Beck and Call (Pianos and Promises #2) Read online

  “Yes, ma’am. My mom and dad want to eat around three. Does that work for you and Noah?”

  “That’s perfect. Thank you.” I stared at my phone for a minute before I went back out to serve drinks to the rowdy crowd Saturday nights brought in. I thought about my life choices, like saying no to the Brit. Even if he was interested, it would have never worked out. My interview proved it. It would be like Phil all over again. He would only add more doubts about my decisions. I didn’t have time to look back or second guess. I promised Momma I would take care of Noah, and I was doing the best I knew how.

  ~*~

  I needed Thanksgiving Day. The gym and Bangers were both closed. I forgot what it was like to lay in bed with nowhere to go and not a care in the world. I sat up and my first thought was to head to my piano. I didn’t play it as much as I wanted to. Not that many years ago I was glued to the bench, but that was a different time and place, a different me. I let Toby out into the crisp morning before taking up my spot at the classic black studio upright my daddy gave me on my thirteenth birthday. He whispered in my ear when it was delivered, “You’ll do great things.” He died four years later from sepsis. I’m not sure this was what he meant by great.

  We trudged on after his unexpected death. Momma threw herself into managing my career. I played at every talent show and fair around the state. Then I landed on Nashville Has Talent, a national TV show. That was four years ago. During the final rounds we found out Momma had lung cancer. I lost my focus and stumbled during the final performance and Danny won the vote. I had to hand it to him, he was the finest guitar player I had ever heard, and he had a voice like Alan Jackson. I had more of a bluesy bent to mine, though I could rock a country song or two.

  Momma’s condition deteriorated rapidly, but she was a fighter and hung in there for as long as she could. She wanted to finish raising Noah and she wanted to see me play at the Grand Ole Opry. She got neither.

  I sat down at bench and ran my hands down the length of the ivory. I started in on a cover of “Love Me Some You,” by Harry Connick Jr. It was a great jazz number, all I needed was a big band behind me. When I sang and played, I was transported to my own world. I felt like I was in a night club in New Orleans. And guess who popped in to hear me play? The him. I banged my head against the piano keys. I needed to quit obsessing over my obsession. This was why I was never supposed to meet him. He had me confused. Was he the jerk from the interview or the nice gentleman that smiled and asked to buy me a drink?

  Noah walked by during my episode. “Your head sucks at playing.”

  “Thanks, bro.” I popped up. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

  “Yeah.” He yawned and stretched. “I’m going to head to the park to play some football with the guys.”

  “Okay. Be home with enough time to shower before we leave at noon. I want to help the Joneses with dinner.”

  He nodded and walked off.

  Sometimes I felt so alone. I loved Noah, but he was at that age where grunting and head gestures were his major form of communication. I really did feel for him. He had barely known Daddy, and Momma was so ill the last part of her life. At least while I was growing up they were whole and healthy. I kind of hoped that someday I would find a great guy for Noah to bond with and do guy things with. Like a father figure. But no such luck. I hadn’t even found a good boyfriend figure.

  I played one more song, “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” with my own bluesy twist on it. And maybe I sent up a prayer that our troubles would soon be out of sight, just like the song said.

  That was nice thinking.

  Chapter Five

  “When it rains, it pours” could be the theme of my life. December arrived, and with it came actual rain, because that’s what it does in Nashville in December. It was better than snow, I guess. With the rain came four bald tires that Daddy’s old friend and mechanic insisted I get replaced, and a broken garbage disposal. I knew the truck needed tires, but I had been putting it off, along with ten other things that needed to be replaced or repaired. I was at least grateful Daddy’s old pal gave me a steal of a deal, but even still, it cost me several hundred dollars. And the garbage disposal had to be fixed or the dishwasher wouldn’t work. With every passing day, Noah’s Christmas gift slipped away.

