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Authors: Her Summer Lover
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Distracted, she stopped midway down the aisle to study an item in one of the cases. “Your fiddle’s still here, Daddy.”
Sophie raised her eyes to Alain’s bemused gaze. “Your fiddle? I didn’t know you played the fiddle. I remember you played the bass guitar…years ago in a garage band.” She remembered a lot more than that about the teenage Alain, but she wasn’t going to reveal any of it. Especially her girlish dreams of being the mother of his children; a boy like Guy, a daughter like Dana, dreams that in that long-ago bayou summer hadn’t seemed like fantasies at all, but only glimpses of the future she was sure would be hers. But her dreams hadn’t come to pass, and Alain’s children were his with Casey Jo. It had all happened a long time ago, but when the past was so close, as it was today, it still hurt. She followed Dana down the narrow aisle, not looking back at Alain for fear he might read her betraying memories in the expression on her face, or the look in her eyes.
“I didn’t play the fiddle then. I took it up after my grandfather died. He left me his instrument. He was quite a musician in his day.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “Since when do heavy metal bands like the Rotting Alligators—that was the name, wasn’t it?—use a fiddle player?”
“God, you remember that? I was hoping no one did. I don’t play in a heavy metal band anymore. Or in any band, but I have been studying Cajun fiddling. Took it up for Mamère’s sake, to keep the family tradition alive, then I kind of got hooked. Don’t have much time to play any more, but I try to keep my hand in.”
“I don’t understand how your fiddle got in Maude’s display case.” Sophie stopped beside Dana and studied the instrument in the case. Its neck was resting on a velvet cushion and even she, who was far from an expert, could tell it was handmade and probably quite valuable.
“It’s not my fiddle. Wish it was, though. That was Maude’s little joke, calling it mine. It’s a Delacroix. He was a Cajun fiddle maker from over in St. Germain Parish. He was self-taught but a real artist.” He traced the lines of the small violin through the glass. “See here, the inlay work along the bridge? It’s magnolia and black gum. He always worked in native woods. The body’s walnut—you can tell by the grain. He died a few years ago. Most of his instruments are in collectors’ hands. This is one of the few that isn’t. It’s worth a pretty penny. Don’t know why Maude didn’t sell it long before now.”
“Maybe she did want you to have it?” Sophie lifted her eyes to find him watching her, not the fiddle.
He grinned, and her heart gave a quirky little jump that made her catch her breath. “If she did, she never offered me a break on the price.”
“I’d be willing to entertain your best offer.” Sophie realized how provocative the words sounded as soon as they left her mouth.
The sun lines around his eyes tightened and the corners of his mouth hardened momentarily. His tone was as friendly as it had been a moment before, but still she felt the sting of his words. “It’s out of my price range. Besides, I’ve got my granddaddy’s fiddle and it’s a good one. But thanks, anyway.”
“Daddy, the stuffed animals are gone.” Once more Dana had slipped away unnoticed and was standing in front of a heavy mahogany bookcase that was loaded with bric-a-brac, except for the top shelf, which was conspicuously empty. Dana was staring up at it with her head thrown back and her hands on her hips. Her tone was thoroughly disgusted. “They were here the last time Mamère Yvonne brought me here. Miss Maude gave me one of them. A green dragon. He’s in my room. And Miss Maude said she’d give me another one when we came back. Do you know where they are, Miss Sophie?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t. But I haven’t had a chance to look in the storeroom yet.”
“We can look now. I’ll help you.”
“I’m afraid I have other
Sophie raised her eyes to Alain’s bemused gaze. “Your fiddle? I didn’t know you played the fiddle. I remember you played the bass guitar…years ago in a garage band.” She remembered a lot more than that about the teenage Alain, but she wasn’t going to reveal any of it. Especially her girlish dreams of being the mother of his children; a boy like Guy, a daughter like Dana, dreams that in that long-ago bayou summer hadn’t seemed like fantasies at all, but only glimpses of the future she was sure would be hers. But her dreams hadn’t come to pass, and Alain’s children were his with Casey Jo. It had all happened a long time ago, but when the past was so close, as it was today, it still hurt. She followed Dana down the narrow aisle, not looking back at Alain for fear he might read her betraying memories in the expression on her face, or the look in her eyes.
“I didn’t play the fiddle then. I took it up after my grandfather died. He left me his instrument. He was quite a musician in his day.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “Since when do heavy metal bands like the Rotting Alligators—that was the name, wasn’t it?—use a fiddle player?”
“God, you remember that? I was hoping no one did. I don’t play in a heavy metal band anymore. Or in any band, but I have been studying Cajun fiddling. Took it up for Mamère’s sake, to keep the family tradition alive, then I kind of got hooked. Don’t have much time to play any more, but I try to keep my hand in.”
“I don’t understand how your fiddle got in Maude’s display case.” Sophie stopped beside Dana and studied the instrument in the case. Its neck was resting on a velvet cushion and even she, who was far from an expert, could tell it was handmade and probably quite valuable.
“It’s not my fiddle. Wish it was, though. That was Maude’s little joke, calling it mine. It’s a Delacroix. He was a Cajun fiddle maker from over in St. Germain Parish. He was self-taught but a real artist.” He traced the lines of the small violin through the glass. “See here, the inlay work along the bridge? It’s magnolia and black gum. He always worked in native woods. The body’s walnut—you can tell by the grain. He died a few years ago. Most of his instruments are in collectors’ hands. This is one of the few that isn’t. It’s worth a pretty penny. Don’t know why Maude didn’t sell it long before now.”
“Maybe she did want you to have it?” Sophie lifted her eyes to find him watching her, not the fiddle.
He grinned, and her heart gave a quirky little jump that made her catch her breath. “If she did, she never offered me a break on the price.”
“I’d be willing to entertain your best offer.” Sophie realized how provocative the words sounded as soon as they left her mouth.
The sun lines around his eyes tightened and the corners of his mouth hardened momentarily. His tone was as friendly as it had been a moment before, but still she felt the sting of his words. “It’s out of my price range. Besides, I’ve got my granddaddy’s fiddle and it’s a good one. But thanks, anyway.”
“Daddy, the stuffed animals are gone.” Once more Dana had slipped away unnoticed and was standing in front of a heavy mahogany bookcase that was loaded with bric-a-brac, except for the top shelf, which was conspicuously empty. Dana was staring up at it with her head thrown back and her hands on her hips. Her tone was thoroughly disgusted. “They were here the last time Mamère Yvonne brought me here. Miss Maude gave me one of them. A green dragon. He’s in my room. And Miss Maude said she’d give me another one when we came back. Do you know where they are, Miss Sophie?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t. But I haven’t had a chance to look in the storeroom yet.”
“We can look now. I’ll help you.”
“I’m afraid I have other
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