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Synopsis
NO SAD SONGS HERE, DARLIN' Country music princess Starlet Brubaker has a sweet tooth for moon pies and cowboys: both are yummy - and you can never have just one. Now Beckett Cates may not be a cowboy, but he certainly has the heart, soul, and body to whet her appetite. He's a sexy ex-Marine with a touch hotter than the scorching Texas sun and arms strong enough to catch her when she lands into trouble. Playing bodyguard to America's sweetheart isn't easy for Beckett. But falling for her sure is. Unfortunately, Starlet has a reputation for keeping a guy or two wrapped around her finger and Beckett refuses to be anybody's backup. So now it's up to Starlet to prove that she's put her cowboy-crazy days behind her. Otherwise, she'll be singing solo instead of living in harmony with the man who's loved her even before her fame and fortune.
Release date: December 16, 2014
Publisher: Forever
Print pages: 328
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The Last Cowboy in Texas
Katie Lane
STARLET BRUBAKER HAD DISAPPEARED.
The only evidence of her existence was the tiny mole just above the right corner of Star Bentley’s glossy, pink-painted lips. Everything else was completely different. The green eyes. The blond hair. The skinny body. And the simple, loose-fitting, flowered dress. Nothing but the mole remained of the awkward, fat girl from southeast Texas.
Starlet pulled her gaze away from the mirror and looked down at the half-eaten banana MoonPie in her hand.
Well, maybe there were a few other things that remained.
A tap on the bathroom door had her cramming the rest of the pie in her mouth.
“Star?” Kari Jennings, her manager, trainer, and general ballbuster, called through the door. “You okay? Did you need something? Because we can’t have the sweetheart of country music going without.”
Food. The sweetheart of country music needs food. But instead of saying it, Starlet chewed faster and swallowed hard. “No. I’m good. I’m just touching up my lip gloss.”
There was a pause. “But your lip gloss is out here in the dressing room, sugar.”
Starlet rolled her eyes at her own stupidity and quickly wiped the crumbs off her mouth. One slipped beneath the neckline of her dress and into her bra, but she ignored it and opened the door, giving her manager a bright, Star Bentley smile. “Silly me. I guess I’m just nervous about the concert tonight.”
Even in her power heels, Kari barely came to Starlet’s chin. With her petite body, short blond hair, and big blue eyes, she looked just like Tinker Bell. Which was exactly why Starlet had hired her. Unfortunately, at the time, Starlet hadn’t realized how vicious and manipulative pixies could be.
“No need to worry.” Kari tugged up the neckline of Starlet’s dress. “You’ve played much bigger venues than this.” Her brow knotted as she stared at Starlet’s boobs. “Speaking of bigger, I still think you should consider breast reduction. These just don’t go with the new persona I’ve created.”
“They look like they go pretty good to me.”
Cousin Jed appeared in the dressing room doorway. Or more like filled it with his hulking frame, which had won him the title of “the Crusher” on the amateur wrestling tour and “the Asshole” at more than a few Texas nightclubs. While Starlet had never officially hired him, Jed had assumed the role of her personal bodyguard—something he excelled at, given that he was always getting too personal with her body.
He shifted the toothpick to one corner of his bulldog-drooping mouth as his gaze wandered over her breasts. “There’s some rodeo cowboy out there that claims you invited him backstage. Says you owe him money. You havin’ to pay for your nooky, cuz?”
Since her manager disapproved of rodeo cowboys more than MoonPies, Starlet played dumb. “Now, that’s strange. When would I have had a chance to talk with a rodeo cowboy?” She fanned a hand in front of her flushed face. “Is the air conditioner on in here?”
“Check the air conditioner!” Kari bellowed at her assistant before turning to Jed. “Tell the cowboy he’s out of luck for a backstage pass, but give him a couple tickets—not front row.”
“We don’t have front row, anyhow. They’re filled with a bunch of hotshot military dudes. And I’m not Ticketmaster. I’m the head of security, and some people need to show a little respect.”
Kari barely gave him a glance as she fluffed Starlet’s hair extensions. “You’ll get respect when you’ve earned it. So far, all I’ve seen you do is stand around chatting with the T-shirt vendors.”
“Nothin’ wrong with being friendly.” Uncle Bernard pushed his way past Jed. Back in Texas, Starlet’s uncle had always worn overalls and a white T-shirt with ketchup stains. But since following his niece on tour, he’d taken to wearing western suits and matching Stetsons, which, with his small frame and pointy features, made him look like a Keebler Elf gone country. “Just a few quick signatures, Star Baby.” He held out a stack of ball caps with a hideous picture of her on the front. While she gaped at the picture, he pointed a black Sharpie at her mouth. “MoonPie?”
Starlet quickly brushed at her lips, but it was too late. Kari had zeroed in.
“MoonPie?” Her voice hit a high note that had chills tiptoeing down Starlet’s spine. “You know you have to watch your sugar intake, Star, especially with your metabolism. This means that you’ll have to work extra hard with the ThighMaster tomorrow.” She turned her evil eye on Uncle Bernie. “And didn’t I talk to you about nonauthorized merchandise?”
“I don’t know how much more authorized you can get than family.” Uncle Bernie polished the top of one cream-colored, lizard-skin boot on the back of his pant leg. “Especially when I raised Star like one of my own. It seems only right that she would want to repay me with a few autographs.”
