by D'Ann Lindun
A drug-infused haze had colored her more than a groupie with an agenda. Screwing her had been the biggest mistake of his life. If he hadn’t gotten his baby girl out of the deal, he could just walk away and forget Nicole ever existed.
But having a child changed everything.
He was tied to the bitch forever.
Montana finally dragged her gaze away from her nursing baby long enough to notice him standing by the doorway. “Hi, Stoney. Come in.”
“Nah.” He lifted a hand. “Where do I find some car keys? I want to take a spin.”
“Are you sure? Dinner will be served soon and we have fireworks, too. It’s going to be a lot of fun.” She looked a little down about him taking off and he shook off his guilt.
“I’ll be back soon. I just want to clear my head,” he said.
“Take my SUV. It’s in the barn. The keys are on my dresser. Last room on the right.” She smoothed a finger over the infant’s head. “Be careful, okay?”
“I will, Mom.” He winked at her. “Thanks.”
She waved him away, already focused back on her baby. Cowboy better be using his best seduction skills to get her mind off that baby if he wanted to get laid tonight. Stoney’s lips twitched. Cowboy, all-time seducer of women having to work for it was funny shit.
He found the keys to Montana’s brand new black SUV. Cowboy had told Stoney Montana hadn’t wanted it. She claimed it was too extravagant and too ostentatious, but he’d insisted, saying the safety of their daughter was paramount. Stoney understood the sentiment.
He pulled out of the barn and onto the dirt lane leading to the highway. He rolled down the front windows and a breeze blew his hair. He turned on the radio to some country station. Automatically, his hand reached for the dial. But the female’s voice pouring from the speakers made him freeze midway.
He didn’t recognize the singer, which wasn’t surprising. He knew a few country singers, but not a ton. This girl had talent to burn. Her voice went from a husky low that quickened his blood, to a higher range he also liked a lot.
When the song ended and a second number came on, he realized it wasn’t the radio, but a CD. He popped it out of the player to see who the singer was and the name of her CD.
Midnight by Maura Whittaker.
Her name seemed familiar, but he couldn’t pin it down. Maybe they’d met at an awards show, or a party.
He wished the CD case was laying around so he could see what she looked like. If her face matched her voice, she had to be a knockout.
When he got back to L.A. he’d see if he could track her down. Hell, maybe Cowboy’s new agent could get a line on her. Stoney’d ask when he went back to the party.
Why bother?
The way his luck was running, she was probably married.
He sighed. If his mood didn’t improve he’d lock himself up with a fifth of good whiskey and write enough heartbreak songs to fill an entire album. He shook off that idea. When Cowboy tried that, it had almost destroyed his career.
Stoney had no desire to ruin his career. In fact, he wanted to expand it. The idea of a solo album had been nagging at him for a while now. He loved playing bass with the Silver Star Band, but a backup slot to a famous singer had never been his long-term plan.
Playing his own music had been his dream from the time he’d been a teenager back in nowhere California. Making that dream a reality hadn’t been as easy as he thought, and down on his luck and broke, he’d jumped at the chance to play in an established band. Ten years had passed and he had fallen into complacency.
It was way past time to break out of the walls he’d built around himself.
As he drove, he had no destination in mind, but the small town of Black Mountain came into view. He slowed to the requested 25 MPH through town. The town was dead, which didn’t come as a surprise, but it was quieter than normal. Everyone must be at the wedding.
Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a familiar building—The Waterfall—a bar the band had partied in last fall. A single vehicle sat in the parking lot. Did that mean the place was open? A sudden longing for a piano and a bottle of good bourbon had him pulling into the lot.
He parked and hurried to the large wooden doors. They were locked. He slapped the door. “Damn it.”
As he spun away, one of the doors opened and half of a woman’s face appeared in the crack. “Can I help you?”
“I want a drink,” Stoney said.
“We’re closed.” She started to close him out.
