The Closer You Get Page 5

  “What did I do now?” Like he didn’t already know what he’d done.

  “I can’t believe you got so close to home and you didn’t bother to stop by.”

  He should’ve known his cousin would’ve let the cat out of the bag. “First of all, we got into San Antonio midafternoon. Since I had some songs to rehearse and a show to perform, that would mean by the time I made it to Kerrville, I would’ve had all of fifteen minutes to visit.”

  “That’s fifteen minutes more than you’ve given your family in months.”

  Here we go again. “I’m sorry. I’ll have some time at the end of the summer to come home. Or you could come to Nashville and see me.”

  “Who’s going to take care of the ranch and the house?”

  As usual, no good deed went unpunished. “You’ve got plenty of people to look after the horses and the house.”

  “I don’t want to impose on them.”

  No surprise there. “How’s everyone doing?”

  “Caroline didn’t catch you up?”

  “We didn’t talk that long.”

  “But she did show you the pictures from Christmas.”

  Obviously his cousin had set the gossip line on fire. “She showed me one picture.” And that photo had disturbed his sleep the past three nights, along with the guilt that had accompanied it.

  “She’s asking more and more about you, honey.”

  He didn’t have the energy to deal with that now. “Jana will handle it. She always has.”

  “Lacey’s still your daughter, Brett.”

  “She thinks of Randy as her dad now. At least that’s what Jana’s been saying the past seven years, and she’s probably right.” A fact that still wounded him to the core, even if he’d been partially responsible through his absence.

  “True, he’s been there for her,” his mom continued after a slight pause. “But she’s still legally yours, and she knows that. It’s time for you to decide whether to try to rebuild a relationship with her, or let her go and sign away your rights so Randy can adopt her.”

  He couldn’t do that even though he probably should. Maybe he hoped someday he might be in a better place where he could reconnect with her. Maybe someday she’d seek him out and want to have a relationship with him. Regardless, he wasn’t ready to give her up completely. “Look, Mom, I’ve barely had any sleep and I have to perform again in a few hours. I can’t think clearly right now, much less make any serious decisions.”

  “Guess some things never change,” she said. “But someday soon, you’re going to have to decide for your daughter’s sake. She deserves that much from you.”

  She deserved better than him. “I’ll take care of it, Mom.” He wasn’t sure how, but he’d figure it out later. “And hopefully I’ll see you later this summer when I have a break.”

  “That would be real nice, son, but I’m not going to hold my breath.”

  After his mom hung up, Brett tried to go back to sleep, but sleep wouldn’t come. Time to take a shower and face the day. And his bus driver.

  * * *

  EARLY MORNING WAS Cammie’s favorite time of day, when she could absorb the beauty of the passing countryside in the moments before the sun began to rise. Right then a silvery mist lingered over the landscape, giving the Texas terrain an almost heavenly quality. Considering she’d been driving for a good five hours, with two more to go, she should be exhausted. But she didn’t feel the least bit tired. In fact, she experienced a strong since of serenity and calm―

  The rasp of the curtain sliding open behind Cammie startled her so badly she almost jumped out of her skin and into the left lane. Even more surprising, Brett dropped down in the seat to her right. Since the night they’d left Austin, he’d barely said two words to her. And now here he was, sitting next to her and acting as if he’d never played the part of phantom passenger.

  “Where are we heading?” Brett asked as he propped his bare feet on the dash.

  Nice toes—her first thought. Watch the road—her second. “Fort Worth.”

  “I know, but what venue?”

  She sent him a quick glance before turning her attention back to the highway. “Do you really have that much trouble keeping up with the schedule?”

  “Yeah, I do. One day melts into the next until the weeks become one big blur. It’s your job to tell me when we get there and the boys let me know when it’s time for me to go on.”

  Obviously he could use a copy of the schedule Bud had given her. “At the moment, we’re just this side of Waco, which means we have about two hours before we arrive at some giant racetrack north of Fort Worth where you’re scheduled to perform at approximately 1:00 p.m. to kick off a multi-act concert before a hundred thousand or so fanatical fans.”

  “Okay. That’s probably more detail than I need to know.”

  “Sorry,” she said. “I’m a stickler for detail.”

  “No kidding.”

  She glanced his way to catch his grin. “What’s so funny?”

  “Nothing. It’s kind of weird having you here instead of Bud. No offense.”

  “None taken,” she said.

  “By the way, where is Bud?”

  “In the other bus on his way to the airport.”

  “I thought he was going to Oklahoma before he headed back home.”

  “That was the plan before Bud’s baby girl got impatient and Jeanie went into labor about thirty minutes ago.” She sighed. “You know, it’s hard for me to imagine Bud raising a daughter. Actually, it’s hard to imagine him being a dad, although he’ll probably be a good one.”

  “I’m sure he will.”

  Cammie took another quick look to see his smile had faded as he stared out the windshield. After a sudden span of silence, she welcomed the passing car full of coeds hanging out the windows and waving madly. “Looks like you’ve been spotted by some fans,” she said.

