As she gazed past the bustling festival crowd, Thea realized that she was worrying her bottom lip with her teeth and stopped. She didn’t care if Greg caught her staring at Jake, but she’d be damned if she let Jake catch her looking at him like some moonstruck groupie.
She had spotted him on the main stage as she and Greg approached. Jake was wearing tight jeans, a sage-colored T-shirt with the band logo and worn boots. The two other band members were dressed the same, but Jake filled it out better. He was moving some equipment around as he finished the setup, the muscles of his back rippling beneath his shirt.
“Will we have to stand up?” Greg asked in disbelief.
The venue was already crowded, with people on blankets right up next to the stage and others in camp chairs behind them. The rest were standing or milling around the various vendor tents that surrounded the field.
She held up the tote she had brought from the car. “I have a blanket in here.”
Greg gaped as a unicyclist in a costume rolled by, pedaling backwards. Quite a few of the folks in the audience wore wild hats and even wilder outfits. Thea felt rather tame in her flowing flowery top and capris, but at least she wasn’t in a business suit. She pointed to a bare spot on the ground close to the stage and they maneuvered their way to it.
“Hey, Thea!” someone yelled. “Why aren’t you up on stage?”
The festival crowd was full of people who returned year after year, but she doubted anyone would remember her from so long ago. It was probably someone from town, but she couldn’t tell who. She waved and smiled as she shook out the blanket and knelt on it.
Greg gazed at the people crowded around them, then at the blanket. He seemed to expect something to crawl out from under it and bite him. He was lucky that the festival didn’t allow dogs or Bailey would have come along. She tried not to smile at the thought. She didn’t want Greg to mistake it for encouragement, not after keeping him at arm’s length all morning.
Odd, returning to this place after so many years didn’t bother her as much as she thought it would. For one thing, it was a bright summer afternoon, not a dark, gusty night. For another, Marilyn Moser would never return here. Not after she’d used the voice.
“And don’t you ever say that again!”
But part of what Thea had compelled Marilyn to do that night hadn’t seemed to stick. Even at Becca’s funeral, Marilyn had confronted Thea and Grace and accused them of being full of wickedness and recruiting others to it, whatever that meant. According to Mel, Marilyn had confronted her and Daniel right on the street last week. Marilyn just kept saying the same horrid things about any Woodruff she encountered.
It seemed Thea’s damn gift was both powerful and unreliable. Wasn’t that thrilling?
“How long will this concert last?” Greg asked. “I’m starved.”
“We can grab something at one of the vendors after this. There’s some great—”
“I thought we could actually sit down somewhere to eat. Maybe at a restaurant where the chairs aren’t attached to the table?” Greg reluctantly sank to the blanket.
Thea closed her eyes. She would not compel Greg to leave and never come back. Not yet anyway. Some perverse part of her wanted him to hear her play. It would be like thumbing her nose at the life she’d just left, and at him.
“The restaurants are packed during the festival. You would have to stand in line for hours to get in. People eat here instead,” she explained. “Or cook out at the campgrounds.”
“Really?” He looked around with a pinched expression on his face.
Up on the stage Jake hadn’t missed their entrance. He gazed down at her with a broad smile. She waved at him.
He held up his hands as if to play a flute and cocked his head with a question in his eyes. Oddly, there was a spatter of applause around the crowd at his gesture.
Thea glanced down at her tote. The Burkart was in there along with her Irish whistle. She looked back up into those warm, whiskey-colored eyes. Playing here again might be another step toward absolution. What she had done at Hartford hadn’t helped half as much as playing out her grief on the mountain or even admitting her part in the wreck to her family. But she still needed to confess to Jake.
He might think she was crazy or even hate her, but at least he would understand why staying here was impossible. Imagining any kind of normal relationship with anyone, including him, was insane.
First, she would play. She smiled and nodded her answer. He grinned broadly and there was more applause. When she looked around, she saw that a lot of people in the crowd had been watching their little nonverbal exchange. She felt her face heat. There couldn’t be that many people here who remembered her from so long ago?
Greg looked around in confusion, trying to see why everyone was applauding.
“Ladies and gents,” Jake said into his mike. He gestured to the band. “I’m Jake Moser and we are Songs in the Wood. We’d like to spend some time seeing if we can coax some songs out of these instruments of ours for you.”
