The Parting Glass (Caitlin Ross Book 4) by Katherine Lampe Page B

Timber doesn’t drum that way…” I began, but he cut me off.
    “Aye, perhaps I will. Until then perhaps one of these charming waitresses will bring me a set of spoons.”
    “Not a problem. They do it all the time.” Kevin gestured to the nearest waitress and ordered spoons and three Black and Tans. By the time the order arrived, the musicians had come to a break. I moved to take my regular chair at the head of the flute section. Timber grabbed my arm again.
    “We could have asked that Kevin about Stonefeather and been out of here by now, aye?”
    “Och, aye,” I replied, mimicking his accent. “But I came to play and play I will. And you’ll be nice if you know what’s good for you. Music first, business later.” I pushed him toward the percussion section and huffed off to my own place, beer in one hand and flute case under my arm. As I assembled my blackwood instrument, I counted all the reasons I did not like this stranger who had broken into my quiet life and disturbed my peace. Right now, trying to interrupt my Saturday night session with business held the top place on my list, right above the possessive way he seemed to regard me and the way he had monopolized my time ever since he had appeared. Never mind that he was charming, intelligent and had the body of a minor god. At the moment I wished him and his spirit guides in the deepest, coldest hell imaginable.
    Flute assembled, I realized everyone was looking to me to start the next set. I gave the count—one too fast even for my considerable abilities, I knew but didn’t care—and started off on “Lady of the Island.” The rest of the group came in after the first few notes and we were away. As always, the music washed over me like an icy waterfall, carrying with it all the care and distractions of the week. And Mr. MacDuff had wanted to take this away from me! I flubbed a note, turned it into a roll and kept going. No thinking of Timber. Only the music. On Saturday nights, the music was all the magic I wanted or needed.
    The set of reels ended too soon. Without a break, I started a set of jigs, then some hornpipes for people who needed to go a bit slower, then some slow reels so everyone could play without too much difficulty. And then time came for another break. As many of the players headed off to the bar for another beer, I heard Kevin call for a song, just to keep things moving. To my surprise, a familiar baritone took up the challenge.
    “Farewell to the lands of Shillelagh and Shamrock
    Farewell to the girls of old Ireland all ‘round
    May their hearts be as merry as ever I could wish them
    When far away on the ocean I’m found…”
    My heart dropped into my stomach. I knew the song very well—“The Greenfields of Canada” happened to be one of my favorites—but I had never heard it sung like this. Not to put too fine a point on it, but Timber had a stunning voice. And I wasn’t the only one to think so. By and large, when the tunes stopped and the singing commenced, the noise level in the pub rose to a point where you could scarcely hear the singer and it took a hardy soul to keep going through the din. But when Timber sang, the pub quieted to the point where you could have heard a pin drop. Even the waiters stopped going about their business and clustered around the bussing station to listen, and I could tell the noise level had dropped in the front room as well. Altogether, when he finished there couldn’t have been a dry eye in the house. I know my own eyes were moist.
    “Well,” said Kevin when the pub erupted in applause at the end, “That was beautiful.” He glanced around to see the musicians still straggling back. “Give us another, won’t you?”
    “Och, no, I couldn’t,” replied Timber with far too much modesty. I just knew he was eating up the attention.
    Kevin turned to me. “Caitlin, will you honor us?”
    About to shake my head, I caught Timber’s eye. It held a challenge I couldn’t turn down. “Okay.”