The Runaway Daughter Read Online Free PDF

real McCoy. Trying to quell his excitement, he answered, “It’s nice.”
    “Nice?” Ginger asked. “It’s divine.” Her heels clipped on the black-and-white tiled floor. “Look at that piano. It makes the one you played on back in Minnesota look like cheap-change.”
    Brock had seen the piano, and the other instruments. His hock shop guitar and decades-old horn sure wouldn’t fit in in this place.
    “You came highly recommended, Brock, but we still need to hear an example,” Oscar said.
    “What would you like to hear?” Ginger asked.
    Brock clenched his teeth. It didn’t matter what song they wanted. He could play them all. As long as he’d heard it once. That was all it took. One listen and he knew how to play it, on almost every instrument. He wasn’t sure how it worked, it just did, and he’d taken advantage of that since he’d started playing. But Ginger had him seeing red. She’d been playing him like he did his instruments. There was no reason for her to help him. She probably just wanted to finagle her own radio deal. Well, he was no patsy. As soon as this audition was over, she was going home. Cherry lipstick and all.
    Skirting around her, Brock went to the piano, his favorite instrument, and sat down.
    “How about—” Ginger started, but Brock interrupted by hitting the ivory keys.
    One note was all it took for the transformation to take place inside him. Combining notes into chords and chords into tunes happened naturally. His fingers floated over the keys, bringing forth a popular ragtime tune with absolute perfection. It was the best he’d ever played. The piano was dead-on and enthusiasm zipped up his spine.
    The music entered his soul and shot out of his fingers. He played stronger, faster, thrilled at the way Oscar tapped a toe and Rene clapped to the beat. Brock kept his gaze from going to Ginger. Though he never got distracted while playing, he couldn’t take that chance. Sitting here, feeling the music entering his bloodstream had him recalling kissing her. That had been just as natural, just as addictive as his music.
    He played the entire song, adding a few extra bars so it ended on a high note, leaving people wanting more. It worked, as always. Oscar and Rene were beaming, and Ginger was demanding an encore.
    “Welcome to KYX,” Oscar said, approaching the piano. “You’ll play five nights a week, Wednesday through Sunday, from six until midnight.”
    Ginger cleared her throat loudly. “There are a few things we still need to discuss.”
    “But,” Brock stuck in, “not right now.” He turned to Oscar. “I need to find accommodation for Ginger—” He paused before adding, “—and myself.” Her accommodation would be the first train to Minnesota, and for all he cared, he’d sleep in the truck. He had before.
    “Rene will take care of that,” Oscar said. “I need you on the air in an hour. The guy who was supposed to play, well, let’s just say he never made it home the other night.”
    “Come with me, Ginger,” Rene said. “I’ll get you settled in the Palmer House. It’s right across the street and one of the radio’s best customers. Most musicians stay at flophouses, but they aren’t married.”
    Ginger nodded, but Brock growled, “No.” Catching all three staring at him, he struggled for an excuse. “I thought this was just an audition.”
    “It was,” Oscar said, “and now it’s a paying gig.”
    “The Palmer House is reasonably priced,” Rene said, “and you’ll get the radio discount.”
    “Settled,” Oscar said.
    Brock didn’t say that nothing was settled. But it wasn’t. They certainly weren’t married either, and the way Ginger kept nodding, acting as if they were, galled him to no end. “There are a few things I need to see to.”
    “Tomorrow,” Oscar said. “Right now, there’s a lot I need to show you.”
    “While you get started,” Rene said to her husband, “Ginger and I will run across the street and reserve a hotel