Page 22 of Demon Loved (The Witches of Mingus Mountain #5)
Bill seemed to sense that she didn’t want to talk about her contribution to the folk festival anymore, and he shifted the conversation to the logistics of her performance tomorrow at Alcantara Winery and how he was just fine with meeting her at her apartment so she wouldn’t have to drive up to the Grand Hotel to fetch him.
That seemed like the perfect opening to invite him over there after they were done with their drinks here, but something seemed to hold Brianna’s tongue.
She couldn’t say for sure if that was because she knew deep down there was no reason to have things get that serious, or whether it was a simple case of cold feet.
Either way, she told him that sounded great, and they left it there.
See what happens tomorrow, she told herself, and yet she still didn’t know if that would be the right time for them.
Maybe it would never be.
He hadn’t asked her to dinner, and she’d let it go, telling herself that they’d spent most of the day together and she shouldn’t monopolize his time. All the same, she couldn’t stop herself from wondering exactly what he’d done that night after they parted ways at Vino Zona.
When he appeared at her apartment exactly at 2:30 the next afternoon as she’d requested, though, he looked rested and full of energy at the same time, so whatever he’d been up to, it couldn’t have been too taxing.
He helped her load her guitars and amp and cords and the rest of it in the back of her Suburban, and then they rattled their way down the hill. Bree took the upper route through Cottonwood since that wasn’t her destination, then turned onto Highway 260, which would take them down to Alcantara.
As they drove, he sat up a little straighter in the worn leather seat, his gaze seeming to take in everything about the landscape around them.
Bree couldn’t say that it looked too different from the country up near Clarkdale, was only more rolling hills covered in yellow grass that had faded since its green heyday during monsoon season, but she supposed the contours of the land were just different enough to hold his interest.
They turned off the highway onto a rough road that eventually switched over to gravel, taking them past a trailer park full of travelers enjoying the last bits of summer before autumn truly arrived, then down a steep incline that led onto the winery property.
Acres of grapevines stretched on either side, and the building that housed the tasting room looked like a Tuscan villa set down in the center of the Arizona countryside.
“It’s beautiful,” Bill said, and Bree nodded.
“Definitely. I think it’s one of the prettiest tasting rooms in the area, and we’ve got plenty to choose from. Let me show you where we need to set up.”
Suddenly looking brisk, he tilted his head in acknowledgment and opened the door to let himself out of the Suburban.
Brianna did the same, then lifted the back hatch so they could pull out all her equipment.
Since she’d done this dozens of times before, she knew exactly where to guide him — around to the back, where the lawn was perpetually green except in the depths of winter, and anyone enjoying their wine on the back patio could enjoy a stunning view of more vineyards sloping down to the Verde River.
Although she could tell he wasn’t familiar with setting up audio equipment, he was good at following directions, and she had everything placed where she wanted it and properly connected much faster than she would have if she’d had to do all this by herself.
When Dave Miller, one of the winery owners, came out to check on her progress, he seemed a little surprised that she’d gotten her setup together so quickly.
“Guess it helps to have a roadie,” he said, his blue eyes twinkling good-naturedly as she introduced him to Bill.
Dave looked as if he would have liked to ask a few more questions — he’d known her since she was barely able to drive — but had decided it wouldn’t be good manners to probe too much when the man he was curious about was standing right there and listening to everything they said.
“I like to help,” Bill said.
That he did. Not a single word of complaint, no “helpful” advice on how to perform a task she could probably have done in her sleep. No, he just did as she asked without question — and with a smile on his face.
Too bad she couldn’t bottle whatever made Bill, Bill. She’d be a multimillionaire overnight.
Dave offered them both a glass of wine and some water, and she went ahead and said that sounded great.
She didn’t always indulge when she performed — and if she did, she limited it to one glass — but sharing a drink with Bill made this seem a little more like a date of sorts, even if she was going to be working most of the time.
The winery had been open for several hours, so a few groups of people wandered out from the tasting room to see what was happening on the patio and then seated themselves when they seemed to realize there was going to be live entertainment.
Sure, Dave posted information about the various performances on the chalkboard in the tasting room and on the sandwich board near the entrance to the winery, but it still kind of amazed her the way people didn’t pay attention to those sorts of things.
“I’m going to start in a few minutes,” she told Bill after Dave had brought them their glasses of Albarino, a crisp white perfect for the warm autumn afternoon. “So you should find a place to sit.”
