Secret Vows (Hideaway (Kimani)) (9 page)

There came a beat as Greer measured her words carefully. “Why didn’t you build a bedroom in your studio if you spend so much time there?”

Jason ran a hand over his face. “I don’t intend to spend that much time there, but once I get into a piece, I lose track of time.”

“Do you use blank sheet music or a computer program?”

“Both. I begin writing on blank sheets, then I play it on the piano. If I need to change a note or chord, it’s easy because I can just erase it. I use this method for every instrument I want to use in a composition. Once I complete the composition, I go to the synthesizer and computer for the first draft.”

“How many drafts do you go through before you settle on a final?”

“It all depends on if I’m really into it. There are days when I feel as if I’m just going through the motions and start writing notes that don’t work or play well with one another.”

Greer stared into eyes so much like her own. “What do you do then?”

“Scrap it and start over.”

“That must be frustrating.”

“It is,” Jason admitted, “but I try and not let it get to me.”

“What about lyrics?” she asked.

“They’re easy. Once I listen to the music track, the words just come.” He patted her knee over the denim fabric. “Let’s go downstairs and eat.” He pushed off the sofa, extending his hand. He wasn’t disappointed when Greer took it. Tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow, they retraced their steps to the first floor.

“Are you certain I can’t help with something?” she asked when he seated her on a stool at the cooking island.

“No. I’ve got everything under control.”

Resting her elbows on the granite countertop, Greer watched Jason as he opened the door to the built-in refrigerator/freezer gathering the ingredients he needed for the French toast after he’d washed his hands in a half bath off the kitchen. “Would you like bacon or sausage with your toast?” he asked, peering at her over his shoulder.

“I’ll have whatever you have,” she said.

He narrowed his eyes at her. “I’ll make both.” Jason had to make two trips to the cooking island as he gathered eggs, a loaf of challah bread, milk and packages of sausage and bacon. Picking up a remote device, he aimed it a cabinet and music filled the kitchen.

Greer smiled when she recognized the song, and joined in singing Sade’s “Diamond Life.”

Jason stopped to listen to Greer singing. She was no fluke. Greer really did have an incredible voice. It was warm, smoky and undeniably sexy. Taking down a mixing bowl from an overhead cabinet, he cracked several eggs and beat them with a whisk.

There was so much he wanted to ask her, but he didn’t want Greer to stop singing. The next twenty minutes passed as she continued to entertain him with her singing as he grilled sausage and bacon on the stovetop grill, placing them in a warming drawer while he measured flour into a large mixing bowl, slowly whisking in milk, eggs, cinnamon, vanilla extract, sugar and a pinch of salt. He soaked slices of bread in the mixture until saturated.

Multitasking, Jason set the corner of the island with two place settings, and filled goblets with orange juice as he reheated the lightly oiled grill. The tantalizing aroma of cinnamon and vanilla wafted throughout the kitchen when the battered toast was placed on the grill.

Greer watched in awe as the toast fluffed, as the edges became a golden brown before Jason flipped them over. He’d fixed a sumptuous breakfast within thirty minutes. “I can see why you didn’t need my help.”

Bending slightly, Jason removed the platter of bacon and sausage from the warming drawer. “I find breakfast the most challenging because it’s not a one- or two-pot meal. Most people wake up hungry, and they don’t want to wait hours to eat. When my brother and sisters were still living at home, I would get up and make breakfast for everyone.” He ladled two slices of toast onto a plate for Greer. “Do you want fruit on your toast?”

She shook her head. “No, thank you.”

He placed a dish of butter and a bottle of maple syrup on the countertop. “Coffee or tea?”

“Coffee, please. Sit down and eat, Jason,” Greer urged when he walked over to a coffeemaker. “I’ll have coffee later.”

Jason complied, raising his goblet.
“¡Bueno apetito!”

Greer touched her goblet to his. “Same to you.” She took a sip of the cold orange juice, peering at him over the rim. “Do you speak fluent Spanish?”

He nodded, swallowing a mouthful of juice. “Both my parents are fluent in the language. What about you, Greer?”

“What about me?” she asked.

