He spread his fingers across her throat, lightly caressed her there. The Smitty angel, dormant for so long, reappeared on his shoulder. Go for it, dude, he said.
“Oh God,” Ryan said. She wound her fingers through Marcus’s hair and tugged with a force that surprised him. It was painful, almost, but it was good pain.
Marcus grasped at her, too, with a desparate hunger, and when his lips met hers at last, he held Ryan even tighter, as if she were the only thing keeping him from falling or passing out. Her lips and tongue melted into his, and he heard a sound, a melodic, serene sigh, although he didn’t know which one of them it had come from. He pressed his mouth hotly against hers. With their lips and tongues, they teased and flirted, asked questions and gave answers in a wordless dialogue. Marcus felt the heat of the desert sun warming their joined bodies. And the hollow, still emptiness in his chest—the bottomless well of craving and yearning that had been there for so long he forgot it existed—fill with air and light.
Chapter Nineteen
The Frontier
“I can’t wait for you kids to taste this food,” Marcus told Charlotte and Miles as the Bus of Awesome ambled alongside the campus of the University of New Mexico. “Best Mexican in Albuquerque.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes. “As long as it’s better than El Topo, Daddy.”
“As long as it’s way better than El Topo,” Ryan said. Her stomach hurt just thinking about the heaping piles of refried beans at the Bigfork dive, where she’d waitressed for six weeks after her sophomore year of high school.
“That’s not Mexican food,” Marcus said as the pulled up in front of The Frontier restaurant. “But this is. This is the real deal.”
Ryan would eventually agree that the homemade tortillas, the simple but flavorful beans and subtly spiced rice, had been wonderful. But it was, after all, just food. She still couldn’t fathom that Marcus had insisted on picking up the kids at the Albuquerque airport instead of in Denver, the site of tomorrow night’s show. Were a few tasty tacos worth it, when they had, according to the bus driver, a six-hour drive ahead of them? Miles, who had somehow been given two extra-large Cokes at the restaurant, was still riding a caffeine-and-sugar high sixty miles north of Santa Fe.
If not for the detour to Canyon Ranch, Marcus would have played Albuquerque days earlier, but he’d insisted on making his annual pilgrimage to The Frontier, in spite of everything. He had an exasperating habit of picking the path of greatest resistance, and yet Ryan had come to appreciate the rock star’s quirky whims. Sure, he was the least practical man she’d ever met. But when the two of them were alone, he was nothing short of amazing.
After that first kiss at Canyon Ranch, they’d raced, literally (she’d let Marcus win), back to the Ranch, and carelessly sent their bikes clattering against the side of the shed. They didn’t need to say the words. They were going to Marcus’s room, as fast as their feet would carry them, giggling like naughty teenagers as they ran along the stone paths toward the adobe cottages. The room became their “peaceful place,” as well as a place for all kinds of other activity, for the next three days. They were very careful about not being seen entering or leaving, and they kept up appearances with the rest of the crew to the extent that, they hoped, no one had become suspicious.
The cottage became a kind of sanctuary for them. There, in Marcus’s arms, Ryan realized with surprise that she had never felt the power of a man’s close attention before; she didn’t know that men were capable of paying attention at all. And she’d never felt anyone make such an effort to understand her, to hear her. Were all guys in their thirties so attentive and caring? Had all the pain and difficulty Marcus had been through with Bianca make him a better, more caring person? Or had he always been that way, kind and tender and wise underneath his naughty rock-star persona? In any case, she felt like she might have lucked upon the most intuitive and giving man in the world.
It was eight thirty, and the sun was starting to set. Charlotte had her reading light on, very intent on a book she’d picked up in LA, and Miles, thank God, had crashed at last, his head perched on his daddy’s stomach, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Ryan rested her eyes and half dozed.
“You awake?” Marcus whispered to Ryan.
She opened her eyes and mock-grimaced. “Not anymore.”
He laughed. “Liar, you were so not asleep.”
“Are you kidding? I’m exhausted. Someone let this little boy drink not one, but two, of the biggest cups of soda I’ve ever seen, and he’s been sprinting up and down that aisle like he’s Usain Bolt’s mini-me.”
