Lyla’s Song

Lyla's Song

Book One of the Texoma Series
[March 2005]

Renting her cabin to weekenders gives Lyla Lee a sense of independence from her family. But her new guests are raising eyebrows and threatening her place in the community.

Eddie T Samuels is rock music’s number one bad boy. Exiled to a lakefront cabin to recover, he demands a piano. There’s one in the living room, the landlady has too many secrets, and he has nothing but time on his hands.

Reviews

“…quite possibly, one of the best books I have ever read… Kudos to Kay Layton Sisk for this outstanding woman’s contemporary novel. It is definitely a keeper!”
Betty Cox, Reader to Reader

Excerpt

This was familiar territory, sitting on a piano bench in preparation for a duet. He joined her. They sat side by side, placed their hands on the keyboard, and at an unspoken mark, took off.

Wherever she led, he followed. It started as chopsticks and ended in a cacophonous musical dialogue between them. Fifteen minutes later, the music stopped abruptly. “Switch sides. If you dare.”

“You’re on.” She stood and he slid behind her. “Ready, set—” he launched without her.

She squealed. Her hands raced to catch up to his melody, to overtake it, to demand to be first. He was quicker and ten minutes into it, she threw up her hands and brought them down on the keyboard, elbows and all.

“Hey! What’s that?” He stopped also.

“I give. You can have the bass.”

A slow smile slid across his face. “Maybe I want them both.”

She twisted her lips and laid her head down on her arms. “Pig.”

“I can’t believe you can’t keep up.” He put his hands on her waist and both lifted her and slid himself farther down the bench towards her. He settled her into the V left by his opened legs. She wasn’t on his lap so much as in it. “Maybe you can keep up if you’re in the middle.”

Lyla was taken aback. He surrounded her, her legs, her sides, her back. His arms stretched out on either side of hers. His fingers wavered over the treble and the bass. “Make up your mind, Lyla. Start something. Or I will.”

She wanted to lean her head back and close her eyes and will the music to come. But if she did, she’d overtly touch him and she’d not get any playing done. So she began the only thing she could think of: Lyla’s Song.

She heard his quick intake of breath; she had surprised him. Still, he let her finish the tune before he joined her melody with his the second time round. The third, she added her left hand, the fourth, he added his. Over and over, becoming more complicated, more intimate, until he dropped out his left hand, then she hers. The last time through was just her melody again.

The song over, they sat as they were, their hands lingering on the keyboard. Lyla shivered involuntarily and took a deep breath. That she’d never be able to remember it all to write it down was secondary. The experience of it had left her drained. All her pent–up emotions about Sam had spilled over and played themselves out on the piano.

He felt her emotions as strongly as he did his own. He wanted to look at her face, didn’t dare, thinking he might find tears there and then he’d be hopelessly lost. The duet he had so insolently asked for had cost him his freedom. Whether she knew it or not, now or ever, he was irretrievably hers.

Finally he felt the tension ease from her body as she removed her hands from the keyboard and hugged herself, leaning back against him. It was all the encouragement he needed. Enfolding her in his arms, he rubbed his chin on the top of her head, closed his eyes at the touch of her, leaned down and kissed her neck, a tender, soft kiss.

“Sam.” It was said with exhaled breath and he drew her even tighter to himself. “I feel like I’ve made love to you.”

He closed his eyes, shuddered inwardly. “Lyla.” It was all he could express.

“Let’s take the houseboat out.” Her voice quavered.

“Are you sure?”

She nodded in reply. He released her and they both stood awkwardly. She held out her hand, he took it and they went out the front door, closing it quietly.