TarotCafeSeries_bundle

by Lynn LaFleur

  A tall, slim brunette stood at a hostess stand inside the door. She looked up and smiled at him. “Good morning. Welcome to The Tarot Café.”

  P.J. gave a slight nod of his head. “Mornin’.”

  “Would you like a table?”

  He almost said no, that he just wanted a cup of coffee to go, but the enticing aromas coming from the kitchen changed his mind. He hadn’t eaten since late yesterday afternoon. “Yes, please.”

  He followed her to a table for two next to the stone fireplace. “Coffee?” she asked, handing him a menu.

  “A gallon would be good, to start.”

  The brunette chuckled. “I’ll make sure you get lots of refills.”

  He watched her walk away. She wore a maroon sweater and a long flowing skirt in shades of wine. Very feminine.

  P.J.’s growling stomach drew his attention away from the hostess. He felt as if he could eat everything in sight. Slipping off his jacket, he let it fall to the chair behind him and opened his menu.

  He glanced up at the sound of the front door opening. Two women stepped inside, one with honey-blonde hair and one with dark brown. The brunette was attractive, but the lovely blonde snagged his interest. He’d always had a weakness for blondes, especially if they had brown eyes.

  He watched the hostess lead them to a table across the room from him. The blonde sat so she faced him, giving him the chance to study her. Her hair brushed her shoulders in soft waves. She removed her coat and scarf. P.J.’s cock twitched when he saw how her full breasts filled out the front of her red sweater. He couldn’t tell the color of her eyes at this distance, but he’d bet they were brown.

  She glanced in his direction, long enough for him to nod his head in greeting. She gave him a small smile before looking back at her friend.

  The hostess blocked his view as she filled his coffee mug. “Your server will be right with you. Or I can take your order now if you know what you want.”

  P.J. had been too involved with looking at the blonde to peruse the menu. He said the first thing that came into his head. “Ham and eggs, over easy.”

  “White or wheat toast, or a croissant?”

  “Surprise me,” he said with a smile.

  She smiled back. “You got it.”

  Once she left, P.J. looked back across the room at the blonde. She quickly lowered her head, but not before he’d caught her watching him.

  Apparently she felt the same spark he did.

  Spark or not, he couldn’t approach her. He’d be here long enough for breakfast, then he had to head back to Tahoe Towers. Rusty would start climbing the walls in another hour if P.J. didn’t check in with him.

  But until he left, he’d enjoy the view.

  *

  “Is he still watching you?” Becca Marino whispered.

  Teanna Caldwell chanced another quick glance across the restaurant at the hunk sitting by the fireplace. She shook her head. “He’s drinking his coffee.”

  “Can I look now?”

  “No! I don’t want him to think I’m staring at him.”

  “You are staring at him.”

  Teanna frowned. “Sometimes I wonder why you’re my best friend.”

  “Because I’m lovable.”

  Teanna laughed while Becca grinned. “Yes, you are that.” Her laughter abruptly stopped. “Look quick. He’s heading for the rest room.”

  She turned her head at the same time as Becca did to watch him walk into the hallway where the restrooms were located. Becca released a low whistle.

  “Damn. Great ass.”

  Teanna agreed with that. He wore a pair of tight faded jeans that cupped his buns perfectly.

  “Follow him.”

  Grateful she hadn’t sipped her water yet for she surely would’ve choked, Teanna set the glass back on the table. “You aren’t serious.”

  “Why not? You can just happen to run into him when he comes out of the men’s room.”

  “And do what? Drag him off to the storage room for an early morning quickie?”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “No. Absolutely not. I don’t pick up strangers.”

  “C’mon, Tee, we’re here to have fun. Do something different, something daring.” Becca pushed back her chair. “I’ll do it.”

  Teanna reached across the table and grabbed her friend’s wrist. “You will not.”

  “Not for me. He’s been staring at you, so he’s obviously interested. I’ll invite him to join us.”

  “You will not,” Teanna repeated. “We’re here to have breakfast and we’re heading for San Francisco after that. Our plane leaves at four, remember?”