“Can I help it if the Frontier had a free refill policy? All I did was encourage Miles to take advantage of it. I don’t want him to act like a spoiled rock star’s son. I want him to be thrifty.”
Ryan chuckled. Marcus, that crazy risk-taker, reached across the seat, pulled some of Miles’s blanket over her lap, and grabbed her hand.
“I feel like we’re in seventh grade,” he whispered.
“I know,” Ryan smiled. Now that Charlotte and Miles were back, she and Marcus had agreed to dial their relationship back to professional mode again—no need to confuse the kids—and to refrain from any public displays of affection. It was a little frustrating, sure, but as much as she wanted Marcus, Ryan recognized the rewards of all the restrictions. Holding hands had never felt this dangerous and sexy. And as for everything else, she hoped it might continue eventually, somehow. “It’s weird, but it’s kind of awesome, too.”
“Really?” He leaned toward her, and she could smell his scent, clean, fresh, but manly. “Is that what you think?”
“It’s kind of exciting in a way, isn’t it?” Ryan whispered. “Forbidden love, you know?”
“I know what you mean, but it’s driving me craaaazy,” he moaned.
They heard footsteps coming down the aisle, and a moment later Alex walked by. Marcus withdrew his hand. “Okay, this is nuts. I’m a thirty-four year-old man, for God’s sake.”
Ryan felt like she needed to comfort him somehow. “All good things…” she said, patting his hand, above the blanket.
“…to those who wait,” Marcus said. “I know, I know, I know.” He banged his head comically against the seat back in front of him.
“Don’t hurt yourself, rock star. If you do, I’m the one who’s gonna get blamed.”
“Anyway, we do need to keep being careful, just till the end of the tour.”
“I know. Charlotte and Miles wouldn’t know what to make of it, would they?” They had already come to an agreement about this, Ryan thought.
“Well, I’m afraid it’s more than that.” He sighed and pulled an envelope out of his coat pocket. “I’ve been meaning to tell you about this, but I didn’t want to spoil things at the Ranch.”
“What?” Ryan asked. “What is that?”
“It’s a subpoena.” Marcus leaned forward and rubbed his head in his hands. “Next Tuesday, while you guys are somewhere between Dallas and San Antonio, I’m going to be at a custody hearing in LA.”
“What? What custody hearing?”
“It’s those pictures. Bianca’s let her imagination run wild along with the rest of the country.”
“Oh no, Marcus. I’m so sorry.” She squeezed his hand again. She wished she could transport them both back to the Ranch, where they were protected from the stresses of Marcus’s outside life. “When did you get this thing, anyway? At the Ranch?”
“Yep, on Wednesday.”
“But that was during our…time together. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“And spoil three of the greatest days of my life?” he whispered. “Never.”
“You should have told me.” Ryan couldn’t believe Marcus had been holding this in for so long. He’d been so amazing with her, so focused on her at the Ranch. But meanwhile, he’d already started waging a legal battle with stakes that couldn’t have been higher. She understood why he’d kept the news from her, but wished he’d shared it. It might h
ave made him feel better.
“You wouldn’t have been able to do anything about it. Anyway, my lawyer’s on it. She’s way on the ball.”
“What does Bianca want? What’s she after?”
“Well, she wants the kids off the tour, for one.” Ryan could see him getting agitated. “Honestly, if Cynthia wasn’t one of the toughest lawyers in New York, I don’t think they would have been on that flight to Albuquerque.”
“You’ve got to be kidding. Those pictures, they’re not evidence of anything. You were touching my elbow.”
“I know, it’s not exactly a celebrity sex video.” He laughed, shaking his head in dismay. “But in custody law, things can get really subjective. Kids are involved, of course, so appearances are important. For all I know, Bianca could go in there arguing that the press about us, the public perception that you and I are together, is enough to hurt the children.”
“But you can’t control that.”
“That’s the least of my problems,” Marcus said. Suddenly, he seemed so tired. “It looks like she’ll be pushing for full custody.”
“But you barely see them as it is!” She couldn’t believe what a fuss was being made, over…what?
“I know. But ever since the divorce, this is how it’s been with Bianca. One step forward, two steps back.”
