Life Rewritten Read online

  Sam glanced at the group and saw Chantal take another drink. That much hadn’t changed. “How often do they play?”

  The bartender studied him a little more closely. “Once a week, usually. This weekend, they’re covering tomorrow night, too. How long are you going to be here?”

  “Awhile,” he said easily. “I’ve got business in the area. If they’re as good as you say, I’ll come to hear them again.”

  Quinn nodded. “They’re that good.” He filled another glass for a customer several seats down. “Maybe we’ll see you around, then.”

  “Probably so.”

  Sam settled back against the counter. He hadn’t wanted to come after Chantal. All he’d wanted to do was forget about her. Forget what she’d done to his brother. To his niece and nephew.

  Sam had failed his brother, and Chantal was a reminder of that.

  Guilt swept over him again, and nothing could make it go away. When child protective services in Miami had called to say the kids were alone, their mother in the hospital, he’d told the social worker he’d hire someone to take care of them. Her voice had gone from friendly and sympathetic to cold when she informed him he was the emergency contact their mother had listed. He had custody of them now.

  He didn’t have the time, the energy or the patience to take care of two kids. Diesel’s kids. But Heather’s breakdown hadn’t given him any choice.

  When the P.I. had called to say he’d found Chantal, Sam had still been trying to hire someone to care for Leo and Rennie. One prospective nanny after another had fallen through, and he’d been forced to drag them along with him to Otter Tail. What was supposed to be a quick visit, in and out by himself, had turned into an ordeal. Five-year-old Rennie got airsick on the plane and carsick on the road. Her ten-year-old brother had been sullen and resentful, and barely spoke to him.

  The tiny motel room left Sam no escape from the kids. He couldn’t even put them to bed and close a door. He’d better be able to get those CDs from Chantal quickly. He wasn’t sure how much more up close and personal he could take with the kids.

  Diesel’s children needed the money those unreleased recordings of their father would bring in. The kids had to be kept out of the limelight and protected, and he’d chosen a private school for them that would do all that and more. They’d have the best education money could buy. And they would be shielded from the paparazzi and the constant attention their mother’s erratic behavior received.

  If he could do that for Diesel’s kids, he would feel at least a little redemption for the way he’d failed their father. But in order to get them in that school, he needed a lot more money than he had.

  Sam was certain Chantal—or Delaney Spencer as she called herself now—had those tapes. The least she could do was hand them over to Diesel’s kids, since she’d destroyed their father.

  The guitar players slid onto stools, the keyboardist ran off some chords and the noise level in the pub dropped. Then the band started playing.

  The music was nothing like the Redheaded Stepsisters. It wasn’t hard rock, pounding rhythm, angry lyrics. This group played covers from a wide variety of bands, and they did it well, Sam admitted grudgingly.

  The drummer was good. She didn’t overpower the other instruments and draw attention to herself. But it was clear she was talented. She didn’t sing, though. And Chantal had always sung.

  Several songs later, Sam felt the first stirrings of real doubt. Maybe the P.I. was wrong.

  Then the keyboard player hit a chord, the guitar players let their hands fall away from their instruments, and the drummer set her sticks on her lap and pulled the microphone toward her. It felt as if the whole room held its breath.

  Sam played with a cardboard Guinness coaster as he waited. Watching.

  The drummer’s chest rose as she drew a breath and launched into a poignant Fleetwood Mac song. Sam snapped the cardboard coaster in two. There was no mistaking that voice.

  Chantal.

  He’d found her.

  CHAPTER TWO

  HE WAS WATCHING HER.

  The faces of the crowd were in darkness, but somehow Delaney knew the stranger’s gaze was fixed on her. Had been for a while. Since “Landslide.”She hit the tom-tom too hard, let the cymbal crash too loudly, and Paul shot her a questioning glance. She closed her eyes for a moment to steady herself, then adjusted the sticks in her hands. Her voice blended into Paul’s and Hank’s in the chorus of “The Hindu Times,” and she sang more softly. Thank God she wasn’t the featured singer.