For just a moment, he hesitated — had he thought he was going to hover her near her during the performance, waiting in the wings in case she needed him to hand her a spare string, like a nurse at a doctor’s elbow during an operation?
— but then he seemed to relax and said, “Of course. I thought I saw an empty seat near the edge of the patio.”
“Then go ahead and take it,” Bree replied, guessing it probably wouldn’t be occupied any time soon.
Her experience had taught her that a lot of listeners didn’t want to seat themselves too near the performer, reminding her of her old classmates who’d never wanted to sit too near the front in case they got called on by the teacher.
Not that Bill needed to worry about that. Probably his biggest concern should be how many women might try to hit on him while he was sitting there alone.
Everyone out on the patio appeared to be paired off, but because they hadn’t gone in the tasting room proper, she had no idea how many sharks might be swimming around, looking for chum.
And now she just wanted to laugh at herself.
Jealous much? she thought.
Bill Garrett wasn’t her property. There was nothing formal between them. True, it would be a little tacky for him to chat up another woman while the person he was currently seeing stood only a few yards away, but still, he was a free agent.
Bree couldn’t really imagine him doing anything like that, though. If nothing else, he was far too polite.
He gave her a little wave and, wine glass in hand, went up the steps to the patio and sat down at the table he’d mentioned a few minutes earlier. The low murmur of conversation reached her ears, letting her know that no one was paying any particular attention to her.
Which was just how she wanted it. She’d had enough eyes on her yesterday to last her a very long time.
And she’d already decided to perform all covers this afternoon. Although Dave had never told her what she could or couldn’t play, it just seemed better, on this mild, mellow Sunday afternoon, to stick with the tried and true.
So she opened with “Desperado” and segued into “Black Velvet” after that, sticking with the old standards everyone seemed to love.
Although Bill’s seat was partially obscured by the railing that protected the raised patio, she could still see him well enough as he sat there and listened and took the occasional sip from his wine glass.
No one had approached him, and she allowed herself a sigh too small to even be picked up by her microphone.
Maybe someday she’d learn to stop borrowing trouble.
Her first set passed without incident, and she picked up her glass of wine so she could go sit with him and relax for the ten minutes she allowed herself for breaks between sets. His face lit up as she approached, and once again she found herself marveling at how good-looking he was.
Bill Garrett was about much more than looks, though. Bree was pretty sure she’d be just as attracted to him if he were the Hunchback of Notre Dame.
Okay, maybe that was taking it a bit far. Still, he didn’t need to be movie-star handsome, not when he was so uniquely…himself.
“You haven’t played any of your own songs,” he said as she seated herself.
His tone wasn’t quite accusing, but she could tell he was disappointed. “I thought I’d take a break,” she said lightly. “You know, just in case any of the people here heard me yesterday at the festival.”
That was probably a long shot but not entirely out of the bounds of possibility.
Bill seemed to accept that explanation, however, because he nodded and didn’t seem inclined to press the issue. “I suppose I can see that. How many sets do you usually play?”
“Three,” she replied at once, since that was an easy enough question to answer. “I’ll finish up around five-thirty.”
And she stopped there, not sure if she should say anything else.
Bill, on the other hand, didn’t seem nearly so reticent. “Then possibly we could get something to eat afterward?”
The very question she’d been hoping he’d ask.
“Sure,” she said, doing her best to seem as if this was all off the cuff and not something she’d been thinking about for most of the afternoon.
“But since it’s going to be kind of early, how about we go into Sedona instead of heading back to Cottonwood?
That way, you’ll still be able to see something of it. ”
And such an outing should be safe enough.
Yes, Bellamy and Marc had pretty much established that sleeping overnight in Sedona near one of the energy vortexes there enhanced their inborn witchy powers, but just being there for a few hours didn’t appear to affect anything.
She and Bill could have dinner someplace with a view — maybe the Mesa Grille, up by the airport — and at least that way he would get a chance to see the red rocks.
It just didn’t feel right to her that he’d traveled all this way and didn’t seem to have made any effort to spend a few hours exploring Sedona’s beauties.
“I think I’d like that very much,” Bill replied. “Will we need a reservation?”
“On Sunday night? Probably not,” she said, answering her own question. “At least, not where I’m planning for us to go.”
“Then I’m looking forward to it.”
She smiled and took another sip of her wine. In a moment, she’d need to head down to the lawn and pick up her guitar again, but for now, she was content to simply be here with him.
However long it might last.