If she’d been offering him a shot of whiskey he’d have taken it just to settle his nerves.
“No, thank you.” He waited for her to sit, then took the chair next to her. “What’s your idea?”
The way she smiled, her eyes twinkled in the light.
He’d be real busy trying to seduce this beautiful woman if he wasn’t so nervous.
“Dax, I want you to ride to New Orleans with me tonight.”
He blinked a few times as the words took their time registering in his brain.
“I’m from Louisiana.” She put the cap on her water bottle. “I’m riding on a parade float a few days before Mardi Gras, plus I have a gig on Bourbon Street on Mardi Gras day.”
“What are you saying?” Did she want him to ride with her to—what—talk? Write songs?
She sat on the edge of her chair. “Sorry, I’m just rambling on too fast. I want to sing your song with you on the float, introduce you to the people of Louisiana. We’ll sing some of my songs too, of course, and we can work on arrangements on the way down there.”
It felt like his head filled with helium and hovered a foot above his shoulders.
Chapter Two
“I don’t understand.” Dax stared back at Marilou with those incredibly blue eyes of his. The chairs in the corner of her dressing room were too darn close together for her to be able to ignore the sexual pull this man held for her.
Patting his knee, she felt a chill race through her at the warmth under her hand, seeping up through his pressed jeans. “I want to give you a break, Dax. Give you the opportunity to try being in front of an audience, see if it fits you.”
“On a parade float?” His eyebrows dropped.
She needed to slow down, curb her enthusiasm a bit so she didn’t scare the bejeebers out of him. “And at the bar on Fat Tuesday. I’ll have you come out for a few songs in the middle of my set, then let you play two or three of your own.”
Rising to his feet, he let out a long breath. “I have a job.” He paced to the far end of the room. “I can’t just…” Dax stopped as if he’d hit a wall.
What was he thinking? Marilou had done some research on the guy when he’d contacted her people a few months ago. He worked up on the Bakken, roughnecking for an oil company, which explained his big, sexy shoulders and his flat abs, visible even with his long-sleeved blue-plaid shirt. Her eyes dropped to his shiny black boots, then trailed up those muscled thighs to his narrow waist.
“No.” He stared at the wall.
His word had her gaze moving back to his face where it should have stayed the whole time. Crap, she had to watch herself. It didn’t pay to get involved with a man she was trying to help break into the business. She’d learned that the hard way, hadn’t she? But this man was more than a temptation. She could easily let herself get nekkid with him.
“Ma’am…Marilou, I’m not a performer.” He glanced at her, his nice lips pulled into a tight line.
“You proved that statement false tonight. The crowd loved you.” She stood. “You had some witty comebacks for me, which was kinda ballsy of you.”
His head dropped a bit and his eyes looked unfocused. “There were a few moments out there…” Dax’s voice rolled soft and low. “With the lights on me, the band behind me, a room full of people listening. I imagined doing it, you know?” He met her gaze. “Really singing for a living. But I don’t think this timeline will work for me. Give me a few months to think about it, plan out songs for a CD, maybe.” As his voice rose, his shoulders slumped.
If she knew anything about body language, this guy just needed some encouragement. Well, that she could do. Marilou stood, crossed her arms and cocked her hip. “That’s what I was afraid of. All smoke. No fire.”
He lifted his hands, his brows dropping low. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Fire. Fire, Dax” She rubbed her forehead, hating to push him, but knowing her time limitations. “Having a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity laid out like a flying carpet in front of you and jumping on it with both feet. That’s what fire is.”
After letting that sink in a few seconds, he shook his head. “I have fire. I proved it tonight on stage.” His words snapped a bit as if he’d found a spark deep inside. “Just because I can’t leave tonight doesn’t mean I don’t want to try this.”
A knock sounded on the door and the casino’s marketing manager poked her head in. “Ms. Roselle, your VIP winners are in the ballroom. Are you ready?”
“Give me just a few minutes, please?” She smiled even though she’d like to reprimand the woman for walking in without waiting for an invitation to enter.