  By the time the second set was over, she was convinced the stranger had bored a hole right through her skull.

  She put her sticks down and bent to adjust one of the cymbals to give herself a few minutes. She didn’t want to run into the stranger with Diesel’s eyes. At the end of a set, people began moving around, and the pub would soon be crowded and busy. In the meantime, she was safe behind her drums.

  God, she needed a drink.

  As she finally navigated the tangle of wires and mics, she noticed the guy was no longer sitting at the bar. She took a deep breath and let her shoulders relax. It was late. He had left.

  Several people said hello as she made her way through the crowd, just like any other Friday night. By the time she reached the bar, she decided she’d imagined the man’s interest. The band was the entertainment at the Harp. Of course people were watching them.

  “You guys sound good tonight,” Quinn said, holding out a fresh mug. “People are staying longer than usual.”

  “Thanks.” She took a drink, savoring the caffeine jolt. “Man, I needed a hit of this.”

  “You want a chaser to go along with it?” he teased.

  “Yeah, give me the usual.” She waited while he filled a glass with ice and lemon-lime soda.

  “One of these days, you’re gonna have to cut back.” Quinn slid the glass to her. “You’re developing a serious habit.”

  She peered into the soda, craving a different drink. “Yeah. I’m good at that.”

  Quinn went still. “Is that so?” He stared at her until the beer he was drawing overflowed the glass. “I am, too. Maybe we should compare notes sometime.”

  The AA medallion in her pocket was warm from her body as she rolled it between her fingers. It was familiar. Comforting. Should she show Quinn?

  She looked up and saw understanding in his eyes. The acknowledgment of a shared flaw.

  Delaney needed to feel less alone tonight. To connect with another person. She drew the green medallion from her jeans and set it on the bar. “Two and a half years. That’s the only note I have.”

  Quinn removed a red medallion from his pocket and laid it next to hers. “Five years. You have a sponsor in the area?”

  “Number one on my speed dial.” She exhaled slowly. Okay, she’d told Quinn and her world hadn’t crashed. It was okay. She could go a little further. “Anniversaries are tough.”

  “Yeah. I know.” Quinn’s hand covered hers. “If you ever need a face-to-face, give me a call.”

  She picked up the token, rubbed its edge, then slid it back into her pocket. “Same goes for you.”

  “Absolutely.” He squeezed her hand.

  She took a long drink of the tart-sweet liquid and set the glass down carefully. “So, who was the stranger sitting at the bar?”

  Quinn raised his eyebrows. “Some guy passing through. I can introduce you.”

  “No!” she said, but he’d already turned away.

  “Hey, Sam,” he called. “Come here and meet the drummer.”

  So the guy hadn’t left.

  Before she could escape, the stranger materialized before her. His eyes were gray. Nothing like Diesel’s brown ones. She took a deep breath and her shoulders relaxed.

  “Hi,” she said, holding out her hand. “I’m Delaney.”

  “Sam McCabe.” He closed his fingers around hers. His hand was warm and callused.

  “Welcome to the Harp.” She managed to smile, even though being social
was the last thing she wanted to do tonight. But people liked to talk to the band members. And part of her job was to keep the customers happy.

  “You draw quite a crowd.” He indicated the people milling around the bar. “Impressive for a town this size.” He focused on her again, as if he was memorizing her face. “You’re very good.”

  “Paul, Hank, Stu and I are good together,” she corrected automatically.

  “The bartender says you’re going to be here tomorrow, too. Can I buy you a drink?” He was leaning against the bar, invading her personal space. She tried to back up, but bumped into a stool.

  “No, thanks,” she said, holding up her mug. “I’m set.”

  “How about a refill?”

  “Afraid not. Any more caffeine and I’ll be flying.” She didn’t want to lie awake all night, haunted by memories of Diesel.

  “You’re drinking coffee?” He peered into her mug. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

  She backed up again, and the stool behind her scraped over the wooden floor. “What did you think I’d be drinking out of a mug?”

  “Most bands are fueled by something stronger than coffee.”

