Once More From the Top (The Women of Willow Bay) by Nan Reinhardt Page A

sexy sound, and a quiver shot through her. “I cook. How do you think I eat when I’m home?”
    “I guess I figured you had people for that, like servants or a maid or a cook.” A warm flush crept up her neck.
    Grinning, he continued his tour of the apartment. “A service comes in to clean once a week when I’m home, and I send my laundry out. Otherwise, I take care of myself.” He passed by Jack’s closed bedroom door under the open stairs, then glanced out the back window at the pines. Leaning his elbows on the bar, he watched her pour golden, frothy eggs into the sizzling skillet. “I think you have me confused with some rock star, sweetheart. I’m a symphony conductor. I don’t have servants. I live a pretty simple life in Chicago.” He gestured to the stairs. “What’s in the loft?”
    “A bedroom and a bathroom. Uncle Noah remodeled this old place when Jack was about three. Before that we lived in the big house with them. I love this apartment. It’s perfect for us.” She stirred the eggs gently, smiling up at him, noting that he’d wandered back to Jack’s door. “It’s okay if you want to go in and take a peek.”
    “Are you sure?” Hand on the knob, he hesitated. “I’m dying of curiosity, but I don’t want to trespass.”
    She paused. Jack’s domain was his own, and they were always conscious of one another’s privacy. How would he feel about a stranger in his room?
    But this isn’t a stranger, it’s his father.
    “Go ahead, it’ll be okay.” She prayed the tour wouldn’t set off the anger she was certain still smoldered in him.
    Liam drew a bracing breath, turned the knob, and shouldered the door open. Sunshine streamed in from the open shutters over the south-facing window. His eyes swept the small room that held some of the clues to his son’s personality. Carrie watched from behind the kitchen bar, picturing Jack’s room in her head, most likely slightly messy but not so much that she needed to be concerned about Liam checking it out.
    One wall was a huge window that looked south across the bay. Posters covered the other walls—one from Willow Point Lighthouse, another from Sleeping Bear Dune. The colorful Beatles Sergeant Pepper poster, a movie poster, and a picture of the Milky Way with a tiny red arrow and the words, You are here . Some young and fabulous starlet, whose name Carrie couldn’t remember smiled from above the bed while next to her, Eric Clapton bent over his guitar. A Chicago Bulls team picture was tacked up above a cluttered desk, along with a bulletin board covered with ticket stubs, photographs, and playbills from area theaters, many of them from Interlochen.
    She set the skillet aside and moved to the open door, breathing in scent of teenaged boy—sweat and dirty socks mixed with Irish Spring soap and pine from the trees outside. When she leaned against the jamb, she saw that the bed was neatly made, but the open closet door revealed shirts and pants hung haphazardly on hangers, some even spilling onto the floor. A small flat-screen TV and a stereo sat at the end of the bed, which was on a platform that contained drawers. A T-shirt sleeve peeked out of one of the drawers. CDs and DVDs marched in orderly rows above several shelves of books below the stereo.
    Liam leaned down to squint at the collections and Carrie couldn’t help smiling. Some of the books were obviously from his younger years—the Hardy Boys, Harry Potter, even Dr. Seuss and Mercer Mayer nestled next to the story of Ernest Shakleton’s exploration of the South Pole, Stephen Ambrose’s Undaunted Courage , and several Clive Cussler adventure novels. The CDs were a diverse mix of rock, classical, and everything in between, including Bob Marley, Daft Punk, the Beatles, Alicia Keyes, The Kinks, BB King, and John Legend. She grinned when Liam’s brow furrowed at a CD of the music from Baz Lurhmann’s La Bohème, as well as Jack’s newest fascination—Broadway musicals. The soundtracks to