Lure of Song and Magic (11 page)

Chapter 16

Oz kicked himself thrice over for the stupid crack about the cliff. But Pippa had been so enticing, sitting there in a pool of yellow sheets and sunlight, her luscious lips pouting because he didn't leap to do her bidding, that he hadn't been thinking straight. She must have led some freaking weird life to think men preferred that sex kitten act to the passionate woman she concealed.

But he wanted back in her bed again, so he had to make amends. She was obviously not experienced, but that meant she responded eagerly to everything he did, which could dangerously inflate his already brawny ego. But she was smart. And athletic as all hell. She'd catch on quickly, and he would have a hard time keeping up. He really enjoyed that idea. A woman who challenged him in bed was worth working to keep around for a while.

She certainly hadn't bored him yet.

So he rummaged in her freezer and found frozen muffins. He wondered if there was room in her tiny kitchen for a coffeemaker. He was dying for caffeine. But he poured juice while warming the muffins. He cut up fruit in a dish and doused it with yogurt. And he carried the lot into the bedroom on a silver platter he found in one of her cabinets.

She was wrapped in the fluffy white robe she'd loaned to him earlier in the week, drying her hair, when he entered. Oz took her look of surprise as reward for his efforts.

“Nick Townsend and I go way back,” he said, setting the tray on the bed. “I'm godfather to his eldest. I can't miss the kid's birthday. And I promised to fill Nick in on what we're planning up here. His wife isn't too happy about him working away from home all week and commuting a couple of hours a day, so I have to pacify her too.”

Recognizing the rising look of panic in her eyes, Oz stepped back, giving her space. Where had last night's tigress gone? “If people are going to recognize you, you might as well start with friends. It's a controlled environment. Just Nick and Mary and a few kids. You're used to kids, so they shouldn't be a problem.”

She sipped the juice and glared at him through slitted eyes. He couldn't predict if she'd kick him in the balls, fling the juice at him, or try to seduce him again. And here he'd thought she was a passionless stick. So much for his boast that he understood people.

“People don't recognize angelic Syrene in my natural dorkiness,” she finally said. “People see what they want to see, so I've established my author image here, and they don't look beyond it. But if I walk into your friend's house on your arm, they're going to expect to see some glamorous bimbo, so they'll be suspicious and look deeper.”

Oz grinned. “I never take women to Nick's. Mary hates my dates. She'll like you, and that's all that matters. You can handle her and the kids for an hour or so. Then we'll go stand over Conan while he empties your computer innards. You can make certain he doesn't open any dangerous files.”

That caught her attention. She sipped her juice and thought about it. “You really think there's something in my computer that might lead you to your son's kidnapper? It sounds pretty far-fetched.”

“I don't know anything. I just take one minute, one minuscule piece of the puzzle at a time and try not to hope too hard,” he admitted. “Shall I disconnect your computer and carry it out to my truck?”

“The one in the house is my business computer, not the one with the music in it. We have to go to the studio for that.” She set the glass down, opened her closet, and pulled out several of her colorful overalls.

So she'd really meant it when she said she kept the computer behind locked doors, Oz realized. Breaking into her studio would be serious business. It was less and less likely that someone had copied files from her home.

He crossed the room, leaned over, and removed a filmy hot pink and orange sundress from a hanger. “Wear this, and you won't have to paint your face. You don't need to be a clown to entertain kids. And there's no point in hiding if you'll be working with Nick for weeks.”

She shot him a look that should have killed and flounced off to the bathroom, slamming the door after her.

Well, that had gone well, hadn't it?

Any time she wasn't trying to rip off his balls was good, Oz decided.

***

Wearing the bright sundress, a floppy-brimmed straw hat, and sunglasses, Pippa ventured off her mountain for the first time in years. She told herself it was to protect the computer stored behind the truck's seat and to prevent anyone from harm if they got curious enough to listen to her dangerous emotional outpourings.

She suspected it also had a lot to do with wanting Oz in her bed again that night. One night was not enough to make up for the years of loneliness. She'd forgotten how marvelous it was to share space with another human being.