  “You’ve seen too many movies,” she said lightly. “Enjoy the rest of the evening.”

  She edged through the crowd, trying to put as much distance between them as possible. Voices rose and fell around her, people touched her arm and said nice things about the music, but all of it was a blur. She was aware only of her tight chest and the ache deep inside. The hair on her neck rose, and she knew he was watching her.

  It didn’t matter. She wasn’t that woman anymore, the one for whom drumming had been connected with sex. That was Chantal, and she hadn’t been Chantal for almost three years.

  It had taken a long time to erase that woman from her life. No man, even one with intriguing eyes, was going to bring her back to life. Finding her self-respect had been a struggle, and Delaney wasn’t about to toss it away.

  “Hey, what’s wrong?” Maddie hooked an arm through Delaney’s and pulled her into a corner. “You’re acting like the hounds of hell are after you.”

  That’s because they were. Between her involuntary reaction to Sam and the memories of Diesel, her past was wrapping its sticky tentacles around her. “Nothing,” she managed to say.

  Maddie peered into her face. “Talk to me, Delaney. What happened?”

  Her friend was too perceptive. And far too easy to talk to. Maddie might not be a reporter anymore, but she still had the instincts. If Delaney wasn’t careful, she’d be spilling her guts soon. “That guy at the bar.” She jerked her head in his direction. “The tall, dark-haired one. He’s watching me and it’s making me twitchy.”

  “Hallelujah and praise the saints. Finally.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Maddie draped an arm over her shoulder. “Honey, it’s about time you got twitchy. You’ve been out of circulation way too long. That guy watching you? It’s called flirting. He’s interested. And I have to compliment him on his taste.”

  “Knock it off, Maddie.”

  Her friend frowned. “Why, Delaney? As far as I know, you haven’t been on a date since I’ve been here. What’s wrong with enjoying the attention of a hot guy?”

  “I have my reasons.”

  “And they would be?”

  “None of your business.”

  “Are you secretly married? Engaged?”

  “Of course not.” Stupid mistake.

  “Then what’s the problem? Flirt with the guy. Have a drink with him after work. There’s no law against that.”

  Yeah, there was, and it was chiseled in stone. No relationships with guys she met while she was performing. Not after what had happened with Diesel.

  “I have to say, you’ve got good taste. He’s smokin’. A real man babe. And he’s still watching you.”

  The shiver down her spine was dread. “Man babe? Women in your condition aren’t supposed to talk like that.” Delaney put her hands on either side of Maddie’s protruding belly as if shielding the baby’s ears. “What if the kid hears you?”

  “He or she will think I’m talking about their daddy.” Maddie seemed to be lit from within when she glanced at Quinn.

  Delaney ignored the pinch of envy. She’d lost any right to be jealous of other people’s happiness. And she was thrilled her friends had found each other. “You have to watch your mouth around kids. They pick up everything.”

  Maddie snapped her attention back to Delaney. “Since when do you know about kids?”

  “I’ve known people with kids.” Even saying the words brought a sharp stab of pain.

  “Really? When was this?”

  “Long ago and far away. In another life.”

  The uncomfortable moment stretched too long, then Maddie linked arms with her. “Let’s wander back toward the bar. We can bump into that guy again.”

  “I need to change my shirt and get something to eat,” Delaney said. “Flirting is going to have to wait.” Hell hadn’t frozen over yet.

  SAM WATCHED CHANTAL DRAG a very pregnant woman toward the back of the pub, then disappear through a swinging door. She still had the mug clutched in her hand.

  It had held coffee. He’d smelled it. Maybe Diesel’s death had scared Chantal straight.He could use that. Explain that Diesel’s kids needed those tapes. Maybe this would be easier than he’d expected.

  “You must be a big music fan.” It was the bartender, Murphy.

  Sam turned to face him. “What do you mean?”

  “You’ve been watching Delaney all night.”

  Was the guy jealous? “She’s a talented drummer, and she’s got a beautiful voice.”

