by Andrew Grey
Robert clasped his hands behind his back, staring. He needed to find himself once again, and that wasn’t going to happen in the back of a tour bus, on an airplane, or in a hotel room. Robert’s music had always been a well that had bubbled up from inside. It had started when he was seven. That guitar from his dad had started the flow. Robert had learned to play in a matter of weeks and was playing the songs that were in his head by the time he was ten years old. Thankfully, Dad had sent him to music class, and he’d learned how to write his songs down, and from there the well had gushed up toward the light. Now it was dry, and he felt as brittle and parched as desert sand.
“Okay,” Glenn said as Lindon returned and closed the door.
Robert closed his mouth and shook his head. He turned to Barry, saying nothing until Barry motioned for Lindon to leave again. “I know he’s your nephew, but he is to have nothing at all to do with my business. I hired you, not your family.”
Barry groaned. “My sister’s kid, and you know how it is.”
“Put him to work in the mail room or something. He isn’t to have access to any of my business. Not contracts… nothing. I pay for your time and attention… not your nephew’s.” Robert was really feeling pissy and he hated it. “I’m sure he’s a nice enough man, but he hasn’t proven himself… the way you and Glenn have.” He turned back to the view and tried to calm himself down and get his head back where he needed it. “Remember those first venues you booked for me six years ago?”
Barry chuckled. “The VFW halls and small-town theaters.”
“Those were amazing times. Everything was new, and I threw myself into every performance, trying out new material and….” Robert’s blood had pumped then, and everything had been ahead of him. “I had one cowboy hat, a single pair of good jeans, and the boots I picked up at a secondhand store. That’s what I played in every night. I wore those jeans and boots until they fell apart.” They’d been like old friends. The hat had been replaced years earlier after it was lost in travel. He missed all of it. “That’s why I work with you. Because you were with me then, and somehow I need to feel like that again.” He shook his head. It was the best way he could explain how he felt.
Barry put up his hands. “All right. I can understand that. What are you going to do?” He stood next to Robert, bumping his shoulder. “We’ve been through too damned much already, and I don’t want to see you burned the hell out.”
God, it felt good to know that Barry and Glenn, who now were both standing beside him, had his back.
“I don’t know where I’m going. But, Glenn, I need for you to see that the stuff I don’t take gets home and make sure everything is okay there.” Glenn already had his pad out and was making notes. “Then call a Realtor and have the house put on the market.” Robert expected a fight from both of them, but to his surprise, Barry patted his shoulder.
“I’m sorry I talked you into buying that place,” he whispered. “I thought you’d like it.”
“It was never me.” Robert turned and headed toward the door, then pulled it open. “I’ll be in touch.”
“Where are you going to go?” Barry asked again.
“I don’t know. I think I’m going to hit the road on my own for a while.” Robert grinned at the horrified looks on their faces. “Don’t worry. I’ll still have my phone. But I need to know that both of you are there for me.”
They nodded, and Robert left, heading to the elevator and down to the parking garage, where the limousine waited. He got in and told the driver to go to the nearest Ford dealership.
“Sir?” she asked.
“I wanna buy a truck.”
THE FOLLOWING day, Robert was out on his own. He had a used truck loaded with the things that were important to him: some clothes, a guitar, his hat, and his boots. Everything else was on its way back to Nashville, because he didn’t need it now, and he knew Glenn would take care of all of it. He headed west out of Chicago and kept going, driving all day, racing toward the sun. When it got dark, he pulled on a baseball cap and checked into a highway wayside hotel. The woman behind the desk looked at him again and again as he checked in, and Robert hurriedly grabbed his key when she offered it to him and headed to his room.
He should have thought more carefully about the possibility of being recognized.