“Oh.” The woman checked her watch. “Of course.” She frowned at Dax then faked a smile for Marilou. “I’ll just be waiting right here outside the door.”
“Perfect.”
When they were alone again, Marilou went with her trump card. “My manager, Delroy North, works out of New Orleans, and I have an appointment with him the day after Mardi Gras. I’d like to introduce you to him.”
Dax audibly sucked in a breath. “You would?” The breath left him on a hiss, like a deflating balloon. “I don’t mean to be rude, but why are you doing this?”
“I don’t mean to be rude either, but I’ve got a room full of people waiting for me, and I’ve got Ms. Congeniality tapping her foot…” She pointed. “Outside that door.” Her hand dropped. “I’ll explain everything to you on the bus. If you decide not to go all the way to New Orleans with me, we’ll find the next airport and I’ll pay your way back to North Dakota.”
He just stared at her.
She could almost hear the gears chugging away in his brain. “Dax, I have no nefarious plans for you. My bus drivers are a married couple, not two bulky men with chains and handcuffs. And to cut right to the end of the story, I see a lot of talent in you, and I want you to learn how to see that in yourself.”
His brows shot up for a second. “I appreciate that, but I just don’t know.” Bending over, he picked up his guitar case and straightened, nodding to her. “Thank you for the opportunity.”
Seeing the resigned look in his eye, her stomach clenched. She’d been in the exact same place once, but that fire inside her had flared at the last minute and she’d gone for it. She’d never regretted it for a second.
“My bus is leaving at eleven-fifty-five.” She checked her watch. “That gives you forty-five minutes to decide.” Walking toward the door, she listened for anything more from him. She pulled open the door and turned toward him.
He hadn’t moved and stood staring at the wall.
“There are no guarantees in life, Dax.”
His head swiveled and his gaze locked with hers.
“And more often than not, no second chances.” Marilou walked out, hoping, praying, he’d be on her bus tonight. If not, she might just hire two big bulky thugs with chains and handcuffs to kidnap Dax…for his own good.
****
Dax watched the door close behind Marilou. No second chances. The words echoed in his head. Was this his big chance? Why did it feel so right even though it scared the living shit out of him? Pulling out his phone, he read the text messages from his friends as he wandered out of the dressing room and across the bustling backstage area.
Where R U guys? He sent the text to Shaw then watched the roadies pack up the equipment on the stage.
We’re front row center.
Glancing out at the seats with the house lights all the way up now, he spotted his three buddies grinning at him. Shaw pushed his cowboy hat back on his head as Dax pocketed his phone and walked across the stage.
“What’s going on?” Pete held a beer out for Dax.
Plopping down onto the edge of the stage, he reached for the beer. “Thanks. I sure need this. Where are Harper and CJ?”
Behind his friends, about a dozen of the cleaning crew wandered through the seats, picking up trash.
“Buying T-shirts and shit.” Huck held up his beer. “You did great. To
our buddy, the bravest fucker we know.”
The guys laughed and drank.
Huck’s curly blond hair looked wild tonight, while his brother Pete’s nearly-identical hair was tucked under a baseball cap.
Shaw didn’t drink, but pulled off his hat and ran his hand through his brown hair. “What’s wrong?” His dark eyes narrowed. Always the intuitive one.
“She wants me to go to New Orleans with her.”
The guys froze.
“Tonight.” Dax shrugged his eyebrows, still not quite believing it.
Pete and Huck’s mouths dropped open.
“And perform on a parade float, and in a bar, and then meet her manager.”
“You’re so full of shit.” Huck laughed.
“You kidding?” Pete leaned forward.
Shaw set his hat back on his head. “Are you gonna do it?”
Pete turned toward Shaw. “He’s not joking, is he.”
“No joke.” Dax took a couple lukewarm gulps of flat beer. “She says I have talent.”
“Damn, boy.” Huck pointed backstage. “What are you doing sitting here talking to us? Go. Get famous.”
