Flint would imagine an angel come down from heaven, except she’d doffed her fringed jacket to reveal a purple tank top instead of the shirt she’d worn earlier. Her mini-skirt stopped half way up her thigh. He doubted angels wore miniskirts and cleavage.
“What are you doing here?” he asked gruffly. Then regretting how he sounded, he offered his coffee in apology.
Jo wisely refused his offer but searched his face as if expecting something he wasn’t prepared to give until he knew what the hell was happening. She was supposed to be on her damned way to fame and fortune. What was wrong?
“You should have let me come with you,” she reproached him.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” He slumped in the hard hospital chair that had stamped permanent creases on his ass. “They needed you on stage more than we needed you here.” If anything proved he had no way with words, that ought. Even he winced.
She looked at him sadly, then adjusted the sheets over Johnnie’s narrow shoulders. “They didn’t really need me. Travis could have gone out there and thumped Randy on his fat head. Dave could have told the band where you’d gone and guilted them into behaving. They were just acting like babies and needed slapping.”
Flint chortled, comfortable with Jo’s familiar outrage. “That’s not the version I heard. You rubbed RJ’s nose in his own shit. You were so good he had to pull out someone else’s material for his set. Your voice will make that CD.”
She shrugged and switched to Adam’s bed to brush a rumpled curl off his brow. “How are they? Will they have to stay here long?”
“Just overnight. They were ready to walk up the mountain to hear you sing until the pills kicked in.” He struggled with all the things he wanted to say, then settled for saying, “Thanks for making their song famous.”
She studied on that a moment, then shook her head. “Fame isn’t what the song was about. It was you they wanted to hear it. Males are so predictable. They just can’t come out and say what they’re feeling.”
“Women wouldn’t have anything to complain about if we did,” he agreed with a smile that came from deep down inside him where their understanding warmed the icicles he’d been hiding behind. He took a chance on telling her some of how he felt. “I’ve got a song I’ve been wanting you to help write. I’m not as good with the words as the music. You heading out to Nashville soon?”
She cocked her head and stared through the darkness at him. A hint of her usual mischief crept into her reply. “And miss the fried Snickers bars and the rest of the festival? No way. If Nashville wants me, they know where to find me.”
Nashville didn’t work that way, but Flint couldn’t help letting hope lodge in a corner of his heart. “What about the demos? You have to have those to sell your songs.”
She chuckled. “You don’t think Randy’s album is a good enough demo? I need some new songs first. I can’t write music. What do you say, we help each other?”
He wanted to relax and say he could handle that, but he couldn’t, not if she meant to leave, and she hadn’t promised not to. “I’d like that real fine, but my boys have to come first. I don’t want them counting on having you around, and then you disappearing some day, so I’m thinking us spending too much time together is risky until we know how things are gonna turn out. I’m not doing risk where my boys are concerned.” There, that was about the most he could say.
“Risky, hmmm?” she said reflectively.
Jo sounding reflective was a damned dangerous sign, Flint figured. He waited for the broadside to follow.
She merely rose from the bed and lingered near his chair long enough for him to drown in the sexy scent of her bath powder.
“So, you’re planning on being a steady business type, are you?”
He stood up. In his boots, he towered over her enough to intimidate even this steel magnolia. “I’ve got me an idea or two,” he admitted, slipping deeper into his Southern drawl. “The boys like it here, and I’ve a hankering to stay.”
He wanted to kiss her until her head spun, and she was willing to agree to anything he asked, but he wasn’t having any of her regrets later. He’d stated his case. It was her turn.
Instead of accepting his meager offer, she ran a hand down his stubbly jaw and stood on tiptoe to press a kiss where her hand had lingered. “In that case, I’ll see you tomorrow. Give the boys a hug from me when they wake up.”
She left on a cloud of scent, leaving Flint aching with hunger and disappointment.
He wanted to run after her, pin her to the wall, and demand that she stay with him until they’d wrestled out some way of making this work. But he didn’t need the memory of Jo punching Randy for forcing her to know that was a bad idea.
