"I signed up to help with the concession. Want some barbecue?"

"I guess."

Lana poked a finger in Sydney's ribs. "Don't be so enthusiastic."

They made their way through a sea of people to the concession area, drawn by the smell of donated barbecued ribs and all the fixings. Lana got busy filling foam plates with baked beans while Cassie Blackwell added the potato salad. Uninterested in food, Sydney moped for a few minutes until a girl from her class whisked her off to the face painting.

"Great crowd," Cassie said. "I'm really glad. The more money we make, the more we can donate to Charlie's fund."

Cassie was one of those irrepressible personalities that everyone liked. Pretty in a long, sparkly Christmas sweater, black tights and very high heels, her white skin was accented by straight black hair and bright red lipstick. She loved to talk and was even better at listening.

"Here girls, put on your Santa hats." The speaker, an older woman she recognized as Creed Carter's mother, handed out the red-and-white caps. Lana tried to get into the festive mood though her heart wasn't in it. How could it be, when her heart was across the room? Try as she might, she couldn't stop watching for him. He was working, too, carrying boxes to the various tables to keep the merchants stocked.

For the thousandth time she wished she'd trusted him from the beginning. He'd always been a stand-up guy-a fact that brought her full circle. Davis deserved better. The breakup was for the best.

But he'd said he cared for her, and dreams die hard.

She missed him something awful, missed the evenings with him and his children, missed the conversations, the laughter, the kisses.

"Hi, Lana."

The small voice pulled her focus away from Davis to his children standing on the opposite side of the serving counter. Paige and Nathan, money in hand, had joined the line of diners.

"Hi, you two. Want some barbecue?" She tried to be as casual as possible, but she wanted to run around the end of the counter and scoop them up.

"Three rib dinners, please," Paige said. "But I don't want any potato salad."

"No potato salad. Coming right up."

She fixed the plates and handed them over, adding an extra couple of ribs to Davis's order. A meat and potato man, he loved barbecue, as she'd learned the day they'd ripped out the kitchen's ancient, decayed paneling. He'd purposely ordered enough barbecue ribs to last the weekend. They'd giggled like kids over the messy sauce, the pile of red-stained paper towels and the hot, hot sauce he'd convinced her to try. Her tongue still burned at the memory.

Paige leaned in closer. "Daddy said to tell you hi."

She doubted that very much. "That's really nice of him."

"Should I tell him hi for you?" The child's face was so eager, Lana couldn't let her down.

"That would be nice."

The pair exchanged a conspiratorial glance as they left. Lana shook her head. Such good kids. As they walked away, Lana saw that Paige's red hair bow matched Sydney's, a purchase they'd made together. "Like sisters," they'd said proudly.

I love you. You love me. Let's be sisters. If only life was that simple.

"Why don't you knock off a while and eat with them?" Cassie pointed a ladle at the pair weaving their way through the crowd and toward their father.

"Better not. Davis is not speaking to me at the moment."

"Could have fooled me. I'm watching you watch him. And he's watching you when you aren't watching him."

Lana snorted. "Can you repeat that?"

Cassie laughed and stuck out her tongue. "Not a chance. Just go. Make both of you happy."

But Lana didn't. The community center grew more crowded by the moment and her line was long and getting longer. Bluegrass music shifted to country and she found herself humming to the familiar tunes as she dipped the steaming beans. No one seemed to mind that their server was one of those Ross girls.

After a while, the band took a break and Miss Evelyn made announcements, reminding everyone to sign up for the silent auction. A man Lana didn't recognize moved close to the stage and handed Miss Evelyn a note. She read it silently and then stuck the paper in her pocket. Then she completed her announcements and left the stage with her usual bustling energy. Lana didn't see her again until she appeared at the concession.

"Lana, honey, we need to talk." Miss Evelyn motioned to a bald man in the line. "Cecil, take Lana's spot for a few minutes, will you? As a favor to me? Come see me on Monday for a slice of hot apple pie. On the house."

Cecil looked a little surprised but good-naturedly did as she requested. That was the power of Evelyn Parsons.

Lana was surprised, too. What could Miss Evelyn possibly want to say that couldn't wait?

She followed the bustling, curly haired dynamo to a quiet corner-the quietest place they could find in the jam-packed building.

