Julie Benson - Cowboy in the Making

Jamie mulled over the idea, not sure how he felt about picking up another instrument. A little voice in his head urged him to think of the guitar as another way to work his hand. Movement was exercise, and that couldn’t hurt. Combine playing the guitar with some good old-fashioned hard work and practicing his violin...who knew what could happen? All he wanted was his life back, any way he could get there.

“Can you show me how to play a couple of chords?”

* * *

THE NEXT AFTERNOON Jamie stood behind the bar at Halligan’s unloading the dishwasher and checking stock. The physical work around the restaurant felt good. He’d been in Colorado for less than twenty-four hours, but he already felt different, almost as though he’d left his problems behind in New York. ’Course it helped that no one here was asking him what he was going to do or looking at him as if his life was over and he’d disintegrate before their eyes.

As he iced down bottles of beer for the dinner crowd, his gaze strayed to Emma, who’d shown up with her band a while ago to audition violinists. Her arrival had definitely improved the view and brightened his day. Tall enough that a man wouldn’t get a stiff neck having to bend down to look at her, Emma wasn’t so tall she looked him in the eye. Her jeans molded to her feminine curves. Her black hair spilled over her shoulders.

While he hadn’t spent the past several years mooning over her, he admitted she’d crept into his thoughts more than a time or six, and not just because of her looks, though she could make any man stop and look twice in her direction. Something else pulled him to her. Her openness, the warmth in her shining green eyes and her smile grabbed his attention more than anything else.

When she and the band launched into another song with their current candidate, her voice, belting out the haunting melody, echoed through the room. Angels would be tempted to trade their wings to sing like Emma. Plus she played guitar like a master. The sound she drew out of her instrument could fill a man with joy or make him weep depending on her whim. He stopped dead in his tracks to listen and enjoy. The music swirled around him, working its way inside, seducing him.

While Emma’s skills impressed him, he couldn’t say the same about the violinists. Noting the slight frown on Emma’s face and how her brows knitted together, he suspected she agreed. When this latest candidate sang harmony on the chorus, he wasn’t bad, but something was off. The notes were all there, but their voices didn’t mesh. Like chocolate and steak. Both good things, but together? No, thanks. But more important, Emma overpowered the man’s voice even though Jamie sensed she was backing off.

When the song ended a minute later, she thanked the man and told him they’d let him know when they made a decision. Even from across the room, Jamie could see the guy realized it was a no-go. A person either felt the connection and the music worked in a group or it didn’t. This combination clearly didn’t. Jamie couldn’t blame the guy for being disappointed, though. Who wouldn’t wake up raring to race into work if he found Emma waiting for him?

As the musician packed up his instrument, Emma strolled toward the bar and almost collapsed on a stool. “I always thought auditions were bad from the auditioning point of view. Now I’m realizing they’re not so hot from the other side, either.” She reached into her jeans pocket and slapped a five onto the bar. “I desperately need a Diet Coke. The ibuprofen didn’t work, but maybe the caffeine will keep my headache from going nuclear.”

“I’m still in training, but I think I can handle that. Want me to put some rum in it? You look like you could use it.” Then he cringed. Slick move. Tell a girl she looks worn out. “That didn’t come out right.”

“I should be offended at the comment and fire off a snappy comeback to put you in your place, but I’ll have to give you a rain check. The auditions have left me brain-dead.” She massaged her temples. “Add the rum. After all, it’s five o’clock somewhere, and we have two more auditions. I can use the liquid courage.”

“Do you always practice here?”

She shook her head. “Normally we use my dad’s garage, but the acoustics are better here, and for the auditions I wanted to get a better sense of how someone moves onstage. The garage is a little cramped for that.”

“Your band’s good. Your voice and guitar skills are phenomenal. What’re you doing playing local joints like this?”

When pain flashed in her eyes, he wanted to snatch the question back. Boy, he was on a roll. How could he have forgotten she’d made it clear yesterday that she didn’t want to discuss her career or what had brought her back to Estes Park? Now he’d done just that. So much for having better social skills than a Neanderthal.

“I ask myself that daily. Every time I think I’ve got a shot at making it big, something happens.”

“Like someone leaves the band.” At her raised eyebrows, he added, “Mick mentioned your violinist quit.”

“If it’s not something like that, then it’s life getting in the way.”

The defeat in her voice tugged at him, making him want to ease whatever weighed on her. Get over it. You’ve got enough piled on your plate without sneaking a bite off someone else’s.

He reached for a glass on the shelf. When he moved to place it on the plastic mat behind the bar, his hand cramped. The glass slipped from his grasp, hit the cement floor and shattered.

Applause erupted from the staff. After executing an exaggerated bow, he said, “Let me try that again with a little more skill.” He tried to ignore the twitches in his left hand as he reached for a glass with his right. After he fixed Emma’s drink without mishap and placed it in front of her, he grabbed the small hand broom and dustpan and cleaned up his mess.

“Don’t tell Mick you broke a glass. He’ll take it out of your pay,” she teased.

That was the least of his worries. “Since I’m working for room and board, I’ll have to go to bed without dinner and sleep in the barn.” Then, wanting to get the conversation on a safer topic, he said, “I hope the last two guys you’ve got lined up are better. The people you’ve auditioned so far don’t match the rest of the band’s ability. The first guy has possibilities. He had a tendency to drag at the beginning, but he resolved the problem quickly. Could be he’d get over that issue once he learned your style.”

“Thanks for confirming my opinion, but even if he fixes the tempo issues, I’m not sure he’s right for us. Technically he’s fine, but he lacks something. He’s almost wooden. There’s no spark in his eyes or his voice when he sings.”

“I noticed that, too. Could be he was nervous. Is he in a band now?” She nodded. “How’s he look when he’s onstage with them?”

“Like he’s got a broom handle tied to his back.”

“Chances are that won’t change.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” She sipped her drink. “We haven’t performed without a fiddle in over a year. If we don’t find someone soon we’ll have to overhaul our repertoire or cancel appearances.”

“That’s rough. If my mom were here, she’d say the most complicated problems can bring the most powerful opportunities.”

“She sounds like a wise woman. I’ll try to remember that.”

The front door to the restaurant opened, drawing their attention. A thirtysomething man held the door, his face beaming brighter than the sunshine spilling in behind him as he gazed at his wife and the swaddled baby she cradled in her arms.

“Sorry, folks. We aren’t open yet.”

“Nonsense. Come on in.” Emma turned to Jamie. “Mick won’t mind.”