  “Yeah, I remember.” Becca sighed heavily. “Lousy timing. Too bad you couldn’t have met him yesterday.”

  Teanna thought the same thing. She would’ve enjoyed spending an evening—and night—with him.

  She watched him as he made his way back to his table. Once seated, he looked at her again. Goose bumps broke out over her skin. She would swear she could feel his gaze touching her.

  She’d never been fond of men with beards, but she’d make an exception for him.

  The spell was broken when he received his breakfast and stopped looking at her. Teanna tried to focus on her menu so she could order, but all the words ran together. Here was a man who made her stomach flutter, despite not one word spoken between them, and she’d never see him again.

  Sometimes life simply wasn’t fair.

  *

  P.J. had eaten slowly, enjoying the view of the blonde far more than the delicious food on his plate. With a clean plate and a full stomach, he had no excuse to remain here any longer.

  The hostess, Leandra, returned to his table with his check. “One more refill?”

  “No, thank you. I need to go.”

  “How about a reading before you leave?”

  P.J. had no idea what that meant. “A reading?”

  Leandra nodded. She slid into the chair opposite him. “We offer Tarot readings along with your meal.” She smiled. “No extra charge.”

  Before he could agree or disagree, she pulled a velvet pouch from a pocket in her skirt. P.J. watched her remove a well-used deck of colorful cards. He knew about the Tarot, but had never given any thought as to whether or not it was “real”. He had little faith in psychics or palm readers or people who claimed to have visions.

  “Thanks for the offer, but I’m not into this kind of stuff.”

  “I’ll keep it simple. How’s that?” She shuffled the cards quickly and fanned them out on the table, face down. “Pick one card.”

  “One card is supposed to tell you all about me?”

  “One card tells me a lot. Unless you’re afraid to find out.”

  Afraid of a slim brunette and some funky cards? Not a chance. P.J. leaned forward and studied the deck spread before him. He reached out to choose a card in the middle, then stopped. His gaze shifted to the card on the far left. He picked it up and turned it over.

  The Ten of Wands.

  Leandra bit her bottom lip and P.J. thought he saw her wince. “What’s wrong?”

  “The Ten of Wands is the Weight of Ambition card. Upright, the way I see it, means you’re carrying a heavy load. You’re struggling to meet all the commitments you have. You’ve taken on too much and you’re trying to do everything yourself instead of delegating some of the responsibility. You have to delegate or your health will start to suffer.”

  P.J. stared at Leandra. She couldn’t possibly know how stressed he felt, unless she knew his true identity. “Do you know who I am?”

  She shook her head. “Should I?”

  “No.” He stared at the picture on the card of a young man carrying a load of long sticks. He had no doubt Leandra had done these readings enough so she could pop out meanings for whichever card her customer picked. Still, it was spooky how close she came to describing his life perfectly. “Don’t most people carry too much responsibility? It’s the kind of world we live in today.”

&nb
sp; “True, but this card tells me you need to make some major changes in your life, perhaps take a different path.”

  P.J. had thought the same thing over the last few weeks. He loved singing, he loved performing for the fans, but didn’t know how much longer he could keep up the insane schedule without completely falling apart. He was only twenty-nine, yet most days he had less energy than someone three times his age.

  He pulled his wallet from his jacket pocket. “Thanks for the great breakfast. And the reading.”

  She reached over and lightly touched the back of his hand. “Whether or not you believe in the cards, they don’t lie. Take care of yourself.”

  P.J. sat still a moment after Leandra left, thinking about what she’d said while chills ran up and down his spine.

  It’s a gimmick, something to entertain the customers. It doesn’t mean anything.

  He took a twenty from his wallet and laid it on top of the check. Movement to his right drew his attention and he lifted his head. The two gals stood to leave. Once the blonde headed for the exit, the brunette gazed at him. She pointed toward the other gal and held up what looked like a business card, then laid it on the edge of their table before following the blonde out the door.

