Without A Trace by Nora Roberts.pdf

ABC Amber LIT Converter http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Nora Roberts - Without a Trace

O'Hurleys - book 4

Contents

Prologue

CHAPTER One

CHAPTER Two

CHAPTER Three

CHAPTER Four

CHAPTER Five

CHAPTER Six

CHAPTER Seven

CHAPTER Eight

CHAPTER Nine

CHAPTER Ten

CHAPTER Eleven

CHAPTER Twelve

Prologue

"Pick up the beat on the intro, Tracey boy, you're dragging it."

ABC Amber LIT Converter http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Frank O'Hurley stood on his mark, stage right, and prepared to go

through his opening routine again. The three-night run in Terre Haute

might not be the highlight of his career, and it certainly wasn't the apex

of his dreams, but he was going to give the audience their money's

worth. Every two-bit gig was a dress rehearsal for the big break.

He counted off the beat, then swung into the routine with the

enthusiasm of a man half his age. The calendar might put Frank's age at

forty, but his feet would always be sixteen.

He'd written the little novelty number himself, with the wide-eyed hope

that it would become the O'Hurley trademark. At the piano, his oldest

child and only son tried to put some life into a melody he'd played too

many times to count-and dreamed of other things and other places.

On cue, his mother spun onstage with his father. Even after endless

routines, endless theaters, Trace still felt a tug of affection for them. Just

as, after endless routines, endless theaters, he felt what had become a

familiar tug of frustration.

Would he always be here, beating out a second rate tune on a

second-rate piano, trying to fill his father's big dreams that hadn't a hope

in hell of coming true?

As she'd been doing most of her life, Molly matched her steps to

Frank's. She could have done the number blindfold. As it was, while she

dipped, spun and double-stepped, her mind was more on her son than

her timing.

The boy wasn't happy, she thought. And he wasn't a child any longer.

He was on the brink of manhood and straining to go his own way. It was

that single fact, she knew, that terrified Frank to the point that he refused

to acknowledge it.

ABC Amber LIT Converter http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

The arguments had become more frequent, more heated. Soon, she

thought, all too soon, something was going to explode, and she might

not be able to pick up all the pieces.

Kick, ball change, dip, and her three daughters tapped onto the stage.

With her heart close to Frank's, Molly could feel him swell with pride.

She would hate for him to lose that pride or the hope that kept him the

youthful dreamer she'd fallen in love with.

As Molly and Frank moved offstage, the routine eased smoothly into

the opening song. The O'Hurley Triplets-Chantel, Abby and

Maddy-launched into three-part harmony as if they'd been born singing.

They practically had, Molly thought. But, like Trace, they weren't

children any longer. Chantel was already using her wit and her wiles to

fascinate the men in the audience. Abby, steady and quiet, was just

marking time. And it wouldn't be long before they lost Maddy. As a

mother, Molly felt both pride and regret at the thought that her youngest

had too much talent to remain part of a roving troupe for long.

Yet it was Trace who concerned her now. He sat at the scarred piano in

the dingy little club, his mind a thousand miles away. She'd seen the

brochures he collected. Pictures and stories on places like Zanzibar, New

Guinea, Mazatl n. Sometimes, on the long train or bus rides from city to

city, Trace would talk of the mosques and caverns and mountains he

wanted to see.

And Frank would brush those dreams off like dust, desperately clinging

to his own-and to his son.

"Not bad, darlings." Frank bounced back to center stage to give each of

his daughters a hug. "Trace, your mind's not on the music. You need to

pump some life into it."

"There hasn't been any life in that number since Des Moines."

ABC Amber LIT Converter http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

A few months before, Frank would have chuckled and rubbed a hand

over his son's hair. But now he felt the sting of criticism, man to man.

His chin came up to a stubborn point. "Nothing wrong with the song and

never has been. It's your playing that's lacking. You lost tempo twice.

I'm tired of you sulking over the keys."

Playing peacemaker, Abby stepped between her father and brother. The

growing tension had been keeping the family on edge for weeks. "We're

all a little tired, I think."

"I can speak for myself, Abby." Trace pushed away from the piano.

"No one's sulking at the keys."

"Hah!" Frank brushed Molly's restraining hand away. Lord, the boy

was tall, Frank thought. Tall and straight and almost a stranger. But

Frank O'Hurley was still in charge, and it was time his son remembered

it. "You've been in a black mood since I told you I wouldn't have a son

of mine harking off to Hong Kong or God knows where like some

Gypsy. Your place is here, with your family. Your responsibility is to

the troupe."

"It's not my damn responsibility."

Frank's eyes narrowed. "Watch your tone, boy-o, you're not so big I

can't take you down."

"It's time somebody took that tone with you," Trace went on, spewing

out everything he'd held back for too long. "Year after year we play

second-rate songs in second-rate clubs."

"Trace." Maddy said it quietly, adding a pleading look. "Don't."

"Don't what?" he demanded. "Don't tell him the truth? God knows he

won't hear it anyway, but I'll have my say. The three of you and Ma have

ABC Amber LIT Converter http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

protected him from it long enough."

"Temper tantrums are so boring," Chantel said lazily, though her nerves

were strung tight. "Why don't we all break to neutral corners?"

"No." Quivering with indignation, Frank stepped away from his

daughters. "Go on, then, have your say."

"I'm tired of riding a bus to nowhere, of pretending the next stop's the

brass ring. You drag us from town to town, year after year."

"Drag you?" Frank's face flushed with fury. "Is that what I'm doing?"

"No." Molly stepped forward, her eyes on her son. "No, it's not. We've

all of us gone willing, because it was what we wanted. If one of us

doesn't want it, he has a right to say so, but not to be cruel."

"He doesn't listen!" Trace shouted. "He doesn't care what I want or

don't want. I've told you. I've told you," he rounded on his father. "Every

time I try to talk to you, all I get is how we have to keep the family

together, how the big break is right around the corner, when there's

nothing around the corner but another lousy one-night stand in another

two-bit club."

It was too close to the truth, too close to what would make him feel like

a failure when all he'd wanted was to give his family the best and the

brightest. Temper was the only weapon Frank had, and he used it.

"You're ungrateful and selfish and stupid. All my life I've worked to

pave the way for you. To open doors so you could step through. Now it's

not good enough."

Trace felt tears of frustration bum his eyes, but didn't back down. "No,

it's not good enough, because I don't want to walk through your doors. I

want something else, I want something more, but you're so wrapped up

ABC Amber LIT Converter http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Plik z chomika:

Inne pliki z tego folderu:

Inne foldery tego chomika: