Love Song (11 page)

“Fine by me. I’m glad your improving.” He glanced at his watch. “We’ve got about three hours until dinner. What do you want to do?”

“Go to the mall. I need to buy a couple of dresses for church.”

“I don’t know if I like the glint in your eye, woman. Something tells me you’re going to find more than a couple of dresses.” He started the Blazer and backed out of the parking space.

Andi laughed and put on her sunglasses. They chatted about the doctor and the way Sidell had grown until they reached the mall.

He parked in front of the main department store and warily eyed the building.

She held back a grin. “You don’t like shopping, do you?”

“I don’t mind if it doesn’t take long to find what I need.”

“Typical man. You go in, get something the right size and color, buy it, and leave. But a woman shops differently, right?”

“Right. At least Aunt Della does. Takes her forever.”

“Oh, you poor thing.” She leaned across the console between their seats and tickled his chin. “Be forewarned. I have a very large clothing budget.”

He looked down at her, his expression resigned. “So what you’re telling me is that we’re going to be here ‘til supper time. You realize you’re going to have to pay me to carry all those packages. And don’t forget my patience. That has to be added in.”

“A kiss when we’re done.”

He gave her a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding look and shook his head. “It’s going to take more Yankee dimes than that.”

Hearing the old Southern term for a kiss made her smile. “Two.”

“Nope.”

She looked at her watch. “One for every hour that we’re here.”

He considered her offer. “Not enough. I’m the bodyguard, too, remember?”

“I usually pay my bodyguard in real money.”

“I hope so. What about the guy who carries the packages?”

“One and the same. So, you shouldn’t get more because you’re doing two jobs.”

“Call it inflation. One Yankee dime for every half hour.”

“It’s a deal.”

He removed his hat and fastened it in the hat rack in the ceiling above the console, brim up, the crown sitting through the loop of metal that held it in place. Glancing in the mirror, he fluffed his hair with his fingers where it had been smashed by the hat.

“Quit primping,” ordered Andi with a grin. “Come on, slave. Time’s a wastin’.”

***

Wade decided that watching Andi shop was like watching a whirlwind rip through town. She flew around the clothes racks, picking up anything that caught her eye, then headed for the dressing room, barely able to see over the stack in her arms, with him trailing along behind. At first, he hovered nearby, feeling self-conscious under the sometimes appreciative, sometimes questioning glances of women shoppers and the sales clerks. Then Andi popped out of the dressing room to get his opinion on a dress.

He figured she knew it looked great, but he appreciated her including him in the process. After she went back into the dressing room, he looked around and realized that by making a point of showing him the dress, she had validated his reason for being there in the other women’s eyes. She bought the dress and several other items, then it was on to the next store and the same routine.

She pulled one dress off the rack, a pretty blue print with short sleeves, a shirt style collar and a slightly gathered skirt. Just right for church, he thought, and figured she would get it. She took one look at the price and put it back. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s a designer label and costs four hundred dollars. Even I have my limits, and I don’t want anyone thinking I’m trying to show off.”

She disappeared into the dressing room, and he sat down in a chair conveniently placed a short distance from the main dressing room door. Setting the two large plastic shopping bags on the floor beside him, he relaxed, stretching his long legs out in front of him.

He hoped she would come out as she had done in the last store. There was a little black silk number he was interested in seeing, along with some other fancy ones. He supposed she might wear them on stage or somewhere in Nashville. Just thinking about her going back to work made him feel as if he had stepped on thin ice and fallen into a freezing river.

She walked out of the dressing room wearing a yellow dress with a wide ruffle at the neck and one at the bottom of each long sleeve. Wide horizontal ruffles covered the skirt from the dropped waist almost to her ankles. She stopped in front of the three-way mirror, turning from side to side. “What do you think?” she asked with a frown.

He tried valiantly to keep a straight face. “You want an honest opinion?” When she nodded, Wade took a deep breath. “Well, if you add a few feathers to your hair, you could be in the Fourth of July parade.”

She lifted her brow. “As?”

“A baby chick. Or you could cut the bill off an old cap, dye it yellow, and tie it around your face and go as a duck.” He chuckled when she glared at him.

