Hillbilly Rockstar

by Lorelei James

  “You didn’t think to run this idea by me first?”

  So that’s what’d put the starch in her spine. “It’s not a security issue—it’s a personnel issue. And I’m tellin’ you now, aren’t I?”

  Liberty glanced down at her feet. He saw her inhale deeply before she dragged her gaze back to his.

  “Darlin’, I don’t like that smirk you’re wearing. What gives?”

  “Oh, I was just imagining if I wasn’t tasked with guarding you how much I’d love to plug your ass with a dozen paintballs.”

  Devin leaned closer. “Bring it. Obviously, you and me have some issues to work out too.”

  Her humor fled. “Sorry. That was unprofessional.”

  “Liberty, I was kiddin’. As long as we’re actually talkin’ for a change, instead of avoiding each other on the bus and faking a happy relationship in public . . . I have to know if you’re ever gonna forgive me for the mistake I made that day at the truck stop.”

  “I heard every word of all fifteen apologies you gave me.”

  But it wasn’t enough. He knew she’d reported the incident. What she didn’t know was Devin had called both Garrett at GSC and Carl at Big Sky. He swore to them the crazed-fan ambush had been a wake-up call and he wouldn’t fight any of the security requirements for the rest of the tour—but only if he could retain Liberty. The men had conferred and agreed to let her stay, but warned him another incident like that would end her employment with him.

  Devin didn’t kid himself. Pulling Liberty from this duty wouldn’t be to reprimand her—but to punish him. It wasn’t a coincidence that Carl mentioned the LaGruder goons as replacements if he screwed up again. Just thinking about those Robocop clones caused him to shudder.

  “Did you have something else to say?” she prompted.

  “Actions speak louder than words. And I’ve followed your instructions over the last three weeks. When that woman accosted me at the meet and greet two weeks ago, I didn’t try to handle it on my own. I immediately called for security.”

  Liberty just blinked at him.

  “Last week when the PETA protestors rushed me in the parking lot because of my support for Wyoming furriers, I didn’t engage them, even though I wanted to beat their hemp-wearin’ asses for their urban ignorance of real life in the West.”

  “I sensed that,” she said dryly. “Although adding the PETA—People Eating Tasty Animals—bumper sticker to the back of the bus was a little over-the-top.”

  Devin held up his hands. “Totally Sarge’s idea. I swear.”

  “Look. I realize it’s been difficult to change your normal reactions of self-protection first, so I appreciate that you’ve been working with me, instead of against me.”

  “So you know I don’t wanna backtrack and lose all the ground that I’ve gained. Which is why you should rise to the challenge of bein’ on a paintball team.” He displayed a sly smile. “Against me.”

  “No way, guitar slinger. You want to participate in a paintball fight? Fine. But I’m not letting you out of my sight, so it appears you and me are partners.”

  That wasn’t what he’d been going for. “I already promised to be Crash’s partner.”

  “Too bad you’ll have to renege,” she said sweetly.

  “How will I explain why I’m partnered up with you when I won’t let Tay and Jase, or Odette and Steve partner up?”

  She shrugged. “Tell them you’re a terrible shot and you need me to teach you how to be a straight shooter.”

  “FYI, sweetheart, I am a damn good shot. I’ve been huntin’ since I was five.” He issued a challenge. “Or maybe you want to partner with me because you have lingering combat issues and you expect me to keep you from goin’ ballistic.”

  Liberty paled.

  Shit. With as many times as she’d been in the thick of overseas conflicts, she probably did have some issues from that. He stepped forward and curled his hands around her biceps. “Dammit, Liberty. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I’m a jerk.”

  She stared at him, clearly debating on what to say.

  “Come on. Chew my ass.” His hand slid down her arm to her wrist. He then formed her fingers into a fist and brought it up to his jaw. “Or better yet. Punch me.”

  Then she did the oddest thing. She opened her fist and cupped his face. “I’ve witnessed the stubborn set to this jaw too many times to count in the last month. Even if I did pop you one, I’d probably hurt my hand.”

  He chuckled. “Probably.”

  Liberty lazily skimmed the razor stubble coating his cheeks, and he suppressed a shudder of pleasure. “Or I’d scuff up my knuckles on this sandpaper.”

  Devin let the caress linger, reveling in her simple show of affection. With every gentle sweep of her fingers, he felt that inexplicable pull toward her getting stronger. She fascinated him on so many levels; he’d never met a woman like her before.

  “Damn, man. Are you out of razors?”

  “You don’t like the scruffy look?”

  “Not on you.”

