by Terri Osburn
The waitress glanced toward Naomi expectantly.
“I’ll have a gin and tonic, please.”
“Coming right up.” The server shifted focus to Rachel. “Another wine spritzer?”
“Yes, ma’am.” The pretty redhead shuffled between tables on her way back to the bar, and Rachel leaned close again. “This is my one night out of the house. Six days a week I chase four kids under the age of twelve. And on the seventh day, I drink.”
Naomi had watched her three nieces often enough to understand completely. “I don’t blame you one bit.”
“Do you have kids?”
Ah. The dreaded question. And just when Naomi was starting to like her new friend.
“No,” she answered. “Not yet.”
The next question was almost always an inquiry about Naomi’s age, followed by a look of pity, that being so old meant she’d likely never have kids at all. But Rachel didn’t ask any more questions. In fact, she was no longer paying attention to Naomi at all.
“Holy shit. Is that who I think it is?”
Naomi followed her gaze and spotted Chance strolling to the bar. What part of don’t do anything stupid before Monday did the man not understand?
“I can’t believe he’s here,” girlfriend number one squealed, while loosening another button on her already-too-low top.
Girlfriend number two patted her aggressively teased hair. “He’s as hot as ever.” Without lowering her voice, she declared, “I hear he’s amazing in bed.”
Though Naomi possessed firsthand knowledge that Chance was, in fact, incredible in bed, she kept the confirmation to herself.
Cleavage girl grabbed her friend’s hand. “Oh my God, Louise, we have to talk to him. We should buy him a drink.”
Naomi’s palm itched to slap the shallow twit. The buzz in the room grew louder and she heard Chance’s name whispered from every direction. He had to know what coming here would mean. How was she supposed to clean up his image if he went right back to his barhopping ways?
Naomi strained to see what Chance was ordering, but just as the bartender pushed forward a glass, the lights dropped for the show.
“Welcome, everybody,” Michael said, “to Saturday night at the Songbird Cafe.”
The crowd reacted with a smattering of applause, too focused on the new arrival to give the performers the attention they deserved.
“We’re happy you could join us this evening.” As if sensing a disturbance, Michael’s eyes cut to the bar and his smile fell away. “Well, well, well. Looks like we have a bona fide celebrity in the room. The infamous Chance Colburn has graced us with his presence.”
Silence fell like a thick fog over a narrow back road as the entire room turned around at once. Naomi didn’t like the word infamous. Chance had made mistakes, but he certainly hadn’t earned that moniker.
With a subtle nod, Chance said, “I’m just here to watch the show.”
Michael gave the strings of his guitar a hard strum. “Good. Let’s kick things off with a song I wrote that Jack Austin was nice enough to take to number one. Here’s ‘Get Me Some Tonight.’”
As the song sailed into the first verse, Naomi debated her next action. She could sit around and wait for something to go wrong, or she could do her job and keep Chance out of trouble. There was only one real option.
Exiting her chair, she headed for the bar.
“I told you this was a bad idea.” Chance had intended to keep a low profile. So much for that.
“Guess I should have checked the schedule,” Archie mumbled. “But you’d think he’d be over it by now.”
Archie Duncan had been part of Chance’s band since their honky-tonk days in Amarillo. He was also the only person other than Shelly who knew of his songwriting slump. Desperate for inspiration, Chance had let Archie talk him into visiting the Songbird, a mecca for songwriters in Nashville. Which essentially meant returning to the scene of the crime, considering how often he’d exited the establishment drunker than a squirrel on fermented berries.
Chance sipped his Coke. “Swanson doesn’t get over anything. His ego won’t let him.”
Nearly eight years ago, Chance had been booked on a late-night showcase. He was the last act of the night, playing for any label reps still in the crowd. Most would cut out before he ever hit the stage. But when an earlier act failed to show, Chance got moved up, and within days he’d signed his first deal. The act that flaked was Michael Swanson. From that night on, he’d blamed Chance for stealing his shot. The whole thing was stupid, since Chance had simply been in the right place at the right time, but Swanson never passed up an opportunity to be an ass about it.
“You want to try someplace else?” Archie asked.
No way would Chance let Swanson scare him off. “Nah. He’s harmless.”
The music continued and the crowd settled down. Chance had long ago grown accustomed to the attention his fame brought. And his infamy, as Swanson had put it. He owned his mistakes and didn’t blame the onlookers for being curious, but there were times he missed being just another guy in the room.
“That didn’t take long,” Archie mumbled with a smile.
Chance looked up from his drink. “What?”
“A woman has you in her sights.”
Spinning on his stool, he saw her approach, the lights behind her obscuring her face while the red dress did nothing to hide the slamming body beneath it. Chance would recognize those curves anywhere.
“What are you doing here?” Naomi hissed.
He ignored the question, but ignoring the dress was another matter. She looked like a goddess from a dream. A dream he’d had many times over the last seven years.
“Nice to see you, too, Nay.”
She stayed the course. “You need to leave.”
Chance didn’t need to do anything. “What’s the matter? Afraid I’ll mess up your date?”
Naomi moved in closer, filling his senses with her jasmine scent. “How am I supposed to repair your reputation if you go right back to your old habits?”