He hadn't run away or done any of the things she'd expected. Maybe she was losing her aberrant talent. Maybe he was impervious. She didn't dare hope for either; it was too dangerous. But she desperately wanted to learn more, and as impossible and annoying as it seemed, Oz was apparently the man who could help her.

He'd not been surprised by her studio, the bastard. He'd gone snooping and knew it was there. But he'd wisely kept his mouth shut as she'd removed her computer from the safe and allowed him to haul it out to his truck.

The prospect of actually being involved in his TV project loomed on her radar like a towering mountain that she didn't have the power to soar above. A crash was inevitable.

Well, she'd gone down in flames before and, like the phoenix, survived. What didn't kill her made her stronger? She tried to think of more platitudes, but Oz was too distracting.

After they'd removed the computer, Oz had gone back to the B&B and changed into loose linen trousers and a Hawaiian shirt, one almost as loud as her dress. Driving the big truck down the mountain with one hand draped over the wheel, his overlong hair blowing from the open window, he looked as if all he needed was a surfboard in the truck bed.

He glanced at her warily. She knew she was sitting stiff as the surfboard he didn't have, with her hands clasped in her lap as if fearful the truck would fly off the side of the road. The highway did have some spectacular curves and drop-offs, but his driving wasn't her fear.

“There are CDs in the console,” he suggested. “I promise not to jump your bones if you sing along. Or I'll wait for a good place to pull off first.”

She wanted to smack him for laughing at her fears. Just feeling angry could get them killed if she opened her mouth and said something. She took a deep breath, crossed her legs on the seat, and rested her hands palms upward on her knees. She needed to find her center and calm the Beast.

He slid an Anonymous Four disc into the player, and the haunting sopranos soared from the speaker.

She definitely needed to smack him, the irritating, nonbelieving man. But the lilting voices filled the cab and sucked her up until the music filled her, and she became the music.

Glorious, glorious sound, lifting her higher, spinning her around. How she'd missed the music!

Inside her zone, she hummed through “Wayfaring Stranger” and “In the Sweet Bye and Bye.” When the CD came around to “Amazing Grace,” she lost her control. It was one of her favorite songs, and she couldn't keep the words from her tongue, softly at first.

She sounded rusty even to herself, so she tried to blend with the voices, disguising her own to fit in. These were the songs she'd first learned, the ones she'd sang in church choir, before she'd been
discovered
. Childhood songs, without the painful memories of later.

She was weeping so hard before the song ended that she couldn't see the road. Oz was destroying
her
, not the other way around. These few blissful hours of freedom had set her soul gliding too close to the sun. How would she ever confine her real self again, after he left? She ought to jump out of the truck and run home and lock the doors and never speak to him again.

“Shit!” Oz shouted, startling her out of her morass of despair.

Terrified her singing had caused still another trauma, Pippa grabbed the door handle. Forcing the sobs back down her throat, she waited for the moment she'd have to fling herself out the door. She sent him a frantic glance.

Jaw tight, Oz stomped on the brake and competently swung the truck into a wide space on the narrow shoulder. The rear of the truck fishtailed, but he held the big machine to the gravel without sliding into the ditch nearby. He wasn't even looking at her.

Blinded by tears and fear, Pippa didn't know whether to fall out of the truck and run or stay and fight whatever had set Oz off. Without waiting to explain, he flung open his door and hit the road running. Robbie had almost driven her off a cliff. Had she driven this man to flinging himself off the mountain?

Finally realizing Oz was running down the road, she blinked the moisture from her eyes, still afraid she'd hurt him. No longer blinded by fear, she looked out the windshield and finally recognized what he'd seen—an abandoned car, a man and woman farther down the road. The man was viciously dragging and beating at the furious woman while she screamed and fought.

Their car had apparently gone off the road—while arguing? The old Ford Escort teetered ominously on the steep embankment in a narrow stretch of the road farther down the mountain. Alarmed, Pippa watched a crying toddler climb from the precariously tilted car. Without another thought, she jumped out of the truck and raced in Oz's wake.

