Calculated Risk (5 page)

After she finished the piece, the room erupted into applause, catcalls, and whistles.

She stood and curtsied. Test One passed.

Aunt Sandy, the twins' mother and the female actuary in the family, called, “Encore! Encore!”

Crinkling her lips into a humble smile, Cisney held up her hands, palms out. “No. I've enjoyed The…um…Old Girl…more than enough. Thank you for letting me experience heaven.” She turned to Ellie and beckoned. “You come play, Ellie.”

Ellie riffled through a batch of scores stored in the magazine rack flanking her chair. “Have you played Rachmaninoff's Opus 11: number 4 waltz duet?”

“In a recital in junior high. Well, it was mostly a solo.”

Eyebrows rose.

Why had she elaborated? Now they wanted more. “A little mishap befell my partner.” She scanned her audience.

Their brows inched higher.

She hoped her forced smile communicated something happier than her desire to crawl inside the Steinway. “Fluffy's dander on my skirt became airborne and launched Rodney Coleman into a sneezing fit.” She shrugged her shoulder. “I didn't know what to do. It wasn't as if I could pound him on the back or yell, ‘boo,' to make him stop. So I played on.”

Nancy chortled. “It was a duet of a different flavor—staccato sneezes punctuating a fluid piano melody.”

Family members laughed, except Nick. His gaze focused on the ceiling and his head shook slightly. Had she shared something too…too what? Dumb?

Ellie wrestled music sheets from the batch, glided to the piano, and laid the score on the music rack. She slid in next to Cisney.

Like Ellie, Cisney suspended her hands over the keys with her fingertips barely touching ivory
. Please, Lord, don't let me mess up.

They began.

Ellie's shoulder-length hair swinging in Cisney's peripheral vision distracted her. Cisney clamped her lips between her teeth.
Focus.
She narrowed her eyes. Her gaze latched onto the score and traveled the horizontal staffs like a locomotive racing along steel tracks.

The music flowed.

After they played their last notes, Ellie high-fived Cisney, and then hugged her. “What fun!”

Family members stood and applauded.

Cisney nodded to the various groups, mouthing her thank you. The younger generation whistled and howled catcalls. Grandpa hugged Grandma Thelma. Roger, his gaze on Ellie, beamed with pride. Aunt Sandy and Uncle Bill called for encores.

Nick sat with his arms crossed over his chest, nodding. Somehow, his quiet response portrayed stronger kudos than if he'd stood on a chair and whistled.

She tingled.

Nick's gaze drifted from the cheering bunch toward the windows. Had she been wrong? Had his nod expressed smugness instead of approval? What had she done to warrant that?

 

****

 

After the clapping and whistles died down, Allison drifted to Nick. “I'd better get home. It was good seeing you.” She leaned in close. “Cisney's a keeper.” She turned to the group. “‘Night, all.”

Nick dropped his chin to his chest. For prowling matchmakers, he needed to wear a T-shirt saying, “I'M SECRETLY MARRIED.”

“How about some decaf?” Mom said, still flushed from playing the duet.

Cisney, now beside him on the loveseat, shifted her gaze from Mom to him, and then back to Mom. “It's been a long day. If you don't mind, I'd like to turn in.”

Mom directed a worried gaze toward Nick.

He mouthed, “It will be fine.” He faced Cisney. “I'll get the luggage.”

“Need some help with that, son?” Dad said.

Sure, if Dad could rustle up a luggage cart and an elevator. “No, I've got it, Dad.”

Mom laid her hand on Cisney's arm. “Sleep in as late as you like.” She gave Cisney a motherly hug. “I'm so glad you're here.”

Nick stared at his feet. Would Mom be online until after midnight, looking for the best place to hold a wedding rehearsal dinner?

Cisney said her goodnights to the others and followed Nick to the front door.

He shrugged into his coat. “Wait here. I'll show you to your room as soon as I bring in your suitcases.”

“I'm not lame. Let me help.”

“You can get the door.”

He hefted one of her suitcases from the car while she watched him through the glass storm door.

