A Little Night Music Read online

  He’d put Suzanna to bed one night last week, her sweet little-girl smell and soft voice asking him if she was pretty.

  “Of course you’re pretty—you’re beautiful.” he answered.

  “But how do you know? You can’t see me.” The worry and doubt in her voice clutched at his heart.

  “I can see enough,” he’d answered as he stroked her soft red curls. “I can see inside. I can see what matters.”

  “Yeah. But how do I look? When a boy looks at me, will he like what he sees, or will he look away?”

  Boys, shit.

  A woman would have understood. She could have reassured Suzanna. He could fight the dragons and beat away the fears, but he was out of his element with, “How do I look?”

  Checking on her tonight, she had looked like an angel. He’d give his life for this child.

  After brushing a kiss on her forehead and closing the door to her room, he navigated the ten steps to the living room and went to the bar. Pouring two fingers of Johnny Black, he settled again in his comfy chair, turned on the music, rested his head against the back of his easy chair, and listened to the strains of Chopin, Debussy, and his favorite, The Moonlight Sonata. The night music. The silence, a good Scotch, and twenty minutes of nothing but music. The only things that provided solace in his lonely existence.

  Allison Chandler—now Allison Miller, friend and classical pianist turned music therapist—had given him this collection before he and Suze left town. Her therapy had saved him after the sniper’s bullet changed his life.

  At one point in his life, broken in body and spirit, suffering acute PTSD, he had been pulled from the abyss by her strategies. Would that he could find a woman like her, exceptional inside and out. He’d be a lucky man.

  His mind immediately went to Katherine Sanders—Kate.

  Now there was a woman. She was special. A real lady. Everything was going fine—until she ran away from him. Had he offended her in some way? Pushed too hard? Scared her?

  One thing was certain. He was going to find her again and put things to rights. The other thing that was certain…

  He wanted more of her.

  The soft pad of feet turned him from his night-dreams.

  “Daddy?” his little girl called softly, coming to stand by his chair. “Are you okay? Is everything all right?”

  “What are you doing out of bed, munchkin? It’s the middle of the night.” He pulled her into his lap, wrapped his arms around her squishy body, and hugged her close. “Oof! You’re getting so big. It’s late, and you’ve got things to do tomorrow.”

  “I heard the music. Did you have another nightmare?”

  “No. No nightmares. Just thinking. Nothing you need to worry about. Come on. Let’s get you back to bed. I’ll never get you up in the morning.” Giving her a squeeze, he rolled off the chair with a fake groan and steered her to the bedroom.

  She skipped ahead and plopped on the bed as he lifted the covers. Burrowing in, her sweet, childish voice drifted sleepily up. “Daddy, have you ever thought of getting married again? I know you still miss Mommy and all, but if you had a wife, you wouldn’t be sitting up all night listening to Miss Allison’s music. At least not alone. You’d have someone to share it with, and you wouldn’t be so lonely.”

  “What brought this on?” he asked. Was his baby girl a mind reader?

  “I don’t know. Me and Sally—”

  “Sally and I,” he corrected.

  “Sally and I were talking today. She overheard her mom and some of the PTA ladies talking about you. She asked Sally to find out if you are available. Are you? Available? As in interested-in-taking-a-lady-out available?”

  Cash didn’t pretend to know he didn’t understand. She was far too bright for him to play dumb.

  “Maybe so, munchkin. How would you feel about that? Me seeing someone, maybe having a girlfriend?”

  “Sometimes I think it’d be nice to have a mom again. As long as she’s sweet and kind. And can cook. And likes girls my age. I mean, I wouldn’t want a wicked witch of a stepmother or anything, but someone to talk to about stuff and do stuff with. That might be nice. And someone to be with you and keep the nightmares away.”

  “No worries there, sweetheart. We’re a package deal. You don’t like her, she’s gone. And I don’t want you to worry about me. We’re doing pretty well, aren’t we? Just the two of us?” He smoothed her hair as her eyes grew drowsy.

  “Yeah.” She snuggled in, and the silence droned on.

