Cowboy, It's Cold Outside

by Lori Wilde

  Compelling, given that he hadn’t heard the music, hadn’t written a note, hadn’t even picked up a guitar with intent to play, in over a year. His primary guitar, the one he composed on—dubbed “Lorena” because it was his mother’s Gibson—had been stolen at the same time all the stuff went down with his ex and the band. The added loss of the guitar had compounded his creative block.

  That was one of the reasons he’d gone to Peru. Get his head straight. Get back on track.

  Cash was no angel. He’d been with his share of women, but he’d never felt anything quite like that derailing electrical jolt he’d felt when he’d looked into Spunky Kid’s eyes. It was as if they’d met before, as if they’d known each other in another life, as if somehow they were fated.

  Bizarre idea. He was not the type of guy who believed in anything remotely mythical or mystical, unless you counted the musical Muse.

  Euterpe.

  The Greek Muse of lyrical poetry and song. Now her, he believed in. Hmm. Maybe Spunky Kid was his Euterpe.

  That thought took his breath.

  If it wasn’t for Emma and her charity event, he wouldn’t even be playing music. He owed her a big favor, and when she’d called it in, he hadn’t hesitated; one, because it was Emma and he would do anything for his best friend, and two, because he owed his record label a new album and the clock was ticking.

  And he’d been frozen like a snowman on the Arctic tundra.

  But now . . . oh right this minute . . . since looking into Euterpe’s eyes, there was a whisper in his ear, a fledgling hope fluttering its wings, a warble of a song rising from the wasteland of his career.

  A comeback.

  His cell phone vibrated in his back pocket, playing Leonard Cohen’s “Nevermind,” the song he’d added as his ringtone after his band, The Truthful Desperadoes, split up. Granted, the song was a bit dark, but that’s where his mood had been. Maybe it was time for a new ringtone.

  The phone buzzed again.

  Cash stepped from the foot traffic into a narrow alleyway, fished the cell from his pocket, and peeked at the screen.

  It was his manager, Deet Larken, who he’d been dodging for months. He almost didn’t take the call, but fell into the suck of guilt, and hit Accept.

  “S’up, Deeter?”

  “Good mood?” his manager asked as if that was a rare thing.

  Which surprised Cash. He’d known Deet for over a decade. Trusted him with his money, his career . . . hell, with his life. When Deet started his own music industry management company, Cash had been his first client.

  “Yeah,” Cash said, realizing it was true. He was in a good mood. “I am.”

  “Um. Okay, I’ll call you back later.”

  “Wait . . . what is it?”

  “Not now. Don’t wanna spoil your good mood.”

  Air decamped from his lungs. Cash rested his forehead against the cool brick wall of the building he was standing in front of and he caught a vague whiff of garbage from the Dumpster down the way.

  “Deet.” He injected cement in his voice. “Just tell me.”

  “It’s Sepia,” Deet said. “They’re making serious noises about dropping you.”

  Sepia had been The Truthful Desperadoes recording label, and after the group split, Cash had been the only member of the band they’d offered a solo contract. He’d taken the deal more out of inertia than anything else. Deet handled all the legal machinations. His head had been so screwed up, his career and personal life falling in shambles around him.

  “That’s kind of rash,” he mumbled.

  “It has been a year since you signed that contract.” Deet cleared his throat. “Please tell me you’ve got something I can show them. You know how this business goes. They could drop you for farting in a windstorm.”

  “Chill, Deet. I haven’t been dropped from a contract in years.”

  “Which means you’re due. Plus, you fell off the end of the earth for a solid year, man. Sepia is nervous. You’re looking unstable. Think about it. You had your favorite guitar stolen, lost your band and the love of your life, all at the same time.”

  “Simone was not the love of my life,” Cash disagreed.

  “All right, your muse, then.”

  Cash thought of the girl at the theater, heard a fresh rustle of music sweep through his head. “Simone wasn’t my muse either.”

  “Clearly, or you would have proposed to her like a sane man and kept everything churning along smoothly. If you had proposed, she wouldn’t be—” Deet broke off abruptly, tension vibrating through the phone.

