Free Playing by Heart by Anne Mateer Page A

into a frown. Best try again. “Are you injured, Miss . . . ?”
    â€œBowman,” she finally answered. “Miss Bowman.”
    Giles stepped between us. “The new music teacher, I presume?” He handed her the books that had skated across the floor.
    She hesitated, then reached for them, moving one small pamphlet inside a larger volume. A blush stole up her thin neck and colored her cheeks.
    She was even prettier when flustered. My heart surged forward in spite of my efforts to apply the brake. Last year had been a delicate dance, avoiding Miss Delancey’s pursuit. And yet I couldn’t ignore this woman. She seemed . . . vulnerable. Yet strong. Determined, but lost somehow, too.
    â€œDo forgive us for not paying attention, Miss Bowman.”
    She nodded. “Yes. Yes, of course. Now if you’ll excuse me?”
    She took a step toward the front doors. I blocked her path.
    Her eyes sparked. “Do you wish to knock me down again, or do you have another aim, Mr. Vaughn?”
    â€œAh. I see you already know my name. Chet Vaughn.” I held out my hand. “My mother is friends with your—with Mrs. Wyatt.”
    She squinted.
    â€œI talked with JC. At the funeral.” My voice died away. Great job, Vaughn. Bring up the funeral.
    â€œNice to meet you. I have to go,” she whispered.
    I stepped aside, watched her leave the building.
    Lula Bowman. The new music teacher. Would she remain as alluring after I got to know her better?
    I was almost afraid to find out.

11
    L ULA
    I couldn’t exit the building fast enough. Escape Mr. Vaughn and his eyes as dark and soft as a barn cat I’d once called Midnight. Escape the kindness and curiosity in his soothing voice. Escape those sturdy shoulders, the solid build not often found in academic men.
    A man like Mr. Vaughn would no sooner look at me with romantic intentions than, well, than that insolent boy Mr. Graham would.
    I pressed the books to my chest as my feet carried me forward. No direction in mind, just escape. My breath caught as I remembered that I’d signed my name to a contract that forbade any entanglements of the heart.
    With long, deep breaths, I took comfort in numbers. Recited mathematical formulas. Concocted arithmetic problems. Walked until my legs ached. Until I noticed a familiar steepled building rise up on my right.
    I stopped, peeling the books from their place over my heart. JC had asked me to continue playing the piano at church, and Pastor Reynolds wanted me to, as well. I stared at the whitespire poking into the blue sky. Had the Lord directed my steps to this place? Whether it was the Lord or my own two feet, I knew I was where I needed to be.
    The heavy door squeaked as I pulled it open. I found Pastor Reynolds in his small office at the rear of the church, the afternoon sun slanting through a high window and surrounding him like a halo. I could find no reason to tiptoe around the issue. “Have you found a permanent pianist yet?”
    He removed the spectacles from over his nose. “Why no, we haven’t.” He glanced out the door, as if fearing Mrs. Wayfair herself would suddenly appear before us. “I confess, I had hoped you’d decide to accept the job.”
    My face heated. Pastor Reynolds hadn’t been in Dunn long enough to know of my reputation as Fruity Lu, who came and went on a whim. He only knew me as Jewel’s sister, the one who’d come home to support her. “Can you tell me a bit of what would be expected as pianist?”
    â€œOf course.” He motioned me to a chair. I sat. He paced. “I would supply you with a list of hymns—three or four—a week in advance. You would simply provide the accompaniment to our worship services.”
    â€œThat’s all?”
    â€œYes. And for your time, we are able to offer a small stipend.”
    I sat up straighter, wet my lips. “A stipend?”
    He smiled.