FLOWERS and CAGES

by Mary J. Williams

  Zoe wasn't exaggerating. The long column of her shimmering skirt was fabulously flattering. However, it made certain the soles of her strappy silver sandals stayed firmly on the ground.

  Amused, Dalton winked at Colleen, following behind Ryder. "I'll see you after the concert."

  "Want to watch the fun from the audience or join me backstage?" Quinn slung a canvas bag over her shoulder. "I can't resist a chance to take pictures of the band."

  "Backstage," Colleen said with enthusiasm. Falling in step, she nodded toward the bag. "Is that how you and Ryder met? Taking his picture?"

  "Dalton didn't tell you?" Before Colleen could answer, Quinn laughed. "Why am I asking? I have never met a more close-mouthed bunch in my entire life."

  "Dalton told me that they don't talk about each other's business."

  "Did he mention why?" Quinn showed her badge to a burly security guard. With a nod, he let them pass. It was a different entrance than the one the band had taken. Colleen assumed the other door led to the dressing rooms.

  "Something about respecting privacy. Yadda, yadda, yadda."

  Quinn chuckled. "I know it seems extreme."

  "No. More… mysterious."

  "I get that." Setting down her bag, Quinn removed an impressive-looking camera. She changed lenses before adjusting several settings. "I can't say a lot. You understand."

  She did? That was news to her. Colleen merely shrugged.

  "When Zoe asked you about Midas?"

  "Oh. That."

  "Exactly." Quinn raised the camera, snapping a quick shot of Colleen. "Sorry. I tend to do that."

  "Okay." Colleen didn't mind having her picture taken. The walk down the red carpet had told her that. It was the suddenness of Quinn's movements that threw her off.

  "It isn't secrecy," Quinn continued. "Not really. As a group, they share more than any people I've ever known. Nor are there any major skeletons lurking in anybody's closet."

  "You're positive about that?" Colleen didn't believe in open books. They didn't exist. Along with life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, everybody had the right to keep a few things to themselves. If that weren't in the constitution, it should be.

  "I said major skeletons. There is a difference." Quinn lowered the camera. "The band has few rules. Don't talk to the press comes in first, second, and third on the hell no list."

  "Is that a warning?" Colleen would have expected it from Zoe. Quinn seemed too easy going. First impressions. To some extent, they always needed revising.

  "Only because I like you." Quinn's easy-going smile was back in place. "You do understand?"

  "Feel free to call me Schultz."

  Momentarily confused, Quinn's frown slowly lifted. She snapped her fingers. "Hogan's Heroes."

  "I see nothing." Colleen did her best exaggerated German accent. "I know nothing."

  Quinn took another picture, laughing when Colleen pushed out her chest in an exaggerated cheesecake pose. "I knew I was going to like you."

  MESMERIZED. THAT WAS the only way to describe it. Colleen felt drained and invigorated at the same time. A night of magic will do that to a person, she supposed.

  The concert started on a high note. The Ryder Hart Band took the stage to a chorus of frenzied screams. From the first note, the energy was electric. Colleen watched Ryder as he sang lead on a song she knew very well. Under a Blue Moon. How many times had she played that tune while draining an oil pan or rotating a set of tires? Countless. It seemed impossible that she stood only a few feet away. Watching as they played it live. Stranger yet? She knew the band. It was crazy.

  Ryder gave new meaning to the word dynamic. Zoe? What else. She was a badass on lead guitar. And Ashe sent shivers down her spine when he wailed on the saxophone. Yet it was Dalton she couldn't stop watching. Non-stop, he didn't keep the beat—he lived it. The others followed him. Who wouldn't? When a woman in the audience yelled out his name, swearing her undying devotion, Colleen didn't blame her a bit. All she could think was, I'm right there with you, sister.

  When the song ended, there was no downtime for the band. They didn't do interviews, but as one of the organizers, there were photos to be taken with donors. All the money from the benefit went to children's organizations throughout the city. The proceeds helped set up shelters with clean, warm beds, hot meals, and counseling.

  Colleen knew why this charity was so important to the band. Ryder and Zoe grew up with an abusive father. That was common knowledge. It could be a vicious cycle—one that the Harts thankfully avoided. Stopping the abused from becoming the abuser. Dalton and Ashe supported the cause all the way.

