The rumble and roar of heavy equipment was the best sound Grayson had heard in weeks. Clipboard in hand, he roamed the construction site, checking off his list, noting safety elements, making calls, texts and plans.
Nothing spelled relief like getting things done, particularly when his brain was overloaded with thoughts of a certain vivacious, fun-loving, kissable brunette who had his head twisted all the way around.
Yesterday afternoon in the family parlor, things had gotten out of hand, out of control. Not that he was complaining. Kissing Valery well and often had officially found a place on his bucket list.
Crazy. Messed up. The control freak residing inside him didn’t know what to do with her. One thing for sure, he wasn’t leaving Honey Ridge until he figured it out.
At the rate the mill project was moving, he had plenty of time.
One thing he’d learned. Hanging out with Valery relaxed him. She made him laugh and think about other things besides work. Maybe he’d drive home to Nashville next Saturday and work on Pappy’s car. The garage was full of boxed car parts waiting for him. Maybe he’d invite Valery to tag along.
Someone called his name. He glanced up and waved toward the backhoe operator to let him know he was getting out of the way. It wouldn’t do to be so lost in thoughts of Valery that he got run down by one of his own employees.
Hands on hips, he surveyed the busy scene, relieved to find it so. The more work they did, the more tension eased from his shoulders.
Devlin was back. So was the old man and his dog.
Grayson watched in amused interest as Lem Tolly strode around the outside of the mill, an unlit cigarette butt dangling from his lips. Occasionally, he paused to look up and contemplate the work in progress, the weathered face as brown and wrinkled as tree bark. Oats trotted at his heels, diverting now and then to race with a yip into the woods or into the creek, reemerging with a shake of her fur.
Now that Mr. Bones had been removed to a more appropriate resting place, the other curiosity seekers came in spits and spurts. At least one of the good old boys from the café popped by every day for updates but no longer lingered to share pithy comments and unsolicited advice.
With construction back in force, visitors were not allowed inside the basement. Mr. B., the undertaker, in particular, was disappointed his mortuary had not been asked to handle reinterment of the skeletal remains. That did not, however, keep him from sharing his depressing quotations including the oft-said, “Life is short and full of sorrows.”
Fifty yards up trail from the mill, Devlin stood talking to a man and woman. The man was tall and dark and elegant, even in jeans and a pullover shirt. The woman was slim and pretty with short, dark hair tucked behind her ears. Hayden Winters and Carrie Riley. Even from here, he saw the tender looks they gave each other.
Tender, like his heart these days.
Grayson was glad to have his brother back in town, though Dev’s teasing about Valery had taken on new meaning.
Grayson was deeply attracted, maybe even falling in love with her, but he also liked to control his world, an impossibility with a free-spirited woman who might have a drinking problem.
Not that he could control his heart any more than he could control Valery Carter.
She hadn’t asked for return of the pink tote bag, and in the days since, she’d flirted and laughed with not a whiff of alcohol about her person. She almost convinced him she was happy.
He knew better.
The big question was why.
His text beeped. Glad for the distraction, he read the message and shot back a reply, then walked up the trail to his brother.
Devlin made the introductions. “Grayson, Hayden Winters and his fiancée, Carrie Riley. Carrie’s the local librarian and Hayden is—”
“—the novelist.” Grayson shook the man’s hand, finding it surprisingly strong for a writer. “We’ve met.”
“Hayden’s interested in the skeleton you found.”
“For one of your thrillers?”
Winters lifted a shoulder. “I never know where I’ll find an idea. A skeleton seems a pretty good place to start. Who was he? Why was he killed? Did someone get away with murder?”
“All questions we can’t answer.”
“That’s where imagination kicks in.”
“And yours is vivid. I’ve read your thrillers. I also read your book about the people of Peach Orchard Farm. Valery gave me a copy. Fascinating.”
“Thank you.”
“Historical fiction is a real departure from your thrillers.”
“That’s why he used his father’s name,” Carrie said. “That, and to honor his dad. He had a great dad.”
The pair exchanged knowing glances, and Grayson figured there was more to that story. “Reading your book gave me ideas for the restaurant. Your descriptions were astute and accurate.”
