The Danforths: Toby, Lea and Adam: Cowboy Crescendo / Steamy Savannah Nights / The Enemy's Daughter

Heather had never felt completely comfortable performing before a live audience. Few people could appreciate the cutthroat nature of her training. Even though it merely underscored the training she had received at home from her parents, such constant pressure had wounded her sensitive spirit so deeply that she had forsaken her musical gifts altogether.

Turning the cold-water spigot, she ducked down to splash her face.

Heather suddenly realized she wasn’t alone in the bathroom. There were two women in a darkened corner of the room, and one of them was sobbing so brokenheartedly, it made her stomach cramp in empathy. Not inclined to meddle in other people’s affairs, Heather intended to make a quick exit without getting involved. She would have made it, too, had not the other woman, obviously trying to comfort her companion, cast a desperate glance in her direction and mouthed a request for a tissue.

Heather took one from a hand-painted porcelain container and walked it over to them. The woman who took it looked to be about her same age. Wearing a beautiful white satin gown that accentuated a petite figure, she looked like a guardian angel. The woman shrugged her shoulders and gestured to the slightly open tall door.

“I stumbled upon the poor thing crying like this,” the lady in white explained. She spoke with a slight European accent of some sort. “I didn’t feel right leaving her alone in such a state. You wouldn’t by any chance be an acquaintance of hers?”

Shaking her head, Heather edged toward the door. Just then the injured party raised her head from where it had been hidden behind her hands to reveal twin rivulets of mascara streaming down a face that was too young and pretty to be so angst-ridden. Not old enough to qualify as a woman or young enough to warrant still being called a girl, she was caught in that terrible in-between stage in which one fluctuates miserably between maturity and juvenile behavior. Heather guessed her to be the traditional age when Southern girls had coming-out parties.

The teen’s voice quavered pathetically as she offered two convenient strangers an unnecessary explanation. “It might seem funny to you, but nothing I do is ever good enough to satisfy my father. Absolutely nothing.”

“It doesn’t sound funny at all,” Heather assured her in a gentle, understanding tone. “In fact, I can relate to that all too well myself.”

“As can I,” added the lady in white.

Surprised to discover a common thread holding them together, the women studied each other. In addition to being approximately the same age, the two older women were of similar height and build. And behind their initial wariness was an inability to abandon someone in need.

Rather than watering down the girl’s drawl, her tears had the exact opposite effect. Heather strained to understand the words that slipped out between sobs.

“Can you believe that my daddy actually expects me to throw myself at some old man in the other room in hopes of landing some big business contract? Have you ever heard of anything so vulgar?”

Heather wondered if by “old” she was referring to someone in his midtwenties.

“It absolutely makes me feel like a whore!”

The young lady’s choice of words required yet another tissue to stem the flow of tears that started all over again. Feeling like she was caught in some Victorian time warp, Heather wondered what kind of father would deliberately use a child as a sexual pawn to advance his own ambitions. The answer came to her in a flashback of the day her own parents hustled her across a crowded room to introduce her to Josef Sengele, the master pianist famous for grooming young prodigies for stardom.

“I know how you feel.”

It was not Heather’s voice but that of the beautiful woman standing next to her. She made note of the flicker of pain that creased the perfect beauty of that face. Her voice held a sad ring of resignation. Eyes as brilliant as the emeralds on her ears softened as she put a hand upon the young lady’s shoulder.

“Sometimes you just have to do what has to be done. No matter how unpalatable it might be, business is business and family is family. Come what may, you only have one father in this lifetime.”

The teenager’s sniffles stopped as she paused to consider the free advice.

“I thought I’d stay just long enough to appease Daddy without having to actually compromise myself.”

Having attended innumerable stuffy functions on behalf of her parents, often as the featured attraction of the evening, Heather could certainly understand the desire to please someone whose respect could never be earned. She could not remain quiet on this point.

“Or…” Heather put a hand on the girl’s other shoulder and finished her thought. “Rather than putting off the inevitable for years to come, years that wear away your sense of worth, you could take a stand right now and claim your life for yourself. Trust me. It’s better to risk being disowned by your family than to disown yourself.”

Though her words were intended for the girl sitting between them, the woman in white turned as pale as her gown. She seemed genuinely moved. And oddly wounded by her words.

“You’ll have to make up your own mind,” the woman in white told the teenage girl. “Whatever you decide, just don’t torture yourself with doubts afterward.”

Heather nodded in agreement. Why she felt such a strong affinity to these two strangers was a mystery. She knew only that a delicate cord connected them for this brief moment.

When the bathroom door opened unexpectedly, admitting a pair of elegantly attired matrons, it jolted them all into remembering that they were not sharing confidences in the privacy of a home.

Sighing, the girl admitted, “I’m tempted to just run away and avoid making any decision at all.”

