gaze. “Was that you singing?”
“Yeah, that was me,” she said as she came to her feet, fighting
the urge to crawl under the table. She could feel heat radiating from her
cheeks, mortified that he had actually caught her in the act.
“Try to be gentle, Brett,” Pat said, seeming to sense Cammie’s
self-consciousness. “We have fragile egos.”
“That was good” was all Brett managed before retiring back to
his room.
Pat put down the guitar and stood. “You should be flattered,
Cammie. He never pays too many compliments.”
“Unfortunately, he’s convinced I’m looking for my big break,
which couldn’t be farther from the truth. Guess I just got carried away.”
He patted her back. “Once music’s in your blood, you can’t
escape it. That’s why an old goat like me is still going at it like he’s still
some young buck like Brett.”
Cammie smiled. “You’re not old. You sound great.”
“I ain’t getting any younger,” he said as he headed for the
exit. Before he left, he paused and turned to her again. “Just a few words of
advice from someone who’s been around the block a time or twelve. Don’t let life
pass you by without getting what you want, Cammie. Grab those dreams and let ’em
take you where they will. Before you’re past your prime and it’s too late.”
Grab some dreams.
It suddenly occurred to her she didn’t really have any dreams.
She didn’t believe in forever relationships, or in fate falling into your lap,
at least in most cases. She didn’t believe she was destined to do great things,
or to find great love. One day at a time seemed appropriate for now, the only
option she had at the moment. Dreams only led to disappointment.
Cammie glanced at her watch to find it was almost showtime and
Brett clearly wasn’t close to being ready to perform. But he had shown her a
side of himself she hadn’t seen before, and couldn’t seem to forget.
Ridiculous. It wasn’t as if he’d walked in naked, but it was
the next best thing. She had tried not to notice the light shading of hair on
his sternum or his ridged abdomen that sported some kind of tattoo. She
certainly hadn’t intended to glimpse his zipped but not buttoned fly. And she
had to admit he looked incredibly sexy with wet hair.
Best to concentrate on something else besides those images.
Anything else. She dropped down on the couch, turned on the TV with the remote
and surfed through the channels. Unfortunately, all she found were sitcom
reruns, an ancient Western and a televangelist with his very own 900 number
urging all sinners to call. Then there was the buxom blonde and burly lifeguard
lying on a beach in the clutches of passion―definitely not advisable to
watch.
Then something else called to her. She switched off the
television, walked to the berth reserved for her stay and pulled a bag from the
cabinet underneath. She took out a ringed binder, its black cover once textured
now worn smooth. The notebook had been many a mile with her and held several
compositions she’d been working on over the years, none completely finished.
She turned to the latest page—her most recent endeavor—a song
she’d started in her head while driving a busload of elderly women and men to a
tour of Graceland. The lyrics jolted not only her mind but her heart. Although
the title inferred happiness, it was about the pain of loss and the search for
love.
The melody frequently played in her head, calling to her to be
put down on paper. Again forgetting she wasn’t exactly alone, she softly sang
the chorus.
“‘Seeing you in my dreams most every day is the price I’ve had
to pay for loving you. Someday I’ll reach my destiny and I’ll no longer find
thoughts of you still burdening my mind. That’s when I’ll be on the road to
getting over you....’”
She quickly clamped her mouth shut when she sensed his
presence. No doubt Brett believed she’d meant for him to hear her sing.
Cammie slammed the binder closed but
“Yeah, that was me,” she said as she came to her feet, fighting
the urge to crawl under the table. She could feel heat radiating from her
cheeks, mortified that he had actually caught her in the act.
“Try to be gentle, Brett,” Pat said, seeming to sense Cammie’s
self-consciousness. “We have fragile egos.”
“That was good” was all Brett managed before retiring back to
his room.
Pat put down the guitar and stood. “You should be flattered,
Cammie. He never pays too many compliments.”
“Unfortunately, he’s convinced I’m looking for my big break,
which couldn’t be farther from the truth. Guess I just got carried away.”
He patted her back. “Once music’s in your blood, you can’t
escape it. That’s why an old goat like me is still going at it like he’s still
some young buck like Brett.”
Cammie smiled. “You’re not old. You sound great.”
“I ain’t getting any younger,” he said as he headed for the
exit. Before he left, he paused and turned to her again. “Just a few words of
advice from someone who’s been around the block a time or twelve. Don’t let life
pass you by without getting what you want, Cammie. Grab those dreams and let ’em
take you where they will. Before you’re past your prime and it’s too late.”
Grab some dreams.
It suddenly occurred to her she didn’t really have any dreams.
She didn’t believe in forever relationships, or in fate falling into your lap,
at least in most cases. She didn’t believe she was destined to do great things,
or to find great love. One day at a time seemed appropriate for now, the only
option she had at the moment. Dreams only led to disappointment.
Cammie glanced at her watch to find it was almost showtime and
Brett clearly wasn’t close to being ready to perform. But he had shown her a
side of himself she hadn’t seen before, and couldn’t seem to forget.
Ridiculous. It wasn’t as if he’d walked in naked, but it was
the next best thing. She had tried not to notice the light shading of hair on
his sternum or his ridged abdomen that sported some kind of tattoo. She
certainly hadn’t intended to glimpse his zipped but not buttoned fly. And she
had to admit he looked incredibly sexy with wet hair.
Best to concentrate on something else besides those images.
Anything else. She dropped down on the couch, turned on the TV with the remote
and surfed through the channels. Unfortunately, all she found were sitcom
reruns, an ancient Western and a televangelist with his very own 900 number
urging all sinners to call. Then there was the buxom blonde and burly lifeguard
lying on a beach in the clutches of passion―definitely not advisable to
watch.
Then something else called to her. She switched off the
television, walked to the berth reserved for her stay and pulled a bag from the
cabinet underneath. She took out a ringed binder, its black cover once textured
now worn smooth. The notebook had been many a mile with her and held several
compositions she’d been working on over the years, none completely finished.
She turned to the latest page—her most recent endeavor—a song
she’d started in her head while driving a busload of elderly women and men to a
tour of Graceland. The lyrics jolted not only her mind but her heart. Although
the title inferred happiness, it was about the pain of loss and the search for
love.
The melody frequently played in her head, calling to her to be
put down on paper. Again forgetting she wasn’t exactly alone, she softly sang
the chorus.
“‘Seeing you in my dreams most every day is the price I’ve had
to pay for loving you. Someday I’ll reach my destiny and I’ll no longer find
thoughts of you still burdening my mind. That’s when I’ll be on the road to
getting over you....’”
She quickly clamped her mouth shut when she sensed his
presence. No doubt Brett believed she’d meant for him to hear her sing.
Cammie slammed the binder closed but
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