She assumed he was there to drink. Nice to know she had so little faith in him. Not that Chance could blame her.
“Do you ever turn it off, Nay?”
“Turn what off?” she asked as a stranger passed by too close, knocking her forward. A slender hand grasped his thigh as she fought to keep her balance. Chance’s body lit up like a Roman candle before she snatched her hand away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.”
“No problem.” The words came out in a growl as he fought the urge to drag her onto his lap. Keeping his eyes on the performers, he expanded on his question. “Do you ever turn off the job?”
“I had until you walked in.”
“Does your lady friend need a drink?” asked the bartender.
Chance gave her an expectant look and Naomi shook her head. “I have a drink at my table, thanks.”
As the bartender moved on, Archie caught Chance’s eye. “Are you going to introduce me?”
“Naomi Mallard, meet Archie Duncan, my bass player.”
The pair exchanged a brief handshake. “Nice to meet you, Archie. I’m the PR manager for Shooting Stars Records.”
“Ah,” his friend said in recognition. “Then you must get why we’re here. Chance needs—”
“Chance needed to get out, that’s all.” He shot Archie a shut the hell up look.
The music stopped and Swanson made an announcement. “Thanks for listening, folks. The guys here will keep it going while I take a short break.”
Performers didn’t take breaks after one song. The other pickers exchanged confused glances as Swanson rounded the tables, headed straight for the bar.
“What the hell is he doing?” Archie asked in astonishment.
“I’d say looking for a fight. This should be fun.”
Both men put their glasses down and Chance moved off the stool to put Naomi behind him.
“What are you doing?” She tugged on his arm. “Let me out of here
!”
“I will as soon as I deal with this.”
She dug her nails into his biceps. “I’ll deal with it. He’s my date.”
Chance glanced to his left but maintained his protective position. “He’s what?”
“My date,” she repeated. “Why would you think he wants a fight? That’s ridiculous.”
Proving her wrong, Swanson shoved Chance hard in the chest. “Back off, Colburn. She’s with me.”
“Michael, stop it.” Naomi put herself between them. “Chance didn’t do anything. I walked over here to speak to him about a business matter. You know he’s with Shooting Stars now.”
“Further proof that Benedict is an idiot.”
She blinked at her date. “Excuse me?”
“Only a moron would sign this has-been piece of shit.”
Chance refused to give Swanson the reaction he wanted. “Good to see you haven’t changed, Mikey.”
The nickname went over as well as it ever had.
“And you haven’t changed, either. Once a drunk, always a drunk.”
Reminding himself that the jackass wasn’t worth jail time, Chance kept his fists balled at his sides. “I may be a drunk, but I’m a drunk with a record deal. How’s that going for you, Swanson?”
The arrogant songwriter stepped forward, squeezing Naomi between them.
“This is not going to happen,” she mumbled, pushing against her date. Instead of stepping off, Swanson shoved her out of the way, slamming her into Archie’s vacant stool. The moment she cried out in pain, Chance’s control snapped.
Michael was off his feet and against the wall before Naomi regained her balance.
“Touch her again and I’ll kill you,” Chance snarled, face contorted with unexpected rage.
She had to get Chance out of this bar before all hell broke loose. The music died, the commotion drawing everyone’s attention to the melee. Naomi ignored the onlookers as she pleaded with Chance, keeping her voice as calm as possible while her heart raced.
“Chance, let him go.” She struggled to loosen his grip on Michael’s shirt. “You don’t need this right now. Let him go and we’ll leave.”
Michael struggled, feet flailing and face beet red, but Chance held tight. “You hurt her,” he growled.
Naomi ducked under Chance’s arm and cupped her ex-lover’s face in her hands. “He didn’t hurt me, Chance. I’m okay. Please, let him go.”
His hands fell away and Michael dropped to the floor, flopping like a fish out of water. Naomi ignored him to focus on Chance.
“You need to get out of here,” she ordered. “I’ll take care of this. Just go.”
“He hurt you,” he repeated.
Archie lifted Michael off the floor and propped him in a chair. Turning to Chance, he said, “She’s right. We’re out of here.”
Chance didn’t budge. “I’m not leaving you with him.”
“Fine.” Taking his hand, Naomi dragged him to the exit, too furious to notice the gaping onlookers snapping pictures on their phones. Outside, she led him several feet down the sidewalk before letting her temper fly. “What the hell were you thinking? That’s going to be all over the Internet in minutes. What am I going to tell Clay?”
His jaw twitched. “He put his hands on you. I couldn’t let that go.”
For crying out loud. Yes, her leg hurt where she had hit the stool, but that was no reason to ruin his already precarious career.
Raising her eyes to the sky, she muttered, “Why are men so freaking stupid?” Naomi pointed a finger at Archie, who had finally joined them. “I’m going in for my purse. Do you think you can keep him out of trouble for two minutes?”
The musician nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
Storming into the restaurant, Naomi ignored the eighty-plus pairs of eyes watching her every step of the way. Head down, she arrived at the table at the same time as Michael.
“Why did you go with him?” he demanded, clasping her wrist when she reached for her purse. “That asshole tried to kill me.”