  The hairs on Cash’s forearm rose. He knew Deet well. Something was up. “She wouldn’t be what?”

  “I didn’t want to tell you over the phone.” Deet chuffed. “But I suppose it’s better to hear it from me than TMZ.”

  Cash clenched his teeth, braced himself. “Just tell me.”

  Deet paused. He could be dramatic that way. “Simone and Snake are getting married in Los Angeles on New Year’s Eve.”

  Snake, back when his name was Jake Snider, used to be Cash’s good friend. Cash grunted, surprised but not upset. He’d been unable to commit to Simone. How could he blame her for moving on? It would have been nice if she’d broken up with him first before slipping between the sheets with Snake, but hey, it was what it was.

  “I thought she and Snake were a short-term thing,” he said.

  “You know Simone. She’s got to have someone to take care of her.”

  “Well, good for them.” Cash nodded as if Deet could see him through the phone, glad they weren’t on FaceTime. “I hope they’re very happy together.”

  “You don’t sound bitter.” Deet seemed amazed.

  “That’s because I’m not.” A man couldn’t be bitter when his woman cheated because he couldn’t do the whole diamond-ring, overblown-ceremony, I-love-you-forever-and-ever thing. That’s not to say it hadn’t hurt. It was just that Cash knew the score. If he wanted a high-flying career, he had to avoid anchors and chains.

  “That’s not the worst of it,” Deet went on.

  “No?”

  “She and Snake also got a sweet recording deal with Apex Records.”

  Ah, now that explained why Simone was still with Snake. “No kidding,” he said mildly, gut churning. “A duet deal.”

  “You’re not the least bit jealous?”

  Of a guy named Snake? “No.”

  “Wow, once upon a time you would have given your left nut for a recording contract with Apex.”

  He would if he wasn’t in such a slump. Right now he was having trouble meeting his contract with Sepia. At this moment, an offer from Apex would be the kiss of death for his career. The Amazon had taught him a few things. He wasn’t ready. He was still in regroup mode. His time would come. As long as he kept his eye on the prize, and his head in the game and his mind off women, he would achieve his loftiest dreams. No doubt.

  He was free after all. No band. No girlfriend. Nothing to hold him back. Stone freaking free.

  “So I can tell Sepia you have something?” Deet prodded.

  Not quite yet, but it was in the works. As of ten minutes ago when he’d looked into a pretty girl’s eyes.

  “Look, Deet, I’m standing in an alley watching someone dressed like Tiny Tim hobble by. Not the best time for a conversation.”

  “Tiny what? Who?”

  “Never mind,” he said. “Any other reason you called besides busting my balls over Sepia, Simone, and Apex?”

  Deet made an odd noise. “I’m worried about you, man. First you disappeared to the Amazonian jungle and now to Bumfuzzle, Texas.”

  “Twilight.”

  “Twilight, Bumfuzzle, whatever. The deal is you’re far away from home, all alone at Christmas, and your ex is marrying your former bandmate.”

  “Believe me,” Cash said, peering from the alley at the steady parade of merry revelers dressed in costume. “The last thing I am is alone.”

  “Ah, I see.” Deet let out a you-naught
y-devil laugh. “Some sweet country girl has caught your eye?”

  “Nope,” he said easily, but thought of the sexy Santa Baby, and a fresh riff of chords played through his head. A song unfurled quickly, hotly, as the best songs often did.

  Euterpe.

  His muse.

  He was unstuck. Thanks to Euterpe and her sweet little smile. She brought rain to his barren soul and watered the roots of his creativity. He had no choice but to bloom.

  And he couldn’t wait to see her again. Find out for sure if she really was the cause of this tiny flicker of hope. A melody. A chorus. Lyrics. Starting to assemble and gel. It was the end to his miserable creative block.

  Cash was already tapping out a beat against his thigh. He glanced at his watch. Saw it was one-thirty. Shifted his phone to the other ear. Left the alley. Wandered around the corner back to the Twilight Playhouse just as Euterpe flung open the doors and let the crowd in.

  “Thanks for calling, Deet. I gotta go. You have a Merry Christmas.”

  “I’ll try and stall them, what with it being the holidays and all. It looks like you’re in a good place. I’m glad.”

