Christmas Cowboy Duet Read online

  The band’s temporary derailment gave her some needed breathing space, Whitney thought. Funny how things can sometimes turn out for the best in the long run.

  “Tell your drummer not to worry. We’ll just reschedule the audition when he’s up to playing,” she told the lead singer.

  More silence, as if she’d just managed to stun Kirk. “You mean it?”

  Whitney smiled to herself. “Absolutely. Just tell Scottie to get better and I’ll check in on you in a month.”

  “Are you just being nice?” Kirk asked, obviously leery of hoping for a second chance.

  Whitney knew exactly where the performer was coming from. The world of entertainment was a fickle, completely unpredictable place. People who were at the top one month were thrown off and trampled by the up-and-comers the following month. Staying power was an art form as well as unusually rare.

  “Yes, I mean it—but I’m also nice,” Whitney said as she smiled to herself.

  She proceeded to take down an alternate number where the lead singer could be reached and subsequently gave him her cell number, as well. Only then did the singer decide that she was on the level.

  The moment she terminated her call to the drummerless band, Whitney placed another call, this one to her brother.

  Again.

  It was his private line, but even so, Wilson took his time picking up. Whitney was getting ready to leave a message on his voice mail when her brother finally got on the line.

  In place of a greeting, Wilson said, “Maybe we should just string up two tin cans and use those every five minutes.” Impatience fairly throbbed in his voice as he said, “What now, Whitney?”

  “‘Now’ is when I tell you that not only don’t you have to send Amelia to audition The Lonely Wolves—and, yes, I know you, Wilson, you were going to let her fly down and show up even though I told you I was going—but now I’m not going, either.”

  She heard her older brother sigh deeply. “What is this, Whitney, reverse psychology so I decide not to send Amelia in your place?”

  “No, this is I’m not going because the band is down one drummer. And let’s face it, he’s the best one in the group and he’s the one who writes the songs. You can go right ahead and send Amelia if you want, but she won’t have anyone to audition once she gets there.”

  “What the hell happened to the drummer?” Wilson demanded angrily. “Is he hungover?” he guessed. “Or is it worse?”

  Whitney pretended to think it over for a minute, just to keep her brother dangling.

  “That all depends on whether or not you consider appendicitis to be worse than a hangover,” she replied in a serious voice.

  “He has appendicitis?” Wilson sounded rather unconvinced.

  “Had,” Whitney corrected. “Right in the middle of band rehearsal the way I hear it. Kirk—”

  “And who the hell is Kirk?” Wilson asked.

  “The lead singer,” she said, sounding as calm as he was agitated. “Will, you have to make an effort to learn their names if you’re signing them.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” he said dismissively. “Get on with the story.”

  “Kirk rushed him to the hospital and the upshot, barring some bizarre disaster, is that the drummer is going to be fine. Just not up to playing right now. The band is rather bummed out about not auditioning for Platinum so I don’t think we have to worry about them holding out to sign with another label,” she told her brother.

  “Is your car still in need of parts?” Wilson asked.

  “Yes. What’s one thing got to do with the other?” she asked.

  And then it hit her. The answer to her question was right there in front of her. She just had some trouble getting herself to believe it since she had always been so honest and up-front about everything.

  “You thought I made it up, didn’t you?” she accused Wilson.

  “Yeah, well, I thought you were just trying to get a little downtime for a change. By my reckoning, you’ve been going nonstop for practically years now—”

  “No ‘practically’ about it, Will,” she said, interrupting. “It has been years. I’m just as invested in our recording label as you are. If I’d wanted time off, I would have said so.”

  There was only one way to deal with Wilson and that was head-on. She’d learned that during her first negotiation for him. Older sibling or not, the man took absolutely no prisoners.

  “Okay. Sorry.” Wilson uttered the word rather grudgingly.

  She knew he really wasn’t sorry, but paying lip service was better than nothing, she supposed. So he said the word and she pretended to accept it.

  “I’ll give you a call as soon as I can get out of this one-horse town,” she promised.

  “Right.”

  And then, as usual, Whitney found herself listening to the sound of silence. Wilson had hung up.

  “Someday, Wilson, someone is going to have to teach you some phone etiquette. And while they’re at it, some regular etiquette wouldn’t be out of order, either.” She addressed the words to her dormant cell phone, which was now lying on the bed.

  “Is that a new feature on your cell phone?” Liam asked, peering into the suite. “You talk to it and somehow messages magically get delivered?”

  Beckoning for him to come in, she smiled a little ruefully. “I’m just clearing the air by yelling at my brother.”

  Liam laughed shortly. “I kind of got that part.” He’d heard her voice before he opened the door. “Anything wrong?” he asked seriously.

  “Nothing a long stint in rehab wouldn’t fix,” she quipped.

  Liam looked surprised. She’d made it sound as if her brother was in a position of considerable responsibility. “He’s got a substance abuse problem?”

  “No, my brother’s got a people abuse problem,” she corrected with a resigned sigh.

