Ladies Love Rock Stars: Taming the Bad Boys of Rock and Roll

by D'Ann Lindun

  “Horses and mules,” Montanan said. “Vehicles aren’t allowed in the wilderness.”

  Silence stretched between them.

  “Will there be cell phone access?” Joel sounded shaky.

  “Nope.” Damn. There went her last hope. The Marsh family had private land with cabins equipped with computers. Maybe she could steer some business their way. “I can put you in contact with someone else—”

  “How much?”

  Montana took a deep breath. “Thirty-five hundred each.”

  Joel didn’t hesitate. “Give me your address and I’ll have a check in the mail later today.”

  Her heart pounded wildly, but she forced her voice to remain professional as she recited her address. “Which season? Second rifle season starts next week.”

  “That one,” Joel said.

  “Are any of the party experienced hunters?” It didn’t matter; she’d guided everything from beginners to seasoned pros. But an idea of which would tell her where to take them. “And do any of you know how to ride?”

  “Cowboy hunted as a kid. I believe he can handle a horse. Adrian, our backup singer, is an experienced hunter and can ride. Stoney and I are complete novices.” Joel sounded as if he might throw up. Montana wondered why he was coming. Why were any of them? The thrill of it, she supposed. God knew her ex and his buddies would do anything, or take any dare, just for kicks.

  She shut off that train of thought.

  Tom Kerrigan stood far in her rearview mirror.

  Joel pulled her back to the present. “What are we required to bring?”

  “You’ll need your own sleeping bags, rifles and any personal gear. Warm clothes and boots are a must. It’s likely to snow. I supply tents, cots, horses and food. We eat simple, but well. Any allergies I should be aware of?”

  “No. What about alcohol?”

  “You supply your own.” She hardened her voice. “No drugs.”

  “Isn’t marijuana legal in Colorado now?” Amusement filled Joel’s voice.

  “It is, but not on one of my hunts.” Montana’s heart sped up. Was she about to lose her clients? She wouldn’t back down even if it meant losing the job. She refused to deal with drugs of any kind. A hunter high on dope, carrying a high-powered rifle, could get himself or someone else hurt. Possibly killed. Booze was bad enough, but thankfully most of her hunters didn’t drink much, more anxious to stay sober to hunt than drink.

  “I’ll make sure the band leaves their drugs at home,” Joel promised as if this was something he did every day. Hell, what did she know? Maybe it was.

  “Grand Junction’s airport is closest,” Montana told him. “When you have flight arrangements in place, let me have your arrival time and I’ll pick you up. We ride early Monday morning. At first light.”

  “Do you have accommodations available for Sunday night? Or do I need to book something in the closest town? Let’s see. It says here that’s Black Mountain?”

  “I have cabins here,” she said. “But understand they’re not the Hilton.”

  “Can we get cell and internet service? If not, we should probably spend Sunday night elsewhere.”

  Montana rolled her eyes. Did he think she was using a telegraph on her end? “I have cell and internet here. You’ll have to provide your own breakfast Monday. After that I’ll feed you.”

  “That’s fine. We’ll bring bagels. I’ll rent a car. That way you won’t have to pick us up.” Joel rattled off his cell number. “Contact me here. Please, Montana, again, no one can get wind of this. It’s vital no one knows Cowboy is in town.”

  “Understood.” She refrained from rolling her eyes again. Celebrities and their egos. Sheez. She hoped this guy didn’t expect her to kiss his famous ass. She’d treat him like everyone else. No better, no worse. Not one bit different just because he’d chosen a career that considered groupies a perk. “Call me at this number on Sunday after you touch down, so I know you’re on the way.”

  “Will do.” He hung up without a goodbye.

  For a moment, Montana stared at the phone in her hand. Then she fist-pumped the air and whooped. Boots barked and danced at her feet. She patted his silky head. “Someone just answered our prayers, boy. Our bacon has just been saved.”

  The black-and-white Border collie grinned a wide doggy smile as if sharing her joy.

  She sobered. “Come on, buddy. We’ve got a lot of work to do. Those cabins won’t clean themselves. They have to sparkle for our guests.”