  "This will take a while." Dalton had a towel wrapped around his neck, using another to wipe the flow of perspiration from his face. His t-shirt was soaked through. Drumming was a workout and a half. In deference to Colleen's pristine appearance, he merely brushed her cheek with his lips. "Will you be okay?"

  "Bruce Springsteen is down the corridor. Word has it Madonna is in the building. Not to mention Beyoncé and Jay-Z. I think I'll muddle through."

  "Keep an eye on her," Dalton said to Quinn. "Some of the musicians can get pretty handsy."

  "Who is going to watch out for me?" Quinn called after him.

  "They know you're mine." Ryder smoothed a hand down Quinn's hair. "If anybody touches you, they know damn well I'll tear them a new one."

  Quinn stared him down. "Excuse me?"

  Lips twitching, Ryder shrugged. "You'll tear them a new one?"

  "That's better. For a second there I thought a stage light must have fallen on your head." Quinn slid her hand around Ryder's neck, pulling him close so only he heard what she said next. Whatever she said brought a huge grin.

  "I think that can be arranged." The kiss they shared was searing, giving Colleen an, oh, my, moment.

  "Should I ask what you said to him? Or is it too personal?" Colleen asked as Ryder and Dalton exited to their dressing rooms.

  "I told him that caveman routine might be fun. Later. When we're alone." Quinn sighed. "Ryder is such a lovely combination of sexy alpha and sweetheart."

  "You love him very much." Colleen wasn't asking. What Quinn felt—what Ryder felt in return—was obvious. And enviable.

  "I do." Quinn didn't hesitate. "Does that surprise you?"

  "Love surprises me."

  Where did that come from? Colleen wondered. Funny. She hadn't realized she felt that way. Not really. True. She always found love to be a strange concept. In high school, her friends seemed to fall for one boy or another every other week. Some were still following that pattern. Through her mother's unfortunate second marriage and the current one that worked so well, Sherry claimed both men were the loves of her life—after Colleen's father.

  Perhaps Colleen would understand love a bit more if she had felt its effects. Just once. Like? Absolutely. But love? Her feelings for Dalton were messing with her brain. For the first time in her life, she wanted to be in love. For the first time, she thought she might be capable of the emotion. What if that twisting in her gut—the squeezing in the vicinity of her heart—was merely once in a lifetime lust?

  "I understand what you mean," Quinn nodded.

  "Great. Can you explain it to me?"

  "Can I explain love? Sorry." Somebody bumped into Quinn, sending her tripping toward Colleen. "Let's find someplace out of the crazy zone. One of the dressing rooms should be free."

  Taking her camera bag with one hand and Colleen's arm with the other, Quinn led them down a busy corridor. Each door had a card taped to the front. When they reached the one that read Ryder Hart, they ducked inside.

  "Did I say crazy?" Quinn laughed, pushing her hair back. "Between the talent and their entourages, it's chaos."

  "You sound like that's a good thing." Colleen took a seat. The green sofa looked worn but clean. Before joining her, Quinn took two bottles of water from the small refrigerator.

  "I love the energy. Getting a job cov
ering The Ryder Hart Band was my big break as a photographer. If I had any hint that I would fall in love with their lead singer, I would have run for the hills. Ryder was not part of my plans."

  That, Colleen could understand. "Are you sorry?"

  "Ryder Hart is the finest man I've ever known. Every morning I wake up in his arms. Every day, he tells me he loves me. More important? He shows me."

  There it was again. Quinn's words gave her that twisty feeling in the vicinity of her heart. Unconsciously, Colleen rubbed the left side of her chest.

  Seeing the gesture—and understanding—Quinn smiled. "I suppose love is about taking a chance. The path I had chosen was straight and clear. My choice was simple. Stay the course or veer into the unknown. Admittedly, I jumped a little sooner than Ryder. Luckily, he wasn't far behind."

  "I'm not in love with Dalton." Hearing the words didn't help. If anything, the twisty feeling intensified. "It's too soon. Isn't it?"

  "You want to put a timetable on love?" The question seemed to amuse Quinn. "That's fair. How long. A month? Six? A year is a nice round amount."