  Suzanna had a way of piercing through the bullshit and getting straight to the heart of an issue. She needed a female in her life and wanted him to have someone to help him chase the nightmares away. Beautiful, sweet, with a heart as big as the universe, his girl. Crazy smart. Thinking all the time.

  “I think Mom would want you to find another person you could love, don’t you?” she broke the silence.

  “Your mom would want the best for both of us. That’s the kind of person she was. Suze, I don’t want you worrying about me.” He sat down beside her, pulled her into his side, and gave her a firm hug. “I’m never alone because I have you, and you mean more to me than anything else in the world. And you’ll never be alone because I’ll always be there for you.”

  “Even when I’m married?”

  His blood ran cold. Suzanna. Married. Holy. Shit.

  He scrambled. “Even then. You marry the right kind of man—one who loves you and makes you feel safe. But it goes without saying, munchkin—you need me, I’m there.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’m lookin’ into it, Suze. Give a guy a break.” Conversation over. He tucked the covers tight around her body and snuggled her close beneath the covers.

  “Yeah, but you never go out, or almost never.” She pulled her arms out of the confining cover and plopped them on top of the blanket. She meant business. “Sally’s dad is divorced, and he goes out every Saturday night. Her mom says he’s shopping, but we think he’s looking for someone to take her mom’s place. Point is, Dad, you’ll never meet anybody hanging around me. I mean, you’re a great dad, and all the girls think you’re cool, but you need friends your own age. And you need to go out more than once a month.”

  “I went out tonight…”

  “Did you meet anyone?”

  He hated the hopeful inflection in her voice. Yeah, she was serious about this dating thing. And she was so damned right on the money, it scared him.

  When he ignored her, she rambled on. “You could if you wanted to, Dad. Sally says its not only her mom that likes you. All the other moms in our school check you out when you’re around—they think you’re hot. And you’re sweet and kind and…”

  The precocious little blonde ponytailed sprite that came home with Suzanna from time to time. Jesus! Talking dating, marriage, and God knows what else. With Sally Cline? He should have paid more attention. Could be he’d have Sally trouble. Maybe Sally-and-Sally’s-mom trouble.

  “I think I’ll have a talk with Miss Sally the next time she comes over.” Cash tickled Suzanna’s tummy to distract her as she kicked her spindly legs in protest and giggled. Better not get her too riled up—they’d be up all night on this subject.

  “Come on, Dad. You know what I mean. Are you afraid to try and ask a girl out because…well…because you can’t see good?”

  “Well, munchkin. Can’t see well,” he corrected. “Maybe. That’s part of it.”

  Her delicate little hand went up to cup his face, and her action melted his heart. “Daddy, the kind of girl you’d like won’t care if you can see or not. Anyway, you have the brightest blue eyes, and you’re handsome, and you have loads of muscles, and you’re smart. And single. Sally says that’s the main thing. You’re just the type of guy girls go for. Sally says you have all the necessary things, and you could find a girlfriend if you tried. You need to try. I won’t always be around to take care of you, and I don’t want you to be alone. Will you think about it? For me?”

  “Yes, m
unchkin. I’ll think about it. Promise. If you promise me you’ll tell Miss Sally Cline to concentrate on her own love life instead of meddling in mine,” he teased, resolving to be more observant of Suzanna’s play time with her friend Sally. How old was this new playmate of his daughter’s, anyway? Eleven going on thirty?

  “Oh, Daddy.” Suzanna sniffed, yawned, and snuggled deeper under the covers. “We’re too young. We don’t have a love life. You know that.”

  If her friend Sally was making comments like the ones Suzanna had just shared, it was right around the corner.

  Damned scary thought.

  Cash shook his head as he turned out the light.

  Bright blue eyes, loads of muscles, and single.

  Jesus. From a kid. His own daughter, no less. Note to self—stay away from the PTA.

  Definitely stay away from Ms. Cline and associates. No way he wanted a constant barrage of casseroles and booty calls from frustrated divorcees in the area. Someone had been listening when they shouldn’t have, at the Clines’.

