Lost Melody (7 page)

“You came here.”

“I was tired of living like a
fugitive, always wondering when they’d catch up with me. I wanted
to live in a place where I could walk the streets without worrying
someone would pop out of the bushes with a camera at any minute. I
thought Willowbrook was that place.”

Cathy twirled her glass by the stem.
“It is.”

“It was,” Mel corrected. “You don’t
know the paparazzi. One celebrity will bring them here, Hank
Travis. And they’ll turn the town upside down. It won’t take them
long to figure out Melody is here, too, especially if everyone in
town finds out who I am.”

Chapter Five

Hank booted up his computer and typed
Mel’s name in the search engine. Dozens of sites popped up. It was
a common name. He checked out several social networking links
before he noticed the link to a popular Ravenswood fan site. He
clicked on it.

A photo filled the screen. He
recognized the man holding a small girl in his arms. His head spun
as he read the caption beneath the photo. Sinking low in his chair,
he studied the girl.

A fan had posted the picture along
with assurances the girl in the photo lived in San Diego and
currently went by the name Mel Harper.

Could it be? No. Melody Ravenswood
couldn’t be in Willowbrook, Texas—the middle of nowhere, USA. What
he was thinking wasn’t possible. He had to be mistaken.

A half hour later, he knew he had
stumbled upon the truth. Melody’s mother, Diane Harper, had been a
backup singer with RavensBlood until she became pregnant, married
Hamilton Earl Ravenswood, and left the life behind—apparently—to
raise her daughter in San Diego. There were no photos of Melody
beyond the age of ten when she was photographed standing beside her
father’s casket at the family cemetery on his estate, Ravenswood,
north of London. Earl had been more than a nickname. Hamilton
Ravenswood had been the Earl of Ravenswood. His title passed to a
cousin, but Melody had received a sizeable inheritance, which
included the family estate and her father’s extensive music
library. One article listed her godfather, Sir Jonathan Youngblood,
as the executor of the estate until Melody turned twenty-five. The
milestone had passed last year.

His desk chair creaked as
he leaned back, absorbing what he had learned in the last few
minutes. It was almost too much to take in. She was Hamilton
Ravenswood’s daughter.
Incredible
.

He had been fifteen years old when
Ravenswood died. His death and “Melody”, the masterpiece he left
behind, were the reasons Hank had chosen to be a musician. It was
as though Ravenswood had translated Hank’s thoughts and feelings
into music notes and lyrics. “Melody” had been his theme song ever
since.

He pulled up the cemetery photo again,
arranging it on a split screen with the earlier one. What must it
have been like for her? Had she been close to her father? Judging
from the one where Ravenswood held his daughter in his arms, the
answer was yes. You couldn’t mistake a love like that. He held her
protectively against what must have been a barrage of photographers
while Melody clung to his neck. Hank didn’t know much about kids,
but he figured she was around five years old in the
photograph.

He couldn’t imagine growing up in the
public eye, but as he searched for pictures, he realized, perhaps
she hadn’t. There were a few photos of them together when she was
really young, but after the one when she was five…nothing.
Nevertheless, the expression on her face at the cemetery told
another story. Melody had loved her father.

His heart ached for her. He knew what
it was like to lose a parent. But to have to lay a beloved parent
to rest with the eyes of the world on you? He couldn’t imagine how
difficult it had been for her. He tried to sleep, but every time he
closed his eyes, he saw a little girl holding tight to her mother’s
hand, her eyes and nose red from crying. He dressed in sweats and
the old tennis shoes he kept on the back porch for the dirtier jobs
around the place, and left the house.

He walked the rows of young cotton
plants, formulating his thoughts. Betty Boop kept him company until
the sun painted the eastern sky with broad streaks of pink, purple,
and gold.

He wasn’t a big believer in
fate, but something, or someone, had a hand in the way they met.
Why was Melody Ravenswood in Willowbrook? He dismissed the idea
that she had known he lived here. Judging from the disgust on her
face when she’d seen him earlier, she wished he
didn’t
live here.

As much as he wanted to ignore the
fact that she was a reporter, good sense told him not to. From what
he had seen of her writing, she knew how to make the most of a
story without stooping to yellow journalism. Just the same, he
needed to keep a close eye on her. An image of her in Smitty’s,
looking like an angel in denim, was permanently etched on his
brain. Keeping an eye on her wouldn’t be a hardship.

He hadn’t had much luck in the dating
department. Karen had been his only serious relationship, and
finding out she used him to get the inside scoop on him and the
band, she’d never harbored any real feelings for him had pretty
much put him off his feed.

Yeah, he’d been hungry since her
betrayal, but not hungry enough. And besides, most women wanted
only one version of Hank Travis—either the rock star side or the
farmer side, but never both. They couldn’t understand how the two
balanced themselves out. He needed both, and he wanted someone to
share them with.

Mel was perfect. Of all the people on
the planet, she, more than anyone else, should understand his crazy
life. The seed of an idea took root, and with each step he took, it
grew until it blossomed into a full-blown plan…sort of.

First, he needed to find out exactly
why she was in Willowbrook. If she wanted a normal, simple life, if
she was searching for a place to put down roots, well…the roots on
his family tree went deep.

* * *

Purse in hand, she stormed out of her
boss’ office before she lost all control. In the parking lot, she
debated the wisdom of driving in her state of mind. She needed
chocolate and a friendly face. She slung her purse over her
shoulder and turned in the direction of The Donut Hole.

Her new assignment was all Hank
Travis’ doing—she knew it as well as she knew her own face in the
mirror. But, why? He’d told her himself he didn’t give interviews.
She stewed over the dilemma while Cathy worked the line down to
her.

