by Kristi Gold
“Yeah. We’ve got a crew coming in to service the buses while we have dinner. Then we’ll come back here and move the buses to the hotel. I’ll bunk with Pat and you can have my room.”
“That won’t be necessary,” she said. “I can sleep on the bus.”
“It’s already been arranged, so I don’t want any argument. You could use a good night’s sleep on a regular bed before we hit the road again. It’s going to be a long haul for the next couple of weeks.”
The thought of sleeping on a full-size mattress did sound appealing. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”
The sound of familiar voices drifted through the door as the band members filed in, looking more than a little concerned. “What in the hell happened between you and Jensen?” Bull asked when they moved into the living area.
Brett sent a brief glance in Cammie’s direction. “He’s drunk and he got out of hand.”
“He says you bit the hell out of him, Cammie,” Rusty added. “My question is, what did he do to warrant that?”
When Cammie looked away, everyone went completely silent.
“He didn’t hurt you, did he?” Pat asked.
“I handled it,” Brett answered. “Cammie’s okay now and I don’t think she wants to talk about it.”
Rusty stepped forward, hands balled into fists at his side. “I’ll kill the son of a bitch if he ever lays a hand on you again. That goes for all of us.”
Cammie drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Thanks, but I don’t think we’ll have to worry about him anymore. Brett set him straight.”
Pat laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Since Brett seems to have everything under control, we’re going to go get cleaned up now and we’ll meet you both outside in a bit.”
Brett checked his watch. “The limo should be here in about thirty minutes.”
Limo? “Sounds great,” she said. “That should be enough time to get my stuff together.” She needed to get herself together.
When Brett retired to his stateroom to shower, and the guys left, Cammie opened the small closet that contained the few items of clothing she’d brought with her, basics consisting of comfortable jeans, shorts and T-shirts. But for some reason she wanted something a little dressy. She pulled out a pair of her better jeans and a red silk sleeveless blouse, then retrieved her black leather jacket.
She smiled when she remembered what her grandfather had called the outfit. “Biker duds” came out of his mouth the first time she’d worn it. Then he admitted it turned too many of the drivers’ heads and forbade her to work in it.
Well, tonight she wasn’t working. She was going out to dinner with friends and she was going looking like a woman, not a long-haul truck driver.
After Cammie dressed and applied some makeup, she called for Brett. When he didn’t respond, she grabbed her purse and headed out the door. Dusk had settled onto the dusty grounds, the March evening relatively cool for Texas. She spotted her escorts among several of the road crew assembled at the rear of the band’s bus.
She faked a smile as she joined the group, determined not to let the harrowing experience dampen her spirits. “I’m ready.”
When she failed to receive a response, for a moment she worried she’d forgotten some vital article of clothing.
“Close your mouth, Jeremy,” Pat said.
Bull let out a whistle and Rusty let out his breath.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
Brett gave her a slow once-over and an even slower smile. “You’re wearing leather.”
Nothing like stating the obvious. “Haven’t you ever seen a girl in leather before?”
“Yeah, Cammie,” Pat replied. “We’ve seen lots of girls in leather. Leather pants, leather boots, all kinds. We just haven’t seen you in leather. And it does become you.”
Rusty slapped a palm to his forehead. “Damn. My wife drove in from Lubbock today with Bull’s girlfriend and they’re meeting us at the restaurant. I don’t know how to explain you to her.”
“What about me?” Bull asked. “Bonnie’s the jealous type and she has one hell of an imagination.”
Cammie certainly didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot with their significant others. “I’ll change.”
“You don’t have to,” Brett said. “I’ll tell them you’re with me.”
“Good thinking,” Pat added. “But why can’t we tell them she’s with me?”
Brett slapped Pat on the back. “Because they’d never believe it.”
Cammie came up with a more logical plan. “How about we tell them the truth?”
Pat shook his head. “We’ll ease them into it gently, after they get to know you. A woman on board a bus, even if she’s driving, could be a cause for concern for wives and girlfriends.”
On some level, Cammie understood that issue when it came to this way of life. On the other, she wasn’t the kind to tread on another woman’s territory. Hopefully she could convince them of that.
After they climbed into the awaiting limo, Cammie squeezed into the seat between Pat and Brett. No one said much as they made their way to the historical Fort Worth Stockyards. When Pat poured himself a shot of whiskey from the onboard bar, then leaned back against the headrest, Cammie noticed he looked exhausted. The schedule would do that to anyone, even those much younger than the band’s senior member.
“Hate black limos,” Pat said, shattering the quiet. “Reminds me of a funeral.”
Brett came back with, “My mistake. Next time we’ll get white. Will that keep you from bitchin’?”
“Hell, no. White limos remind me of weddings, just about the same thing as a funeral.”