“Just one?” He didn’t know why he was pleading. Cowboy had more alcohol than dozens could drink in ten lifetimes.
She hesitated. “Just one.”
“I promise,” he said.
“Just one,” she echoed and opened the door just wide enough for him to slide through. He felt like a tunnel dweller of some kind. The hallway was dark, lit only by a dim glow coming from the bar.
In the low light, he couldn’t see much about the girl who’d admitted him. She had a mass of dark hair that fell almost to her waist. She had a curvy silhouette and the low light bounced off a cross that nestled between a pair of perky tits.
“Come in.” He liked the melodic lilt to her voice.
He followed her into the main bar. “I know this town isn’t hopping on a good night, but it’s closed on a Friday?”
She walked behind the bar and placed her palms on the smooth surface. “There’s a big celebrity wedding in town and the owner closed the place to attend.”
“And you didn’t go?” Under the light of a beer advertisement sign, she was as stunning as he’d imagined her to be. Hair black as night, eyes so blue they looked like the bottom of the Pacific Ocean. Ivory skin. Her full lips were berry stained, almost inviting a taste. She wore a white tank top, a denim vest and jeans tucked into knee-high boots. A strand of pearls along with a choker made of blue velvet circled her slender neck. But it was the pale pink beads with a crucifix around her neck that stood out—a rosary.
She shrugged. “Didn’t care to.”
“Not a fan of the happy couple?”
“I barely know them. Didn’t see any reason to go heap on my good wishes when the whole town rushed in to do it.” She made a sweeping motion toward the door with her hand. “I came here to be alone. I really shouldn’t have let you in—”
“Scared?”
“Should I be? Are you dangerous?” She moved a hand under the bar and he suddenly wondered if she had a Saturday Night Special under there.
He held up his palms. “Not at all.”
Slowly, she pulled her hands out from under the bar. “What do you want to drink?”
“Bourbon?”
“The good stuff? Or a bargain brand?” She turned her shoulder away from him to scan the bottles lined up on shelves.
He pointed to the most expensive brand. “That one.”
“You have good taste.” She opened the bottle and poured two glasses. Lifting one she said, “Cheers.”
“Cheers.” He touched his glass to hers and tasted the liquor. “That’s good.”
She watched him over the rim of her untouched drink. “Yes.”
He lifted the tumbler again. “I came to drink. What brought you here other than the need to be alone?”
She motioned toward the piano onstage. A half-dozen bracelets, including pearls that matched the strand around her neck, made a soft jingling sound. Gold hoops shimmered in her ears and every finger had a ring, some multiple. “I want to play and there’s no piano at the bed and breakfast where I’m staying.”
If he ever bought her a gift, he’d know what to get—jewelry.
Whoa, man.
He didn’t even know her name, what the hell was he thinking about gifts for? He held out a hand. “Dalton Stone. Most call me Stoney.”
Her smaller hand slipped into his. “Maura Whittaker.”
CHAPTER TWO
Maura pulled her hand from his a little slower than she did from most fans. Not her usual type with longish
dark brown hair and an untucked tuxedo shirt over black pants, the guy still intrigued her. He’d said his name like she should know it, but it didn’t ring any bells.
Likely he was in town for Johnny Cortez and Montana Weaver’s wedding.
To cover her sudden confusion, she walked to the stage and climbed the side stairs. Sitting at the piano, she ran her fingers over the keys. From the time she’d been small, music had been her refuge. Most kids hated piano lessons; she’d loved them.
Her dream had been to be a recording artist and she’d made that dream come true after a friend introduced her to a record producer. Her debut album was called Midnight and her duet of the same name with superstar Dillon Travers was doing well on the charts.
Softly, she sang a few words. “After midnight, when my heart beats hardest, that’s when I dream of you…”
To her utter surprise, the stranger followed her onstage and plunked down beside her. His hands flew over the keys as he joined her on the chorus.
Together, they finished the song.
Maura turned to look at him. “Nice.”