“You are so full of shit, Bernie.” Starlet’s mother finally roused from her preconcert catnap and sat up on the couch, her hair wild and her eyes bloodshot. Starlet had poured out the bottle of vodka she’d found on the tour bus, but obviously, her mother had found another one. “You and that bitchy wife of yours—God rest her soul—treated my kid like crap.”
Uncle Bernie retained his smile. In fact, Starlet couldn’t remember a time when her uncle wasn’t happy and smiling. Maybe that was why it was so easy to forgive his shortcomings.
“Now, Jaydeen,” Uncle Bernie said, “let’s not go down that road again. I believe it was Shakespeare who said ‘Thee proof is in thee puddin’.’ ” He reached out and pinched Starlet’s cheek. “And there’s no better puddin’ than our little Star Baby.”
Her mother groaned and flopped back on the couch. “Anyone have a hit of cocaine?”
Jed’s gaze remained on Starlet. “I know what I’d like a hit of.”
For being more trouble than they were worth, there was one thing Starlet had to give her family: They kept her from getting stage fright. Being stuck with them in a dressing room was much scarier than being responsible for entertaining thousands of fans.
She turned to Kari. “I’m ready.”
“She’s ready!” Kari called out, prompting Jed to unclip the radio from his shirt collar and speak into it.
“The Star is walkin’.”
En masse, Starlet’s entire misfit posse headed for the door, even her mama, who, regardless of her hungover state, looked skinny and beautiful in her tight jeans and low-cut top. When they reached the stairs to the stage, Kari did more clothes adjusting, Jed did more gawking, her mama flirted with a security guy, and Uncle Bernie leaned in and whispered, “Don’t worry about the hats, Star Baby. I’ll take care of them.”
Starlet sent him a weak smile before climbing the stairs. As soon as she stepped onstage, a spotlight hit her, and the entire coliseum released a deafening roar of applause and whistles. She might’ve panicked if a stagehand hadn’t slipped her guitar over her head. The feel of the lacquered wood calmed her, and she walked to center stage and leaned in to the microphone.
“Hi, y’all. You ready for a little music?”
The answering applause had barely fizzled when her band kicked in. Then there was nothing but the music. It washed over Starlet like Texas sunshine, transforming her from an awkward, insecure woman to a graceful, confident entertainer. An entertainer who could tease the crowd, flirt with her band members, and be completely comfortable sharing all the emotions she normally kept well hidden.
As usual, while performing, time flew by much too quickly. Before Starlet knew it, she had finished her last song and was headed offstage to wait for her encore.
Kari met her on the stairs. “You didn’t give enough attention to the marines in the front row.”
“I thanked them for coming and dedicated ‘The Price of Freedom’ to them. What more did you want me to do?” Starlet took the bottle of water handed to her by a security guy and nodded her thanks before taking a deep drink.
“Something for a picture op,” her manager said. “Call one of them up and sing to him for your encore.”
Starlet shook her head. “I always do ‘Good-bye Kiss’ for the encore. And I’m not singing that to anyone but—” She caught herself. “I’m not singing that to some marine.”
Kari smiled the kind of smile that had always scared the crap out of Starlet. It reminded her of Meryl Streep in the movie The Devil Wears Prada.
“Well, of course you can do what you want,” Kari said as she studied her manicured nails. “You don’t have to listen to a manager with fifteen years’ experience under her belt. Fifteen years of sweating it out with no-talents so that, when she finally found a person with a tiny bit of talent, she could mold and shape her into the kind of star who fills an auditorium.” She waved her hand to encompass the coliseum before shrugging. “But… if you want a mediocre career that fizzles out after the first two albums, then you go right ahead and make your own decisions. I certainly won’t stand in your way.”
As always, Starlet conceded. “Okay, but I’ll sing one of my other songs.”
Kari shook her head. “ ‘Good-bye Kiss’ is your biggest hit—the one all these people have come to hear. If you leave it out, they’ll charge the stage and trample you like a herd of angry elephants. So I suggest you pretend that the marine is one of the rodeo cowboys you seem to be so enthralled with and make the best of it.” She turned without another word and walked down the stairs, leaving Starlet with no choice but to do as she said.
Downing the rest of the water, she walked back onstage.
“Well, hello again,” she said when she reached the microphone. “I thought I’d slow things down a bit and sing a love song that you might recognize.” The audience went wild. Once they’d quieted, she looked down at the front row. “But what’s a love song if you don’t have someone to sing it to? What say we get one of the country’s finest up here?”
Starlet’s gaze ran over the marines. They were all dressed in camouflage pants and caps, green T-shirts, and lace-up desert boots. Most were standing and waving their hands to get her attention.
Except for one.
One arrogant marine who didn’t seem to be that taken with Star Bentley. In fact, with the bill of his cap pulled low over his face and his booted feet stretched out and crossed at the ankles, he looked like Moses Tate napping on a park bench. Even ninety-year-old Moses had stayed awake during the concert she had done for the small town of Bramble, Texas.
Perturbed by the marine’s audacity, Starlet had no problem pointing him out. “Now, when I said I was going to slow things down a bit, I didn’t mean that you could go to sleep on me.” She waved her hand. “Let’s get Rip van Winkle up here and see if I can’t wake him up.”