"Is something wrong?" Lana glanced around for Sydney. Spotting her with a friend, she relaxed.

Miss Evelyn pulled a rumpled piece of paper from her skirt pocket. "A man has offered a large sum of money to Charlie's fund."

"That's fantastic!"

"I thought so, too. All he wants in exchange is to hear you sing."

Lana blinked. Her brain went numb. "What?"

"He requested this specific song." Evelyn pushed the paper into Lana's hands. "Do you know it?"

With trembling fingers, Lana smoothed the note and read the song title. In a shocked whisper, she said, "Yes, I do. I wrote this song."

"Well, how about that!" Miss Evelyn exclaimed, clearly more pleased than Lana. "This could not be more perfect. The town can enjoy your fabulous gift and Charlie's fund gets a fat boost."

"No, I can't, Miss Evelyn, I can't. Don't ask me to sing. I'll do anything else, but not that."

The older woman took both of Lana's hands in hers, crumpling the paper between them. "Lana, I've known you since you were a sad little girl trying to deal with that troubled mother of yours. Every time you came into the Iron Horse with your sister, I'd think, 'That child is special.'"

"You were always kind to us." Emotion pushed up inside Lana's chest. Evelyn and Digger had let the twins hang out at the Iron Horse many days when going home was too hard. Free food and a kind word had made a difference. "I remember when you tried to help Mama."

"Actually I was trying to help you girls. Your mama didn't want help. Called me an old biddy and told me to mind my own business." Miss Evelyn chuckled as if the insult was funny. "But you girls-well, I regret not doing more. I knew things were bad after your daddy left and Patricia was so bitter."

"Daddy couldn't take it anymore."

"He shouldn't have left you girls to deal with her. Looking back I think she might have been sick. But that didn't help you and Tess. You had it rough, but look at you now. Doing great, raising that precious Sydney. And writing songs like this. God gave you a magnificent gift."

Lana shook her head. "Not so magnificent, Miss Evelyn. I can't sing in public anymore."

"Not even for a sick child?" The disappointment on Evelyn's face hurt. "Why, honey?"

Lana wanted to sing, but she couldn't. She'd freeze up and fall apart. She'd make a fool of herself.

"Something happened. I had to stop." Evelyn's questioning eyes bore into her until she finally whispered, "I gave my life to Christ. I stopped drinking."

"That's a good thing, Lana, but I don't see what it has to do with singing that song." She dropped her hold on Lana's hands and tapped the paper.

Quietly, painfully, Lana told her. Hiding the truth had already cost her one friend. "A bottle of gin was my courage. I can't go on stage without it."

Evelyn's eyes searched hers, piercing as if she could see inside. She took Lana's face between her soft, lotion-scented hands and leaned close. "Lana, honey. Don't you know who you are?"

Lana shook her head. Of course, she knew. She was one of those awful Ross girls. She was a loser, a failure.

But Miss Evelyn held her in a fast grip, forcing her to listen. "You are a child of the Most High God. You can do anything He says you can do. God is your strength. You don't need gin or anything else." Evelyn pointed toward Charlie. "But that little boy over there in the wheelchair needs something and you can help him get it."

All she had to do was go on stage and fall apart in front of the entire town. If she wasn't already the least liked person in Whisper Falls, she would be then.

But there was Charlie, Davis's nephew.

Torn, struggling, longing to help but afraid, Lana looked again at the sheet of paper. As she read the song title, Lana was suddenly aware of a startling fact. She'd never submitted that song anywhere. "How does this man know me? Where did he get this?"

Miss Evelyn looked baffled. "He didn't say. I suppose wherever songwriters send their music to be published."

"I didn't. No one has a copy of this except-" Davis. A shock ran through her like electricity. Davis didn't have this kind of money. "Is Davis Turner the donor?"

"Davis? No. The man's name is on the back. Perry Grider."

Lana turned the paper over and read the dark scrawl. Who was this guy? "I don't know him."

"Neither do I, but he had cash in hand, Lana. This is for real."

Cash in hand. A large donation for Charlie's fund. All in exchange for a three-minute song.

"Let me think a minute, okay?" Think and pray and throw up a while.

