Melted By The Bear: A Paranormal Shifter Romance (7 page)

We spent the next hour or two talking more, having a few laughs, and perusing many of the books in the store. But later in the afternoon, when a few young women came in, casting dirty looks in my direction, I said I’d better get going, promising to come visit again soon.

Mercifully, once out on the main street through town again, I ran into Jane and her little granddaughter Natalie. Jane seemed slightly hesitant to interact with me in public at first, but then, like at the hospital, she seemed to snap out of this quickly. She said she and Natalie were just out for a stroll and offered to walk me home. I gladly accepted, and by the time we arrived, I’d made my fourth friend in the village. Between numerous cartwheels and long stretches of skipping through the grass at the shoulder of the road, Natalie had told me I was cool no fewer than three times, and had asked if I’d be her babysitter at least as many times. I said I’d love to be her babysitter, and I meant it. Little girls her age had used to make my heart ache, but not anymore. At least, not as badly.

Once back at the cabin-mansion, I lounged around a while, flipped through some books from a tall bookshelf in my room, and then showered for the second time that day, not that I’d gotten exceptionally dirty since my first, but I’d gotten a little dusty from walking along the road. Or maybe it had been the bookstore, I thought, giving my long hair a sniff. It kind of smelled like old books.  While slightly musty, it wasn’t an entirely unpleasant smell, but I wanted to look and smell my best for dinner with Cormack, despite the fact that I was still none-too-pleased with him, about many different things.

Not entirely sure how formally or informally I should dress for our dinner, I went with a semi-dressy-though-not-over-the-top look, choosing a knee-length, scoop-necked dress in a deep shade of plum, paired with a short black jacket and black ballet-style flats. I accessorized the outfit with silver bangle bracelets and dangly silver-and-gold earrings, then applied some makeup with a light hand, giving my pale blue eyes just a subtle smokiness. A few minutes with a big-barrel curling iron gave my straight hair a little wave and bounce.

After that, I dashed out of my room and began striding off to the formal dining room, realizing I was a few minutes late, unbelievably. As badly as I wanted a few explanations from Cormack, I had thought I’d be early.

When I entered the spacious formal dining room, which was paneled with wood just a shade or two darker than amber, dinner had already been served. It wasn’t the sight of the food that drew my attention, though. That wasn’t what made the first word of an apology for my tardiness get stuck in my throat.

CHAPTER SIX

Cormack was already seated at the head of the table, and when I entered the formal dining room, he stood immediately, dressed in black pants, black dress shirt, and a silver-and-black striped tie. His dark hair glinted in warm light from a chandelier above the long, polished table, and candlelight from several tall red tapers by our plates made his lightly tanned skin almost seem to glow. In a word, he was magnificent, his presence strong and commanding as he stood looking at me, deep green eyes slightly wide.

My first thought was that I wanted to slow dance with him. Wanted him to hold me in his strong arms while we swayed, hardly even moving. I wanted to lift my cheek from his hard chest, offering my mouth for a kiss. A kiss that would go on for several minutes before Cormack would scoop me up in his arms and carry me off to I didn’t even know where. His room. Mine. A closet in the hallway. It didn’t even matter. Anywhere our hands would be free to explore each other.

With these unexpected thoughts racing through my mind in the span of a second, I had to work hard to recover from my abruptly cut-off apology for being late.

After taking a breath, trying to refocus, I tried again. “I’m sorry I’m a few minutes late. I was just...”

I hadn’t been planning on saying what I’d been doing, because, of course, it had just been simply getting ready, without paying very close attention to the time. But now that I’d said
I was just
, I felt like I had to finish the thought, or else trail off into complete awkwardness, never completing it.

“I was just taking my time getting ready, I guess. Running a curling iron through my hair and things like that.”

I should have left the thought incomplete. Because now, what I’d just said struck me as ten times more awkward than a trailed-off thought ever could be.

“I took my time picking out jewelry. I did a little makeup.”

Now, apparently, I couldn’t
stop
finishing the thought.

Judging by the way Cormack had had me choking on my apology, and now, had me rambling like an idiot, a person would never know I’d spent a good deal of my life performing in front of thousands of people. They’d probably think I’d never even had a dinner date before.

That
wasn’t true at all. In my former life, I’d had plenty of dinner dates, and several semi-serious boyfriends over the years, one of them an Oscar-winning actor. That was as far as any of my relationships had ever gone, though. Just to
semi
-serious level, never
serious
. I’d had deep affection for each of my boyfriends, had maybe even felt stirrings of love with one or two of them. But something had always been missing for me, something I’d never been able to put my finger on.

