The Closer You Get

by Kristi Gold

  The guys soon left to board the other bus, with the exception of Pat, who dropped down onto the chair opposite the sofa and crossed his legs at the ankles. He gestured toward the space next to Bud. “Take a load off, Cammie, because this could take a while.”

  She’d rather wait outside, but out of the need to prove she could handle all aspects of life on the road—the good, bad and questionable—she claimed a place on the couch.

  “I know what you’re thinking about Brett,” Pat began. “But this hasn’t happened in a real long time. Sometimes a man just needs someone to hold.”

  Cammie sipped the soda, hoping to alleviate the bitter taste in her mouth. “I’m sure that’s true, but I’d think road sex would get old.”

  “Like I said, it doesn’t happen very often,” Pat said. “Right, Bud?”

  “Right. Brett usually stays to himself while he’s touring. He’s never been the same since—”

  Bud and Pat exchanged a look but remained silent.

  She couldn’t contain her curiosity. “Since what, Bud?”

  “Should I tell her?” Bud asked when Pat failed to speak.

  “Might make things easier to understand,” Pat said. “As long as she also understands it can’t go any farther than this bus.”

  Could the conversation be more confusing? “You can trust me to keep my mouth shut, so just spill it.”

  Bud shifted several times in his seat as if the whole subject made him uncomfortable. “Brett was married once a long time ago. They were both young and his wife wasn’t too keen on the touring. She pretty much left him high and dry without any warning, right about the time he signed with the record company.”

  Cammie couldn’t mask her surprise. “I’ve never heard that story.”

  “Not many people have,” Pat said. “His manager’s tried hard to keep it under wraps. Brett’s a real private person.”

  Cammie couldn’t let it go without one more question. “Did he have a fondness for groupies back when he was married?”

  Bud patted her leg. “No, Cam. When Brett started out, Jana was on board the bus every night along with the rest of the band. He never cheated on her.”

  That would be new and different. Cammie put away her sarcasm for the time being. “You’re saying he’s never gotten over it?”

  Pat rubbed his whiskered jaw. “Not really. The night when we were celebrating his first album going platinum, he had too much to drink and he told me he nearly gave up on his music when Jana left him. Many a man probably would have, but Brett threw his grief into his songs.”

  That much Cammie could understand. All of it. First, suffering the loss of her parents. Later, being left alone with a trampled heart, compliments of an aspiring singer with a penchant for booze and wild women. Composing songs had proven to be great therapy.

  “Most of the time Brett’s okay to be around,” Bud added. “But those times when he reaches a dead spot in his writing, that’s when he gets really hard to live with.”

  Pat got up to retrieve a beer from the refrigerator and a mangled bag of corn chips from the cabinet. He sat back down and took a swig of the brew, grabbed a few chips, then passed the bag to Cammie. “It’s been better since Tim, Brett’s manager, convinced him to look for new writers for his material. It’s taken the pressure off but he still prefers to write his own songs. And he’s real good at it.”

  “Do you still write?” Bud asked Cammie after taking a generous handful of the snack that she’d declined.

  He could have gone all year without mentioning that. “Not lately.”

  Pat looked at her curiously. “You write songs?”

  “I was a music major in college, but songwriting is just a hobby. I’ve never been that great.”

  “Don’t let this gal fool you, Pat,” Bud said. “She’s written some good material and she can sing like an angel. She’s got as much if not more range than a lot of the female country-music performers today.”

  Good old Bud, always her champion. “I prefer classical to country music, Bud.”

  “You write damn good music,” Bud said, his words barely discernable over major crunching sounds. “Whatever you want to call it.”

  A subject change was definitely in order. “So how long has it been since lover boy’s been gone?”

  Pat consulted his watch. “About fifteen minutes.”

  Fifteen minutes down, who knew how many more to go? Oh, joy.

  A short time later, the door opened and the star strode into the cabin, looking as if he’d lost his best friend. “I’m ready to get on the road, so let’s go.”

  “That didn’t take long,” Pat said. “But I guess that’s what happens when a man does without for too long, then hooks up with a fresh, young thing.”

  Brett nailed Cammie in place with a scowl. “That fresh, young thing happens to be my cousin.”

  Bud barked out a laugh. “Kissing cousin?”

  “You can kiss my ass, Bud.” Brett sent Cammie a surprisingly apologetic look. “Sorry.”

  “This is ridiculous,” Cammie said as she stood to leave. But before she made a quick exit, she turned back to the group and settled her gaze on Brett. “If you’re through taking care of all outstanding business aside from the shower, I’m going to do a quick check on the bus so we can get out of here before dawn.”

  Once outside, Cammie breathed in the cool, crisp air and found the change of scenery did her a world of good. Even the smell of diesel was less oppressive than the testosterone parade going on inside.