  "A week?" Colleen would have been the first to admit that it was a ridiculous situation. However, she couldn't find anything to laugh about.

  "An intense week." Sympathetic, Quinn tempered her words. "Let me ask you this. When you take on the job of refurbishing an automobile, what do you look for?"

  "A solid frame." Quinn's point clicked. "You think that Dalton and I have a good foundation to build on?"

  "What do you think?"

  "That I can't move ahead unless Dalton wants the same thing."

  "And you can't ask?"

  Wide eyed, Colleen stared at Quinn as if she had grown a second head. "Would you?"

  "After a week? Not on your life." Quinn took a sip of water. "Is there anything stopping you from staying in Los Angeles?"

  "My plan was to leave Midas next spring. Los Angeles was on my short list of destinations. "I love it here. But…" Would it look desperate? Colleen wondered. As though she was setting her sights on the big prize?

  "If things with Dalton blew up tomorrow, would you still want to move here?"

  "Yes."

  "There's your answer. You shouldn't change your life because of Dalton. That said, if you are in the same city, at the same time? The timetable for falling in love becomes infinite."

  "We could date. Like normal people." As soon as the words came out of her mouth, Colleen knew how ridiculous they sounded. She burst out laughing. Quinn was right with her.

  "Normal is relative when you are involved with a rock star."

  Colleen had a lifetime of normal. She wanted more long before Dalton Shaw and his sputtering Porsche drove into her life. Changing her plans for a man? Even one that—if she were completely honest—already owned a piece of her heart? Absolutely not. That didn't mean she couldn't take a page from Quinn's book. For so long, she had been on the same boring path. Dalton made her swerve. And, Colleen realized, that wasn't such a bad thing.

  "I can speak from experience," she said with a grin. "Normal is overrated."

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  SOMETHING WOKE COLLEEN at the break of day. To say she resented the interruption put it mildly. Slowly, reluctantly, she opened her eyes. What she saw almost made the effort worth it. Blinking once, she looked again. Naked Dalton. On his stomach. His face turned toward her. That sexy body, covers pushed off, stretched out on the bed less than an arm's length away. It would be like visiting the Louvre, ending the tour just before she got to the Mona Lisa.

  She could sleep anytime. Beauty should never be ignored.

  Warm and relaxed, Colleen pulled the sheet under her chin. They weren't at Dalton's house. It was a nice room. Luxurious. The penthouse suite in one of Los Angeles most exclusive hotels. The band's manager, Alden Christopher, had booked them the penthouse suite in one of the most exclusive hotels in Los Angeles. Since the after-concert reception was to be held in the hotel's ballroom, it made sense. Instead of worrying about dragging themselves to their separate homes, they could crash up here anytime they wanted.

  Four bedrooms connected by a huge common area. Colleen hadn't seen a lot of it. She entered the suite slung over Dalton's shoulder after a heated make-out session on the elevator ride. But she was certain she would have plenty of time to explore before check-out time. The huge balcony she glimpsed before Dalton shut the bedroom door would be the perfect place to eat breakfast.

  Dalton sighed, his hand brushing Colleen's. Holding her breath, she waited, but he didn't open his eyes. Not that she was surprised. The massive amounts of energy he expended on stage, the endless publicity pictures, followed by a reception where Colleen discovered Dalton could schmooze with the best of them—and slow dance to perfection.

  A night like that would have knocked out anybody. Somehow Dalton managed to save the best for last. He pleasured her with so much care, it brought tears to her eyes. Over and over again. With his hands. His mouth. His body. Making certain Colleen found her release before taking his own. If Dalton stirred before noon, she would be surprised. He more than earned the rest.

  No sooner had Colleen finished the thought than her phone chose that second to buzz, signaling an incoming call. Cursing, she snatched it from the nightstand. Having adjusted the settings before the concert, she said a silent thank you that it was still on vibrate.

  Colleen checked the screen. Mom. Careful not to disturb Dalton, she eased out of bed, grabbed her robe, and took the phone into the other room. Her mother was not an early riser. As Sherry often said, one of the benefits of owning her own business was the fact that she could get somebody else to open the salon. The sun wasn't visible, its light barely beginning to light the sky.

  Concerned, Colleen hit the voicemail key. If her mother was calling at this hour, it had to be an emergency.

