3
ANNIE WAS AWARE that Trent didn’t spot her immediately. Focusing on Jamie, he motioned toward the miniature wooden rocker he had carried in. “I finished Abbie’s chair. I made it as tiltproof as possible, but teach her not to stand up in it.”
“I will. Oh, Trent, it’s perfect. She’ll love rocking in it while she watches cartoons.” She reached up to kiss his cheek, a gesture he accepted with a resignation that indicated he’d expected a reaction of that sort.
Just the thought of kissing Trent so casually made Annie’s mouth go dry. She told herself to quit being an idiot, but that seemed to be an impossible task when Trent McBride was around.
Jamie motioned for him to set the chair on the floor and turned to her little stepdaughter. “Abbie, come look at the chair Uncle Trent made for you. Isn’t it beautiful?”
Abbie promptly climbed onto the chair, plopping her bottom on the child-size seat. “Mine,” she said, beginning to rock with enthusiasm.
“She loves it.” Still smiling, Jamie motioned toward the table. “Annie and I are having coffee, Trent. Would you like to join us?”
Annie saw Trent’s startled reaction before he quickly masked it. She was surprised that he hadn’t already noticed her sitting there, but apparently he’d been concentrating on his niece. Pushing his glasses up on his nose, he turned to face her, his characteristically somber eyes searching her face in the way that always made her toes curl. You really are an idiot, Annie.
He greeted her curtly. “Hello.”
It was only further proof of the strange hold he had on her that the sound of his voice affected her so strongly every time she heard it. She couldn’t understand it. It was just a voice, after all—a deep, slightly rough-edged growl of a voice, but nothing special. Right?
She offered him an exaggeratedly airy smile. “Hello, Mr. McBride.”
Jamie rolled her eyes. “You call him ‘Mr. McBride’? Why? You two are the same age, for Pete’s sake, and you’ve known each other for—what?—six weeks? What’s with the formality?”
“I never asked her to call me ‘mister.”’ Trent sounded defensive.
He had never corrected her, either. Annie assumed he liked the professional distance the formality kept between them.
Still sitting in her chair, Abbie held up her cup, offering her uncle a drink. “Juice?”
He looked down at his niece, and his smile softened his stern face in a way that made Annie’s silly heart flutter. “I’ll have coffee, instead, but thanks, Abbie.”
Annie noticed that his voice was several degrees warmer when he talked to the child. There was genuine affection in his expression. As she had suspected all along, Trent wasn’t nearly as gruff and curmudgeonly as he liked to pretend.
Looking quite at home, he reached into a cabinet, pulled out a mug and poured himself a cup of coffee. Rather than joining Annie at the table, he leaned back against the counter to sip his drink. He made no effort to initiate conversation, but seemed to be waiting for Annie or Jamie to speak to him. Annie couldn’t think of a thing to say. Having Trent’s somber eyes on her completely cleared her mind.
Fortunately Sam chose that moment to join them. Carrying his music book, he moved to stand beside Annie, showing no surprise at seeing his uncle. “Hi, Uncle Trent. Ms. Stewart, is it okay if I try to play the next song in the book? This one called ‘Sleepy Lion’?”
Since that piece was clearly numbered and very similar to the ones he’d already played, Annie nodded, encouraging his enthusiasm and relieved to have something to distract her from the awkwardness of the situation. “Of course, Sam. Just remember that here and here, you play with your left hand—second finger—and the rest is with your right hand, fingers two, three and four. Okay?”
“Okay. Ms. Stewart gave me a piano lesson, Uncle Trent,” Sam said, eager to share his accomplishment. “I already learned two songs. Do you want to hear me play them?”
“Yeah, sure. I’d like to hear them sometime.”
“I’ll go practice.” Sam ran eagerly from the room.
“I hope he’ll always be that excited about practicing,” Jamie murmured.
Annie chuckled. “I can almost guarantee you that there will come a time when he’ll need a bit of prodding—but that’s true of nearly every child. I went through a stage when my father had to nag me almost every day to practice, but I’m glad now that he didn’t let me quit.”
Trent was studying her even more closely now, making it difficult for her not to squirm in her seat. “You give piano lessons?”
She tried to speak lightly. “Sam’s my only student at the moment, but I have experience teaching piano.”
“Annie has a master’s degree in music,” Jamie said, moving beside Trent to refill her coffee cup.
Suppressing a wince, Annie wished she hadn’t mentioned her degree to Trevor. She hadn’t meant to—it had just sort of slipped out when they’d been making conversation as she’d cleaned his offices last week. While chatting about his children, Trevor had told her of Sam’s desire to learn to play piano and their futile search for a teacher. The next thing she’d known, Annie had divulged her degree and had mentioned that she’d taught piano while she attended college. She hadn’t added that she’d started teaching because she enjoyed working with children in music, not because she’d needed the money.
She had learned today that she could take just as much joy in teaching even though she was being paid for it.