“Intentionally so. I wanted to do Josie and Thad and the Portland family justice since they owned the mill and the house. Facts we learned from the letters Julia found and from old documents, census, church and courthouse records.” Hayden took Carrie’s small hand in his. “And my fiancée’s meticulous librarian skills.”
She beamed up at him, her heart in her dark brown eyes. Love. Such a beautiful thing with the right person.
“I’m especially interested in Josie’s sister, Patience. Did you learn anything about her in your research?”
“She wasn’t my focus, so, no. Only the few things you read in the book. Why?”
“She left behind a number of piano compositions.”
“Which,” Devlin interjected, “my brother is endeavoring to play and decode.”
A frown appeared between Hayden’s green eyes. “Decode?”
“A hunch I have that the notes are saying something in code. Like a cryptogram. Valery thinks Patience had a forbidden lover and sent secret messages to him through her love songs.”
“Completely possible, given the times,” Hayden said. “Society wasn’t forgiving if a woman chose the wrong sort of fellow. But Patience also lived during the Civil War. Lots of espionage going on there, though someone like Patience, given what we know about her, is an unlikely spy.”
“A spy? I hadn’t considered that angle. Maybe you could give me some pointers on the best means of researching.”
Devlin groaned. “Grayson, what difference does it make? It’s old sheet music that has nothing to do with the restaurant.” To Hayden and Carrie, he said, “My brother’s like a dog with a bone when his curiosity is roused.”
“Same here,” Hayden said with a slight smile. “Give me a call anytime. I’ll share what I have.”
“Or stop by the library. I’m there most of the time.” Carrie’s smile was bright as the sun. “Except when I’m out with my sisters shopping for the wedding.”
“When’s the big day?” The grin Devlin shot toward Grayson was speculative enough to make him roll his eyes.
“Not soon enough,” Hayden said.
Carrie laughed and held out her left hand. A diamond sparkled in a circle of blue sapphires. “June 17, but we’re tempted to elope now and forget all the fuss.”
“I’m all for it.” Hayden hooked an elbow around her neck and gave a playful tug. “But your parents would never forgive me.”
“Plus, we promised Brody he could be a groomsman.” To Grayson she said, “Brody is a young boy we know. He and Hayden have a...connection, I guess you’d say.”
“Big wedding, then?”
“It gets bigger every day. If my sister has anything to do with it, she’ll invite the whole town.”
Devlin scratched at the side of his neck. “All this talk of weddings is making me itch.”
Hayden grinned. “Just wait. Your time will come. The right woman will come along, steal your heart right out of your chest, and you’ll happily agree to a wear a monkey suit or anything else she wants.”
Devlin looked anything but convinced. “I wish you all the best with that, Hayden, my man, but I gotta get back to work before I suffer an asthma attack.”
Grayson laughed with the others, but as his carefree brother strode away, he wondered if wearing a monkey suit for a beautiful woman was anywhere in his future.
* * *
Valery followed the music down the hall, peach tea glasses in each hand.
She’d heard the melody before, Patience’s song, but this time the sound wasn’t in her head. She and Julia had given Grayson carte blanche to use the piano anytime he wanted to. Like her, the music seemed to draw him in. Compel him. And he spent every free moment, as scarce as they were, trying to unravel what he saw as a mystery. She was beginning to wonder if they were both wrong, but after last Sunday afternoon, she couldn’t stay away if she wanted to. Her desire to be in the family parlor had nothing to do with music or cryptograms.
That was her big problem. If a man interested her, she pursued and got a little wild. Grayson interested her more than anyone ever had. Even when they were awkward teens, she’d found his intellect and dignified reserve mesmerizing. Now, he seemed to return the interest.
Determined, though, to keep herself under control, Valery stepped inside the Victorian room as the handsome piano man paused to make notations above the copied music.
“I brought peach tea.” She lofted both glasses.
He glanced up, smiled, and her stomach fluttered. He dazzled with that crinkled corner smile, though she suspected he had no idea how attractive he was.
“Sounds refreshing. Thanks.” He took a grateful sip, ahhed appropriately and returned the glass.
