That Girl's the One I Love (7 page)
“Please give me a chance to talk to you. We’ll drive, and it’ll be quiet. Then when I’m done, if you want to go home, we’ll drop you right at your door.”
Inside, she was wondering how a limousine might negotiate the dangerous curves of Mount Washington, but all the same, there was a part of her that didn’t want this night to end. Arran was, after all, the one who got away, right? Might as well spend whatever time he wanted before he winged off back to his farm in California and his glamorous rock star life. She climbed into the limo, sliding all the way across the seat.
This time Arran sat across from her, not next to her. The space was wide enough that their knees didn’t even touch. “Just drive,” he said to the chauffeur. Then he closed the window between the front and back of the car and turned his attention to her as he leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. His expression, intent and serious, gave the impression he was focusing everything he had on her.
“You know, I went back to Asheville to do a show a couple of years ago. Played at the Orange Peel.” Reflected in the lights of passing cars, his smile was a ghost of emotion. “I’d have stayed a few more nights if I hadn’t had a tour demanding my attention.”
He studied her. She didn’t know what to say. “The Orange Peel is… It’s a cool place to play. I-I bet you were great.”
He sighed. “That’s not what I… No. The point is, I went there hoping to find you.”
“Me? In Asheville?”
“Yeah. I went to the Biltmore, to the gardens there. I went downtown, and stood right where the stage was that day at Bele Chere. It all came back to me, so clearly.” He closed his eyes a moment, then looked at her again. “I know now you’d already moved here.” He shifted in the seat, leaning back, hands steepled in front of him as he searched for words. “One year I was on tour at Christmastime, I think in Atlanta, or Birmingham, somewhere like that. After the show was done, I was sitting in my dressing room, the door partly open, and listening to the women outside, their Southern drawl—it sounded so much like home. It sounded like
you
.”
His voice echoed with pain. She just listened, afraid to speak, wondering whether this was another dream, or how this could be real. What was it he really wanted to say to her, what had brought him here, what could have driven him to concoct the evening’s concert?
“Leyla, I’ve regretted so many times that I let you slip away. I don’t know… I guess I thought you’d be waiting, you know? Right where I left you.” He laughed, a dark and unhappy sound. “Right, like you didn’t have anything else in your life. I didn’t mean for you to just put yourself on hold. Once I took that call, and got on that plane, a whirlwind took over my life. We were recording, we were traveling, we were meeting people and going places… All of a sudden, it was a year later. Then two. I tried to call, but your phone number wasn’t good any more. Letters I sent to your address came back. I didn’t know how to find you.”
He paused, and she considered what he’d said. It certainly sounded plausible. Hurt by Arran’s perceived abandonment, she’d hooked up with Tim much too fast. She’d known that at the time but was so wretched she’d just ignored any alarms and thrown herself into it. They had moved away not long after.
It could have happened like he said…
“That Christmas, I sat there, alone, thinking about getting on yet another plane and going home, where I’d be alone, too.”
She started to protest, but he held up a hand. “Oh, I know, people think the rocking life is a party all the time, housefuls of people, music blasting, all that. And it can be. People who like that kind of thing can have it rolling twenty-four/seven. But that’s not me. On the road, there are always too many people, too many cities, lights, noises, and I can’t wait to get home. I’ve got a little studio there, where I can play around, make music. Like I said, it’s a working farm. Everything is natural, quiet, breezy. It’s home.” He was quiet a long time as the limousine drove on.
She glanced out the window, saw the driver had taken them onto the interstate. Probably the easiest place to get around this time of night.
So much to say, but she didn’t know what would be right. Maybe best to charge straight on.
“I always wondered… I mean, you see the gossip magazines, and they say that people make all these fabulous hookups, you know. I loved that picture of you and Cynda Jones, for instance.”
He looked up sharply. “Cynda?” His eyes narrowed a moment. “When did I see Cynda?” After a moment’s thought, he slapped his knee. “Oh! That.” He started to laugh, a full, round, amused laugh this time. “Yeah. We’d both gone to the music awards. I was rumored to be ahead in the polling, and her publicist wanted to kick her up in the ranks, so she dragged Cynda over and persuaded us to ‘look like a couple.’ All the cameras went off. I thought I was going to be blind for a month.”
“So you weren’t a couple?”
“Oh, heck, no. I mean, she’s okay. Drinks too much, in my book. I think she did go on to win the next year.” He shrugged. “But the only girl who waits at home for me is Ginger.” When Leyla didn’t respond, he added, “The cocker spaniel.”
“Oh, I saw her picture on your page. She’s great.”
“She’s yours. I mean, I got her for you. I remember how you said you’d always wanted one.”
That raised her eyebrows.
“Anyway, back to that Christmas. I realized then I wanted someone at home, someone I wanted to see at the end of the day. Someone I wanted to share everything with. And, Leyla, I realized I wanted that person to be you. I made the worst mistake of my life by not following up with you immediately after we’d gotten settled in California. I should have sent you a ticket, I should have called every night… I should never have let you think you weren’t the best thing that ever happened to me.”
He looked at her with such earnestness, her eyes burned with tears.
“I know we didn’t spend a long time together, but that night when we loved and talked and held each other— I have never felt as safe and secure in my whole life as in those twelve hours. We
connected
, Leyla. It’s a deep connection, and for me, it’s never broken.”
He took a deep, shuddering breath, then stared at the floor.