I knew one thing for sure; none of my previous boyfriends had ever made my heart hammer in my chest the way it was doing at present. None of them had ever made me babble, completely flustered, like I was currently doing.

Cormack didn’t seem to mind, and in fact, he seemed faintly amused.

After I’d said what I had about my hair, jewelry, and makeup, he fixed me with a momentary look, the edges of his full lips twitching, before speaking. “Well, everything you did was well worth it. You look absolutely beautiful. But then again, you did even in the forest yesterday, dressed in just sweatpants and a t-shirt.”

Now I was speechless, not able to say a word, let alone do any babbling. I hadn’t been rendered speechless by what Cormack had said, though. It had been the look in his eyes while he’d said it. It had been a look of unmistakable warmth and sincerity, the first flicker of warmth I’d ever seen in his eyes. But within a moment or two of him saying the word
t-shirt
, it was gone. Now his expression was a frown as he hastily and wordlessly pulled out my chair for me, to his right at the head of the table. Dejected to see his eyes devoid of warmth once again, I walked over and had a seat.

We barely spoke for the first ten minutes or so of the meal. We exchanged a few brief comments about the melt-in-your-mouth tender steak Cook had made, and Cormack asked at one point if I’d like more wine, and I said yes, please, but that was it. Really, we barely even made eye contact. Cook, or one of the maids, or maybe even Cormack himself had put on some very quiet classical music somewhere; I couldn’t even see the source of it, just a speaker in one corner, up near the ceiling. I’d never been happier to have music playing during dinner in my life, because it helped fill the near-silent gaps between quiet clinks of our silverware.

I wanted to know what had made Cormack reel back his warmth after showing me a brief flash of it, wanted to know the answers to
all
my questions. I was getting desperate for those answers, actually, and the tension hanging in the air between us wasn’t helping any. And what wasn’t helping the tension itself was furtive little looks Cormack kept giving me from beneath his dark lashes, though still frowning, as if he didn’t want to be giving me those little looks. I knew I was giving him a few little glances as well, which
I
didn’t want to be doing. Each peek at Cormack’s beyond-handsome face made something electric race through my stomach, a sensation that though not exactly unpleasant, just served to key me up even more in my current state of suspense.

Finally, when we’d both nearly finished with our meal, Cormack said something other than a brief comment about food.

“Some people around town are saying that you were the lead singer of a famous rock band before the nuclear disaster. Is that true?”

I swallowed a bite of potato, took a sip of wine, and then nodded. “Yes. I was.”

With his dark brows lifting a degree, Cormack looked maybe just a bit surprised to have this information confirmed. “And this band was a
Gothic
rock band?”

I nodded again. “Yes.”

Fork and last bite of steak suspended in mid-air, Cormack just looked at me for a long moment. “I wouldn’t have guessed that in a thousand years.”

I didn’t know whether to snort or smile, so I did neither. “Well, I know I have a pretty wholesome, blonde look right now, but just imagine me wearing a Victorian-style blouse, black tutu, and combat boots, and with black hair and about ten times more makeup as I have on now, and you’ll have the picture. We weren’t just a gimmick band or a trend band, though. We made music I was proud of, music that appealed to people who were hurting, grieving, and angry, and I always like to think that maybe our songs helped some people, even in a small way. Maybe helped people feel not so alone.”

“And who wrote the songs?”

“I did.”

I suddenly didn’t want to talk about the band or our songs anymore.

So, after a quick sip of wine, I steered the subject away. “I didn’t start out as a Gothic rock singer. I actually started out training as a classical pianist and opera singer. I began taking piano lessons at five, then voice at seven, and then in eighth grade, I started going to a special private school for classical musicians and singers.”

Cormack’s mouth curved in just the very beginning of a smile, but the movement was accompanied by a faint snort, which made his expression seem like one of derision.

“I see. So, you were one of those girls born with a silver spoon in her mouth. Which makes me wonder how you were able to write angsty lyrics for your band’s songs... although I’m sure even a poor little rich girl can have troubles, too.”

My blood seemed to turn to lava, then ice water with the next beat of my heart. At the same moment, the room seemed to shift, or spin slightly or something. Cormack’s words, particularly
silver spoon
and
poor little rich girl
seemed to echo in my ears.

Before I knew it, I was throwing my napkin on the table, then dashing from the room. It was only halfway down the corridor that led to the kitchen that I felt the need to slow my steps, to turn around. I knew I had to defend myself.