  “It happens now and then. It’s like they think I’m going to pull over or something. If they saw me now they’d probably have a change of heart.”

  True, he hadn’t shaved and his hair was mussed, but Cammie found something appealing in Brett’s disheveled state. “You could probably come out wearing rags and not shave for a week and it wouldn’t matter.”

  “You think so?”

  Cammie laughed. Surely he was kidding. “I know so.”

  He looked at her with a sideways glance. “You could always tell when Bud didn’t get enough sleep. His eyes got real bloodshot and he grumbled a lot. But not you. You look like you’ve had eight hours and just stepped out of the beauty parlor.”

  She fidgeted with the radio, more out of self-consciousness than necessity. “Thank you, I guess, but I wouldn’t go quite that far. I’m used to crazy hours. I don’t require much sleep. Never have.”

  Cammie felt a little twinge of disappointment when Brett slid out of the seat and started to the back of the bus. So much for a decent conversation.

  Then, without turning around, he asked, “Can I get you something to drink?”

  She looked back at him from the overhead mirror. “Yeah, I’d like that,” she said, almost too enthusiastically. “Orange juice would be good.”

  After a time, Brett brought back a large white tumbler and set it into the drink caddy mounted on the dash. “Thanks,” Cammie said, looking into his crystal-blue eyes that seemed full of amusement.

  Brett reclaimed his seat. “Bud told me you used to sing backup in a band.”

 
She didn’t have the energy or the want-to to travel down memory lane. “Yes, I sang backup in a couple of bands on the Nashville club circuit. The money helped put me through college.”

  “That wouldn’t be the real reason you took this job, would it?”

  Cammie’s face flushed from anger. Brett Taylor had basically accused her of hidden motives. The thought never crossed her mind to latch on to some superstar to establish a career. “That is an absolute untruth,” she said through clenched teeth.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to tread on your feelings—”

  “Let’s just get this straight, shall we? If you think I have any other reason for sitting temporarily in this seat aside from doing a favor for a friend, you’re wrong.”

  Brett came to his feet and raised both hands, palms forward. “Beg your pardon. I won’t bring it up again.” He quickly turned on his heels and walked away.

  Cammie’s shoulders slumped forward, her neck throbbed with tension. She was tired, but that was no excuse for her abrasive attitude. She’d truly wanted to know him better, and now she’d insulted him.

  But singing was a subject she didn’t often broach. Music only reminded her of Mark Jensen and their debacle of a relationship. Recollections of having to leave college, dashed hopes of becoming a teacher and passing on to children the only love in her life she could still count on. Regardless of the harsh memories, the biting resentment, she should learn not to take it out on other people. Especially her boss.

  * * *

  THEY ARRIVED AT FORT WORTH five hours before Brett was scheduled to share the stage during the day-long spring music festival with some of country music’s finest. After the star left to join the band for a quick rehearsal, Cammie watched several buses bearing the names of notable singers pull into the lot. She should be excited and totally thrilled by her surroundings, but she’d been feeling a little down, maybe even a little homesick, even though she refused to give in to those emotions. Confronting Brett hadn’t exactly helped her despondency, particularly when she considered she still had a month to go before she had to relinquish her duties to Bud. She really needed a good, long nap. The world would look much better then.

  After a quick shower, Cammie stretched out on the berth and immediately fell asleep, only to be awakened by the sound of the door closing to Brett’s stateroom. She hauled herself out of bed and immediately went to the refrigerator to take inventory. Three beers, one cola, a jar of picante sauce, a tub of cream cheese and one half-eaten sub sandwich. Slim pickings.

  She tucked the cream cheese container under her chin, grabbed the soda, then rummaged through the kitchen cabinet and pulled out a box of crackers. The limited fare would have to do for now, or at least until she gathered enough energy to explore the area for some real food.

  Cammie sat down at the dining table and began to spread the crackers with cheese when Pat entered, well dressed and good-smelling. “You handsome rascal. I’m surprised you made it all the way to the bus without getting assaulted.”

  His grin traveled all the way to his kind eyes. “You’re great for an old guy’s ego, Cammie. Now how much do I owe you for that one?”

  She bit into the stale cracker and took a long drink to wash it down. “Not a thing. I meant every word.”

  Pat settled onto the couch with a skeptical grin and picked up the guitar laid out on the sofa. He began to sing a classic country love song, lifting Cammie’s sullen mood with the melodic strains.

  She only intended to watch, but as if the tune had molded into a chisel bent on tapping into her soul, she was unable to stop herself. Before she knew it, she’d opened her mouth to join him in a duet. Pat looked at her with amazement when she hit the first note, but never broke stride with the lyrics.

  Once they ended the final chorus, Pat shook his head. “Honey, Bud said you were good, but he didn’t say you were that good. You put your heart and soul into that song.”

  The sudden rush of memories brought about Cammie’s sigh. “It was one of my mother’s favorites. She used to sing along with it on the radio.”