The man didn’t acknowledge her words, but the other marines did. With a loud whoop, they picked him up and lifted him over their heads, passing him along until he ended up onstage. He didn’t fight them, but he didn’t seem too happy about it either. Once the stagehands had him seated in a chair, he crossed his arms and stared down at his boots.
Starlet unhooked the microphone from the stand. “What do you say, soldier boy? You think you can stay awake long enough to listen to little ol’ me?”
The audience laughed, but the marine remained mute. Starlet might’ve continued her teasing if a wave of dizziness hadn’t hit her. Not a little wave, but the kind that made your head feel like it had been flipped in a blender and set on puree. The roar of the crowd sounded muffled and distorted, and the stage seemed to rock like the deck of a ship. Not wanting to fall on her butt in front of thousands of people, she improvised and sat down on the marine’s lap.
Having dated her share of rodeo cowboys, Starlet wasn’t a stranger to athletic bodies. But no cowboy she’d ever dated had a body like this one. Instead of long, lean muscles, this body had bunched, thick ones. Thighs like hard granite. A stomach like rippled steel. And arms with tight, knotted biceps as big as grapefruit.
Starlet loved grapefruits. In fact, they were the only things on Kari’s starvation diet that she did love. Starlet had a half of one every morning—the juicy meat sectioned off and a sweet little cherry in the center.
“If you’re going to sing, sing.” The marine’s hissed words cut into her grapefruit daydream.
She might’ve been ticked at his attitude if she hadn’t been distracted by his voice. It was familiar. Too familiar. She dipped her head to peek under the cap, but before she could get a good look, another wave of dizziness hit her. She blinked it away, along with the ridiculous notion that she knew this marine. The only marine she knew didn’t have biceps the size of grapefruits and thighs like sculptured granite. He was a skinny nerd who worked some desk job at the Russian embassy. And even if he were in the States, he would never be caught dead at one of her concerts.
Which was just fine and dandy with Starlet.
What wasn’t fine and dandy was this marine’s arrogance and nonchalance. Starlet didn’t care if he liked her, but he wasn’t going to ignore her. Remaining on his lap just to spite him, she lifted the microphone to her mouth and started to sing.
It wasn’t easy.
“Good-bye Kiss” was the first song Starlet had ever written for the first and only love she’d ever had. It seemed wrong to sing it to someone else. So she did what Kari suggested: She imagined the love of her life and let the words of the song flow from the heart. When she finished, tears rolled down her cheeks, and you could’ve heard a pin drop in the coliseum. The marine wasn’t so moved. With a grumbled curse, he picked her up and set her on her feet before walking offstage.
Completely humiliated by his brush-off, she quickly lifted the microphone and ended the show.
“Thank y’all for coming. God Bless!”
As always, the closing riled the crowd and had them charging the stage, yelling for autographs and tossing up pink roses. Normally, she caught one and waved a good-bye. But tonight it took all her concentration to walk. The dizziness was back and worse than ever. She stumbled over a cord and would’ve fallen if the security guy hadn’t appeared and taken her arm.
“This way, Miss Bentley.”
Struggling to put one foot in front of the other, she followed him. He released her to jump down from the stage and then reached up to lift her off. It was then that she noticed where he had taken her. They weren’t in the long corridor that led to her dressing room. They were at the back of the stage, behind the curtains and lights and amid all the technical cords and wires.
Now, why would he bring her back here?
“Wait—” It was the only thing she got out before a rag was stuffed in her mouth and her hands were jerked behind her back and tied. Still, it wasn’t until he hefted her over his shoulder and headed for a side door that she figured out what was happening.
Star Bentley, the sweetheart of country music, was being kidnapped.
And Starlet Brubaker had no choice but to go along for the ride.
BECKETT CATES HAD A HEADACHE. It wasn’t unusual. Most days, he woke with a deep, throbbing pain pulsing in his temples and pressing against the backs of his eyes. The shrink at Camp Lejeune was convinced that it would go away in time. Of course, his shrink had also been convinced that driving to Charlotte and attending a Star Bentley concert would be good for Beckett. And look where that had landed him: onstage with a spoiled, snooty woman who had gotten much too big for her britches.
Not to say that Starlet Brubaker was bigger than the last time Beckett had seen her. In fact, she was a lot skinnier. Almost too skinny. If he hadn’t seen her picture on the cover of numerous magazines, he might not have recognized her at all. The insecure, brown-eyed girl from Miss Hattie’s Henhouse was long gone, replaced by a green-eyed blonde who was cockier than a special ops officer.
The only things that hadn’t changed on Starlet were her breasts. They were still eyepoppers, which was hard not to notice when they had been snuggled against his chest like two warm kittens.
And speaking of eye-popping breasts.
A woman stepped out of one of the rooms along the backstage corridor. She wore painted-on jeans and a tight tank top that left little to the imagination. “You lost, good-lookin’?”
“No, ma’am.” Beckett would’ve continued his search for an exit if she hadn’t stepped in front of him and curled a hand around his bicep, bringing with her the scent of cigarette smoke and booze. While her body wasn’t half-bad, her face told the story of a woman who had lived hard and wasn’t done yet.
