Earth Angel by Siri Caldwell

princess costumes,” Abby said lightly. She had no idea Penelope felt that way. It had been so long since they’d spent time together, and Penelope was right, life changed you, made you care about things you didn’t know you were going to care about back when you were twenty years old. “I’d be honored to play the Wedding March.”
    “You won’t regret this.”
    No, she wouldn’t regret making Penelope happy. She could play the tune in her sleep, so what was three more minutes of her life? Being a professional meant performing the same music over and over again every weekend and finding something new to love about it each time. It would be fine. Penelope and Nat would be happy with their music, Abby would be happy being part of their celebration, and no one would know the selection had ever been in question. And when the day came that a bride requested a Paraguayan folk tune, she’d be ready.

Chapter Five
    Gwynne dropped a butterscotch into her coffee and slumped behind Sea Salt’s appointment desk, wondering for the umpteenth time how all her old clients and everyone they’d ever met seemed to know where she worked.
    Her latest visitor approached her desk walking gingerly on the balls of her feet and favoring one leg.
    “Are you Gwynne Abernathy?”
    Could she get away with saying no? Except it wouldn’t work, because she was already nodding yes.
    “My friend Donetta told me I had to find you. Can you help me? The bottom of my heel hurts so bad it hurts to walk. It hurts to stand, even. The first doctor said it was tendinitis, and now the second doctor says it’s a heel spur, except I have a spur on the other heel too, and that one doesn’t hurt, so…”
    “It could be a heel spur,” Gwynne said. “But you need to see a massage therapist first before anyone talks you into surgery.” The aura around not only the foot, but the entire leg, was an angry, irritated red, making her suspect there was more going on than a bone growth—a spur—on the heel. She scanned the room to make sure the other clients were waiting comfortably before coming out from behind her desk—getting sidetracked only briefly to rest her gaze on Abby at her harp. Turning people away hadn’t stopped them from seeking her out. Maybe checking out their problem and then turning them away would be more effective. Maybe then they’d believe she couldn’t help. “Have a seat on the sofa for a second and I’ll take a look.”
    She touched the woman’s foot, then her lower leg.
    “It’s my heel, not my leg.”
    Gwynne replied by pressing deeply into the calf muscle. The woman gasped and gritted her teeth. Yeah, thought so. People assumed heel pain meant the problem was in the heel, but more often than not, it stemmed from somewhere else.
    “When you’re driving, do you have trouble working the gas pedal?”
    “You can tell that?”
    “You have trigger points in your calf. Why don’t I schedule an appointment for you with Megan McLaren? She’ll be able to fix this.”
    “Donetta told me to ask for you.”
    “I’m not seeing clients right now.” No matter how many times she said that, she just couldn’t seem to escape her reputation. She cradled the woman’s foot and ran a current of healing energy from her heart, through her fingers, and into the contracted muscle fibers, releasing the tension.
    “No walking in the sand until this gets better,” Gwynne told her.
    “Is that what did it? I figured it was my high heels.”
    “That too. See Megan for a massage. And all these spots that hurt, work on them two or three times a day, and your heel should feel better soon.”
    “Can I come back in a few days so you can check that I’m doing it right?”
    “Megan will check for you,” Gwynne said.
    “But—”
    “Megan’s good too,” piped up Dara Sullivan, a client of Megan’s and a massage therapist herself, from the sofa where she sat waiting for her appointment. “Her work is very similar to what Gwynne