Page 36 of The Unbuttoned Ranger
What would it feel like to be wanted by him?
Her throat constricted.
For a moment she allowed her imagination to run wild. She knew she wanted him. It had been too long since she’d been held and desire filled her every part.
“I maintain control because my son and I are all we have,” she said quietly.
Sharp glanced across the seat. “I get it. It’s always been just my pa and me since I was ten.”
“That was when she passed?”
He swiped off his hat and laid it between them. “Yeah.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thanks.” He slowed the truck some as they entered town limits. “I took notice that you enjoy classical music. You play it on the radio for the goats while you’re milking them.”
“They seem to like it as much as I do. My parents introduced me to Ode to Joy by Beethoven when I was a baby. They said it worked to put me to sleep.”
“Where are your parents?”
She felt a familiar ache in her chest. She’d created a rift between herself and her parents when Dante had started being mean. CaDee couldn’t open up to them and reveal the truth, so she’d distanced herself. In time, Ray and Millie had accepted her privacy. “They live in a retirement village in Florida.”
“Do you see them often?”
“No.” And she left it at that, and he didn’t pry.
They pulled in front of the theater.
“Are we watching a play?” she asked.
He didn’t answer but jumped out of the truck and came around to open the door for her. “Be a little more patient.” His smile was heartwarming.
They entered the front lobby of the historical theater. Posters of long-ago actors lined the walls. She admired the ornate plasterwork, gilded details, and tiled floor as he guided her under an archway into the theater decorated with bold, rich patterns.
“Let’s sit here.” Sharp showed her to the plush velvet seating in the back row of the empty theater. The room was lit by chandeliers and sconces, making it both functional and aesthetically pleasing.
She sat. “What are we doing?” she whispered.
He glanced at his watch. “Any time now you’ll see.”
Then the stage lights flicked on and the curtains parted. An elegantly dressed woman took a seat at the piano, arranging her music.
“She’s not Beethoven, but Lucy is talented.”
CaDee sat spellbound as the pianist played pieces from Bach, Chopin, and Tchaikovsky.
At some point, so mesmerized, CaDee reached for Sharp’s hand, squeezing it in a silent thank you but she didn’t let go. The touch felt nice, and right. No one had ever done something so thoughtful for her.
When the pianist left the stage, he said, “Are you ready?”
She nodded, looked back at the stage briefly, and they left.
The weather remained warm outside, but the breeze provided some relief.
“Who is she? She’s very talented.”
“Lucy McCord. She’s quite a local celebrity. She rents the theater one evening a week to come and play.”