He was far ahead of her, his long legs carrying him directly to the grappling couple on the far side of the car. None of them were aware of the baby behind them. Pippa cried out a warning, but she was too far away, they were too angry, and the wind through the canyon drowned her out. She winced as Oz seized the man's shoulder, spun him around, and plowed a fist into his jaw. Assault and battery would look good on his record. Not. But she had to admire a man willing to step from his own comfortable world to take charge of a bad situation.

She couldn't possibly catch the attention of the adults. But she had to stop the little boy.

She threw her Voice as she had learned to do in church, singing whatever silly song came into her head to catch the child's attention. Children had sharp hearing. The mop-haired toddler looked up in interest. He'd heard her!

Loosened by her singing in the cab, her Voice rang out clearly. To her ears, it echoed off the canyon walls, but the adults still didn't notice. The wife beater had turned his rage away from his victim, intent on flinging Oz out of his way first. He was larger than Oz but slower. Oz's fast fists didn't allow the bully to get close. Pippa was terrified they'd both go over the side, along with the car.

She slowed her song to a lullaby, singing sweetly now that she was closer, teasing the child with smiles as she'd learned to do in the day care, doing her best to look nonthreatening. Clad in a too-small T-shirt and a dirty diaper, he took a step toward her.

The shouts and blows of the men and his mother's terrified weeping distracted him into turning away.

Pippa forced the panic inside the strongbox she'd forged over the years. Panic would only exacerbate the anger and pain of the situation. Instead, she separated the panic from the music in her head, letting the song come out of its own accord, as it once had, before she'd discovered the danger. But this was for good. It was just a song…

“Sing, sing a song,” she called, aiming for an audience of one. Her fright eased as the toddler swung back to her again. She added a teasing lilt, and he began clapping his hands. She made up lyrics to encourage him to continue clapping.

By the time she reached him, he willingly climbed into her arms and hugged her neck, and she could breathe again.

Only then did she realize that the boy's mother had also heard her song. Looking dazed, she abandoned the brawling men and walked back to meet Pippa, slowly clapping as well. Pippa switched from her made-up ditty to “Puff, the Magic Dragon,” and the woman nodded and began to sing with her. The boy laughed and thumped Pippa's shoulders in delight.

She glanced up to see how Oz was faring, wondering if there was any way on earth she could stop the fight. She'd never been successful in stopping the riots she'd caused before she quit the business.

Her Voice should reach them now that she was closer. She raised it higher, staying with the light-hearted song.

The bully hesitated, looking around and shaking his head as if to clear it. Unfazed by her Voice, Oz felled him with a powerful blow to the jaw.

The man didn't get up again.

***

Leaving the puking drunk beside the road where he belonged, Oz jogged past the beat-up Escort. Pippa's voice soared through the air with the ethereal power of angelic choirs and birdcalls at dawn. He'd known she was talented.

But observing what she'd just done, he was ready to believe she was enchanted.

She'd frozen a drunk in place. Oz hadn't made a lucky blow. The dolt had heard her, stopped fighting, and been diverted by a damned child's song. And now she had a bruised and weeping woman and a frightened toddler clapping and smiling and singing beside the road like puppets whose strings she pulled.

Siren magic.

Pippa raised her eyebrows questioningly as he approached but seemed to think it necessary to keep up the entertainment. He nodded, kissed her soft, golden-red hair, and murmured, “I'll pull their car back to the road. Take them away from the edge.”

Like the Pied Piper, Pippa sang and clapped and led her audience of two across the narrow mountain road to a grassy area where oncoming traffic wouldn't endanger them. By the time Oz had chains on the Escort, she had them sitting in a circle, clapping hands with one another in a three-way game of patty-cake.

He had to be imagining this. He'd seen the man hit his wife so hard, she shouldn't have a tooth left in her head. But here she was, laughing with the joy of a child—because of Pippa.