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Authors: Fern Michaels

Sara's Song (6 page)

BOOK: Sara's Song
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“I don't know anything else. It's all I've ever done. I've never gone to a four-person barbecue or sat in front of a fireplace with a girl. I guess you think that makes me some kind of jerk. Maybe I am.” At his devastated look, Sara wanted to reach out and touch him.
“It's a question of priorities. Your lifestyle doesn't make you a jerk. You're a jerk when you do stupid things. I don't think you do stupid things. This is very good spaghetti. Do you ever see your old friends for get-togethers?”
Dallas shook his head. “The guys in the band are my friends. Billy was my only real friend from childhood. Adam and I aren't close. I've accepted the fact that we're never going to bond. It's what it is.”
Sara leaned across the table. He looked so . . .
needy
in the candlelight. “I'm just surprised that you aren't married. I think your phone is ringing again.”
“Let it ring. Marriage isn't for everyone. Do you want to get married?” It was Dallas's turn to lean across the table.
“I suppose if I met the right person. I like the idea of going to bed with someone and waking with him next to me, of sitting across the breakfast table with that person. It's hard to be alone. I view marriage as sharing. You can have every advantage in life, megawealth, everything money can buy, and if you don't have someone to share it with, what's the point to it all? My mother always said if something is meant to be, it will be and nothing you can say or do will change things. Is your brother married?”
“No. He's always on the road. The sad truth is, I know very little about my brother. I had a nightmare once where I was in a hospital and in the dream I needed a kidney donor. The doctor asked Adam if he'd donate one of his. Adam's response was he had to
think
about it. If it were the other way around, I wouldn't have to think about it.”
Sara didn't mean to ask the question, but the words rolled off her lips. “Does your brother like you? Wait, don't answer that. I had no right to ask such a question. It's none of my business.”
“It's a reasonable question. I don't know. In his own way I'm sure he has feelings for me. Adam's a cold, clinical, analytical person. Billy said Adam's assessment of me was that I didn't have enough sense to come in out of the rain. That smarted for a long time. I try not to think about it. Adam has some very good qualities. The Canyon River Band wouldn't be what it is without Adam. He's a bottom-line person.”
Sara sucked up a long strand of spaghetti, the sauce splattering on the yellow slicker. “I can do that,” Dallas said.
“Yeah,” Sara tested, “but can you do it without splashing your raincoat? You're right, this the best spaghetti I ever ate.”
“There, what'd you think of that?” Dallas demanded as he sucked up not one but two strands of spaghetti.
“I think you got lucky is what I think. Can you do that grass thing between your fingers or skip rocks on a pond?”
“Nah. We were city boys. We can do those things when we go fishing. You have to pack a picnic basket with fried chicken, hard-boiled eggs, cheese, and all that stuff. They always do that in the movies.”
Sara dabbed at her lips. “Did you ever go on a picnic, Dallas?”
“If I did, I don't remember.”
“That's so sad. Maybe it isn't so sad. The only reason my dad taught Carly and me those things was because he wanted a son and got two daughters instead. He never seemed proud of our accomplishments. He yanked us both out of the Powder Puff League when we failed to hit home runs. I heard him tell my mother we embarrassed him. Sometimes I think it might have been better not to have done those things. We just never measured up. Feelings like that stay with you forever.”
“Now, that's sad. I'm taking time off. You're going to be off the month of December. We can do some of those things together if you want. We can start off as friends and if anything develops, fine, if it doesn't, we'll still be friends. I think my problem is I was never a kid. In the early days I had to hustle. There was never enough money. Comic books and music, that was my life. Billy's too. I probably would have ended up in a gang if it wasn't for Adam.”
“What about Christmas?”
Dallas looked blank. “What about it?”
“Don't you
do
Christmas?”
“I think you need to explain what you mean by the words, do Christmas.”
“You know, cut down a tree, get out the heirloom ornaments, decorate the house with balsam, buy poinsettias for the whole house, hang a wreath on the front door, invite friends over, go caroling, buy presents and wrap them to put under the tree, cook a wonderful Christmas dinner to share with all your friends. Then when the day winds down you build a fire and talk about all the wonderful things that are going to happen in the new year. That's what I call doing Christmas.”
“That's what families do. I've been on the road every Christmas for as long as I can remember. The hotels always have a tree in the lobby. It's just another day. I give the guys checks for themselves and their families. We don't do that present thing. Adam's never around. What you just said, is that what you and your sister do?”
“For the most part. We do it Christmas Eve, though. Both of us usually work Christmas Day since we're single and it gives the married women time to be with their families. It's a good feeling. I told you, I'm a home-and-hearth person. This year Carly is going to Austria with her ski group, and I'll be off. It will be the first time in my life that I'll be alone for Christmas. I'm not looking forward to it.”
“I'm going to be alone, too. That means both of us will be alone. If you have no objections, maybe we could
do
the Christmas thing together. If you get a better offer . . .”
“You might get a better offer. It's something for both of us to think about. Maybe we should tackle Thanksgiving first. That's just a few weeks away.”
“Do you
do
that, too?”
Sara laughed. “Oh yeah. We could give it a shot. I make a pretty good pumpkin pecan pie. There's a downside to Thanksgiving, and every year it proves to be a bigger and bigger challenge. What to do with the leftover turkey. I have seventeen tried and true recipes. That translates into seventeen days of turkey. Eighteen if you count Thanksgiving. Your place or mine?” Sara said boldly.
“We'll be safer here. I don't want your privacy invaded. Once the press sniffs you out, your life will never be the same. Then we have a date for Thanksgiving?”