He’d give her time to sleep on it. In the morning, she might come to her senses. Or he might. He still didn’t know how big a piece of his future she owned.
***
“Look, guys, I’m not taking the blame for this, got it?” Sunday morning, still wearing his dress-up Stetson, Flint steered his pickup past the drive to his house. He wanted nothing more than to go home, shower, and shave, but he’d told Amy he’d pick up his sons’ Nashville friends at the restaurant first. Restaurant. Jo even had him thinking of it that way. He was the high-falutin’ owner of a popular restaurant. Until he signed it over to Jo or the lawyers, at least.
“I told you to stay away from the booms,” he continued. ”You didn’t. You missed the show. You’ve no one to blame but yourselves.”
He’d spent the night sleeping on a fold-out chair in the pediatrics ward, and they were back to sullen silence again. Some days, being a parent was shit. Of course, a lot of days were shit and being a parent had nothing to do with it.
He’d called his folks and told them that he had everything under control, and they could continue on to their golf tournament. He’d have his head examined the next time he had a few minutes.
“Reckon Jo will sing our song on the radio someday?” Johnnie asked, sounding more like a wistful little boy than a budding teenager.
“I’m sure she’ll be proud to. I wish you’d let me hear it first, though. I’m probably the only person in the whole county who hasn’t heard your song. I don’t even know how the hell you wrote it. You don’t play any instruments.”
“Computer, Dad,” Adam said impatiently. “We made it play the notes we wanted until we got it right. Can we take guitar lessons? I hate soccer.”
Wham, right upside the head again. This time, though, Flint grinned proudly. Chips off the old block. “I’ll see what I can do,” he promised.
They seemed to accept his promise without surprise, as if they knew he’d provide what was important to them. Maybe this parent thing wasn’t so hard.
“Jo kinda helped us with the words,” Johnnie admitted. “We got stuck a bunch. The Buzzards put it on CD for us.”
“We wanted it to be a surprise,” Adam grumbled.
“Well, you succeeded. I was surprised as h…heck when they called to say you’d won.” The traffic was thick heading into town for the second day of the MusicFest, and Flint concentrated on his driving.
The Nashville stars would have left last night, but the festival had a good regional line-up today. Sunday noon, and the first parking lot was already full. He drove on into town, thinking he’d just park in the alley to pick up Matt and Sean.
A gleaming silver Rolls filled the alley.
The boys whistled and stared as Flint drove past to the upper lot, his heart stuttering and stopping again. Jo had promised to be here today. Had Martin stayed over, ready to whisk Jo off to Nashville once she saw the boys? She’d need to line up a business manager, pick out some costumes, and put in hours of practice with whoever was touring with RJ. There wasn’t much time if the tour left in a week.
As they crawled past in the line of traffic, Flint noticed Myrtle was looking pitiful. Her hat had never recovered its jauntiness after the truck crash, and someone had stolen her feathers. He was thinking he’d have to buy the d
amned pig when they held the auction. Nobody had bid on her all summer. Besides, he’d got kind of attached to her.
“Hey, guys, mind if I borrow that toy guitar Hoss gave you?” Hoss had showed up yesterday carrying a tiny guitar he’d picked up in the hospital gift shop.
“Whatcha want it for?” Johnnie asked.
“I thought Myrtle needed a little music.” Pulling the truck into the far lot, Flint caught a space just opening and snagged it. “You gonna be able to walk on that cast or you want me to leave you here?”
“I can walk,” Johnnie said with the assurance of the very young. “Maybe Travis is still here and can sign it.”
Travis drove a Corvette, not a stuffy Rolls, but Flint didn’t destroy his illusion.
Carrying their toy guitar down to the café, the kids watched with interest as Flint tilted Myrtle on her purple haunches so she was sitting upright, her pink polka-dotted snout pointed skyward as if she were about to yodel out a song. He propped the imitation Fender between her front legs, and the boys howled in glee.
“We need a CD player in the guitar playing our song!” Adam shouted, coming out of his sulk.