Everyone clapped as the band began a rousing rendition of “Tripping Up the Stairs”. All the dread that Thea had felt at being here again seemed to shrink before the joyous music.
Jake watched her as they went through their set, rarely looking away except to glance at the band for cues. Thea was caught up in the rhythm and felt as if she should get up and dance, just like the wedding reception. It felt as if he was playing just for her. She wasn’t surprised that, after a few songs, her heartbeat had accelerated, her skin felt hot and she had completely forgotten that Greg was sitting there beside her.
When she closed her eyes, she felt the music throbbing inside her, caressing her skin and whirling around her like a mischievous breeze, tousling her hair, across her cheeks, teasing at her lips. It reminded her of Jake’s surprised response to her kiss last night—the way his breath had caught and his hands had gripped her waist. Then Jake missed a few notes, which was odd.
“Thea?” Greg said urgently.
“Um?”
“What are you doing?”
She opened her eyes to see Jake’s staring down at her. Damn, her legs were no longer on the blanket. She was floating a bit above it. She quickly put her hand down, but instead of falling, this time she settled back onto the blanket, carefully shifting herself into a different position. “My leg fell asleep,” she said quickly. From his angle, Greg couldn’t have seen that she was completely off the ground, but Jake may have.
When she looked back up, Jake looked anxious and a bit shaky. She was going to have to make that confession soon.
The band finished the reel “Whiskey Before Breakfast” with a flourish and Jake stepped up to the fiddle player’s mike.
“We have a special treat for you today,” he announced. “Thea Woodruff—” there was a spate of applause, “—has agreed to play a few tunes with us. While she’s getting up here and assembling her flute, we’ll play a little tune dedicated to my newest girlfriend—Thea’s adorable little dog, Bailey.”
There was a great deal of laughter as the band started into “Pretty Little Dog”. Thea grinned as she got to her feet with her tote in hand.
“Are you seriously going up there?” Greg hissed at her in disbelief.
“Yes.”
Thea ran for the steps to the sound of applause, pleased by Jake’s warm expression. She had never put her flute together so fast before. She joined them as the tune ended.
“‘Lover’s Waltz’,” Jake said.
She nodded. Having spent last night memorizing the playlist and practicing a bit, she already had her flute at her lips.
This one was a favorite. It was basically a duet, originally written for fiddle and piano, and Jake had played it with his fiddler at Daniel’s wedding. The fiddle-player stepped back and gestured for her to take the lead. So it was Jake and Thea at the front of the stage.
Jake’s eyes flashed dark gold at her as he played. She was swaying, nearly dancing around his dulcimer as she followed. Halfway through, the arrangement had her carrying the melody. Neither of them had even glanced at the audience the entire time. But this was what they were here for. The music came first.
As the song climaxed, she finally understood why she had come home—for this feeling. She had dreamed of playing her flute in this sun-dappled glade next to the river—of playing this kind of music, which spoke to the soul of anyone who loved the mountains. At last, she was doing what she loved, with someone who loved it as much.
The last note hit. She barely heard the loud applause as she lowered her flute.
After a moment, he seemed to shake himself and grabbed the mike. “See folks? A real treat, isn’t she?”
There was more applause.
“Now Thea and I would like to play something a little different. This one is dedicated to my little sister.” He met Thea’s eyes. “For Becca.”
Thea pressed her lips together and swallowed. She could do this.
“Understand that Johann Sebastian Bach wrote this piece for a harpsichord, which is a hell of a lot bigger than my dulcimer, but I’ll do my best to make up for it,” he said. There were a few gasps and laughs, but most of the crowd seemed to be waiting expectantly.
Thea nodded to Jake and they were off.
It was as if the intervening years had never happened. Even as the rest of the band backed away, ceding the stage to them, they were lost in the intricate composition. His hands moved in a blur on the hammers and he watched her face intently. This piece was even more like a dance between the two instruments, back and forth. One led, the other followed, then they exchanged parts as one skipped away, while the other chased.
