Those Sweet Words (Misfit Inn 2)
“I’m writing a song.” Flynn continued to strum absently, as he shifted his attention to Ari. “Kennedy tells me you’re quite the musician.” He’d not had opportunity to hear her play yet, but the term prodigy had been bandied about with regularity.
Ari jerked her thin shoulders in a shrug as she sank down on the step opposite him. “I like piano.”
“I can tinker enough on a piano to get by, but it’s mostly strings for me—fiddle and guitar. And occasionally drums. Harmonica if nothing else is available.”
“I wouldn’t have pegged you for a drummer.” She angled her head, as if she were trying to picture it.
“Not that kind of drums. The bodhran. It’s a traditional Irish instrument. You usually play it with your hands.”
“Sounds like you play a little bit of everything.”
“To be sure. But fiddle’s my first and last love for instruments.”
“Did Kennedy really tour with you?”
Flynn smiled, remembering. “She really did. The voice of an angel, has Kennedy. Those were some of the best months of my life.” And had led to one of his greatest friendships. Just what would Kennedy say if she knew he was sleeping with her sister? Nothing good, he could imagine.
“Why did she stop? Seems like it would be a lot of fun.”
“It was. Is, for me. But a life on the road wasn’t for her in the long-term. She always had her eye on coming back here, whether she’d admit it or not.”
“She said you’re a modern gypsy.”
It was a term he’d applied to himself often enough over the years, but somehow it didn’t sit quite so easily as it had before. He didn’t feel so free-wheeling and unfettered as he once had. And that was ridiculous. What was he if not what
he’d always been? “I suppose I am. I’ve seen much of the world through my music, and that’s a grand thing.”
Ari tipped her head in concession of the point. “But don’t you get tired of it? Being on the road all the time? Not really having a home?”
There were a dozen flippant responses he could have made, but he answered honestly. “I never tire of it exactly. But I’m always looking for something.” Like the hero in his melody.
“What?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t found it yet.” Even as he said it, a part of him was back in bed with Pru, in the quiet moments after loving her. The world over, he’d never felt anything like the comfort he felt with her in his arms. But that wasn’t a thing he was about to share with her teenaged daughter. Shaking the thought away, he grinned. “Either way, I do come to roost from time to time, to write.”
“You’re roosting here.”
Ignoring the seriousness of her expression, he nodded, “I am. And it’s a grand place to do it.”
“Will you stay a while longer, after Kennedy gets back?”
“I expect so. I came all this way to see her. Seems a shame to leave without getting to spend some more time with her. Besides, I need a rematch in Redneck Life.” Ari had trounced him. By the end of the game, he’d been left with two teeth and more debt than should have been possible. Not to mention the sixteen red-headed stepchildren, all named Daryl.
She snorted with laugher. “Oh, I definitely want the chance to hear you try the hog calling contest again.”
“Who knew Pru would be the hands-down winner of that one?” She’d claimed to be doing an impression of the most obnoxious Arkansas Razorbacks fan she’d ever heard. Flynn couldn’t quite fathom what that would sound like in a stadium with thousands of people.
“Pru is awesome.”
“She is,” he agreed.
“You like her.” Ari posed it as a statement, not a question.
Flynn couldn’t tell if there was accusation or disapproval in her tone, but there was no sense in denying what the girl had eyes in her head to see. “I do.”
“It’s not like how you feel about Kennedy.”
Oh boy. This kid was too astute for her own good. What was he supposed to say? For all intents and purposes, Pru was her mother. In the end, he went with the truth. “No, not like Kennedy.”