  "Colleen!" Sherry sounded breathless, her voice vibrating with barely concealed panic. "This is an emergency. Call me immediately."

  Any other time, Colleen might have laughed. She knew her mother. Sherry loved to draw out the drama. However, when the situation was truly serious, Mom understood the importance of brevity. Surprised to find her hand shaking, Colleen hit speed dial.

  "Thank God," Sherry said. As greetings went, it did nothing to allay Colleen's anxiety.

  "What's wrong, Mom? Is Rick okay?"

  "Yes, honey. We're fine."

  Relieved, Colleen filled her air-deprived lungs. Finding out nobody was hurt meant she could start to breathe again.

  "You didn't call to say hello. What happened?"

  "There's been a fire. Don't panic. Nothing more than some property damage."

  "Your salon?" Colleen hated to think of her mother's business going up in flames. But she was fully insured. Lives were what mattered. Things could be replaced.

  "No. Not the salon." Sherry paused. "It's your car, Colleen."

  "My Thunderbird?" Colleen slowly sank onto the sofa.

  "There's nothing left but a shell. And Colleen? The police say it wasn't an accident."

  COLLEEN DIDN'T BOTHER to pack. Jeans, a t-shirt, some clean underwear. Followed by a pair of sneakers, her jacket, and her purse. That was all she needed. The entire time she gathered her things, she kept an eye on Dalton. The last thing she needed was for him to wake up. To her relief, he didn't stir, his breathing steady. Pausing, Colleen blew him a kiss before slipping from the room. Dalton wouldn't support her decision. He would insist on returning with her to Arizona. Since Colleen's response to that would be, over my dead body, she thought it best to save them both the aggravation.

  "Did you at least leave him a note?"

  Stifling a yelp, Colleen whipped around, knocking her shin against the edge of the glass coffee table. Out of the shadows walked Zoe, eyes narrowed, her arms crossed over her chest.

  "Of course, she left him a note. Right, Colleen?"

  Colleen looked at Quinn then Zoe. Both women were fully dre
ssed in workout clothes. At this hour of the morning? They couldn't have gotten more than a few hours of sleep. A healthy body was one thing. This was ridiculous.

  "Keep your voices down." Furtively, Colleen glanced toward the bedroom.

  "Nobody is up but us."

  Zoe took a step closer. Her hair was pulled back. She wore no makeup. With little or no sleep, she looked fresh. A freaking natural beauty. Under different circumstances, Colleen would have taken the time to hate her—just a little.

  "Want to tell us what's going on?" Quinn asked, standing shoulder to shoulder with Zoe.

  "No." Without another word, Colleen turned to leave. One step and she stopped. The point was to get as much distance between herself and Los Angeles before Dalton knew she was gone. Unless she gave them some explanation, she couldn't count on Zoe and Quinn to keep her departure under wraps.

  "I'll tell you. If you promise not to say anything to Dalton."

  "No." Zoe's answer was quick, short and emphatic.

  "I'm with Zoe," Quinn nodded. "Dalton is family, Colleen."

  That said it all. Colleen had never met such a tight-knit group. She couldn't expect Zoe and Quinn to side with her. Taking a breath, she realized there was only one way. Colleen didn't have time to go into detail. But she could tell them her motivation. Hopefully, it would be enough.

  "Dalton can't go back to Arizona. I have to. You have your car here, right?"

  Zoe gave her a brief nod.

  "If you will drive me to the bus station, I'll fill you in on the way."

  "Let's go." Without further preamble, Zoe headed for the door.

  "You heard her."

  For some unfathomable reason, Quinn grabbed her camera bag before pushing Colleen into the hall. The elevator dinged, doors opening, just as they reached it.

  "Okay." Zoe hit the button for the lobby, pinning Colleen with her sharp, blue gaze. "Start talking."

  Colleen gathered her thoughts, took a deep breath, and plunged in.

  "Somebody torched my T-Bird, and it has the stench of Collier Langley written all over it."

  DALTON WAS DISAPPOINTED when he found the other side of the bed empty, but not alarmed. Squinting at the bedside clock, he groaned. Ten-thirty? Damn. He would have stayed in bed much longer. If there had been a warm, sweet-smelling woman to cuddle with.