“Oh, Marcus. That’s terrible.” She wanted to hug him, although of course that would have been scandalous and counterproductive, wouldn’t it? What was wrong with the world, when two people couldn’t innocently provide a little comfort to one another? “Do you need me to come, for moral support or whatever?”
“My beautiful, sexy nanny waiting in the wings? I think that might do more harm than good.” They both laughed. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ve got this one.” He perked up a little, like he was gearing up for a fight.
“I know,” Ryan said. “I know you do. It’s just…”
“What?”
“Are we sure no one knows we hooked up?”
“I’m pretty sure. I mean, maybe Smitty or Serena, but they would never tell a soul. And even if some spy did come out of the woodwork and offer testimony, the kids weren’t with us—they were hundreds of miles away. And we were two adults, enjoying each other in total seclusion.”
“But it wouldn’t look good.”
“Honestly, it’ll be fine. You’ll see.”
“I don’t know…”
All of a sudden, Ryan didn’t know much of anything. She still felt so close to Marcus, so comfortable by his side. But now, it seemed selfish to even think about being with him—wasn’t their relationship the reason he risked losing his kids? He and Charlotte and Miles were such a sweet little family, and she was proud that, up until now, she’d been able to create a stable environment where the kids could spend rich, rewarding time with their dad. But now, because of her, Marcus risked losing them, for the tour and possibly for much longer. And all because of her.
She could almost picture the headlines now: Ryan Evans—Nanny or Homewrecker? Marcus closed his eyes, and she pulled her hand back into her lap. It was dark outside. As she looked out the window, the only things she could see were the black sky, her reflection, and, below the speeding bus, the little white dashes flying along the road. Those carefree days at the Ranch seemed as distant as a dream.
Chapter Twenty
The VIP
Marcus toweled himself off after his second encore, then raced down to his dressing room so he could shower and change. He had sweated through his stage outfit after the third song, then cooled down, then sweated through it again. Twice. What was so glamorous about this job, again? This was one of those nights when the business of show just felt like one long grind. And now, after pouring his heart out onstage for two and a half hours, giving everything he had to these drunken Denverites, he had to go do some glad-handing at a frickin’ after-party.
Starting about five years ago, seemingly out of nowhere, it had become a requirement for rock stars to hang out with special “VIP” fans after the show. Instead of grabbing a meal at a local eatery, or downing a couple of beers with the band, Marcus now spent the precious, formerly private time after a show with people who’d been willing to dole out several hundred dollars just for the privilege of hanging out with him and taking a couple of photos so they could brag to their friends that they “knew” Marcus Troy.
But before he arrived in the green room, he tried to check his attitude at the door. Marcus loved people, after all, regular folks and VIPs alike, and he didn’t want to bite the hands that fed him. These were his fans, after all. He owed them respect. He wouldn’t be here––here not meaning at a cheesy after-party, of course, but here, able to make art, connect with fans, and put a roof over his kids’ heads––without them.
Marcus fantasized about bringing Ryan along as his date. She’d gotten off the bus groggily last night, and gone right to her room after helping him tuck the kids in. He was dying to feel her close to him again, to brush the hair back behind her ear and let his hands fall lightly on her hips as they had on their bike ride. He’d even thought about sneaking over to her room and crawling into bed alongside her. Wouldn’t another night with Ryan have been the solution to all of his problems?
But he’d controlled himself, yet again. Tomorrow, he was flying from Denver to LA for the hearing. In twenty-four hours, it would all be over. The kids would either be with him, or not, and his relationship with Ryan could follow its own course, free of risk. He could wait one more day, couldn’t he?
“Hey, Alex,” Marcus said, so caught up in his thoughts, he was about to walk right past him on his way into the green room.
“Ooh, glad I ran into you, Marcus.”
“What’s up? Everything set?” They had gotten these VIP events down to a science. Twenty-five or thirty people would be in the green room, had been there since the moment he’d walked offstage. They’d be almost entirely middle-aged white guys with ample paunches and smiling, plastic-y wives. He’d chat with them, take a couple of photos, share some well-rehearsed banter, and be back at the hotel in forty minutes. Then he could put the kids to bed and get plenty of rest before his early-morning flight.