  P.J. wandered over to their table and picked up the card. He saw a logo of a mortar and pestle, and the words:

  Caldwell Apothecary

  Teanna Caldwell

  Accounting and Billing

  Teanna. A beautiful name for a beautiful woman. He noted the address listed as Lanville, Texas. He’d never heard of Lanville, much less had any idea where it was located in Texas. That didn’t mean he couldn’t find it.

  He slipped the card into his jacket pocket.

  Chapter Two

  San Francisco, California

  December 20

  P.J. awoke when the sun’s warmth touched his face. He must have forgotten to close the heavy drapes last night. Slowly, he opened his eyes. Drapes in some kind of geometric print hung open on either side of the window. He frowned. That wasn’t right. The drapes in his suite were dark blue.

  He rose up on one elbow and gazed about the room. He didn’t recognize any part of it. He also didn’t recognize the two women in bed with him.

  P.J. untangled his legs from the sheet and eased to the side of the bed. His head and stomach both rebelled at the movement. He had to wait a moment to be sure he wouldn’t lose whatever was in his stomach before he moved again. A wave of dizziness hit him when he stood. He remained still, waiting for the dizziness to pass. Empty condom packages littered the floor, along with beer bottles and a half-spilled bottle of bourbon. He wondered how much whiskey he’d drunk before the rest soaked into the tan carpet.

  Fear gripped his throat, made his heart pound. He began to shake when he realized he didn’t remember anything of what happened to him since late last night. He’d often partied hearty, but he’d never had a problem remembering everything he’d done.

  He had to get out of here.

  He found his briefs under the bed next to his shoes and socks. His jeans lay crumpled in the corner of the room. Luckily his cell phone was still attached to his belt so he could call someone as soon as he dressed. Picking up his jeans to add to the pile of clothing in his arms, he left the bedroom in search of his T-shirt, jacket and cap.

  The apartment was small but neat. It didn’t take P.J. long to find the rest of his clothing thrown over a recliner and his glasses on the coffee table. He dressed quickly and left, closing the door quietly behind him.

  Standing on the sidewalk in front of the apartment house, he took several deep breaths of cool air to try and clear his head. He rubbed his forehead while he thought back to last night. The band had gathered in his suite, as usual, for the after-concert party. Dane had talked him into staying instead of hiding in his bedroom the way he’d done the previous three nights. It was their last night in San Francisco, their last concert before they took a break for the Christmas holidays. P.J. decided he should spend time with his band since he wouldn’t see them for three weeks.

  One drink led to two, then three, then four. By the time the rest of the invited guests arrived, he’d been well on his way to feeling no pain. But he still couldn’t remember leaving his suite with those girls.

  P.J. heard traffic close by. He removed his cell phone from his belt and punched in his brother’s number as he walked toward the sound of the traffic. Four rings and it went to voice mail.

  “Shit.” He disconnected the call, knowing it wouldn’t benefit him to leave a message when Rusty wouldn’t check his messages until much later. His brother was probably sleeping off a hangover, the same as the rest of his band.

  He came to an intersection. He could see his hotel in the distance, maybe three blocks away. Perhaps the walk in the crisp air would finally clear his head so he could remember what happened last night.

  *

  P.J. searched every pocket, but couldn’t find a key card to his suite. He didn’t have his I.D. with him either, so couldn’t stop at the desk for another card. He’d have to depend on someone to open the door for him.

  Not an easy task at seven in the morning after a night of partying.

  He punched the doorbell buzzer twice. Several seconds passed with no response. He buzzed again, punching it three times. When that didn’t get a response either, he pushed in and held the buzzer.

  Almost thirty seconds went by when the door opened, revealing a bleary-eyed, half naked Art.

  “P.J. Hey, man.”

  “Hey, yourself.” He brushed by his bass player and into the living room. A quick glance around revealed a girl wearing only a pair of panties sitting on the couch. He prayed she was at least eighteen, though she didn’t look much older than fourteen. “Where is everyone?”

  “Don’t know.” Art rubbed one hand over his face and hitched up his unfastened jeans. “I think Rusty’s in his bedroom. The other guys left earlier.”