  “Yeah.” Cash smiled as he glanced across the snow-dusted heads of the theatergoers and watched his muse usher people inside. “I think I just might be.”

  He moved toward her, still smiling.

  But she wasn’t looking his way, and once folks started flowing in, she turned and headed in the opposite direction.

  An elderly woman, smelling of violets, wearing shiny new black patent boots, and holding on to a rolling walker suddenly teetered as the wheels hit the threshold bump between the damp sidewalk and the slick marble floors of the theater.

  Instinct—he’d lived with his grandparents long enough to understand the combined hazards of new boots, glassy flooring, and geriatric gaits—and quick reflexes had him jumping to take her elbow to steady her before she tumbled.

  “Oh,” she gasped. “Oh my! You saved me from a serious spi—” She broke off and stared up at him, her jaw hinging open.

  “Ma’am?” he asked. “Are you okay?”

  “Liam, Liam.” She grasped with trembling fingers, reached over to clutch the forearm of her elderly male companion. “Am I hallucinating or did Cash Colton just save me from breaking a hip?”

  “I dunno, Dotty Mae.” Liam scratched his chin. “He don’t look shaggy enough for Cash Colton.”

  “He cut his hair and shaved, for heaven’s sake. But it’s him, I tell you.”

  Liam studied Cash through thick-lensed glasses. “I dunno . . .”

  “I’m telling you it’s him. Cash went into hiding since his no-good girlfriend cheated on him and busted up The Truthful Desperadoes, and his creativity shriveled up. I was reading all about it in Uptown Country magazine.”

  Liam looked puzzled. “How can the country be uptown?”

  “There was speculation he’d gone to live with some native tribe in the Amazon,” Dotty Mae mused. “Shipibo, I believe they’re called.”

  Liam cupped a hand behind his ear. “You shipped what from Amazon? I thought I told you to stop buying so many damn books.”

  Cash suppressed a grin. Actually, Dotty Mae was right. He had spent the last ten months ambling through South America trying to figure out what to do with the rest of his life. And he’d come up empty.

  “I didn’t order any books . . . oh never mind.” Dotty Mae waved a hand. “You’re missing the point. Cash Colton just saved my life.”

  “If that’s Cash Colton, what’s he doing in Twilight?” Liam asked.

  “What do you think? Emma Cheek’s cowboy music thing.”

  “I thought you said he was out of the country.”

  Dotty Mae rolled her eyes. “Well, clearly he’s back.”

  “If it even is Cash Colton,” Liam said, “I’m not convinced.”

  “OMG, y’all!” screamed a teenager in black Lycra yoga pants and pink angora sweater. “It’s Cash Colton!”

  Cash cringed, braced himself. Fought every urge pushing him to flee as a pack of teenaged girls descended. The last thing he wanted was to be trapped here signing autographs. Emma was expecting him before the curtain went up.

  But he’d learned a long time ago, you couldn’t always get what you want. Nod to the Rolling Stones for that tidbit of wisdom.

  “See, see.” Dotty Mae nudged Liam in the ribs with her elbow. “I told you it was him.” To the teenagers, she said, “Out of my way girls. I spotted him first,” and pushed her walker right through the middle of them.

  “Could you sing a few bars of ‘Reality Moves Fast’?” begged one of the teenagers.

  “Reality Moves Fast” was Cash’s most popular, and his least favorite, song.

  “Sorry, honey,” he apologized with a wink as he signed the back of a grocery store receipt Dotty Mae had pulled from her purse for him to sign. “I have to save my voice for the performance tomorrow night.”

  “You’re performing in Twilight!” squealed the girl in the pink angora sweater as she fanned herself with a theater program. “Lordy, I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

  “You ladies have let the cat out of the bag. It was supposed to be a surprise. Emma Cheek is going to announce it before the play starts.”

  “And may I suggest y’all take your seats so you can hear all about it?” a familiar voice said. “You can see more of Mr. Colton tomorrow night.”

  Cash looked down into the bright face of his dear friend Emma, who was dressed as an elf for her role as Jovie in the play. Emma took hold of his hand, tugged him through the theater past all the gawkers, and into her private office.