“I got the dog shortly after that, praying she was the first step back to you. It’s like that book, you know, the one that says if you visualize your goals and start acting like they’re coming to you, then you can attract them?” He started to reach for her hand but then pulled back. “I knew nothing about your life. When I played in Asheville, no one I talked to knew where you’d gone, none of the managers at the clubs, or in your neighborhood. So I was lost.”
Leyla’s jaw worked, as if she would say something, but in this flood of emotion, she was lost, too. She didn’t know what to interject, or even if she should. It didn’t feel as if Arran had finished. She didn’t want to misjudge what he was going to say; anticipation could kill everything. But it sounded like…
For all those years, they’d lived in pain and loneliness but dreamed about each other. Could it be he was going to ask her to be with him?
The thought both frightened and thrilled her at the same time.
“My publicist insisted that I start using social media, and that’s where I got the idea to look for you, a couple months ago. For a long time, I didn’t find anything at all, and I almost gave up.”
“But… Bonsai Boy?”
That brought a chuckle. “Yeah, I wanted some privacy, so I created my own persona, not like my fan page and all that flashy stuff.”
“That makes sense.”
“And then once I found the one I thought was you, you wouldn’t even respond to me. I figured I’d blown my chance.” This time he waited for her to answer, apparently wanting to know why she’d dragged her feet. She wished she had an answer that wouldn’t sound cruel.
“Arran, I—I’m sorry about that. I just… I don’t know. I didn’t know who’d be trying to contact me, and my life has been so quiet, so peaceful since the divorce. I’m writing now, and I just…”
Her voice trailed off as she realized how lame she sounded. What the hell was she doing? This man had practically ripped his heart from his chest and handed it to her. Had she grown as frozen as her Pittsburgh neighbors? Struggling, she fell silent, the rumble of the tires on the road sounding loud as the car rolled on.
“I almost hired a private investigator,” Arran confessed, “once I knew you were in Pittsburgh. I had the phone in my hand. I wanted to know everything about you: if you were married, if you had a house full of kids, if your life was everything you wanted. But I couldn’t do it. It would have been rude and intrusive, all those things I hate about my public life. Your writing, though—I found that on the Internet.”
Surprised, she shifted in her seat, trying to find a position more comfortable, less like she was on the spot. “That’s how you knew to send the tickets to the City Paper.”
He grinned. “Yep. Once I got hold of Mike, the rest went like clockwork.”
“And here we are.”
“And here we are.” He leaned forward again, extending his legs so their knees touched this time. “I didn’t want to disturb your life, if you had found what you were looking for. If you were happy. So that’s the question I need to ask you. Are you happy?”
There it was, in black and white. Was she happy? She wasn’t sure there was a black-and-white answer. Definitely something in a thick shade of gray.
“I’m okay.” She hoped she sat far enough into the shadow of the corner of the seat that he couldn’t see her face. Shame washed over her as she had to admit her life wasn’t the success it should have been. She was just lucky she had no family to embarrass with her lack of accomplishment.
“Just okay?” Hope infused his voice. It was contagious. Her instinct may have been right. He’d come looking for her to begin again.
“Yeah, just okay.” She firmed up her courage and said what she really wanted to say. “I lost my heart all those years ago, too, Arran. Nothing’s ever been as good for me as you.”
Holding her breath, she prayed she’d read him right. This could be the time he said, “Oh, I just wanted you to come be my love child’s nanny,” or “Yeah, I was looking for a road tour assistant who sounded like home,” or—
In the blink of an eye, he was across the distance between them, holding her in his arms. She felt dampness on his cheeks. Or was that her own? She didn’t care. She clung to him like he was the last life preserver on the
Titanic
.
“I can’t believe it,” he whispered, close to her ear. “After all these years, and all these miles, and all those songs…I finally found the one thing I wanted most.”
In the midst of a Cinderella-style bubble, all Leyla could do was agree. “I know.”
“I want you to come home with me.”
Just like that? Really? Drop everything, pack her few belongings, and move across the country to California? To become a farmer’s wife? A nervous giggle escaped from her lips. Much more than a farmer’s wife. Arran was who he was.
Could she do that? Could she just toss aside her life, take the risk? Leyla thought about the heroine of her story. Was this her trip to Alaska on a tramp steamer? Dayla would have taken the chance in a heartbeat. Were they really so different? She didn’t think so.
She let her heart answer for her.
“I’ve waited too long to hear you ask me, love. Let’s go home.”
A word about the author...
Alana Lorens (aka Barbara Mountjoy) has been a published writer for over 35 years, including seven years as a reporter and editor at the
South Dade News Leader
in Homestead, Florida.
Her list of publications includes the non-fiction book
101 Little Instructions for Surviving Your Divorce
, published by Impact Publishers in 1999, stories in
A Cup of Comfort for Divorced Women
, in December 2008, and
A Cup of Comfort for Adoptive Parents
, in June 2009.
Her newest release (as Alana Lorens) is
CONVICTION OF THE HEART
, in the Crimson Rose line from The Wild Rose Press, Inc. Previous books include
SECRETS IN THE SAND
, in the same line.
Her Clan Elves of the Bitterroot urban fantasy series (as Lyndi Alexander) is available from Dragonfly Publishing;
The Elf Queen
in 2010 and
The Elf Child
in March 2011,
The Elf Mage
in early 2012.
The Elf Guardian
is scheduled to be released in 2013.
She's married to an absent-minded computer geek. Between them they have seven children, 11 computers, and a very busy home in northwest Pennsylvania.
Alana blogs on a variety of subjects, including autism, science fiction and life at:
http://awalkabout.wordpress.com
.
Or you can find out more about Alana at her webpage:
http://alanalorens.com
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