  Montana hummed as she changed linens and scrubbed bathrooms. Who would have ever guessed a friend from the past, one she’d nearly forgotten, would save her? The universe worked in mysterious ways.

  A year ago she would have turned down any celebrity client. The hassle of dealing with them outweighed the benefits. She hated the way they demanded special treatment as if they were above the rest of the population.

  No one was better because they could throw a ball, sing or act. People were people.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “This place is ridiculous.” Stoney Dobson, lead guitarist for the Silver Star Band, stared out the front passenger window of the rented SUV. “Not a chick in sight.”

  Johnny took in the tiny town from the other side of the Escalade. The first impression that jumped out at him was the place seemed deader than his great Aunt Shirley. He knew the Victorian homes decorated in bright shades lining Main Street were called painted ladies for the whores that had once inhabited them. Too bad some of those bitches weren’t still hanging around to liven shit up.

  Backup singer Adrian Devereaux yawned. “Boresville.”

  “Why’d you come if all you’re going to do is bitch and moan?” Johnny glanced over his shoulder at Adrian sprawled across the third seat. A tight T-shirt that read MEOW hugged her small tits. Her black leggings and lace-up boots looked more appropriate for the stage than a hunting trip. Her short ebony hair with the blonde patch in front stood on end. He never would have guessed the petite girl as a skilled markswoman, but when he’d mentioned this trip, she’d shared her secret talent and asked to come along.

  She shrugged one shoulder. “Didn’t say I don’t want to hunt. But this town looks sleepier than me after a six-month tour.”

  Johnny had to agree. Not a bar in sight and he had a powerful craving for vodka. He tapped Joel on the shoulder. “Find me a drink.”

  Joel met his eyes in the rearview mirror. “We’re due at the ranch by seven. The owner says it takes about forty-five minutes from town to drive to her place. We have alcohol in our supplies…”

  “That’s for the trip. I want a drink now.” The glowing green clock on the dashboard read 5:30. “We have plenty of time,” Johnny insisted. “How hard can it be to find a honky-tonk in a town this size?”

  Joel leaned forward, peering through the windshield. “There’s a place. Sure you want to go in? You might be recognized.”

  “Yeah, I’m positive.” Johnny ran a hand through his tangled hair. “Although I don’t really feel like dealing with fans right now.”

  Adrian laughed. “You really think you have any fans in this Podunk town?”

  “I doubt they’ve heard music past Elvis’ generation,” Stoney muttered.

  “Don’t you mean Beethoven?” Adrian laughed again. “Or Bach?”

  Stoney began humming the theme from Bonanza. Adrian kept time, beating on the headrest in front of her.

  “Actually,” Johnny said, “Dillon and Shiloh Travers live here when they’re not touring or recording. And that newbie, Maura Whittaker, too.”

  “Doubt they have any strippers here.” Stoney wore his usual bored expression all the ladies went crazy for. “We’ll have to make do with townies.”

  “Keep your joysticks covered and don’t knock up any locals,” Joel warned. “Cowboy’s reputation doesn’t need more drama. We’re here to put the Great Teal Incident behind us.”

  “Man,” Stoney said, “you really know how to kill a good buzz before one starts.”

&n
bsp; Joel pinned a hard look on him. “You already have one custody battle raging…you want another?”

  Stoney turned to stare out the window with his jaw set in a hard line. “No.”

  “Shitheads.” Johnny punched the back of the seat. “Okay, let’s go inside.”

  Joel parked at the side of the long, low building and the four travelers piled out. Johnny stretched his legs, glad to be done traveling, although today’s trip had been cake. They had flown by his private jet from L.A.X. to Grand Junction’s small regional airport, and then driven another two and a half hours deep into the Rockies.

  Many times he’d ridden on tour buses for more than twenty-four hours straight. He shuddered, remembering the early days of touring out of a minivan. Money had its advantages. He could enjoy a few perks. He’d worked his ass off for them.

  Adrian grabbed his elbow. “Come on, Cowboy. Let’s go find some booze and pussy.”