“You sure?” she said. “ ’Cause I wouldn’t mind helping you find your way.” She studied him with more than a little hunger in her big, brown eyes. Big, brown eyes that were a carbon copy of Starlet’s before she ruined them with green contacts.
Beckett removed her hand from his arm. “Sorry, but I’m a pretty lost cause.” He went to step around her when a hulk of a security guy came meandering down the corridor, an annoying female’s voice blaring from the radio clipped to his black polo shirt.
“I want her found, Jed! And I want her found now! See if you can locate that rodeo cowboy. She’s probably chasing after his chaps.”
Jed took his time lifting the radio off his shirt and pushing the button on the side. “Will do. But you don’t need to worry. If anyone can find her, I can.” He looked at the woman standing next to Beckett. “I don’t suppose that you’ve seen Star, Aunt Jaydeen?”
Before Aunt Jaydeen could answer, a midget of a man in a Stetson and western suit stepped out of the room. “What’s all the ruckus? Are we havin’ a family meetin’ and I wasn’t invited? Now, that don’t seem right, seein’ as how I’m the head of the family.”
“More like the ass of the family,” Aunt Jaydeen grumbled. “It seems that Starlet has gone missing.” She glanced over at Beckett. “Sorry, sweetie, but I’ll have to catch you later. I need to go find my daugh—sister.” She hurried down the corridor, her heels clicking against the concrete floor.
For being security, Jed didn’t seem to be in quite as much of a hurry. He pulled a can of chewing tobacco out of his back pocket and took a dip before slowly moseying off in the direction he’d come from.
The midget cowboy watched him go and shook his head. “That boy has always been one apple short of a bushel.” He glanced at Beckett and smiled broadly before holding out a hand. “Bernard Brubaker, at your service—but most folks call me Bernie. You Jaydeen’s newest conquest?”
“Not hardly.” Beckett shook his hand. “Beckett Cates.” He stared down the corridor as his headache grew worse. He had no business getting involved. He had enough going on in his life. Especially when the squawking woman on the radio was probably right: Starlet was no doubt just meeting up with some cowboy.
Unfortunately, Beckett couldn’t let it go until he knew for sure.
He turned to Bernie. “You wouldn’t happen to know where the closest exit to the stage is, would you?”
“As a matter of fact, I do.” Bernie quickly pulled a Sharpie pen from his pocket and signed the cap he held with Star Bentley’s name. “Never hurts for a man to know how to get out of any given situation quickly.” He tossed the pen and hat back into the room before leading the way down the corridor.
As they neared the stage, Beckett could see that pandemonium had broken out. Stagehands, security, and band members were racing around to the orders of a petite woman in a pink power suit with the same annoying voice as the one that had come from Jed’s radio. Upon seeing the woman, Bernie pulled Beckett around to the back of the stage.
“It’s best to keep your distance from the she-devil.” He stepped over a tangle of black cable. “Kari is no doubt the reason my niece has run for the hills. The woman is a ballbuster if ever there was one. Very similar to my late wife.” He took off his hat and covered his heart. “God rest her soul.” His bald head gleamed in the stadium lighting. “Maybelline was the love of my life, but I spent most of our marriage in a bottle just trying to escape her bad temper. Since she died, I haven’t touched a drop of liquor—leastways, not the hard stuff—which should tell you something. Here we are.” He pushed open the side door.
The door led to a dark alley with three battered trash bins.
“You think Star’s—?” Bernie started, but Beckett held his finger to his lips and shook his head.
Something had caught his attention by one of the Dumpsters. A flash of movement that had his senses alert and muscles tightening. He waved Bernie back and then slipped out the door and up against the wall of the coliseum. He was probably just being foolish. He had seen more than a few marines who had come off active duty being a little overly cautious. But something wasn’t right. There was a shift in the air. An indistinguishable scent carried on the Carolina breeze that spoke of danger. The one time Beckett had ignored his basic instincts, bad things had happened. He wasn’t willing to chance it again.
A few feet from the first trash bin, he paused and listened. There was a small whimper, then a distinctive click that had him hitting the ground just as a bullet whizzed over his head. The next gunshot had him rolling to his feet and ducking around the front of the Dumpster.
Beckett figured he had about ten seconds to make his move before the guy realized that he didn’t have a gun and came out shooting. Looking around, he noticed the back end of a car parked on the other side of the bins. In one fluid motion, he leaned down and picked up a rock, chucking it as hard as he could at one of the car windows. Glass shattered, followed by rapid-fire gunshots. With the gunman’s attention diverted, Beckett scaled over the top of the Dumpster and dove at the shadowy figure on the other side. They hit the ground hard, but Beckett didn’t wait for his breath to rush back in before he made a grab for the gun.
The guy was no lightweight and refused to relinquish his hold, bringing his hand up and hitting Beckett in the chin with the butt of the revolver. Slightly stunned, Beckett allowed the man to get the upper hand and roll on top. His victory lasted for only a second before Beckett elbowed him hard in the throat. The jab caused the man to grunt and release the gun, and it skidded beneath the trash bin as Beckett rolled back on top. Unfortunately, he had no more than pinned the guy to the ground when someone clocked him over the head with a bottle. For a few seconds, he watched as amber glass rained down. Then there was nothing but darkness.