“Do you speak any other language?”

“No. I had four years of French in high school and another year in college, and I can remember enough to order a few dishes at a French restaurant. Other than that, I’m stuck with English.” It was a lie because she was fluent in the language.

Over a leisurely breakfast Jason told Greer about his Cuban-born grandmother marrying U.S. businessman Samuel Cole and their marriage that had lasted seventy-five years. “My grandfather was one hundred three when he passed away, and my
abuela
died several years ago at the incredible age of one hundred six.”

Totally enthralled, Greer asked, “How did they meet?”

Jason got up to get their coffee. “That’s a long story. I’ll tell you at another time. Meanwhile I’d like to talk about making you a tentative offer for a recording contract.”

Greer’s serene expression successfully concealed the riot of emotions going on inside her. If Jason had offered to sign her to his record label before she had joined the ATF or even before she had married Larry, she would’ve jumped at the idea even if she never made it big.

“I can’t accept it.”

Jason’s hand stopped as he attempted to bring the coffee cup to his mouth. “Why not?”

“It’s personal.”

He lowered the cup. “If it’s so personal, why then did you call me this morning?”

“It was to talk.”

Jason’s expression changed from shock to anger.

“I can’t accept a contract but I am willing to...”

“To what, Greer?” he asked when her words trailed off.

“Let you record me, but that’s it.”

Reaching across the small space separating him from Greer, Jason took her left hand, increasing the pressure when she tried pulling away. “Who are you hiding from?”

“What makes you think I’m hiding from someone?”

“Why else would a thirty-something woman with a college degree wait tables in a restaurant in a town that’s a blip on the map? Does your decision have something to do with your ex?” he asked when she averted her eyes.

If Jason believed her decision had something to do with her ex-husband, then Larry would become the perfect alibi for her reluctance to reject an offer that was certain not only to change her life but also her future.

Greer lowered her eyes. “Okay.” She sighed. “It does have something to do with my ex-husband. I’m not going to go into detail about my marriage, but it’s something I don’t want to ever relive. I’ll make the tape for you, and if you believe I’m that good, then I will record your songs. I will not accept payment and nowhere will I allow my name to appear in the credits or I’ll sue you and your label.”

Jason knew he was between the proverbial rock and a hard place. He and Ana had the uncanny ability to recognize an exceptional vocal talent within seconds of hearing the first note. It’d been that way with Ana when she’d heard Justin Glover’s tape, and she’d managed to sign him by default.

Basil Webb had been the first to hear Justin’s demo record, but after Slow Wyne offered the young twenty-year-old a deal that had him indebted to the company for the first two years of his contract, Justin’s agent went to Serenity. Basil knew he had to change the terms of the contract or he would lose Justin. Then it had become a bidding war with Serenity as the winner even though their last bid was lower than Slow Wyne’s.

His sister’s skill was negotiating, but Ana wasn’t in Mission Grove sitting across from Greer Evans. He was. They hadn’t lost Justin and Jason had no intention of losing Greer. He exhaled an audible breath, releasing her hand. “Okay. No contract, no credit.”

Greer nodded. “I’d like that in writing.” She wanted to cover all her bases.

He felt as if he’d won. Albeit a small victory, but nonetheless a victory. “I’ll call my sister and have her draw up an agreement as to what we just discussed.”

“Have her address it to J. Greer Evans.”

The Greer he’d first witnessed—when he had walked into Stella’s to find her threatening to castrate a man who’d made the mistake of groping her—was back. Under the delicate exterior was a woman whose protective instincts were on high alert. His respect for her had increased appreciably. “I’ll let her know. Are you ready to see the studio?”

She took a quick glance at the clock on the microwave. “I’ll see it the next time I come. I need to get back and put up several loads of laundry before I go to work.”

Jason swung his leg over the stool. “I’ll drive you back now.”

The return drive was completed in silence. He parked the pickup in the garage, then came around to assist Greer. Cradling her face, he kissed her forehead. “I’ll see you tonight.”

