“Andie?” Richard said from the top of the stairs.
Andie glanced down at her legs, wondering if she could get them to take even one more step. Adrenaline cycled through her in a nauseating wave. “I don’t know if I can do it,” she said under her breath.
Emmitt hurried over to her and cupped her elbow. “You can. Come on, there’s no line at the buffet. Let’s move.”
There would be no pleasing her brothers if she left now. Might as well play along, grab a plate, and hope that her fast-waning appetite came back to her.
She hurried up the stairs, sandwiched between her brothers, and grabbed a plate. Richard paused to let Andie go first, but she shook her head, insisting he stay in front while Emmitt covered the rear. It was almost like she had her own guards or something. It made her appreciate, for the second time that night, the sense of family and support.
“We’ve got a special musical number tonight,” Don announced, enthusiasm coating his tone as a banjo strummed in the background to set the tone. “How many of you are happy to be here tonight?”
The group gave out a respectable cheer while Andie plopped a helping of brisket onto her plate.
“I said…” Don came again, “how many of you are happy to be here tonight?”
Emmitt bumped Andie in the arm as he whooped out a reply, the sound of it getting lost in the heightened response.
“That’s better! We’re glad you’re here too because we’re going to have a fabulous night filled with music, dancing, and a whole lot of fun. Oh, and did I mention the food? Best buffet within miles and I’m not just saying that because I married the cook.”
Andie was glad for the distraction. With all eyes on Don, she could finish dishing up her food and make her exit. She hurried through the sides portion of the bar as Don continued.
“To get things started, we’re doing a little open mic action with a musical riff on the harp. Go ahead and take it away!”
Harp?Andie had only just heard Betty’s boisterous drawl in the back corner seconds ago, so it couldn’t be her, could it?
She took a step back from the buffet, tipped her head back to see around Emmitt, and furrowed her brow when she came up empty. Don was there, the barstools were too, but where was the harp player?
“Thanks, Don,” came a familiar sounding voice over the speaker.
Andie’s heart raced into a new and frantic rhythm as she identified that voice. Slightly raspy, deep like molasses, and accented by that southern drawl.Trenton.
“This tune is for a very special girl out there tonight. I made a mistake. I’m not sure she’ll let me explain, but I hope if nothing else, she’ll stick around and hear a piece of my heart in this song. It’s called ‘Forgive Me.’ And Andie, I pray that you will.”
The barstool up front remained empty.
Andie shot a look to Emmitt, who was studying her with a knowing look in his eyes. She turned her gaze to Richard next, who simply motioned to a spot behind her.
At once, she spun around to see the handsome cowboy himself, seated at a tall barstool in the center of the room, a standing mic before him. Trenton.
Hecupped the harmonica, eyes closed, face tense, and piped out a potent chord, its sharp sound like a mournful cry. Andie felt it all the way to her feet. A thick wave of emotion rocked through her as the earnest chord permeated the space.
Soon it gave way to a slow and soulful melody. Rich and brassy one moment, faint and pain ridden the next. Each heartfelt note an expression from a deep part of his soul.
Between the emotion in the song and the pain on his face, a fresh sense of longing came over her. A desire to be in his arms once again.
The song, wordless as it might be, told their love story. Their rocky beginning, the hypnotic appeal of their chemistry, and the moment they’d explored that connection in a kiss that lit a fire in her.
In the whaling cry of the chorus, she felt the torment he’d gone through while discovering the truth about his past. The sadness she’d seen in his eyes as he devoured one article after the next.
It was a story of hope that had banished.
Of love that was lost.
But the story wasn’t finished yet. It was picking up yet again, in this very moment on the back patio of The Homestead Inn. Here was a man baring his soul and seeking forgiveness from the woman he loved.
And yes, hedidlove her. And she loved him too.
The last note of the song died off in a slow, resounding blaze, its hum seeming to soak into the structure around them, becoming a part of it.