The other band members continued to silently stare out the window, as if they didn’t have the energy to comment. Cammie recognized the “coming down” phase common after a performance. But past experience had taught her it didn’t take much to recharge a man’s batteries. Especially a walking testament to testosterone like Brett.
She was extremely aware of him at the moment, and uncomfortable over his nearness. Yet when his hand inadvertently brushed hers, she found herself wishing he’d leave it. She wrote off the feelings to gratitude. After all, he’d gotten her out of a jam. Only gratitude.
When Pat announced, “We’re here,” Cammie glanced out the window. The limousine slowly passed by a stucco restaurant where a line of waiting patrons snaked around the building. The driver stopped the car near the back alley, well beyond the entrance, most likely to avoid calling too much attention to their arrival. The group exited the limo and entered a patio that reportedly led to the private quarters reserved for the group. Brett lowered his head as they strode through the crowded dining room. Most of the people didn’t bother to look up from their food long enough to notice the group, but Cammie noticed several who obviously recognized him—or at least that he was somebody—indicated by finger-pointing and subtle whispers.
Nevertheless, they managed to sneak by with very little attention as they entered the secluded dining room. The man that approached them first was as wide as he was tall, an unlit cigar butt protruding from the corner of his mouth. “Brett, my boy, how are you doing?”
“Can’t complain, Tim,” Brett said as he shook the man’s offered hand.
Brett gestured toward Cammie. “This is Cammie, Bud’s temporary replacement. Cammie, this is my manager, Tim Braker.”
“Good to know you, Cammie.” His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled as he took her ha
nd and patted it. “My, my. Brett’s description of you was pretty accurate, but it certainly didn’t do you justice.”
Cammie felt her face flush. “Thank you,” she murmured.
“Let’s eat,” Brett said, tugging at his collar.
Brett pulled out the chair next to his for Cammie, then introduced her to Bull’s girlfriend, Bonnie, with a petite stature and short brown hair, and Karen, Rusty’s wife, whose long auburn tresses nearly matched her husband’s. They both seemed very personable and happy to meet her, at least for the moment.
The informal atmosphere and lively conversation was as satisfying as the spicy fajitas and tart margaritas that came to the table in endless quantities. Cammie settled for a soda and ate sparingly while the guys, in typical male unmannerly fashion, dug in like it was their first meal in days or their last on earth. After the food had been cleared, the men gathered in the corner of the room to talk business, while Karen and Bonnie claimed the two chairs opposite Cammie.
“So, Cammie, have you been on Brett’s bus yet?” Karen asked.
Let the inquisition begin. “Yes, I have.”
“You poor thing,” Bonnie said. “When anyone sees a woman within a hundred yards, they think maid service has arrived.”
“So far that hasn’t been a problem.” And it wouldn’t be if she had any say in the matter.
Bonnie folded her hands on the table. “When did you meet Brett?”
“Not long ago.”
“Did you meet him at a concert?” Karen asked.
She could see where this was heading, and she saw no reason to go there. “Look, just to set the record straight, I’m Bud’s replacement driver. The guys were worried that you might be concerned since I’m a woman. But rest assured, my only intent is to provide a ride for Brett.” Surely she hadn’t just said that. “I meant, I’m a professional driver. I can even drive with my foot in my mouth.”
The women exchanged a look, then fortunately laughed. If Cammie could run out of the room without being too obvious, she would.
“I guess I can understand the guys’ concerns,” Bonnie said. “If I hadn’t met you, I might have had my reservations. But you don’t seem like the predator type.”
Cammie smiled with relief. “Thanks. I just couldn’t go on pretending I’m one of Brett Taylor’s girlfriends, according to the plan.”
“What a horrible thing to imagine,” Karen said. “But if you ask me, Brett definitely appeared to be enjoying the make-believe. He couldn’t seem to take his eyes off you during dinner.”
She couldn’t exactly dispute Karen’s observations. She had noticed a few glances now and then. “Brett was just trying to help out his friends,” she said. “There’s nothing else to it.”
“We’ll see,” Bonnie added. “We might trust our boys, but Brett’s another story. Never underestimate his power over women.”
Nor should anyone underestimate her self-control. “I can handle him for a couple of months.”
Karen leaned over and patted her hand. “You just keep telling yourself that and you’ll be fine.”
When her phone began to chime, Cammie fished the cell from her purse and saw Bud’s name on the incoming text. She opened it to find a photograph of a tiny, round-faced newborn wearing a pink knit cap, her tiny fist balled against her chest like a miniature prizefighter. And below that, a simple, poignant message.
Meet Emma Jane Parker. I hope she does the name proud.
Cammie’s hand immediately went to her mouth to cover the slight gasp, earning her concerned looks from her companions.
“Is something wrong?” Karen asked.
“Not at all,” she said as she turned the phone around for the girls to view the photo. “Bud’s got a new baby girl, and he named her after my grandmother.”