  She walked to the rear of the bus and lifted the hatch to aimlessly examine the inner workings as well as her opinion of Brett Taylor. Maybe he’d been telling the truth—the girl was a cousin. Maybe he was different. Maybe she should check back into reality. Regardless of his apparently devastating divorce, men like Brett Taylor reveled in female adoration and took supreme advantage of it. They could sleep their way across the country without giving it a second thought. They could discard a woman’s feelings at the drop of a cowboy hat and―

  “Is it going to make it to the next stop?”

  The voice was as deep and clear as the night sky and held a touch of amusement. She looked up at the tall figure silhouetted against the halogen guard light to see the man she’d just burned in effigy hovering over her. She turned back to the engine and randomly tugged at a wire. “Considering the low mileage on this monster, I imagine it will make the trip with no problem. At least I hope so. My fragile little female feet might not be able to handle walking.”

  “I don’t think anyone would consider you fragile, especially with you hunkered down in front of an engine.”

  Cammie straightened, faced him and fanned away a persistent moth. If only she could dismiss him as easily. “Obviously you think I have fragile ears.”

  “We’re just trying to clean it up a little.” Brett rubbed his jaw and studied her a long moment. “By the way, Bud just told me you sing.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I might have to kill him.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I haven’t sung in years. Wish he’d let it go.”

  “But he says you’re good.”

  “Bud’s biased.”

  “I kind of gathered that.” He took off his hat and forked a hand through his dark hair. “What’s the deal with you and Bud? You two seem pretty close.”

  Cammie blew out a frustrated breath. “He’s like a brother to me. Before he came to work for you, he was a driver for my grandfather�
��s charter business. He’s known me since I was in junior high.”

  He settled the hat back on his head and sent her a cynical smile. “If you say so.”

  “I say so, and I need to finish up here.” She crouched down to check the oil, hoping he’d take the hint and go away.

  “That’s the biggest dipstick I’ve ever seen,” he said as he continued to loom over her. “Except for maybe Bull.”

  Cammie couldn’t help but smile even though she really didn’t want to encourage him. After shoving the metal rod back in place, she stood and slammed down the hatch, then turned back to him. “All through and ready to go. Unless you’re expecting another cousin.”

  His grin deepened. “Nope. Just me, you and the boys.”

  Either she was imagining things, or he’d somehow moved closer. She leaned back against the bus, feeling more than a little crowded and very conscious of his charisma.

  He surveyed her face with eyes that looked incandescent, even in the dim light. “I take it you didn’t like what you saw backstage.”

  A definite understatement. “It’s really none of my business what you do in your spare time.”

  “But you don’t approve.”

  He was too close for her comfort, but she couldn’t move without bumping into him. “What I think about your exploits shouldn’t matter to you.”

  “It does.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

  “I just think since we’re going to be spending a lot of time together, we should have an understanding about some things.”

  “Look, if you’re waiting for me to say I approve of indiscriminate sex, then you’ll be standing here all night.”

  “Sometimes it’s part of the life.”

  “It’s a choice. And men who choose it are on the bottom of my list.”

  Brett took a step back and frowned. “Guess I’m treading on shaky ground here. What was his name?”

  She feared Bud had revealed more than just her singing abilities. “Excuse me?”

  “The man who stomped on your heart...what’s his name?”

  “What makes you think this has to do with some man?”

  He had the gall to grin. “I can spot a wounded female from a mile away.”

  “I’m sure you can since you’ve probably left casualties all over the country.”

  His amused look faded into a solemn expression. “They always know going in that it’s only for an hour or so, not forever.”

  How well she knew that concept. And how crass for him to admit it. “Do you include an autograph with your hour of undivided attention?”

  He narrowed his eyes and nailed her with one heck of a smoldering look. “You don’t want my autograph, do you, Camille?”

  Brett Taylor was the worst kind of danger, and she wouldn’t fall into that trap again. She moved around him and grabbed the rag she’d tossed on the ground before facing him again. “You sign my check. That’s the only autograph I need.”

  “So you’re saying money’s all you need? I’ve learned from experience money isn’t everything.”

  “I guess having what you have, you wouldn’t understand what it’s like to do without.”

  “Without what? Money?” He stared off into space as he spoke. “At times I’d gladly buy a real friend. Someone to talk to who doesn’t want something from me in return. That doesn’t happen too often in this business.” When he returned his gaze to hers, his eyes reflected a sadness that matched his tone. “There’s all kinds of doing without, most of which has nothing to do with money or sex.”

  She pushed her hair back from her face and tucked it behind her ears. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  “No offense taken,” he said. “I do choose to make a living this way, good or bad. And to set the record straight, that girl was my cousin. She’s going to college here in Austin and dropped by to introduce me to her boyfriend. I have her phone number if you want to call and confirm it.”

