“Even singing the way you do? You were never tempted?”
“Not at all. Life on the road is not the fun fest everyone imagines. There’s constant pressure to be visible and at the same time to be productive. Which doesn’t work for me. I need peace and quiet when I write music.”
“You write songs?”
She winced, then flushed. “Pretend I didn’t say that.”
“Not possible. Can you sing one for me?”
“No. They’re private.”
Secrets, he thought, wondering why she was so reticent. He didn’t know the first thing about how one went about writing a song, but he would guess it wasn’t hard for the words to get personal. Wouldn’t a songwriter have to pull from his or her own experience? Or at the very least, observation? That would mean exposing a piece of the writer’s soul. From what he’d learned about Destiny, she liked emotional distance between herself and everyone else. Which could be part of the problem with Starr.
“You write the songs for yourself?” he asked.
“No. I just write them. I don’t have a choice.”
Simple words, but there was something in her tone. Sadness, maybe? Resignation?
Without having a plan, he straightened, grabbed her hand and pulled her to him. She rose slowly and stepped into his embrace. Once she was there, he wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on her head.
“Don’t worry,” he told her. “I’ll keep you safe.”
“I don’t need protecting.”
“Sure you do. Everyone does from something.”
“So what scares you?”
“Not being able to take care of the people who matter to me.”
Because of what had happened with his father, stepmother and Shelby, he thought, remembering what it had been like to be trapped in a hospital bed a half-world away from his sister. Mayor Marsha had promised to keep her safe and in return, he’d come here and taken over the HERO program.
“You’re a really good guy,” Destiny told him, her body warm against his. “You sure you don’t want to try my sensible relationship plan?”
A sexless marriage? “Not until you try things my way first.”
She chuckled, then looked up at him. “That is never going to happen.”
“Did you know I competed professionally? Are you sure you want to challenge me?”
She smiled. “I’ll take my chances.”
“Then game on.”
CHAPTER TEN
“MY NAME IS Charlie Stryker, and I’m in charge.”
Kipling recognized the woman speaking. She was tall and broad-shouldered, with a lot of upper body strength. She didn’t move like a pregnant woman, probably because she clearly worked out on a regular basis. She was a firefighter, and Kipling figured anyone would feel a lot better when she showed up at the scene of a disaster. Charlie exuded confidence and competency.
She stood with her hands on her hips. Her gaze was steady, as if she didn’t expect trouble, but would handle it if it came along.
“I’m going to divide you into groups. You’ll be assigned specific tasks. Let me be clear, this isn’t a democracy. You volunteered to help, and help you will. Under my terms.”
“You’re hot when you’re bossy,” a male voice called out.
Kipling wondered how long it would take Charlie to flatten the guy, only instead of pummeling him, she flushed.
“Ignore my husband,” she told the group of people standing in front of her.
The combination of bravado and blushing was kind of appealing, Kipling thought, thinking this was the damnedest town with the most interesting people.
Charlie explained how the playground sprucing up would work.
“As I was saying, you’ll be divided into teams. Each team will be assigned to a playground. You’ll have a list of things to do there. Do not deviate from the list. Don’t do more than asked. Don’t use your own supplies. There are reasons for all this, but it would waste time to go into them, so please, people, do what you’re asked, and this will all go smoothly.”
She went on to list rules and instructions. Kipling was only half listening as he glanced around at the people who had volunteered to start work at eight on a Saturday morning. There was more turnout than he would have expected. A lot of the people were obviously couples, with wives leaning against their husbands, all of whom were still drinking coffee.
He saw Destiny and another woman. They were listening to Charlie and looking more than a little worried. Which probably made Charlie very happy.
The blonde was pretty enough, but Kipling was only interested in Destiny. But before he could head over, Shelby walked up to him.
“Hey, big brother,” she said and hugged him.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“Sometimes fixing things is good.” She smiled. “Charlie has promised me duties fit for my skill level.”
“Which is?”
Shelby grinned. “Basic. Very basic.”
“Listen up, people,” Charlie said, staring directly at him and Shelby. “Those of you who brought tools are in the first group. You’ll be going to a couple of different playgrounds, fixing equipment. The rest of you, line up and I’ll put you into your teams. If you have a preference, let me know. We need people with muscles to remove the old mats. Dirty bark has to be raked up and hauled away. Wood needs sanding, and there’s plenty of painting for all. Let’s move. Daylight’s wasting.”
