the men faced them, leaning against the surface of the bar, surveying the crowd. When they spotted Ellie, Kate, and Gigi, their gazes stopped and gave the women the onceover, followed by an adjustment of stances.

  Kate smothered a snicker.

  “Oh, yeah, definite interest,” Gigi observed.

  Big smiles from bachelors number one and two—if they were, indeed, bachelors. Kate narrowed her eyes and tried to check out the ring fingers of their left hands. Bare handed. Not that the lack of jewelry was concrete evidence of the lack of previous attachments, but there was no gold or platinum in sight. The man wearing sunglasses tripped her pulse into gear. The aviators added a degree of mystery. He was extremely attractive. Tall, fit, with straight white teeth framed by a firmly molded mouth. The metronome started its cadence again.

  Weird, though. Who wore shades in a bar late at night? Maybe something was wrong with his eyes. An accident. An injury. Sensitivity to light.

  Gigi’s radar was working as usual and interrupted her musings. “Hmm. Alphas. Grr. I can almost hear the growling from here. A wolf pack on the hunt.” She squirmed in anticipation. Unashamed of her appreciation of all things male, her friend tended to go for a certain type of man. Their type of man. Good looking, sexy, with a dose of swagger added to the mix. Captivated, Kate bit her lip at Gigi’s antics.

  She couldn’t help but notice the guys’ reactio
n as Gigi wiggled her fingers in response to their perusal. As if they could read her mind, Blondie, Blackie, and Sunglasses smiled, straightened in acknowledgement of the women’s attention, did the expected hot-guy chin lift, and hoisted long necks in salute.

  No sissy frosted mugs for those three. Bottle babies all.

  Kate had to grin. Yeah. It felt a little bit good to get back in the game. The margaritas helped. So did the testosterone beginning to make its way toward them. Gigi and three hot men—a dangerous mix if ever there was one.

  Her lips twitched at their posturing. So very male. Cliché, yet endearing. They appeared to be mature men, yet young enough to appreciate the hunt. Gigi had them pegged—alphas. Confident, assured, accustomed to feminine attention, and appreciative of it.

  The twitch gave way to a full-on smile as something warm and happy flowed through her veins. Something she hadn’t felt in a very long time. A spark of interest. She had to admit: they were cute, and she was having fun.

  “They’re looking our way,” Ellie observed in a sing-song accompanied by a flirty sway of shoulder. “I don’t think we’ll have to wait long for introductions.”

  Kate watched with fond indulgence as Ellie clapped her hands like a four-year-old in front of a birthday cake. Typical Ellie, full of appealing innocence and enthusiasm and charm. All out there. If it flashed through her brain—it came out her mouth. No filter. None.

  She loved that about her friend. Amusing and aggravating at the same time. “Oh, goody. I was beginning to think tonight would be a lost cause. Anyone calling dibs?”

  “Me first.” Gigi, dropping her eyelids to half-mast in invitation, considered the men, and took a sip of her drink before she smoothly adjusted her jacket on the back of her chair. Her provocative gaze homed in on the guys as they sipped their beers and cast surreptitious glances their way.

  The guys reacted as she expected. Again, it was kind of cute. Typical “man sees woman, pretends not to notice while doing mental fist bumps with his friends” type of thing.

  “I like the blond. He’s just my type—hot and hungry. Yum.” Gigi leaned toward Ellie, who rolled her eyes in response.