  “Shoot. I believed I was lookin’ all hip, bein’ emo and shit.”

  She murmured, “You’re too much of a manly man to ever look like a hipster.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Was that a compliment?”

  Her hand stilled and their gazes collided. “You don’t need me to tell you that you’re too handsome and charming for your own good, Devin McClain.”

  She immediately retreated.

  Dammit. Looked like he’d blown it again.

  The bus stopped.

  Devin watched shamelessly as she bent over to slip on her shoes, hoping for a glimpse of her ass.

  Then she whirled around and caught him looking. “Unreal. Are you so hard up for female attention that even I’m starting to look good?”

  “Darlin’, that low opinion of yourself sure as hell ain’t comin’ from me.”

  “I’m too masculine-acting for you, remember? You’d have no problem keeping it professional between us because you’re not attracted to me in the least, right?”

  “Wrong.” Devin caged Liberty against the wall, blocking her retreat.

  “But you said—”

  “I know what I said. I’ve also admitted that I was an ass and I’ve apologized for that too. I thought we were beyond that.” His eyes searched hers. “Please tell me we can get beyond that.”

  “Don’t.”

  “Don’t what? Remind you that it doesn’t have to be all or nothin’? You won’t even talk to me about any of this. Not even after I’ve been following every one of your damn rules—to the letter.”

  “How generous of you to quit fucking groupies night and day.”

  “That was my choice, not because of some edict from you,” he shot back.

  “And why did you close yourself off from all that easy pussy?”

  “Because none of them . . .” Jesus. He wasn’t giving her the satisfaction of confessing that the women vying for a piece of him had lost appeal after he’d started to become friends with her. “I realized none of them are worth my time.”

  “And I am?”

  “That’s what I’m askin’ you. Can we move past what was said and done in the last month and start things over?”

  A hopeful light entered her eyes before she banked it. “You’re right. We’re both a little stubborn—”

  “Ya think?”

  She punched him in the stomach—just hard enough to get his attention.

  Hard enough to get him fucking hard.

  “I swear you are the most exasperating man I’ve ever met.”

  Devin grinned. “So that means I’m memorable? Sweet.”

  “Move.”

  He stepped back. Right before she closed the door to the bathroom, he clapped and said, “Good talk.”

  He heard her laugh.

  That had to be a good sign, right?

  Liberty appeared a couple minutes later, hair fluffed, gloss on her lips, cheeks rosier.

  Devin doubted that Liberty
the soldier had stopped to fix her hair and freshen her makeup before heading out of the barracks. And part of him would rather see her in dirt and camo than lip gloss and a tailored blouse.

  Since when? You’re the one who insisted she blend, remember?

  She snagged her stun gun from behind her . . . pillow? When she glanced up, she said, “What?” a little brusquely.

  “You sleep with a weapon under your pillow?”

  “Yep. I’d keep sleepwalking to a minimum if I were you.”

  Two loud thumps sounded on the side of the bus.

  Liberty brushed past him and unlocked the door. “Hey, Crash.”

  “I want you to know that I had no part in this unscheduled stop. I tried to talk him out of it.”

  Traitor.

  The rest of their conversation was in low tones, which also annoyed him. Devin stopped at the top of the stairs. Both Liberty and Crash looked at him guiltily. “What?”

  “Nothin’. I’m of the same mind-set as Bert. The two of you need to partner up.”

  Bert. He fucking hated the nickname his road crew had given her. Bert was a guy’s name. In the last month, Liberty had shown him that she was far from the butch persona he’d initially believed her to be, so the name really grated on him.

  Devin braced his hands on the rails and leaned over the stairs. “Crash, do me a favor and stop callin’ her Bert.”

  “Why?” Liberty demanded. “You afraid people will think your latest squeeze is a man?”

  Devin’s gaze never left hers. “It’s not about me. Bert is a crusty old guy’s name. Liberty is a beautiful name, and it fits you and what you stand for so perfectly.”

  Her mouth dropped open.

  Gotcha, darlin’. He grinned.

  “I don’t wanna know where the fuck that came from,” Crash said. “Anyway, you and Liberty will take a rash of shit for bein’ partners, so I hope you’ve got a good cover story.”

  They reached the front entrance and stood behind the crew as a young kid recited the rules.

  During a pause, Sarge asked, “So we’re not on teams?”

  “No, sir. Everyone has a partner. Who you ended up with was luck of the draw.”

  “Except for Devin and Liberty,” Crash pointed out.

  More grumbles. Some loud enough he could hear.

  Odette piped up first. “How come you two get to be partners and no one else who is a couple does?”

