by Layne, Lyssa
“Doubt they have any strippers here.” Stoney wore his usual bored expression all the ladies went crazy for. “We’ll have to make do with townies.”
“Keep your joysticks covered and don’t knock up any locals,” Joel warned. “Cowboy’s reputation doesn’t need more drama. We’re here to put the Great Teal Incident behind us.”
“Man,” Stoney said, “you really know how to kill a good buzz before one starts.”
Joel pinned a hard look on him. “You already have one custody battle raging…you want another?”
Stoney turned to stare out the window with his jaw set in a hard line. “No.”
“Shitheads.” Johnny punched the back of the seat. “Okay, let’s go inside.”
Joel parked at the side of the long, low building and the four travelers piled out. Johnny stretched his legs, glad to be done traveling, although today’s trip had been cake. They had flown by his private jet from L.A.X. to Grand Junction’s small regional airport, and then driven another two and a half hours deep into the Rockies.
Many times he’d ridden on tour buses for more than twenty-four hours straight. He shuddered, remembering the early days of touring out of a minivan. Money had its advantages. He could enjoy a few perks. He’d worked his ass off for them.
Adrian grabbed his elbow. “Come on, Cowboy. Let’s go find some booze and pussy.”
He settled his ever-present straw cowboy hat on his head. “Go ahead, I’ll be there in a minute.”
As the others hurried toward the bar, Johnny lingered a moment to look around. He was reminded of glitter on a green dress as a cool breeze rustled the red, gold and yellow leaves clinging to the aspens scattered amongst the pines on the mountainside. The scent of wood smoke hung in the air. In spite of Joel’s fears, maybe he could convince a couple local chicks to snuggle with him on a bearskin rug in front of a fireplace tonight.
Damn. He’d forgotten to ask Joel if their accommodations came equipped with one.
His manager hadn’t said much, only that they were to spend the night on a remote ranch and drive at daylight to the trailhead that led to the hunting camp where there was no phone or internet. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been without his phone and constant access to the web.
Too bad his old man hadn’t been able to come. Although Kenneth Cortez had wanted to come, his health had forbidden the trip. His heart wasn’t as strong as it once was and he feared the altitude would be too much.
Instead, Johnny had brought along a lesbian sharpshooter and two guys who had as much interest in hunting as he did chess tournaments.
With a sigh, he went to join his motley crew.
Inside the building, red vinyl barstools lined a long polished bar. A couple of men sat arguing good naturedly about the Bronco game wrapping up on the TV suspended in one corner. Joel, Stoney and Adrian had chosen a corner booth. When they spotted him, they motioned him over.
He slid in next to Adrian. “This place is hopping.”
“I told you so,” Stoney muttered.
“It’s Sunday in the heartland,” Joel said. “What did you expect? L.A. nightlife?”
Johnny shrugged. “It’s sure not The Cave.”
“And here I was hoping for bitches and cocaine,” Stoney muttered as a skinny waitress with a bad perm approached.
Johnny braced himself for the inevitable fawning and pasted on his best smile. She’d undoubtedly want an autograph and a selfie. For her sister or friend, of course.
“What can I get you?” She snapped her gum impatiently.
For a moment, silence reigned. The band all looked stunned at her lack of recognition. Finally Joel managed to speak. “Diet Coke with a lime twist.”
Stoney settled for a screwdriver.
“Vodka over ice,” Johnny said.
“Add a splash of cranberry juice to mine.” Adrian winked at the waitress, who ignored her. Johnny grinned. His backup singer was shooting blanks with this girl. He imagined Black Mountain wasn’t a hotbed for girl-on-girl hookups, but he could be wrong. Sometimes small-town chicks were the biggest freaks of all.
He settled back against the cracked vinyl seat and gradually relaxed. Usually when he walked into a bar, even The Cave, he was deluged with fans and groupies. The paparazzi always lurked like buzzards waiting to pick his bones clean. To go someplace without either happening was a strange sensation.
One he didn’t know if he liked.
The whole idea behind coming here was to shake Teal off his scent, but falling into complete anonymity threw him. He’d been working for recognition since he was fifteen; losing it wasn’t an option.
The waitress brought their drinks and set them down. “You plan to run a tab?”
“Yes.” Joel attempted to hand over his credit card. “Here.”
“I’ll grab it when you’re ready to leave.” She backed away as if he were trying to give her a live timber rattler.
Slowly, Joel dropped his hand. “Okay.”
Johnny understood his confusion. In L.A. there was no such thing as running a tab without laying down a credit card first. The Cave often gave him and his entourage free drinks and food because of the publicity he brought with him, but contrary to popular belief, most places expected him to pay and pay well.
He smiled at the waitress. “Hey, darlin’. How about you run some tunes on the jukebox for us.”
“You got quarters?” She snapped her gum again.
For a moment, he hesitated, stunned. People usually jumped at his every request. He dug in his pocket, but he didn’t have any change. “Um, yeah.”
As usual, Joel came to the rescue, handing her a ten. “Load it, please.”
Her eyebrows rose to her hairline. “All of it?”
“Yeah, sure.”
Still, she hesitated. “Oh, okay.”