  The girls were eleven, almost twelve years old? Holy shit! He’d have to have “the talk” before long. He swallowed a lump in his throat, and an anvil of pure fear hit his gut, almost bringing him to his knees. The birds and the bees, and everything that goes along with that. He wanted to be a responsible dad…but this was a woman’s domain. Yeah. The timeline just sped up.

  “Daddy? Promise?” Suzanna pressed as Cash cringed at the doorway with the thought of explaining bras, boys, and fucking monthly woes to his little girl. His baby, for God’s sake.

  “Promise, sweet pea. Give your old man a break. These things take time.”

  “You never know—it might be easier than you think. Night, Daddy, love you.”

  Back to the music and two more fingers of scotch.

  Chapter Four

  She shouldn’t have run away. Should have stayed. He was a nice guy, and obviously had his own imperfections to deal with. Not that it toned down his AQ—attraction quotient. Quite the opposite. He was definitely hot.

  Hot. Hot. Hot.

  Remembering the play of muscle and bone beneath her fingertips made her heart flutter. The way he moved—if not for those irritating sunglasses, she’d never have suspected anything unusual about him—other than he was undeniably the most attractive man in the room.

  Face it—she was only deceiving herself. Pretending she was done with the male sex. A defense mechanism against further rejection. A way to buy her some time to prepare herself for the singles scene. No more than an illusion. She walked over to her dresser, yanked out a T-shirt, and shoved it over her head.

  God, she hated that word—Rejection. Synonym for useless, unwanted, unattractive. Pretty damned close to how she’d felt not so long ago.

  Okay, she’d been burned, and burned badly. No reason to give up on all men, right? If she did, then there was no hope except a cold, lonely world for a woman navigating single life as a breast cancer survivor.

  The men she’d met thus far expressed their admiration, said all the expected things about how brave and exceptional she was before kissing her goodnight, all the while holding their bodies a circumspect distance, and disappearing into the sunset one by one, never to be seen again.

  The barriers were disappearing. She was wanting again, needing again. One night in a man’s arms, and what she wouldn’t give for one hot, messy night of sex. Human contact with a man who wasn’t scared by her scars or repulsed by her appearance. Someone to make her feel like a woman again. If she didn’t quit running, that would never happen.

  Fisting closed the terry lapels, she lifted her chin. As long as she was clothed, no one could tell she was sans normal boob. The rest of her was passable—she never had trouble attracting a man—just keeping one.

  And her last relationship? God, what a disaster. Clark. She’d been completely fooled. But not Gigi and Ellie—they’d been right about him. Her two best friends never trusted his polished good looks and suspected he had a wandering eye. But she’d been in love and blind to his faults. Stupid. She shouldn’t have trusted him. And now, she didn’t trust herself. How could she have been so wrong? What did that say about her judgment?

  But Clark had stood by her through the surgery, beside her every step of the way…until it came to that first night together after she’d come home. She could still visualize his image as he leaned against the doorjamb, arms crossed over his chest as if to hold his heart in place while he crumbled her world.

  She’d never forget the look of pity in his eyes, or the sadness on his face. He’d straightened and swallowed, and told her he couldn’t do it. Thought he could, wanted to believe he could, but he couldn’t. As much as he hated himself, he was out. A big bag had been on the floor beside his feet. When he said he was out, he meant right then. No talking, other than a half-hearted apology.

  One minute he was there; the next he was gone. Long gone. She hadn’t seen or heard from him since. She’d loved him, and he’d thrown it away. She needed him, and he left. It was a mistake to rely on him through misguided trust. She could see that, now. Didn’t matter. Didn’t help.

  All the apologies, excuses, self-recriminations amounted to one thing. He didn’t love her enough to stay and face an uncertain future with her.

  Surely somewhere, out there in this big, lonely world, there was a man who was interested in more than tits and ass. A man who would appreciate the rest of her curves, and didn’t get freaked out at the thought of seeing a not-so-perfectly breasted woman in the nude.