“I’ve been known to sing a tune now and then,” he said.
“You’re not an amateur,” she said. “So, tell me who you are in the music world. I’m sorry, but I don’t recognize you…”
He turned so that he straddled the piano bench. “I’m the bass player in the Silver Star Band. We back up Cowboy—”
“I recognize you now,” she interrupted.
“You do?”
“I saw you at the Grammy’s last winter, but we weren’t introduced.” She played with her rosary. “I sing country music.”
“I know,” he said making her blush.
“Oh, right. Well, you’ve heard my song anyway.” She twisted the beads of her rosary tight, then untwisted them.
“Your CD is in Montana Weaver—Cortez’s—SUV. I heard it a few minutes ago. I’m a quick study with lyrics.” His gaze locked on her hands as she played with her jewelry.
Her eyes widened. “Really? My CD?”
“True story. Why are you surprised?”
“I don’t know. I figured they’d listen to something a little more rock. Isn’t the wedding going on right now?” She waved her hand. “And you’re here instead?”
“I made a great speech, toasted the happy couple and split.” He shrugged. “The wedding was over. I needed some space.”
“I heard there’s going to be fireworks,” she said. “They’re pretty spectacular bursting over the mountains.”
He ignored that and looked at her meaningfully. “Looks like I’m not the only guest who bailed on the happy couple.”
She played with the keys. “I didn’t want to go.”
“Why not?”
Maura quit messing with the piano and fiddled with her bracelets. “I have my reasons, none of which are very interesting.”
“Are you one of Cowboy’s past lovers?” Stoney sounded almost jealous.
Maura burst out in laughter. “Not hardly.”
He looked properly chagrined. “It’s not an unreasonable question. He got around before Montana tamed him.”
“I barely know the guy,” she said truthfully.
It wasn’t the rock star she didn’t want to see; it was Adam Pelletier. She’d crushed on him since middle school, but he’d only had eyes for Eden Jamieson. When they’d broken up after the stillbirth of their son, Maura had seen a brief opening and taken her shot. Unfortunately, Adam only wanted Eden. Like always, Maura had been second choice.
Facing them now seemed unbearable. She might have her career on track, but she was still single, still alone and destined to stay that way, it seemed. In the last year, she’d met a lot of people, but no one had made her heart flutter like Adam always did.
Until now.
This guy was an enigma to her.
She’d always liked clean-cut cowboys, or one, anyway. Stoney Dalton couldn’t be further from that if he tried. His hair was a mess, he wasn’t wearing Wranglers and she’d bet he had a dozen tattoos under his clothes.
The thought of what was under his clothes had her heart racing and her panties dampening. She swallowed what was left of her bourbon. “You should go.”
“What if I’d rather stay here with you until the sun comes up?” His grin was wicked.
Maura swallowed hard. “I’m not into hookups.”
“Baby, as much as I’d like that, I was talking about music.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her left ear. “We could sing all night long.”
All her life, Maura had been cursed with hot, fast blushes when embarrassed. Today was no exception. She felt her face get hot. “Won’t the wedding party miss you?”
He shrugged. “Unlikely.”
She played a chord. “What about a lady? Is one waiting for you?”
“No.” Not any elaboration, just no.
Maura’s curiosity was piqued, but she didn’t press him. “What do you want to sing?”
“Something original.”
She shot him a surprised glance. “Do you write music?”
“Yeah. One of my songs made it onto Cowboy’s current CD, but didn’t make it on the air. It goes like this.” He turned toward the piano and began to play it. In a moment, the words of his song poured out of him.
As the last note faded away, Maura clapped. “Nice.”
He faced her. “Do you write your music?”
“I do, but my manager didn’t want any of mine on my debut album, so we bought all of them from songwriters this time. I hope on my next one he’ll let me put some of my stuff on there.” Annoyance crept into her voice.
“You have a hit with Dillon Travers, right?” Stoney asked.