It was as if they were dancing, as it had been at the wedding. She could almost feel Jake’s hand across her back while the rhythm of his playing resonated inside her. She could almost see Becca, sitting cross-legged behind him on a piece of equipment, as she had been when they played that night so long ago. In Thea’s mind, she would always be that Becca—sitting there holding her fiddle, her face enraptured, completely entranced by their duet. Jake followed her gaze then smiled at her. She knew he was picturing it too.
The duet, which they had shortened from its lengthy seven and a half minutes, wound to its slow and intricate ending. Thea was standing beside him as they hit the last note.
There was a long silence, during which they just looked at each other, catching their breath.
Then the audience erupted into wild applause. While they had played, the number of people watching had swelled and possibly doubled. Thea laughed nervously. Jake stood, took her hand and they bowed deeply, resulting in even more applause and whistling. It took a while for everything to settle down as Jake waved the band back onto the stage.
“Get your Irish whistle,” he said to Thea, then called out, “Enough,” to the audience as she went to retrieve it. He had to try again. “Enough of all this classical stuff!”
There was additional applause and some hooting, but soon it died down.
“Let’s go out with a bang. This is ‘Drowsy Maggie’ and ‘Toss the Feathers’!”
The four of them—she and Jake along with Becca and Eric—had loved to play these two tunes. The rousing reels always brought their audience, big or small, to their feet. If she didn’t look at the others, but kept her eyes on Jake as he played, it was Eric on the bodhrán and that wild fiddle behind her was Becca, playing along with that big smile on her face. And Pops was there, at the edge of the stage, clapping to the rhythm as happy as could be.
Jake couldn’t go back to being a county sheriff any more than she could go back to being a corporate attorney. He needed music and he needed to sell his gorgeous instruments so others could make music of their own. She had to think of a way to help make that dream come true. To make Songs in the Wood, both of them, successful.
When they finished with a long flourish, the audience was all on their feet—even Greg, although he had probably stood to survive the throng.
“We’ve come to the end of our time with you,” Jake said. “I’d like to introduce the members of Songs in the Wood.”
The two men in the band came up to be introduced and take their bows. As they did, Thea picked up the Burkart, preparing to play the song she had seen on the end of his list.
“And so we leave you tonight with a song that says what we feel,” Jake said. “‘Ashokan Farewell,’ for the Woodsman.”
Thea smiled as he nodded at her. She began to play.
Pops would have been so proud. She had never asked, unwilling to admit even that much interest in Jake, but Pops had always kept her updated on Jake’s life. Pops had always said that Jake’s calling wasn’t in law enforcement and Jake would figure it out someday.
And here he was, figuring it out. From what Mel had said, he really was thinking of handing in his badge. She had a feeling that he had been waiting for something—perhaps for the festival, to see if he really could follow his dream.
She turned her attention on the crowd. Out there in the audience were some of his ideal customers. For a brief moment, she really thought about taking the microphone and using the voice on the musicians in the crowd: “Consider buying one of Jake’s instruments or, better yet, go to the shop to take a look at them.”
Of course, she would never do that—ethics aside, the resulting stampede would be suspicious—but it was fun to think about Jake’s reaction as she played.
When they had finished, the audience was clapping and stomping in appreciation. Thea stepped back as the guys came forward to bow again and she leaned down to pick up her case, frowning as a headache began to throb and her nose began to run. She snagged a loose tissue out of her case and wiped at her nose.
She stared at the tissue. A nosebleed? Maybe it was the stress of playing. It had been a while since she had played for this long—her jaw was a bit sore too. She dabbed at her nose.
Jake snagged her by the hand, tugging her forward to bow with them. She crumpled the tissue.
“Encore!” someone yelled. “Encore!” The chant was picked up and got louder and louder.
“Do you have an encore planned?” Thea winced at the throb in her head.
“I do, but you’ll need your Irish whistle.” Jake waved his arms at the crowd. “Okay! Okay! One more, but we have to clear the stage for the next act you know! So let’s go out ‘Swinging on a Gate’!”
Thea pulled out the whistle, took another quick swipe at her nose and pushed away any worries about the headache or nosebleed. The fiddle took the lead and people in the audience danced, swinging each other around in an impromptu reel. Jake nodded with encouragement as she picked up the melody. They played faster and faster until he signaled the final round.
