Page 86 of Resisting the Fall

Seth was a talker, and while he rattled on about his interests, his work at the library, and his hope to settle down soon, I allowed my thoughts to drift to Ben and his bi-weekly outings to Lakeview. The nights he’d had plans and stayed out past midnight, had he actually been out dancing? By the time the song ended, I was itching to ask Ben about my newly formed suspicions. I don’t know why I needed to know, but I did. With a quick farewell to Seth, I started back toward where I’d last seen Ben when a hand took hold of mine.

“Nope.” Ben pulled me toward him. “This next one’s mine.”

I lifted my chin to look up at him. “First, I have a question for you.”

“What’s that?”

“Last week, the nights you were out late, did you go dancing?”

“Who told you that? Seth?”

“Luke told me you go to Lakeview once or twice a week to country dance.” I searched his expression. “Is that where you were? I mean, not that it matters.” I gave a tight smile. “You can dance with whoever you want.”

He didn’t smile, but his eyes were alight with amusement. “I can?”

Despite my best attempts, I scowled. “Absolutely.”

“Then why do you seem annoyed?”

“I’m not. I mean, I am, but only because you wouldn’t tell me where you went.”

This time, a grin pulled onto his lips. “Only because of that?”

“How are we doing, Autumn Ridge?” The slight drawl of the female singer rang out over the microphone, and I only then realized the next song hadn’t started. “We’ve had a special request. Is there a Maven Price in the house?”

My gaze shot to the woman on stage, then back to Ben. He looked as surprised by her question as I was.

“She’s right here,” a smiling Mrs. Albany called, raising her hand high in the air, pointing in my direction.

Realizing how close Ben and I stood, I took a quick step away from him before all the gazes drifted in our direction. We didn’t need to add any more fuel to the gossip circling us.

“You’re Maven Price?” the woman asked again, her eyes fixed on me.

I gave a hesitant nod.

“Well, come on up here.”

With one last panicked look at Ben, I reluctantly made my way toward the stage.

“I heard you’re a professional violinist?”

“I am.” I was suddenly worried about where this was going.

“Well…” She glanced toward the right of the stage where my mom and Penny stood watching. “A little bird told my fiddler that you know a few songs on the fiddle. We were thinking you should join us and play one or two. Give Doug here a little break. Fiddling is hard work.”

“Oh, I don’t know any songs very well,” I said, a strained laugh behind my voice.

“Have her play The Devil Went Down to Georgia,” my mom called, her smile full of guilt-ridden delight. That woman was in so much trouble! “She has it memorized.”

The singer’s eyes widened. “If you can play that song, you don’t have a choice.”

I side-eyed my mom as I stepped onstage, making the woman laugh. “I’m Norma, by the way,” she said, having stepped away from the microphone. She was a pretty woman with curly black hair and a splatter of freckles across her nose and cheeks. “And I really appreciate your willingness.”

At her word choice, I lifted my brows, causing her to laugh again.

Doug stepped to my side and handed me his fiddle. It was well loved and the bow hairs were looser than I was used to, but when I played a few notes, its sound was warm and full. A rush of excitement ran through me, pushing away some of my nerves. After another cycle of breaths, I nodded at the band to let them know I was ready.

Thanks to muscle memory, my fingers recalled the notes with impressive accuracy, and when the fiddle solo began, I closed my eyes to heighten my sense of hearing and the feel of the strings beneath my fingers. Norma’s unique alto voice wafted through my mind, bringing the story of Johnny and his golden fiddle to life, and the crowd’s cheers grew louder each time the tempo of the song accelerated and the piece intensified.