Then again, it probably wouldn’t. Satisfaction probably couldn’t be had that easily.
After landing, he rented a car and drove into downtown. He found a hotel smack in the center of things and dragged out a phone book. It was then that he realized just how little he really knew about Laurie’s life in the past few years. An awful lot of it had been played out in public, of course, but that wasn’t the part that would help him now.
“Well, damn,” he muttered staring at the Yellow Pages and trying to figure out which talent representative or which recording studio to call. He couldn’t even remember which record label produced her albums, even though he had CDs of every single one of them. It was hard enough listening to her songs without learning every little detail of the life that had stolen her from him.
He plucked a scrap of paper out of his pocket and glanced at the number, then dialed her house first, though he recognized it was a long shot. She was on the road and she’d told him that she’d never gotten around to hiring a housekeeper because she wasn’t comfortable with somebody else doing cleaning and cooking she was perfectly capable of doing for herself.
When no one answered at the house, he searched his memory for some offhand reference she’d made to the new people in her life. Unfortunately, though, the few days they’d had together just over a year ago hadn’t been spent doing a lot of talking, at least not about the things that hadn’t mattered. That baby was living evidence that they’d spent most of the time in bed, remembering just how good it felt to be in each other’s arms.
“Okay, Harlan Patrick, think,” he muttered under his breath.
For all of its skyscrapers and new construction, Nashville was still a small Southern town in some ways. Surely the music industry was tight-knit enough that everyone would know everybody else’s business. He picked a talent agency at random and dialed.
“Hi, sweetheart,” he said to the drawling woman who answered. There was enough sugary sweetness in her voice to make him feel right at home with a little flirting. He had her laughing in a matter of seconds.
“You are sooo bad,” she said in response to his teasing. “Now, tell me what I can do for you.”
“Actually I’ve got some business to do with Laurie Jensen. Any idea how I can get in touch with her?”
“Laurie Jensen?” she repeated, her voice a degree or two cooler. “I’m sorry. We don’t represent Miss Jensen.”
“Could you tell me who does?”
“What kind of business did you say you were in?” she asked. This time her tone was downright chilly.
“I didn’t, darlin’, but it’s an ad campaign. We were hoping to get her to do the spots for us.”
“I see,” she said. “Well, maybe you ought to have your ad agency contact her people. That’s the way it works.”
Harlan Patrick tried to hold on to his patience. “Don’t you see, sugar, that’s the problem. I don’t know her people.”
“Any reputable ad agency will,” she said, and hung up in his ear.
Harlan Patrick stared at the phone, stunned. Then he sighed ruefully. Obviously he wasn’t the first person to try a ruse to get to a Nashville superstar. He resigned himself to an afternoon spent working his way through the phone listings.
He didn’t waste time trying to wrangle information from unwilling receptionists. The minute he discovered the agency didn’t represent Laurie, he moved on to the next. It was after six when he finally struck paydirt—or thought he had.
“Nick Sanducci’s office.”
“Yes. I’m trying to arrange a booking for Laurie Jensen. Can you help me?”
“Who are you with, sir?”
“Does Mr. Sanducci represent Ms. Jensen?”
“He does, but—”
“Thank you.” He hung up and grabbed his hat. Clutching the page from the phone book and scribbled directions from the hotel desk clerk, he drove to a quiet street that looked more residential than commercial. A block or so from the address for Sanducci’s office, he noted the discreet signs on the lawns of modest-sized homes that appeared to have been built around the turn of the century. Law offices, talent agencies, even a recording studio had been tucked away here before skyscrapers had lured most of the business into downtown.
Harlan Patrick pulled into a circular driveway just as a fancy sports car shot out the other side. One car remained in front of the house, a minivan with a child’s seat in the back and toys scattered on the floor. He doubted it belonged to Mr. Nick Sanducci.
He strolled through the front door and wandered into a reception room that had obviously once been the house’s living room. The walls were decorated with gold records and photos of a half dozen of the hottest names in country music, including a blowup of Laurie that could make a man’s knees weak. That wall of photos and records was the only testament to the nature of Mr. Sanducci’s business, however.
Harlan Patrick had to admit the man had excellent taste. The place was crammed with exquisite, expensive antiques. There were some just as valuable up in Grandpa Harlan’s attic, where they’d been stored after Janet had gone through and turned White Pines from a hands-off showplace into a home.
The reception desk was neat as a pin and, with no one seated at the chair behind it, more temptation than he could resist. He edged a little closer, noting that the desk belonged to one Ruby Steel, according to the nameplate that was half-buried in a stack of papers.
He surveyed the rest of the desk with interest. That big old Rolodex probably had phone numbers on it that could do him a whole lot of good. And that bulging desk calendar probably contained all sorts of concert dates, including Laurie’s.
He was about to make a grab for it when a lazy, sultry voice inquired with just a touch of frost, “Can I help you?”