  “Yeah, she has a gift.” Murphy smiled, but it didn’t extend to his eyes.

  “I haven’t seen a woman like her in a long time.” He glanced toward the swinging door, but the two women hadn’t emerged. “Does she live around here?”

  Murphy’s token smile disappeared. “That’s none of your business.”

  Sam held up his hands. “I was just making conversation.” Damn, he must be more tired than he thought. That had been clumsy and stupid.

  Murphy’s expression remained guarded. “No problem.” He nodded at Sam’s almost empty glass. “You need another one?”

  “No, thanks. I’m good.”

  Sam turned away from the bartender’s too-perceptive gaze. The two guitar players and the keyboard guy were back at their instruments, and Murphy slipped out from behind the bar. He pushed open the swinging door at the back of the room and yelled, “Delaney, get out here and bang on some drums.”

  Delaney pushed through the door sideways. She was talking to someone behind her. Sam couldn’t hear what she said, but when she turned around, she seemed relaxed. Comfortable.

  Unexpected anger rolled over him. It looked as if she had a nice life while his brother was rotting in the ground, and Diesel’s children had become feral animals.

  Her shoulders tensed when she caught his eye. She held his gaze for a moment, as if trying to read him, then headed toward the front of the pub.

  She couldn’t avoid him for much longer.

  HE SHOULD HAVE PICKED UP Leo and Rennie an hour ago, but he was still in the pub when the band sang their last note. Delaney had soloed on four or five more songs, and her voice was richer, clearer, more mature than it had been three years ago.

  Everyone else in the pub thought so, too. The noise had dropped every time she opened her mouth. Now, as the musicians began to pack up, the volume rose again and people stood to leave.It didn’t take long for Delaney to zip her drums into a gray vinyl bag. Then she hurried to a room off the bar and emerged moments later with a jacket, purse and gym bag. As she shrugged the jacket on, Sam stepped in front of her.

  “I enjoyed listening to you guys. Can I buy you a drink?”

  She didn’t even slow down. “I can’t speak for the rest of the guys, but no thanks.”

  She smiled as she kept walking, but th
e gesture didn’t extend to her eyes. They were weary and sad.

  Did she know what day it was? Had she been thinking about Diesel all night, too?

  Sam signaled Murphy for his tab and slid several bills across the bar. As he grabbed his coat from one of the hooks on the wall, he saw Delaney pick up the drum bag. He hurried to open the door for her, stepping into a frigid March wind howling off Lake Michigan. Pellets of icy snow stung his face. Who would choose to live in a place with weather like this?

  Someone who was running away. Someone who wanted to hide.

  But she’d been found. And he wasn’t leaving until he got what he’d come for.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “CAN I HELP YOU WITH those?”

  “No, thanks. I have them.”Delaney turned into the parking lot, and Sam followed her. She spun around, her breath streaming out in a white cloud as she steadied the drums on her knee. “Get the hell away from me. Don’t you understand no? I’m not interested, Mr. McCabe.”

  He raised his hands. “I’m going to my car, okay?”

  She waited as he headed toward the Jeep. When he pressed the remote and the lights flashed, she walked the other way.

  She’d assumed he was trying to pick her up.

  Of course she did. A woman who looked like her would get a lot of attention, and he’d been watching her all night.

  Interesting that she hadn’t taken him up on it, though. According to all the gossip columns, Chantal had been a wild child.

  She was heading toward a beat-up truck standing by itself in the lot. As he slid into his car, her feet went out from under her and she stumbled.

  She almost recovered, but she didn’t let go of the gray bag and its weight toppled her over. She twisted to protect the drums, and landed heavily on her rear end. As Sam hurried toward her, he heard a cry of pain, which she immediately muted, but she still cradled the damn drums against her chest.

  “You should have let go,” he said, reaching down to take them from her.

  “My butt will recover. The drums might not.”

  She held on to them for a moment, but must have realized she couldn’t get up on the ice. Allowing him to lift the bag, which was even heavier than he’d thought, she stood up gracefully before he could help her.