One Wild Night

by Melissa Cutler

While he talked, Gentry bent down and discretely got the pic. “Sounds like a plan to me. Think y’all can handle that?” He smiled out at the audience, who whooped and cheered for him. “I taught these guys one of my new songs this afternoon, one that I previewed at the ACMs a couple weeks ago. Something that’ll be on my next album. Want to hear it?”

  They cheered again right on cue.

  “All right then. I wrote this song after one of the best nights of my life. Any of you men in the bar tonight ever met a woman you knew you’d never forget? The kind of woman who haunts your dreams?”

  She’d seen that performance on YouTube. She knew the song, about their horseback ride together. She braced herself to hear him sing such personal, sexy lyrics about her once more. Remedy snagged her attention. “Is this the one about you two?”

  Skye was just about to answer, when Gentry said, “This song is about just such a—” He went silent.

  Skye looked up to see him staring at her over the crowd. His shock at her presence seemed genuine. Had he really not known she was in the audience? Had he not staged this performance on purpose? She straightened. Her heart raced.

  “Well, hello,” he whispered into the mic through smiling lips. People in the crowd followed his line of sight to Skye, their stares curious. His eyes zeroed in on the Shiner Bock and his eyes narrowed—almost as if he knew she was pregnant. But there was no way …

  He turned to talk to the band, seemingly giving them music instruction, and when he faced the mic again, he cleared his throat. “Change of plans. The Buck Riders are being gracious enough to let me try out some even newer material for you tonight. This song is called ‘After the Crash.’ Here we go.”

  Skye’s whole body clenched. Had he really written a song about their accident? Had he honestly figured out a way to cash in on that nightmare of a day?

  Concentrating hard on his guitar again, Gentry strummed it with a simple chord and the band caught on. A ballad.

  Skye sank to her seat again. Mesmerized. It was a song about the crash, sort of. But more of a song about a woman who’d crashed into his heart and changed everything. It was about two people whose lives crashed into each other, without warning, no seatbelts or safety nets. It was beautiful and vulnerable in a way that none of his other songs had been.

  While he played and sang, he never once looked up from his guitar, concentrating on picking out the chords, until the very end. And at the end, when he did raise his eyes to the crowd on the final chorus, his gaze went straight to Skye. She felt like the only person in the room.

  Remedy poked her arm. “Did he really write that about you? Because that was incredible. He’s really talented.”

  Skye opened her mouth but no sound come out. She’d never been anyone’s muse before and it filled her with a kind of warmth that crumbled her defenses—right up until the high wore off. Like the sun cleared out a morning fog with its blazing rays of light, anger rose inside. He’d written a song about her, about them. How dare he? Didn’t he get it? This was her life he was messing with. She’d asked for space to figure out how she felt, but here he was in her face, broadcasting their personal life for everyone to hear.

  That sense of impending doom crashed through her again. He was pushing her too far, too fast, and she wasn’t ready to handle it yet. How could she plan for her future when she had no idea if her body was even capable of carrying a baby to term?

  She swayed in her seat as the realization hit her hard. No wonder she’d been filled with dread. No wonder she couldn’t bring herself to tell anyone she was pregnant. She was carrying a baby inside her that may or may not survive. She’d already lost one baby when she was around this number of weeks pregnant—and that was on top of the fact that he and she had almost killed this baby themselves with their carelessness of getting on that motorcycle.

  She’d been so wrapped up in her anger about getting pregnant by a virtual stranger, by the same kind of man she’d been trying to distance herself from, that she hadn’t allowed herself the space to process how terrified she was of being robbed once again of the chance to become a mom. The problem wasn’t that she wanted men and a life that wasn’t good for her—it was that she hadn’t been allowed to keep them. No matter how badly she’d wanted her marriage to work, how badly she’d wanted that baby, they’d been ripped away from her.

  She wasn’t afraid of having this baby or falling hard for Gentry. She was afraid that, in the end, loving either of them wouldn’t matter, because she was powerless to control whether she got to keep either of them in her life or if they’d simply slip through her fingers.

  “Beer’s not working for you?”

