by Fran Baker
“We've been keeping such weird hours since this tour began, it's probably going to be a month of Sundays before I get into a normal routine again.” She stepped through the bathroom doorway, cash in hand, expecting to find the bellboy who had brought her food. “Who ever heard of sitting down to dinner at one o'clock in the morning?”
“The same people who leave motel doors unlocked in the middle of the night, I suppose.” Hoyt's blazing blue eyes slid over her softly rounded hips, slim waist, and firm breasts, all provocatively outlined by the whisper-soft satin robe. “Do you know how many kooks hang out in places like this? You're inviting any depraved prowler to come in and help himself. Why didn't you just hang out a sign to announce to the world that you're alone?”
“What are you doing here?” Cassie sputtered in surprise. “Where's my dinner? And what business do you have sneaking into my room like this? You scared the hell out of me!”
A timid knock on the partially open door interrupted the skirmish before it erupted into a full-scale war. The waiter hastily arranged the table and Cassie shoved the money at him.
“Thank you.” The man's eyes bulged at the size of his tip. He scurried out of the room, anxious to be out of the line of fire.
Her appetite had disappeared, but Cassie wasn't about to let Hoyt know how much he'd upset her. She sat down, shook out the linen napkin, and cut the steak into manageable pieces. She had three bites in her mouth before she calmed down enough to chew.
Hoyt didn't move a muscle the entire time. He stood near the door, glaring at her with those icy blue eyes. “Where's that crazy fiddle player you're so fond of?” Hoyt demanded. “Does he know that you've made a sitting duck of yourself for every... ”
“I think we need to clear up some of your very mistaken impressions before we go any further.” Cassie laid her utensils aside and folded her hands in her lap. “Scrappy isn't crazy, number one. The Twisters were invited to jam with another band, and that could prove to be a good contact for all of us. They're one of the best in the business. Number two, I am fond of Scrappy. He's been like a brother to me. And I'm sick and tired of your insinuations that there's something dirty about my relationship with him.”
A lump the size of an egg blocked any further words on her part. Her anger bottomed out and she slumped, suddenly exhausted, in the chair. The food on her plate might as well have been sawdust for all the appeal it now held, and her stomach was tied in knots. Why did they always have to fight?
“Let's start over,” Hoyt suggested. “I'll go out in the hall and knock. You decide whether you want company.” There was something about the way he said it that sent a thrill up Cassie's spine.
Before she could agree or disagree, Hoyt closed the door quietly behind him. An ebb tide of feelings washed over her and she found herself listening intently for the knock. If she admitted him, they were bound to end up in bed. That was all he'd ever wanted from her. Even knowing this truth didn't keep her from wanting him, though. She gazed across the room at the king-sized bed that promised so many sensual delights. She'd bottled up her needs for months, channeling her energy into recording sessions and touring. But her career was a poor substitute for the physical touch that she craved.
Hoyt rapped once. Cassie balled her hands into tight fists, fighting the temptation. Her heart raced wildly in response to the sweet suspense. Every inch of her body was flaming with desire. A shadow of sanity warned that she was setting herself up for another hurt. The satin caress of her robe touched the places that ached for him. He wouldn't knock twice.
Warm lips and exploring hands would cure this mad fever that raged inside her. She floated across the room, reached for the metal knob, then hesitated a moment. An irresistible, magnetic force guided her as she opened the door. Smoky blue eyes possessed her visually as Hoyt kicked the door shut, slammed the bolt into place, and swept her up into his arms.
“Who's there?” A husky note throbbed in her voice as her lips parted under his demanding mouth. Her fingers stroked the wavy hair that strayed onto the hard column of his neck. She saw the flash of his cerulean eyes as he bent his head to nibble the soft niche of her shoulders.
Cassie watched him study her as he undressed and dropped his clothes on the floor. His hands untied the sash of the satin robe while his mouth explored the newly exposed hollows and curves of her body. Her brain scrambled to justify this foolish decision to fan old flames.