“Is there a problem?” Joel asked.
She shrugged. “Just this much will spin that old jukebox until the cows come home. You sure you want to put this much in it?”
Joel waved a hand. “Yeah, yeah.”
“I’ll help you choose.” Adrian shoved Johnny’s shoulder. “Let me out.”
He stood and she slid out of the booth. “Come on, sugar. Let’s get this place rocking.”
They headed across the large dance floor to the old-fashioned jukebox in the corner. The two girls leaned close and giggled like old friends as they made their selections.
In a few moments a familiar tune filled the room. Domino—a rapper and good friend of Johnny’s—had a current crossover hit.
Stoney slouched in his seat like a first grader. “Man, Dom’s flying off the charts.”
“Yeah, it’s a great song.” Johnny downed his vodka. He should have asked the waitress to leave the bottle. “I’m happy for him.”
“Hope our new album does half as well. God knows we need a hit,” Stoney muttered.
“It will. It’s a fucking killer record.”
Teal and all her bullshit had kept his face and name in the news even as the CD slid out of sight. For that he should be grateful, but he hoped all the personal drama wouldn’t overshadow the music. He and the band had worked their asses off to make an outstanding product. Would the public like their new single? All of their careers rode on it.
Only time would tell.
He looked around for more vodka.
The football game ended, Domino’s song came to a stop and the two spectators ambled out of the bar, leaving only Domino’s giant hit filling the sudden silence.
Adrian returned and edged Johnny over. “Good news! Lorae is going to call some friends. We’re going to liven up this joint.”
Joel frowned. “We’re trying to keep a low profile. Word gets out Cowboy’s in town, all hell will break loose.”
She glared back at him. “Doubtful. A few girls aren’t going to cause a riot.”
Usually the news of hot girls heading in his direction filled Johnny with anticipation. He hated being alone and he loved beautiful women, b
ut sudden annoyance filled him. “Why’d you go and do that?”
Adrian looked at him in surprise. “What’s wrong? You always love a party and this place is dead.”
He lifted his empty glass at Lorae, indicating he needed a refill. “I’m actually enjoying a little peace and quiet.”
“We’ll have plenty of that in the mountains,” she argued. “Let’s party while we still can.”
Lorae brought another round and a bowl of peanuts. “You all good?”
“We’ll be better when your friends get here.” Adrian sipped her cocktail. “Cowboy’s slipping into a coma. The high altitude must be getting to him.”
“They’re on the way,” Lorae assured her.
As if her words conjured them up, a half dozen girls burst through the door, talking and giggling in the high-pitched voices of hyper-excited fans.
Johnny put on his best smile, banishing his earlier irritation. Just like every other time a fan approached him, these girls immediately asked for autographs. A good-looking brunette coyly asked him to sign her left breast, and he scrawled his name in permanent marker above her lacy red bra with the ease of having done it a million times before.
The girl licked her full, rose-colored lips. “I’m Mary-Jane.”
“Cowboy.”
She beamed. “I know. I love your music—”
He tuned her out; he’d heard it all before. “You want a drink?”
Her smile widened. “Sure.”
Lorae brought a fresh round and the girls all ordered margaritas.
“So, girls, old Cowboy wants to party.” He slung an arm around both girls. “Who’s with me?”
Johnny slipped into his rock star persona as easily as he pulled on his clothes. It came to him as natural as breathing. He loved to party and drink and enjoy the charms of pretty girls. Having all three at his fingertips in this out-of-the-way spot reminded him of who he was and that Teal hadn’t stolen it all.
~*~
In spite of Montana’s reluctance to guide the music man, she wondered what he was like. Would he be arrogant? Demanding? Use his fame like a shield? Or worse, like a weapon?
Would he be like Tom Kerrigan?
A shudder ripped down her spine. She hardened her heart at the thought of her ex. He was long gone from her life. She would not allow any reminder of him to bring her down.
No matter how much humiliation she’d suffered because of his many infidelities.
She fixed a sandwich and poured a cup of coffee, carrying both to the front room. The computer sat dark and silent on her roll-top desk. It would be easy to find out about the man she would be guiding this week.
Should she?
Spy on a client?
It wasn’t spying, just research. A public person could easily be found on Google or any other search engine.
With a resigned sigh, she booted up the computer and typed in Cowboy. Over a million sites instantly popped up, showing everything from working cowboys to the Dallas football team. Mingled among them were stories about a rock star named Cowboy.
She opened his webpage first.
His picture showed a good-looking man with long light-brown hair and blue eyes. His full lips looked made for kissing. She snorted. He’d probably laid them on thousands of girls. A little tingle of awareness startled her. Long hair and torn jeans weren’t her usual thing.
She learned Cowboy—Johnny Cortez—had grown up in Seattle, always been interested in music. Started playing guitar at a young age, honing his skills in the school band. He and his best friend had started the Silver Star Band in high school and signed their first record deal by their early teens.
Montana’s reluctant admiration for the rock star slowly grew. He had worked hard and earned his stripes, although his last CD, Heartbeat, had tanked. His new record would release sometime next summer.
The sidebar showed a list of his music.
Curious, she clicked a selection.
