Wyoming Tough - Diana Palmer [32]
He gave a sudden laugh. “Damn!”
“Well, I would, boss,” she said reasonably.
He just sipped his coffee. “I guess you would.”
Piano music was coming from the living room. It was soft and pretty at first, then there were fumbles and then a crash. “Damn it!” Tank groaned.
They heard him get up and soon he came into the kitchen. He glanced at Morie. “I can’t get the rhythm of that coda. Do you have your iPod with you, with the soundtracks on it?”
“No,” she replied. She’d left it in the bunkhouse. “But I can show you.”
He frowned. “You can play a piano?”
She shifted as Mallory stared openly at her. “Sort of.”
“Sort of.” Tank caught her hand and pulled her along with him to the living room. He seated her at the grand piano. “Show me.”
CHAPTER SIX
“I JUST PICKED UP a little piano playing at the last job I worked,” Morie protested, denying her many years of piano lessons. “I probably can’t even do an octave now.”
“Can you read music?” Tank persisted.
She shifted. “Yes. A little.”
“Come on, then. Play.”
She couldn’t figure a way out of it. They might ask all sorts of questions if they knew how well she played. She’d been offered a music scholarship in college, which she’d turned down. Her parents could well afford her tuition, and the scholarship might help some deserving student who had no such means.
After a minute’s hesitation, she put her long-fingered hands on the keyboard and looked at the score before her.
She found the pedals with her foot, rested her hands on the keyboard and suddenly began to play.
Mallory, standing in the doorway, was shocked speechless. Tank, closer, smiled as he sank into an easy chair. A minute later, Cane heard the exquisite score and came into the room, as well, perching on the sofa.
Lost in the music, Morie played with utter joy. It had been weeks since she’d had access to a piano, and this one was top quality. It had been tuned recently, as well. The sounds that came from it were as exquisite as the score she was playing with such expression.
When the final, poignant crescendo was reached and she played the last notes, there was an utter stillness in the room and, then, exuberant applause.
She got up, embarrassed and flushed. “I only play a little,” she protested. “Thanks.”
Mallory was staring at her through narrowed eyes. “Aren’t you full of surprises, for a poor cowgirl,” he remarked with faint suspicion.
She bit her lower lip, hard. “All of us have natural talent of some sort. I always knew how to play. I played by ear for a long time, then this nice lady took me in and tutored me where I worked last.” Actually, it had been Heather Everett, who played as well as she sang.
“And where was that, did you say?” Mallory persisted.
But this time he didn’t catch her out. “The Story Ranch outside Billings.” She happened to know that the ranch had been sold after the owner’s death. There was nobody who could deny her story. And she could always give him the phone number of the housekeeper who’d promised to cover her allegations.
Mallory actually looked disappointed. “I see.”
“He was a grand old fellow to work for,” she elaborated. “He had a piano and he let me practice on it. I was heartbroken when he died.” She was certain that she would have been, if she’d known him. Her father spoke of the old gentleman with great affection. He knew him from cattlemen’s conventions.
“You have a real talent,” Cane remarked. “Have you thought about a career using it?”
“Shut up,” Mallory said at once, glaring at his brother. “I’m not looking for a new hire to look after my prize heifers because she—” he indicated her “—wants to go off looking for a recording contract!”
“She should use her talent,” Cane argued hotly. “She’s wasting her life working for pennies, using up her health lifting heavy limbs off fences! Down the road, she’ll pay for all this physical labor. She’s too slightly built to even be doing it!”
Mallory knew that, but it irritated him that his brother had pointed it out to him. “She