for Top Shot? They dig hot military women on that TV show, especially when they outshoot them macho guys.”
She rolled her eyes. “They’d cream my butt on that show.”
I’d like to cream on your butt.
He had to quit thinking about her ass and focus. “So, we goin’ after him?”
“Yes, sir. On three, keep as low to the ground as you can and shoot on sight.” Liberty shifted into a crouch.
“Shoot him in the back?”
“Always. There are no rules of engagement in paintball like there are in war.” She checked her ammo supply and looked at him. “One. Two . . . Three.”
Devin mimicked her stance, a funky kind of duck walk, until they cleared the last section of hedge.
Then Liberty had her gun up and she’d clicked off three shots in a row at close range.
Pow.
Pow.
Pow.
The big roadie turned around and Devin plugged him in the chest. “Aw, fuck me, man. How many shots do I got on my back?”
“Three. And that’s more than enough for you to hand that flag over,” Liberty said and motioned for Devin to retrieve it.
“No wonder you wanted her on your team,” he complained to Devin.
With victory on his mind—mostly whether he could get away with laying a big kiss on her as they toasted their superior teamwork—Devin forgot to employ the stealth tactics Liberty had drilled into him. He pushed upright and walked forward to snag the flag when he heard a rustling noise beside him.
He froze as Check sidled out of the woods, his gun pointed at Devin’s chest, a maniacal grin on his face.
Everything happened in slow motion as Liberty launched herself in front of Devin, taking all three paintballs meant for him, right in the chest.
As Liberty hit the ground, she shouted, “Devin! Shoot him!”
He raised the muzzle and squeezed off his last four shots. Then Sarge rushed him. Using Liberty’s body as a shield, Devin bent down, retrieved her gun and pumped three paintballs across Sarge’s torso. Then he set the gun aside and rolled Liberty to her back. “Baby, are you okay?”
She raised her eyebrows at his term of endearment but didn’t comment. “I’m fine.”
Devin dragged his finger through the red paint decorating her protective chest plate. “I can’t believe you took a bullet for me. Three bullets.” Although this had been fun and games, the reality was that Liberty would’ve dived into real gunfire to save him.
Risked her life for his.
What kind of crazy person signed on for shit like that?
“Devin.”
Dazed, he looked at her. “What?”
“You can quit putting compression on my chest. I think the danger of me bleeding out is long past.”
That’s when he realized he had one hand in the middle of her chest and the other wrapped around her neck. And he was close enough he could give her mouth-to-mouth if she needed it.
Maybe you need it.
“Seriously, Devin. Let me up.”
He bent closer. “You’ll really put yourself in the line of fire for me.”
“Yes.”
Something changed in that instant. The dividing line between her professional responsibilities to him and his personal feelings for her should’ve widened. Instead, Devin felt them erode completely.
By the panicked look in her eyes, he knew she was fully aware of the shift.
“Devin—”
“Don’t deny you feel it too. There’s no goin’ back for us, Liberty.”
Before she could argue, he stood and offered her a hand up.
Pow, pow, pow rocked him on his feet, and he whirled around.
Boomer shot him one more time in the center of his chest. Then he stopped and pushed up his goggles. “I believe, as last man standing, all those flags belong to me and I win the game.”
Devin laughed. He couldn’t believe that mild-mannered Boomer had outlasted them all. “Yep, buddy, you sure do.”
Liberty rolled to her feet. “What’s next on Devin McClain’s fun agenda?”
“Horseshoes.” He draped his arm over her shoulder as they walked out of the wooded area, and she didn’t try to shrug him off. “Wanna play?”
“Pass.”
“Volleyball?”
“Pass.”
“Mini golf?”
“Double pass.”
He sighed. “You’re shooting down all my fun ideas.”
“Because my idea of fun is shooting stuff. We’ve done that today. I’ve had my quota of fun.”
“So, you’re just goin’ back to the bus?”
“Yep.”
“Will you at least come out of your hidey-hole and eat with us? Roast some marshmallows? Sit by the campfire?”
Liberty stopped and faced him. “Why is it important to you?”
“It’s not for me; it’s for you.” Devin rested his hand on her shoulder and reached up to wipe away splatters of paint from her face. But he succeeded only in smearing it and making it look even more like blood. “Fresh air and a cold beer will do you some good.”
