toward the edge of
the white tent set up behind the outdoor stage. Yeah, trouble was heading their
way in the form of Mark Jensen, an up-and-coming singer with a huge ego to match
his big mouth. He wore a sleeveless T-shirt revealing a roadmap of tattoos
snaking up both arms, a camouflage baseball cap and a cocky expression as he
arrived at the semicircle of chairs where the band had gathered after the
concert.
“Great show, Taylor.” Jensen surprisingly offered his hand.
Brett reluctantly accepted the handshake, but he damn sure
wasn’t going to stand. “Thanks. Didn’t see yours.” Intentional on his part.
“It turned out pretty good,” he said. “Oh, and I also wanted to
say I’m sorry I knocked you off the top spot with my number one.”
So much for courtesy. “Well, after hanging in there for seven
weeks, it was bound to happen.”
“We could go celebrate with a cold one in my new bus.”
Brett figured from the look of the jerk’s glassy eyes, he’d
already had a few too many cold ones. “No, thanks. We’re going to be heading out
shortly.”
Jenson pulled up a canvas chair and sat without an invitation.
“You don’t know what you’re missing. My rig’s custom, right down to the surround
sound. It’s pretty sweet.”
“Brett’s got that setup, too,” Rusty chimed in. “But I bet he
has one thing you don’t have.”
Mark looked skeptical. “I doubt that.”
“Do you have a good-lookin’ female bus driver?” Bull asked.
Jensen frowned. “No way that’s the truth.”
Rusty grinned. “Yeah, way. And she can sing, too.”
The whole conversation gave Brett an uneasy feeling. “Drop it,
guys.”
“Brett’s right,” Pat joined in. “Cammie’s a professional and
she should be treated like one.”
That seemed to get Jensen’s complete attention. “Cammie?”
“Short for Camille,” Bull said.
Jensen rubbed his scruffy chin. “She sounds damn interesting.
Might have to check her out in case you’re pullin’ my leg.”
Brett had an urge to knock the smirk off the bastard’s face.
“Leave her alone, Jensen.”
When Mark grinned, pushed out of the chair and headed toward
the parking lot, Brett came to his feet, intent on following him.
“Sit back down, Brett,” Pat said. “If you don’t, then you’re
headin’ for a fight. You bruise your knuckles, you can’t play. You break your
nose, you ain’t gonna be as pretty.”
He never looked for a fight, but sometimes they found him,
anyway. “I don’t trust that guy, and I’m going to make sure he doesn’t mess with
Cammie.”
Bull laughed. “Cammie can take care of herself, Brett. And
she’ll be real pissed off if you charge in there to defend her honor.”
“I doubt she’ll even open the door to him,” Rusty said. “In
fact, when I went to ask her if she wanted to join us, she was sound
asleep.”
Brett realized they had a point. Cammie was probably still
sleeping, and she could put Jensen in his place with just a look if she wasn’t.
Besides, he didn’t want to suffer her wrath if he made a misstep in the macho
department. For those reasons, he reclaimed the chair. He’d give it five
minutes, and then he’d go check on her, even if it made her mad.
CHAPTER FOUR
C AMMIE WOKE UP mad as a
hornet, thanks to some heavy-duty knocking that nearly startled her out of the
bunk. She made her way to the cab in a fog and opened the door, expecting to
find Brett waiting to gain entry. She couldn’t be more wrong. The man appearing
at the bottom of the steps would send some women into the kind of hysterics
reserved for the naive starstruck. But she knew what resided behind the
disarming smile and dark green eyes. Those attributes only served as a shell for
the arrogant singer who had an affinity for booze and—as he’d termed
it—broads.
“Hey, darlin’.”
At the sound of the familiar and unwelcome endearment, Cammie’s
frame went as rigid as the gearshift. “What are you doing here, Mark?”
He
the white tent set up behind the outdoor stage. Yeah, trouble was heading their
way in the form of Mark Jensen, an up-and-coming singer with a huge ego to match
his big mouth. He wore a sleeveless T-shirt revealing a roadmap of tattoos
snaking up both arms, a camouflage baseball cap and a cocky expression as he
arrived at the semicircle of chairs where the band had gathered after the
concert.
“Great show, Taylor.” Jensen surprisingly offered his hand.
Brett reluctantly accepted the handshake, but he damn sure
wasn’t going to stand. “Thanks. Didn’t see yours.” Intentional on his part.
“It turned out pretty good,” he said. “Oh, and I also wanted to
say I’m sorry I knocked you off the top spot with my number one.”
So much for courtesy. “Well, after hanging in there for seven
weeks, it was bound to happen.”
“We could go celebrate with a cold one in my new bus.”
Brett figured from the look of the jerk’s glassy eyes, he’d
already had a few too many cold ones. “No, thanks. We’re going to be heading out
shortly.”
Jenson pulled up a canvas chair and sat without an invitation.
“You don’t know what you’re missing. My rig’s custom, right down to the surround
sound. It’s pretty sweet.”
“Brett’s got that setup, too,” Rusty chimed in. “But I bet he
has one thing you don’t have.”
Mark looked skeptical. “I doubt that.”
“Do you have a good-lookin’ female bus driver?” Bull asked.
Jensen frowned. “No way that’s the truth.”
Rusty grinned. “Yeah, way. And she can sing, too.”
The whole conversation gave Brett an uneasy feeling. “Drop it,
guys.”
“Brett’s right,” Pat joined in. “Cammie’s a professional and
she should be treated like one.”
That seemed to get Jensen’s complete attention. “Cammie?”
“Short for Camille,” Bull said.
Jensen rubbed his scruffy chin. “She sounds damn interesting.
Might have to check her out in case you’re pullin’ my leg.”
Brett had an urge to knock the smirk off the bastard’s face.
“Leave her alone, Jensen.”
When Mark grinned, pushed out of the chair and headed toward
the parking lot, Brett came to his feet, intent on following him.
“Sit back down, Brett,” Pat said. “If you don’t, then you’re
headin’ for a fight. You bruise your knuckles, you can’t play. You break your
nose, you ain’t gonna be as pretty.”
He never looked for a fight, but sometimes they found him,
anyway. “I don’t trust that guy, and I’m going to make sure he doesn’t mess with
Cammie.”
Bull laughed. “Cammie can take care of herself, Brett. And
she’ll be real pissed off if you charge in there to defend her honor.”
“I doubt she’ll even open the door to him,” Rusty said. “In
fact, when I went to ask her if she wanted to join us, she was sound
asleep.”
Brett realized they had a point. Cammie was probably still
sleeping, and she could put Jensen in his place with just a look if she wasn’t.
Besides, he didn’t want to suffer her wrath if he made a misstep in the macho
department. For those reasons, he reclaimed the chair. He’d give it five
minutes, and then he’d go check on her, even if it made her mad.
CHAPTER FOUR
C AMMIE WOKE UP mad as a
hornet, thanks to some heavy-duty knocking that nearly startled her out of the
bunk. She made her way to the cab in a fog and opened the door, expecting to
find Brett waiting to gain entry. She couldn’t be more wrong. The man appearing
at the bottom of the steps would send some women into the kind of hysterics
reserved for the naive starstruck. But she knew what resided behind the
disarming smile and dark green eyes. Those attributes only served as a shell for
the arrogant singer who had an affinity for booze and—as he’d termed
it—broads.
“Hey, darlin’.”
At the sound of the familiar and unwelcome endearment, Cammie’s
frame went as rigid as the gearshift. “What are you doing here, Mark?”
He
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