if somebody’s looking.” He lifted the sandwich with both hands, took a bite, and decided to add, “Hey. If you’re a pseudo, do not tell them who sent you out there.”
Doo grinned. “Couldn’t. I don’t know your name.”
“Well,” he said still chewing. “Maybe that’s just as well. Don’t tell them the good-lookin’ dude in the kitchen. It’d be a dead giveaway.”
Doo nodded good-naturedly and pushed through the door to the little backyard. It was a nice day. Sun sporadically coming in and out of clouds.
There were probably a dozen people in little clusters, but sandwich dude was right. There was no way to miss the redhead. The sun peeked through for a minute and made her hair look like it was on fire. She was standing in the middle of the space with her back to Doo, talking animatedly to two guys who were probably musicians.
He approached and waited a few feet back, wanting to make it known he was waiting, but in the politest way possible. After a couple of minutes he caught the eye of one of the guys, who then pointed to the redhead with a question on his face. Doo smiled and nodded.
He heard the guy tell the matchmaker, “You got an admirer, babe.”
Doo had walked close enough so that, when she turned around, they were face to face. And what he saw almost put him on his ass. So much so that he almost missed the fact that she’d said, “Hey. You looking for me?”
It was clear that she was a little confused by the look of gobsmack on his face. The red hair was out of place, as was the perfectly tight, smooth skin. But he’d recognize those sparkling green eyes anywhere.
“I’m Cass…”
“Power.” He finished for her, looking and sounding as stunned as it was possible for a boy to be.
She laughed that throaty laugh that he’d always liked. He’d never before realized how sexy that laugh was. “That’s right. How’d you know?”
With a little internal get-it-together-and-don’t-blow-your-chance shake, he managed a response. “Rumor has it that you’re the person to see if you’re lookin’ for a band.”
“Ah.” She turned around to the two guys she’d been talking to and said, “Later.”
One offered a parting chin lift, while the other gave a little wave as she threaded her arm through Doo’s and turned toward the house, “If you heard that rumor, it means you’ve got something to offer. Let’s go talk for a minute.”
When they reached the kitchen, she said, “You like lemonade?”
“Sure.”
“So do I.”
He had to stop himself from replying with, “I know.”
She grabbed two glass bottles of lemonade from the refrigerator, opened them with a bottle opener, and handed one to Doo.
“Is this your, ah, house?” he asked.
“Hardly. Belongs to a friend who’s mostly gone. He lets me stay when I want.”
“All these people? Are they, ah, friends of the owner, too?”
She laughed, shook her head, took a drink of lemonade, and said, “Friends of mine or friends of friends of mine.” She cocked her head. “Like you.”
Feeling suddenly shy, Doo just smiled and took a drink.
“Long as it’s mellow it’s all good. Over here.” She motioned toward a side door with her head just before heading that direction. “I don’t think you told me your name.”
“Doo. Doo Darby.”
She stopped abruptly. So suddenly that he almost ran into her from behind. “Doo.” Pause. “Solid name. Could be a musician’s name. Conjures up all kinds of things. I like it.”
Again, he had to stop himself from saying, “You should, you gave it to me.”
Instead, he said, “Then I’m glad it’s not somethin’ else.”
“Is that a Southern accent I hear?”
Doo shook his head. “Nope. Texas drawl.”
“It’s a long way.”
“Yeah. Probably further than you think.”
She laughed. “So how’d you end up here?”
“Came for the music.”
“The music,” she repeated. “Well. Reasons for dragging it across the desert can’t get better than that.”
“Total disclosure. I flew. In a plane.”
She turned around and faced him. “In a plane? Not with your arms waving really fast?”
The light in her eyes said she was having fun at his expense and he realized that dynamic between Cassidy Power and himself wasn’t about her getting the auto respect that comes with years. She was a pistol even when they were the same age.
“Just messing with you,” she said, opening one of a pair of French doors.
She led him into a room with red walls and two purple velvet loveseats facing each other across a coffee table featuring eight-inch high stacks of Rolling Stone