  For the life of her, Cammie didn’t understand why he even cared what she thought. Better still, why would she choose to believe him? For some reason, she did. “Fine. I’m sorry I assumed the worst.”

  “Apology accepted.” An uneasy silence hung over them for a few moments before he pointed to her cheek. “You have some grease right there.”

  Her hand immediately swiped at the place he’d indicated. “Did I get it?”

  “No. You’re just making it worse.”

  As Brett reached out and rubbed the smudge with a callused thumb, Cammie tried to look away, but couldn’t. He’d somehow captured her total attention with those incredible blue eyes and held her there like a captive animal. Even after he’d dropped his hand, he continued to caress her with a look as deliberate as his touch.

  The sound of the opening door brought Cammie out of the momentary stupor. “Thanks,” she muttered, and quickly put some much-needed distance between them, as if they’d been doing something wrong.

  “Everything okay out here?” Bud asked as he rounded the bus.

  She sent Brett an anxious glance and hoped she could steady her voice. “Yeah, everything’s fine.”

  “Nice talking to you, Cammie,” Brett said before he started away. “See you in the morning.”

  After Brett disappeared out of sight, Bud sent Cammie a serious scowl. “What’s going on?”

  Cammie gulped down a good dose of guilt. “Nothing’s going on.”

  “With Brett, it’s never nothing. What did he want?”

  “To check out his employee.” And that sounded completely suspect.

  “That’s what I was afraid of,” Bud said. “Just keep in mind that he has one hell of a way with women.”

  “He wanted to see if I know my job. That’s all.”

  Bud laughed. “Don’t believe that for a minute. When you left to come out here, he said you had to be the prettiest bus driver in all the music industry.”

  She could very well be the only female driver in the industry. “Oh, please. When are men going to learn to respect women for something other than looks?”

  “Sorry, Cam, but you just can’t take your looks for granted. They kind of slap people in the face when you enter a room, especially men. Brett’s only human and he’s bound to notice, but at least he’s not a lowlife like that Mark Jensen.”

  Cammie wiped the dirt on her palms off onto her jeans, yet she couldn’t wipe away the memories. “Do you think I’ll run into Mark on the road?” she asked quietly.

  Bud rubbed his palm over his neck and lowered his eyes. “It could happen.”

  She suspected he wasn’t being completely forthcoming. “Could or will, Bud?”

  “He’s scheduled to perform in Fort Worth, so I guess it’s possible you’ll run into him. Can you handle that?”

  “Why, of course,” she said cheerfully, but not too convincingly. Coming in contact with Mark Jensen again was the last thing she needed in her life right now.

  Cammie rarely thought about him, at least not fondly. He only crossed her mind when she’d seen some article heralding his success. Still, she wondered, if things had worked out, would she be touring with him now? Probably not. Mark didn’t have the capacity to be faithful to one woman. If by chance she did happen to run into him, she’d face it when the time came, knowing he’d done her a favor by setting her free.

  Pushing the unpleasant thoughts aside, she started toward the entrance. “Time to go, Bud. We’ve got to get on the road before dawn or we’
ll be fighting rush-hour traffic.”

  Bud grabbed her arm, preventing her from going inside. “Listen to me for a minute. Brett’s a real good guy, but he’s lived so long in this atmosphere, he doesn’t know any other way. I don’t want you to be caught up in another bad relationship.”

  Neither did she. “Do you honestly think I’m that foolish?”

  “I’m just saying you need to be careful.”

  “I will,” she said. “Nothing Brett Taylor could say or do will make me forget what I want out of life, and it’s not getting involved with another high-strung singer.”

  Bud grinned. “That’s the spirit, Cammie. And who knows, by the time I get back, maybe you’ll have him whipped into shape.”

  An hour later, with thoughts of Brett Taylor weighing heavily on her mind, Cammie drove out of the lot hoping she hadn’t made a terrible mistake.

  CHAPTER THREE

  BRETT LISTENED TO the steady roar of the engine, palms resting on his chest as he contemplated whether or not to get out of bed. From the look of the diffused light coming into the shaded window, he assumed it was probably early morning. He was too keyed up to rest, too frustrated to settle down. And when the phone began to ring, he decided he was too damn tired to talk to his mother.

  He didn’t even have to check the cell to know it was her. Only a few people had his private number. Only one of them got up with the chickens. As much as he wanted to ignore the call, putting off the conversation only delayed the inevitable lecture.

  Brett fumbled for the phone, sat up on the edge of the bed and braced for the fallout from his many sins. “Hey, Mom.”

  “Don’t you ‘hey’ me, Bobby Brett Taylor.”