“Not at all. Life on the road is not the fun fest everyone imagines. There’s constant pressure to be visible and at the same time to be productive. Which doesn’t work for me. I need peace and quiet when I write music.”
“You write songs?”
She winced, then flushed. “Pretend I didn’t say that.”
“Not possible. Can you sing one for me?”
“No. They’re private.”
Secrets, he thought, wondering why she was so reticent. He didn’t know the first thing about how one went about writing a song, but he would guess it wasn’t hard for the words to get personal. Wouldn’t a songwriter have to pull from his or her own experience? Or at the very least, observation? That would mean exposing a piece of the writer’s soul. From what he’d learned about Destiny, she liked emotional distance between herself and everyone else. Which could be part of the problem with Starr.
“You write the songs for yourself?” he asked.
“No. I just write them. I don’t have a choice.”
Simple words, but there was something in her tone. Sadness, maybe? Resignation?
Without having a plan, he straightened, grabbed her hand and pulled her to him. She rose slowly and stepped into his embrace. Once she was there, he wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on her head.
“Don’t worry,” he told her. “I’ll keep you safe.”
“I don’t need protecting.”
“Sure you do. Everyone does from something.”
“So what scares you?”
“Not being able to take care of the people who matter to me.”
Because of what had happened with his father, stepmother and Shelby, he thought, remembering what it had been like to be trapped in a hospital bed a half-world away from his sister. Mayor Marsha had promised to keep her safe and in return, he’d come here and taken over the HERO program.
“You’re a really good guy,” Destiny told him, her body warm against his. “You sure you don’t want to try my sensible relationship plan?”
A sexless marriage? “Not until you try things my way first.”
She chuckled, then looked up at him. “That is never going to happen.”
“Did you know I competed professionally? Are you sure you want to challenge me?”
She smiled. “I’ll take my chances.”
“Then game on.”
CHAPTER TEN
“MY NAME IS Charlie Stryker, and I’m in charge.”
Kipling recognized the woman speaking. She was tall and broad-shouldered, with a lot of upper body strength. She didn’t move like a pregnant woman, probably because she clearly worked out on a regular basis. She was a firefighter, and Kipling figured anyone would feel a lot better when she showed up at the scene of a disaster. Charlie exuded confidence and competency.
She stood with her hands on her hips. Her gaze was steady, as if she didn’t expect trouble, but would handle it if it came along.
“I’m going to divide you into groups. You’ll be assigned specific tasks. Let me be clear, this isn’t a democracy. You volunteered to help, and help you will. Under my terms.”
“You’re hot when you’re bossy,” a male voice called out.
Kipling wondered how long it would take Charlie to flatten the guy, only instead of pummeling him, she flushed.
“Ignore my husband,” she told the group of people standing in front of her.
The combination of bravado and blushing was kind of appealing, Kipling thought, thinking this was the damnedest town with the most interesting people.
Charlie explained how the playground sprucing up would work.
“As I was saying, you’ll be divided into teams. Each team will be assigned to a playground. You’ll have a list of things to do there. Do not deviate from the list. Don’t do more than asked. Don’t use your own supplies. There are reasons for all this, but it would waste time to go into them, so please, people, do what you’re asked, and this will all go smoothly.”
She went on to list rules and instructions. Kipling was only half listening as he glanced around at the people who had volunteered to start work at eight on a Saturday morning. There was more turnout than he would have expected. A lot of the people were obviously couples, with wives leaning against their husbands, all of whom were still drinking coffee.
He saw Destiny and another woman. They were listening to Charlie and looking more than a little worried. Which probably made Charlie very happy.
The blonde was pretty enough, but Kipling was only interested in Destiny. But before he could head over, Shelby walked up to him.
“Hey, big brother,” she said and hugged him.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“Sometimes fixing things is good.” She smiled. “Charlie has promised me duties fit for my skill level.”
“Which is?”
Shelby grinned. “Basic. Very basic.”
“Listen up, people,” Charlie said, staring directly at him and Shelby. “Those of you who brought tools are in the first group. You’ll be going to a couple of different playgrounds, fixing equipment. The rest of you, line up and I’ll put you into your teams. If you have a preference, let me know. We need people with muscles to remove the old mats. Dirty bark has to be raked up and hauled away. Wood needs sanding, and there’s plenty of painting for all. Let’s move. Daylight’s wasting.”