  Turning out the bathroom light, a faint melody caught her attention. Pausing, she listened. Music. Faint and lovely. Sounded like it might be coming from the townhouse next door. Katherine glanced at the digital clock on her bedside table. Midnight? Someone else must have trouble sleeping. She quietly slid opened the French doors and stepped onto the deck beyond.

  Piano music…subdued, but loud enough for her to recognize the exceptional talent of the musician. Beautiful performance. The insomniac next door wouldn’t realize she could hear, but she didn’t mind. The piece wafted on a cool evening breeze, soothing, relaxing. She sat on a cushioned chair and tucked her cold feet under the hem of her robe.

  Muscle and bone melted as she relaxed and the music played. Chopin. The E-Flat Nocturne. She closed her eyes and drifted with the melody, let her mind dream she danced with her mystery man to the complex mix of rhythm and dynamic.

  Why had she chickened out on Cash? Why was she even thinking of him tonight?

  Because it all blended together. Past, present, future. Men, women. For some reason, the music reminded her of him. Great. Music and Cash, indelibly connected in her consciousness.

  She was so screwed.

  And because she was an idiot. If given another chance, would she take it?

  Cash had been interested and willing, and she’d acted the coward and run away. She wished she hadn’t. Such a coward. Her behavior disgusted her. Next time she wouldn’t run. Next time, she’d stay. Laugh, drink, dance, and explore the possibilities. Behave like a normal woman. Honestly, what must Cash think of her?

  If she stopped at Tortilla Joe’s again, would he be there? Would she have the courage to take a chance on him, start something new and exciting?

  Right now, she wanted that more than anything else in the world. Wanted another chance with a tall vet who’d captured her imagination. Who’d said he wanted to “see” her with his fingertips. Who’d jump-started her heart with his strong arms, sweet words, and sexy scent. Who’d chipped away at the ice wall she’d created around her heart and made her come to life.

  Hugging her pillow, she cradled it close to her breast and sighed. Sweet dreams, after all…

  ****

  Monday morning was nuts.

  Traffic to downtown Atlanta was insane. Forget I-85. She exited and drove through the back streets to reach Buckhead. The bar wouldn’t raise at the parking garage, and when she reached her designated space, some idiot had already parked there.r />
  Kate ran from one emergency to another, and spent the entire time putting out fires threatening to sabotage the next fundraising event, getting little else accomplished. She’d received an e-mail from the assistant of the new Director of Veterans Affairs requesting a briefing on the foundation’s strategies and how they might collaborate to increase funding for the families they represented.

  The foundation she managed, Stars of Hope, concentrated on raising money to help educate the surviving heirs of veterans who were killed in the line of duty. She was proud of the work the organization did—good work for good people. One less worry for grieving, suddenly single-parent moms and dads, and one less strain on shrinking budgets.

  Her heart turned over in her chest when she met with clients. Their stories of sacrifice drove her to work tirelessly to raise awareness and money. The need was incredible; she could never do enough. If it were in her power, every son and daughter would get the education he or she deserved. But until they had more money, decisions had to be made, and that meant working with veterans’ agencies to identify the students most qualified and needing the most help.

  Excited about the possibilities of this collaboration for both their organizations, Kate extended an invitation to the Director of Veterans Affairs, via his assistant, for lunch at The Tavern any day this week or next, whenever he’d be free. Located equidistant between the VA and her building, they catered to the business lunch crowd and served a varied menu.

  She’d be delighted to present a portfolio of proposed events he might be interested in attending, and would welcome any suggestions. Perhaps he could share insight on prospective families who might qualify for Stars of Hope scholarships.

  The assistant’s response was immediate: Tomorrow. Eleven-thirty. The Tavern. The director looked forward to meeting her.

  Good. Progress.

  Traffic was a bear on the ride home, and being tired didn’t help her cope with the lady who drove too slowly, or the guy who impatiently cut her off, then gave her the one-finger salute. Her patience waned. Tonight all she wanted was a nice meal, a glass of wine, and a long, hot bath.