Chapter 8

I
’ll see you tonight.
Greer didn’t know why Jason made it sound as if they were dating because it wasn’t like that. She was working at Stella’s, and Jason, instead of sharing a table with Chase, was on the stage playing guitar with the house band.

She and Bobby had come outside the kitchen to listen to the music. Doug, playing the lead-in guitar riff to The Rolling Stones’ “I Can’t Get No Satisfaction,” was greeted with rousing applause from those in the crowded restaurant. She felt electricity in the air, and Greer wasn’t certain whether it was from the music or because the Seattle Mariners had taken over first place in the American League Western Division in what had become the best season since they were enfranchised in 1977. Every television was tuned to the sports channel.

“The music’s good tonight,” she said to her uncle. The band performed hits by Earth, Wind & Fire, plus The Rolling Stones, Maroon 5, Nirvana, Kool & the Gang, The Black Eyed Peas, Los Lonely Boys and U2.

Bobby crossed massive arms over the bibbed apron stretched over his broad chest. “It’s always good when Jason sits in with the band. I don’t know what it is, but they seem to have a little more swagger—”

“Swagger, Uncle Bobby?”

“Maybe swagger isn’t the right word. It’s more like the other guys are freer, willing to take more risks.” He pushed out his lips. “Doug asked me if I could spare you for a few sets on Fridays and Saturdays because they lost their female singer.”

Greer stood up straight. “He wants me to sing with the band?”

“Yep.”

“Why didn’t he ask me, Uncle Bobby?”

Bobby shifted to his right as the swinging door opened, and Andrew emerged from the kitchen with a tray of stuffed shells. “He figured, because I’m your boss, he’d ask me first. And if I said yes, then he’d come and ask you.”

“And what did
my
boss
tell him?”

“Don’t get your nose out of joint before you hear what I told him.”

Greer registered the censure in Bobby’s voice. “I’m sorry.”

When she wound her arm around his waist, Bobby rested a large hand on her shoulder. “There’s no need to apologize. I know what you’re going to say. ‘Uncle Bobby, you can’t afford to forget why I’m working here,’” he mimicked in falsetto, repeating what she’d told him a few times when he’d suggested she take a day off and have some fun.

Even if her uncle had forgotten, Greer couldn’t. “Doug isn’t the only one who wants me to sing for him.” She told him about her meeting with Jason. “Why couldn’t I have met Jason before I got involved with Larry?”

“Are you talking a singing career or something more...romantic?”

She rolled her eyes upward. “Don’t even go there, Uncle Bobby. I don’t have time for a man.”

“When are you going to have time, Greer?”

“I can’t have a normal relationship given what I do for a living.”

“Yes you can, honey bunny.”

She rested her head on his shoulder. It’d been years since he’d called her that. “It would take a very secure man to deal with me being reassigned every couple years.”

“Once you finish what you’re here to do, I want you to hand in your resignation and begin to live for yourself. You don’t have to worry about where your next dollar is coming from because this place is yours.”

“It’s not mine.”

Bobby frowned. “Why are you being so pigheaded? You know your aunt wanted you to take over after we retired. I also revised my will after Stella died leaving you everything I own. This restaurant, the house on the lake, the pickup and the boat. I also plan to make you a signatory on the business and my personal accounts so if anything happens to me—”

“Nothing’s going to happen to you, so stop the drama.”

“Don’t interrupt me!” Bobby snapped angrily. “You’re in denial if you believe I’m going to be sweating over a stove when I’m ninety. Don’t get me wrong, baby. I love cooking, but standing up for hours and carrying this weight is taking its toll on my knees, legs and feet. My doctor has been telling me to lose weight, and I’ve turned a deaf ear because it never bothered me before. Now it is.”

Greer couldn’t ignore the flutters in the pit of her belly. Even though she and Bobby Henry didn’t share DNA, she’d always thought of him as a member of her family. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to take off a couple days a week and work with a personal trainer. I already have a special diet I’m supposed to follow. It just means I’ll have to stick to it.”

“What is it you need me to do?” Greer asked.

“I want you to manage the place and assume some of the cooking duties.”

She nodded. “What about Andrew?”