When they finished, the crowd in front of the stage exploded into loud and lengthy applause. They clasped hands and bowed deeply.
Thea turned to Jake. “Thanks for letting me play!” she yelled over the din.
“Are you kidding?” He put his hands at her waist, picked her up and kissed her.
Thea promptly forgot where they were and threw her arms around his neck while a delicious tingle danced through her, curling her hair and her toes.
When he set her back on her feet, she wobbled for a moment, then looked up to find his expression had become…possessive.
“Jake!” someone yelled. “Hey, Jake!”
A group of people stood at the edge of the stage.
“You selling that dulcimer? The one you played?” one of them asked.
“Wait a minute, I was here first!” someone else shouted.
“Can I have a business card?”
“Are you selling those online?”
“Do you build psalteries?”
Jake stooped down to talk to the group, amazed by the reaction.
His fellow musicians were crowding up to ask about his instruments. It was exactly what she had hoped would happen.
But she hadn’t said the words. She rubbed her throbbing temple and searched for another tissue. It couldn’t have been her.
Could it?
This could not be real.
Jake had hoped to sell a couple of instruments after the concert, maybe see some traffic come into the shop, but this was amazing.
He stood in the door of the shop staring out at the street with Rita humming away inside. Nearly all his instruments were gone. There was one bowed psaltery left and he had barely hung on to his favorite hammered dulcimer. But he had sold everything else and nearly run out of business cards for the shop and the band.
Amazing.
A crowd of fellow performers and aspiring musicians had almost overwhelmed him at the festival stage then showed up at the shop before he could even unpack the truck. Rita was in a dither trying to deal with them until he could get inside.
It had exceeded his wildest dreams. He had prepaid orders for a half dozen mountain dulcimers and three more hammered dulcimers—three. In addition, the band had several offers to perform at various venues and two couples had approached him about their weddings.
But he had lost control during the concert, lifting Thea a little off the ground. She seemed to have that effect on him. At least this time he hadn’t sprained her ankle.
Why hadn’t she freaked out about finding herself floating inches off the ground? Instead, she had simply covered it up and acted as if nothing unusual was going on.
On top of that, how could that ankle of hers that had been so swollen Wednesday night suddenly look so slender and shapely the next day? He hadn’t pinned her down about that one yet, but he needed to—and about what she had said to his mom to make her behave for an entire night.
If that Greg guy hadn’t gotten in the way, he would’ve asked her about it by now.
Even though confronting her about this meant he might have to reveal his odd talent to her, he knew that he wanted to, because he wanted her. He’d wanted Thea Woodruff since he could remember. That kiss they shared on stage still hummed in his blood and had his hair, and other things, on end.
Dusk was approaching and the air was soft with the promise of a warm summer night. He wondered if Thea was still over at the festival with that jerk.
“I guess this means they’re going to have an election to replace the sheriff soon, after all, hmmm?” Rita said.
A few of those same people who had approached him after the concert, had also asked when he was coming back as sheriff. A couple of others had actually expressed a concern that he might leave his office for the music. “I guess so,” Jake said.
“I’m not in the least bit surprised,” Rita said. “But I am happy for you. And all those folks told me your concert was wonderful. A couple of them said Songs in the Wood should record an album.”
“It was pretty damn incredible,” he said. “But the best bits were Thea Woodruff on that flute—and her Irish whistle.”
Rita nodded. “Yes. They mentioned her too.”
“Did they?”
“You do know it’s all over your face when you talk about her, don’t you?” Rita said.
For a moment he wasn’t sure what she had said. “What?”
She laughed. “All I have to say is, I want some of whatever magic you’ve got going on these days.”
Jake watched his mother and Sarah leave the psychic’s shop and head across the street. “I can handle the rest of the day. Why don’t you go on home?”
“Why’s that?” She followed his gaze out the window. “Oh. I can cover for you, if you want to sneak out the back.”
Jake put his hand on her shoulder. “You are priceless, Rita. No, you go on. I’ll be fine.”
“Hah. You’ve got more patience than most, at any rate,” She squeezed his arm and went to get her purse.
“Thanks, Rita. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Jake stepped back into the shop and waved as Rita left. She turned up the sidewalk without acknowledging the two women passing her. There was no love lost between Rita and Sarah.
