Gypsy Hearts Page 3

  Brock’s lips tilted to one side. “Okay, you can have your own. I’ll help you lock up and then we can go.”

  Unlike Brock, Josie knew the places to go this late at night that served the best breakfast in this part of Texas. She’d been there before with Grant’s band and then just with Grant. Something about tonight made all that come back to her. As they walked through the doors of the diner, it felt as if she’d been there just yesterday, but it had been many years since she’d taken on a late night session. She had to wonder if maybe she’d made a mistake in accepting this invitation.

  Brock ordered them a couple of coffees while she blankly looked at the menu, not really reading it. She was hungry for something, but didn’t see anything that jumped off the menu. She settled on an apple cinnamon muffin when the aroma from one the waitress was delivering to a nearby table reached her nose.

  “So what’s the real reason you won’t go on the road with me?” he asked.

  She lifted her face from the menu she still held in front of her despite having made her selection. “Because I don’t want to.”

  He smirked and shook his head. “Not good enough. I figured you for at least some wild, elaborate story about how your long lost uncle or somebody needed you to come back and work the family farm.”

  She sputtered. “Who’d ever give a lame reason like that?”

  He rested his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “Actually, that’s what happened to my sister-in-law, Mandy. Came back to Texas to help her uncle with his ranch and ended up falling in love all over again with my older brother, Beau. Been married now a couple of years.”

  “Well, ain’t that sweet,” she said, trying to sound sarcastic, but the envy of it all got the better of her. She’d become a sap in her adult life. Happily ever afters made her weepy and long for one herself.

  “Yeah. I’ve got a pretty little niece named Promise. My little sweet pea. She likes to pull at the strings of my guitar when I’m playing. And they’ve got another one on the way now.”

  “I get it. So the house is getting crowded and it’s time to pack up and go on the road? Is that your story?”

  “You want to know my story, but I’ve already told you and I think you can pretty much figure on your own what I didn’t tell you. It’s pretty simple stuff, and I’m a simple man.”

  Josie doubted that. There was something very real and compelling about Brock Gentry. Words couldn’t quite capture him. Not anything she could come up with anyway, and she’d tried over these last days to do just that. When she’d seen him walk into the studio that first time, she thought she knew him or at least his type. She’d been dead wrong.

  “I want to know your story, Josie,” he was saying as he played with the paper napkin, dipping it in the water ring on the Formica table and then twisting it as if he were ringing out a wet rag. “You tell me you don’t want to go on the road. But I saw you in that studio. You love what you do. You were as lost in what we were doing as I was.”

  Josie couldn’t deny it or push back the smile that pulled at her cheeks. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d enjoyed working in the studio this much. There was room to grow here, to be challenged and find the creative energy that sparked her to life-things she wasn’t likely to find taping dog food commercials.

  And there was this man, who with every breath he took, intrigued her.

  She wanted to go on the road again. Sure. But that wasn’t going to happen. She’d been there, done that, as the saying went. She didn’t need a repeat of her broken heart. She didn’t need to be trampled by studio executives who only looked at the bottom dollar and not at the artist or his craft. People who molded, shaped, and dressed a person until you no longer recognized the man beneath all that flare.

  It would happen to Brock. And that was a crying shame. The man had talent in every inch of his being. And the dogs of the recording industry would chew him to pieces.

  ve got to be out of my mind,” Josie said, stuffing an extra sweatshirt into her duffle bag. She owned a nice black leather set of luggage her mother had given her when she graduated high school. She’d only used it once. It was too nice to be thrown around in the bottom of a dusty bus cargo hatch, being crushed by equipment, or on the bus, getting food and drink spilled on it.

  And she had to pack light. Space was limited when sharing quarters and before too long, she knew the nice little things she thought she needed on the road would only be in the way. One big bag was all she was taking. If she couldn’t fit her needs in there, it wasn’t coming on the road with her. She’d probably get enough ribbing from the band for the things she couldn’t part with.

  And then she’d give it right back. No matter how many trucks they had to haul their equipment, the bus would have a few instruments the musicians wouldn’t leave in the equipment truck. A guitar was like a security blanket to a musician.

  Yes, she was out of her mind, she decided as she pulled the hooded sweatshirt over her head.

  “Don’t look at me that way,” she said, ignoring the penetrating gaze of her faithful feline friend. Judgment was harsh, swift, and always hurt when she saw the truth staring back at her. “This is an important career move. I’m not a naive girl who’s fresh out of high school anymore. I’ve grown. I’ve learned from my mistakes.”

  A quick roll of his eyes, or maybe it was just a halflidded, sleepy gaze-with Dexter, she never knewand she found herself defending her decision even further. “I’m not going to get involved with the man. I’m just going to make some contacts, meet some people. Maybe by this time next year I’ll be working in a Nashville recording studio with Garth Brooks !”

  Or some other country singer. As long as it wasn’t Grant Davies, it didn’t really matter. There was a lot of talent out there. The more she’d thought about things as she fitfully tangled herself in her sheets last night, the more she’d come to realize she’d sold herself out for the likes of Grant Davies and a broken heart. She was playing it safe doing dog food commercials and audio books.