"Don't take too long. We got a live one. We don't want him to get away." Evelyn chortled at her own joke before growing serious again. "Remember, honey, your gift is your music. God gave you that. If your gift can help someone, He expects you to use it. He'll carry you through. Remember who you are."

Already starting to hyperventilate, Lana nodded numbly. "Okay. Okay."

Then she rushed to the restroom and locked herself inside a stall. This was crazy. Weird and incomprehensible. A thousand thoughts ran through her head. Fear of getting on that stage. Evelyn's strange comments. Charlie's need for surgery. Curiosity about the stranger. Who was he and why would he pay to hear her sing her own song?

She closed her eyes tight. She couldn't get on that stage.

What if it was Sydney? The thought flashed through her head like a Las Vegas marquee. What if her precious girl needed an expensive operation?

She took a deep, shaky breath and prayed. Miss Evelyn's words came back to her. Don't you know who you are? You're not Lana Ross, the drunk party girl. You're Lana Ross, child of the Most High, cleansed by a sacrifice far greater than singing in front of hundreds of people.

Her strength was in God. Not a bottle of gin. Her gift was her music. A God gift. Hadn't Davis said the same thing? If she could use her gift to help a child, shouldn't she try?

So what if she failed? She'd been humiliated before. She had to make the effort.

Knees shaking, she straightened her shoulders and headed out of the restroom and across the floor. She passed Davis and Jenny and Chuck and with more courage than she thought she had, she stopped to say hello to Charlie whose sick, little-boy smile encouraged her to keep going. He reminded her so much of Nathan.

Davis's gaze snagged hers, and he started to say something. She touched his arm and went on. Her heart hammered louder than the drums.

When she approached the stage Miss Evelyn saw her and lifted her eyebrows in question.

"I need to borrow a guitar." Jitters raced up her spine and quivered in her voice.

Evelyn did a mini fist pump. "That's our girl. I knew you wouldn't let us down."

Don't be so sure. I still might run like a rabbit on amphetamines.

Fighting down the butterflies, swallowing the threat of sickness, Lana moved to the edge of the stage while Miss Evelyn approached the microphone. The band stopped playing. The noise in the building continued, the voices and the shuffling feet. Doors opened, paper crinkled.

Help me, Lord Jesus. I can't do this by myself. I don't know if I can do it at all. I am Your child. I am Your child.

She'd no more than whispered the prayer than she spotted Davis, slowly pushing Charlie's wheelchair closer to the stage. His eyes were on her, questioning, though she didn't know the reason.

She looked at the little boy in the chair, focused on him instead of the violent shaking inside. "Not for me. For Charlie."

She heard Miss Evelyn's voice making the announcement, but her ears roared so loud she comprehended nothing other than her name. A gasp rose from the audience and then applause. All eyes, not just Davis's, were on her.

A band member held out an electric acoustic.

What if she bolted? What if she couldn't do this? What if she failed?

The old need for a drink roared in, vicious and clawing. One drink. Just one to stop the shakes. To loosen up the dry vocal cords.

Don't you know who you are?

Lana gripped the neck of the guitar and nodded her thanks. Slipping the strap over her shoulder felt natural, second nature. She tested the strings, found them well-tuned, though her fingers felt numb and cold.

Throat drier than Arizona, breath short, she stepped to the mike. She cleared her throat, buying time, wondering if her heart was going to fly out of her chest or if her knees would buckle.

The audience waited, quieter now.

She strummed the strings, found the melody in her head and began to fingerpick the intro. She played it once, twice, praying the words would come.

The wild urge to run made her legs wobbly.

Her eyes found Charlie and the man behind him. Davis smiled at her. Like a drowning soul, she clung to the life raft in his eyes. He gave one encouraging nod and mouthed something.

What did he say? She frowned at him in question, aware that her fingers were moving and the audience waited in expectation.

As his mouth moved again, Davis tapped a fist over his heart, and then he pointed at Lana with a nod.

And Lana began to sing.

Goose bumps raced up and down Davis's spine. He recognized that song. His song. The one she'd given him. The one he'd- Unfettered delight exploded in his chest. He jerked his head right and left, quickly scanning the packed crowd for Joshua Kendle. Did he know? Was he here?