Cowboy in the Making. Julie BensonЧитать онлайн книгу.
usually bright eyes. “I’m nervous about handling everything around here with Mick out today.”
Things were growing stranger by the minute. Her grandfather routinely managed the restaurant when Mick was gone without breaking a sweat. He’d once told her that after a tour in Vietnam, he’d handled the worst life had to throw at him and nothing else could ever come close.
“Are you sure that’s all that’s bothering you?”
“Emma Jean, with a J, unlike my name, Gene with a G, Donovan. Do this little favor for me. Pick Jamie up at the airport. Then I won’t have to worry about it.”
How could she say no to that, especially after he’d pulled out the big guns by making her favorite breakfast and using her full name, emphasizing the fact that she’d been named after him? The question was why was this so important? Instinct told her she wasn’t getting the whole story.
“I’ll make a deal,” she conceded. “I’ll call around. If I can’t find someone else to pick Jamie up, I will.”
Her grandfather yanked the towel off his apron and swiped the cloth almost frantically across the counter, clearing away the remnants of mushrooms and spinach he’d chopped for her omelet. “You promise you’ll pick Jamie up if no one else can?”
She nodded, and his rigid stance relaxed. “I heard about Molly quitting the band. Are you having any luck finding a replacement?”
The abrupt change in conversation left her a little dizzy. While he supported her musical career more than most of her family, she could count the number of times on one hand her grandfather had asked about the business side of things. “I’ve got some possibilities, but I’ve been so busy with my day job I haven’t had time to contact anyone.”
Luke, her bass player, had offered to make the calls, but Emma had gently nixed the suggestion. She’d put Maroon Peak Pass together. She managed their engagements, wrote their music and created their arrangements of other artists’ songs. No way was anyone being scheduled to audition without her screening him first.
“You know Jamie’s a fiddle player,” her grandfather said. “What about asking him to play with you?”
“There’s a big difference between playing in a country band and performing with a symphony. Asking Jamie to join Maroon Peak Pass would be like asking a soccer player to all of a sudden play football.” As if Jamie would be interested anyway. Had her grandfather lost his mind?
“Soccer players often become kickers in football.”
Vitamins. Check. Cranky pills. Check. Add taking crazy pills to the list.
“I was just throwing the idea out there.”
“That’s something to consider.” But only if it was between canceling the band’s upcoming engagements, asking Jamie or recruiting someone from the high school orchestra.
* * *
LATER THAT NIGHT Emma arrived at the Denver airport only to discover Jamie’s flight had been delayed by bad weather. She’d tried to find someone else to pick him up, but she should’ve known how that plan would turn out and saved the time she’d wasted. Why was it whenever she needed help everyone in her family had a ready excuse? Brandon had to work at the fire station, but he was the only one with a valid reason. Everyone else either had plans like getting together with friends, or worse, they hadn’t bothered to return her call.
At least she’d brought her tablet so she could work while she waited. As she sat in the unyielding chairs in the baggage claim area, she put out word on social media about the band’s situation. That done, she contacted the electric fiddle players she’d thought of, managing to coerce two to audition. She called the people Luke and Grayson, their drummer, had recommended, screened them and set up auditions for a couple, despite the fact that none of the candidates seemed overly promising. The kids in the high school orchestra were looking better all the time. Lord, desperation was ugly.
The grind of the baggage claim broke into her thoughts, and she gazed at the monitor above the carousel, noting Jamie’s flight had arrived.
She scanned the rush of passengers streaming into the baggage claim area. Picking Jamie out of the crowd would have been easy even if he hadn’t been carrying the violin case. In the years since she’d seen him, his resemblance to Mick had become more pronounced. Same whiskey-colored straight hair, strong jaw, stark cheekbones and five-o’clock shadow. Normally she didn’t like the scruffy look on men, but on Jamie, it worked. Very well.
His long, lean build had filled out and his shoulders were broader now. He’d changed from a teenager to a man. When he moved toward her, her pulse jumped and the tiniest warm glow spread through her. For a city boy, he sure had Mick’s Western swagger down. Who’d have guessed that was genetic?
As she approached, his gaze zeroed in on her with an intensity that left her almost weak. She didn’t know what had happened in the years since she’d seen him, but something had because it showed in his eyes. Good looks she could ignore because a pretty face could disguise a multitude of flaws, but eyes like Jamie’s? That was tougher to resist. She’d always been a sucker for soulful eyes.
Too bad he had such a big strike against him—being a musician. Otherwise it might be fun getting reacquainted because he was one fine-looking man. But Emma knew better than to press her luck. For Jamie Westland, as far as she was concerned, one strike and he was out.
“Emma? Right?” Jamie said, his deep brown eyes filled with curiosity when she reached him. “What’re you doing here? Are you meeting someone?”
“Mick didn’t tell you I was picking you up? He wasn’t feeling well,” she said, trying to ignore her bruised feminine ego. While they hadn’t seen each other in years, how could he not remember her? They weren’t exactly strangers. Not that anyone would know from his reaction to seeing her today.
No woman wanted to realize she’d been so forgettable a guy she’d dated couldn’t even remember her name.
“He might have left me a message, but I forgot to turn my phone back on.” Jamie reached into his back pocket and pulled out his cell.
“I guess you’re not one of those people who are constantly attached to the thing, then, huh?”
“Sometimes it’s nice to unplug and really get away.” Heaviness tinged his voice and she wondered if something more than a simple vacation brought him to Estes Park. She shoved aside her curiosity. He was a nice guy, but considering what she had going on in her life she needed a man like she needed a two-string guitar that was out of tune.
“Sure enough. I’ve got a missed call from Mick and have a voice mail,” he said once he turned on his phone and glanced at the screen. After he listened to the message he said, “He probably called while I was in the air.”
The grumble of the baggage conveyor belt and the conversations of family and friends reuniting swirled around them, making her more aware of the awkwardness between them.
“You didn’t have to drive all the way here to pick me up. I could’ve rented a car.”
She laughed. “You should’ve heard the conversation I had with my grandfather about that. He wondered if you had a valid driver’s license. When I reminded him that you knew how to drive, he wondered if you’d forgotten since you live in New York City.”
No reaction to her reference to their past relationship. Ouch.
“He said that? Is this the same man who could recall every memory from the time he was three with uncanny clarity? That grandfather?”
“That’s the one.”
Not sure what else to say, they both turned their attention to the suitcases traveling past them. She wished his bags would hurry up and arrive. The next thing they’d be talking about was