When Beckett came to, he was sprawled on his back in the alleyway with a headache the size of Texas. It took a moment and more than a few blinks to get his vision to clear. Amid a star-filled sky, three faces stared down at him.
“You’d think that a marine would be tougher than a bottle of Bud,” Jed said.
“Beer has brought down more than a few good men,” Bernie replied.
“And he is a good man.” Jaydeen’s eyes ran over him. “A real good man.”
While . . .
The only evidence of her existence was the tiny mole just above the right corner of Star Bentley’s glossy, pink-painted lips. Everything else was completely different. The green eyes. The blond hair. The skinny body. And the simple, loose-fitting, flowered dress. Nothing but the mole remained of the awkward, fat girl from southeast Texas.
Starlet pulled her gaze away from the mirror and looked down at the half-eaten banana MoonPie in her hand.
Well, maybe there were a few other things that remained.
A tap on the bathroom door had her cramming the rest of the pie in her mouth.
“Star?” Kari Jennings, her manager, trainer, and general ballbuster, called through the door. “You okay? Did you need something? Because we can’t have the sweetheart of country music going without.”
Food. The sweetheart of country music needs food. But instead of saying it, Starlet chewed faster and swallowed hard. “No. I’m good. I’m just touching up my lip gloss.”
There was a pause. “But your lip gloss is out here in the dressing room, sugar.”
Starlet rolled her eyes at her own stupidity and quickly wiped the crumbs off her mouth. One slipped beneath the neckline of her dress and into her bra, but she ignored it and opened the door, giving her manager a bright, Star Bentley smile. “Silly me. I guess I’m just nervous about the concert tonight.”
Even in her power heels, Kari barely came to Starlet’s chin. With her petite body, short blond hair, and big blue eyes, she looked just like Tinker Bell. Which was exactly why Starlet had hired her. Unfortunately, at the time, Starlet hadn’t realized how vicious and manipulative pixies could be.
“No need to worry.” Kari tugged up the neckline of Starlet’s dress. “You’ve played much bigger venues than this.” Her brow knotted as she stared at Starlet’s boobs. “Speaking of bigger, I still think you should consider breast reduction. These just don’t go with the new persona I’ve created.”
“They look like they go pretty good to me.”
Cousin Jed appeared in the dressing room doorway. Or more like filled it with his hulking frame, which had won him the title of “the Crusher” on the amateur wrestling tour and “the Asshole” at more than a few Texas nightclubs. While Starlet had never officially hired him, Jed had assumed the role of her personal bodyguard—something he excelled at, given that he was always getting too personal with her body.
He shifted the toothpick to one corner of his bulldog-drooping mouth as his gaze wandered over her breasts. “There’s some rodeo cowboy out there that claims you invited him backstage. Says you owe him money. You havin’ to pay for your nooky, cuz?”
Since her manager disapproved of rodeo cowboys more than MoonPies, Starlet played dumb. “Now, that’s strange. When would I have had a chance to talk with a rodeo cowboy?” She fanned a hand in front of her flushed face. “Is the air conditioner on in here?”
“Check the air conditioner!” Kari bellowed at her assistant before turning to Jed. “Tell the cowboy he’s out of luck for a backstage pass, but give him a couple tickets—not front row.”
“We don’t have front row, anyhow. They’re filled with a bunch of hotshot military dudes. And I’m not Ticketmaster. I’m the head of security, and some people need to show a little respect.”
Kari barely gave him a glance as she fluffed Starlet’s hair extensions. “You’ll get respect when you’ve earned it. So far, all I’ve seen you do is stand around chatting with the T-shirt vendors.”
“Nothin’ wrong with being friendly.” Uncle Bernard pushed his way past Jed. Back in Texas, Starlet’s uncle had always worn overalls and a white T-shirt with ketchup stains. But since following his niece on tour, he’d taken to wearing western suits and matching Stetsons, which, with his small frame and pointy features, made him look like a Keebler Elf gone country. “Just a few quick signatures, Star Baby.” He held out a stack of ball caps with a hideous picture of her on the front. While she gaped at the picture, he pointed a black Sharpie at her mouth. “MoonPie?”
Starlet quickly brushed at her lips, but it was too late. Kari had zeroed in.
“MoonPie?” Her voice hit a high note that had chills tiptoeing down Starlet’s spine. “You know you have to watch your sugar intake, Star, especially with your metabolism. This means that you’ll have to work extra hard with the ThighMaster tomorrow.” She turned her evil eye on Uncle Bernie. “And didn’t I talk to you about nonauthorized merchandise?”
“I don’t know how much more authorized you can get than family.” Uncle Bernie polished the top of one cream-colored, lizard-skin boot on the back of his pant leg. “Especially when I raised Star like one of my own. It seems only right that she would want to repay me with a few autographs.”
“You are so full of shit, Bernie.” Starlet’s mother finally roused from her preconcert catnap and sat up on the couch, her hair wild and her eyes bloodshot. Starlet had poured out the bottle of vodka she’d found on the tour bus, but obviously, her mother had found another one. “You and that bitchy wife of yours—God rest her soul—treated my kid like crap.”
