Saving Grace (Madison Falls) (6 page)

Cringing at the reverberation of overacting that wafted out to the lobby, Grace traversed the room with care. Would this be too painful? She opened a weighty door and slipped through, thankful to the darkness for concealing the reflexive roll her eyes did at the sight of the amateurish living room set on the tiny stage.

Taking a careful look at an auditorium no bigger than the women’s chorus dressing room back home, Grace flipped down one of the padded wood seats and admired the intricate ornamentation of its iron armrests. The threadbare cushion failed to inspire much confidence, but she sat anyway. Its base eased down slightly as she sat, as if deciding whether it would support her weight. How long had these seats been here—since the patrons silenced their six-shooters instead of their cell phones?

A row of women of various ages stood on a stage so small it would have been more at home in a children’s playhouse. A hawk-faced young woman with a sumptuous brunette mane moved to center stage and flashed a self-assured smile straight out of a toothpaste ad. Grace pulled herself up in her seat, anxious to hear what was about to transpire.

The woman nodded toward an upright Baldwin piano which stood where an orchestra pit would be had there been room. The instrument appeared to be about the same vintage as the grey-haired woman who began happily plunking at its keys. Grace cringed. Had it occurred to anybody that the ability to read music might be a necessary requirement for an accompanist?

The brunette gazed out over Grace’s head, clearly oblivious to her presence, and filled her chest with a supportive breath. Grace held hers for a moment, in pained anticipation.

“
Poor wand’ring one
…”

Grace clamped her eyes shut as a discordant note reverberated off the room’s aged wooden beams. This was just too painful to endure. Why on earth had Nancy put a musical in their season with no apparent musical talent to pull it off?

“Fine, Sophia.” A man rose from the director’s table at the center of the audience.

Grace perked up. It was Mr. Lexus himself. What was his name…Devon?

He made his way out of the row of seats and down the aisle. “I’d like you to take it again.” He stood at the foot of the stage, looking directly up at the brunette. “Remember, nice and bright, just like we worked on.”

Grace grimaced. He had coached this girl before the audition? Weren’t the other candidates irked by that?

Actress Sophia flashed him a Scarlet O’Hara smile and sang again, just as before but a little louder. Grace resisted a scream. Gilbert and Sullivan would no doubt have denied any rumor of their participation in this.

Devon paced the short distance at the foot of the stage, his ear craned toward Sophia till she hit the final note. “Much better.” He stopped, waving an approving arm.

Grace shook her head. Was he tone deaf?

He turned to retake his seat. Halfway up the aisle he stopped, his steel-blue eyes locking onto hers. She shrank back, her stomach suddenly aflutter. A smile played on his lips causing a dimple to materialize on his square chin. Grace smiled slightly. If Devon had been a movie star in the 1940’s, Cary Grant would have been nervous.

“Oh,
Devon
.”

The willowy actress called out from the stage, with a hand on her hip and a glint in her eye.

Lithely, Devon turned first his head, then his body. “Yes?”

Grace kept her eye on him, entranced by his indisputable manly magnetism.

Sophia gave him a look that dripped syrup. “Did my phrasing play, or should I go back to my original interpretation?”

He flicked a hand toward her. “I liked the old way, Sophia. Your instinct is brilliant.”

She radiated her pleasure at that verdict as she glanced at the row of ladies behind her.

Grace clucked her tongue.
Yes Sophia, they all heard him.

Devon returned to his seat, calling out over his shoulder as he did so. “Ruby. You’re up next.”

Sophia frowned slightly, taking a step back to allow a stout young woman in a John Deere cap to take center stage. Visibly shaking, Ruby clasped her hands at the level of the bib pocket of her well-worn overalls. Grace fought the impulse to raise her hands to her ears.

“Go ahead, Myra.” Taking his seat, Devon looked at the accompanist, who gave him a grandmotherly nod of consent and began playing.

Ruby looked uncertain and jumped in a beat ahead of Myra, who made no effort to catch up. Grace sat forward, leaning on the seat in front of her. This girl was actually pretty good. She did her best to stay on pitch, and was mostly successful, no thanks to poor Myra, whose playing only fell further from the mark as the piece progressed. The dear woman didn’t seem to realize it, judging from the smile which was a constant companion to her sour notes.