  It was Adam again. Skye roused herself from her thoughts and swallowed hard. A huge part of her was grateful for the distraction from her sudden shock of fear. She drew circles in the condensation on the pint glass and forced a smile to her lips. “Turns out I’m not a big fan of Shiner Bock,” she said, pushing the still-full pint away. “I’d offer it to you, but…”

  He chuckled. “Listen, I’m off work in a couple minutes. Mandy will be your new server after that. But, uh…” He whipped out a pen and scribbled on a cocktail napkin, then handed it to her. His phone number. “In case you change your mind about dancing with me.”

  She made a show of accepting the napkin and reading his number. “Thank you. It was a pleasure meeting you, Adam.” She offered her hand for him to shake and he pressed a kiss to the back of it.

  “For my next song, it’s another new one,” Gentry said on stage. “Y’all might be surprised to hear that this one’s also about a girl.”

  “I’m sensing a theme,” the lead singer joked.

  Gentry tipped the brim of his ball cap. “Damn right. This one’s called ‘Take It.’” He squinted at the crowd. “We don’t have any youngins in here tonight, do we? I hope not. Because this one’s a little X-rated.”

  Skye didn’t have it in her to sit and listen to Gentry sing an X-rated song, possibly about the two of them. She shot out of her seat. To Remedy and Micah, she said, “I have to go. I can call a cab if you’re not ready, but I’m tired and I have to work tomorrow.”

  The two exchanged a knowing look. “No, we’re ready too,” Remedy said. She stood and wrapped her sweater around her shoulders.

  Micah chugged his last sip of beer. “Yup, now’s good. Let’s roll.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa, stop the song,” Gentry said. The band stopped playing and the crowd hushed.

  “Skye Martinez, don’t you leave yet.” The words boomed over the speakers.

  Skye turned and faced the stage, mortified.

  Gentry’s blue eyes bore into her. “Do you like the new songs? They’re coming along, aren’t they?”

  She nodded. What else could she do with everyone watching?

  “Good. Glad you liked them. I’ve just about got this whole album written. Looking forward to singing you the rest of it.”

  What was he thinking, talking to her like that as though they were the only two people in the room? She hooked her thumb toward the door and called, “I’ve got to go.”

  He remained unfazed. “Yeah, I know, but you forgot something.”

  Her pulse pounded and her cheek blazed. What did he want from her, a kiss? Was he going to ask her out? He wasn’t going to try to make her drink that beer in front of everyone, was he?

  He nodded to the table she’d been sitting at. “You forgot that cocktail napkin. The one with the waiter’s number on it.”

  Um. He wanted her to take the napkin? He wanted her to see other guys? It didn’t make sense. And the confusion must have shown on her face because he added, “Yeah, that don’t bother me at all. I think it’s kind of funny, actually. You can date every one of those lovesick clowns if it suits you. I’ll still be here waiting for you when you’re ready.”

  Fear coursed through her again. She couldn’t fall for him. She refused. Not when he could slip through her fingers so easily. Just like this baby. He wasn’t the staying ki
nd. He wasn’t husband material. He’d told her so himself. Hell, he’d written a whole damn song about it. How could she risk her heart to someone like that?

  “I know you’re scared, and you have every right to be,” he said. “But that doesn’t change the fact that we’re…” He swallowed hard. “It doesn’t change the connection we have. That’s not going away, no matter how much you want to deny it. So I want you to know I’ll be here waiting for you.”

  A few people in the bar got it in their heads to try to cajole Skye up on stage. They led a chant of “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” that spread like wildfire through the bar.

  “Aw, come on, kids. Knock that off. Don’t pressure the lady. Next time she kisses me, it’ll be because she wants it as bad as I do.”

  She held his smoldering gaze, feeling his words all the way down to her toes. Every day since the first one they’d met, she’d been consumed with a gnawing hunger for his touch, for the chance to melt into the feel of his lips, his body, as she had in every juicy, toe-curling kiss they’d already shared. Every. Single. Day.

  A whole-body shudder rocked her where she stood.

  She forced herself to break eye contact. “Let’s get out of here,” she said to Micah and Remedy.