Uncle Bernie retained his smile. In fact, Starlet couldn’t remember a time when her uncle wasn’t happy and smiling. Maybe that was why it was so easy to forgive his shortcomings.
“Now, Jaydeen,” Uncle Bernie said, “let’s not go down that road again. I believe it was Shakespeare who said ‘Thee proof is in thee puddin’.’ ” He reached out and pinched Starlet’s cheek. “And there’s no better puddin’ than our little Star Baby.”
Her mother groaned and flopped back on the couch. “Anyone have a hit of cocaine?”
Jed’s gaze remained on Starlet. “I know what I’d like a hit of.”
For being more trouble than they were worth, there was one thing Starlet had to give her family: They kept her from getting stage fright. Being stuck with them in a dressing room was much scarier than being responsible for entertaining thousands of fans.
She turned to Kari. “I’m ready.”
“She’s ready!” Kari called out, prompting Jed to unclip the radio from his shirt collar and speak into it.
“The Star is walkin’.”
En masse, Starlet’s entire misfit posse headed for the door, even her mama, who, regardless of her hungover state, looked skinny and beautiful in her tight jeans and low-cut top. When they reached the stairs to the stage, Kari did more clothes adjusting, Jed did more gawking, her mama flirted with a security guy, and Uncle Bernie leaned in and whispered, “Don’t worry about the hats, Star Baby. I’ll take care of them.”
Starlet sent him a weak smile before climbing the stairs. As soon as she stepped onstage, a spotlight hit her, and the entire coliseum released a deafening roar of applause and whistles. She might’ve panicked if a stagehand hadn’t slipped her guitar over her head. The feel of the lacquered wood calmed her, and she walked to center stage and leaned in to the microphone.
“Hi, y’all. You ready for a little music?”
The answering applause had barely fizzled when her band kicked in. Then there was nothing but the music. It washed over Starlet like Texas sunshine, transforming her from an awkward, insecure woman to a graceful, confident entertainer. An entertainer who could tease the crowd, flirt with her band members, and be completely comfortable sharing all the emotions she normally kept well hidden.
As usual, while performing, time flew by much too quickly. Before Starlet knew it, she had finished her last song and was headed offstage to wait for her encore.
Kari met her on the stairs. “You didn’t give enough attention to the marines in the front row.”
“I thanked them for coming and dedicated ‘The Price of Freedom’ to them. What more did you want me to do?” Starlet took the bottle of water handed to her by a security guy and nodded her thanks before taking a deep drink.
“Something for a picture op,” her manager said. “Call one of them up and sing to him for your encore.”
Starlet shook her head. “I always do ‘Good-bye Kiss’ for the encore. And I’m not singing that to anyone but—” She caught herself. “I’m not singing that to some marine.”
Kari smiled the kind of smile that had always scared the crap out of Starlet. It reminded her of Meryl Streep in the movie The Devil Wears Prada.
“Well, of course you can do what you want,” Kari said as she studied her manicured nails. “You don’t have to listen to a manager with fifteen years’ experience under her belt. Fifteen years of sweating it out with no-talents so that, when she finally found a person with a tiny bit of talent, she could mold and shape her into the kind of star who fills an auditorium.” She waved her hand to encompass the coliseum before shrugging. “But… if you want a mediocre career that fizzles out after the first two albums, then you go right ahead and make your own decisions. I certainly won’t stand in your way.”
As always, Starlet conceded. “Okay, but I’ll sing one of my other songs.”
Kari shook her head. “ ‘Good-bye Kiss’ is your biggest hit—the one all these people have come to hear. If you leave it out, they’ll charge the stage and trample you like a herd of angry elephants. So I suggest you pretend that the marine is one of the rodeo cowboys you seem to be so enthralled with and make the best of it.” She turned without another word and walked down the stairs, leaving Starlet with no choice but to do as she said.
Downing the rest of the water, she walked back onstage.
“Well, hello again,” she said when she reached the microphone. “I thought I’d slow things down a bit and sing a love song that you might recognize.” The audience went wild. Once they’d quieted, she looked down at the front row. “But what’s a love song if you don’t have someone to sing it to? What say we get one of the country’s finest up here?”
Starlet’s gaze ran over the marines. They were all dressed in camouflage pants and caps, green T-shirts, and lace-up desert boots. Most were standing and waving their hands to get her attention.
Except for one.
One arrogant marine who didn’t seem to be that taken with Star Bentley. In fact, with the bill of his cap pulled low over his face and his booted feet stretched out and crossed at the ankles, he looked like Moses Tate napping on a park bench. Even ninety-year-old Moses had stayed awake during the concert she had done for the small town of Bramble, Texas.
Perturbed by the marine’s audacity, Starlet had no problem pointing him out. “Now, when I said I was going to slow things down a bit, I didn’t mean that you could go to sleep on me.” She waved her hand. “Let’s get Rip van Winkle up here and see if I can’t wake him up.”
The man didn’t acknowledge her words, but the other marines did. With a loud whoop, they picked him up and lifted him over their heads, passing him along until he ended up onstage. He didn’t fight them, but he didn’t seem too happy about it either. Once the stagehands had him seated in a chair, he crossed his arms and stared down at his boots.
Starlet unhooked the microphone from the stand. “What do you say, soldier boy? You think you can stay awake long enough to listen to little ol’ me?”