Ruby reached the end of the song, albeit a half step shy of Mr. Sullivan’s intended destination. Sophia emitted an audible jeer and Ruby’s pleased expression melted like wax. Grace wanted to hiss.
The little diva
.

With a jolt, Grace glanced at her watch. Casting one last look at the back of Devon’s handsome head, she stood and eased out of the theatre.

Anxious to return to her bland white sanctuary before dark, she stepped out into the early evening, taking a careful look up and down the street.

She’d seen enough to gauge the artistic level in this town, but all wasn’t lost. At least it was a job. A job where she could hopefully blend in and avoid being asked any personal questions.

Chapter 9

Grace took a peek out the kitchen window at the vibrant blue backdrop. No wonder they called this place ‘Big Sky Country.’ She lifted her mug of Nescafé, breathing in the promise of a new day as she enjoyed her morning swig of instant caffeinated bliss.

This had been her first morning since coming here that she hadn’t been roused by a nightmare. Instead, she’d awoken with a pleasing sense of purpose, and a Gilbert and Sullivan tune in her head.

Now, leaning on the counter, she peered through the pane. She hadn’t even bothered to look at her backyard until now. Talk about never stopping to smell the roses. Speaking of which, was that a rosebush by the fence? It was beautiful. Too bad she knew less about gardening than she did about cooking.

She caught herself in a sigh as she looked past her back fence and the neighbor’s yard beyond. The mountains here were nothing short of majestic. The web site had mentioned a view, but that had been of no consequence to her at the time. Now she drank it in.

Her spirits lifted at the thought of going to work later that evening. It was just a silly little community theatre play, but Nancy was counting on her to do her part to make it run smoothly. That felt good.

Sipping her coffee, she walked from the kitchen to the sun porch. She stopped. Why hadn’t she realized that this was an actual room? She had assumed it was just a back porch and was delighted to see an area almost the size of her bedroom. Windows comprised the upper half of three of its walls, and it even had a skylight, obviously a recent update. She went back into the kitchen, grabbed the camp chair she’d picked up the day before at the surplus store, and set it next to the glass.

As she lifted her mug to her lips, a knock at the front door shattered her serenity. She froze, listening in vain for Lucy’s ‘yoo hoo.’ Suddenly her translucent surroundings magnified her vulnerability. If someone rounded the corner from the side of the house, they would see her, and—

A second knock came, even louder than the first. Shaking, she looked down at her watch. Nine a.m. Early, but not by small town standards. Who could it be?

She crept back into the kitchen, setting her mug on the counter. Treading softly through the dining room, she lamented her door’s lack of a peephole. Didn’t people in this town believe in monitoring their visitors?

She tiptoed into the living room and snuck a quick peak from between the front blinds. She balked. What was
he
doing here?

Her pulse commenced running a marathon. He was no doubt harmless, but she didn’t want to encourage him. Sort of like that stray dog.

“Who is it?” She tried not to sound too welcoming.

“It’s Sam, from the hardware store.”

She could either play twenty questions or just open the door, so she chose the less time consuming.

Even as the door inched open, she spoke. “Yes?”

He wore a half-smile and the same Levis as the two days previous. Today’s work-shirt was green, so that, at least, had changed. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I wanted to get to you before your problem got any worse.”

Her throat tightened. What did he know about her problem? “I…I don’t…”

Slowly, he pulled a crowbar from behind his back and raised it to shoulder level.

Fear seized her. Her gut told her to slam the door but her arms felt paralyzed.

A grin tugged at his lips. “I could pull up those tiles for you, if you’d like.”

She let out a long breath and put her hand to the hollow of her throat. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll just get my wallet. How much?” She stepped inside, trying to tame her quaking limbs as she reached for her purse.

“The bar’s ten.” He paused. “Love what you’ve done with the place.”

She turned to see him looking around her unadorned abode with a slight smirk on his undeniably handsome face. “Uh…thanks.”

“That adds a nice touch.” He nodded toward the water globe still doing its solo show on the mantel.