  “See you soon, beautiful,” he called after her as she walked through the door. “See you soon.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Gentry realized a lot of things while he’d been on stage at Hog Heaven the previous weekend.

  Number one, he could connect with Skye through his songs in a way that he hadn’t been able to do otherwise since the crash. Performing for Skye had been the best way to convey exactly what he was feeling, what she meant to him. That had always been his best way of expressing himself and now that his inspiration had returned in spades, he wanted to sing to her every chance he got, all the songs she’d inspired. Which brought him to his second realization.

  He needed a backup band if he really wanted to make that deadline. They’d have to be local musicians and hired on the sly, so no one in Nashville would catch wind of his project. So he’d put up the call in town, leaving fliers all over Dulcet. Which is how he ended up with a line extending down Briscoe Ranch Resort’s pathway leading to their special events barn where he was holding auditions. As he’d known they would, the fliers had brought in a lot of gawkers and fans that simply wanted his autograph, and a lot of townsfolk who treated the audition like he’d put out a call for American Idol—they may have no talent, but they wanted their five minutes of fame and to have a celebrity musician’s attention for a few minutes.

  That motley group included all the provocatively dressed young women who tried to convince him that he needed backup singers. One of the ladies left her phone number on the signup sheet. She circled it and added a heart.

  “Just in case you might be holding some other auditions while you’re in town,” she’d said with a toss of her hair. There was a time that he would have been all over that. But never had he been so crystal clear in his focus about who he was and what he wanted with his life.

  After two hours and talking to what seemed like more than a hundred Dulcet locals, he’d just about given up hope of finding any gems in the rough when a truck hauling a horse trailer pulled right up behind the barn on the maintenance road.

  It only took a moment for Gentry to recognize the long-haired, tattooed driver. He strode out past the line of audition hopefuls to meet the truck. “Nick! What the hell you doin’ here, man?”

  They roped each other into a back-thumping one-armed hug. “Word on the street was that you decided to go ahead with writing a new album for Neil. And seeing as how I was just fired from my last band gig,” he said with a wink, “I had plenty of time to burn.”

  Gentry had decided not to lasso any of his old band members to his current wagon, knowing it might go down in flames and not wanting to take anyone else down with him. But Nick’s arrival and his touching offer got Gentry right in the heart.

  “That means a lot, man. Thank you.” He nodded to the horse trailer. “What’s with that?”

  Nick grinned. “Borrowed it from your ranch manager, Elias. He and I got to talking, and he said Wild Beaver hadn’t been the same since you left. And I figured, since you wrote your best songs when you were out on the range with him, that you might be missing him too.”

  All Gentry could do was blink at him. “You brought me my horse?”

  “Sure did. I stabled him here at the resort under your name.”

  “That’s … damn, man, I don’t know what to say.”

  Nick clapped a hand on Gentry’s shoulder. “Say, let’s get this fuckin’ album lit up and let Neil Blevins know in no uncertain terms that he can kiss your ass.”

  With Nick and Wild Beaver there, Gentry had reason to hope again. “These auditions are rough. I’ve been at it for hours and haven’t come up with anybody.”

  “Let’s give it another hour or so. There’s got to be someone in this line who can play, make this worth your while.”

  As they surveyed the line, a petite older woman strutted past the other auditioners, dragging a rolling black instrument case behind her.

  She marched right up to Gentry and Nick, waving a flier in their faces. “What is all of this? What are you hoping to accomplish? Why won’t you leave my granddaughter Skye alone?”

  Well, that changed things. “You’re Skye’s grandmother?”

  “Yes. Call me Mama Lita.”

  His head crowded with a hundred different questions about Skye. Was she all right? Were her legs all healed up yet? What about her wrist. What about the baby? “All right. Well, I’m holding auditions because I need a band.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “I’ve seen you on TV. You already have a band.”

  “And now he wants a new band. What’s it to you?” Nick said.

  Gentry added, “I wasn’t sure how long my recovery would take and I couldn’t leave them hanging like that. But this is Nick, my drummer. He’s still around. I’m just looking for guitar and bass at this point.”

