The Pretty Lady and the Cowboy (Songs from the Heart) (9 page)

“But my sister and I were lucky kids. Jack McCrory was our daddy, plain and simple. He adopted us and loved us like we were his own. He was the one who taught me to play the guitar. And my Mama is the light of his life. The way he treats her taught me everything I need to know about love.”

Unlike most of the guys I’ve met, he was able to use the word “love” as part of a regular conversation. He wasn’t self-conscious about it at all. Other men I’d dated usually used the word as a way to get what they wanted, either in the heat of passion or the heat of an argument. Levi was melting my heart.

But there was a little voice in the back of my head that was asking how many other hearts he had melted after how many other concerts in how many other towns. I did my best not to listen to that voice.

The restaurant Levi had chosen was in a little cove on the outskirts of a tiny costal town. It was small and intimate and French. It was about the least likely place I could imagine where you might find country music fans, and that was probably why he had chosen it. The clientele looked expensively dressed, sedate. This was about as far from a casino crowd as you could get.

In one corner, a small quartet—piano, sax, drum, and bass—played jazz. The music was soft, though, so that people were free to converse quietly. I hadn’t talked with Levi about music, except to tell him how much I had enjoyed his own concert. And yet here I was, softly surrounded by the kind of music I enjoyed most. It was magical.

A waiter in an immaculate tuxedo seated us, then, with a flourish, shook out our napkins and placed them on our laps for us. We studied the menu, which was in French. Levi asked about my preferences and I told him I loved fish of all sorts, generally avoided meat, and would eat any vegetable that was served. I spent my junior year of college in France and am fairly fluent in the language myself, so I was impressed when he ordered for both of us in flawless French—with a slight Texas twang. He ordered a sparking cranberry juice for himself, saying that alcohol dehydrated him so much that he generally avoided it when he was on tour. That sounded good to me, too, since I very rarely drank wine.

And it was all so exquisite. The presentation was beautiful, the flavors subtle and delicate. He was an attentive and thoughtful host, making sure I was happy with everything, making sure my glass was filled… though I have to confess my mind really wasn’t on the food.

Somehow our conversation managed to completely bypass the safe questions that men and women on a first date usually ask each other. Our questions went straight to the heart, and our answers came from the heart. We talked about things I’d never discussed with a man before, like the difference between love and just sex, the mystery of attraction.

I was very curious about what it was like giving the same concert night after night. “How do you keep the magic alive for each and every performance? Because listening to you that night
was
magical. Every girl in the audience felt that you were in love with her.”

“
Every
one?” he asked, with a bit of a twinkle in his eye.

I kept my answer light. “Well, all the ones around me that I could see, anyway.”

“Let me ask you this: how do
you
do the same thing over and over again—sell running shoes day in and day out?”

I thought for a second and then said, “That’s what I love about owning the store. Finding just the right shoe for each person is like a personal challenge. It’s never the same twice even with the same runner. And I feel like I’m giving each person the gift of a healthy lifestyle.”

“Well, JK, oddly enough that’s not too different from what I do. I really never do give the same concert twice. Sure the songs are the same, but the way I sing them changes every night. It’s kind of a duet with me doing one part and the audience the other. Each audience is different, so each concert is different. And it’s kinda like that Elton John tune, ‘my gift is my song and this one’s for you.’ If you come back again later in the week, you’ll see what I mean. Name a date and I’ll send tickets over to you.”

“How about Saturday?” I said immediately. He wanted to see me again after tonight!

“Done,” he said. “I don’t usually talk about songs I’m writing,” he continued, “but I’m feeling like I can trust you. I’ve been working on one called ‘When It’s Right, You Just Know It.’” He looked deep into my eyes across the table.

I tried to keep my response light once again. “Well, I hereby solemnly promise that I won’t leak that information.”

I was feeling that things were
so
right with this man. But I had only known him for a couple of days and even thinking anything remotely like that felt dangerous. I had told my ex-boyfriend Patrick that I loved him, and his response had been that I made him feel trapped. Once burned, twice scared to death. So I just smiled at Levi.

