CHAPTER FOUR

      FINN PULLED ON the neck of his sweater, sucking in air as Carly stared at him, eyes wide. Inside his tight chest his heart thudded like a drum solo. If he’d known Dingo was going to blindside him like that he would never have set foot in Rhonda’s café.

      “What’s going on, Finn?” Carly said. “What happened back there?”

      “You wanted to know if you’d ever heard a song I wrote?” he said. “That was my song. I wrote it.”

      “Are you kidding me?” Her eyes popped. “I had no idea you were famous.”

      “I’m not,” he said flatly. “The band who sang it is.”

      “Why didn’t you sing?” she asked. “Why let Dingo do your song?”

      “I don’t perform anymore.” He hated the way Carly was looking at him, all worried and wanting an explanation. He’d enjoyed hanging with her and hoped they could spend a day or two together before he went on his way. Not going to happen now.

      He resumed stalking up the hill. It galled him that fans loved the Screaming Reindeer’s version, and today, Dingo’s. They were all fine musicians, no offense, but no one had ever heard the song the way he’d intended it to be played. The familiar dilemma stuck in Finn’s craw. He couldn’t have it both ways, simultaneously wanting anonymity and recognition. Craving the applause but not willing to risk making a fool of himself by choking onstage.

      “Finn, wait,” Carly persisted, hurrying after him. “Why did you run out? Why do you look like you’re having a heart attack? And why are you scowling? Aren’t you pleased that people like your music?”

      “I should be, shouldn’t I?” Finn strode briskly up South Hill toward Irene’s house.

      Carly jogged behind, trying to keep up. “So what’s the problem?”

      He threw her a black look. “Forget it. It’s no concern of yours.”

      “You were my aunt’s favorite student,” she said. “Her concern is my concern.”

      “I’m not a lost dog,” he growled. “You’re not responsible for me.”

      “I care about you! You and I go back a long way. I thought we were friends.” She stopped and pressed a hand to her stomach.

      Finn circled back and put a hand under her elbow. “Are you all right? You look sick.”

      “I think I really am going to throw up this time.” Beads of sweat broke out on her forehead. “I am never drinking scotch again.”

      “Sit down.” He led her to a stone retaining wall and made her sit, gently pressing her head forward with a hand on her back. “Head between the legs. Never would have pegged you as being so high maintenance.”

      “I’m not. Usually I’m the one looking after other people.” Her voice was muffled by the messy honey-blond hair falling over either side of her face.

      Her slender nape looked so pretty and feminine. Finn blew on her damp skin and massaged circles on her back. Soothing Carly took his mind off himself and helped him calm down. There were better things to expend his emotional energy on than flogging himself for not being the man everyone had expected him to be.

      Her breathing slowed and after a moment she sat up. “Thanks. I was afraid for a moment I was going to lose the hangover cure.”

      He brushed the hair out of her eyes. Soft and silky, it slipped through his fingers as he tucked it behind her ears. “Sit here. I’ll go get my car.”

      “No, just give me a minute. I’ll be all right.” She straightened and pushed his hands away. “I still don’t get why you walked out of the café.”

      Finn’s sigh was more like a groan and came from someplace deep and dark. He wasn’t ready to spill his guts to Carly, not even after she’d witnessed his anxiety, so he continued talking about the side issue. “This is going to sound egotistical but I can’t stand hearing my music played by other people. Not the artists I sold it to, not even my friends.”

      “Why not?” she asked. “It’s such a compliment. Aren’t you proud?”

      “No one ever plays my music the way I hear it in my head.” His hands clenched. “It...grates. I try not to make a thing of it, but that’s the way it is.”

      “That’s not egotistical,” she said. “That’s wanting to express your vision. You should play your music yourself, show the world how it’s supposed to sound and what it means to you. Why didn’t you take the opportunity today?”

      “I wasn’t prepared.” But it was more than that, of course. Even now he could feel the band tighten around his chest and he struggled for breath. “After that failed concert I never performed before an audience again.” Not successfully, that is.

      Carly lifted her head, eyes wide. “But...that’s totally messed up.”

      “That’s me, messed up.”

      “Wait, I’m confused,” Carly said. “The difficulty breathing, the perspiration on your forehead. That looks like anxiety to me. Are you saying you don’t want to perform, or that you can’t?”

      “Can’t, don’t want to, what’s the difference?”

      “Big difference. Huge.”

      “It comes to the same thing.”

      A crease appeared between Carly’s eyebrows as she tried to puzzle him out. “You played last night at Irene’s wake. You were right into it, enjoying yourself.”

      True, but there hadn’t been an audience per se. He’d been surrounded by other musicians all singing or playing. He hadn’t even thought about it, just headed for the piano and tried to conjure Irene from the keys. Put him in front of a room of people watching and he would have frozen, as he knew from painful experience the few times he’d attempted it in Los Angeles bars.

      “Well?” Carly was eyeing him like a therapist trying to bring her patient to the brink of a breakthrough.

      “Don’t go getting any ideas that you can help me, or change me,” he said. “Your aunt tried to do that. It didn’t work. And I owed her a whole lot more than I owe you.”

      “You don’t owe me anything.” Carly touched his chest with her fingertips. “Irene didn’t believe you owed her anything, either.” Sadly, she added, “She loved you.”

      “I loved her, too,” Finn said quietly. He hated that he’d hurt her. And he hated that he’d let his mother down. But he’d also vowed that he wasn’t going to try to live up to anyone’s expectations but his own.

      As if she’d read his mind, Carly said, “It’s yourself you’re hurting by not fulfilling your potential.”

      Not fulfilling his potential. How many times had he heard that? Way too many. His life was not a tragedy.

      “I’m better off than a lot of people.” And he was grateful for it every single day. Rising, he said, “Ready to go?”

      They trudged up the steep hill, Carly half a step behind, silent, no doubt still taking in everything he’d said. Finn walked faster, his shoulders bowed by the weight of everyone’s unfulfilled dreams for him. Ahead, his Mustang beckoned. He longed to sink into the soft black leather, turn the music up real loud, and head on down the road. Out on the highway, all by himself, his problems wouldn’t exist. But he couldn’t leave town so soon after the funeral when Carly was still bereft over Irene and she hadn’t found Rufus.

      He slowed as he approached the car, reaching into his pocket to jingle his keys. “Do you want to drive