“Probably. But this is time for you to hang out with your crew without me hovering. You should enjoy it. Given the rest of your tour schedule, it’ll be pretty rare.”
And it was really rare his bodyguard admitted that he was safe enough not to have her by his side.
The thing was, he wanted her by his side tonight.
“You’re off the clock. You’ve earned some alone time in the bus.” Devin hated to play this card, but he was shameless. “But in keeping with our cover, my crew will ask questions on why you’re not around at all when you always are. So you need to put in an appearance for a few hours at some point.”
“Then I’ll forgo the weenie roast, but I’ll be there for the bonfire.”
It wasn’t all he wanted, but it was something.
Chapter Ten
Everyone seemed to be enjoying the campfire.
Even Liberty, who’d had her fill of the great outdoors during the years she’d spent living in military tent encampments, could admit it was a beautiful night. Away from urban sprawl, and with just a sliver of moon showing in the inky sky, the stars shone brightly.
Bottles and cans of beer were nestled in tubs of ice. Bags of chips and s’mores supplies were scattered across the picnic table.
The mood of the band and the crew had mellowed. The roadies were congregated on the left side, laughing and bullshitting while the paired-off band members, Tay and Jase, Odette and Steve, were snuggled together in front of the campfire. Although she and Devin shared a log, he was talking across the fire to Leon and Gage, so she felt like the odd woman out.
Story of your life, Liberty.
Fighting the melancholy, she closed her eyes and listened to the crickets and other bugs creating a nighttime symphony. Every once in a while she heard a coyote yowl.
Devin scooted closer before he spoke softly. “You all right?”
“I’m fine. Why?”
“You’re awful quiet.”
“I’m always quiet around other people.”
“You yammer on when it’s just you and me.”
Liberty cracked her eyes open to glare at him, but he wore the charming smile that indicated he was yanking her chain. “Funny.”
He set his hand on her thigh. “I know this ain’t your thing, so thanks for hanging out tonight.”
“No problem.”
“Hey, Dev,” one of the roadies yelled. “Why don’t you get out your guitar and sing? Like them old-time cowboys used to do after a long day of working cattle.”
“Don’t you guys get enough of me bellowing at the top of my lungs every night?”
She smiled. At times the man was surprisingly humble.
A chorus of no’s rang out, followed by the “Devin, Devin, Devin” chants that he heard before his shows started.
Devin drained his can of beer. “None of y’all better record this, ’cause after a few dr
inks, I can’t guarantee it’ll be my usual stellar performance.” Before he could get up to retrieve a guitar, Check brought him one. “Thanks.”
The road crew moved in closer. Liberty wondered why Devin seemed nervous when he regularly played in front of a crowd of thousands.
He strummed a few chords. He didn’t look up as he started to turn the random warm-up notes into a recognizable song. The strange thing was—the song he picked wasn’t one of his. Liberty didn’t recognize the tune, but whatever it was, the raw emotion in it captured her heart and then wrung it out.
No applause followed when he finished singing, and she realized it was because no one wanted to break the spell.
Devin continued to mesmerize with the next four songs, each a different style: first a bluesy number, then a stripped-down rock ballad, followed by a Motown classic and finishing with a crossover pop megahit. He nailed every style, needing nothing but his voice and a few guitar chords to showcase his mastery over all types of music.
His crew clapped and whistled when Devin took a break. Crash handed him a bottle of water. She watched as Devin’s throat muscles worked, the liquid soothing those golden vocal cords.
He sighed gustily after he drained the water. “Thanks.”
“You need another?”
“Nah. I’m good.”
People milled around, getting more beer and loading up on snacks.
“Are you gonna take requests?” Boomer asked.
“Sure. Give me a minute, though.”
“No problem.”
“You take requests?” Liberty asked.
He glanced up and her stomach swooped. The look in his eyes was forceful, but he spoke to her very softly. “Yes. So here’s your chance to get me to play something you might actually like.”
Her cheeks heated—and not from the campfire. “I like your music, Devin. It’s not the typical country dreck.”
“I’ve moved out of the dreck category?” He aimed his panty-dropping grin at her. “Darlin’, I’m gonna get a big head if you keep complimenting me today.”
“Too late,” she retorted sweetly.