She'd done it. His greatest fear had occurred. Mom loved her, and if Mom fell for her, Dad would follow. Everyone liked her, even Allison, the self-appointed defender of the LeCrone offspring since childhood.

He wanted to blame his growing predicament on Cisney. He wanted to think she'd schemed the whole love-me act. Concocted the note-stuck-to-her-back thing in order to sink the hook. Reeled them in with her awe of Mom and Grandma Thelma's prized piano. Flopped them on deck, playing “Flight of the Bumblebee”—perfectly. She didn't stop there. No. She had to scale and fillet them, with her “solo” story and playing a duet with Mom, which no one else could do, now that Grandma couldn't play. But he had no case against her genuineness. Cisney had done nothing to hook them, except be herself. By turkey-sandwich time tomorrow, everyone in his family would sizzle on Cisney's grill.

He should never have invited her. He'd never fall for a woman's tears again. Isn't that what he'd liked about Dana, she never resorted to tears at the drop of a…boyfriend? Best not go there. He wrestled the second suitcase from the backseat.

He could keep Cisney occupied away from the family where she couldn't charm them with her sparkle. Maybe take her for long walks, out on fishing trips, and to daily movies. No way, though, could he keep her from them twenty-four-seven. Besides, everyone, including Cisney, would think he was interested in her if he gave her that much attention. And anyway, she'd have plenty of time to wow his family while he was gone for his interviews. He'd just have to let all their hints and winks roll off his back.

For now, his problem was to get her settled in a room she might reject.

Inside, with his carry-on tucked under his arm and the handles of her suitcases gripped in his fists, he led her up the stairs. Without stopping, he climbed steps until he reached the landing. He dropped the luggage at the foot of the stairs to the third floor and sucked in gulps of air. “I need…to get out…and run more.”

“Your parents' house is beautiful. I love all the wood on the staircases.” She ran a finger over the cherry banister and then looked up at him. “Until she went home, I thought Allison was the twins' sister.”

He rested his hands on his hips and took in another breath. “She's Nancy's best friend. A graphic designer.” He drew in more air and raised his finger in a spiraling motion. “That whole kiss thing when we arrived…I dated Allison briefly in high school, and the greeting kiss is just a carryover…”

Her smile looked calculated. “I think she'd like to pick up where you left off—” She slapped her fingertips to her lips. “Sorry. Forget I said that. Your love life is off limits, and I respect that.” She stifled a giggle beneath her hand.

Fine, let her laugh. As long as she stopped prying.

Her curved lips flat-lined, and her eyes drilled him. “I take that back. I'm not sorry. Why didn't you tell me I had a yellow sticky on my back when we went in for milkshakes? Did you think it would make a good joke at my expense? The old kick-me—”

He put his finger to her lips. “You'll wake up Great-Grandma.”

Cisney cringed. “Oh, Nick,” she whispered. “I'm so sorry.”

“Good, you're back in reasoning mode. There is no Great-Grandma.”

She jabbed her finger at him, and rasped, “You weasel…”

He held up his palm. “Calm down. And listen to me for a change.”

She gawked at him.

At least he had her attention. “When you went into the gas station, was your coat on or off?”

She thought a moment. “Off.”

When you went into the ice cream place, was your coat on or off?”

Her brow wrinkled, and then her eyes widened. “You didn't see the yellow sticky on my sweater because of my coat. And I left my coat on until I used it as a pillow in the car. Then, my back faced the seat.”

He hefted his load again, leaving his bag on the landing. “I move to dismiss the case of the offending sticky note.”

“Nick! You have a sense of humor.”

He gave his of-course-I-do look. Four days of Cisney infiltrating his family would require a heavy-duty sense of humor, unless he died first of a heart attack from climbing two flights of stairs with a hundred pounds of luggage.

She stayed him with her hand on his arm. “I apologize for jumping to conclusions about the yellow sticky. Really.”

He grunted his acceptance and climbed stairs.

Cisney followed. “Way up here, I'll feel as if I'm on top of the world.”

“Hold that feeling.” On the landing, he set down the suitcases and wheeled them toward two doors. He eyed the door that was about a foot and a half shorter than a standard door. Would she balk when she saw the room? He opened the other door. “Your bathroom. Small but functional.”

