"I wish. I'm working part time at Daddy's."
"He's letting you muck around at Semper Fi?" He injected the proper horror into his voice. "A girl who couldn't even graduate college? What are the chances of there being a business to come back to when I'm finished with this job?"
"Pretty decent, considering Gert doesn't let me do a damn thing without supervision. Shouldn't she be retired by now? She must be eighty years old."
"Seventy-four. And retire to do what? Crochet doilies?"
"You sound just like her." Amusement laced her voice. "And I have to admit, the woman's a machine. I'm running my arse off just trying to keep up with her."
"She keeps us all slapped into shape," he agreed. "Well, listen, kid. I'm running into traffic and it looks like there's some road construction ahead, so I'd better hang up and pay attention. Keep your nose to the grindstone and I'll see you when we get to Denver."
"Mum got us tickets to Priscilla Jayne's concert. She said I met her once, but I don't remember. I've listened to her new CD, though, and it's actually good."
He grinned. "I'll be sure to pass on your effusive praise."
"That didn't come out right. I guess I just thought all country music was twangy, but hers isn't. I really like her voice and her songs tell great stories. I'm looking forward to hearing her in concert."
"She puts on a helluva show," he said, thinking of her energy knocking them dead in honky-tonks across three states. "I'll see if I can't get you backstage passes."
"Sweet."
When they disconnected a minute later, Jared emptied his mind of everything but the need to concentrate on the sudden backup on a stretch of freeway that moments ago had been nearly empty.
Once traffic opened up again, however, his mind went straight back to the subject it had been worrying since the wee hours of the morning. He was like some damn hamster on a wheel, he thought with disgust, running his ass off to get nowhere. He had to knock it off.
One thing was certain, though. He was glad the tour was finally starting.
Because it was bound to be a whole lot easier getting back on professional footing with a mess of people around to dilute the effect of one-on-one time spent with P.J.
CHAPTER SIX
Hyperlinked headline, NightTrainToNashville.net:
Priscilla Jayne Kicks OffSteal the Thunder Tour
"WELL, LOOK WHO'S HERE," said a familiar voice as P.J. strode onto the stage in the Portland venue later that afternoon. "Hey, little girl. Early as usual, I see."
She grinned at Hank Hartley, who stood a short distance away tuning his banjo, his fiddle carefully nestled in its open case at his feet. He gazed at her with warm hazel eyes from beneath the brim of his ever-present leather bush hat, a small return grin playing around his lips. "Sound check's not for another twenty minutes, babe," he informed her.
"What can I say, H.H.? Promptness is a hard habit to break." She raised her eyebrows at him. "But I don't have to tellyou that. You got here even earlier than me."
Laughing, he crossed the short distance still separating them and hauled her into his wiry arms. Strong as a bear at forty, he gave her a big hug that left her feet dangling off the floor and the neck of his banjo digging into her spine. She drew in his familiar scent of tobacco, aged leather headgear and wrist straps, and Drakkar Noir cologne. The top of her head bumped the underside of his hat and, reaching up to hold it in place with one hand, he set her gently back on her feet.
"I'm sorry about your mom and all the shit with the press," he said gently.
"Aw, thanks, Hank." She touched the little sandy-brown soul patch beneath his bottom lip, the single silky surface in a hundred-miles-of-bad-highway craggy face. "It's been a:challenging few weeks."
"I bet." Gently he hooked one of her curls behind her ear. But several strands snagged on fingertips callused from years of playing stringed instruments and pulled free again. With a whispered curse, he smoothed it back to join the rest. Then, looking beyond her, his eyes narrowed. "Who's this?"
She knew who she'd see before she turned. But she glanced over her shoulder anyway. Jared stood several feet away, hands in his pockets and his posture relaxed, observing them.
Sighing, she turned back to Hank. "My watchdog," she admitted and briefly explained Wild Wind's burning desire to insure their investment.
"Thehell you say!" Easygoing eyes gone hard, he stepped around her and, pausing only long enough to lay down his banjo, strode toward Jared. "Listen, pal-"
Alarmed, she sprinted after him. While Jared might be a full head taller and didn't appear particularly worried, she'd once seen Hank flatten a man a good deal beefier than Mister Oh-so-nonchalant Hamilton would be even if he supersized his meals for the next ten years.
Idiot that he was, Jared looked completely unruffled as he faced the irate musician-his only concession to the approaching threat to pull his hands free of his pockets. "You're taking issue with the wrong man," he said evenly as Hank rocked to a halt in front of him. "Take it up with Wild Wind. I'm just doing the job they hired me to do."
"Good for you." Hank gave Jared a flat stare. "But she's right where she's supposed to be, isn't she? So you can take a hike."
For a second Jared's posture lost its easy slouch and a dangerous expression flared in his eyes. Then he shrugged and walked away, disappearing into the shadows of the left wing.
P.J. watched him go, telling herself she didn't feel disappointed. Hell, no-that would be just plain ridiculous. Shesaluted Hank for routing him-she should have thought of that whole I'm-here-so-now-you-can-go-away deal herself. As for the big hollow space in her stomach, she just wished she'd grabbed something to eat was all. The sound check could take quite a while depending on how good the acoustics were and how well the new backup band meshed with her way of playing.
Joining Hank, she slipped her arm through his. "My hero," she said, batting her lashes at him.
He snorted.
"Have you seen Eddie or Nell yet?"
"Last I saw Eddie, he was romancing the front-office girl. Haven't spotted Nell."
"I'm here," a soft voice said and they both turned. A plump, medium-height woman materialized from the shadows of the right wing, where her medium-brown braid and medium-dark clothing had rendered her invisible.
"Nell!" P.J. dashed across the stage to give her only real female friend a fierce hug. "I'm so glad to see you." Stepping back, she held Nell at arm's length. "Now, are you sure you want to do this again this year? I mean, why be tour manager when you can make more money and work less hours as a songwriter?"
"What, and give up all this glamorous travel?" Nell looked around the stage, bare of everything except Hank's instruments and pieces of the bandstand that the roadies were setting up for the extra musicians Wild Wind had hired for the tour, then out at the empty theater.
Following her gaze, P.J. saw with a jolt that Jared hadn't left at all. He sat in the front row, one ankle propped on his opposite knee. The only other person out there was the sound man in his booth at the back of the main floor. Having introduced herself to him earlier, she dragged her attention from the last guy she'd expected to see front and center and returned it to her friend. "Is the bus here yet?"
"Yes. I just spoke to the driver and he's pumped. Apparently he's a huge country-music fan and is looking forward to driving you. Thinks you're darn near as good as Patsy Cline."
"Get out. Nobody's as good as Patsy." Then she laughed. "But whataya say we go check out our new ride as soon as we finish the sound check? We're going to have to make a decision about buying our own bus after this tour, I suppose. I'll have to run it by Ma-" Renewed pain was a razor in her throat and she cleared the clogged tissues gingerly. "Um, Ben, I mean."