  She shut and locked the door behind them. There was a party in her eyes—lights, happiness, celebration—no one did perky like Emma.

  They had met years ago, long before he’d hooked up with Simone. They’d been in a production of Oklahoma together at a dinner theater in Branson. She’d played Laurey, and he’d been one of the musicians. The producer was coming on to Emma hot and heavy, and Cash had pretended to be her boyfriend to get her off the hook. After that they became fast friends. Nothing romantic ever developed. While they adored each other, Emma was five years older and there had never been a sexual spark between them, but they were closer than most siblings.

  “Steal a girl’s thunder, will ya?” Emma said playfully, and gave him a hard hug. “This afternoon was supposed to be the big reveal of my surprise coup—Cash Colton, all the way from South America, headlining my favorite charity. And you go and blow it by oozing charm all over the place and getting recognized.”

  “I tried my best to be incognito. I cut my hair and beard.”

  “And only managed to make yourself twice as sexy. Why didn’t you slip in the side door early like I suggested?”

  “I tried. Some determined young woman threw me out before I had a chance to explain.”

  “Oh.” Emma laughed, eyes glistening. “That’s Paige. She’s got some trust issues, but she’s a hard worker and she’s loyal as a German shepherd.”

  “Paige, huh?” Cash couldn’t help grinning. Now she had a name. Paige. Not as romantic as Euterpe, but infinitely more practical. He liked it. Paige. Crisp. Efficient. Down-to-earth.

  “Oh ho?” Emma’s eyes brightened. “What’s that sly grin all about?”

  “Nothing.”

  Emma raised a finger. “Don’t toy with her, mister. Paige has been through a lot and the last thing she needs is some wandering cowboy musician breaking her heart.”

  “Been through a lot? Like what?”

  “No, no. Stay away. I know how you attract wounded flowers.”

  “She didn’t strike me as the least bit wounded. On the contrary, she seems quite warriorlike.”

  “Don’t let her tough act fool you. She’s all soft and squishy on the inside. Which is why you’re not going to bother my newest employee.” Emma linked her arm through his. “Now come with me. The show must go on.”

  After Emma introduced Cash onstage and announ
ced he would be headlining the Cowboy Christmas charity fundraising event, the crowd got to their feet in thunderous applause.

  Aww, hell. He didn’t deserve that kind of fanfare. He was a musician. Not a soldier or a doctor or a fireman or a cop. He wasn’t a hero. He was just lucky.

  Emma escorted him to the VIP section, and then went backstage to open the play.

  Cash found himself seated beside two big-haired, middle-aged women in cowgirl boots and denim jackets. They kept sending him sidelong glances and grinning at each other. Both wore wedding bands and were holding stemless glasses filled with red wine.

  “I like him better without all the hair,” one of them whispered to the other.

  “Not me. The hairier, the better.”

  Cash ran a hand over his clean-shaven chin. Hairier was easier, but smooth skin was a nice change of pace.

  A woman in a sexy Santa Baby outfit escorted a couple to their seats on the other side of the aisle. His pulse jumped. It wasn’t Paige. He swiveled his head, looking for her in the aisles behind him, but the lights dimmed and that was that.

  What the hell? He couldn’t ever remember being so immediately smitten. Why her? Why now?

  He sat through the play, which was really pretty darn good for a small-town production, but he wouldn’t have expected any less from Emma. And yet, he couldn’t keep his mind on the performances.

  His thoughts kept drifting back to Paige and then music would rise in his head again, drowning out the actors on the stage.

  Maybe he’d get a chance to see her again once the play was over.

  He pinned his hopes on it, but Emma, that force of nature, didn’t give him a chance to breathe. She sent her husband, Sam, to collect him while she was changing out of her costume.

  Sam Cheek was a tall, dark-haired man with Native American features. He would have been leading-man handsome except for the long scars across one side of his face. Emma had told him Sam had been attacked by a mountain lion when he was an Eagle Scout on a camping trip. Cash had first met Sam when he’d walked Emma down the aisle as a father substitute to give her away at her wedding. Emma’s husband held the hand of an adorable red-haired girl.