Free Bright Eyes by Catherine Anderson Page B

dynamite, the explosion of voice and guitar so mesmerizing and perfect that no one in the audience even moved. The piano was a barely noticed and unnecessary accompaniment.
    “Why do I love you?” she sang. “Why do I care?” She lifted her gaze above the crowd, singing from her heart, seemingly oblivious to those who listened. “When everything could be so perfect, why, in the dark of night, is my pillow wet with tears? We had it all, but you threw it away.”
    A waitress approached Zeke’s table. He waved away the list of available beverages. “Jack and Coke, please.”
    “Single or double?”
    He had to drive home. “Single.”
    Zeke just wanted the waitress to go away so he could hear Natalie’s song. When he could finally refocus on the words—and the woman singing them—the number was nearly over. When Natalie raised her arm on the last note, he felt almost bereft. His heart sank a little when she bent her head and lowered her right hand to her side. The room went absolutely silent again.
    She stood there for a full second, body motionless, head still bent. No one applauded until she looked up. It was if she had to release them from her spell before they could think or even move.
    Instead of curtsying and nodding to acknowledge the applause, she laid the guitar aside and leaned over her piano player’s shoulder. Together, they went through some sheet music. Then she patted his arm and left the stage, a brilliant flame that drew the gaze of every man in the room. As she headed for a door to the right of the platform, she hesitated midstep and looked directly at Zeke. Her shoulders sank slightly. The pianist began playing something bluesy as she wove her way through the tables.
    Zeke stood and pushed back a chair for her.
    “Hello, Mr. Coulter,” she said softly. “Small world, or has my son vandalized your property again?”
    “What the hell are you doing in Crystal Falls?” Zeke asked. “You should be taking Nashville by storm.”
    The question popped out of his mouth of its own volition. She was a phenomenon with a voice that went beyond fabulous and a stage presence to go with it. She should be captivating thousands, not entertaining a few country bumpkins in a ranching community.
    She sank wearily onto the chair. “Flattery, Mr. Coulter?”
    “Forget flattery. With a voice like that, you could write your own ticket.”
    “My days of chasing rainbows are over, I’m afraid.”
    He didn’t miss the note of resignation in her voice. No bitterness, only flat acceptance. That struck him as being so sad. If only she had made different choices earlier in life, the world could be her oyster. Instead she struggled to keep her daughter in decent shoes.
    She rubbed the nape of her neck and flexed her shoulders. “That guitar weighs a ton toward the end of a shift.”
    Zeke had a feeling that the guitar was the least of her burdens.
    “So what brings you to the Blue Parrot? You don’t strike me as the supper-club type.”
    The waitress returned just then. Zeke accepted his drink and said, “Bring the lady her usual, please, and put it on my tab.”
    “Water,” Natalie said with a flippant smile that Zeke suspected had been practiced to hold admirers at bay. “Charge the gentleman five bucks. He’s loaded.”
    Zeke sat back to regard her. He had stepped on her toes, and she was letting him know right up front that she wouldn’t easily forgive him. He shot from the hip himself and admired that about her.
    She directed her attention to the table, centering the candle, smoothing the cloth. “I talked with Chad this evening. He seems to like you.” She looked back up, her gaze sharper this time. “I have no clue as to why, but that’s my thing. It seems that you were right, and I was wrong. This experience is good for him. Working with you today bolstered his confidence. He needs that right now.”
    His fingers skimming beads of condensation, Zeke turned his glass. “I came here to apologize.