Hoyt cupped his hands under Cassie's delicate chin. The parted softness of her lips invited his searing kisses. Cassie curled her fingers in his wavy brown hair and pulled him back onto the bed with her. Her heart hammered against her rib cage as his mouth covered her sweetly scented flesh with flicking kisses. Where did love end and lust begin? she wondered as the heat consumed her.
The soft glow of the bedside lamp outlined Cassie's rounded breasts. Hoyt controlled the blaze of urgency, encircling her breasts slowly, one by one, taking and giving the maximum amount of pleasure. Cassie shivered and a moan slipped from her throat as his tongue stoked the fire within her. She dug her fingers into his lean back, drawing him closer, closer.
“You haven't forgotten how to please me,” she whispered.
“Pleasing you satisfies me more than you'll ever know.” A husky sensuality in his voice reassured her as he raised himself briefly and gazed down at her. The raven waves of her hair fanned out on the pillow behind her, and velvet lashes edged her half-closed eyes.
“I don't think I'll ever get enough of you.” His rough admission fired her senses as much as the fevered kisses he gave her and his roaming caresses.
Hoyt buried his face in her breasts and Cassie strained against his delicious mouth. He brushed back and forth across her body, searching farther, seeking to drive her to new heights of ecstasy. Cassie's silken limbs were entwined with his in the mounting storm of passion.
“Take me— love me now!” she begged. Cassie stroked Hoyt's face and looked longingly up at him. His exploring, practiced hands slid down to her hips and she cried out in wild abandon, luxuriating in the ever-increasing sensations. Her body curved against his hardness, the intoxicating fragrance of her tempting flesh enveloping him.
Hoyt's hunger for her swelled as he became more intense and demanding. Cassie's lips sought his and her turbulent response transcended all experience. Sinewy muscle and silky, smooth skin fused into a ring of passion that sizzled hotter and hotter.
Later, the lovers lay together, arms wrapped around one another. Cassie floated on a cloud of satisfaction, a dreamy, contented smile on her lips. Hoyt's cobalt eyes gently searched her face as she traced her finger slowly over his chest. Possessed by emotion, Cassie could not speak. Hoyt placed a lingering kiss on her forehead as she pillowed her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes.
* * * *
“Rise and shine!” Hoyt was dressed and shaved when he swatted Cassie's rump to rouse her. She snuggled deeper into the sheet and moaned a protest about his chipper attitude so early in the morning.
“Come on, get dressed.” He nuzzled her neck with encouraging lips. Cassie rolled over and clasped her arms around him, pulling his weight onto her. “Not now, babe,” he cautioned. “The guys are going to load the bus after breakfast, and I promised we'd lend a hand. Everybody pulls his own weight if he wants to ride along.”
“Are you going with us?” Cassie was wide awake now. She sat bolt upright, letting the sheet fall away to expose her bare breasts.
“Any objections?” His spraddle-legged stance dared her to voice them while his blue eyes devoured her nakedness.
“Any hurry?” She teased him in a breathless whisper as the heat fired her veins again. Cassie stretched seductively, lifting the sides of her hair away from her face, shameless in her desire. If it was possible, she wanted him more now than ever before.
“You have an insatiable appetite,” he growled against the sensitive hollow of her throat.
“But not for bacon and eggs.” Cassie unbuttoned his shirt while her
skin quivered under his manipulating mouth. The fire swept through her as he investigated the valley between her breasts with lazy ease, then followed the swelling curves to their dark pink peaks.
The smoldering embers of their passion flared with new urgency. They melded against one another in a spontaneous sunrise combustion.
* * * *
Time slipped away with the easy rhythm of a ballad as they toured the various southeastern states where Bo had booked their gigs. Cassie would have lain with Hoyt in a bed of stone, and the lumpy motel mattresses and rock-hard bunks in the back of the bus were a constant witness to that truth. But she never complained, savoring each precious moment of their red-hot reunion.