Heather’s life had been comprised of snapshots of so many fleeting encounters that she longed for a continued friendship, if only for this one strained evening.

“I really want to know how the evening works out for you,” Heather told the distraught teen. “Maybe we could decide on a time to meet and find a good spot to watch the fireworks later.”

The girl gave her head an apologetic shake, and the lady in white choked on a dry, painful laugh as she reached first for her silver handbag and then for the doorknob.

“I doubt anyone will be able to miss them,” she said cryptically before disappearing into the waiting throng outside.

Heather wished she had thought to ask for her name.

Six

Surrounded by a bevy of single women doused in warring fragrances, Toby studied his son’s nanny from a distance. His worries that the shy little thing might not fit in at such an ostentatious gathering were proving completely needless. Heather looked so cool and sexy in that stunning dress that one might be inclined to think she was born to rule over these kinds of parties. The kinds of parties that his ex-wife had lived for. And ultimately left him for.

Toby washed away the bile that rose in his throat with a second glass of champagne. It lacked the bite of good, old-fashioned whiskey. But he doubted that even Johnnie Walker would make the sight of Heather laughing at something one of his old classmates murmured in her ear go down any smoother. Freddie Prowell was from old money, and though his childhood acquaintance had always been a bit of a prig, Toby had never felt any kind of hatred toward him before tonight. The sight of Freddie leading Heather onto the dance floor caused his shoulders to bunch beneath his suit jacket.

Where had she gotten that dress? Toby wondered. It certainly didn’t look like something one would pick up off the rack for a special occasion. As Freddie’s hand dropped to the small of her back, Toby’s fingers tightened on the stem of his champagne flute. He imagined it would be as easy to snap the other man’s neck as the glassware in his hands.

Did Heather know that a backless gown could be even more intriguing to the male population than a plunging neckline. Toby’s imagination kicked into overdrive at the sight of all that creamy skin and the realization that she wasn’t wearing a bra. For all her aloofness toward him over the past few days, Heather didn’t appear to mind a stranger groping her in public. Not that it was any business of his. As a free woman, she was welcome to dance the night away with any number of drooling idiots lined up to ask for the pleasure of her company.

For that matter, Heather could damn well return to Wyoming wearing another man’s engagement ring if that was what she wanted to do—just so long as she didn’t leave him… er… he meant Dylan, high and dry without any advance notice.

Toby swore softly under his breath. He didn’t bother waiting for the song to end before breaking free of the circle of women holding court around him. He simply left them to speculate on his rudeness and the certain direction his steps took him.

He tapped too firmly on Freddie’s shoulder to be ignored. “Mind if I cut in?”

Considering that he managed to step between the two of them and wrap an arm around Heather’s waist in one fluid motion, the question was purely rhetorical. As such, it required no answer but for Freddie to step aside. He did so reluctantly.

“My, but don’t you look lovely tonight,” Toby said, drawing Heather close and breathing her in. Her fragrance was a subtle mixture of daisies and the devil herself.

Batting her eyes at him, Heather donned an exaggerated drawl that mimicked Marcie Mae’s. “I do declare, Mr. Danforth, such flattery could turn a girl’s head completely around.”

A smile played with the corners of Toby’s mouth. Was it possible she was as bored with this party as he?

“Sarcasm doesn’t become you,” he remarked dryly, moving her toward the French doors lest anyone dare try cutting in on him like he had Freddie.

Heather turned the conversation to a safer subject as the music switched to a slow, dreamy waltz. “The band is amazing.”

Unable to take her eyes off the handsome man who held her, she wasn’t quite sure when they left the ballroom floor and began dancing beneath a canopy of stars. It was less crowded in the courtyard and far quieter than inside. Beneath a night sky redolent with magnolia blossoms, a tender melody was carried on a breeze that did absolutely nothing to cool Heather off. She was on fire in Toby’s arms. Overhead a meteor flashed across the sky reminding her of what happened to stars that burned too hot.

As tempting as it was to think they were alone, Heather knew that eyes would always be upon the likes of Tobias Danforth. Whether he cared for it or not, no matter how far he roamed from his childhood home, family ties cast him in the light of celebrity. His sister, Genie, had already warned her about the paparazzi. Heather had little desire to be featured in some scandalous rag bent on pumping up its subscription with innuendo and compromising photos. For all she knew, the full moon might as well have been a spotlight cast upon them.

Nevertheless, Heather turned her face up to Toby, and for a blissful moment allowed herself the luxury of floating away in the arms of a strong man. Toby defined his own life his own way, yet he was wise enough to preserve ties with a family that obviously loved him. She wished he would share his secret with her. Instead of asking outright how he managed such a complicated feat, she merely ventured an observation.

“You prefer marching to the beat of your own drum, don’t you?”