  Liam had a simple question for her. “Why do you take it?”

  There were lots of reasons, she thought. “Because I like my job. Because it’s the family company. And because I’ve never known anything else. I think I was born traveling and auditioning performers, looking for just the right ones for our label.”

  He could see how hard it would be to give up something she cared about. But if her working conditions were unacceptable, then she needed to think over other paths she could take.

  “You can always reeducate yourself, go off in a different direction,” he suggested.

  “Not hardly,” she muttered. If she was going to spend that much energy, she would put it toward straightening things out on the home front. “Funny advice coming from a guy who works at the family business.”

  He supposed they had that in common, but the similarities ended there. Brett treated him with respect. That wasn’t to say that his older brother didn’t enjoy putting the screws to him once in a while. But the bottom line was Brett and Finn had his back and he had theirs.

  “Just part-time,” Liam told her.

  He didn’t want to talk about his actual passion—at least not until the timing was right. He was worried that she would get the wrong idea, that he’d been playing her all along, trying to cash in on the fact that he had saved her life and then trade that for a recording contract with her label.

  He didn’t want anything he didn’t honestly earn.

  “I’ve got breakfast,” he said, holding up a bag. “You ready to hit the road?”

  How quickly things can change, she couldn’t help thinking. “Actually, turns out that there’s no need for any road-hitting—not that I don’t appreciate your volunteering and coming to my rescue this way. Again,” she emphasized.

  “Nobody’s keeping count,” he said dismissively, then asked a more serious question. “Did your brother fire you?”

  The question took her by surprise, as did his to
ne of voice. She could have sworn there was an underlying, albeit suppressed, indignation in his voice, strictly on her behalf.

  “No—and he really can’t fire me from the family company.” Although, she thought, if he wanted to, Wilson could have made life a living hell for her. And that would convince her to leave.

  “Anyway, it seems that the band’s drummer had appendicitis and was brought to the hospital just in the nick of time. Everything went well, but he won’t be holding a pair of drumsticks for a few weeks, so the audition’s been postponed.”

  He wondered if that meant she’d stick around, or if that was a signal for her to leave. He knew the car would have to be left behind, but there were ways to ship out a vehicle to its final destination. He was hoping she’d go along with the first choice.

  “So what now?”

  Whitney shrugged. She hadn’t thought that far yet. “I have breakfast, twiddle my thumbs. Wait for Rick to get my car running—”

  “Mick,” Liam corrected.

  She flushed. “Right. Mick. Sorry,” she murmured. “I really appreciated your volunteering to drive me down to Laredo, but since the trip is now off, you don’t have to feel like you need to hang around.” Although, she added silently, she really hoped that he would. “I’ve taken up too much of your time already.”

  “Well, seeing as I’ve got nothing planned since I’m not driving to Laredo, why don’t we have breakfast together and then see where the day goes?” he suggested. After the way she had all but knocked his socks off earlier, he wasn’t eager to part company just yet. “You want to eat here, or would you rather we go back to the diner and have our breakfast there?”

  “You mean eat takeout in?” she asked, not entirely clear on what he was proposing they do. “Won’t Miss Joan think that’s kind of strange?”

  Liam laughed. “Miss Joan’s been subjected to a lot stranger things than that.”

  Well, if he didn’t mind, why should she? And after what had transpired between them earlier, she thought it might be safer for both of them if they had people around instead of staying by themselves. She still didn’t know what to make of the effect he’d had on her.

  “All right, then, let’s eat there,” she agreed.

  “You’re on,” he said, grinning.

  * * *

  “SOMETHING WRONG WITH the order?” Miss Joan asked when she saw the two of them walk into the diner fifteen minutes after Liam had picked up two breakfasts to go. “You two should have been on your way to Laredo by now,” she estimated.

  Whitney saw no point in asking the other woman how she knew about Laredo. Whitney was beginning to accept the fact that if there was anything to know about anyone, Miss Joan had homed in on it and already knew. She supposed that feeling this way gave her something in common with the rest of the citizens of Forever.

  Instead of answering the older woman’s question, Liam looked to Whitney as if silently asking if she minded his telling Miss Joan why they were there.

  Rather than nod, Whitney did the honors herself. “The trip’s been postponed, Miss Joan. Liam thought it would be more comfortable eating in here than in the hotel suite. I agreed, so here we are,” she explained simply.

  Miss Joan nodded her approval. “Makes sense. Find a table, I’ll bring coffee.”

  “We’ve already got coffee,” Liam told her, indicating the two containers he took out of the large bag. He placed the containers on the table.

  Miss Joan waved her hand at the containers. “That coffee’s at least forty minutes old. I’ll pour you both fresh cups,” she said in a voice that was not about to take no for an answer.

  “She certainly does take charge, doesn’t she?” Whitney whispered to him as she leaned across the small table Liam had picked.

  “She likes to mother people,” Liam explained.

  Whitney wasn’t entirely convinced. “That’s one way to describe it.”