I’d nearly made it to the entrance of the dining room when I crashed into a hard wall of chest for the second time that day. Cormack had been striding out while I’d been striding in.

Anger rising, I all but shoved him out of the way and continued into the dining room. “I was already coming back. Please sit and listen.”

Somewhat to my surprise, because he was commander-in-chief, and I was sure he wasn’t used to being told to sit, even with a
please
, he did sit. Un-balling my fists, which I hadn’t even been aware of balling, I took a seat as well. A few drops of melted red wax dripped from one of the taper candles down to its brushed brass holder while I took a deep breath before speaking, unable to turn my gaze to Cormack for some reason.

“I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth, and I was never a ‘poor little rich girl.’ In fact, I was born when my mom was still a ward of the state, living in foster care, when she was sixteen. My dad was a sixteen-year-old boy who died from being hit by a train while playing some dumb game on the train tracks with his friends the day before I was born.”

A little tremor had crept into my voice, and I took another deep breath to steady it before continuing. I still couldn’t look at Cormack, though.

“My mom got a job at a factory in Indianapolis and was granted legal emancipation from the state. She was determined to make a good life for me and give me opportunities she never had, so she worked sixty hours a week, and she saved her money, and she got us a decent place to live.”

Suddenly, I was ready to look at Cormack. Needed to. I wanted my abrupt looking at him to somehow be like a slap.

“Can you imagine that? A sixteen-year-old girl working sixty hours a week at a factory while nine months pregnant? And then turning around six weeks later and working the exact same hours, despite having no help, no support, and a colicky infant who barely ever slept? Well, she did it.”

Cormack didn’t say anything, just returned my gaze unwaveringly, though something in his eyes told me he wanted to look away.

I saved him the trouble, turning back to stare into the flickering flames of the two red taper candles. “She wanted me to be educated, to have ‘fancy things,’ as she often wrote in her journal on her lunch breaks during her sixteenth year. When she’d get home at night, before I was born, she’d play opera music through headphones that she’d put on her stomach so I could hear it. That’s how I got my name. She’d play certain arias for me, through headphones and big speakers that she could hear, too, and she thought they were beautiful. ‘I feel that an aria is something that can lift a person up, right up through the clouds,’ she once wrote in her journal. ‘And I want my daughter to have that beautiful lifting power, too.’”

I paused, feeling the need to look at Cormack again, so I did. “She herself never made it out of the factory. Too little support and too many bills to ever go back to school, especially once I started all my lessons, which I loved from the very beginning. She did eventually make quality control manager, though, and that wasn’t a bad income, enough for us to take a vacation to Florida every two or three years. Although even
that
salary wasn’t enough to afford the private classical music school, especially since my little sister Lily had been born by then, and her dad was a complete deadbeat. So, for my special school, we had to apply for grants. I was a ‘scholarship kid,’ and all the other kids at the school knew it, and it sucked.”

I turned my gaze back to the candles, sure I’d adopted the same deep frown that Cormack was wearing. A few more drops of melted wax, hot and thick, rolled down the shorter of the two red candles, and I just watched them for a moment before continuing.

“I was in my second year of college, getting a degree in music theory while waiting for my voice to ‘further develop’ as my operatic voice coach said, when I got the call. My mom and Lily, who was eight years old at the time, were dead. Car crash. One moment they were there... Mom at the factory, Lily at school and ballet lessons, and both of them at home safe every night... and then the next moment, just gone. Just like that. Snap of the fingers. Just gone. Forever.”

A little tremor had crept into my voice again, so I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to banish that tell-tale sign of emotion.

“Having always been a weirdly delayed reaction sort of person, it wasn’t until about six months later that I started kind of losing it. It was different things—different self-destructive behaviors—but it all culminated one night when I took a friend’s lit cigarette and put it out on my thigh. I was stone-cold sober, and I hadn’t even really planned to do it; all of a sudden, it was just
happening
. It hurt like nothing I’d ever felt in my life, but I welcomed the pain, because for the first time in six months, something distracted me from the pain I felt in my heart.”

A fat, red drop fell from the flame of the tallest candle, and I watched it until it reached the brushed-brass holder.

“I made an emergency appointment with a grief counselor the next day, and to make a long story short, I voluntarily checked myself into a hospital for two days to kind of get my bearings. When I got out, the grief counselor encouraged me to express how I felt through music, and not just opera singing and piano, but by writing lyrics that were very personal and meaningful to me. So... I did. I wrote a song called
Song for Two Ghosts
, and I recorded myself singing it with just myself playing piano for accompaniment.