“I need a half dozen, assorted, to
go.” She leaned over the counter, signaling for a more private
conversation. When Cathy met her halfway, she asked in a hushed
voice, “Do you have any laced with rat poison?”

Cathy raised an amused eyebrow. “Not
today, sorry. How about a few artery-cloggers, instead? It’s
slower, but it’ll still get the job done.”

She straightened, deflated in the face
of her friend’s cheery attitude. “They’ll have to do. Load me up.
Make sure there’s some chocolate in there, too.”

“Who’s the unlucky interviewee
today?”

She glanced over her shoulder to make
sure no one was close enough to hear. “Hank Travis.”

“Oooh. No wonder you’re in such a good
mood. What did he do, donate a new school?”

“Nothing so benevolent. He has deemed
himself the savior of my career and granted me his first interview
in seven years.”

Cathy’s eyes lit with
interest. “You’re kidding. That
is
a coup. I didn’t think you’d dare ask him though,
not after what you told me last night.”

“I didn’t.” She rolled her
eyes. No matter how she examined the situation, it didn’t look
good. “He called Ralph this morning and offered to put the Gazette
on the map, provided
I
do the interview. And, get this…it’s a month-long assignment.
Exclusive. I’m supposed to follow him everywhere for the next
thirty days, so I can write about the
real
Hank Travis.”

Cathy’s lips twitched, but she
couldn’t keep a smile from bursting across her face. “It sounds
like something he would do. I know you don’t want to hear this, but
it could make your career and get you out of this two-horse
town.”

“But, I don’t want out. I like it
here, or at least I did until I found out about Hank. I may have to
find another place to live since he lives here, too.” She lowered
her voice and leaned in close. “Sooner or later the rest of the
media is going to get wind of the two of us living in the same town
and then, watch out Willowbrook. I can’t do that to the town. I
like all these people.” Her arm sweep encompassed the tables full
of locals. She’d spent a lot of time thinking about it and had come
to a depressing conclusion. “Willowbrook can’t handle both of us.
I’m the outsider. I’m the one who’ll have to go.”

“That’s nonsense.” Cathy slid the
filled bag across the counter. “Go on, don’t keep him
waiting.”

* * *

Hank had put his plan into action. All
he had to do was wait and see what she did. Ralph seemed sure he
could convince her to go along, but there was a chance she would
tell Ralph just what he could do with the assignment and his
newspaper. He didn’t have a plan B. He was trying to come up with
one when the phone rang.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,
Hank.”

“Cathy? What are you talking
about?”

“Mel Harper is what I’m talking about.
She was just in my store. What are you up to?”

“I’ve decided to grant an interview
with the local paper. Don’t you think the citizens of Willowbrook
want to know what I do all day?”

“You flatter yourself. We know what
you do, and we’re not particularly interested in it. So what are
you really up to?”

“I don’t know. I have a crazy idea she
may be worth getting to know. Who knows? Maybe I’ll ask her to
marry me.”

“Seriously?”

“Hey, you never know,” he said. “She
keeps me awake at night.”

“Wow. I take it that’s never happened
before?”

“Never. I think she may be the one,
but I’ve got to get close to her to find out, and I couldn’t think
of any other way.”

“I’ll say it again—wow. You mean it,
don’t you?”

“Yeah, I think I do. Why? Are you
afraid you’ve lost your chance to grow old with me? You should have
taken me up on my offer back in high school.”

“
Yeah, right. As I recall,
you offered a romp in the back of your pickup. If you’d included a
wedding ring with the offer, I might have overlooked the knobby
knees and gone for it.”

“Ha, ha. Is she on the way out
here?”

“Yes. And she is worth getting to
know, but you’ve got your work cut out for you. You know how you
are about reporters? Well, she’s the same way about musicians.
She’s likely to shoot you for pulling this stunt. I’d make sure the
gun cabinet is locked up tight before she gets there.”

“She’s mad, huh?” He couldn’t care
less how mad she was. She was on her way. The next step would be to
convince her to hear him out.

“She asked me to put rat poison in
your doughnut.”

Hank laughed. “I appreciate the
warning. I think I’ll be okay, but maybe I will check the gun
cabinet and make sure the rat poison is out of sight, just in
case.”

“You do that. Good luck, Hank. You’re
going to need it. Oh, and by the way? If you hurt her, I’m coming
for you.”

“Good to know.” Yeah, convincing Mel
his plan could work wasn’t going to be easy, but at least she was
on her way. “Thanks for the heads-up, and you take
care.”

* * *

Why now? Why me?
If Hank wanted publicity, he surely had a
publicist who could get him better coverage than the Willowbrook
Gazette.

She should turn around, head back into
town, and forget all about Hank Travis. What could Ralph do to her
if she refused to interview Hank? Fire her? Thanks to Hank, her
time in Willowbrook was limited anyway, so what did it matter if
she lost her job? At least she wouldn’t have to see him ever
again.

Whom was she kidding? The truth was
she wanted to see him again. Despite everything, she was still
attracted to him, to his rich voice, his quirky smile, his nerdy
haircut.

Somewhere around milepost twenty-nine,
she had made up her mind to see this assignment through, but her
first glimpse of him made her rethink her decision. He held the
screen door for her, looking too damned good, too damned sexy, and
too damned pleased with himself. He might as well have had a
flashing neon sign on his head—Danger! Unreliable, narcissistic
heartbreaker ahead!

She stepped into the kitchen, all too
aware of his size as she brushed past him in the narrow doorway. He
snared one of the insulated cups from her as she passed. “Is this
for me?”

Ignoring him, she popped her hot
chocolate into the microwave, her fingers punctuating her mood as
she stabbed at the buttons. The dog ambled into the room from parts
unknown and sniffed at the back of her leg.