Levi shared with me how hard it was to be on the road so much and unable to see his mom and dad as much as he would like. He told me he worried about his sister Lanie’s two daughters, growing up in that same small Texas town.

“Lanie and her husband both work, but the family is struggling. The economy is still pretty depressed there,” he said. “They won’t take money from me, though—too proud. The most I’ve been able to do is put together a college fund for my nieces.”

I was reluctant to tell him about my money worries at the store. I guess in my head was some sort of crazy rule that women shouldn’t discuss money issues. But I confided in him about my own troubles “parenting” Ally and my worries about her growing use of alcohol.

“I don’t know how to get through to her. I’m only six years older than she is, and she’s making me feel like her grandmother or something. But I know I can do it. I know I can get her back on track.”

He seemed to grow a bit quiet. “Alcohol can be a hard drug to conquer,” was all he said.

We talked more than we ate, both passed on dessert, and both ordered espresso. As we sipped our coffee, I turned slightly in my chair, crossing my legs. I wasn’t consciously listening to the band, but my dangling foot kept time to the tune they were playing. Levi smiled, reached across the table, and took my hand. “Let’s dance,” he said. I stood and then slid easily into his arms.

Levi was a dream to dance with and he held me so close I could feel his dance moves with my whole body. Even when the song ended, we kept holding each other and dancing to the music still playing in our heads. I’m not much of a believer in fairy tales, but this was a Cinderella moment for me. I had been chosen by the prince at the royal ball, I could stay in his arms forever, and there was no witching hour when the magic would come undone.

I don’t know how many songs we danced to. Time stopped as we moved together on the small dance floor.
Dancing with the Stars
, eat your heart out. I was dancing with a star of my own. I was in heaven.

It took a couple of quiet coughs from the maitre d’ before we realized that all the tables were empty and we were the last couple in the restaurant. In a sort of trance, I picked up my purse from the table and then visited the ladies’ room to freshen my lip gloss. Levi settled our bill and as I returned, I saw him slip something into the hand of the band leader—a thank you, I guessed, for letting us continue dancing well past closing time. Then he called his driver on his cell phone and the limo pulled up as we walked out the door.

“Tell me your address and I’ll have Jim drive us there,” Levi said. He shot me an amused look. “Unless you were planning to run back home from the store tonight.”

“I think I’ve done enough running for one day,” I said. He relayed my address to Jim, and I guess Jim must have keyed it into a GPS, because after that, Levi switched off the intercom. He slid over close and put an arm around me. I could feel the warmth of his hand on my bare shoulder. We sank back together into the buttery soft leather of the seats. Through the darkened glass, I could see an autumn moon huge on the horizon. Part of me was thinking, “Wow, I could get used to this” and the other part was thinking, “Girl, don’t even
think
about getting used to this.”

And then I stopped thinking as Levi’s lips met mine.

I was conscious of nothing but his arms around me, his kisses on my lips, my cheeks, my hair. We were suspended in some wonderful alternate universe. When the limo suddenly stopped and I found that we were outside my apartment, I could hardly believe it.

I couldn’t help thinking: What will happen next? Where would the passion of our kisses lead us tonight? As Levi got out to open the car door for me, I shivered in anticipation of what might lie ahead. He took my hand and walked me slowly to the porch. I was hoping I’d have the nerve to ask him up to my apartment for… a cup of coffee… or something.

“Thank you for a beautiful evening,” I said. I handed him my keys, hoping that the passion we had shared on the ride back would somehow just float us up the stairs together without my having to say anything.

He took the keys from me and opened the door. Then he gave me a very chaste kiss on the cheek.

“Goodnight, Kitty,” he said. “Let’s do this again sometime soon?” He made it a question, but there was no question in my mind.

“I would love to,” I said formally. He held my hand a few beats more, walked back down the stairs, then turned and tipped an imaginary hat as he got back into the limo.