“Yes,” she said. “Midnight.”
“Who wrote it?”
“Dillon did. Why?”
“It’s good,” he said. “Obviously.”
“Thank you. I think Dillon intended it for him and his girlfriend, but we share a manager and he wanted me instead,” she confided. “He thought it would launch my career.”
“Your manager made the right choice,” Stoney said.
“Maybe, but it didn’t make Shiloh like me much.” Why had she shared that? He didn’t want to hear about jealous women.
“Surely, she wants her boyfriend to be successful,” he said.
“I’m sure she does,” Maura murmured. Shiloh had never been straight out mean to her, but Maura knew the other woman didn’t like her. Story of her life. She and her best friend, Madeline Harper, had been pretty much universally hated by other girls in this town. Maybe because they’d wanted bigger things than Black Mountain offered?
They’d both achieved their dreams—Madeline was a jeans model and Maura a music artist. Madeline had reconnected with her high school sweetheart and was over the moon in love, but Maura felt more alone than ever. She hadn’t made a lot of friends in Nashville and she had only one here—Starla Jamieson, the owner of the bar who’d always been kind to her.
“Let’s write a song,” Stoney said, drawing her from her musings.
“Now?”
“You have a better time in mind?”
“No,” she admitted.
“Then what’s stopping you?”
She hesitated. “Nothing.”
He skimmed his long fingers over the keys and her gaze locked on them. What would it feel like to have those hands on her? Maura shook off the image. “I’m going to get another drink. “Want one?”
“Sure, babe.”
She stood and glared at him. “I’m not your babe.”
“Sorry.” He sounded sincere.
“My name is Maura,” she said. “Learn it and use it.”
He saluted. “Got it, Maura.”
The way her name slid over his tongue like honey on hot toast made her legs tremble a little. She forced them to carry her without wobbling as she stalked across the room to the bar. She could feel his hot gaze on her retreating back and she stiffened her spine. Still ignoring him
, she poured them each another drink.
Carrying the tumblers and the bottle, she walked back to the rock star. She sat next to him on the bench and handed him the stiff drink. “Here you go.”
“Thanks, Maura.” He tasted it and closed his eyes. “Ahhh.”
She watched his illegally long eyelashes, then dropped her gaze to his mouth. An inexplicable urge to kiss him raced over her. To hide the impulse, she took a gulp of whiskey. It went down hard and she choked.
Stoney took the glass from her hand and patted her on the back. “Easy does it, slugger.”
Nodding, she continued to cough until tears ran down her face. Swiping at them, she finally got herself under control. “Wow,” she gasped.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” she managed.
“I’ll get you water.” He hurried behind the bar, grabbed a bottle and brought it to her.
She accepted it with a shaking hand. After a few sips, she could breathe again. “Thanks.”
“You might want to pace yourself,” he said.
Throwing a hard look at him, she sipped more water. “Went down the wrong way.”
“Remind me to never have you swallow,” he said with a wicked grin.
At first, she couldn’t believe he had said something so crude. When it hit her he’d actually said such a raunchy thing to her, she launched to her feet and balled her hands on her hips. “I don’t know what kind of women you hand around, but I don’t like being spoken to like that.” Before he could respond, she turned and marched away.
He grasped her elbow just as she reached the bar and spun her around. “I’m sorry.”
She jerked out of his grasp, crossed her arms over chest and looked away. “We can agree on that much.”
“And I’m an asshole,” he said softly.
“Truer words were never spoken.” She refused to look at him. An angry tear slipped down her cheek.
With this thumb, he brushed it away. The rough texture sent a shockwave through her.
“Awe, darlin’, don’t cry.”
Her tremors intensified as his deep voice washed over her. Dang, this guy was making her react in all kinds of ways and they were all wrong. “I’m not.”
“Come on, look at me now.” He took her chin with his forefinger and thumb and gently turned her head his direction. When their eyes met, he said, “That’s better.”