  He settled his ever-present straw cowboy hat on his head. “Go ahead, I’ll be there in a minute.”

  As the others hurried toward the bar, Johnny lingered a moment to look around. He was reminded of glitter on a green dress as a cool breeze rustled the red, gold and yellow leaves clinging to the aspens scattered amongst the pines on the mountainside. The scent of wood smoke hung in the air. In spite of Joel’s fears, maybe he could convince a couple local chicks to snuggle with him on a bearskin rug in front of a fireplace tonight.

  Damn. He’d forgotten to ask Joel if their accommodations came equipped with one.

  His manager hadn’t said much, only that they were to spend the night on a remote ranch and drive at daylight to the trailhead that led to the hunting camp where there was no phone or internet. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been without his phone and constant access to the web.

  Too bad his old man hadn’t been able to come. Although Kenneth Cortez had wanted to come, his health had forbidden the trip. His heart wasn’t as strong as it once was and he feared the altitude would be too much.

  Instead, Johnny had brought along a lesbian sharpshooter and two guys who had as much interest in hunting as he did chess tournaments.

  With a sigh, he went to join his motley crew.

  Inside the building, red vinyl barstools lined a long polished bar. A couple of men sat arguing good naturedly about the Bronco game wrapping up on the TV suspended in one corner. Joel, Stoney and Adrian had chosen a corner booth. When they spotted him, they motioned him over.

  He slid in next to Adrian. “This place is hopping.”

  “I told you so,” Stoney muttered.

  “It’s Sunday in the heartland,” Joel said. “What did you expect? L.A. nightlife?”

  Johnny shrugged. “It’s sure not The Cave.”

  “And here I was hoping for bitches and cocaine,” Stoney muttered as a skinny waitress with a bad perm approached.

  Johnny braced himself for the inevitable fawning and pasted on his best smile. She’d undoubtedly want an autograph and a selfie. For her sister or friend, of course.

  “What can I get you?” She snapped her gum impatiently.

  For a moment, silence reigned. The band all looked stunned at her lack of recognition. Finally Joel managed to speak. “Diet Coke with a lime twist.”

  Stoney settled for a screwdriver.

  “Vodka over ice,” Johnny said.

  “Add a splash of cranberry juice to mine.” Adrian winked at the waitress, who ignored her. Johnny grinned. His backup singer was shooting blanks with this girl. He imagined Black Mountain wasn’t a hotbed for girl-on-girl hookups, but he could be wrong. Sometimes small-town chicks were the biggest freaks of all.

  He settled back against the cracked vinyl seat and gradually relaxed. Usually when he walked into a bar, even The Cave, he was deluged with fans and groupies. The paparazzi always lurked like buzzards waiting to pick his bones clean. To go someplace without either happening was a strange sensation.

  One he didn’t know if he liked.

  The whole idea behind coming here was to shake Teal off his scent, but falling into complete anonymity threw him. He’d been working for recognition since he was fifteen; losing it wasn’t an option.

  The waitress brought their drinks and set them down. “You plan to run a tab?”

  “Yes.” Joel attempted to hand over his credit card. “Here.”

  “I’ll grab it when you’re ready to leave.” She backed away as if he were trying to give her a live timber rattler.

  Slowly, Joel dropped his hand. “Okay.”

  Johnny understood his confusion. In L.A. there was no such thing as running a tab without laying down a credit card first. The Cave often gave him and his entourage free drinks and food because of the publicity he brought with him, but contrary to popular belief, most places expected him to pay and pay well.

  He smiled at the waitress. “Hey, darlin’. How about you run some tunes on the jukebox for us.”

  “You got quarters?” She snapped her gum again.

  For a moment, he hesitated, stunned. People usually jumped at his every request. He dug in his pocket, but he didn’t have any change. “Um, yeah.”

  As usual, Joel came to the rescue, handing her a ten. “Load it, please.”

  Her eyebrows rose to her hairline. “All of it?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  Still, she hesitated. “Oh, okay.”

  “Is there a problem?” Joel asked.

  She shrugged. “Just this much will spin that old jukebox until the cows come home. You sure you want to put this much in it?”