  To save money, I decided to replace the garbage disposal myself. I was competent and could follow a YouTube instructional video. It looked so simple; I should have known better. I spent my Tuesday night off under the sink and swearing. I had gotten the dumb thing mounted, but I couldn’t get the drain from the dishwasher properly connected to it. With every attempt, my swearing got saltier and louder.

  Noah snickered in the background. “I don’t think you can ever tell me to watch my mouth again.”

  “I can and I will,” I grumbled back.

  “Hypocrite,” he muttered.

  I was a big fat one.

  The doorbell rang and Noah took the escape route away from his PMS-ing sister. Home repairs and hormones don’t mix. I was about ready to take the hammer to something. “Dang it, dang it, dang it!” I vented. I was trying not to be more of a bad example. Then I heard it. The most glorious voice that belonged to the most heavenly body. What the hell? Swearing inside my head doesn’t count.

  “My sister’s in the kitchen fixing our garbage disposal,” Noah informed our guest.

  What was he doing here? And how did he know where I lived? I wasn’t sure if I should be creeped out or flattered. I kept lying under the sink like an idiot. I looked down and I was wearing a pair of cutoffs and an old stained t-shirt. Could I ever see this guy when I was wearing something nice? I heard steps first and then chatter.

  “Thanks, mate.” The voice was close.

  “No problem.” Noah’s voice trailed off. Where was he going? In answer to my question, I heard him thunder up the stairs.

  “Ms. Call?”

  “Just Call.” My voice echoed under the sink.

  The next thing I knew Mr. Englishman was bent down looking at me in my precarious situation. Of course, he was dressed to the nines in a suit and tie. Man, he looked fine.

  “Can I help you?”

  He grinned. “I think I should be asking you that.”

  I had the hammer in my hand. I set it down. “Not unless you know anything about plumbing or home repair.”

  “Actually, my dad is a plumber.”

  “Uh.” I was not expecting that. I figured his dad was a Lord so-and-so. “Well, too bad he’s not here.”

  “Do you want me to have a look?”

  I shook my head and did my best not to swoon or cringe. I mean, could I be in a more awkward position? “Thank you, but I’m sure I’ll eventually get it, or decide that dishwashers are highly overrated.”

  He laughed. It was the most handsome laugh I had ever heard. Masculine with a hint of levity. It was perfect. He began to take off his suit coat. “Let me have a go at it.”

  I sat up in terror—or was it delight?—without thinking and hit my head on the stupid disposal. “Dam—! I mean, ouch.” I laid back down on the hard floor of the cupboard. Please, someone just shoot me.

  “Are you all right, love?”

  There was that word again that made me feel all woozy inside. “Just fine.” Other than my decimated ego. I wished him to go away and stay all at the same time. Before I knew it, the second part came true. I found myself in very close quarters with the most attractive man on the planet. Tie and all, he crawled under the sink with me.

  I turned and met his eyes. I meant to tell him he didn’t need to do this, but when I came within inches of his face, I lost all my senses. I was lucky I didn’t wet my pants. “Uh . . .”

  “Yes?” Everything he said sounded so dashing.

  “Why are you here? And how do you know where here is?”

  “First, let’s solve your issue.” He reached across my body and I swore I was going to self-combust. It didn’t help that he smelled like sexy. Yes, sexy has a smell, and it was hi
m. I don’t think I breathed at all as he, with ease, connected the hose to the drain. Still leaning toward me, his smile widened. “Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

  I bit my lip and shook my head.

  Without another word, he left me under the sink. I took a moment to compose myself, or at least get my heart to quit skipping beats. Before I was back to normal, I saw a hand held out for me. He needed to quit being a gentleman. He was ruining me for life. No other fantasy man would ever compare.

  “Watch your head,” he cautioned.

  I took his hand and the heavens opened and the choirs sang—or was that just ringing in my ears from feeling faint with desire? His hand was smooth and warm. His grip was firm but gentle. He helped me up, and in the process drew me to him, both physically and cosmically.

  I looked up into his soul-searching green eyes. “Thank you.”

