The drive to Beaumont was uneventful. His churning thoughts kept him company. He thought about Dawn. And he thought about Sara. But mostly he cursed himself for not bringing his cellphone charger. He spends one night away from the band, and Owen sees fit to call him seven times to talk about some groupie. Kellen knew he wouldn’t do that unless it was something important. Had she given them all some incurable disease? Kellen hadn’t slept with her, but he had eaten her out.
Kellen parked near the venue where the band and crew were getting ready for the concert and headed toward the bus, prepared for the worst. But nothing could have prepared him for what he saw standing at the top of the bus steps.
Her hair was swept back from her lovely face in a loose ponytail. Her brilliant blue eyes sparked with recognition as a smile spread across her soft, sensual lips. She rested a hand on her obviously distended belly and offered him a small wave.
She was pregnant and beautiful and very much alive.
“Sara?” he whispered, clutching the doorframe so he didn’t collapse into a heap on the asphalt.
Chapter Ten
Dawn shoved the pillow off her head and blinked in the bright sunshine streaming through the open blinds of her bedroom. It had to be close to noon. Why was she still so exhausted? She smiled as memories of the night she’d shared with Kellen filtered through her thoughts. She couldn’t wait to add to her pleasant experiences today. She was a bit disappointed to find his side of the bed empty, but she vaguely recalled him murmuring her name to awaken her and her foolishly demanding coffee. Who needed coffee with that man as her wake-up call? She’d just been a bit groggy and obviously out of her mind. She was wide awake now. Still naked, she slipped out of bed and padded down the hall to the stairs.
“Kellen,” she called down into the foyer below. “I changed my mind. I don’t need coffee. I just need you.”
When he didn’t answer, she continued down the stairs. “Kellen, come out, come out, wherever you are.”
She entered the kitchen and noticed a full carafe of coffee sitting untouched in the coffee maker. The power was obviously back on. It had been sweet of him to make coffee for her, but why hadn’t he rejoined her in bed once he’d finished making it?
“Kellen, are you down here?” she called, peeking over the breakfast bar into the family room, where the piano sat as silent as a stone. Bits of rope littered the piano’s lid and the floor. Dawn smiled. She would always remember the feel of it pressing into her skin and opening her eyes to truths she hadn’t recognized about herself. It was a shame that the rope had been cut and was now unusable. She wondered if there was any spare rope in the garage beneath the house. If not, she was all about making a trip to the nearest hardware store for supplies.
She wasn’t sure where Kellen had wandered off to. Maybe he was in the bathroom, or maybe he’d taken a walk on the beach. She always found the most interesting goodies washed up on the shore after a storm. She completely understood the draw of the water. She turned back to the kitchen. When she opened a cabinet, she noticed the broken mug in the sink. She picked up a large shard of ceramic and caught sight of the big yellow house next door. Kellen’s house, she realized with a smile. She looked again at the broken mug, at the full coffee carafe. At Kellen’s house. Her smile faded. Sara’s house, she corrected herself.
Shit. He’d left, hadn’t he? Saw that gorgeous, empty house across the way, started thinking about her again—Sara—and ran away.
Even after all they’d shared the night before, he still hadn’t given up that other woman. What a jerk! If all he’d wanted from her was sex, he could have just been straight with her. He didn’t have to pretend to be so wonderful. She was a big girl. And even though her heart was aching so badly she could scarcely breathe and her lower lip was trembling uncontrollably, Dawn was not going to cry over this. She refused to let a single tear fall. She kicked a lower cabinet as hard as she could and winced when her toe exploded with pain.
“Damn him,” she muttered. “He could have at least had the decency to tell me to my face that he wasn’t interested.”
Determined to have a great day despite the dark cloud that was suddenly obscuring her sunshine from the inside out, Dawn poured herself a cup of coffee and went to sulk—contemplate life—at her piano. She righted the piano bench, which had been overturned during all those wonderfully sensual activities she refused to dwell upon, and plopped down. She dribbled coffee down her bare front when she noticed Kellen’s handwritten note.
She snatched it from the music stand and read it three times before crumpling it into a ball and tossing it on the floor.
“Entertaining evening,” she muttered under her breath. “Was that what it was to you? Because it was magical to me, you ass!” She didn’t know why she was yelling at her piano, but it felt right. “You’re sorry it didn’t work out between us. How could it work out? You didn’t even give it a chance. I hope you choke on your guitar.” She wasn’t sure why he’d have his guitar in his mouth, but she wasn’t thinking clearly enough to come up with better ill wishes.
She turned sideways on the bench and pulled her legs up against her body, hugging both shins and burying her face against her bent knees. She was not going to cry over him. Not going to cry. Those hot, wet droplets coming from her eyes and running down her thighs were not tears. Nope. Not crying for a guy who’d love another woman until the day he died. Not crying over a man who had taken a chance with her but decided he’d rather return to a dead girl. She sniffed. She really wished she could hate him for that, but it just broke her heart.
When she decided she’d wallowed in misery long enough, she turned to her piano and practiced her new song. Kellen’s song. She would always think of it as Kellen’s song, even if she did name it “Dawn.” She began to feel better almost at once. The joyful melody lifted her spirits until her tears were forgotten and she was smiling to herself. She had to call her agent. He had to hear this song.
She dialed his number and had his secretary patch her through. As soon as she had him on the line, she interrupted his usual, “Any luck?” As if luck had anything to do with composing.
“Listen,” she said and put him on speaker phone so he could hear her. She played the piece from beginning to end. When the last note rang out, she stared at the phone, her heart hammering with excitement. The song was wonderful. Perfect. She knew it was. But she had to hear it from someone who would give it to her straight. “Well?”