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Chapter Seven
Jackson
Iwatched as she walked out of the bathroom and stopped again at the front of the stage. This time, she stepped up and picked up my most prized possession—my custom Fender Dreadnaught guitar—and my heart leaped in my chest. I started to object but changed my mind. The way she picked it up, stroking her fingers gently over the golden base, told me it wasn’t the first time she’d held a guitar in her hands. What would it hurt?
She sat down on the chair with her back facing me and began strumming a few chords. She played a soft ballad, and I was impressed.
Brodie appeared by my side; a towel draped over his shoulder. He stood an inch taller than my six-foot-two-inches with the same green eyes, the same strong jawline, and black hair. But Brodie’s hair had an auburn hue to it, which turned redder in the summer, and he wore it shorter.
“Heard the tune,” Brodie whispered beside me. “Thought you’d gone soft on us. Who’s the chick?”
“Don’t know yet.”
“Is that your Dreadnought she’s playing?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re letting her play it, and you don’t even know who she is? Sheeeeit ... if I even blink at that guitar of yours, you have a hissy fit and threaten to kick my ass.”
“You need to stick to your bass. Now, shut up, or I will kick your ass.”
Brodie chuckled. “You haven’t been able to kick my ass since fourth grade.”
I tilted my head toward Brodie’s and whispered, “She has a shiner double the size of a silver dollar, and she keeps clutching at her side. It looks like someone roughed her up pretty badly.”
“Whoever did that to her might come looking for her, you know. They might want to finish what they started.”
I frowned. “I’ll handle her. You should go back to whatever it was you were doing. She seems a bit skittish if you know what I mean. Too many faces may spook her.”
“My brother, the savior ... do I need to caution you?”
“Too late, I already gave her ice for her eye. I’m involved now.” I hardly knew her, but somehow my need to help her overwhelmed me. I believed in fate. It had to be fate that brought her into my bar on a morning that I happened to be there.
“Is this going to be like the fawn or the bird?”
It was a well-known fact—sometimes even a joke—around town that I’d made a habit of saving injured animals. I had to admit, I’d always been a sucker for the wounded. Even as a kid, I was always rescuing injured animals. When I was eleven, I saved a fawn tangled in barbed wire. The fawn had a cut and swollen leg. I nursed it back to health and wanted to keep it—begged to keep it—but my dad said I had to let it go once it regained its strength. I cried over that fawn the day my dad took it back into the wild. I hadn’t cried since, not even when the old man walked out on our mother and us two years later.
The hawk rescue, on the other hand, was a little bit different. It simply flew away once its wing had healed. I had been older by then and knew it would happen, like it had with some of the other animals I’d saved.
“Probably more like the fawn,” I admitted. It had been beautiful and wounded too.
“Shit. Well, don’t come crying on my shoulder. I know, I know, there’s nothing I can say or do to change your mind.” Brodie shook his head. “At any rate, she sounds great. Looks great from this angle, too. I wonder if she can sing.”
“Hmmm.” I rubbed my chin. Brodie was right. From this view of the side of her face, you couldn’t see the black eye, and she was beautiful. The idea that anyone could assault such a lovely creature sickened me. It appalled me to think about some scum of the earth beating her—major scum of the earth. My brother was also right about the possibility of someone looking for her, especially the way she kept glancing at the door.
When she finished playing the tune, she set the guitar down with care—gently resting it in the exact position I had placed it in earlier. She knew how to handle a guitar. That alone told me she was worth the risk. She turned and smiled when she saw me watching. I’m sure I had a silly grin on my face.
“I’m sorry, I should have asked first. I hope that was okay. Playing always seems to relax me, and when I saw it there, I couldn’t help myself.”
And I couldn’t help myself.
“No, that was lovely,” I said in a quiet voice. She was lovely.
She returned to her seat and carefully sat down. I dumped out her cup and filled it back up with hot coffee. I noticed her coat opened a bit at the top, revealing a bruise at her collarbone. She saw where I was looking and tugged the coat shut. Then she picked up the cup and sipped. The way she positioned herself on the stool made me think her side was aching more now.
“I don’t usually let anyone touch my baby, especially when I don’t even know her name. I’m Jackson Beaumont, by the way.” I held out my hand to her, and she placed her small soft one in mine.
“Le ... um, Lana. Nice to meet you.”