  “Because I’m the boss and I knew you’d all be gunning for me. I needed an extra edge, which I got because Liberty is an expert paintballer.”

  Once the guy started speaking again, Liberty’s warm lips connected with his ear. “I should be upset you’re so good at stretching the truth, but I’m more annoyed that you put me in the line of fire with that ‘expert’ comment.”

  He bit back a groan. The whisper of her breath sent gooseflesh rippling across his body. He held in another groan when the scent of her skin hit him. Why did the woman always smell like chocolate and vanilla? He wanted to bury his face in her neck and run his lips across her heated flesh to find out if she tasted like pure decadence.

  “Devin?” she murmured.

  “I’m fine,” he said loud enough that two roadies turned and looked at him.

  “As long as there aren’t any other questions, I’ll meet you all in the equipment room in fifteen minutes.”

  Sarge whistled. “Sweatshirts for everyone in the truck.”

  “That’s one way to make sure we all look alike,” Tay grumbled.

  Jase slapped her ass. “Wrong. You’ll still be the sexiest one out there. What say we have a murder/suicide pact? Then, when these clowns are shooting at each other, we can sneak back to the bus and take extra time scrubbing each other clean.”

  “I hope their shower is bigger than mine,” Liberty said. “There’s hardly room for just me in there.”

  “You’re welcome to use my shower whenever you want,” Devin offered.

  That took her aback. “Sure. Thanks. Maybe I will.”

  Devin steered her toward the equipment truck. Crash and Sarge were whipping gray sweatshirts into the air. “That’s a good way to get rid of the shit that isn’t selling.”

  He snatched the shirt Crash lobbed at him.

  Liberty held hers out and squinted at the image. “Who decided that a—”

  “Microphone in front of my open mouth was a good idea? It looks like I’m about to suck a big dick, huh?”

  She laughed. “Yes.”

  “I normally donate leftover clothing to homeless shelters or to the reservations in Wyoming, but I’d be happier to burn these motherfuckers at the bonfire tonight.”

  “At least you can laugh about it.”

  “Better than cryin’. Come on. Let’s get ready to kick some ass.”

  After they’d changed and were walking back, Devin said, “What’s the plan?”

  “Try not to get nailed with a paintball,” she said dryly.

  “Besides that. Don’t you have a stealth-attack strategy?”

  “Nope. Shoot first, shoot often.”

  They stood in line for paintball markers—aka paintball guns—and masks. Once everyone had been outfitted in the protective outer layer, the paintball master went over the rules. “What you’re playing is a variation of woodsball—a capture-the-flag game. We have four acres of game area behind us in which we’ve placed ten flags. Your goal is not to capture just one of the flags, but as many flags as you can.” He held up a helmet. “On the top are dowel holders for the flags. If you capture a flag, you must display it.”

  “So other players can kill you and steal your flag?”

  The guy grinned. “Yep. Finding the flags isn’t the problem. Keeping them without getting taken out is the issue. If your partner is taken out, you’re not automatically out. You can still win. Immediate kill zone is anywhere near the heart or head. Three paintball strikes anywhere on your body puts you out. Any questions?”

  Liberty raised her hand. “Why are there only five slots on the top of the helmet if there are ten flags? Shouldn’t there be ten slots?”

  “Sweetheart, no one has ever captured more than five flags.”

  Sweetheart? That was condescending. Although . . . sometimes Devin called Liberty sweetheart. Did she get that look of extreme annoyance on her face when he did it?

  She gritted her teeth in what was supposed to pass as a smile. But he knew if the game master were playing this round? He’d be the first one in Liberty’s crosshairs.

  Good thing G.I. Jane was on his side.

  Two hours later they were down to three teams and a couple of renegades.

  “Can you see who’s behind that big oak tree thirty yards to your right?” Liberty asked.

  “Sarge.”

  “Shit. We’ll have to go around and try to flank him from the back.”

  “But he’s alone. There’s two of us and one of him.”

  “Which just means that Check, his partner, also a military guy, is someplace close, watching his six.”

  If it made him a pervert to get a boner when she slipped into military speak, so be it, because that was fucking hot.

  “How do you know Check hasn’t been taken out?”

  “Sarge wouldn’t be so visible. He’s trying to draw us out so Check can take the shot.”

  “Where’s the last flag?”

  Liberty peered around the cement block, making the four flags on her helmet wave in the breeze. “I think that big roadie dude went after it.” She snickered. “He’s too broad a target for even you to miss, McClain.”

  “Fuck you very much, Miz Deadeye. Jesus. Were you ever a contender