“I wouldn’t be back until next Wednesday.” A week from today. “Probably more like Thursday.” Especially riding her bus. Dax had always wondered what those luxury musician’s tour buses were like. But hell, he didn’t have any of his stuff, except the duffle bag he’d packed for tonight. Shit, was he actually thinking of doing this thing?
“You should.” Pete nodded. “Just go for it. What would it hurt?” Pete had been lucky with the risks he’d taken. He’d recently started a second career—third, if you counted helping his parents run their ranch—painting motorcycles. Which was how he’d met his girl, CJ.
“I’m not supposed to talk about this yet…” Huck shifted his gaze around, as if spies lurked everywhere. “But the company is offering volunteer layoffs right now, until the price of oil goes back up. They’re only talking to certain people, keeping it on the down-low so it doesn’t cause a panic.”
“Are you serious?” Dax watched Huck’s face. The guy was a joker, but as a supervisor at the company that employed all four of them, Huck had inside information and took his job very seriously.
Of course, Huck was the kind of guy who could really keep a secret. Every Friday after work, he packed up a bag and left in his truck, never saying where he went, coming back sore and tired Sunday night in time to get a few hours’ sleep before work the next day.
“Yeah.” Huck pulled out his phone and typed on it. “I can set you up tomorrow when I get back. Fake your signature on the request form. Give you a week off.” He slid his phone into his pocket. “No problem with work, buddy.”
Dax looked at Shaw. The most stable of all of them, he’d saved his oil money to buy a herd of cattle for the ranch he’d inherited from his grandfather. His girl Harper worked for a beverage company as the on-site representative at rodeos around the country. She and Shaw were counting down the months until they could leave their day jobs, buy those beeves, and ranch full-time.
Shaw opened his mouth, then closed it.
Everyone waited to hear his thoughts.
“You know how scary it is to get on a new ride at the county fair?” Shaw’s mouth quirked up. “But you really want to do it ‘cause you know it’ll be fucking amazing.”
Dax nodded. That’s what his stomach felt like: jittery with the mix of excitement and fear. “Then you get halfway through the ride and puke all over yourself.”
The guys laughed.
“What’s going on in here?” Harper’s voice called from the back of the room. “The newest country music star is still talking to us lowly fans?” Harper’s red hair shone as she came down the aisle with CJ.
Towering over petite Harper, Pete’s woman, CJ, strutted toward them, thin and beautiful, her head of curly platinum-blonde hair glowing like a halo.
“Ladies.” Dax touched the imaginary brim of a cowboy hat. “I need advice from someone with a whole brain in their head.”
The guys stood, making room for the women, and they all resettled, boy, girl, boy, girl, boy.
Harper had a beer for Shaw plus a carrier with three more beers, one of which she passed to Dax, the other to Huck.
“Hey, this girlfriend thing is kinda handy.” Huck winked at Dax.
“Try it sometime.” Harper had already given up trying to find the right woman for Huck, but she’d been hot on the job for Dax lately.
“What’s going on?” CJ handed Pete a beer, smiling at him like he was the best thing that’d ever happened to her.
Pete pointed to Dax. “You’re not gonna believe this.”
Dax explained Marilou’s offer in one quick sentence, then took a long pull of cold beer, still not comprehending that this was really happening to him.
“Go.” CJ’s eyes went wide, her smile showing her amazement. “This is an incredible opportunity for you.”
Harper nodded. “Definitely. Go. You’ve got nothing to lose, and if you end up flying in to the Dickinson airport tomorrow, we’ll pick you up and you can tell us all about it. But Lord, just jump on this, Dax.”
Shaw wrapped his arm around her, smiling. “I couldn’t have said it better myself.” He glanced at Dax. “Go back to the hotel and get your bag, think about it for a while, and us lowly fans are going to wander over to the honky tonk down the street. If you decide not to go, come and find us.” He narrowed his gaze on Dax. “But I am encouraging you to go.”
