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elevator, or in her room—varied, but the overture was constant.
    Hearing her fantasies echoed in Tina’s voice had been too much to take, and Jan realized she would have to be vigilant and not let her libido take control. She was stressed by all the recent changes, and even considering a relationship that promised only to be temporary and inconstant was ridiculous. Thank God, Tina’s cousin would be there. Even so, she picked up the phone again and called Chloe. There’d be safety in numbers, the more the better.

Chapter Four
     
    Tina sat alone in the Peacock Room, sipping a Jameson on the rocks and rocking her heel in time to the down-bow of a fiddle tune that played in her mind. She had told Jan she chose the Davenport’s bar because it was conveniently located in the hotel, but she secretly loved the ambience of the stuffy room. At first glance, it looked elegant and grand, with wood paneling, brocade-covered walls, and granite-topped tables. The peacock-inspired royals, purples, and deep greens in the fabrics and paint blended smoothly with the dark wood tones and rich leather chairs. But closer inspection revealed the truth. The patterned carpet was worn, the gilded fixtures looked inexpertly spray painted, and the cracked edges of the granite and wood furnishings exposed them as nothing more than veneer. Patrons were invited to stay a short time, enjoy the illusion of depth and luxury, and then move on. Stay on the surface. Exactly the tone Tina wanted to set for the evening.
    She wasn’t looking forward to socializing with her cousin, but he had sounded pleased to be invited. She hoped three would, indeed, prove to be a crowd, and Peter’s presence would keep the conversation from turning personal. And, likewise, Jan’s presence would keep Peter from asking Tina about her thoughts regarding his business, because she wasn’t prepared to answer him yet. She had been determined to spend the afternoon planning her PR campaign for his nursery, but instead, she had played her violin most of the day.
    The bar’s name had triggered a nagging memory, and she had searched online until she found someone playing Winston Fitzgerald’s version of the Cape Breton fiddle tune “Peacock’s Fancy.” She’d listened to the interpretation and mimicked it on her own fiddle before starting to add her own flair, and then she’d combined her version with the air about bluebonnets she had been playing the night before. A few happy hours later, she had the grace notes and accents just right, and the new medley was her own. Now, she rehearsed it in her mind while she waited, adding tapping fingers to the beat of her heel as she rethought the bridge between the two tunes.
    Andy always looked a little nervous when Tina talked about changing melodies or notes in her music. Classical music was more Andy’s style, and Tina appreciated her ability to pull nuance and meaning out of the notes exactly as they were written. But the old fiddle tunes Tina loved best had been passed down by ear from generation to generation, changing with each person who played them, belonging to no one and everyone at once. She was free to alter them to fit her style and her mood, but she never felt more connected to her family than she did when she played an old Irish jig or reel. Connected to her mother’s side of the family, of course. She’d rather forget any ties she had to the other side.
    “Are you dancing?”
    Tina jumped in surprise. She’d been so caught up in her song she hadn’t noticed Peter approaching the table, and she hadn’t realized she was noticeably moving to her own beat. He seemed seriously concerned for her sanity, and she was tempted to play along. Dancing by herself in the middle of a bar ought to confirm the rumor that she was the off-kilter black sheep of the family.
    “Oh, sit down. I’m not going to embarrass you,” she said in exasperation. “I spent the day practicing on my violin, and the song is stuck in my