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ladder was a little disquieting.
    Frowning, he said, “You’re right. Being remembered is important. But more important is what you’re remembered for.”

CHAPTER FOUR
    “I T’S GREAT ,” Holly said, moving closer to the wide front window. Cupping both hands around her eyes, she leaned into the glass and peeked past the gold letters spelling out Parker’s Place.
    “You don’t have to stare through the window.” Parker laughed, took her arm and tugged her toward the front door.
    “Good, because I’ve been dying to get a look at the inside.”
    Holly stepped across the threshold and paused. Framed prints of old New Orleans dotted the walls. Bare wood floors shone beneath a protective plastic tarp, and overhead, chandeliers made out of antique carriage wheels hung from the ceiling on silver chains that glinted in the late-afternoon sunlight spilling through the window.
    Grinning, she weaved her way through the tables toward the stage and stepped onto it to survey theplace from an entertainer’s perspective. Looking out over the room, imagining throngs of people crowding the small tables, Holly sighed.
    “This is going to be wonderful.”
    “Thanks,” Parker said, and she saw the real pleasure on his features. “We’re almost ready for opening night.”
    “Looks like you’re ready to roll right now.”
    Right after she said that, she heard a muttered curse from somewhere in the back, followed by the thunk of something heavy hitting the floor.
    Parker winced and shouted, “Everything okay back there, Joe?”
    “Fine, fine,” a man shouted back, disgust ringing clearly in his tone, “just these blasted copper pipes running from the damn sinks—”
    Holly laughed and the sound caressed Parker like a warm summer breeze. Her eyes were shining and the curve of her mouth enticed him. He had to force himself not to go to her. Not to give in to the urge to hold her.
    But he wasn’t going to get caught by a beautiful woman again. Even one who seemed as guileless as Holly.
    “So,” she said, “not quite as ready as it looks then, hmm?”
    Swallowing back the knot of need clogging histhroat, he joined her on the stage. “Joe’s the best contractor in the city. He’ll get it all done in time.”
    “When’s the opening?” she asked, scanning the room again.
    “Saturday night,” he said, trying to see his place through her eyes.
    “Planning a big show?”
    He shrugged and stuffed both hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “Sort of,” he admitted with a half-smile. “I’m not looking for big names to play here. I want it to be more of a neighborhood showcase, you know?”
    He glanced at her, caught her nod of understanding and kept talking, enthusiasm coloring his words. “There are so many great jazz musicians in the city, and most of them will never be famous. These are the artists that slip beneath the radar. They play at weddings or birthdays, or on street corners. They deserve a chance to be heard.”
    “They do,” Holly said, her voice soft, dreamy. She stepped off the stage and sat on the edge of it. Crossing her arms atop her knees, she looked up at him. “This is really a great thing you’re doing, Parker James.”
    “Yeah?” He sat beside her.
    “Oh, yeah.” She sighed and rocked to one side, giving him a friendly nudge with her shoulder.“When I first started singing, I’d have given anything to play at a place like this.”
    “When did you start?”
    “I can’t remember not singing, you know?” she mused, tipping her head back to stare up at the stage lights. “But officially, I was sixteen when I first started singing for my supper.”
    “Sixteen?” He shook his head, trying to remember his own life at sixteen. He’d been the privileged son of a wealthy family, living in a boarding school in England. He’d hated being so far away from home, but every other son in the James family had attended that same boarding school, and tradition was something his family believed