In the hotel room, he pulled his kit out of his suitcase. Not finding what he needed, he went and got a disposable razor and trial-size shaving cream out of the vending machine, then shaved off his signature black scruff. Next, he used his beard trimmer on the longest setting to cut away his neck-length black curls. It was difficult for Robert to recognize himself in the mirror, so he doubted anyone else would know who he was. Robert cleaned up the mess into a plastic bag, tied it off, and shoved all of it in the trash. Then he left and went to get dinner.
In a small sports bar a half mile down the road, he took a seat, and the server brought him a menu. It must have been a slow sports night, because half the televisions were tuned to CMT.
“Ruthie, can we change the channel?” the man in the next booth asked as one of Robert’s music videos began to play. Robert held his breath as Avery Rivers sang and played on half a dozen screens.
“No. I love this one,” she said, swaying to the music. “He can eat crackers in my bed any time he wants.” She turned away to take Robert’s drink order, still paying half attention to the television. Robert asked for a diet soda, watching her watch him. It was surreal, and the perfect test that his change in appearance was sufficient.
“Come on, Ruthie…,” the guy said, and she smacked his shoulder.
“You’re just jealous because you don’t look like that, and you certainly don’t sound like him. Let me tell you,” she sighed, “that man is God’s gift to women.”
Robert picked up his menu, staring at it intently. If she only knew how wrong she was about her last statement. He loved women and treated each one who worked with him with respect and didn’t allow anything else from anyone. But he had never been interested, romantically, in them.
Once the video ended, she took his order for some hot wings and hurried away without giving Robert a second glance.
If he were honest, he was a little disappointed. There was something heady about being famous and having the rest of the world screaming for him and wanting to catch a glimpse of him. When he’d first started out, Robert had soaked in the attention and adulation like a sponge. That had led to some problems. Thankfully Barry had been there to provide advice and to stop him from going down the path of destruction that happened to so many.
“Where are you from?” the man at the next table asked as Ruthie brought his plate of food.
“Nashville,” Robert said, then added quickly, “And Chicago before that.” He needed a way to easily explain his accent. “Just passing through on my way west.” He started eating, watching the television as the station broke into some news.
“With his tour over, Avery Rivers seems to have disappeared. A source has said that he declined to add six additional stops to his record-breaking tour.”
Robert’s appetite suddenly flew out the window.
“According to our source, Avery is worn out and wanted some time to rest and compose.” The woman smiled into the camera. “Not that we can blame him. Personally, I’m waiting on pins and needles for his next album. If he has decided to take some time for himself, we wish him well, wherever he is.” The program went on to the next story, and Robert pulled out his phone to send a quick text to Barry.
He got an immediate response. I’m already on it. I’ll roast that weasel Ray over a spit for this.
Good, Robert sent. Find out if he did it, and if so, just take care of it. He put his phone back in his pocket and finished his dinner.
“You headed anywhere particular?” the man asked, cutting through Robert’s thoughts.
“Not especially. I thought I’d take some time, go out west, see the sights, and maybe have some fun for a while before returning to work.”
Robert sat back, his plate empty, and drank some of his soda to relieve the burn in his mouth from the sauce. Dang, that was good.
“Colorado,” the man said. “Beautiful place. Either that or head on up to Wyoming. Yellowstone is stunning, and there’s nothing like those wild spaces to make a man feel alive again.” He raised his beer glass, and Robert lifted his soda, finished the last of it, and left Ruthie a large cash tip when she brought the check.
“Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.” He smiled and left, heading back to the hotel.
Robert spent the evening doing little, just lying on the bed and resting. Downtime was so foreign that he actually felt guilty for doing nothing.
He went to bed early and slept soundly before getting up and on the road once again. He spent most of the day crossing Nebraska. God, was it flat and uninteresting. He drove as fast and as much as he could, waiting until mountains appeared on the horizon. He veered slightly north, figuring he’d try Wyoming first, and made it as far as Cheyenne before calling it a day.
Dusty and tired from the road, Robert pulled up in front of the Plains Hotel. He parked and went inside, carrying his bag up to the front desk, marveling at the geometric coffered stained-glass ceiling.