She looked in the mirror again, wiggled, sending the ruffles flapping, and grinned. “It is a bit much.”

She waddled into the dressing room, making him laugh out loud. A few minutes later, she was back, wearing a beautiful magenta dress with a gauzy print overskirt. “Now, that’s nice. Feminine. And it’s a pretty color on you. I like it.” He was surprised to see how his praise made her face light up. Surely she heard compliments all the time.

She went back to try on something else, and he made faces at a toddler sitting in a stroller in the next aisle. He and the little fellow were busy entertaining each other when she returned. Wade glanced up and did a double take. Sucking in a deep breath, he sat up straight and stared.

The yellow dress had been a bit too much, but the black silk one was...a bit. Period. Although the neckline was wide, revealing most of her shoulders, it wasn’t low. And though the material skimmed her figure, it wasn’t too tight but merely flattering—as far as it went. He’d seen blouses that were longer.

“Do you like it?” she asked, uncertainty in her voice.

“Oh, baby, do I ever.” He picked up the bags, walked over, and stood behind her, attempting to shield her from the view of others in the store. “But I don’t want another man to see you in that dress.” He knew he sounded possessive and was revealing more of his feelings than he should, but he couldn’t help it. He watched her face in the mirror as delicate color spread over her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to embarrass you.”

“It’s all right. A few weeks ago, I wouldn’t have thought twice about buying this to wear in the show. Now, I’m uncomfortable in it. I was before you said anything.”

“You’re beautiful in it, Andi, but other men won’t be able to see past the outside to the godly woman inside.”

“I guess I’ve got a lot more than just dusty corners for God to clean out. I have a lot to learn or maybe learn over,” she said sadly. “And a few real closets to go through.”

“Hey, wisdom comes over a lifetime. That’s why we’ve got the Holy Spirit to guide us. We always have something new to learn or overcome.” He leaned over so his mouth was close to her ear, his voice dropping low and ragged, “Now, go get out of that thing before I revert to a cave man.”

They hit another store, where she found some Sunday dresses she was happy with, and he fussed at her for trying to do too much. “It’s habit. I usually only have an hour or two to spend before I have to get back and do a show or meet some other commitment.”

By the time they stopped for cookies and something to drink, they were both loaded down with bags and boxes. He also thought she was beginning to look tired. “Had enough?”

“Almost. I want to look at that denim vest over there in the window. I love all the embroidery on it.”

He smiled indulgently. “About the time I think I’ve figured out your style, you find something totally different.”

“I’m eclectic. What I wear depends on my mood. I might feel free as the wind—

“The magenta dress.”

She nodded. “Or like a rock, firmly fixed.”

“The gray dress for church.”

“Not bad for a cowboy.”

He glanced around, noting that more and more people were staring in their direction. “Uh-oh. Looks like you’ve been recognized.”

“Yep. It’s show time.” Andi smiled at a girl in her late teens a few tables over. Encouraged by her friends, the young woman finally worked up the nerve to come over.

“Excuse me, miss, but are you Andi Carson, the singer?” she asked, sounding polite and poised.

“Yes, I am.”

“Oh my gosh!” The girl turned toward her friends and squealed, jumping up and down. “It is her!” she screamed. “It’s Andi Carson!” She turned back to Andi. “Oh, Miss Carson, I love your music. I have everything you’ve ever done. Can I have your autograph?”

“Sure.” Andi dug a pen out of her purse. “Do you have anything for me to write on?”

The girl grabbed a napkin out of the hand of a middle-aged man at the table next to them. He stared for a second, then started laughing. “Will this work?”

“It’ll do. Just don’t forget and wipe mustard on it,” she teased.

“Oh, I won’t. I’ll keep it always.”

Andi cocked her head and studied the girl for a minute. It was hard to tell her age. She had long blond hair and green eyes and was pretty even with minimal makeup. She had a lilting, musical voice, but there was something else about it—something Andi couldn’t quite pinpoint—that intrigued her. Somehow, she knew the girl was a singer. She didn’t have the vaguest idea of how she knew it, but she did.