  Joel waved a hand. “Yeah, yeah.”

  “I’ll help you choose.” Adrian shoved Johnny’s shoulder. “Let me out.”

  He stood and she slid out of the booth. “Come on, sugar. Let’s get this place rocking.”

  They headed across the large dance floor to the old-fashioned jukebox in the corner. The two girls leaned close and giggled like old friends as they made their selections.

  In a few moments a familiar tune filled the room. Domino—a rapper and good friend of Johnny’s—had a current crossover hit.

  Stoney slouched in his seat like a first grader. “Man, Dom’s flying off the charts.”

  “Yeah, it’s a great song.” Johnny downed his vodka. He should have asked the waitress to leave the bottle. “I’m happy for him.”

  “Hope our new album does half as well. God knows we need a hit,” Stoney muttered.

  “It will. It’s a fucking killer record.”

  Teal and all her bullshit had kept his face and name in the news even as the CD slid out of sight. For that he should be grateful, but he hoped all the personal drama wouldn’t overshadow the music. He and the band had worked their asses off to make an outstanding product. Would the public like their new single? All of their careers rode on it.

  Only time would tell.

  He looked around for more vodka.

  The football game ended, Domino’s song came to a stop and the two spectators ambled out of the bar, leaving only Domino’s giant hit filling the sudden silence.

  Adrian returned and edged Johnny over. “Good news! Lorae is going to call some friends. We’re going to liven up this joint.”

  Joel frowned. “We’re trying to keep a low profile. Word gets out Cowboy’s in town, all hell will break loose.”

  She glared back at him. “Doubtful. A few girls aren’t going to cause a riot.”

  Usually the news of hot girls heading in his direction filled Johnny with anticipation. He hated being alone and he loved beautiful women, but sudden annoyance filled him. “Why’d you go and do that?”

  Adrian looked at him in surprise. “What’s wrong? You always love a party and this place is dead.”

  He lifted his empty glass at Lorae, indicating he needed a refill. “I’m actually enjoying a little peace and quiet.”

  “We’ll have plenty of that in the mountains,” she argued. “Let’s party while we still can.”

  Lorae brought another round and a
bowl of peanuts. “You all good?”

  “We’ll be better when your friends get here.” Adrian sipped her cocktail. “Cowboy’s slipping into a coma. The high altitude must be getting to him.”

  “They’re on the way,” Lorae assured her.

  As if her words conjured them up, a half dozen girls burst through the door, talking and giggling in the high-pitched voices of hyper-excited fans.

  Johnny put on his best smile, banishing his earlier irritation. Just like every other time a fan approached him, these girls immediately asked for autographs. A good-looking brunette coyly asked him to sign her left breast, and he scrawled his name in permanent marker above her lacy red bra with the ease of having done it a million times before.

  The girl licked her full, rose-colored lips. “I’m Mary-Jane.”

  “Cowboy.”

  She beamed. “I know. I love your music—”

  He tuned her out; he’d heard it all before. “You want a drink?”

  Her smile widened. “Sure.”

  Lorae brought a fresh round and the girls all ordered margaritas.

  “So, girls, old Cowboy wants to party.” He slung an arm around both girls. “Who’s with me?”

  Johnny slipped into his rock star persona as easily as he pulled on his clothes. It came to him as natural as breathing. He loved to party and drink and enjoy the charms of pretty girls. Having all three at his fingertips in this out-of-the-way spot reminded him of who he was and that Teal hadn’t stolen it all.

  ~*~

  In spite of Montana’s reluctance to guide the music man, she wondered what he was like. Would he be arrogant? Demanding? Use his fame like a shield? Or worse, like a weapon?

  Would he be like Tom Kerrigan?

  A shudder ripped down her spine. She hardened her heart at the thought of her ex. He was long gone from her life. She would not allow any reminder of him to bring her down.

  No matter how much humiliation she’d suffered because of his many infidelities.

  She fixed a sandwich and poured a cup of coffee, carrying both to the front room. The computer sat dark and silent on her roll-top desk. It would be easy to find out about the man she would be guiding this week.