The audience laughed, but the marine remained mute. Starlet might’ve continued her teasing if a wave of dizziness hadn’t hit her. Not a little wave, but the kind that made your head feel like it had been flipped in a blender and set on puree. The roar of the crowd sounded muffled and distorted, and the stage seemed to rock like the deck of a ship. Not wanting to fall on her butt in front of thousands of people, she improvised and sat down on the marine’s lap.
Having dated her share of rodeo cowboys, Starlet wasn’t a stranger to athletic bodies. But no cowboy she’d ever dated had a body like this one. Instead of long, lean muscles, this body had bunched, thick ones. Thighs like hard granite. A stomach like rippled steel. And arms with tight, knotted biceps as big as grapefruit.
Starlet loved grapefruits. In fact, they were the only things on Kari’s starvation diet that she did love. Starlet had a half of one every morning—the juicy meat sectioned off and a sweet little cherry in the center.
“If you’re going to sing, sing.” The marine’s hissed words cut into her grapefruit daydream.
She might’ve been ticked at his attitude if she hadn’t been distracted by his voice. It was familiar. Too familiar. She dipped her head to peek under the cap, but before she could get a good look, another wave of dizziness hit her. She blinked it away, along with the ridiculous notion that she knew this marine. The only marine she knew didn’t have biceps the size of grapefruits and thighs like sculptured granite. He was a skinny nerd who worked some desk job at the Russian embassy. And even if he were in the States, he would never be caught dead at one of her concerts.
Which was just fine and dandy with Starlet.
What wasn’t fine and dandy was this marine’s arrogance and nonchalance. Starlet didn’t care if he liked her, but he wasn’t going to ignore her. Remaining on his lap just to spite him, she lifted the microphone to her mouth and started to sing.
It wasn’t easy.
“Good-bye Kiss” was the first song Starlet had ever written for the first and only love she’d ever had. It seemed wrong to sing it to someone else. So she did what Kari suggested: She imagined the love of her life and let the words of the song flow from the heart. When she finished, tears rolled down her cheeks, and you could’ve heard a pin drop in the coliseum. The marine wasn’t so moved. With a grumbled curse, he picked her up and set her on her feet before walking offstage.
Completely humiliated by his brush-off, she quickly lifted the microphone and ended the show.
“Thank y’all for coming. God Bless!”
As always, the closing riled the crowd and had them charging the stage, yelling for autographs and tossing up pink roses. Normally, she caught one and waved a good-bye. But tonight it took all her concentration to walk. The dizziness was back and worse than ever. She stumbled over a cord and would’ve fallen if the security guy hadn’t appeared and taken her arm.
“This way, Miss Bentley.”
Struggling to put one foot in front of the other, she followed him. He released her to jump down from the stage and then reached up to lift her off. It was then that she noticed where he had taken her. They weren’t in the long corridor that led to her dressing room. They were at the back of the stage, behind the curtains and lights and amid all the technical cords and wires.
Now, why would he bring her back here?
“Wait—” It was the only thing she got out before a rag was stuffed in her mouth and her hands were jerked behind her back and tied. Still, it wasn’t until he hefted her over his shoulder and headed for a side door that she figured out what was happening.
Star Bentley, the sweetheart of country music, was being kidnapped.
And Starlet Brubaker had no choice but to go along for the ride.
BECKETT CATES HAD A HEADACHE. It wasn’t unusual. Most days, he woke with a deep, throbbing pain pulsing in his temples and pressing against the backs of his eyes. The shrink at Camp Lejeune was convinced that it would go away in time. Of course, his shrink had also been convinced that driving to Charlotte and attending a Star Bentley concert would be good for Beckett. And look where that had landed him: onstage with a spoiled, snooty woman who had gotten much too big for her britches.
Not to say that Starlet Brubaker was bigger than the last time Beckett had seen her. In fact, she was a lot skinnier. Almost too skinny. If he hadn’t seen her picture on the cover of numerous magazines, he might not have recognized her at all. The insecure, brown-eyed girl from Miss Hattie’s Henhouse was long gone, replaced by a green-eyed blonde who was cockier than a special ops officer.
The only things that hadn’t changed on Starlet were her breasts. They were still eyepoppers, which was hard not to notice when they had been snuggled against his chest like two warm kittens.
And speaking of eye-popping breasts.
A woman stepped out of one of the rooms along the backstage corridor. She wore painted-on jeans and a tight tank top that left little to the imagination. “You lost, good-lookin’?”
“No, ma’am.” Beckett would’ve continued his search for an exit if she hadn’t stepped in front of him and curled a hand around his bicep, bringing with her the scent of cigarette smoke and booze. While her body wasn’t half-bad, her face told the story of a woman who had lived hard and wasn’t done yet.
“You sure?” she said. “ ’Cause I wouldn’t mind helping you find your way.” She studied him with more than a little hunger in her big, brown eyes. Big, brown eyes that were a carbon copy of Starlet’s before she ruined them with green contacts.
Beckett removed her hand from his arm. “Sorry, but I’m a pretty lost cause.” He went to step around her when a hulk of a security guy came meandering down the corridor, an annoying female’s voice blaring from the radio clipped to his black polo shirt.