  The girl stood up and thrust out her small breasts. “Hi,” she said with what she probably assumed was a sultry smile.

  “P.J., this is Rosie. She’s been waiting to meet you.”

  Translation—she’s been waiting to fuck me. No way, little girl. “You’ve met me. Get dressed and get out.”

  Her smile faded. “But-but I thought we could… You know.”

  “Yeah, I know, but I don’t fuck minors.”

  “I’m nineteen!”

  “Sure you are.” He scowled at Art. “Get her out of here.”

  P.J. headed toward Rusty’s bedroom. He heard Rosie whining that she didn’t want to leave. Tough. He wasn’t about to get caught with a naked minor in his suite.

  Rusty lay sprawled on his stomach in his bed, snoring softly. P.J. didn’t want to wake him since he didn’t know when Rusty finally went to sleep, but he couldn’t leave without telling his brother. He shook Rusty’s shoulder. “Wake up.”

  Rusty didn’t move. P.J. shook his shoulder harder. “Rusty. Hey, wake up.”

  His brother stirred, burying his face in his pillow. “Go ‘way.”

  “That’s my plan, bro.”

  His words must have finally sunk into Rusty’s brain. He slowly raised his head and peered at P.J. through one eye. “Huh?”

  “I’m going home. I didn’t want to take off without telling you.”

  Rusty raised up on one elbow. “You’re leaving? Now?”

  “I’m gonna rent a car and drive home.”

  “You aren’t flying back with us?”

  “No. I need some alone time, Rusty, some time to think about…things.”

  Rusty pushed himself to a sitting position and leaned against the headboard. “You’ve been acting weird for a week. What’s going on? Talk to me.”

  P.J. had always idolized his older brother, especially after they lost their parents four years ago. Rusty had been the strong one, the son who took care of all the details following their parents’ death. P.J. had always depended on Rusty, had always been able to talk to
him.

  “I’m burned out, Rusty. I’m tired of the partying, the women, the booze. Nine years is enough.” He sat on the bed, knees widespread, hands dangling between them. “I don’t remember what happened to me last night,” he said softly. “I woke up in bed with two women in some dinky apartment three blocks from here. I have no idea how I got there.”

  “That’s never happened to you?”

  P.J. shook his head. “I’ve gotten drunk, I’ve gotten stoned, but I’ve always known where I was and what happened. Last night…” He stopped and swallowed hard. “It scared the shit out of me.”

  Rusty blew out a heavy breath. “Did you drink or take something different last night?”

  “I was drinking whiskey, like always. There were at least thirty people here. Hell, someone may have slipped something into my drink, thinking it would be funny to get me high.”

  “Yeah, that’s possible.”

  P.J. straightened and faced his brother. “We don’t have another concert until mid January. That gives me three weeks to be by myself and get my head together. I’ll take the long way back to L.A., maybe through Yosemite and Death Valley. Then I’m going out on my boat for a few days of fishing.”

  “You want some company on your boat?”

  “You hate fishing.”

  “Who says I have to fish? I can lie in the sun and read while you put worms on the hooks.”

  P.J. knew the offer came from Rusty’s heart. As manager, he had to look out for the band’s best interests. As his brother, he’d put P.J. above anything else. “I appreciate that, bro. Maybe after I have some time alone, I’ll take you out with me.”

  Rusty still looked concerned. P.J. smiled to reassure his brother. “I’ll be fine. I just need a break.”

  “I’d feel better if I went with you.”

  “I’d feel better if you took care of the guys instead of worrying about me.”

  “I’m supposed to worry about you. I’m your big brother.”

  “And you’ll never let me forget that.” He cradled Rusty’s jaw and dropped a smacking kiss on his brother’s forehead, simply because he knew Rusty hated that. “I’m gonna shower and pack.”

  *

  In his bathroom, P.J. quickly stripped and stepped beneath the warm shower. He tilted his head back and let the water beat on his head for several moments, hoping that might jar his memory about last night…and the two girls in bed with him this morning.