Free Wild Irish Envy (Copperline #2) by Sibylla Matilde Page B

lyrics in my head. The more I felt a riff beating in my heart. The more I wanted to create something beautiful.
    And, knowing she was Trent’s girl now, my last shred of motivation had disappeared. My fascination with her caused more of a lonely ache than alluring excitement.
    Like I could tell her that, though.
    “I guess I finally decided that I don’t really want to be an engineer,” I offered with a wry, sheepish twist to my lips. “I don’t really know what I do want, except that, the more the guys and I play, the more I want that… just to create things.”
    “You’re very good,” she smiled, and it twisted at my heart a little bit. She was so feckin’ beautiful and it was physically painful sitting here so close to her knowing I couldn’t have her. “I’d seen you practice, but until I got to hear you at the Copperline, it had just seemed like you were messing around. Even then, though, you have a rhythm. A sound.”
    “Yeah, a sound that makes dogs howl and glass break,” I laughed.
    “No, really,” she giggled back, a light, cheerful sound, musical in its own right. “You know, I used to listen to you on the radio at night, when you guys did your show.” Her smile faded and her voice grew a little quieter, as though she was telling me a secret or whispering the remnants of a dream. “Your voice carried through the night, rich and strong. And the things you say in your songs…” she shook her head and gave a wistful smile, “they’re beautiful.”
    For a moment, my eyes caught hers, and the sincerity of her words mesmerized me. The glimmering honesty that reflected the city lights below us.
    For a long while, we were both silent, but in an oddly comfortable way. It felt almost intimate just breathing her air, quietly perched on the hillside. My mind began to wander, lulled by how easy it was to just be with her. Wishing that the shades would stay down there, lights flashing all night so I wouldn’t have to take her back to Trent.
    Feckin’ hell… Trent.
    “So,” I said, clearing my throat, “how are things going with Trent?” It was abrupt, but I had to bring him back into my head somehow. She was entirely too tempting sitting here beside me.
    Her eyes dropped down to her hands and she shrugged. “Okay, I guess,” she replied, chewing at her lower lip, clearly not really wanting to discuss him.
    Maybe a little ashamed for thoughts that might have been running through her head, thoughts similar to mine. She went from relaxed and calm to rigid in a moment, leaning forward to hug her legs.
    She looked up towards the mountain peaks that bordered the edge of town, up to the Lady of the Rockies, a giant statue of the Virgin Mother who looked over the predominantly Irish Catholic city below. Glancing up at me, she nodded towards the massive, illuminated shape that appeared, from a distance, to be tiny.
    “You know, my grampa helped build that,” she murmured. “The whole town had lost so much over the years. It was kind of a tough time for the miners because so much had changed since they went underground. That was their whole life. When they closed the last of the mine shafts and went solely to strip mining, they lost a sense of themselves.”
    “How long ago was that?”
    “The late seventies or early eighties, I think. Before I was born, but not a horribly long time. The construction of the Lady did so much to bring Butte together, to raise the spirits of the town. To renew the sense of pride in being from such a unique place.”
    I chuckled. “I doubt there’s another place like Butte in all the world.”
    “Not with the character, that’s for sure,” she mused. “My mom never really got it, I don’t think.” The smile that touched her lips faded some, grew a little melancholy. “I guess she always wanted to leave, to go back east where she’d grown up, right up until she died, but my dad was Butte born and bred.”
    “What was your ma like?” I hadn’t heard this,