“He did not try to kill you.” She tugged, but his grip tightened. “Let me go, Michael. That hurts.”
“You aren’t leaving with him.”
Teeth clenched, she lowered her voice. “You’ve embarrassed me enough for one night. Let. Me. Go.”
Instead of obeying her request, he applied enough pressure to force her into a chair, filling the one beside her.
Thin lips pressed to her ear. “You came with me, and you’ll leave with me. Understand?”
Breathing through the pain, she focused her watering eyes. “I go where I want, when I want, and I will never be going anywhere with you ever again. Now take your hand off me, or what Chance did to you will feel like a love pat.” She raised her voice to ensure those eavesdropping around them heard every word she was about to say. “You already look like a ball-less wonder. I can make that a literal statement before you know what hit you. Now let go.”
Something in her eyes must have told him she wasn’t bluffing. Naomi’s mother had insisted she take self-defense classes during her freshman year of college. Right now, she would be more than happy to give Michael Swanson a full display of what she’d learned.
He released her arm and, like the child he was, snarled, “I can do better than your cold ass anyway.”
Naomi didn’t justify that with a response. Shoulders back, she gathered her purse and shawl and walked to the door with her head held high.
Chapter 5
Chance never would have let Swanson rattle him if the bastard hadn’t put his hands on Naomi. The instant she’d cried out in pain, memories flooded his mind. Years of hearing his mother’s cries and not being able to help her. Not being able to protect her or himself.
He wasn’t that helpless little boy anymore, and he would not tolerate any man hurting a woman.
“I shouldn’t have talked you into this.” Archie kicked a discarded bottle cap down the sidewalk.
“You were trying to help.” Chance ran a hand through his hair before leaning against the cool brick wall. “It was a good idea until Swanson pulled his shit.”
How could Naomi go out with an asshole like that? Chance may not have been boyfriend of the year, but he’d treated her with respect. Except for that sleeping-with-her-boss thing. On second thought, maybe he wasn’t any better than the dickhead inside.
Naomi reappeared, wrapped in a white shawl and carrying a small red purse. “I’ll call Clay on my way home to give him a heads-up and discuss damage control.”
Chance shook his head. “If there’s fallout from this, I’ll handle it.”
“Maybe you’ve forgotten, but handling your messes is now my responsibility.” She smacked the purse against her thigh. “And since I like my job, I hope there will be no more unnecessary attempts to defend my honor.”
“He was hurting you.” Callused hands curled into fists at Chance’s side. “That made things necessary in my book.”
“Do me a favor. Put all that knight-in-shining-armor crap into a song and let me take care of myself.” She crossed her arms, revealing deep red marks around her wrist.
“What is that?” Chance stepped off the wall. “Did Swanson do that?”
Naomi covered the marks. “It’s nothing.”
Fury flashed behind his eyes as a fire ignited in his gut. “That isn’t nothing, Naomi. He hurt you when you went back in there, didn’t he?” Chance took two steps toward the Songbird before she cut him off. “Get out of my way. I’m going to teach that son of a bitch a lesson.”
“You’ve done enough.” Hazel eyes snapped with challenge. “There’s nothing in that bar that’s worth losing what little you have left of your career. Now do us both a favor and go home.”
Chance didn’t give two shits about bad publicity after seeing her wrist. “He needs to pay for what he did to you.”
Without missing a beat, she said, “That’s ironic, coming from you.”
The reminder hit hard, but he deserved it. Chance
paced away. “Are you going out with him again?”
Naomi pulled a set of keys from her purse. “From now on, our conversations are business only. I’ll let you know if we decide to draft a response to this incident before Monday.”
That didn’t answer his question. “Tell me you won’t see him again.”
She met his gaze without flinching. “Michael and I are through.”
“Good.” Chance cracked his knuckles. “If he bothers you again, let me know.”
“Not likely.” She stepped to the curb and checked both ways before crossing to her car.
Chance watched her climb in and drive off without a backward glance, and within seconds, the Songbird crowd began filtering out the door in search of country music’s notorious bad boy. Heads down, the two men headed toward the parking lot on the corner.
“I’m gonna guess you two have a history,” Archie said.
“You could say that.”
“She doesn’t seem to like you very much. What’d you do to her?”
There were some things he didn’t share with anyone. “We need to get out of here.”
“Fine. Don’t tell me.” They crossed against the light. “Was she always that fierce?”
“Yeah.” Chance grinned as he remembered the time she’d lit into a teenager they’d caught bullying a smaller kid behind his old apartment.
The younger Naomi had been determined. Ambitious. A born problem solver. But she’d never worn anything like that dress. Damn.
“Then you really screwed up.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
Ten minutes into the drive home, lyrics materialized in Chance’s mind. He’d hummed through the first couple of lines four times before realizing what he had.
“Switch the radio off, will ya?”
Archie glanced to his passenger. “Why would I do that?”
Chance did it himself. “Because I’ve got something going in my head.”
The truck rolled to a stop at the light at Old Hickory. “You’ve got a song?”
“Maybe.” The idea was too fresh to know for sure, but a few lines was more than he’d managed in months.