“Do you have a reservation?” the man behind the desk asked.
“No,” Robert answered, and the man pulled an “I’m sorry” face like he was going to say they were full. Avery Rivers would have been welcomed and fawned over, but Robert was just another guy.
“Let me see what we have.” He typed and worried his lower lip. “How long would you like to stay? It’s rather busy this weekend because of the rodeo.” He sighed as he looked. “I have only two rooms available. They are both king suites with a separate parlor.” He bit his lower lip once again.
Robert handed over one of his personal credit cards. “Book me in for the rest of the weekend, leaving on Monday morning.”
THE BAR was hopping, and Robert squeezed his way in to get a drink, then snagged a stool, turning away from the bar to take in the scenery, and man, there was plenty of it. Men in Wranglers, huge belt buckles catching the light every now and then, Stetsons in every color, and boots in every type of skin available. The sight was gorgeous, and damn it all if his own music didn’t fill the place. Someone was certainly a fan, because one song after another played, the dance floor to the side packed with people having a great time.
“You here for the rodeo?” a man next to him asked, trying to get the bartender’s attention.
“Here to watch,” Robert answered as his eyes darted over the compact, cool drink of water with eyes the color of the sky on a cloudless day. Fuck, he was one gorgeous guy. “It looks like it’s going to be one great weekend. You got tickets too?” They were apparently hard to come by at this point. Robert hadn’t minded paying, even if he had only a moderately good seat. Still, he was here for some fun and relaxation, and to immerse himself in the country life once again.
“Oh yeah. This is a great event.” The man finally got the bartender’s attention and placed his order. “You here alone?” he asked, turning once again to Robert, his eyes sparkling, causing heat to build at the base of Robert’s spine. It had been a damn long time since he’d allowed himself any type of carnal pleasures, and hell if his dick didn’t stand up to remind him just how long it had been and that this was a man who pushed all his buttons.
“Yeah.” Robert saw some of his desire reflected in the other man’s eyes, and it sent his heart racing a little faster, the pit of his belly zinging and fluttering slightly. “I just got into town a few hours ago and needed something to eat.” He also wanted to drink and relax. Robert had no illusions that Cheyenne was going to have any rainbow-type nightlife, but it looked like some might have found him. That was, if he could still read the signs.
Robert got a refill and slipped off his barstool to wander toward the back of the bar, where a bunch of people were watching the dance floor. The cowboy came right along with him, which in Robert’s mind was a sure sign of interest. He leaned against the wall as couples line-danced their way across the floor.
“I love his music,” the cowboy said from next to him.
“Me too,” Robert said about his own song. He had loved it when he wrote it and recorded it, but now he’d heard it and sung it so many times…. He needed something new to get the creative juices flowing. “I’m Robert.” He held out his hand.
“Zeke,” the cowboy answered, shaking firmly, his touch lingering just a little longer than normal, which only upped the flutter of excitement. “I never got to see him when he was in Denver. Me and some friends talked about getting tickets, but they were sold out in minutes.” Zeke sipped his beer as the song came to an end, and Robert did the same, trying not to be too obvious about watching him. “I wonder if his voice really sounds like that or if it’s Auto-Tuned or something.”
Robert pulled a face as his temper threatened to rise. He had never used Auto-Tune or any of that synthesized shit in his music. That was cheating as far as he was concerned. What was heard on all his recordings was truly him and nothing else. “I suspect it’s real. It sounds it.”
Zeke nodded. “True. How can anyone conjure up those soulful rich undertones that get you just right?”
Robert shrugged. He certainly didn’t want to get too deep into a discussion of himself. It seemed wrong and was way too close to home.
Half the place was dancing, and a pretty girl in boots and a Western denim skirt came up to him, all smiles and huge eyes. “Do you dance?” she asked Robert, fluttering her eyes at him.