  Pat’s expression turned serious. “Bud mentioned the bus accident that took your parents. I’m real sorry about that.”

  She shrugged around the sadness. “It happened a long time ago, when I was eight. But that’s the funny thing about music. Just when you think the memories have faded out of sight, you only have to hear a certain song, and it brings everything back.” The good and the bad.

  “Yep, you’re right about that.” He began to strum the guitar again. “Do you know this one?”

  Cammie smiled. “Does the sun rise in the east?”

  As she joined Pat again in singing another classic country hit, she realized she’d lied to Brett last night. She couldn’t deny that she still deeply cared about music, but she didn’t plan for it to be a major part of her life again. That would simply be too painful.

  Not long after the song ended, Cammie looked up to find Brett standing in the kitchen, arms crossed over his chest, his shirt unbuttoned, hair wet, feet bare, one hip cocked against the sink.

  He hesitated for another moment, then stepped forward. “What the hell was that?” he asked.

  “I didn’t think I was that bad,” Pat answered.

  Brett caught Cammie’s gaze. “Was that you singing?”

  “Yeah, that was me,” she said as she came to her feet, fighting the urge to crawl under the table. She could feel heat radiating from her cheeks, mortified that he had actually caught her in the act.

  “Try to be gentle, Brett,” Pat said, seeming to sense Cammie’s self-consciousness. “We have fragile egos.”

  “That was good” was all Brett managed before retiring back to his room.

  Pat put down the guitar and stood. “You should be flattered, Cammie. He never pays too many compliments.”

  “Unfortunately, he’s convinced I’m looking for my big break, which couldn’t be farther from the truth. Guess I just got carried away.”

  He patted her back. “Once music’s in your blood, you can’t escape it. That’s why an old goat like me is still going at it like he’s still some young buck like Brett.”

  Cammie smiled. “You’re not old. You sound great.”

  “I ain’t getting any younger,” he said as he headed for the exit. Before he left, he paused and turned to her again. “Just a few words of advice from someone who’s been around the block a time or twelve. Don’t let life pass you by without getting what you want, Cammie. Grab those dreams and let ’em take you where they will. Before you’re past your prime and it’s too late.”

  Grab some dreams.

  It suddenly occurred to her she didn’t really have any dreams. She didn’t believe in forever relationships, or in fate falling into your lap, at least in most cases. She didn’t believe she was destined to do great things, or to find great love. One day at a time seemed appropriate for now, the only option she had at the moment. Dreams only led to disappointment.

  Cammie glanced at her watch to find it was almost showtime and Brett clearly wasn’t close to being ready to perform. But he had shown her a side of himself she hadn’t seen before, and couldn’t seem to forget.

  Ridiculous. It wasn’t as if he’d walked in naked, but it was the next best thing. She had tried not to notice the light shading of hair on his sternum or his ridged abdomen that sported some kind of tattoo. She certainly hadn’t intended to glimpse his zipped but not buttoned fly. And she had to admit he looked incredibly sexy with wet hai
r.

  Best to concentrate on something else besides those images. Anything else. She dropped down on the couch, turned on the TV with the remote and surfed through the channels. Unfortunately, all she found were sitcom reruns, an ancient Western and a televangelist with his very own 900 number urging all sinners to call. Then there was the buxom blonde and burly lifeguard lying on a beach in the clutches of passion―definitely not advisable to watch.

  Then something else called to her. She switched off the television, walked to the berth reserved for her stay and pulled a bag from the cabinet underneath. She took out a ringed binder, its black cover once textured now worn smooth. The notebook had been many a mile with her and held several compositions she’d been working on over the years, none completely finished.

  She turned to the latest page—her most recent endeavor—a song she’d started in her head while driving a busload of elderly women and men to a tour of Graceland. The lyrics jolted not only her mind but her heart. Although the title inferred happiness, it was about the pain of loss and the search for love.

  The melody frequently played in her head, calling to her to be put down on paper. Again forgetting she wasn’t exactly alone, she softly sang the chorus.

  “‘Seeing you in my dreams most every day is the price I’ve had to pay for loving you. Someday I’ll reach my destiny and I’ll no longer find thoughts of you still burdening my mind. That’s when I’ll be on the road to getting over you....’”

  She quickly clamped her mouth shut when she sensed his presence. No doubt Brett believed she’d meant for him to hear her sing.

  Cammie slammed the binder closed but failed to raise her eyes from the notebook. “I didn’t know you were there.”

  “You don’t have to stop on my account,” he said quietly. “That was real pretty, ma’am.”

  “It’s mediocre at best,” she said, still not brave enough to venture a look at him in case he was in a state of undress.

  “Mediocre? Anyone who sings like you doesn’t come close to mediocrity.” He sat down beside her on the tiny bed, leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, his hands laced together. “And about earlier today, I didn’t mean anything by what I said about you trying to be discovered. I was kidding. Bud told me you had a sense of humor.”