She waved goodbye. If she could have, she would have joined their tour of the Beauregard-Keyes House. Not that she hadnt visited the historic cottage with its captivating gardens many times. It was more that she wanted to delay the inevitable.
Well come hear you play at the jazz pub on Bourbon Street, one of her new acquaintances promised just before she hopped out. Friday night!
Crystal waggled her saxophone case to let them know shed heard. It doubled as a shield against the rain, which was falling in earnest now. Her red twill suit was wet through by the time she reached the lobby. She felt the soggy flop of her braid with every step she took. Outside Tanners room, Crystal spared the time to unbind the heavy strands. She almost never wore her hair loose. But she wasnt here to impress Tanner. If André and Nate had hoped to do that, they should have come, instead.
She did, however, run a comb through her frizzy locks. Otherwise hed take one look and head for the hills from whence hed come. Are there hills in Texas? Skipper said Tanner had come to the Sinners from Dallas. That accounted for the difference in his drawl. His voice was rich and rough and slightly twangy.
Taking a deep breath, Crystal unearthed the envelope with the stations offer. Then before she lost her nerve, she knocked.
Stay out, called the voice shed been analyzing. It soared above a background murmur of several people talking.
Now what? Crystal weighed the order. If he had family visiting, shed return another time. But if he was talking to his agent, she might slip inside and leave André and Nates offer with them.
The door gave easily under her hand. As shed done yesterday, she tried to peer through the crack. No luck. She leaned around the door to see more clearly. Her hair slithered forward, obscuring her face.
Well, hel-lo. Cale clicked the remote and switched off the TV, which accounted for the voices Crystal had heard.
Perfect. He was alone. No lights flashed wildly on his monitor today. Likewise, the ropes and pulleys that held him immobile looked solidly hooked. One thing was different, thougha smile that spread crookedly from ear to ear. The smile made him look like a totally different man and gave Crystal pause.
Youre obviously new on the ward, sweetheart. In spite of what youve probably been told, I dont bite.
Your alter ego snarled Stay out? Crystal couldnt rein in a laugh.
Thats before I saw you were prettier than a bushel of roses. Whered you come from? The morning nursing shift reminds me of a Packer defense line. He pretended to shudder. Come talk to me. Im really a likable guy.
Crystal snorted. Modest, too, she said, using her instrument case to shove her way into the room. Lets get a few things straight. Im not a nurse and I am not your sweetheart. We met briefly yesterday, Mr. Tanner. My name is Crystal Jardin.
We met? His gaze shifted from her hair to the worn instrument case. Almost immediately his eyes lit up. You must be the musician who shakes down the rafters. I did ask an aide to have you stop by last night. Guess you didnt have a chance.
You heard my music all the way here? Sorry. Next time Ill shut the door and mute the sound.
His smile slipped. Youve got it wrong. Im not complaining. Quite the opposite. That Latin tune you played was incredible.
She blushed. You know about music? Jazz? That threw her. Shed have to revise her first assessment of Cale Tanner. I guess you mean Cannonball Adderlys Jive Samba. Hes the master. I was spang-a-langing his piece, is all.
Spang-a-who-ing? You lost me.
Ah. So he didnt know the language of jazz. Spang-a-lang is the rhythmic feel of a sound. Like, messing around trying to hit a certain groove. Grasping for ways to explain, she said, Its the process of finding the ultimate groove.
Yeah. Gotcha. You know when what youve done gels. Its the same in football. A lot of times therere too many men between me and the goal line to see the play I made. But when Ive connected with a receiver, I know in my gut.
Crystals brow puckered. She didnt think football compared to music and was on the verge of saying so when his face broke out in a lopsided grin. Grab a chair and knock back a few songs, why dont you?
Now?
Sure. Why not?
Its lunchtime. And its not visiting hours. She almost said she was here for another purpose entirely, but Crystal held off on that. Maybe it had to do with the light shed seen burning deep in his eyes when he got the drift of spang-a-langing. Whatever else Tanner was, he felt strongly attuned to his sport. She sensed he was a long way from severing that bond. Maybe the rumors of his retirement were way off base.
For what my insurance companys paying for this private room, I ought to be able to have an orgy in here twenty-four hours a day if I choose.
That comment was exactly what Crystal would expect of a football player. She didnt realize her face showed her distaste so plainly until Tanner narrowed his eyes.
We have met. Ive seen that look. Where? He scrutinized her from beneath indecently thick eyelashes for so long that Crystal felt uncomfortable. So uncomfortable she jumped when he snapped his fingers.
Yesterday! The reporter. He scowled at her saxophone. Do you really play that thing? Or is this another trick to get an interview? If it is, you have ten seconds to vamoose, babe.
He looked so menacing when he frowned Crystal didnt know where to begin or what would buy her time. She set her instrument case on his bedside table and opened it to give him a clear view of the gleaming brass alto sax.
Im not a reporter, she said quietly.
He crossed his arms across a muscular chest. They fired you since yesterday?
My purpose for being here yesterday was to get your autograph on a football for a young friend of mine. Hes down the hall in the childrens long-term orthopedic ward. She plunged a hand into her large jute handbag and produced the ball. Darn, I returned the permanent marker to the nursing station. You dont happen to have a pen suitable for autographing leather, do you?
You mean I almost killed myself over an autograph?
Well, yes, and Im sorry about that, Mr. Tanner.
Caleb. Salesmen call me Mr. Tanner. You wouldnt be trying to sell me a bill of goods, would you, babe?
Crystal dealt him a withering look. The kind she reserved for the Ray Lyons of the world. No one calls me babe. You may call me Ms. Jardin.
Caleb sidestepped her remark as neatly as he avoided a pileup of defensive linemen. Uh-huh. Give me the damned football. Leaning over, he yanked open the center drawer of his nightstand and pawed around until he found a marking pen. I shouldve guessed you dont play that horn, he muttered. A woman doesnt have the lungs to make a saxophone whisper one minute, then hold the note so long it spits fire.
Crystal rammed Skippers football into Cale Tanners diaphragm with enough force to make him blow out an oof but not hard enough to add to his injuries. Trumpets, tubas and trombones are horns, Tanner. Saxophones are wind instruments. I play all four. Women have plenty of wind.
Calebs right eyebrow disappeared beneath a shock of wheat-gold hair. They do at that, Jardin. I stand corrected. As he lowered his laughing gaze, Caleb scrawled his name across the ball. Does the kid have a handle? he asked.