His mom looked like a prim Southern lady in her summer dress and Sarah was decked out like an old-time granny witch as they walked up to his door. His mom peered into the dimness of the shop searching for him. When she spotted him, she motioned Sarah to follow in behind her. It seemed Sarah was her backup today. This was going to be interesting. Or painful. Probably both.
“Ladies,” he said with a smile. “I thought you would be running your booth over at the festival, Sarah.”
Sarah glowered at him. In fact, the organizers had barred her from setting up at the festival this year because of all the complaints over the past few years. Sarah had tried to turn a fun fortune-telling experience into an expensive swindle for some of her customers.
“She has more important things to do,” his mom replied.
“I bet,” he said.
Sarah Rae Scott was younger than his mom, but tried to look much older, playing up the granny witch stereotype. She had been running one con or another since she was a teenager, when her grandmother had taught her to do cold readings. But his mom was right, she didn’t look well. In fact, she reminded him a little of the guy who had put a bullet in him not so long ago—sallow, sweaty face and tiny pupils. Sarah was either on something or really ill or both.
“You can scoff, Sheriff Moser,” Sarah said in her raspy old lady voice. “But your father told me who was stealing those innocent babies and—”
“Oh, wow, let me use my powers to ask Dad who that might be,” Jake said, putting his hand to his head. “I’m getting a vision. It’s a lollipop…a sucker. No, wait. It’s just one of Sister Sarah’s customers.”
“Jacob Moser!” his mom shrilled. “This is not some kind of joke.”
“No, mom, it isn’t. You let this piece of work drag Dad’s memory through her personal—” he pointed to his temple, “—garbage dump.”
Sarah shouldered her way forward to stand in front of him, hands on hips. He could see the powder she put on her face to highlight the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth. But he could also see that her skin was yellow beneath it.
And her hand, not nearly gnarled and misshapen enough to belong to the crone she pretended to be, shook as she pointed a finger at him.
“They’re planning something involving a baby. As soon as that Woodruff spawn is born—”
“You are not going to stand in my store and call Grace Woodruff’s baby ‘spawn,’” Jake said in a hard voice, taking a step toward Sarah. He could’ve sworn he heard her hiss. “I can’t believe you let this charlatan say these things,” he said to his mom, ignoring Sarah.
“I told you, Marilyn. He’s under their control,” Sarah said. “Annie knew that mountain like the back of her hand. There’s no way she got lost—”
“Out!” Jake drowned out the rest of Sarah’s drivel and took another step forward forcing her right out the door. Sarah and Annie had been thick as thieves for a long time. That was strange enough, since Old Annie was a bit of a recluse. Sarah had always insinuated that there was some conspiracy involved in Annie’s disappearance—something about a secret that they were hiding up on Woodruff Mountain.
Of course, Old Annie had been the one hiding secrets—a hidden lab her sons had used to produce meth, a secret those boys had tried to kill to protect.
He watched Sarah scurry back to her shop, looking over her shoulder as if waiting for his mom to follow. Business was slow in town. Almost everyone was down at the river exploring the festival grounds so the sidewalks were relatively quiet. He was thankful that no one had heard the exchange.
But if those two kept spreading this garbage about the Woodruffs getting rid of Old Annie, he was going to bring them both up on charges. At least neither his mom nor Sarah knew enough about social media to try and libel anyone online.
He turned back to his mom, still furious. “The only good thing I can find to say about this situation is at least you’re not drinking.”
The remark hit home. She turned away to follow Sarah. He should be past feeling guilty for telling the truth, but he didn’t want to push her away. He moved to stop her.
“I’m sorry. Look, would you like a cup of coffee, Mom? Rita just made fresh.”
She hesitated and he pulled the chair out from behind the counter to put it next to his stool. She stared at it a moment then walked over and sat down with a sigh.
Despite what he knew about co-dependency and all the emotional weapons his mom had at her disposal, he still wanted to talk to her, to see if he could reason with the mother he remembered—who was still in there, somewhere.
And he did know how she liked her coffee. He made both of them mugs and carried them back into the front of the store. Handing her one, he settled down on his stool and picked up the notes he had made about all the projects he needed to work on—an abundance of new business.