“Yes well, I’m a minimalist.” She flicked a ten toward him.

He took it, handing her the crowbar. “Apparently.”

Flushed with an awkward irritation, she dug through the change in her wallet. “And the tax?”

“No sales tax.” His face lifted in a disarming grin. “You’re in Montana, ma’am.”

She grimaced, returning her attention to her purse. “Plus the six for the globe.”

“Consider that a housewarming gift. Doesn’t look like you’ve gotten too many.”

Jerk.
“I don’t exactly have a lot of friends in the area.”

“Too bad. That’ll change.” His mouth curved up slightly as he slipped the ten into his shirt pocket.

She frowned. Why would he assume she’d want to get to know anybody around here? Even the highly cultured, educated people who populated her world failed to capture her extended interest. What made him think that this town could produce anyone worthy of the effort?

Angling a glimpse over her shoulder, he raised a brow. “Sure you don’t want me to have a look?”

She reeled in her focus. “A look?”

He lifted a hand in the direction of the kitchen. “At your floor. You know, since I’m here.”

She shook her head quickly. “No. It doesn’t really matter. I won’t be staying that long anyway.”

He slanted her an inquisitive look.

Why had she said that? His presence on her porch was off-putting, and she felt a sudden need for him to leave.

Tipping his head back, he made a smacking noise with his lower lip and upper teeth. “Not too taken with our little town, huh?” His eyes lowered onto her face. They seemed an even darker grade of chocolate than the other day. “Maybe that’ll change too.”

He turned, leaving her to stare at his departing back. She leaned against the doorjamb as he got into a dinged-up dirty blue pickup truck that sat in front of her house.

She bristled.
Maybe that’ll change
. What was
that
supposed to mean?

Chapter 10

“Don’t you have any Fig Newtons?”

The determined expression on the ruddy face of the man in front of her made Grace highly value the counter space between them.

“No, I—”

“What about ice?”

Flustered, Grace shook her head. Why were people shouting at her like she was deaf? A sea of bobbing heads and fists waving cash crashed against her little window. How could this miniature theatre hold so many people, and why were they all so ravenous?

“I’m sorry, I’m out of ones.” Grace pushed a stray hair from her eyes and plopped a fistful of quarters into an outstretched hand. She silently thanked whoever had voted down a state sales tax. If she had to make change for fifty people in fifteen minutes, at least it was with round numbers.

“I wanted chocolate cream, not chocolate chip.”

A dour woman slid the offending cookie back toward Grace, who suppressed a shriek of frustration.

“I’m sorry ma’am, I—”

The end-of-intermission chime felt like a life preserver. The disgruntled cookie woman turned away with a sneer and the flow of patrons at last ebbed. Grace leaned her elbows on the counter, covering her face with her hands. She’d survived, but she couldn’t possibly subject herself to this again.

“How did it go?”

Grace jumped at the sound of Nancy’s pert voice. The woman had appeared at the concession window like a bird flitting to a tree branch.

“How do people do this?” Grace took a step back, looking around at the carnage she’d created in her quest to locate the last diet soda.

“You’ll get used to it. It’s a mad house at intermission and then you stock up for tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow.” Agitation flooded Grace’s throat. “I really don’t think I—”

Nancy put up her index finger and touched the other hand to her headset. She pressed the button that was clipped to her belt and spoke to whoever was on the other end.

Grace let out a slow, even breath. Why had she taken this job? She was accustomed to being the one served. How could she accept such a severe demotion?

Gathering her thoughts, she scanned the room. Her eye landed on the painting between the windows. It had calmed her that first day. Maybe it would help now. She focused on it with a meditative breath.

Desperation rose in her chest and she took it as a sign. She was meant to be the one viewed from a distance through an opera glass, not the girl in the lobby counting out change. She had to tell Nancy this job was not for her.

Nancy flipped the voice tube of her headset to her forehead, shifting her attention back to Grace.

Grace reined in her courage. “Nancy, I really can’t—”

“I can’t thank you enough for being such a life saver. Everybody would have been so disappointed if we hadn’t been able to open the stand.”