Where The Heart Is (Choices of the Heart, book 1) by Jennie Marsland Page B

of a tune, stopped awkwardly and began again, feeling his way through the waltz as if he hadn’t played it in a long time. Then he played it again with more assurance. The lilting melody rang out, warm and full of expression until Chelle felt like getting up and dancing. Jessie was right. The man had a gift.
    He slid from the waltz into an arrogant march that he played with a hint of a bounce, as if he were making sly fun of the tune’s seriousness. Chelle closed her eyes and smiled. Martin followed the march with a haunting air that sent her soaring over the dales in her imagination, looking down at their windswept emptiness.
    One tune blended into the next until twilight faded and the stars came out. When Martin stopped playing, Chelle came back to earth with a jolt. How long had she been sitting there?
    The house behind her was dark and silent. Jessie must have turned out the lamp and gone to bed. Through the open door, she heard Martin put away his fiddle and come to stand in the doorway. Then she felt his presence behind her. His voice touched her ear as he sat next to her. “You’d best come in, lass. It’s gettin’ late.”
    Chelle pulled up her knees and clasped her arms around them, instinctively sheltering herself. From what? She wasn’t sure. She should do as Martin suggested and go in, but somehow she couldn’t. “Martin, I wonder if you know what a gift you have. You could be playing in concert halls.”
    Chelle felt as much as heard his slight chuckle. She could barely pick his form out of the surrounding darkness, but that seemed only to heighten her awareness of him. She felt his warmth, heard the scrape of fabric on stone as he shifted.
    “No. I haven’t the background or the inclination for it. If I put on a suit and collar once a week, that’s enough for me. I haven’t even done that for months.”
    “Have you never wanted to make a living playing?”
    She caught the fragrance of tobacco as he pulled a pipe from his shirt pocket and filled it. A match flared, illuminating his face for a moment. Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but his strong jaw-line appeared softer, his mouth less rigid than usual. For the first time, Chelle noticed his well-cut nose, the thick, mahogany lashes shadowing his eyes.
    “No. I spent a few months in London one autumn a few years back, playing in pubs, but by Christmas, I was ready to come home. I’d tired of the food and the company, and most of the people I played for weren’t listening to me anyway. Then Dad took ill, and I had no choice but to stay home unless I wanted to give up the farm.”
    “And you’ve never had any regrets?”
    “None. I belong here.”
    The glow from the match faded, leaving him in darkness again, making the hint of wistfulness in his voice more compelling. Chelle remembered what Kendra had told her, how Martin used to play at the local dances and how he and Eleanor liked to dance. What a hole she must have left in his life. “Have you ever been further from home than London?”
    “No.”
    “I never expected to travel, either. I always thought I’d settle close to home in Morgan County. I’ve never wanted to live anywhere else.”
    Mr. Rainnie blew out a breath of fruity smoke. Chelle felt him turn toward her.
    “What was it like, your home?”
    His voice lost the edge it generally took on when he spoke to her. It must be the dark. It made even strangers less reserved, and she and Martin weren’t exactly strangers anymore. She’d seen this side of him with his daughter, and now he was showing it to her for the first time. At that moment, it would have felt very natural to move closer to him, share his warmth, perhaps feel his hand over hers… Chelle forced her mind back to his question. “It was peaceful. There never seemed to be any need to hurry. When Trey and I were growing up, we had the run of the woods and fields. We rode, swam and climbed trees. Morgan County was a wonderful place to be a child.”
    She had