  It had been her decision, of course. She couldn’t blame him for everything. Only for the broken heart he’d left her with. And even then, there’d been signs she’d ignored.

  But leaving her career behind? No, that was all her doing. That and everything she’d done since. It was time to make a change, keep on stretching her legs.

  “I’ve worked on my last dog food commercial, Dex,” she said as she zipped her bag, happy the last of the things she’d need on the road were packed. “Come on, boy.”

  Josie carefully lifted Dexter into her arms and opened the small kennel door, closing the cage after she’d coaxed the cat inside. He’d only given her a marginal fight this time. He’ll be happy to discover this trip didn’t include a stop at the veterinarian’s office. Until then, Josie knew she’d have to deal with his wails of distress in the car. Once they were on the road, he’d become acclimated to the bus and even come to like it.

  “At least you’ll be my one true friend on the road,” she crooned at the eyes looking back at her from the cage. “Even though I’ll be totally outnumbered.”

  She changed her mind at least one hundred times between the time she dropped her bag in the trunk of her car and drove the thirty-minute drive to where the band was meeting. All the while, Dex wailed and Josie wanted to wail with him.

  What was she thinking? Didn’t smart women learn from their mistakes?

  “This isn’t a mistake. It’s a new direction. An adventure, Dex,” she said to the cat as she pulled into the parking lot and saw the bus. “It’s a chance for me to prove something to myself. For once I’m not going to run away like a dog with her tail tucked between her legs.”

  Dex gave a plaintive cry. Josie wasn’t sure if it was the reference to the dog or the fact that she’d just pulled up next to the big, touring bus. The engine was burning diesel, making noise and spewing choking, hot fumes. Dex meowed a little more as she opened the passenger side door and pulled him out by the handle of the
animal carrier he was secure in.

  “It’s going to be okay, Dex. Remember, it’s an adventure.”

  God, she hoped so. She hoped it wouldn’t end up being an adventurous disaster.

  “You made it,” Brock said, coming out from around the front of the bus.

  “Was there ever a doubt?” she quipped nervously.

  He just smiled and reached out to take the carrier from her.

  Josie shook her head. “Nope, not this one. This is precious cargo. He comes with me.”

  “I’ll take your luggage then.”

  “I just have a duffle in the trunk, and some things to make Dexter comfortable.”

  “I still can’t believe I let you talk me into taking a cat on the road.”

  “Where I go, Dex goes. No room for negotiations there. He travels well though. You’ll hardly notice him at all. You see, it’s a package deal with us.”

  His smile was like sunshine, warming her to the core. “It’s a fine package.”

  Still, she rolled her eyes. “Can’t you think of a better pickup line?”

  He looked momentarily hurt, until the corners of his lips curled into a smile that lit his eyes. And he had the most extraordinary eyes.

  “I’ll have to remember that about you. Nothing halfway, nothing phony.”

  “Absolutely. Give me the real thing or nothing at all.”

  What the heck were they talking about? She wasn’t in the market for anything from Brock other than a chance to do what she loved. This was a second chance to prove herself, and do things right. Dance with the big boys, rough it out with the mad dogs and come out a winner. A winner doing things her way for a change, instead of getting a dog food commercial bone thrown at her.

  “I’ll be sure to remember that about you.” His smile returned and when it did something sparked to life deep in her soul. He had a nice smile, genuine and pleasing. Josie found it hard to turn away from him.

  In the studio, Brock had been focused and passionate about what he was doing. Sure, there was ribbing all around by the musicians and sometimes it got out of hand when the locker room talk escalated. Then they’d all remember there was a woman in the room and that usually amounted to tossing cold water on the subject.

  Josie had laughed a few times about the looks on their faces. She was used to the boys room talk and felt comfortable around it, even if she knew her presence wasn’t always welcome. She did know that she belonged there, a part of it all.

  And she belonged here, she decided as she boarded the bus. Something about this journey felt like going home.

  Josie sat in the back of tour bus, quietly removed from the boisterous activity of the rest of the band as they argued about the set list. She seemed at home here, Brock thought with relief. Removed, but still very much a part of what was going on. That was good. He’d half expected her not to show up.

  She had the cat on her lap and lovingly stroked his fur in long, tender strokes. Every so often, she’d gaze out the window and turn her head back to him. Their eyes would meet and she would smile. A simple gesture, but it was nothing short of splendid.

  And something inside him did funny things. He couldn’t quite put a finger on it or figure out what was drawing him toward her. Or making his mouth say the most idiotic things.

  “Twentythree cities in twenty-five days. Twentythree shows in less than four weeks.” Miles Roper, the drummer who’d worked with them in the studio and had only just starting working with Brock live, stood up, drumsticks between his fingers, and gestured to the other bands members as if he were about to pull a rabbit out of a hat. “Now whose bright idea was this?”

  The sound of a tab from a soda can being popped cut through the hum of wheels rolling over the pavement. “What are you belly-aching about, Miles? You’ve got two days off,” Brock’s manager said, taking a sip from the can and then licking his lips.

  “It’s not the time off I’m worried about. It’s being stuck on this bus with the likes of ole Roy, here. I know how foul smelling he is in the morning.”