Dax’s head started spinning again. He’d been so sure at least one of them would try to talk him out of it, that it felt like he’d just been propelled off into space. “You sure I shouldn’t wait and—”
“No.” Five voices chorused the word.
“We’re not trying to talk you into anything.” Shaw stood, helping Harper from her chair. “But if you didn’t want our advice, if you’d already decided not to do this, you wouldn’t have even told us about it, right?”
The other three stood.
Was his buddy right? Had he already decided and was just looking for affirmation from them? “Yeah.” Things were falling into place too easily for this to not be right. “I think I can do this.” He slid off the stage and hit the floor, the solid feel of his decision as strong as the concrete beneath his feet.
His friends said goodbye, the girls giving him hugs, making him promise to send tons of pictures. They left and Dax picked up his guitar case, looking at the stage again, knowing he’d never forget this night, this moment. It’d either be the biggest event of his life or the most foolish choice he’d ever make.
Dax finished his beer as he walked out of the auditorium. Whichever way this turned out, he’d damn sure better not puke all over himself, which ironically was what his stomach urged him to do right this second.
Chapter Three
Marilou could sleep ten hours tonight. This north-central and midwest tour had sounded like a great idea when her agent came up with the plan. But after today’s seventh casino concert, she felt wiped out. She carried her three bags out of the back entrance of the casino, a security guard following her the few yards to her waiting bus. After she punched in the code, the doors swung open. “Thank you.” She shook the guard’s hand and climbed the steps onto her bus.
The door to the soundproof room with the drivers’ bunk beds stood open on the left side and Joe and Beth sat at the small booth that ran along the right side of the aisle.
No Dax.
“Hi, boss.” Joe slid out from the long, padded bench. In his thirties, his full head of brown hair looked rumpled, like he’d just woken. “How did it go tonight?” He reached for her bags, but she shook her head.
“I got these, thanks. And it was a great show.” Marilou couldn’t find any enthusiasm to perk up her voice. Why had Dax chosen not to make the trip with her?
Joe slid into the cushy driver’s seat and pulled out his checklist.
Beth, Joe’s wife, yawned, her long, blonde hair t
wisted into her sleep braid. “Anything you want to tell us?” Her smile tipped in a wise-ass smirk.
“Like what, for instance?” Usually, Marilou loved to talk with the couple, spend the long miles chatting with whichever one of them was not driving. Until they had to sleep before their shift.
A thump sounded from the back of the bus. She looked in that direction, past the first bathroom, past the kitchenette, past the lounge seating area, and back toward her bedroom with its private seating area and en suite bathroom.
Dax appeared in the doorway, rubbing his head. “Low bridge.” He laughed.
Beth’s smirk grew…smirkier and she slid out of the bench seat. “We have a stowaway.” She walked past Marilou to the front of the bus, kissed her husband’s cheek, and disappeared into the soundproof sleeping room, closing the door.
“We’re rolling.” Joe shifted and the bus eased forward.
Marilou could almost cry right now as relief and excitement flooded her. “Hi, smokey.” She set her bags on the table.
From the front of the bus, Joe’s ubiquitous talk radio rolled from his speakers.
Dax placed his hand on the wall to steady himself as the bus picked up speed. “If you’re gonna call me smokey, I think I might just bail at the next stop.”
She walked up to him and squeezed his forearm for a couple seconds, it was so big and muscled, it made her giddy. Giddier. “You don’t know how glad I am to see you here.”
He looked down at her, his face unreadable. “I tried to talk myself out of it, but to be honest, I wanted to be on this bus more than I’ve wanted anything in my life.”
Marilou could fall in love with his habit of total openness. Gesturing to the seating group with a low table and four leather chairs, she gave him a nudge. “Sit. Let’s talk a bit.” She yawned. “Before I crash for a few hours.”
“Sure.” He folded his big body into one of the chairs. “Joe and Beth explained the shift driving. Even with regular shift-change stops, it’ll only take us twenty-four hours to get to New Orleans.”
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