Loud blasting rock music.
Yuck.
Choosing another, she was pleasantly surprised when a familiar country tune drifted out. She hummed along, liking the lyrics a lot.
Why had this album not done better? Apparently the fans had not liked his crossover from hard-driving rock to country.
She dug further and learned he’d written Heartbeat, the country album, for his wife. Charmed by his devotion, she opened yet another site.
As she read, her stomach dropped.
This guy made Tom Kerrigan look like a devoted family man.
Johnny Cortez—AKA Cowboy—dated strippers and porn stars until he married an unknown singer named Teal McNamara who resembled a centerfold with a mass of pale blonde hair, impossibly big blue eyes and enormous fake breasts. They’d met at a concert, and married in a quickie Vegas wedding. Not long after, she’d landed in his best friend’s arms.
The press had had a field day with that fiasco, detailing every sordid moment.
A flicker of sympathy lit in Montana. She knew how betrayal felt. With a sigh, she closed the laptop.
It was going to be a long week.
Where were her guests? They should’ve arrived long before now. She glanced at the clock. Almost nine. Had something happened to them? The road into Black Mountain was steep and winding. More than one person had died navigating the two-lane highway.
She nibbled her lip. Should she try to call Joel? Finally, she dialed. It went immediately to voicemail. She left a message asking if they were okay and hung up more concerned than before.
Briefly, she considered calling the sheriff, but Joel had stressed privacy. If nothing were wrong and she sent the cops, Joel probably wouldn’t like it.
Should she go look?
She couldn’t miss them. The road to the ranch was lonely, traveled by very few. Mind made up, she called Boots and grabbed her coat. A quick trip to town wouldn’t hurt. She let the Border collie jump into the Ford first, and then climbed into the cab.
“I hope this isn’t a wild goose chase,” she muttered. “They probably decided not to come. Too bad. I’m not giving their money back even if they don’t show.”
The dog barked in agreement.
~*~
Montana didn’t pass a single vehicle on her way into town. Her nagging worry increased. Maybe she should go to the sheriff. She wrapped her fingers around the steering wheel until they turned white.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a black Escalade parked in front of The Waterfall. Could the fancy vehicle belong to her missing guests?
She flipped on the signal light and pulled into the nearly empty parking lot. “Stay,” she told Boots and headed for the bar.
Inside, the jukebox blasted. The sounds of laughter and conversation drew her gaze to the back booth. A group of people sat around it, drinking and talking as if they didn’t have a care in the world.
Perhaps they didn’t.
Her gaze flew over the scene. It took a minute to recognize her old college buddy in one corner of the booth. Next to him sat a man with a girl on his lap and his tongue stuck down her throat. Three more girls had their arms wrapped around each other, laughing uproariously.
But it was the last man who caught and held her attention.
Johnny Cortez.
Her heart pounded a little faster and her pulse picked up speed.
The spark instantly died when she noticed the girls draped over him.
Exactly like Tom.
When he spotted her standing by the door, staring in disbelief, his dark blue eyes caught and held her as captive as a deer in headlights.
He unwound the brunette’s arms from his neck, stood and walked toward Montana. The internet had not done the rock star justice. Tall. Long hair. Wearing a T-shirt, baggy blue jeans with holes in the knees and cowboy boots.
Sexy personified.
He extended his hand. “Hello, gorgeous. Call me Cowboy.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Montana’s eyes narrowed and her mouth snapped into a tigh
t line. Instead of taking his hand, she spun on her heel and stomped back through the door, slamming it behind her. By the time she reached her truck, her stomach churned so hard she thought she might vomit right there in the parking lot.
He thinks I’m a groupie!
When she climbed inside, Boots whined and licked her cheek.
Memories flooded her mind as she climbed into her truck and started the engine. The homecoming football game her senior year of college should have been the best ever. Tom had played like the star he was and came off the field sure he would be picked up in the drafts. Dating a running back, wearing his ring with plans to marry after graduation, had Montana on top of the world.
He told her to meet him at his apartment and they’d go out to celebrate.
Using her key, she let herself inside Tom’s place. He wasn’t in the living room or kitchen. The shower was running. Heading that way with a smile, she let herself inside the steamy bathroom.
Through the mist, she spotted three bodies under the water.
Frozen in disbelief, she stared at her fiancé and the two girls having sex with him. She’d never seen a pornographic movie, but she imagined this scene would fit right in. One girl knelt in front of him with his penis in her mouth. The other one draped herself over his back with her breasts pressed into him.
With a cry of pain, Montana fled.
Later, Tom swore it didn’t mean anything. An impulsive act, one he’d always fantasized about. Just recreational sex. Something Montana shouldn’t hold him accountable for. She was the one he loved, but dating a soon-to-be-famous running back, she would have to get used to groupies. They were part of the fame deal, after all.
If that was fame, she didn’t want any part of it.
Apparently sensing her distress, Boots licked her hand.
Through hot tears, Montana looked at her dog. “It’s okay, buddy. I don’t care about Tom and his tramps anymore.”
Boots whined softly.
If she weren’t so desperate for money, she’d give the rock star a refund and send him down the road.