She sipped, too, enjoyed the cool, fruity sweetness before setting the two glasses on a side table. “What are you doing?”
“Exchanging notes for letters.” He tapped the sheet. “An idea came to me.”
“Still trying to figure out if Patience hid messages in her music?”
Grayson nodded. “I’m positive she did, and since each note is named by a letter of the alphabet from A to G, I’m trying to determine if the notes spell out words.”
“What about the rest of the letters?” She moved to stand next to him, peering at the notations. “Wouldn’t it be hard to write a message without the entire alphabet?”
“That’s my problem. I don’t know.” He leaned back and pinched his bottom lip.
“Does using A to G spell anything?”
He blew out a sigh. “Not yet.”
“Maybe we’re wrong.” She slid onto the bench next to him, glad for an excuse to sit close to this man who had her wishing for the impossible. “Maybe it’s only pretty music with no secrets.”
“No. There’s definitely something here. Call me crazy, but I feel it.”
He was the least crazy person she knew. Logical, sensible. A regular Mr. Spock except for the emotion in his fingers...and his lips.
She glanced at his mouth and then back to the music. Keep it under control, Valery.
“So do I,” she said. “Patience’s music is...magical, touching.”
“Sometimes sad and melancholy. Sometimes happy and innocent.” He trilled a few bars, and the music lilted through the room as fresh and sweet as the scent of peaches.
“Pain and relief.” She understood more than she could reveal.
“I wonder what pain she needed relief from?”
“Maybe the music will tell us.”
“And maybe we’ll never know.”
“Doubter.” She tapped the back of his long, lean, magical hand with the tips of her fingers. “If there’s a code, that brain of yours will discover it.”
“Your confidence inspires me.”
She laughed. “Inspire me with the music. Maybe I’ll hear something you’ve missed.” As if that would happen.
He played, and as always, she was inspired, though she couldn’t pinpoint the reasons.
Valery began to hum the melody he’d played over and over in his search for answers.
She rose from the bench to move around the family room, swaying softly as she hummed. Music and movement went together. She couldn’t hear music and remain still.
There lay release and relief. Perhaps Patience had secret heartaches, painful truths she dared not share, and music was her method of coping.
The way dancing had once been Valery’s.
But she’d given it up, put it away, ostracized the cause of her greatest regret.
The music stopped.
She twirled toward Grayson. “Play. Please. Don’t stop.”
If he thought her request odd, she didn’t care.
The music commenced, a whispering brook rising to rapids, tumbling through the room, through her.
Valery went to the window and looked out toward the cemetery and the baby graves. She closed her eyes, blocking them out, but the soaring, aching music brought the pain to the surface. A boil to be excised.
No. Not a boil. A beautiful rose nipped too soon by the frost of a selfish heart.
Valery’s shoulders and arms began to feel the melody, and she allowed them movement.
Behind her eyelids the vision rose up, a genie in a bottle. The one she kept tightly capped. The beautiful rose she’d thrown away. The tiny pink bud of humanity. Her baby. Her child. Her daughter.
Music swelled in her ears and through her body. Her chest filled with such heartache she could hardly breathe. Still, she swayed and moved and pictured herself dancing for her baby girl, dancing away the past and the pain and the demons that chased her. Dancing away the need to be numb.
She didn’t want to be numb anymore. Not with Grayson. She wanted to feel the emotions rolling inside her, yearning toward a man who was too perfect, too controlled and far too smart for such a woman as her.
The longing to dance again, to become immersed in the art, to feel free and joyous and worthy of love became a soul-deep throb.
* * *
Grayson glanced up from the piano and saw Valery standing next to the window, swaying as if in a beautiful dream.
His fingers faltered.
Every time he played, he saw how the music affected her. Eyes closed, full red lips parted, her lithe, graceful body swayed, practically begging to break loose and really dance.
He couldn’t understand why she denied herself something she clearly loved. But the subject of dance, he’d discovered, was taboo. Each time he brought it up, she scurried away.
Today he didn’t want her to be anywhere but here with him.
Devlin was right. He was getting in over his head.