Lost Melody Read Online Free PDF Page A

disguise
didn’t come cheap. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble and spent a
ton of money on the renovation. She knew virtually nothing about
farming, but she’d been in Willowbrook long enough to figure out it
wasn’t a high-income profession. Her curiosity shifted into high
gear.
    The two Henry Travises were a mystery.
Henry dressed in typical Willowbrook fashion—JC Penney all the way.
The solitary department store was as much a staple in town as Judd
Spencer and his haircuts.
    Hank, however, was a walking
contradiction. His faded Levi’s appeared to be authentic, worn
threadbare from years of use and abuse in contrast to the holey
jeans city slickers paid hundreds of dollars for. His crisp white
dress shirt came from Brooks Brothers, the nearest store being in
Dallas, several hours away yet he sported a ten-dollar Judd Spencer
haircut. He made no mention of what he’d been doing in the barn
before she arrived, and given their tenuous truce, she wasn’t
inclined to ask.
    She had been in Willowbrook
for six months and hadn’t seen Hank Travis until today. It would be
hard to live unnoticed in such a small town, and if she had seen Hank Travis, she
wouldn’t have forgotten him. He would stand out in a
crowd.
    So, where had he been for six months?
What did he do for a living? He wasn’t a farmer—not the legal kind
anyway.
    She returned to their alfresco dinner
with more questions than she had answers.
    “Your home is lovely, Hank, what I saw
of it anyway. I would have pegged you as a more modern type,” she
said.
    “Really? Why?”
    “Nothing specific. It’s just a
feeling.”
    “You couldn’t be more wrong, Ms.
Harper. I’m a simple man. I inherited the house and farm from my
grandparents. I haven’t changed much. I like it the way it
is.”
    “I loved all the family photos in the
hallway.”
    “My favorite is my grandparents’
wedding photo,” he said.
    “Why?”
    “They were so happy in the photo, but
they still looked happy fifty years later. It’s a reminder that
some things endure. It gives me hope.”
    “Hope? For what?”
    He shrugged. “You know. That I’ll find
someone, too.”
    “It shouldn’t be too difficult,” she
said. “I would think a simple life would appeal to a lot of
women.”
    Hank poked a long fork into a steak.
“You’d be surprised.”
    She let the comment slide. There was
more to Hank Travis than met the eye. He was hiding something. A
good-looking guy like him living all by himself in a big old
farmhouse? There was money somewhere, but he’d hidden it carefully.
Separately, none of her observations were remarkable. But together?
Well, in Hank’s case, two and two did not make four. Perhaps his
father had been right. Maybe she could get another story after
all.
    “The farm has been in my wife’s family
for generations,” Henry said. “The first Chilcote got it in a land
grant for his service in the Army of the Republic.”
    As Henry recited the history of the
Chilcote farm and Willowbrook, Mel snuck glances at his son. With
his back mostly turned to them, tending the grill, she had plenty
of opportunities to check him out. He moved with grace, as if some
inner rhythm guided his movements. Music in motion, she thought as
he poked at the steaks with the fork in one hand and using the
tongs with the other, flipped them easily. Flames from the charcoal
licked above the rack, highlighting the roped muscles in his
forearm.
    When everything was done, Mel sat
across from Hank at the old wooden picnic table that had seen more
coats of paint than she had seen years. The food was delicious,
steaks and farm fresh vegetables Hank had sliced and cooked on the
grill just before the meat was ready. The simple meal was
accompanied by slices of white bread, fresh from the wrapped loaf
in the center of the table. Not gourmet, but she couldn’t remember
ever having a better meal in her life.
    Henry kept her wine glass filled from
a bottle he admitted snatching from his son’s