Both Karen and Bonnie spent a few minutes mooning over the picture before Karen took the phone over for the guys’ inspection. And as usual, they had to endure the male “all babies look alike” comments. Yet Brett never even afforded the photo a passing glance before he turned his back on the crowd.
When Karen returned with the phone, Cammie decided to ask about her boss’s suspect behavior. “Does Brett have an aversion to kids? He wouldn’t even look at the baby’s picture.”
“Should we tell her?” Bonnie asked Karen.
“As long as she keeps it to herself,” Karen said.
Cammie geared up for yet another major revelation. “Tell me what?”
“Brett has a daughter,” Bonnie said.
Clearly she’d only scratched the surface of the star’s secrets. “Bud and Pat mentioned he’d been married, but they didn’t say anything about a daughter.”
Karen sighed. “It’s been kept quiet to keep her out of the limelight. Unfortunately, he hasn’t seen her in several years.”
Cammie couldn’t fathom a parent not having a relationship with their child. Not when she’d lost both her parents through a sad twist of fate. “And he’s okay with that?”
“His wife has full custody and she hasn’t made it easy on him,” Bonnie said. “Or at least that’s what Doug told me.”
When Karen cleared her throat, Cammie glanced back to see Rusty stumbling toward the table. He came up behind his wife and leaned to kiss her cheek. “Is my girl ready to go?”
Karen rolled her eyes as she stood. “Three shots of tequila and you’re out, as usual. No more liquor for you, mister.”
“I can handle my tequila, wife.” Rusty turned around and immediately tripped over the leg of a chair.
“It’s been nice meeting you, Cammie,” Karen said as she attempted to steady her husband. “I’m flying into California next month. I’ll see you then.”
Bonnie stood and pushed her chair under the table. “I need to go, too. I’ll round up Doug so we can put an end to this party. I’m sure you’d like to get some rest.”
She wasn’t sure she would rest considering the disturbing discovery. “It’s been great meeting you, too. I hope to see you again before I head home.”
After a round of goodbyes, Cammie followed Brett, Pat and Jeremy into the awaiting limo for the somewhat silent return trip. When they arrived back at the bus, Brett announced he was going to accompany her to the hotel.
“That’s not necessary,” Cammie said as the limo came to a stop. “I can find my way there.”
“Now, Cammie,” Pat began in a fatherly tone, “Dennis has already gone and we’d feel a whole lot better if someone went with you, especially after what happened with Jensen.”
She had to admit that seemed like a good plan. “All right, if you insist.”
When they arrived at the bus’s entrance, Cammie immediately spotted the folded note taped to the door. She yanked the paper down before Brett beat her to it.
We got off to a bad start tonight, but I’ll be back to finish it. Mark
Thoroughly disgusted, she crumpled the paper into a tiny ball, stuffed it into her pocket and hurried inside the bus to take her place behind the wheel.
Brett followed behind her and claimed the passenger seat. “Is it from Jensen?”
“Yes.”
“What did it say?”
Did she dare tell him? Yes, she should. From this point forward, she intended to keep him informed of Mark’s plans. “He said he’s coming back to finish what he’s started.”
Brett scowled. “He better not be serious unless he’s in the mood for an ass-whoopin’.”
Cammie started
the bus and internally cringed over Mark’s threat. “Who knows what he’ll do? Come to think of it, I never really knew him at all.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
She shifted until she faced Brett. “Not really. There’s not a whole lot left to say.”
“Fine, but if you ever want to talk, I’m here.”
What she really wanted to do was forget the ugly episode. Forget Mark, period. Forget she’d been mistaken to think he was out of her life.
She left the seat to retrieve her overnight bag from the small overhead bin and prepared to gather a few things. Brett showed up a few seconds later and leaned a shoulder against the divider, watching her cram clothing from the drawer underneath her berth into the tote with the force of a jackhammer into cement.
She stopped her reckless packing long enough to look at him straight on. “Maybe I should reconsider working for you. Mark could cause a lot of trouble.”
He picked up a pink bra that had fallen to the floor and handed it to her. She tried not to meet his gaze, but she knew he was smiling when she quickly stuffed it into the case.
“We won’t be running into him that often,” he said. “Besides, he sounds pretty determined. If he really wants to find you, he won’t stop until he does. You might as well be running around the country with five guys looking after you.”
Cammie smiled in spite of her melancholy mood. “I guess you’re right.”
She headed into the bathroom, slipped a few toiletries into the bag, and when she returned, she found Brett still rooted in the same spot. “All through here,” she said. “Feel free to pack while the bus warms up. I’ll wait until you’re finished.”
“Good idea.” He started toward his stateroom and when they tried to pass each other, they moved in the same direction twice. Cammie finally turned to one side and made a sweeping gesture toward his room. “Go ahead.”