He turned slowly and offered the sort of grin that had gotten him out of many a scrape over the years, at least if there was a female involved. Ruby was young enough to look susceptible, but her frown never wavered. Obviously a woman who took her last name—Steel—to heart.
“Hey, darlin’, I was just wondering where you’d gone off to.”
“And you thought you’d find me under the desk?” She gave him a thorough once-over that could have served her well at a police lineup. “Let me guess. You’re the one who called wanting to book Laurie Jensen.”
He could have lied, probably should have, but something told him the truth would get him what he needed a whole lot faster.
“You’ve got a good ear for voices, sugar.”
“And I’ve got the good sense not to go giving out information to strangers,” she said in a tone that warned him not to waste his time trying to wheedle anything out of her.
Harlan Patrick was undaunted. He pretended he hadn’t been close enough to discover the nameplate and asked, “What’s your name, sugar?”
“My name’s Ruby, cowboy, and there’s no need telling me yours, because it doesn’t matter. I can’t help you.”
His gaze narrowed at that. Something told him that Laurie had given this woman very clear and specific instructions where he was concerned.
“Now, why is that? Aren’t you in the business of getting work for your clients?”
“Nick is. My job is protecting them.”
“Then maybe I ought to talk to Nick.”
“You can’t. He’s gone.”
The fancy sports car, Harlan Patrick concluded. “When will he be back?”
“Hard to say. Nick’s unpredictable.”
“Tonight?”
“I doubt it.”
“Tomorrow morning?”
“Possibly. Then again, he could get a call from one of his clients and have to take off in the middle of the night.”
Harlan Patrick hid a grin. Ruby was tough, all right. “How often does that happen?”
“You’d be surprised.”
&nb
sp; “I don’t suppose you’d like to go out for a drink?”
She waved her left hand under his nose. A wedding ring and diamond flashed past. “I don’t think so, cowboy. And you could get me drunk as a skunk and I still wouldn’t tell you how to find Laurie.”
“Because she told you not to,” he guessed aloud.
Ruby hesitated for just an instant, then nodded. “Because she told me not to and because I protect the privacy of all our clients. I value their trust.”
“What if I told you I was her old childhood sweetheart?”
“I’d ask how come she left you behind if you were all that special.”
The barb hit its mark. “Now, darlin’, that is the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question.” He regarded her thoughtfully. “You know, don’t you?”
For the first time, little Miss Ruby squirmed. “Know what?”
“That I’m the daddy of that baby of hers.”
“I don’t know any such thing,” she retorted, but there was a telltale flush in her cheeks.
He kept right on. “And you don’t believe that a daddy should be separated from his child, do you, Ruby?” He recalled the baby seat in the van outside. “You’re a mama yourself. You disapprove of what Laurie’s done to me. I could see it in the way the corners of your mouth turned down when I mentioned that baby.”
She ducked her head. “It doesn’t matter what I think.”
“Because your duty’s to Laurie.”
Her chin came up, and she shot a defiant look straight at him. “Exactly.”
They stood there, facing each other, neither of them saying a word, until finally Harlan Patrick sighed.
“Would it matter if I told you I love her?”
Her expression softened. “It might to me, but I’m not the one who needs convincing, am I?”
He grinned. “No, but you are the one who stands between me and her.”
She grinned back. “You are a sneaky, persistent devil—I’ll give you that.”
Harlan Patrick felt a faint stirring of hope. “Will you help me, Ruby?”
Still smiling, she looked him straight in the eye and said, “No. Now, scoot along out of here, cowboy. I’m closing for the day.”
“I’ll be back in the morning,” he promised, taking the defeat with good grace. Ranting and raving wouldn’t work with a woman like Ruby, but he had a hunch that he could wear her down with charm and a few more reminiscences about the old days he’d shared with Laurie.
“Suit yourself, but the answer won’t be one bit different tomorrow.”
“We’ll see,” he said, and tipped his hat. “It’s been my pleasure, darlin’.”
She gave him a stern, no-nonsense look. “I can’t imagine why. You look like a man who’s all too used to getting his own way.”
He winked. “I am. That’s why it’s fascinating to run into a worthy challenge every now and again.”
He slipped out the door before she could respond to that. He drove down the block and parked around the corner. He didn’t doubt for an instant that Ruby would be on the phone to Laurie the moment he was out of sight.
And the moment Ruby was gone for the night, he intended to sneak back into the office, punch Redial and discover for himself exactly where Laurie Jensen was holed up with his baby girl.
Three
Going back into Nick Sanducci’s office and checking the phone had been a good idea. Maybe even a great idea, Harlan Patrick thought ruefully. Unfortunately Ruby was either on to him and hadn’t used the office phone to call Laurie or had simply made another call after that. He’d managed to slip back into the building easily enough—the locks were downright pitiful—but when he’d pressed the Redial button, a very cranky man had growled hello, then slammed the phone down when Harlan Patrick had been too stunned and disappointed to speak.