“That would work,” Flint agreed, wrapping his arms around their shoulders and drawing them into the Stardust. He needed a good grip on them to prepare for the sight of the counter without Jo behind it. Maybe he’d get used to her absence in a hundred years or so.
“There you are!” Amy cried as they entered. “Just in time. The microwave is giving off sparks.”
The place was packed. They had customers leaning against the wall, chowing down on barbecue. Barbecue? He didn’t have that on the menu, although it was a damned good idea now that he thought about it.
He couldn’t help searching for Jo. He didn’t expect her behind the counter, but she’d promised to be here. Jo was hardly someone who disappeared into the woodwork. She wasn’t here.
His glance fell on Elise sitting in a purple booth with a couple of lawyer types, and his heart fell to his stomach. Martin had taken Jo and left his lawyers with the Rolls. This was where he signed his life away.
“Don’t use the microwave,” he told Amy as Johnnie and Adam found their friends in a back booth and rushed over. He noticed they stopped politely to talk with the locals who called out to ask after them. He was proud of their maturity. He needed to give Melinda some credit for their upbringing now that he could think of her without a defensive shield of resentment. Jo had taught him a new perspective—and lightened his burden in so many ways that he couldn’t count them all.
He grabbed a heavy tray from Peggy and carried it to the counter so she could help a customer. But he knew he was just delaying the inevitable.
Flint slid into the space across from Elise and a company lawyer, next to a silver-haired gent who didn’t look up from his perusal of a sheaf of legal paper. “I thought you’d be on your way back to Nashville with Martin, dotting your i’s and crossing your t’s.”
Elise offered a pleasant expression that told him nothing. “I like your hat,” she said, tilting her head to admire the Stetson as Peggy rushed over with a coffeepot. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
“That’s swell of you.” He gulped the coffee black, conscious of his grubbiness. So much for Flint the Swinger. He set the hat down on the table between them.
A hint of mischief danced behind Elise’s dark eyes, then disappeared before he could be certain he wasn’t imagining things. Every now and then, the snooty lawyer showed a spark as wicked as Jo’s.
“Jo has a creative mind. She thought you ought to be offered a choice. She can’t prevent your publisher from suing you and RJ. That’s the way it has to be for the law to straighten out the copyright. All she can do is encourage them to settle swiftly by stating her preferences for payment.”
So, she hadn’t taken the label’s cash and promises and let RJ steal her songs. She’d held out for copyright. Good for her. Flint waited for the ax to fall.
“She’s agreed to sign on with your publisher, so they’re willing to listen to her request. RJ’s lawyer is trying to save his hide. He’ll probably take whatever Jo demands, including adding your name to his album where it belongs.” Elise tapped one of the stacks of paper to indicate that was Jo’s agreement with Randy.
“You can take the same arrangement as RJ, if you prefer, but given the circumstances, she’s willing to offer you another deal. We understand you’ll need your lawyer to go over the terms.” Elise took a second stack of papers from the clerical-looking guy. She shoved both stacks in Flint’s direction.
“These are just drafts of what she has suggested. This first one, the one RJ is being offered, settles for ten percent of all future income—all, royalties, business, everything—”
“Not ownership of the café?” he asked in surprise. Ten percent of nothing if he had to sell the place wouldn’t earn her anything. She knew he wouldn’t have any future royalties. She’d be better off taking the cash settlement. She was letting him off lightly—with no ties binding either of them. His heart dissolved in a wave of acid.
“The café is the other deal.”
Flint’s curiosity grew as Elise tapped her finger on the second stack of papers.
“Jo will forego future income and accept half-ownership of the café if she’s allowed to keep her job.”
“Her job? Here?” Flint tried to pick his jaw up off the table. He could make no sense whatsoever out of this choice. “Why in hell would Jo want fifty-percent of nothing and a waitress job when she can have the bright lights and a fortune out there?” He gestured to the front window and the Rolls.
“I think you’ll need to ask Jo about that,” the lawyer said with a hint of smugness.