“Our performance went well today,” he said. “Got lots of orders.”
“So you’ll be quitting as sheriff then.” It wasn’t a question.
“Probably. I’ve been thinking about it for a while. The timing seems right,” he said. “I’ll likely never be rich doing this, but I’ll be happy.”
She laughed without humor. “You’d never be rich as sheriff neither.”
“Pardon?” he said, raising his eyebrows at her lapse into mountain speak.
“You are too good.”
“Too good… What do you mean, Mom?”
She pointed the mug at him. “I mean you aren’t willing to take all the payoffs and kickbacks and whatnot that come with the job.” She sipped at her coffee.
“What?”
She looked at him. “Are you trying to tell me they never approached you?”
“Well, no. I mean, yes.” He peered at her. “Shit, Mom, are you telling me Dad did?”
“No need to swear, Jacob.” She stared at her caramel-colored brew. “You think we were rich?” Her voice sounded different—more contemplative, less accusatory.
He had to stop and think about that. “No, not really.” He took a long sip. “But we weren’t poor either.”
“They approached him. And they never really stopped,” she said in a soft voice. “It was a constant thing. He got so depressed.”
“It can be discouraging,” he agreed, thinking of the sly innuendos and subtle offers. Then there were the less-friendly shoves that forced him to shove back. Greed and dishonesty were the default in government, big or small. But his father had never shown any signs that kind of thing was going on, never sharing that part of his experiences. Jake wished he had. He might have reconsidered running for the office.
Jake stared out at the oncoming dusk, a sudden suspicion icing through his veins. His dad had never really recovered from Becca’s death. Add the pressures of the job to his mother’s alcoholism and maybe his death hadn’t been the stupid accident that they always thought it was. Maybe he had walked into that bullet.
“You’re a lot like him, you know,” she said.
The thought made Jake shudder.
“Those people who kept asking me about you coming back to the job?”
He nodded.
“The Millers. You remember them?”
He had a flash of a little girl—big brown eyes, soaked to the skin—who he had found with her foot wedged between two rocks in Little Mine Creek in the pouring rain. “Kaitlyn.”
She nodded. “They aren’t too happy about you stepping down.”
“Hmmm.”
“And Marsha Wilhoit?”
Jake remembered the terrified woman with the bruised face, held against her drunken husband’s chest with the barrel of a pistol digging into her ear. He had talked the man down and talked Marsha into filing charges—eventually.
“Yeah.”
“She cornered me at church and made me promise to ‘talk to you about leaving’.” She put prim quotes in the air.
The thought of anyone “cornering” his mother made Jake chuckle. “Is Trip still…uh…”
His mom nodded. “Going to the meetings regular. And going to church…” She smiled. “Not so regular.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“That’s what kept Ron going. Those people.” She sipped her coffee. “I understand you wanting to get out, though.” Her voice was faint. “I know I’ve said otherwise, but I understand.”
“Thanks, Mom.” He heard the slightest sound from her and found her eyes watering.
“You’ve always been good.” Her voice shook. “You were always a good boy. That’s why I’ve always worried about you.”
He tensed, expecting something about the Woodruffs.
She took another sip of the coffee. “Because of what I can see.”
“Mom—”
She waved her hand. “This isn’t about the Woodruffs.”
That stopped him short.
“It’s about me,” she said. “Something that happened when you were a little boy.”
She took a longer sip of the coffee. Jake could tell she wished it was something stronger.
“I don’t really know exactly when it happened.” She looked at him and took another sip of coffee. “But I-I started seeing these flickers around people.”
Jake saw the vulnerable look on her face, the sheen of unshed tears. This wasn’t her usual delusions, this was something else.
“What do you mean by flickers?”
She took another gulp of coffee. “Lights. Like flames.”
“Around who, exactly?”
Just then they heard the refrain of Thea’s gorgeous “For The Woodsman” playing from his workroom, sounding a bit tinny. It was clearly a recording.
Jake jumped up. The workroom only had one door and it had been in his line of sight the whole time. He knew what sound he would hear next.
“Jake?” his mother asked as he dashed to the workroom.
The moment the notes of the song went off, he heard the wavering whimpers of another baby.