“The first time I ever saw you, I was sitting in an old school bus, almost like this one,” Cassie said softly one night. The Twisters were sawing logs in their bunks and the windshield wipers slapped out a constant rhythm against the driving rain. Hoyt shifted gears and glanced at his passenger-seat sentry.
“I was fifteen years old.” She reminisced in a quietly dreamy voice. “It was late spring; you were probably on vacation from college. Anyway, we were bouncing home from school and I noticed a cloud of dust whipping toward the bus.” She could picture the scene as vividly as if it had happened only yesterday.
“I was probably mad at my father for making me spend the spring break in Coyote Bend.” His mouth quirked in an understanding smile.
“Whatever, you stopped long enough to let the Latham brothers run across the road.” She chuckled. “You were in a convertible, a red one, and the top was down. I was sitting next to the window, craning my neck to see who was causing all the commotion. That's when I saw those blue eyes flashing like the devil's own.”
Cassie sighed and snuggled deeper into Hoyt's leather jacket The springtime storm had chilled the Georgia air and he'd insisted that she wear his jacket while she kept him company in front.
“Did I pay any attention to you?” His eyes glinted faintly and his lips curved in amusement.
“No way!” she exclaimed. “Myra Lou Nelson was sitting next to me. When she realized who was in that convertible, she was all over me like a duck on a June bug. She opened the window and started waving and hollering. When you winked back at her, it was like somebody had tickled her with a feather. She didn't come out of the clouds until the Fourth of July.”
“It sounds like I was flirting with jailbait.” A strange expression kindled his eyes, and Cassie was lost in the midnight magic of wanting him again.
She'd burned her bridges without regret that night in Tulsa when she'd decided to be content with whatever part she might play in Hoyt's life. When he'd declared his intention to ride out the rest of the tour with them, Cassie viewed the extra time they'd have together as an unexpected bonus. Neither of them had mentioned love or spoken of a commitment. Hoyt wasn't the cornering kind. Cassie accepted without bitterness the fact that she was as sure of losing him as she was certain that the sun rose in the east and set in the west. She knew it was only a matter of time before he grew restless for the sprawling beauty of the Diamond T. When that time came— and it would— she'd have to deal with the heartaches and bury them under a pile of work.
“Isn't it about time for Scrappy to take his turn at the wheel?” Hoyt's voice was deep and sure. He'd become her anchor in the uncertain ocean of her gypsy life.
“I'm sleepy, too.” She yawned, secure in the knowledge that loving one day at a time was better than living with the regret of never having had him at all. When she nestled into her uncomfortably hard bunk, Cassie knew that tomorrow's heartache was worth every bit of today's contentment
The words of her next song began teasing her mind. If hits are based on how accurately they reflect the pain of loving, she thought, I've got a lifetime supply of chart busters.
He looks at me, I look away.
He pulls me toward him, I push away.
* * * *
I know he wants me, and I want him.
But what we're seeking just isn't the same.
* * * *
Push and pull; stay, yeah, stay or go.
Can't handle these feelings, some so high, some so low.
* * * *
Don't want it to happen, I know it won't last. We tried it before, so far in the past.
* * * *
I wish he'd leave, yet I want him to stay.
What are these feelings? What's this game that we play?
* * * *
Push and pull; stay, yeah, stay or go.
Can't handle these feelings, some so high, some so low.
* * * *
Chapter 13
After two hundred one-night stands, all the highways looked the same to Cassie. She'd reached out to fans at state fairs, amusement parks, rodeos, and nightclubs from Vero Beach, Florida, to Billings, Montana.
Her fees for concerts had risen steadily—"like smoke from the chimney,” Scrappy kept crowing. She was writing up a storm, turning out potential hit songs at the rate of one a week. She'd been interviewed countless times by disc jockeys and newspaper reporters who wanted a scoop on the life of a country and western singer.
“The next time somebody asks about my glamorous lifestyle, I'm going to tell him the truth,” she grumbled when Scrappy joined her in the back of the bus. They were heading back to Nashville, but Cassie was exhausted. Only two days before, they'd finished up a gig at Gilley's, where she'd had to compete with the mechanical calf-roping machine. Then they'd driven all night to make a date in El Paso.