Devin leaned closer. “Name a song.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“Anything?”
“Anything.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to play something just for you.”
The man was throwing her all sorts of mixed signals today.
No, he’s not. You’re just not ignoring them—or him—for once.
“How about . . . ‘Learn to Fly’ by Foo Fighters.”
He smiled. “Excellent choice. A favorite of mine too.”
That surprised her. “Really? But I thought . . .”
“That I’d only listen to country dreck?” he teased.
“Yeah.”
“Nope. I love all kinds of music. I have great taste. I listen to stuff that’d surprise even you.”
“Such as?” she challenged.
“You’re demanding proof that I have good taste in music?”
Liberty snorted. “Dude. Everyone thinks they have great taste in music and they want to prove to everyone else just how cool they are. That’s why you see guys in their fifties driving around with their windows rolled down, cranking out AC/DC, Skynyrd, the Eagles or Springsteen. The ladies from the eighties are just as bad, zipping around in minivans blasting Bon Jovi, Journey, Def Leppard, Whitesnake and U2. And don’t get me started on the rap booming from teenagers’ windows, which is only marginally less annoying than some forty-year-old white guy trying to look hip by listening to Kanye West or Jay-Z at ten billion decibels.”
Devin laughed so hard she worried he’d fall off the log. Finally, he stopped laughing, but he couldn’t quit smiling. “God, woman, you crack my ass up. But you’re exactly right.” He strummed a couple of dissonant chords. “But you didn’t weigh in on those folks who listen to country dreck.”
“I’m sorry I called it that. I’ll admit I have a new appreciation for country. And I find the fans way more diverse than in other styles of pop music. I mean, at your concerts I see grandparents, young kids, teenagers and twentysomething guys and their friends. Which tells me the music speaks to a larger segment of the general population.”
“Country music doesn’t try to be offensive or controversial.” He frowned. “My recent brush with controversy was totally unintentional.”
So far, Devin hadn’t played the song in question in concert. Which was a shame because it was a great song.
“Sometimes that lack of passion makes it generic. That’s what makes it so gratifying when something I write stands out. I don’t mean a song that hits the top of the charts, but one that resonates with listeners. I’ll never forget the first time I was onstage and the audience knew every word to my song and were singing along so loudly I couldn’t hear anything in my earpiece. It was unlike anything I could’ve ever imagined.”
She knew when he feared he’d revealed too much, and he was about to say something that’d make light of how he’d opened up to her. So she beat him to the punch. “After almost a month on the road with you, I know all the words to all your songs.”
He pointed at her. “Now, I’m gonna look backstage during a performance to see if you’re tellin’ me the truth or just stroking my ego. And since you tossed down the challenge, how about if we swap iPods tomorrow before we work out?”
“Deal. But if a Christina Aguilera song comes on, I might accidentally crush your iPod beneath my foot on the treadmill.”
He laughed. “Harsh. Have you ever really listened to the words of ‘Beautiful’? There’s a pretty powerful message in that song about true beauty beyond outward appearances. Listen to it with an open mind.”
Again, she picked up on the underlying message in his words, and it caused her pulse to race.
During their exchange, Devin hadn’t looked away from her. The man was stunning in the campfire’s glow. Her fingers itched to trace every contour of his rugged face. See if she couldn’t smooth away some of the shadows.
“Are you playing another song? Or the two of you gonna sit here makin’ moon eyes at each other all damn night?” Sarge complained.
That broke the moment.
Liberty looked around. How long had everyone been watching them?
What does it matter? Everyone assumes you’re in Devin’s bed every night anyway.
Devin cleared his throat. “I’ve got a few more songs in me before the campfire smoke starts fuckin’ with my voice.”
Before Liberty could suggest they call it a night, he strummed the opening chords to “Learn to Fly.” And he kept her transfixed until the very last note.
Then his head came up. Their eyes met, and once again it was as if everything around them faded into the background.
Applause and wolf whistles erupted. He mouthed, “Thank you,” and gave her a sweet smile she’d never seen before.
Before she did something fan girly like throw herself at him, Crash’s booming voice cut through the noise.
“Dev. We gotta add that cover tune to the set list. Your fans will go nuts for an acoustic version of that.”
Hillbilly Rockstar Page 12
