Sara's Song (4 page)

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Authors: Fern Michaels

BOOK: Sara's Song
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“Are you saying all that stuff they print is
lies
?”
Dallas threw back his head and laughed. “Absolutely. The truth is the guys and I are so boring, we could put you to sleep. Take Chico for instance. He's got Latin good looks and a love ‘em and leave 'em profile. The guy's married with three beautiful little girls. He adores his wife, he plants tomatoes and bell peppers and builds model airplanes. He mows his own lawn and car pools when he's home. We're normal people. The fans don't want normal people, so we pretend.”
“I don't think I like your brother,” Sara blurted.
“Adam is okay. Everyone gets what they want. The fans are happy. The guys are happy. Adam's happy.”
“Are you happy, Dallas?”
“As long as I have my music, I'm happy. Would you like to see my sound studio? Did you agree to breakfast or not?” He reached for her hand. Sara allowed it to be taken because it felt right.
“Yes to both. This is an enormous house. Do you entertain a lot?”
“Never! It has fourteen rooms. The grounds are about four acres, maybe a little more. I have two guest cottages and a five-car garage.” He stopped in mid-stride. “It's not a home yet. It's still a house. It doesn't have all that stuff mothers and wives put around to make it look real. What's your house look like?”
“Why don't you come and see it. I have a lot of junk and green plants. Lots of books and magazines. I could give you my overflow. I've been thinking about getting an animal, but I'm not home that much. Carly's never home either, so it wouldn't be fair to the animal. The house was left to Carly and me by our parents. We kept everything the way it was because we grew up with the furnishings and we're comfortable with things. This is pretty sad,” Sara said, looking around Dallas's living room. He was still holding her hand. It still felt good, and it felt right. Did he move closer, or did she? She started to feel warm all over.
“I bet you're going to hate my kitchen.”
A moment later, Sara gasped. “You're right. It looks like an institution kitchen.”
“Billy said the same thing. His kitchen in Chicago is all yellow and green. Real sunny. Does that mean you can't picture yourself eating scrambled eggs in here?”
“Why don't we just have another root beer?”
“Sounds good. Would you like to see my projection room and the sound studio? We record here quite often. It's a little more lived-in than the rest of the house.” Dallas reached for her hand again and squeezed it slightly. Sara's neck grew warm and stayed that way. She found herself looking up at him, aware suddenly of his height and the breadth of him. She was aware for the first time of how muscular he was, how loose-jointed as he walked along, pointing out the names of his equipment. He was still wearing his baseball cap. She wondered why. What would he look like in a suit, shirt, and tie? She tried to imagine him ringing her doorbell for a date. She stumbled over a cable. Dallas caught her before she could fall, drawing her close to him.
Sara felt her heart take on an extra beat or was it Dallas's heartbeat she was hearing and feeling? Suddenly her tongue felt three sizes too big for her mouth, and the lump forming in her throat had to be as big as a lemon. Her eyes locked with his. He was going to kiss her. She closed her eyes and swayed dizzily as she waited for his lips. And then nothing.
“Good God, are you okay? That was my fault. I should have moved the cable. I knew it was there, but I walked over it. Are you sure you're okay? You look . . . strange. Say something, Sara.”
“I thought you were going to kiss me.”
I said it, but I don't believe I said it. They need to lock me up somewhere
. She was flustered now, unable to meet his gaze. To her inexperienced eye he looked frazzled. If Nellie Pulaski was here, she'd have the right spin on things in seconds.
“I thought about it. I wanted to. I'm not real good at stuff like this.
You're a doctor!”
He made it sound like she was God's chosen messenger.
“I can tell.” There was a definite edge to her voice. Nellie was right—she needed to get out and about more. She needed to know how the game was played these days. She'd never really dated Eric Evans. She'd just sneaked around with him. One of these days she was going to give that whole scene some serious thought. “I think I'd like that root beer now.”
“Out by the pool?”
“Sure.”
“If I called you and asked you out, would you go?”
“A date?”
“Yeah. I bring flowers, and you get dressed up.”
“Will people follow us and try to rip your clothes off?”
Oh
yessss.
She was begining to think Nellie was right. She did need to get laid.
“Probably. What will the hospital think if your picture's plastered all over the paper?”
“I have no idea.” She felt herself cringe when she imagined bold, stark headlines. Rocker Dallas Lord partying with Benton's senior staff doctor. She should have been a dermatologist or a podiatrist. Nobody cared what they did.
“I guess it isn't such a good idea. Unless . . .”
“Yes?” God, was that breathless voice hers?
Sara Killian, you are a party waiting to happen
.
“Unless I arrange things here. I can have our dinner catered and I can order the latest movie. I have a wide screen in my projection room. And, I have a popcorn machine as well as a soda fountain. If you bring your bathing suit, we can take a late night swim. We could carry that one step farther if you throw in a nightie for a slumber party. How about tonight? Should I kiss you now to show you what you're in for or should I wait.”
“Procrastination doesn't work for me.”
“Ahhh.”
It was the kind of tremulous kiss that, given the right circumstances, could lead to other things and both Sara and Dallas knew it. Sara broke away first, her face hot and tingly. “I have this mental picture of you strutting around the stage blasting out a song while millions of people shout your name and young girls throw their panties on the stage. I don't know if I can handle that.”
“I have this mental picture of you cutting open someone's chest cavity while blood and gore spill out. I don't know if I can handle that.”
Sara started to laugh. “I don't do heart surgery. What time is dinner?”