“He’ll run the kitchen, and you’ll assist him until we get another cook. I’ll ask Andrew if he knows someone who went to culinary school with him and needs work.”

“You’re going to have to hire someone to wait tables on Tuesday and Wednesday if I’m going to work in the kitchen.” Greer preferred waiting tables because it gave her the opportunity to eavesdrop on conversations. She’d learned many people ignored the waitstaff, continuing with their conversations even if she lingered to set down or remove a plate, or came over to ask if they were enjoying their meal.

“That’s easy enough. I’ll put an ad in some of the local newspapers. You and I will have to talk about going completely buffet-style on those days.”

“In other words Stella’s will become a buffet restaurant.” Her question was a statement.

“That’s what I’m counting on. What do you think about doing away with Sunday dinner table service?”

Greer chewed her lower lip as she thought about Bobby’s suggestion. After serving Sunday brunch, the number of patrons who came into Stella’s for dinner didn’t actually warrant table service. There were some Sunday nights when she was able to cover all of the tables, including those who preferred eating at the bar.

“I like that idea.”

“Then that does it. We go fully buffet Tuesday through Sunday, and no more Sunday dinner table service.”

Greer nodded. Not having to wait tables would give her more time to observe the goings-on in the restaurant. She’d come in earlier to help in the kitchen, then it would be up to her to keep the buffet replenished. “I’ll make up flyers and pass them out so everybody will know of the changes. When do you want them to go into effect?” she asked Bobby.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “We’ll start Tuesday. That will give our regulars the weekend to get used to the new hours and service.” Lowering his head, he pressed a kiss to Greer’s hair. “You see? That was easy. Now, tell me what you’re going to do with Doug?”

“I guess it wouldn’t hurt to sing a couple sets for him.”

Bobby’s blue eyes sparkled when he smiled. “I’m certain he’ll be glad to hear that.”

“I hope I’m not making a mistake, Uncle Bobby. Singing on stage in front of an audience makes me more conspicuous than waiting tables.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about that. When I saw footage of you being rounded up with those others, I couldn’t recognize you,” Bobby said sotto voce. “Between the weight, hair, contacts—and what the hell you did to give yourself the nastiest overbite I’d ever seen on a woman—your change in appearance was ingenious.”

Greer laughed under her breath. A technician had fashioned a dental prosthesis she could slip on over her own teeth to make her the poster child for acute orthodontia care. “The only thing I could eat with those choppers was burgers and fries, and that’s why I blew up like a blimp.”

“At least it didn’t take you that long to lose it.” Bobby patted his belly. “This time next year I hope to be lean and mean.”

Tilting her head, Greer met the winking blue eyes. “You’re already mean.”

“That’s only for show. The only time I lose it is when someone messes with you.”

“You know I can take of myself.”

After a childhood and her teen years spent on homework, piano, ballet and karate lessons, Greer was more than ready to spend the summer months in Mission Grove. She’d excelled in karate and earned her black belt the year she turned sixteen. Although she no longer competed, she’d continued to train with a karate master up until she became a special agent.

“I know you can, but it would look better if I kicked a dude’s ass than if you did. If men know that a woman can put a hurtin’ on them, then they’ll avoid them like the plague.”

“That’s not such a bad idea.”

“Come on, Greer. You can’t let one idiot turn you off on the entire male gender.”

Greer wondered what had gotten into her uncle where he insisted on talking about her and other men. He was like a dog with a bone, refusing to let it go. “I’m not turned off. I’m just not willing to walk down that road again.”

“Are you telling me you don’t want to get married again and have children?”

“I would like to have a child, but I don’t have to be married.”

Bobby patted his bald pate. “Please don’t tell me that you’re going to be one of those women who claim she can raise a child on her own?”

“Women do it every day.”

“And that’s why kids are so screwed up nowadays. It is one thing if a father or mother is widowed, but it’s entirely different when women absolve men of their responsibility for raising their son or daughter. I don’t care what Larry Hill tried to do to you, you still came out the winner. And if you let him sour you on men, then he’s won. Is that what you want, Greer?”

“No. It’s not want I want, Uncle Bobby.”

