Sara's Song by Fern Michaels

talk switch to hear Sandi’s angry voice. “I thought you said you wanted to be alone, Dallas. Who was that? It was your Jeep. I recognized the license plate. Why did you lie to me?”
    â€œBecause I didn’t want to hurt your feelings. I told you, Sandi, it’s over. Please don’t call me. Furthermore, it’s none of your business who comes to my house. Let’s leave it at that, or you’ll be looking for another job. I hate pushy people, especially pushy women. As I said earlier, it’s what it is. I never made you any promises. In fact I was very careful not to lead you on. There’s no point in prolonging this conversation. Adam will be in touch when it’s time. Just so you know, there’s every possibility I might break up the band and retire. Now, please, leave me alone.” For the second time Dallas broke the connection. He looked around, his eyes full of panic. Where to stash the phone? The moment he saw the headlights arc on the kitchen window he opened the freezer to stuff the cell phone down among the ice cubes. He thought he heard it ring. Maybe it was the ice cubes settling. He wondered if it would plug up the ice chute. Not that he cared. A stuffed ice chute was preferable to listening to Sandi Sims.
    Fright, unlike anything he’d ever experienced onstage, washed through him when he heard the sound of Sara’s heels on the concrete apron. God, she was coming to the kitchen door. He felt his feet take root on the tile floor. He was muttering his favorite expression when the screen door opened.
    â€œI thought you’d come to the side door or the front door,” he managed to croak.
    Sara’s eyes took in the raincoat, the red-and-white stove, the polka-dotted organdy curtains. Tongue in cheek, Sara said, “I can go back out and walk around to your front door. I think I understand everything but the raincoat.”
    â€œIt’s a long story. I really do know how to cook. Sort of. For some reason this . . . got away from me. I think what happened was I used this really big can of tomato paste and I had to keep adding water because the sauce was like glue. I kept switching pots till I ran out of them. I think I ruined the microwave a few minutes ago. The reason I know this is because the sauce is oozing out under the door. I was going to have dinner catered, but decided to do it myself because I hate it when people hover . I love spaghetti.”
    He could cook. And sing. And he was going out of his way for her. Sara felt a definite head rush.
    â€œI wanted to impress you,” he said.
    â€œOh. Why?” He wanted to impress me. Oh God .
    â€œI don’t know. I like you. You aren’t like all those other women I meet. You’re normal. You’re the kind of person my brother associates with. I guess I wanted you to like me.”
    â€œI do like you. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t like you, Dallas. Is it safe for me to come in, or should I wait outside?”
    Dallas loved the smile in her voice. “I’m going to salvage this dinner if it kills me. My housekeeper has some stuff in the closet in the mudroom. It’s not glamorous or anything. That dress you’re wearing is much too pretty to ruin. You know how sauce splatters. I could get you a matching slicker, complete with hat if you want.”
    His and hers. His suggestion. Hmmm. “Okay.”
    â€œOkay? Are you kidding?”
    â€œNope. I’m game. I have to tell you, though, I don’t clean up. You’re going to need those Disaster Master people. Your housekeeper might quit if she sees this mess. It smells heavenly, though. Spaghetti is one of my favorite foods. I love basil and garlic.”
    Dallas preened, his chest puffing out. “Get your raincoat while I try to salvage this mess. Dinner will be ready as soon as I cook the spaghetti. Be careful you don’t slip on the floor.”
    Sara laughed. “Where are the hip