“Yeah, all good. But Rocky called up about some dude who didn’t have a pass…”
“Yeah? So what?” Alex shouldn’t have been bothering Marcus with a detail like this. If a dude didn’t have a lanyard with a VIP pass, a dude didn’t get into the party, period. “It’s pay-to-play. Just tell him to beat it.”
“Well, he says he’s a friend of Ryan’s.”
“Really?”
“He was pretty insistent.”
“You catch his name?”
Alex pressed the talk button on a walkie-talkie. “Rock, you get a name out of that guy?”
Marcus could hear the rough, static reply: “Uhh…Nick.”
Marcus wondered for a moment.
“Ask him the last name.”
“Last name, Rock?”
More static, then: “Leadholm. Nick Leadholm.”
The last name didn’t sound familiar, but the first certainly did, from that missed cell-phone call of Ryan’s back in Seattle. Could it be her ex? “Let him in.”
Drawing from his own experience, Marcus knew that no man was worth a damn until turning thirty, and that few men amounted to much more after that. His first glance at Nick served only as further proof. No wonder this petty little infant had betrayed Ryan; in a way, Marcus almost felt sorry for the kid. Ryan, so grounded and wise and gentle, was simply too much woman for a kid his age to handle, and running away from the relationship had been easier than admitting he hadn’t yet become a man. Nick didn’t know that every other woman he would come across would be a huge let-down after Ryan. Poor, dumb kid.
As instructed, Rock gave the two guys a hard time until the atmosphere in line got good and tense. Then he gave Marcus a behind-the-back signal just before finally, “officially” turning the friend away. At that point, Marcus emerged, clapping the
bouncer on the back.
“What have we got here, Rock?”
“Two guys, zero lanyards,” Rock said, referring to the laminated passes required for entry.
“Whoa,” the burly one said. “Marcus frickin’ Troy.” Not trying to hide his awe––Marcus, lo and behold, existed not just in music videos and on the covers of magazines, but in the actual, living flesh––he thrust out his hand for Marcus to shake. “Jack Bock, sir. It’s an honor.”
“Great to meet you,” Marcus said, holding out his hand to shake. He addressed only Jack while studiously ignoring Nick. The kid, appropriately humble, stayed silent. “So I hear you guys are friends with Ryan?”
“Absolutely!” Jack said. “Known her since the fourth grade.”
“Good friends, then?” Marcus said, giving Nick a quick inquisitive glance.
“For sure,” said Jack, while Nick started to look a little uncomfortable.
“A couple of Kalispell boys, huh?”
“That’s right, sir.” Jack was proud and beaming; Nick still hadn’t said a word.
“Well, you’re in luck, Jack. Ryan’s got a little pull around here.”
After the bouncer waved them past, Marcus gave Nick and Jack the full VIP treatment. He brought them to the merch table and loaded them up with so much swag––T-shirts, CDs, signed posters, and so much other junk––that they looked like co-presidents of the local chapter of the Marcus Troy Appreciation Society, and had to awkwardly press the stuff up against their chests to avoid dropping it all in a heaving mess. Then he brought them to the bar and treated them to beers. Ambling up onto the barstools, the boys had no choice but to awkwardly perch their drinks on their piles of merch.
Marcus focused 100 percent of his attention on Jack, treating him like a long-lost best friend, smiling and laughing at everything he said. Meanwhile, of course, he turned a deaf ear to Nick, ignoring his questions and avoiding eye contact until the boy’s meager contributions to the conversation vanished entirely. Addressing Jack as if every word out of his mouth were utterly fascinating, Marcus drilled him on his plans at Montana State in Bozeman, where he was studying biology and agriculture. Jack responded enthusiastically, and he sure did know a hell of a lot about the science of farming. For all he knew, Jack might have been speaking Croatian, but he clucked and nodded as if enraptured. Actually, Jack was a likable guy, humble and salt-of-the-earth like so many Montanans Marcus had met over the years. Jack had only one fault that Marcus could see: he seemed to select ferrets as friends.
Love Songs for the Road Page 14