“We have a date. I'll bring everything. Some things like the stuffing, have to be prepared the night before, but not put into the bird. I like to do the pies the night before, too. I have a problem with this kitchen, though.”
“It'll be cleaned by then. I'll call those people you suggested tomorrow.”
“That's not what I mean. This is so . . . sterile-looking. I have sterile all day at the hospital. You need color, plants,
stuff
. I could turn this kitchen into a room you'd want to hang out in all the time. If you're a kitchen person, that is. Are you a cozy person, Dallas?”
A flustered look appeared on Dallas's face. “If I'm not, I could be. What makes for a cozy person?” He leaned across the table, his eyes intent.
Sara moved back slightly in her chair but allowed Dallas to take her hand. “It probably means different things to different people. To me it means plain, simple, comfortable. You know, basics. I personally do not require a lot of what my mother called trappings. I'm not ostentatious. I'm what you see is what you get. That's not to say I don't like a little glitz and glamour once in a while. To me it isn't real. Maybe it's because I'm a doctor, and I've seen so much pain, suffering, and hardship. Your world seems so unreal to me.”
Dallas laughed. “Your world sounds like a fairy tale to me. I bet if both of us tried, we could find a common middle ground. You have my permission to do whatever you want with my kitchen. What do you want to throw out?”
“Nothing. That's not what I meant. I'll add to it. What's your favorite color?”
“Red. Red's a cheerful color. I like blue. You know, the color of the sky on a bright summer day. You have golden eyes. They're beautiful. Did anyone ever tell you that?”
“A time or two. What should we do with the dishes? Your sink is . . .”
“Let's just throw everything away. We'll get new stuff.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“But that's wasteful. We do have our raincoats on. I suppose we could clean up the worst of it.”
“Plan B would be good.”
“Which is?” Sara laughed at the look on Dallas's face as he glanced around.
“The Disaster Master people. Let them do the whole thing. Now would be a good time to shed our rain gear and sit outdoors if you like. It's a warm evening. I do have some new movies if you'd rather watch them. I'd like to get to know you better, Sara.”
“Then outisde it is. No more root beer, though.”
“I have some really good wine. Fragile stemmed glasses. I bought them when Billy and Nancy had their first baby. We were on the road and wanted to make a toast.”
“I like fragile stemmed glasses.” Drinking wine from fragile stemmed glasses with Dallas Lord. This was tabloid fodder at its best. “Your phone's ringing again. Maybe you should answer it. It could be important.”
“No. In your world you have to answer the phone because it could be a matter of life and death. In my world it just means someone wants something. Humor me.”
“Okay.”
“Are you always so agreeable.”
Sara answered honestly. “For the most part. Did you know it only takes nineteen muscles to smile and twenty-one to frown? Why be disagreeable when you can be agreeable?”
Dallas reached for the wine bottle and the corkscrew. “You can carry the glasses.”
Settled on matching chairs at poolside, Sara said, “Tell me about Dallas Lord.”
Dallas was quiet for so long, Sara nudged him. “I . . . don't like talking about myself because sometimes I say something personal, and it finds a home in the tabloids. They pay top dollar for dirt on me and the guys. I guess I'm trying to ask you if we talk about ourselves, will you talk to reporters?”
“I'm a doctor, Dallas. I cannot nor would I ever divulge a confidence. You aren't my patient, but I live by my oath every day of my life. For me to repeat anything you say to me would be betrayal. That word is not in my vocabulary.”
They talked like old friends then. They were so intent on sharing confidences they didn't hear the soft rustling on the other side of the fence. Nor did they see long, slender fingers tear at the branches of the overgrown privet hedges that hid the ugly cyclone fence and the young woman who spied on them with hate-filled eyes.
It was well past the witching hour when Sara set her glass on the small table at her side. “I have to leave now, Dallas. Five-thirty will be here before I know it.”
“You haven't even left, and I think I miss you already. Moonlight becomes you, Sara.”
Sara felt flustered. Damn, why was it she was so cool, calm, and professional, not to mention unflappable in her profession, and in her private life she was a mess? “It's been a long time since anyone said something that nice to me. Thank you for the compliment.”
“Will you come back tomorrow evening?”
“Is that an invitaion?”
“Yes it is. This time I'll order in. Take the Jeep, Sara. The sharks don't know about you yet, and I'd like to keep it that way. If you don't mind.”
“I don't mind. The truth is, riding up here in that thing made me feel like I was seventeen. The Jag is kind of stodgy if you know what I mean.”
“I'll ride with you to the gate.” Sara nodded as she climbed behind the wheel. At the gate Dallas pressed the button to open the gates. He leaned over and kissed her full on the lips. “I wanted to do that all night,” he blurted.
Thirty seconds was all she had to get through the gate. “Guess what?” she shouted over her shoulder. “I did too.” Dallas's booming laughter stayed with her until silvery moonlight slid behind its protective night cover. The velvety darkness prevented her from seeing a black BMW that picked her up halfway down the canyon. It stayed with her until she parked the Jeep inside the garage, the driver straining to see the house numbers outlined under the yellow glow of the porch light.
Sara tiptoed up the stairs, careful not to step on the fourth step from the bottom. She continued to tiptoe down the hall to her room.
“Hold it right there, Doctor. I want to see those notes. No, I did not wait up. I was asleep but heard you drive into the garage. It's okay that you woke me. Hank and I had a fight, and that's why I came home. Come on, sit here on the side of the bed and tell me everything. Don't leave out the good parts either.”
BOOK: Sara's Song
5.8Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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