  “It was a piece of cake.” He let go of my hand.

  I missed it in an instant, but I stepped away from him and backed myself up against the sink. I tilted my head. “So why are you here?”

  His smile danced. “First of all, your address was on your resume.”

  I nodded, relieved. That only lasted for a second.

  His smile was replaced with narrowed eyes. “I need to chat with you about your dog.”

  “Toby?”

  He must have thought I was calling him, because he came running into the kitchen. I petted his head, all while staring at the object of my desire. But it didn’t take long for him to accost Mr. Beckett. He was sniffing him with excitement. I’m sure he could smell his lady love all over him.

  “Sorry. Toby come here.”

  Toby was not listening and continued to check out the him.

  “He loved Sasha. I’m sure he smells her on you.”

  Mr. Desire looked down at Toby. “Well, that answers my question if your dog is male or not.”

  “Why does that matter?”

  “How do I put this?” He was nice enough to pet Toby’s head. “Your dog shagged mine.”

  I snorted. That was real classy. “What?”

  “You don’t know what shagged means?”

  “Of course I do.” I along with everyone else who had seen the Austin Power movies, or at least the memes.

  He arched his eyebrow.

  “What makes you think they—?”

  “I took Sasha to the vet today, she’s been out of sorts. And she’s four weeks pregnant.”

  “I still don’t understand why you think Toby has anything to do with it.”

  “Is he neutered?”

  “That’s kind of a personal question, don’t you think? I mean, what if I asked you that?”

  His lip twitched. “I’m fully functioning.”

  “Good to know.” I smirked, but I was beginning to feel a sense of dread. I did not need this added burden.

  “Is Toby neutered?”

  I hung my head. “No.”

  He looked down at Toby. “Congratulations, chap, you’re going to be a father.”

  “You don’t know that.” Panic laced my words.

  His eyes caught mine and he stepped closer. “Listen, love, she hasn’t been around any other dogs but yours.”

  “How do you know? She ran away. For all you know she gets around.”

  He chuckled. “Are you calling my dog a slag?”

  I shook my head. “No. I don’t even know what that means.”

  “How do you Americans say it—promiscuous?”

  “That sounds nicer.”

  He grinned. “I had been saving my girl to properly breed her, but your fellow beat me to the punch.”

  I wanted to continue to deny it, but it wouldn’t do any good. I knew the truth. Stupid me. I meant to get Toby neutered, but it was always money that could be better used somewhere else. We were careful with him. I never expected some dog to jump over our fence. I let out a deep breath, trying to keep the tears at bay. “How much is this going to cost?”

  “Assuming there are no complications and depending on the number in the litter, around two grand.”

  I grabbed onto the counter for support. My eyes betrayed me and a tear leaked down my cheek. “I’ll figure out how to pay our half.” His concerned filled eyes made my stupid eyes water more. I tried to look away, but if only you could see him, you would know why I couldn’t—or didn’t want to.

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a white handkerchief. I didn’t even know men still carried those around. He handed it to me. “I don’t do emotional females.”

  “I’m not emotional.” At least not normally, but this was the final straw.

  He pushed the handkerchief forward.

  This time I took it. “Thank you.” I dabbed at my eyes.

  “I have a bargain for you.”

  I stood up straighter and gave him my full attention. Not that he didn’t already have it.

  “I’m leaving for London in a few days to spend the holidays with my family. I was going to board Sasha for the ten days, but I would feel more comfortable, given her condition, if you would look after her. Then we’ll call it even until the puppies arrive.”

  I thought for a moment, although I wasn’t sure why. I was going to take it. I had no other choice. My bank account was looking a little anemic. I nodded. “Would you be comfortable if she stayed here? My little brother will be out of school in a few days and he can help take care of her. And I know how you are about the uneducated having access to your home.”

  He sighed and hung his head. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

  I smiled, closed lipped.

  “If it’s not a bother, I’m sure Sasha would enjoy the company.”