Robert smiled and nodded. Then he held the lady’s hand and led her onto the floor. It took him two seconds before he was into the moves, and he danced to her delight, adding a little extra spring to his step.
The song ended and Robert was about to head off the floor when another lady, this one a little older, approached. She smiled and took a turn, with Zeke dancing just one person over. Robert loved line dancing. It was fun, active, and exciting, while at the same time allowed him to basically dance with the person he wanted to, in plain sight, even if it wasn’t particularly socially acceptable.
“You’re a fine dancer,” the woman said once they’d danced their number.
“So are you.” Robert excused himself to sit the next one out—or stand, as the case may be.
Zeke came over shortly after Robert took his place to watch. “Not up for more?” Zeke asked.
Robert smiled. “I’m up for quite a bit. I like to dance, but it’s been a long day.”
“Were you able to find a place to stay? With the rodeo in town, it can be difficult. Most of the hotels are full and have been for some time,” Zeke said.
“I think I got lucky. I’m at the Plains. They had a few rooms available, and I was able to get one of the last ones. Maybe they had a last-minute cancellation or something.” Robert wasn’t going to admit he’d gotten one of the most expensive rooms in the hotel.
“Fancy,” Zeke said softly. “I’m staying with some friends.” He lowered his gaze and then slowly raised it. Robert felt it like a heated touch. “Would you like another drink?”
Robert turned to the bar, which was at least four people deep, and Zeke did the same. “There’s a bar near the hotel that seems quieter,” Robert offered nervously. It had been a long time since he’d played this particular game, and Robert knew he probably wasn’t very good at it.
“I think that would be a good idea.” Zeke’s gaze traveled across the dance floor, and Robert saw a group of ladies talking together and glancing over at them.
Robert turned to leave the ever-more-crowded bar and was relieved to be outside. He inhaled the fresh, dry air deeply and waited for Zeke. He didn’t want to seem like he was desperate, standing there, but only a minute later, Zeke stepped out into the night. They walked toward Robert’s hotel quietly until Zeke cleared his throat.
“Have you been to Cheyenne before?” Zeke asked.
“Yes, once, some time ago.�
� Robert smiled as they crossed the street, the marquee for one of the smaller venues he’d played years ago just down the block. Sometimes that seemed like another lifetime. “I like it here. This is a very nice, small city.” He glanced at Zeke as they walked past the bar he’d intended to stop at, heading to the hotel. Robert’s nerves built until they were inside and in the elevator. His doubts drifted away when they reached his floor, and as Robert unlocked the door, he wondered if this was actually going to happen.
They stepped inside, and Robert closed the door. As soon as it latched, Zeke cupped Robert’s cheeks in his work-roughened hands, kissing him with all the intensity of a hurricane, and still Robert wanted more.
Chapter 2
ZEKE WHITINGLY strode into the arena toward the area reserved for riders.
“Hy!” people called, using his riding name, and Zeke went over to sign some autographs.
“It must be fun being a star,” Carson teased from behind him as Zeke signed the last one. “Everyone wants your autograph and attention.” He nudged Zeke in the side. “Speaking of attention, someone didn’t come home last night.” Carson, his traveling partner for the last five years, winked. “Get lucky or fall asleep in the gutter?”
Zeke rolled his eyes. “As a matter of fact, I smell better than you, so the gutter thing is definitely out.” Dammit, he couldn’t help smiling. Robert had been everything promised under his jeans and T-shirt… well, even more, if that was possible. Zeke grinned as he remembered just how unexpectedly athletic and limber Robert had turned out to be.
“Does he know who you are?” Carson asked.
“You mean that I’m a rider?” Zeke shook his head. “I introduced myself as Zeke.” It was his name, after all, or what his mother had called him. He rode under the name Hy because that’s what everyone else called him, and he used the last name Whitely because of the light-colored hats he always wore. The only time his full name, Hezekiah, had been used was when it was time to head for the barn and stay out of his mama’s way, because hell was about to spawn.