Page 30 of Wyoming Tough

She nodded and produced it.

His eyes narrowed as he looked at her. “Cane said he thought he’d seen you before. Now that he mentioned it, you do look familiar.”

“I told him…I just have that sort of face.” She laughed. She couldn’t react to the remark. “I might look like somebody you remember.”

He frowned. “Not really. Tank and I were watching this old movie on the classics channel. It starred that actress who killed herself—what was her name? Kane,” he said finally. “Maria Kane. That’s it. You remind me of her.”

“I do?” She smiled broadly to hide her discomfort. “Thanks! I think she was gorgeous! I watched that movie myself. I like the old black-and-white ones.”

He was diverted, as she’d meant him to be. “Me, too. I’m partial to Randolph Scott and Gary Cooper and John Wayne, myself.”

She raised her hand. “Bette Davis.”

He made a face. “Hard as nails. I like feminine women.”

She shifted uncomfortably. He was making a statement. Probably Gelly Bruner was his ideal. He’d already said he liked the pretty blonde actress in the werewolf movie. Gelly was blonde and blue-eyed, and pretty, also. Morie, with her dark hair and eyes and olive complexion, would never be to his taste. He might like kissing her, but he wasn’t looking at her as if he wanted anything more from her.

“Do you ever wear anything besides slacks and shirts with writing or pictures on them?” he asked suddenly.

She stared at him. “I’d have a real hard time pulling calves in a dress.” She said it with a straight face.

He gave a sudden laugh. “Damn!”

“Well, I would, boss,” she said reasonably.

He just sipped his coffee. “I guess you would.”

Piano music was coming from the living room. It was soft and pretty at first, then there were fumbles and then a crash. “Damn it!” Tank groaned.

They heard him get up and soon he came into the kitchen. He glanced at Morie. “I can’t get the rhythm of that coda. Do you have your iPod with you, with the soundtracks on it?”

“No,” she replied. She’d left it in the bunkhouse. “But I can show you.”

He frowned. “You can play a piano?”

She shifted as Mallory stared openly at her. “Sort of.”

“Sort of.” Tank caught her hand and pulled her along with him to the living room. He seated her at the grand piano. “Show me.”

CHAPTER SIX

“IJUST PICKED UPa little piano playing at the last job I worked,” Morie protested, denying her many years of piano lessons. “I probably can’t even do an octave now.”

“Can you read music?” Tank persisted.

She shifted. “Yes. A little.”

“Come on, then. Play.”

She couldn’t figure a way out of it. They might ask all sorts of questions if they knew how well she played. She’d been offered a music scholarship in college, which she’d turned down. Her parents could well afford her tuition, and the scholarship might help some deserving student who had no such means.

After a minute’s hesitation, she put her long-fingered hands on the keyboard and looked at the score before her.

She found the pedals with her foot, rested her hands on the keyboard and suddenly began to play.

Mallory, standing in the doorway, was shocked speechless. Tank, closer, smiled as he sank into an easy chair. A minute later, Cane heard the exquisite score and came into the room, as well, perching on the sofa.

Lost in the music, Morie played with utter joy. It had been weeks since she’d had access to a piano, and this one was top quality. It had been tuned recently, as well. The sounds that came from it were as exquisite as the score she was playing with such expression.

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