“I’m so glad you’re feeling better, Miss Carson. We were so worried about you.” By now the girl’s friends and at least twenty other people had congregated around the table.

“Thanks. I was worried there for a while, too. What’s your name?”

“Nicki Alexander.”

Andi signed the napkin and handed it to her, asking casually, “Do you sing, Nicki?”

“A-a little.” She turned pale and began to tremble.

“She’s really good, Miss Carson,” one of her friends chimed in. “She won the talent shows all through junior high and high school and always got the lead in our school musicals. Now she sings solos a lot at church.”

“Do you play an instrument, Nicki?”

“Y-yes, ma’am. Piano and guitar. I played saxophone in the school band.”

“Have you graduated?”

The girl nodded.

“How old are you?”

“Nineteen.” Her voice quivered, and she clenched her hands, unknowingly crumpling the napkin with Andi’s autograph.

“Take voice lessons?”

She shook her head. “We couldn’t afford voice and piano, too. There are five other kids in the family.”

Andi took Nicki’s ice cold hand and looked into her eyes. It was there, the intense desire, the need to free the music burning in her soul. “Do you want to be a musician, Nicki?” she asked quietly.

Tears welled up in the girl’s eyes. “More than anything,” she whispered. She cleared her throat and blinked hard. “It’s like I have to make music, Miss Carson. It’s in my head all the time. Sometimes the songs have words and sometimes they don’t, but they just seem to pour out.”

Andi squeezed her hand and released it. “I know exactly what you mean. Tell you what; ask this handsome cowboy here to tear off part of that sack and write your name and phone number on it and tuck it in his pocket so we won’t loose it.” She glanced around and smiled at the crowd, then looked back at Nicki. “I’d like to sit down and talk to you where it’s a little quieter. Would there be a good time this weekend to call you?”

“Anytime. I won’t set foot out of the house. You call when it’s convenient for you.”

Good girl. You think fast on your feet.
“I’ll try not to make you wait too long.” Andi glanced at Wade, who had already torn off a big piece of the sack.

“Do you have another pen?” he asked, his eyes full of admiration and affection.

“Always.” She laughed and rummaged through her purse again. She tossed the pen to him, smiling her appreciation, then turned to the next person, immediately giving him her full attention.

Wade watched as Nicki started to write her name. The poor kid was shaking so hard, Andi probably wouldn’t be able to read it. “Here, why don’t I do that. It’s hard to write while standing up.” He jotted down her name and phone number, folded the paper precisely and tucked it into his shirt pocket, fastening the pearl snap on the flap. “There,” he said, patting his pocket, rustling the paper. “Safe and secure. I promise I won’t let it go through the washing machine.”

Nicki managed a feeble smile, then she leaned closer and whispered, “Will she really call?”

“She’ll call.” He had never been more certain of anything. “I can’t promise it will be today, though. She’s not completely recovered and has to stop whenever she starts getting tired.” He glanced at Andi. “Which looks like it’s going to be soon, but I reckon she’ll push it this time. Now, go over there and calm down before you try to drive home.”

“My friend is driving,” she said, straightening, looking dazed.

Wade laughed softly. “That’s good.” He hoped the friend she meant wasn’t the one who was dancing around, hugging Andi’s autograph to her heart. He decided Nicki needed something to do. “Could I ask a favor?”

She took a deep breath and shook her head, as if to clear it. Her eyes widened as she seemed to focus on Wade’s face for the first time. A tinge of pink touched her cheeks. “Uh, sure.”

“See the embroidered denim vest over in that window? Would you run over there and ask how much it is and see if they have a size eight?”

She glanced at Andi and grinned. “I’ll be right back.”

“Thanks.” He watched her blond ponytail bounce as she hurried over to the store, then turned his attention back to Andi. She smiled and chatted with each person for a minute as she signed an autograph for them on anything at hand—napkins, sales receipts, sacks, even the back of one kid’s T-shirt. He scanned the crowd, which seemed to keep growing. Her fans ranged in age from eight to eighty, and practically everyone had a kind word for her. The few who didn’t seemed merely awe-struck.

Nicki slipped up beside him. “The vest is on sale for forty-five dollars, and they have a size eight.”