Even as she spoke, the clash of cymbals jarred him into motion. He glanced around. His kids were gone.
Jo was here, in the restaurant, just as she’d promised.
Trying not to look too eager, Flint slammed his hat back on his head and shoved out of the booth.
Thirty-one
Jo anxiously watched the back room’s entrance while pretending everything was fine. She showed Johnnie how to hold the guitar chord for the opening number of their song and jerked around nervously when Adam hit the cymbals. She had no way of knowing when Elise would be done explaining all the legal papers to Flint, and she was just about to jump out of her skin in nervousness.
It didn’t help that all their friends and neighbors had started gathering back here as if they knew something special was going on. She ought to smack Amaranth Jane for whatever she was telling their customers. Or maybe it was Flint’s parents who’d started the rumors. After apologizing for missing the opening concert, they had arrived this morning to proudly arrange chairs front and center so they could hear their grandsons’ winning song.
Jo had thought Martha Clinton had come to kill her. Instead, she was sitting there like a queen royally acknowledging Parliament as everyone came up to speak with her. The woman was having a damned field day, while Jo stood in front of a growing audience, sweating. At least they didn’t have spotlights.
Would Flint understand what she was trying to tell him? If he meant to make her beg, she’d walk all over his face. But she suspected he was just being macho and protecting her by hiding what he was thinking. Men were goofballs.
He’d asked her to write songs with him. That was the hope she clung to. He had opened opportunities, but he hadn’t pushed her at Nashville or grabbed the chance to impress the suits and leave her behind, or any of those things she’d come to expect from the men in her life. He’d left her to make her own choices. She would love him for that if she wasn’t so worried that he’d pitch a fit when he realized the choice she’d made.
She didn’t want to be an entertainer. Martin had made it clear that’s where the money was and what he wanted from her. When she’d been eighteen, her eyes would have lit with stars, and she would have taken that road without a second thought believing fame and fortune meant success and happiness. She
knew better now. Flint had shown her what happiness really was. She wanted—needed—the magic they shared together. Without it, no matter how successful she was, she’d only be a hollow shell painted in glitter.
A murmur rippled over the crowd, and Jo glanced up again.
Flint stood straight and tall in the doorway, his Stetson shielding his eyes. He still wore yesterday’s clothes, minus the tie. His suede jacket hung from broad shoulders over a black high-collared shirt with pearl cufflinks and silk-thin slacks that draped his narrow hips with more sophisticated sexiness than anything Randy had ever owned. Her heart stumbled when he located her.
***
Flint halted in the doorway of the back room and scanned the unexpected crowd. He found Jo on the stage with his sons, and he went all hot and cold at the sight.
She was wearing her Stardust apron with the Cinderella slipper. She wore her long hair in her usual funky ponytails and looked so spectacular that he almost rushed through the crowd to carry her off.
At some signal Flint missed, Adam shouted, “Ready, set, go!”
The drum crashed. The guitar squealed. And Jo greeted him with a smile as wide as a watermelon slice and so intimate that they might as well have been alone. His heart probably stopped right then, but his feet didn’t. They carried him down the aisle between the packed chairs to the stage and Jo. He didn’t even glance at the audience although he was vaguely aware half the town occupied the room and more were entering the back door as the Buzzards took over from his sons’ awkward introduction. The Sunday-after-church crowd was arriving.
Jo stepped up to the mike and, with only a momentary hesitation in front of the audience, announced, “This song is for one of the Good Guys.” Not waiting for applause, she held Flint’s gaze and swung into a low and seductive croon. “He’s all that I can ever be, all that I’ll ever want, all that I’ll ever need…”
Somebody shoved a chair in Flint’s direction, but he kept on moving toward the stage and the siren call of Jo—singing as if he were the only person in the room. He wanted her to be singing to him so much that he was sick with the need of it. One of the Good Guys. Not a badass anymore, even after he’d left her and the town stranded yesterday and all but kicked her out of his life. She understood?
Small Town Girl Page 31