She stuck her head inside. “Cute.”

He stood with his back to the shorter door, whose top jamb reached the bottom of his chin. “I have to tell you something. Mom is worried about you having this room.”

“Is she afraid I'll break something?”

“Cisney, just listen to me. It's simpler that way.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and theatrically cocked her head.

“You know you were a last-minute invite. Mom would have given you my room, but I'll be sharing it with my cousin, Tony. The twins' brother. He had to work tonight and will arrive around midnight. Mom said Nancy's got a school project spread all over her room. So this is the only room left. Mom was surprised at how tall you are, because…”

He swung the door open.

The ceiling at the doorway started at five and half feet and graded to seven at the apex. He'd measured it after he'd bumped his head while he and Dad remodeled the room. At the pinnacle, a twin bed rested opposite a curtained window. Mom made the curtains to match the bedspread and added a brightly painted dresser on one of the short walls. Nancy re-covered two stuffed armchairs and faced them toward the window. The chest at the foot of the bed held family photo albums.

Cisney laughed. “Fun! It's like a little dollhouse room decorated so adorably. Or a princess tower.” She lowered her head and moved inside the doorway. “I'll manage fine.”

He let out a slow breath. Mom would be relieved. “If the fire alarm goes off in the middle of the night, you've got to remember to duck your head.”

“No problem.”

“How tall are you?”

“Five-nine.”

“So, right about here,” he stooped and touched the ceiling inside the room a few feet from the door, “you'll need to lower your head when you exit. Of course, with those boots, it's about here.” He moved his finger farther up the ceiling.

She walked to that point and the top of her forehead met the ceiling.

He backed to the doorway. “Do you think you'll remember that, or should Dad check his homeowner's policy?”

She planted her hands on her hips. “Gracious me, you're so caring about my well-being.” She grinned. “Tell your mother I love it.”

“Thanks. That'll put Mom at ease.” He wheeled her suitcases inside the door. “Can you take them from here?”

She nodded and bumped her head on the ceiling.

He turned toward the stairs. “Dad,” he said in a singsong voice, “get out your homeowner's policy.”

 

****

 

Cisney hefted the suitcase bearing her nightwear onto the bed, and then dug her cell from her handbag. If she called Angela now, would she catch her and the gang still at dinner rehashing their trip to the resort? Probably. Colorado time was two hours behind.

Nick's family was nice. They had genuinely welcomed her. Why had Nick seemed perturbed when everyone else enjoyed her playing the amazing Steinway? Was he jealous of the attention they'd heaped on her? Unlikely. Nick wasn't the jealous type. Had she embarrassed him? Going on about the junior high duet? Maybe. Or could he be upset that his family liked her, because he didn't?

She flopped onto the bed next to her suitcase and slumped. What a terrible thought. Strange, too. Near the end of their trip, she'd been congratulating herself for winning him over. Had he laughed at her stories out of politeness? His responses seemed authentic enough, so much so she lost interest in her challenge. Even the fingers of her left hand no longer begged her to call Angela. Or to remove the intruding pearl ring she'd put there to remember to call.

Cisney lifted her left hand toward the glow of the ceiling lamp. The lustrous pearl encased in the high Tiffany setting definitely could be mistaken for an engagement ring. She rippled her fingers in the light. Would she ever wear a diamond on this hand? As Daddy reminded her often, her old-maid clock was ticking. Jason, in taking six months to decide to dump her, had gobbled up precious time to land her forever man.

Talk about a depressing thought. She laid her crossed arms on her suitcase and rested her head on them. She would have to go through the hunt, the insecurities, the wondering if this was the right guy, all over again. Her lungs weighed heavily against her ribcage as if they were filled with sand. Starting over from a broken relationship was like a computer crashing and her having to recreate an entire six months' worth of work. All because she failed to save.

This was not helping anything. She pulled herself erect. Time to claw her way out of this hole before she sank any deeper. She'd call Angela for a dose of encouragement before her confidante and the others hit the slopes tomorrow morning.