Jane's Harmony (Jane's Melody #2) Read Free Page A

splashed out of her glass. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting to get rid of my stupid family’s name? Now, can we toast before the food gets cold?”
    “I’m afraid it’s already cold,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “I was expecting you at nine.”
    “Look at this,” Jane said. “We’re not even married yet and we’re already arguing. To Mr. and Mrs. Caleb Cummings, and that’s final.”
    “You wanna know something?” he asked, holding back his glass. “I’m crazy in love with you.”
    Jane smiled. “I’m crazy in love with you too.”
    She clinked her glass against his and held his gaze as they sipped. The violin played on, the candles flickered in their crystal urns, and never before had a cold meal and warm sparkling cider tasted so great to anyone anywhere on earth.
    “Ooh,” Jane said after they had finished their main course. “He even has chocolate-covered strawberries for dessert.”
    “No”—Caleb shook his head—“this is pre-dessert.”
    “Pre-dessert?”
    “Yes, because when we finish with these, I plan to take you down to our bedroom and have my way with you.”
    “I’ve got a better idea,” Jane said.
    “You do? Please tell.”
    She pulled out the Hilton room key card. “How about I take you back to my suite at the Hilton and have my way with you?”
    “Your suite at the Hilton?”
    “Well, it’s a regular room, really. But it has a queen bed.”
    “And why do you have a room at the Hilton?”
    Jane bit into a strawberry and grinned. “I’ll explain it on the way, my sweet fiancé.”

Chapter 2
    C hris Cornell, without a doubt.”
    “I say Kurt Cobain.”
    “No way. Not even close.”
    “Get out. You know Nirvana wrote way better songs than Soundgarden ever did.”
    “The question was greatest voice of all time. Not greatest song. Ask yourself this—which of them would you rather be?”
    “Easy. The one who’s still alive.”
    “Chris Cornell. See, I rest my case.”
    “What do you say, Jane?”
    Jane looked up from the camcorder she had in her lap. There was a crowded table of young faces staring at her. “What’s that?” she asked.
    “Chris Cornell or Kurt Cobain?”
    “Neither,” she said.
    “Neither? Who’s your favorite voice of all time, then?”
    She smiled. “Caleb Cummings, of course.”
    There was a moment of silence; then they all nodded.
    “She’s good,” one of them said.
    “Hey,” another kid cut in. “Did anyone notice that they all have the initials CC?”
    “No, they don’t, stupid. Kurt is spelled with a K.”
    Jane just smiled and enjoyed listening to their banter. In the short time Caleb had been in Austin, he’d amassed a misfit collection of friends, and Jane loved him for it. Some were musicians; others were friends from the warehouse where he worked. But they all admired Caleb. Jane could see it in the way theylooked at him, how they hung on his every word. But if he was aware, he never let on . . . And maybe his humility was why everyone fell for him the way they did.
    “There’s the lights,” someone said. “He’s coming out.”
    Jane checked the borrowed video camera again, making sure it was ready. She didn’t know exactly why, but she was nervous. Maybe because this was Caleb’s first major solo gig. And on a Saturday night at Sherman’s too. But if Caleb was nervous, Jane couldn’t tell. He walked out onstage and stood in the lights, smiling at the crowd. Then he plugged in his guitar and proceeded to tune it, as if he were standing in his own living room without another soul around.
    One by one, the crowd fell silent.
    His quiet nonchalance onstage drew every eye and ear in the place. They were all waiting to see what this kid could do. His tuning somehow worked itself into a mini riff, and the riff somehow worked itself into a full-on guitar solo, and before Jane even knew what was happening, his fingers were running on the strings and the amps were wailing, and the entire place lit up