  “Hey, since you’re gonna be with us for a bit,” Miss Joan said to Whitney, filling the cup in front of her to an inch below the rim, leaving room for the cream, “how would you feel about coming out with us and helping pick out a Christmas tree?”

  “Us?” Whitney repeated, a little confused as to what the diner owner was proposing.

  “The town,” Miss Joan clarified. “Each year, a bunch of Forever’s citizens go out, scout the area, look for the best specimen to cut down and bring back,” Miss Joan went on to explain.

  “The tree’s for the town square,” Liam told her, filling in some of the gaps that Miss Joan had left. “After we bring it back and get it up, everybody gets a chance to decorate the tree.”

  It sounded like a really lovely tradition, Whitney thought. But it wasn’t her tradition and she felt as if she would be intruding if she joined in.

  “But isn’t that a community thing?” Whitney pointed out as tactfully as she could.

  “Yes...” Liam stretched out the word, waiting to see where Whitney was going with this.

  “But I’m not part of the community.” She doubted that everyone would be all right with her intrusion—and she couldn’t fault them for it.

  “Well, if you don’t want to—” Miss Joan began, one rather bony shoulder rising and falling in a careless shrug.

  “I didn’t say that,” Whitney protested.

  The words had tumbled out of her mouth rather quickly before she had time to think them through. But even as she said them, Whitney figured that joining in might be fun. It had been years and years since she had gotten involved in something just for the sheer enjoyment of it. Everything had always had to have a purpose, an endgame attached to it.

  But she was definitely willing to try a little fun.

  “Good,” Miss Joan said with finality. “Now eat up,” she ordered. “The scouting trucks leave in half an hour.”

  Whitney could feel Liam staring at her in what could only be termed amazement as Miss Joan withdrew to make certain that this year’s team was almost ready to set out on their quest.

  Whitney could only shake her head in wonder. Miss Joan would have made one hell of a dictator, she thought. “You heard the lady, Liam,” she said, turning toward him. “Eat up.”

  The sound of Liam’s laugh as he dug in to his breakfast made her toes curl unexpectedly.

  It didn’t leave the rest of her unaffected, either.

  * * *

  ASIDE FROM WHEN Liam had pulled her out of the floodwaters, Whitney couldn’t remember the last time she had felt this incredibly bone tired.

  However, unlike that experience, this one left her feeling immensely happy, as well. She and Liam had joined the others on this Christmas tree hunt—she learned that Miss Joan chose different people for the task each year so no one monopolized the selection group by throwing their weight around. That sort of thing was strictly Miss Joan’s domain alone.

  It had taken a total of four hours before the group found a tree that they could all agree on, then another two to cut it down, tie it up and load it onto an oversize flatbed.

  The latter was courtesy of Connie and her construction company.

  It was far bigger than the one the town usually used, Liam told her. What that ultimately meant was that this year’s tree was also somewhat larger than past trees. Loading it had been far from an easy matter. It was a combined effort and it had taken more than one try before they were finally successful in getting the tree onto the flatbed.

  The drive back, perforce, was an exceedingly slow one.

  It was, Whitney decided, like being part of a parade that was traveling its route in slow motion. They finally got back to the town square. Another hour plus was spent getting the tree off the truck and into an upright position.

  “It’s going a lot faster this year with all of Connie’s equipment,” Liam told her as she marveled at the proce
ss.

  Whitney couldn’t help wondering how difficult it all had to have been to accomplish without the aid of the construction equipment.

  Yet she knew, thanks to the photographs Miss Joan had shown her earlier, that there had been a huge Christmas tree in the town square each and every year.

  Because of that, and a number of other things, she found herself looking at the residents of Forever with renewed respect.

  And perhaps just a touch of affection, as well.

  Chapter Nine

  “You are going to stick around to help decorate the tree, aren’t you?” Miss Joan asked, materializing out of nowhere just as Whitney had begun to turn away. Liam was already walking from the town square. When she received no immediate reply, Miss Joan went on to elaborate. “I mean, after you went through all that trouble to get this beauty out here, you can’t just leave it standing naked like that.”

  Whitney looked over her shoulder and saw that there was already a wave of people, adults and children alike, who had begun to open up boxes upon boxes of giant decorations that had been set up on more than a dozen folding tables.

  Each year, according to what she had heard, more decorations were added. Last year’s tree hadn’t had even a single small length of branch left unadorned by at least something.

  “From the looks of it, I’d say that you have that angle well taken care of,” Whitney commented, indicating the people clustering around the laden folding tables.

  “Maybe for the moment,” Miss Joan allowed dismissively. “But everyone in town puts on at least a couple of decorations on the Christmas tree, if not more. It’s tra—”

  “—dition,” Whitney completed.

  As if she hadn’t heard that over and over again today. To be honest, she envied the people here their traditions and their sense of community. But she was an outsider and she wasn’t going to stay here long enough to be anything else.

  “Yes, I know that,” Whitney told the other woman.

  Before she could say another word, Miss Joan took her in hand and led her over to the long row of folding tables.