Country Heaven by Ava Miles Page B

It was as tall as a small mountain.
    “We pipe the music in to get the crowd in the mood,” Clayton said, raising his voice to be heard over the noise. He gestured to a door that said Private. “Rye and the band are chilling in the lounge.”
    He didn’t knock before entering. Tory stepped inside and came to an immediate halt. Rye and his band were all decked out and looked ready to face down the bad guys at high noon in a gun fight. She’d read Louis L'Amour books as a kid, but she’d never seen so many cowboys in real life. They looked…well, foreign. And imposing.
    Rye grinned when he saw her and sauntered forward. “Boys, this here’s Tory, my new cook. She’s never been to one of our concerts, so we’ll have to play extra good tonight.”
    He stopped in front of her, his smile reminding her of a wicked sorcerer. There it was again, that unwanted but undeniable thrill of attraction. She edged back until she hit the door. She hadn’t seen Clayton close it. How embarrassing.
    He only smiled wider. “She’s not easily impressed,” he murmured, “but that’s part of her charm.”
    Her charm? What was wrong with him? He was looking at her like she was…a Twinkie he wanted to eat, sucking the cream out of the middle. Her wave was a light flutter of her hand.
    “Hi,” she said lamely.
    Rye introduced her to six men. She didn’t catch all the names, but she caught most of the instruments—violin, drums, piano, and three types of guitar.
    “So which one of you had the pie heaved at him?”
    The one guy whose name she did remember—he’d been the first in line—started laughing. Tucker pointed at Rye. “You blaming us for your misdeeds now?”
    Her mouth gaped open as she turned to look at Rye.
    His eyes narrowed, and that unnerving smile vanished. “Shut up,” he ordered.
    Tucker held up his hands before reaching for his beer. The other band members looked away and picked up their own longnecks.
    “You slept with your cook?” She checked her foot from kicking him, but oh, how she wanted to. “You lied to me!”
    “No, I said she slept with someone in the band.” He pointed at his chest. “I’m in the band.”
    She turned to Clayton. He lifted his shoulders as if to say don’t blame me.
    “Well, that explains the apron. There’s no way anyone with an ounce of talent would cook in that.”
    His shoulders started to shake. “Oh, she cooked in it all right.”
    The other men started laughing.
    She put her hands on her hips. “You deliberately lied to me. I’ll bet you lied about the little family matter that made you get into it with that man at the charity event.”
    Laughter ceased. The whole room grew quiet save for the outside music and the noise of the crowd.
    The gold ring around his hazel eyes looked like fire. “I didn’t lie about that. Wish I had,” he murmured, only loud enough for her to hear.
    She scanned the room. No one would meet her eyes.
    Someone pounded on the door and yelled, “Five minutes.”
    “Excuse me,” Rye said, striding out of the room without a backward glance. The band followed.
    Clayton stared down his nose at her. “Well, that went well. I hope we don’t have another incident tonight.”
    Well didn’t that beat all! “Don’t guilt–trip me here. He’s the one who didn’t tell the truth. How am I supposed to know what he does and doesn’t lie about?”
    “Let me give you some advice about Rye. Don’t judge a book by its cover.” He gestured to the door. “We should get out there.”
    He led her through a tunnel to the stage area. “The best place to see a concert, in my opinion, is from the wings. If you don’t mind standing.”
    “No,” she muttered as the bass reverberated through her body and the lights nearly blinded her.
    Her heart skipped a beat when the hall went totally black, and the crowd began to clap and scream. When a spotlight pierced the darkness and illuminated Rye, he was standing on a slender silver platform a hundred feet