“Good. Now maybe you’ll take some time off and have a little fun.”

“What do you call fun?”

“Flirt. Dance. When someone asks to take you to the movies, you say yes instead of giving them the screw face.”

“I’ll try.”

“Don’t try, honey bunny. Just do it.”

“I better go and see who needs more liquid refreshment.”

The band had taken a break, and Greer approached a table asking if anyone wanted something from the bar. She took several orders, headed in the direction of the bar when she came face-to-face with Jason. He’d shaved and was dressed entirely in black.

“You were great,” she said softly.

Jason inclined his head. “Thanks. It feels good to play in front of an audience.”

“I’m going to the bar. Would you like something? There’s no charge for band members.”

He wanted to tell Greer what he wanted wasn’t at the bar. He wanted to spend more time with her. Everything about her had lingered even hours after he’d taken her home. The scent of her perfume on the sofa in the bedroom’s antechamber, the sound of her voice he could recall in vivid clarity and the silken feel of her skin whenever he had touched her.

Jason had told himself he’d come to Oregon to write new music and not become involved with a woman. Especially not one who lived so far away from his home base. His relationships with women who lived in Florida hadn’t worked out, and there was no reason for him to believe he could maintain one with a woman living thirty-three-hundred miles away.

And if he were truly honest with himself, Jason would have to admit it wasn’t merely Greer’s voice that had initially attracted him to her. It was the whole package—face, body, voice and the spunk she’d shown when the man at Stella’s had sought to grope her. It was obvious Greer was confident enough to stand up for herself.

He smiled. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m drinking water tonight. May I ask you something?”

“Sure. What is it?”

“Do you have any days off?”

She angled her head. “Yes. I’m off on Mondays.”

He leaned closer, his mouth pressed to her ear. “What are you doing Monday night?”

Greer closed her eyes. Jason smelled so good she likened him to a decadent dessert that she wanted to savor for hours instead of minutes. Pinpoints of heat pricked her cheeks when she realized her thoughts had taken an erotic route.

“I don’t have anything planned. Why?”

“I’d like you to go out with me.”

She went completely still. “Out, as in a date?” she whispered.

“Yes. What time can I pick you up?”

“Hey, Mr. Piano Man. Stop flirting with the lady waitress, and let her bring us our drinks!” shouted a man at the table where Greer had taken orders. Heads turned, necks craned and an eerie silence descended on the restaurant like a shroud. The sound of pool balls connecting echoed abnormally loud in the quiet.

Jason stood up straight, an arm going protectively around Greer’s waist. “You should have more respect for yourself to know when you’ve had too much to drink.” The man half rose from his chair. “Don’t do it.” Jason’s warning, though spoken softly, carried easily across the space, and the two men flanking the obviously inebriated man pulled him back to sit.

Greer felt the tension in Jason’s arm as he stood his ground. The last thing she wanted was a confrontation. Occasionally when someone couldn’t handle their alcohol, an argument would ensue, but between Bobby and Pepper, they were able to stop it before it escalated into something physical.

The crowd parted when Pepper walked over, while Bobby came from the opposite direction. “What’s up?” asked the bartender.

“What the hell is going on?” Bobby shouted.

“Marvin’s upset ’cause that guy’s flirting with Greer,” volunteered one of the men who’d stopped his friend from doing something he would regret. He pointed to Jason, who had a six-inch height advantage and was at least twenty years younger than Marvin.

Bobby rested his fists at his sides. He saw Jason with his arm around Greer’s waist. “Who she flirts with is
her
business. And you know what I’ve said over and over about disrespecting my niece. You dodged a bullet tonight, Marvin, because it’s obvious you’ve had too much to drink. You guys better take him home before I call the sheriff and have him thrown in jail for disorderly conduct. And, Marvin, the next time you come in here, you will have a two-drink limit, or you will not be served at all. Don’t worry about the tab,” he continued when one of the men reached into his pocket to pay for their drinks. “Now get him out of here.”

Waiting until the trio left, Pepper nodded to Bobby. The bartender held up his hands to the rest of the diners. “Sorry for the interruption, but the next round is on the house.”