I was alone. Suddenly I could feel the chill of the night air. I waved as the limo pulled away, and then turned to go up to my apartment, wondering if I had done something wrong, wondering if his “let’s do this again” comment was sincere or just an easy exit line. Why, I wondered, was I climbing the stairs by myself?

On Mondays I usually catch up on billing and ordering and whatever else needs tending to at The Finish Line. It’s the one day of the week that the store is closed, so without customers to keep me busy, I can focus on the mechanics of making the store run. This morning, though, I could hardly persuade myself to get out of bed.

Had something gone wrong last night? Had I said something I shouldn’t have said? Had I 
not
said something I 
should
have? I tortured myself with “what ifs.” What if I had just asked him to come upstairs with me? And then what if he had come? Would he still be here now?

Well, time to get over it. He wasn’t here. I sighed, forcing myself to turn back the covers, sit myself upright, and put my feet on the floor. I looked at Jess’s Marc Bouwer sheath crumpled on the floor next to the bed and at my princess shoes, kicked under my bedside table. Maybe there was something to be learned from that dress and those shoes, something about glitz and glamour that can’t last.

I got up and looked at myself in the mirror. “All right, Katharine Addison,” I said to my rumpled image. “Get a grip. You had a gorgeous evening with a gorgeous guy. You know this is just one stop on his tour. You had to know this wouldn’t be a forever proposition. You had a great time, but this isn’t a fairy tale.”

It was easy to say that to myself, but not so easy to make myself believe it. What about the intimate look in his eyes when he told me about his song, “When It’s Right, You Just Know It”? What about the tender way he held me while we danced? What about… I had to stop myself or I’d be spinning my wheels this way all day.

I showered and dressed in my usual jeans and tee-shirt and made myself a protein shake. I had to get over to the store. There was a fun run I was sponsoring next month, and I needed to get busy making a poster for it. Plus I had to finish doing the quarterly sales report for my accountant. Plus I had to check on my reserves of socks and innersoles.

Plus, and this was probably the most important of all, I had to keep my mind off Levi. I really didn’t want to think about the way he looked when he smiled. I was determined not to replay the way his lips felt against mine.

Ahem. Enough. I grabbed the keys to Old Ray and went out the door and down the stairs. Of course, in the ornery way that older cars have, it started right up for me today. I drove it without any problem to Norm, my car guru, who has a shop just at the end of the main street in town. He said he thought it sounded like Ray needed a new starter but would check it out.

“Whatever the problem is, Norm, please try to keep it cheap,” I said.

He agreed to do his best and I knew he would. He was a good guy and honest, and he seemed to sense that the car had sentimental worth to me way beyond its Blue Book value.

“I’ll call you when I know what’s going on,” he said.

I walked the few blocks from there to The Finish Line. It felt good to be there by myself. I was in charge. It made me proud to think that the store been operating in the black for several months now. All I needed to do was figure out how to increase those revenues enough to deal with the new lease terms the landlord was demanding. I would do it. I had to. I didn’t have a father to lean on anymore, so I just had to dig in and get things done myself.

Back in my office, I got busy roughing out the poster and less than an hour later I had the general idea down on paper. I would give that to a local graphics student who could produce the artwork. Since she was an undergraduate, she charged very little and was happy to add to her college portfolio some actual work she had done for an actual business.

I moved to the front of the store to start work on the third quarter sales report. The sales figures were in the Quicken program on the main computer, so all I had to do was get total sales, net sales, state tax, and expenses printed out. I was amazed at how many skills I had had to acquire when I became the owner of a small business, and I was pretty darn proud of those skills, too. This report took all my concentration since I wasn’t a natural at math and since the state and federal government generally took a dim view of mathematical errors. The bottom line for the quarter was really good. But somehow I needed to make it even better.

When I paused for a second, I caught myself humming one of Levi’s songs. Questions kept whirling around inside my head. Was I just another star-struck fan? Was I crazy to think that something magical had been happening between us?