“After dark unless you want tabloid pictures. Do you want to leave your car and take one of my Jeeps? Personally, I think it's a good idea. There's an automatic gate opener on the visor so you can scoot right in. I changed the code on the gate earlier this evening. No one can get in here but me.” Sara thought his voice was defensive-sounding when he said, “I'm not being paranoid here. I just want to be left in peace for now. Yes or no on the Jeep?”
“Yes.”
“I'll ride with you down to the gate. I'm glad you came, Sara, and I'm looking forward to dinner. Want a root beer for the road?”
Sara shook her head as she climbed behind the wheel. “Will you try and get some sleep now?”
The cell phone in Dallas's back pocket buzzed. He yanked it out of his pocket, flipping the lid and antenna. “The only people who have this number are Nancy and Adam,” he said. “Dallas here.”
Sara tried not to listen as Dallas's voice went flat. She expertly backed the Jeep out of the garage. She shifted gears as she headed back the way she'd come.
“How do you think I feel? It was pretty goddamn shitty of you not to show up for the funeral, Adam. You could have chartered a plane. You know what you can do with that tour, don't you? The boys and I talked about it, and we're not sure we want to do it. Put it on hold. I don't care that it's all set up. Listen to me, Adam, I don't care. Now, what part of that don't you understand? No, I won't feel differently tomorrow or the day after. Don't rush home now, it's after the fact. I want you to know right up front I'm not going to forget this. Nancy and the kids aren't going to forget it either. The media will have a field day.”
Sara slid to a stop at the gate. She waited for Dallas to finish his conversation. He hopped out of the Jeep, his voice rising when he said, “Ask me if I care, Adam. By the way, I just agreed to build a wing at Benton Memorial Hospital. Take care of it. I don't have to ask your permission. It's a done deed. I have to go now. What the hell do you think got into me? My best friend in the whole world was buried a few hours ago. My own brother was a no-show. Go to hell, Adam.”
“Sorry about that, Sara. Sometimes Adam is a real pain in butt. Every time I look at him I see dollar signs in his eyeballs.” The huge gates swung open. “Drive carefully. Listen, if anything comes up, call me.” He scribbled the cell-phone number on the corner of a Chinese menu lying on the floor. “Hurry, the gate only stays open for thirty-five seconds.”
Sara waved as she shot through the gate.
On the drive home, Sara mentally cataloged her wardrobe. Something not too dressy. Definitely feminine. Maybe a trip to the hairdresser. A manicure wasn't out of the question. A new bottle of perfume would be nice. She absolutely had to buy some new underwear. Something lacy, that fine cobwebby stuff Carly wore all the time. She could take a short nap and hit Rodeo Drive by noon.
Should she keep it a secret or should she tell Carly? For now it might be better to keep quiet. Carly would chatter incessantly. God, she'd probably have Dallas's music piped through the house. She'd tell everyone at the hospital. Sara snorted in disgust. How was she going to explain the Jeep? If she told a lie, she'd have to tell more lies. A long sigh escaped her lips as she pulled the Jeep alongside Carly's Jeep.
Carly was waiting by the back door, teacup in hand. “I want to hear
everything
. Don't leave a thing out. Where's your car? Guess you didn't just slide the stuff through his fence, huh? What's he
really
like? How is he? Did he ask you out?”
Sara told her.
“Are you excited? You don't look excited. What are you going to wear? You're going shopping, right? Don't worry, I won't tell anyone. The brother sounds . . . awful. I bet he's one of those control freaks. All that stuff is lies! I love reading all that junk in the supermarket tabloids, and now you tell me none of it is true. You actually drove his Jeep here. I bet one of those rags would pay you a hundred thousand for your story and a picture of you sitting in his Jeep.”
“Everything is going to change now. This is probably a mistake. Maybe I was too hasty, you know, caught up in the moment. If it gets out, what will the hospital think?”
“It's none of their business, Sara. Your private life is no one's business but yours. And mine,” she said flippantly. “People do talk, though. Dallas is trying to protect you, even I can see that. He lives with the media and knows how the game works. Play the game, Sara. It's time you had some fun and romance in your life. Now, listen to me, I'm going to tell you where to shop. The best store for sexy lingerie is ... not that you're buying it for that reason. You're going to get it just to make yourself feel good. It's a tiny shop called Sassy. They keep the stuff in boxes and not on models. Get an outfit that's bright and colorful. A French manicure is a must. Go to Lisa and Company and get some sunglitz in your hair. A trim, too. Get those eyebrows more defined. You're a mess, Sara.” Carly's voice was so cheerful-sounding Sara couldn't take offense.
“It's just dinner, Carly, not an assignation.”
“You don't know that.”
“You said he was still involved with someone. He said . . . what he said was it wasn't good. He meant he followed your advice, and it didn't turn out right. That could mean anything. If she didn't take it well, that means she . . . might still be on the fringes. It makes me uncomfortable.”
“You'll get over it! A dinner date with Dallas Lord! Woweeee! Stop looking at me like that, Sara. I swear I won't tell anyone. I wonder what the brother is like. They never show pictures of him when they do those stories. Eagle-eyed, chiseled jaw, lean and mean. Let's make a bet, Sara.”
“Don't be silly. Dallas said he's the reason for his success.”
“Maybe his financial success. His music is his own. No one can claim success for that except Dallas and his band.
Rolling Stone
magazine said Dallas Lord has more money than Michael Jackson. That's a lot of money, Sara. I hate to say this, but he's more famous than Elvis and Michael Jackson put together.” Carly clapped her hands in glee. “And my big sister, the doctor, has a date with him! Absolutely mind-boggling.”
“I'm going to bed. His money doesn't interest me. He was like this gentle, wounded bird. He's worried he won't fly again. Yes, he's grieving for Billy Sweet, but it's more than that. They were a support system for one another. He's not sure if he can or if he wants to continue without his friend, and he's going through a very real trauma right now. I don't know what time I'll be home tonight, so don't wait up for me.”

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