  She frowned at that answer. “What about a keyboardist?”

  Gentry looked past her to her black rolling case. Was that a keyboard in there? “Er, yeah. I’d love to find an accomplished keyboardist to join the band.”

  The answer seemed to appease her. She rubbed her chin and nodded. “Okay. I’ve been looking for a new band to join up with for years. Not enough rock ’n’ roll around here for my taste. I’d like to audition. Someone’s got to keep tabs on you.” She glared at Nick. “Both of you.”

  Er, okay. Gentry had had no idea that Skye had a rock ’n’ roll granny, but he was intrigued. He hadn’t put out the call for a keyboardist, nor did many of his songs feature a keyboard, but he wouldn’t dare disrespect Skye’s grandmother by turning her away. Besides, she talked like she knew what she was doing. He doubted that she was country rock-band material, but he was getting desperate. If he couldn’t find a bass player, then a keyboardist would fit the bill just fine. Even if she was twice Gentry’s age.

  Nick helped her haul the keyboard up to the stage and set it up.

  A commotion near the sign-up table had them all turning around to see an itty bitty old woman dressed in a yellow sequined track suit leap out of a hot pink riding scooter. Onto the table, she unloaded an armful of instruments that looked better suited for a grade school. “I’m here to audition, sonny, and I brought all my instruments. What’ll it be? Tambourine? Kazoo? Cowbell? I play a wicked cowbell.”

  “God help us,” Mama Lita spit out. “This is no place for you, you old bat! This is a serious audition.”

  The so-called old bat shook her cane at Mama Lita. “And I am seriously auditioning. You can’t stop me!”

  Nick leaned in close to his ear. “Dude, you can’t have a full-on geriatric band. It’s not right for the image.”

  Gentry didn’t care much about his image any longer. The audition was already a bust, and so he didn’t see any harm in humoring some ol
d ladies, especially when one of them was Skye’s grandma. He stuck his hand out for the newcomer to shake. “I’m Gentry, and you are?”

  She gave him a hearty handshake that defied her age or petite stature. “Granny June Briscoe. This is my resort.”

  Then that settled it. “How about tambourine? You can accompany Mama Lita on her audition song.”

  Mama Lita snorted. “Over my dead body.”

  Granny June plucked up the tambourine and mounted the stage. “That can be arranged, Edalia.”

  Mama Lita cracked her knuckles and gave Gentry a pointed look. “If you’re going to make this old bat perform with me, then I want Logan up on stage to drown out the sound.” She nodded to a young man in line who held an electric guitar. “Logan, get up here. You know the song ‘Light My Fire’?”

  That was the last song he would have a grandmother to audition with.

  The kid, Logan, scrambled up on stage. “Uh, yeah. The Doors. Got it.” He cast Gentry a self-conscious look. “Is this okay with you if we play together?”

  More than okay. Gentry was honestly intrigued.

  “What’s your full name, kid?”

  “Logan Ryder.”

  “What class are you supposed to be in right now, Logan?”

  A lopsided grin revealed a dimple. He bet the girls in town were crazy in love with this kid. He reminded Gentry a lot of himself when he was that age and dreaming of hitting it big as a musician. “Civics.”

  Gentry wasn’t going to risk the liability of having an underage kid in his band, but since the guy had ditched school for this audition, Gentry owed him the chance to show his stuff. “You got a job?”

  “I’m a lifeguard at the resort.”

  Another Briscoe Ranch employee. He should have guessed as much. Every local he’d met seemed to work there, save Granny June, who actually owned the place.

  Nick grabbed a pair of drum sticks and took to the stage. “I’ve got drums on this one. And honestly? I can’t wait to hear what you’ve all got.”

  That made two of them.

  Mama Lita counted them down and Logan started in on those famous opening notes of the song, playing them with an ease and skill of a professional guitarist. Gentry hadn’t expected Logan to sing, but he surprised him again by stepped right up to the mic and letting the words float out of his mouth in perfect pitch, his voice not too dissimilar from Jim Morrison himself. As Mama Lita had predicted, he completely drowned out Granny June’s hopelessly off-rhythm tambourine.