“I love to perform and the fans have been so nice, but I'm just not able to wind down after a concert anymore.” Cassie had been trying to rest for over an hour. It was raining, and the soothing sound of the falling raindrops created the perfect atmosphere for sleeping. But here she was, still tossing and turning on the lumpy bunk.
Hoyt kept popping into her thoughts, and she knew that he was partially to blame for her restlessness. He'd gone home to the Diamond T to oversee the capping of another new oil well. She glanced at the vase of wilting yellow roses that he'd sent when she opened at Gilley's. Despite her resolve not to, she missed him terribly.
“We'll be stopping for dinner pretty soon.” Scrappy was tired, too. He peered out at the flat Texas landscape, then pulled the shade and rolled into his bunk. “A good hot meal is just what you need to calm down.” He yawned and pulled his Stetson over his face.
“I think I'll see a doctor when we get back to Nashville. Maybe I need some tranquilizers.” She hated to pester Scrappy, but she felt like she was sitting on a time bomb of tension that was set to explode.
Scrappy sat upright, an odd expression on his face. “Don't be a fool, Cassie,” he reprimanded. “In this business, tranquilizers are the first step into hell. The next thing you know, you'll have to have some uppers to wake up so you can perform. Pretty soon, you'll be eating pills like candy, one right after the other.” His eyes narrowed.
“Don't be ridiculous,” she argued. “I'm not talking about becoming addicted to anything. I'm smarter than that.”
“I thought I was, too.” Scrappy smiled ruefully. “Do you remember that rodeo we played at Hoyt's ranch?”
She nodded. How could she forget?
“You asked me then how I stood the pace, the turmoil, the disappointment. I said I'd tell you when we both had some extra time.” He cocked a shaggy eyebrow. “I think the time has come for you to hear the truth.”
Cassie listened while Scrappy told her the story of the toll that drugs had taken on his career.
“I was touring with a band, the way we are now, and things were finally cooking for us. We were fronting for all the top names and it was just a matter of time before our big break opened up. We took too many gigs too close together and all of us were dead on our feet. You know how it is, staying awake all night to drive, catching a half-hour of shut-eye, partying at every hole in the road.”
He rubbed his chin, lost in remembering his mistakes. “None of us had any sens
e, of course. We were handling the fame— such as it was— like the amateurs we really were. One of the guys picked up a prescription for tranquilizers in some small town. It wasn't long before all of us were popping them. They worked— too good, as it turned out.”
He grimaced. “We took turns getting prescriptions for downers, but we were stumbling around so bad that somebody"— he shook his head—"yours truly made a contact and scored some uppers. I figured we needed the lift, and I thought that when the tour was over we'd taper off with no problem.”
“Well, you're okay now,” Cassie pointed out. “So what's the big deal about a few pills to help you make it on tour?”
“A few pills?” He shot an angry look at her. “Try twenty or thirty pills a day.”
“What?” Cassie could hardly believe it. “It's a wonder you're still alive!”
“A handful of pills for breakfast— washed down with a little beer— so we could sleep after an all-nighter. Another handful for dinner— uppers— so that we could clear out the cobwebs before we went onstage. A few more after a concert so we wouldn't poop out before the party ended.”
Bitterness flooded his face as he recounted the ugly tale. “Pretty soon we were nothing but a bunch of zombies. We lost everything. Wives and girl friends drifted away. Our agent dumped us and our bookings dropped to zilch.”
“How did you get straight?” Cassie was both horrified and fascinated. She'd dismissed the rumors of drug use by singers as jealous gossip, because she'd never had any personal contact with the problem.
“One morning I woke up and looked around my dumpy basement apartment. I was broke, with no hope of landing a job in a decent band, and I was hung over from the booze and sick from the pills.” The pain was still with him, etched in his eyes. “I was a junkie who'd lost control of his life.”