  “Didn’t I tell you? You’re sharing a bunk with Roy,” Will said laughing, thumbing toward the brawny sixfoot-five bass player who was taking up the space of two people with arms and legs spread wide as he sat eating from a large bag of barbeque chips. Roy stopped eating long enough to blow a teasing kiss at Miles.

  “Oh, Lord, I’m in trouble. Just don’t eat anything with beans.”

  Brock laughed as he made his way to the back where Josie was sitting. She’d been quiet since they’d boarded the bus, but she’d been taking everything in. He’d been watching her.

  As he dropped down beside her on the small seat, she rewarded him with a smile that made his mind play tricks on him. He never quite knew what the woman was thinking or what she was feeling behind those beautiful eyes.

  She motioned to Will with her head as she continued to stroke the cat’s fur.

  “So what’s the deal with Will? How’d you meet him?”

  Brock glanced over at Will, who was still giving a good teasing to Miles since he was off the phone. In a way, it felt strange to be going on the road with people he’d hardly known three months ago. Of all of them, he knew his manager the best.

  “Will Harlen scooped me up out of nowhere less than a year ago after seeing me play a solo impromptu gig outside Steerage Rock.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “You were playing without a band?”

  “I hooked up with these guys after I met Will. You could call it fate. I hadn’t even been scheduled to play that night. Will had come down from Houston to see another country band he’d heard about. I was only there that night to see them.”

  “How’d you end up on stage?”

  A tractor-trailer whizzed past the bus, momentarily drawing their attention out the window. When Brock turned back to Josie, her attention was fully on him.

  “The drummer came down with an untimely case of the stomach flu.”

  “Oh, no.”

  “Yep. The rest of the band wanted to go on with the show, but having their drummer puking his brains out wasn’t going to make it happen.”

  Josie giggled and covered her mouth with her hand. “That’s awful.”

  “Yeah, it was a tough break for them since Will was there to see them. I didn’t even know who he was, just heard some people talking about he’d come down to our neck of the woods in search of the next Grant Davies.”

  She flinched only slightly with the mention of Grant’s name and then recovered.

  “Isn’t that what everyone wants these days? Another Grant Davies?”

  “His music has been playing on all of the country stations. He’s touring and making money for the record label that had scooped him up a few years back and everyone wanted to emulate the kind of success the man has achieved.”

  “Is that what you want?”

  “I told you. I prefer his earlier work.”

  She smiled at that, something warm and kind and he forced himself not to reach out and touch her face.

  “That you did.”

  She turned to look out the window again, her hand still poised on Dexter’s back. Through the rumble of the bus, Brock could still hear the cat’s purr. Yeah, something was purring in him these days and he knew it had a lot to do with this woman.

  “Finish your story,” she said.

  He shrugged. “I spotted Will and he was looking really bored and impatient like he was ready to leave. I figured it was my open window.”

  Brock thought back to that night and how it had turned a small town country boy into something that people were starting to talk about. He’d heard the rumor that Will Harlen had connections in Nashville. He could make things happen. And he was there that night for a band that didn’t stand a chance of even stepping on the stage to show what it could do.

  Brock had known how to spot a window of opportunity. To have not made a move would have been like banging on a locked door when there was a perfectly good window to sail through. He was no fool
.

  “Management was getting a little antsy about losing their drinking crowd so I offered to step onto the stage and do a solo set to keep the crowd happy. At least until the headlining act got his head out of the toilet. All things considered, management offered me the stage. I’d never played a live show solo before. There was comfort in having some familiar faces on stage with me, even if I was the only one singing. But luckily, I managed to get Will’s attention.”

  Of course, it almost hadn’t happened. Brock recalled how when he’d stepped onto the stage and the spotlight hit his face, blinding him, he thought for one brief moment that he was about to join the drummer in the John. But luckily, the moment quickly passed, and the fear ebbed to something exciting instead of something driving his nerves to shreds. And just seconds after he’d announced himself and taken that first strum on the guitar he’d borrowed from the other band, he could hear the silence of the room like the beat of a drum.

  When the set was over and he’d stepped off the stage amidst a roaring crowd and headed to the bar for something to drink, the interest in Will Harlen’s face was unmistakable. Will had bought him the drink that night and said, “Kid, I’m going to make you a star.”

  Normally Brock would have just shrugged it off. He lived in the real world where stars were in the sky and people were just people. But he’d been riding the high of that show, still feeling the adulation of the crowd and his own satisfaction. When Will said the words they’d sounded like music to his ears and like a kid wanting to believe in Santa, Brock wanted to believe him.

  He sighed, bringing his thoughts back to the present. Twentythree cities in twenty-five days.

  “He’s not the only eye you caught,” Josie said, burrowing into his thoughts.

  “We’ve got a short time to shape you all into a tight band,” Will was saying as he poured over some paperwork. Pulling his cell phone out of his jacket pocket, he punched a number in with his thumb. “Twentythree cities in twenty-five days is the best way to do that. The first few shows will be small. You’re already getting the feel of each other like newly weds. Three weeks from now-”