His reaction proved what a lousy detective he’d make. Only afterward had he considered all the possible explanations for who that man might have been. It could have been someone answering for Laurie herself. Or it could have been her agent, Nick Sanducci, he concluded belatedly, regretting his silence. But even if it was the illustrious, high-powered agent, he was clearly in no mood to indulge Harlan Patrick’s request for information about Laurie. He resigned himself to waiting for morning and another round with Ruby.
Back in his hotel room after a steak dinner that had tasted like sawdust, he was able to think rationally. He recognized that he ought to be grateful for the delay. In her own way Laurie was every bit as stubborn as he was—to say nothing of unpredictable. She had the financial wherewithal nowadays to simply disappear, taking his daughter with her. Obviously, confronting her when he was ready to commit mayhem was no way to get what he wanted.
Whatever that was, he amended with a sigh. It occurred to him that he ought to figure that much out at least before coming face-to-face with the woman who generally rendered him tongue-tied and weak-kneed.
Did he just want to see his child? Did he want to exact revenge on Laurie for deceiving him? Or did he want what he’d always wanted, to take both of them home with him, to have a family with Laurie Jensen?
One thing for certain—he needed to figure all that out before he blasted his way back into her life. He needed to be seeing things clearly and thinking straight, or she’d waltz right out of his life one more time. Something told him this was their very last chance to get it right.
He spent two frustrating days thinking about Laurie, the baby and their future, while trying to convince Ruby to divulge Laurie’s itinerary to him. Nick proved as elusive as a stray calf loose on ten thousand acres of pastureland, but Ruby was mellowing. Harlan Patrick had been plying her with chocolate-covered doughnuts and compliments and he was pretty sure she was weakening. She’d actually tossed a handful of newspaper clippings at him that morning and told him to figure out Laurie’s whereabouts for himself.
“You’re a clever man. See what you can make of these,” she’d challenged.
There was plenty of information to be had in those clippings, bits of rave reviews, comments on her new album’s fast rise in the music charts. It was plain that Laurie Jensen was hot news in Nashville. The only trouble was that that news was a day too late to help him find her. By the time Ruby handed over the clippings, even the most recent ones, Laurie was already moving on.
He was back at the agent’s office for the third straight day, when a teenager who was working part-time finally took pity on him and slipped him a copy of the concert schedule. He had a feeling Ruby had looked the other way—or maybe even instigated it, but he was careful not to let on what he thought. Ruby plainly felt her integrity was on the line, but just as plainly she felt that Laurie’s baby deserved to have a daddy in her life. She’d all but admitted that to him on several occasions.
Clutching the itinerary in his hand, he grabbed his bag from the hotel and headed for the airport, where once again Jordan’s jet was fueled up and waiting. Laurie was scheduled for a stop in Montana, then a hop over to Wyoming, a jog back to Montana, then after a two-day break, the Ohio State Fairgrounds. Columbus was closest, but he didn’t want to wait another minute, much less several days. Too much time had been wasted already. He calculated the flying time and figured he could make that first Montana stop in time for her closing set.
An icy calm settled over him as he flew, but as he drove to the country-western bar where she was singing, an old, familiar sense of anticipation began to build. It was doggone irritating that she could still have that effect on him, especially under these circumstances when he very much wanted to wring her neck. His pulse was zipping with lust, not adrenaline.
He found the bar after a few wrong turns. It was bigger than some he’d seen, but smaller than he’d expected a star on the rise to be playing. In fact, the End of the Road back in Garden City had been a step above this place. He found that irksome, too. She could have stay
ed in Texas and done this well for herself.
Then he recalled what he’d read in one of the clippings, that part of this tour had been arranged to settle old debts to club owners who’d given her a break. Typical of Laurie. She was loyal and generous. If it hadn’t been for him, she’d probably have played the End of the Road on this tour as well. If he’d had a lick of sense or any foresight, he’d have had the owner ask and then Laurie could have come to him, instead of the other way around. Of course, because of the baby, she probably wouldn’t have set foot near the place. But that was water under the bridge anyway. He was here now, and Laurie was only a hundred yards away or less.
With the bar’s front door ajar on the warm night, the sound of her voice washed over him as he walked from the parking lot toward the neon-lit building. She had the kind of voice that made a man think of sin, no matter how innocent the words. It was low and sultry and filled with magic.
How many nights had he lain awake remembering the whisper of that voice in his ear? How many days had he played her albums as he worked around the ranch? Enough that he and most of the hands knew the lyrics of her songs by heart. One daring newcomer, who didn’t know their history, had made a suggestive remark about Laurie, only to have Harlan Patrick yank him out of his saddle and scare him half to death before reason kicked in.
Heaven knew, the woman could sing. He grabbed hold of the door and braced himself to enter, reminding himself to stay calm no matter what. Only after he walked inside the bar did he realize that what he’d heard had come from a jukebox, while the impatient audience waited for the second set to begin. Harlan Patrick slipped into the shadows in the back, ordered a beer and waited.
West Texas Nights Page 3
