When Silence Falls. Shirlee McCoy
told me not to let you go home with multiple dogs. You didn’t say anything about pony-sized ones.”
“So, you don’t have any opinion about it?”
“My opinion doesn’t count. You’re the one who’s got to live with him.”
“I know. And I should probably get a smaller dog. But he’s just so…”
“Pitiful?”
“I was thinking sweet.” She looked disgruntled as she reached down to pat the dog’s head. “My brothers are going to think I’m insane. I can just hear Gray now—what were you thinking, Piper?”
“So?”
“You’d have to be the youngest child to understand.”
“Maybe. But even if I were a youngest child instead of an only, I don’t think I’d let my siblings’ opinions keep me from doing what I thought was right.”
“I don’t plan to. I’m just preparing myself for their disapproval.” Her voice was light, but there was an undercurrent of something—maybe frustration—lacing the words.
“They won’t disapprove. The dog is big enough to scare away the most persistent intruder. Your brothers will appreciate that.” He gave in to temptation and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, letting the silky threads of it slide through his fingers.
Her eyes widened, her face—usually pale porcelain—tinged pink and she stepped away, the frown line back between her brows. “One way or another, I’m about to find out.” She turned to the volunteer and smiled. “What do I need to do to adopt him?”
An hour later they were on their way home and Piper was wondering what she’d gotten herself into. Again. She sighed, pulled the rubber band from her ponytail and rubbed the sore spot at the base of her neck. Talk about tension! Who knew deciding to adopt a dog could be so stressful? At least she had a few days to prepare for Samson’s arrival, though she wasn’t sure that was even possible. Samson was huge. Her house wasn’t. Maybe the SPCA would decide her bungalow wasn’t a suitable home for the dog she’d chosen. Piper couldn’t decide if that would be a disappointment, or a relief.
“Regretting it already?” The quiet rumble of Cade’s voice interrupted her thoughts.
“Not regretting it. Just wondering how I’m going to manage. I work a lot. Travel some. This summer I’ll be doing even more of that than usual.”
“Yeah? Why’s that?”
“I’ve been hired to write a book about the nonprofit organization my uncle founded.”
“Music Makers?”
“Yes. There’s going to be a huge fund-raising event next December. A twenty-fifth anniversary gala—those are Miriam’s words, not mine. The book is going to be given out as a gift.”
“Miriam?”
“Miriam Bradshaw. Curator of the Lynchburg Museum of Fine Arts. Friend of my uncle. Longtime supporter of Music Makers. She’s got a million hats and wears them all well. If I were half as organized and efficient as her, I’d be happy.”
“You seem pretty organized and efficient to me.”
She snorted.
“You do.”
“Because you don’t know me. But that’s not the point. The point is, I’m going to be traveling out of state to conduct interviews. Miriam wants the book to be a photo history of Music Makers’ service to the community. We’ve picked one or two people from each year, successful musicians who owe at least some of what they’ve accomplished to the foundation. We’ll get photos of the musician, his or her instrument, then…” What was she doing? Boring Cade to tears, most likely. She’d yet to meet a man who was even vaguely interested in what she did for a living.
“Then what?”
“Put the photos together with my commentary, but I think you’ve probably heard enough. I’m excited about the project and tend to talk about it incessantly.”
“You’ve got a right to be excited. The book sounds great. Your uncle would have been pleased.”
“I know.” She fell silent, not sure what else to say, the weight of her uncle’s death still heavy on her heart.
She thought Cade might say something comforting, offer the same words she’d heard over and over since Marcus’s death. Instead, he reached for her hand and squeezed it, letting her have her silence.
She cleared her throat, forced back her sadness. “It’s going to be hard to find someone to pet-sit this late in the season. Everyone already has plans.”
“Not everyone.”
“You know someone who might be willing to watch Samson?”
“Sure do. My father.”
“I thought he wasn’t doing well.”
“He’d be doing a lot better if he’d stop feeling sorry for himself.” The words sounded harsh, but the concern in Cade’s face took the sting out of them.
“You’re worried.”
“Worried and frustrated. When Dad had his stroke, the doctors weren’t sure he’d live. When he survived, they weren’t sure how much neurological damage there’d be. Now, he’s on the verge of getting back his independence, but instead of pushing for it, he’s complaining. Taking care of someone or something else might be just what he needs.”
“Do you think he’d agree to it?”
“If I ask him? No. If you ask him? Maybe.”
“Then I guess I’ll ask him. When’s a good time to stop by?”
“Any time you want. Dad doesn’t leave the house except for physical therapy sessions. And even that’s a struggle.”
It sounded like things were a lot worse than Cade was letting on. Piper worried her lower lip, tried to think through her schedule over the next few days. “How about tomorrow evening?”
“That should work.”
“Should I invent an excuse for stopping by?”
“We’re friends. You don’t need any other excuse.”
Friends. Good, that’s exactly what Piper wanted to be, that’s all she wanted to be. She’d spent too many years dating men who were more interested in themselves than in her; too many years looking for that elusive dream—soul mate, perfect match, one and only. They were all the same, and none of them existed.
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