“Remember when Granddad warned me not to make him get out of that wheelchair? That would do it.”
“But didn’t he put you in charge? That proves he trusts you, no matter how grumpy he is about his limitations.”
He drew a huge breath and let it out audibly. “I could also let the Grand know we can take more guests.”
“And post it on social media to fill more rooms.”
He stood and pulled the giant key ring from his top desk drawer. “You have a lot to do to get ready for tonight, but I’d like to get your opinion on the rooms.”
“A chance to hang out in the parlor wing again? Absolutely.”
Minutes later, Ariel and Caleb stepped into the parlor on their way to the guest rooms. She wandered to the piano and played a few notes, their tones clear in the room’s perfect acoustics. “Did your family design this room for music?”
“According to family legend, yes.”
“Your ancestors were musicians?” She eased herself onto the bench and played a few bars she remembered from a song she and Caleb played last night.
“On both sides.” He sat on the end of the bench beside her and played some bass notes, accompanying her. “You and I have music in our genes.”
“Aunt Dahlia said I was a child prodigy. My brother and sister can sing too, maybe better than I can. So why did she choose me? I’ve struggled with that question ever since she and Mom decided I’d live with her and learn the trade.”
“Your mom and aunt decided? What about your dad?”
She hesitated, letting the tune trail away. “He wanted me to go too.”
Didn’t he?
Ariel thought back through the years, suddenly unsure what part her father had played in sending her off with Aunt Dahlia. Did he encourage her to move to Nashville? Or had he merely gone along with the women’s plan? Or fought it and lost?
“I always assumed…”
A dim memory passed through her mind like fog in the night—one she’d forgotten until this moment. Practicing her guitar the night before she left home. Dad’s voice piercing through the closed door of her parents’ second-floor room, his strainedwords clear and his anger unmistakable. She’s too young, Mary. I won’t let you and Dahlia?—
Then murmured words from her mother, words Ariel couldn’t understand. Her father storming out, the door slamming behind him.
Then silence. The kind that made you want to cough or hum or drop your guitar on the hardwood floor just to make sure you could still hear.
Then another night, another voice. This one bolder, twangy. Insistent.She’s different, Bryan. She won’t make it on this little island. I can give her a life, a future.
Were Aunt Dahlia’s words true? Was Ariel different?
A touch on her knee brought her back to this night, this place.
“Are you okay?”
She laid her hand on Caleb’s. Looked up at those unpretentious, honest eyes. “Caleb, do you think I’m different?”
His smile came slowly, his nearness somehow comforting, reassuring. “You’re different. I’ve known dozens of successful musicians but none as intuitive or smart or caring as you.”
“But do you think I could have succeeded in a different career?”
“You could do anything you put your mind to.”
Ariel let her gaze travel the room—this room she loved as much as her Nashville ranch—and gathered courage to tell him. “You don’t know how I got started working with Aunt Dahlia.”
“By inheriting the same talent she has?”
“How I wish. No, our music teacher found out Aunt Dahlia planned to visit us over Christmas when I was in second grade, so Mrs. Petry asked her to perform at our concert. But my aunt discovered that the teacher had chosen another girl to sing ‘Mary, Did You Know?’ and she didn’t like the teacher choosing her over me.”