“I want her found, Jed! And I want her found now! See if you can locate that rodeo cowboy. She’s probably chasing after his chaps.”
Jed took his time lifting the radio off his shirt and pushing the button on the side. “Will do. But you don’t need to worry. If anyone can find her, I can.” He looked at the woman standing next to Beckett. “I don’t suppose that you’ve seen Star, Aunt Jaydeen?”
Before Aunt Jaydeen could answer, a midget of a man in a Stetson and western suit stepped out of the room. “What’s all the ruckus? Are we havin’ a family meetin’ and I wasn’t invited? Now, that don’t seem right, seein’ as how I’m the head of the family.”
“More like the ass of the family,” Aunt Jaydeen grumbled. “It seems that Starlet has gone missing.” She glanced over at Beckett. “Sorry, sweetie, but I’ll have to catch you later. I need to go find my daugh—sister.” She hurried down the corridor, her heels clicking against the concrete floor.
For being security, Jed didn’t seem to be in quite as much of a hurry. He pulled a can of chewing tobacco out of his back pocket and took a dip before slowly moseying off in the direction he’d come from.
The midget cowboy watched him go and shook his head. “That boy has always been one apple short of a bushel.” He glanced at Beckett and smiled broadly before holding out a hand. “Bernard Brubaker, at your service—but most folks call me Bernie. You Jaydeen’s newest conquest?”
“Not hardly.” Beckett shook his hand. “Beckett Cates.” He stared down the corridor as his headache grew worse. He had no business getting involved. He had enough going on in his life. Especially when the squawking woman on the radio was probably right: Starlet was no doubt just meeting up with some cowboy.
Unfortunately, Beckett couldn’t let it go until he knew for sure.
He turned to Bernie. “You wouldn’t happen to know where the closest exit to the stage is, would you?”
“As a matter of fact, I do.” Bernie quickly pulled a Sharpie pen from his pocket and signed the cap he held with Star Bentley’s name. “Never hurts for a man to know how to get out of any given situation quickly.” He tossed the pen and hat back into the room before leading the way down the corridor.
As they neared the stage, Beckett could see that pandemonium had broken out. Stagehands, security, and band members were racing around to the orders of a petite woman in a pink power suit with the same annoying voice as the one that had come from Jed’s radio. Upon seeing the woman, Bernie pulled Beckett around to the back of the stage.
“It’s best to keep your distance from the she-devil.” He stepped over a tangle of black cable. “Kari is no doubt the reason my niece has run for the hills. The woman is a ballbuster if ever there was one. Very similar to my late wife.” He took off his hat and covered his heart. “God rest her soul.” His bald head gleamed in the stadium lighting. “Maybelline was the love of my life, but I spent most of our marriage in a bottle just trying to escape her bad temper. Since she died, I haven’t touched a drop of liquor—leastways, not the hard stuff—which should tell you something. Here we are.” He pushed open the side door.
The door led to a dark alley with three battered trash bins.
“You think Star’s—?” Bernie started, but Beckett held his finger to his lips and shook his head.
Something had caught his attention by one of the Dumpsters. A flash of movement that had his senses alert and muscles tightening. He waved Bernie back and then slipped out the door and up against the wall of the coliseum. He was probably just being foolish. He had seen more than a few marines who had come off active duty being a little overly cautious. But something wasn’t right. There was a shift in the air. An indistinguishable scent carried on the Carolina breeze that spoke of danger. The one time Beckett had ignored his basic instincts, bad things had happened. He wasn’t willing to chance it again.
A few feet from the first trash bin, he paused and listened. There was a small whimper, then a distinctive click that had him hitting the ground just as a bullet whizzed over his head. The next gunshot had him rolling to his feet and ducking around the front of the Dumpster.
Beckett figured he had about ten seconds to make his move before the guy realized that he didn’t have a gun and came out shooting. Looking around, he noticed the back end of a car parked on the other side of the bins. In one fluid motion, he leaned down and picked up a rock, chucking it as hard as he could at one of the car windows. Glass shattered, followed by rapid-fire gunshots. With the gunman’s attention diverted, Beckett scaled over the top of the Dumpster and dove at the shadowy figure on the other side. They hit the ground hard, but Beckett didn’t wait for his breath to rush back in before he made a grab for the gun.
The guy was no lightweight and refused to relinquish his hold, bringing his hand up and hitting Beckett in the chin with the butt of the revolver. Slightly stunned, Beckett allowed the man to get the upper hand and roll on top. His victory lasted for only a second before Beckett elbowed him hard in the throat. The jab caused the man to grunt and release the gun, and it skidded beneath the trash bin as Beckett rolled back on top. Unfortunately, he had no more than pinned the guy to the ground when someone clocked him over the head with a bottle. For a few seconds, he watched as amber glass rained down. Then there was nothing but darkness.
When Beckett came to, he was sprawled on his back in the alleyway with a headache the size of Texas. It took a moment and more than a few blinks to get his vision to clear. Amid a star-filled sky, three faces stared down at him.
“You’d think that a marine would be tougher than a bottle of Bud,” Jed said.
“Beer has brought down more than a few good men,” Bernie replied.
“And he is a good man.” Jaydeen’s eyes ran over him. “A real good man.”
While . . .
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The Last Cowboy in Texas
Katie Lane
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