  “Thank you.” I knew he didn’t have to be so kind about the situation. I wanted to say more, but I was coming up short.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow to finalize the details.”

  I nodded my agreement and handed back his handkerchief.

  “Keep it, gorgeous.”

  I couldn’t help but smile. He called me gorgeous. Or did Englishmen use that term for all women? “Again, thank you, Mr. Beckett.”

  “That won’t do. Call me Beck.”

  I shook my head. “I can’t.”

  “Ah, yes, Call. Beck and Call. It has a ring to it.”

  “How about Charles?”

  “My mum is the only person who calls me Charles.”

  “Then what should I call you?”

  He stepped forward and tugged on one of my errant curls. “I’ll let you decide. Good evening, love.”

  I felt like I had reached the inner circle of the sun, I was so on fire. He was close enough that if I had been in a bold mood, I could have stood on my tip toes and kissed him. I knew I never could. He would ruin me for all other men. I couldn’t speak.

  His arrogant smile as he walked away spoke of knowing exactly how he affected me.

  Touché, Mr. Beckett.

  Chapter Six

  I went to bed with the handkerchief. It smelled like him, yes, sexy. If I wasn’t so stressed out, I would have lain there and fantasized about him all night long, but I had to figure out a way to get Noah that gaming system. Christmas was nine days away and, as usual, my plans weren’t going accordingly. And then there was Toby. He was getting castrated as soon as possible. Men.

  I punched my pillow and tried to fall asleep, but Mr. I-hadn’t-come-up-with-a-name-for-him-yet was so good he pushed through my stress. He was beautiful, and when he spoke, I swore I could hear Amazing Grace being sung by a chorus of angels. I had to keep reminding myself that men like him didn’t fall for women like me. And it was only British manners.

  Mr. Manners called as promised the next day. I may or may not have checked my phone a hundred times before the actual event. He had perfect timing. I had just finished up with a client and I had a half hour before my kick-boxing class began.

  “How are you today?”

  “Not emotional.”

  He laughed. It wa
s glorious. “I’m happy to hear that.”

  “I’m sorry about last night. I usually don’t cry, it’s just … well anyway … it was an off moment.” Like the last four years.

  “Anything I can help with?”

  Was he for real? Why would he ask that? He didn’t even know me, other than I was—how did he put it?—cheeky. “No. I’ll figure it out. Thanks.”

  “Maybe a night out would help. I have two tickets for a Predators game tonight. I thought you might like to accompany me. We could do dinner first and talk about Sasha.”

  Was he asking me out? No. Regardless, I was tempted, but I couldn’t afford to skip work. “I do like hockey, but I’m bartending tonight.”

  “Bugger it.”

  I laughed. I think I understood what that meant. I had a thought. “Hey. This might be weird, but my brother loves hockey and he will be taking care of Sasha as much as me.” As soon as it came out of my mouth I felt embarrassed.

  He was quiet.

  I was an idiot.

  “Or, you know, you could just email me Sasha’s schedule and any particulars I should be aware of.”

  “Where does—Noah, correct?—like to eat?”

  “Yes, Noah. You don’t need to feed him.”

  “What kind of a date would I be?”

  “Indeed.” So he was asking me on a date? “He’s a teenage boy so anywhere will do. Are you sure about this? I can pay for his ticket and meal.” Not really, but I would figure it out.

  “He’s not as gorgeous as you, but he’ll do.”

  “Thank you. This will be good for him. He needs …” I didn’t need to tell this man our life story. “He can walk to your place or, if the timing works out, I can drop him off.”

  “It won’t be a problem for me to pick him up. Does five work?”

  “Yes. I’ll see you then.”

  “Even better. Goodbye, love.”

  I felt like melting into a puddle of goo on the floor, but … wait. I called him right back.

  “Missed me already?”

  Did I ever. “I was thinking that I don’t know anything about you. What kind of sister would I be sending my brother off with a stranger?”

  “What do you want to know?”