was plenty of information to be had in those clippings, bits of rave reviews, comments on her new albumâs fast rise in the music charts. It was plain that Laurie Jensen was hot news in Nashville. The only trouble was that that news was a day too late to help him find her. By the time Ruby handed over the clippings, even the most recent ones, Laurie was already moving on.
He was back at the agentâs office for the third straight day, when a teenager who was working part-time finally took pity on him and slipped him a copy of the concert schedule. He had a feeling Ruby had looked the other wayâor maybe even instigated it, but he was careful not to let on what he thought. Ruby plainly felt her integrity was on the line, but just as plainly she felt that Laurieâs baby deserved to have a daddy in her life. Sheâd all but admitted that to him on several occasions.
Clutching the itinerary in his hand, he grabbed his bag from the hotel and headed for the airport, where once again Jordanâs jet was fueled up and waiting. Laurie was scheduled for a stop in Montana, then a hop over to Wyoming, a jog back to Montana, then after a two-day break, the Ohio State Fairgrounds. Columbus was closest, but he didnât want to wait another minute, much less several days. Too much time had been wasted already. He calculated the flying time and figured he could make that first Montana stop in time for her closing set.
An icy calm settled over him as he flew, but as he drove to the country-western bar where she was singing, an old, familiar sense of anticipation began to build. It was doggone irritating that she could still have that effect on him, especially under these circumstances when he very much wanted to wring her neck. His pulse was zipping with lust, not adrenaline.
He found the bar after a few wrong turns. It was bigger than some heâd seen, but smaller than heâd expected a star on the rise to be playing. In fact, the End of the Road back in Garden City had been a step above this place. He found that irksome, too. She could have stayed in Texas and done this well for herself.
Then he recalled what heâd read in one of the clippings, that part of this tour had been arranged to settle old debts to club owners whoâd given her a break. Typical of Laurie. She was loyal and generous. If it hadnât been for him, sheâd probably have played the End of the Road on this tour as well. If heâd had a lick of sense or any foresight, heâd have had the owner ask and then Laurie could have come to him, instead of the other way around. Of course, because of the baby, she probably wouldnât have set foot near the place. But that was water under the bridge anyway. He was here now, and Laurie was only a hundred yards away or less.
With the barâs front door ajar on the warm night, the sound of her voice washed over him as he walked from the parking lot toward the neon-lit building. She had the kind of voice that made a man think of sin, no matter how innocent the words. It was low and sultry and filled with magic.
How many nights had he lain awake remembering the whisper of that voice in his ear? How many days had he played her albums as he worked around the ranch? Enough that he and most of the hands knew the lyrics of her songs by heart. One daring newcomer, who didnât know their history, had made a suggestive remark about Laurie, only to have Harlan Patrick yank him out of his saddle and scare him half to death before reason kicked in.
Heaven knew, the woman could sing. He grabbed hold of the door and braced himself to enter, reminding himself to stay calm no matter what. Only after he walked inside the bar did he realize that what heâd heard had come from a jukebox, while the impatient audience waited for the second set to begin. Harlan Patrick slipped into the shadows in the back, ordered a beer and waited.
A few minutes later Laurie emerged amid a flash of red, white and blue strobe lights, the beat of the song fast and hard and upbeat. The wall-to-wall crowd was on its feet at once, and the whole place began to rock with the sound of her music and wild applause. She kept up the fever pitch through one song, then two, then a third. Just when Harlan Patrick was sure half the room was going to pass out from the frenzy, she turned the tempo down and had them swaying quietly to a tune so sad and soul weary, he almost shed a tear or two himself.
A cynic might have said she was manipulative. A critic would have said she had the crowd in the palm of her hand. Harlan Patrick simply wondered at the mixed emotions he felt listening to the woman he loved captivate a whole roomful of strangers. Heâd had her to himself for so many years. Was that the real problem, that he didnât want to share her with the world? Was it selfishness, as much as cussedness, that had made him refuse to search harder for a compromise?
The thought that possessiveness might be the root of their troubles made him too uncomfortable to stay in the room a moment longer. While the show went on, he slipped out the door and made his way to the clubâs back entrance, which was also standing open to permit the nightâs breeze to drift inside the overheated club.
Harlan Patrick had no trouble slipping past the bulky, fiftyish guard. The man was too busy gazing at the woman on stage, his foot tapping to the beat of her song, a smile on his lips and a yearning in his eyes. That was when Harlan Patrick realized that part of Laurieâs success was her ability to touch hearts and inspire dreams, even the impossible ones.
The backstage area was cramped, with barely enough room for an office, a storeroom and one remaining room that had to be Laurieâs dressing room. He opened the door, saw the tumble of clothes and cosmetics and smiled for the first time in ages. Laurie never had been much for picking up after herself.
It was a no-frills dressing room, with a metal rod for a clothes rack and bare bulbs around a square mirror. The chair in front of the dressing table was molded plastic, but the bouquet of flowers beside the scattered makeup was lavish enough for the biggest superstar.
While he waited, he tidied up, folding this, hanging that on the bare metal rod stuck in an alcove. He lingered over a scrap of lace and prayed to heaven no man had ever seen her wearing it. Heâd have to rip his eyes out. Finally he tucked the panties into the suitcase sitting on the floor in the corner and pulled out the roomâs only other chairâa straight-backed monstrosity with a seat covered in tattered red plastic. He turned it around until he could straddle it and face the door.
He heard the last refrain of the encore die down, then the thunder of applause, then the sound of laughter in the corridor and boots on the hardwood floor outside the door. His pulse thundered as loudly as a summer storm.
The door swung open and there she was, pretty as ever, with her color high and her long, chestnut brown hair mussed and glistening with glints of gold and damp with perspiration. Heâd seen her looking just like that after sex, only without so many clothes on.
Her mouth formed a soft âohâ of stunned dismay. The color washed out of her cheeks, and for just an instant he thought she might faint, but Laurie was made of tougher stuff than that. She squared her shoulders and met his gaze evenly.
âHey, darlinâ!â Harlan Patrick said in his friendliest tone. âSurprised to see me?â
* * *
Laurieâs pulse was racing so fast, she was certain she was only a beat or two shy of a medical emergency. Sheâd guessed Harlan Patrick would hunt her downâknown he was coming, thanks to Rubyâs warning callâbut seeing him here, so at home in her dressing room, had caught her off guard.
How many times had she found him waiting for her just like this in the old days? How many times had she come offstage, giddy with excitement, and rushed into his waiting arms to be twirled around until her head spun? Of course, there was no crooked grin tonight and his arms were crossed along the back of that pitiful chair, not waiting to catch her up in an exuberant hug.
Lordy,
