"Shit."

"Yeah." Then she shook her head. "We can't do anything about Priscilla's bad luck in the parent pool and I doubt she'd appreciate knowing we were discussing it. So you want to help me with a song I've been working on instead? I've practiced it over and over again on piano, but I'd love to hear how it sounds on fiddle."

"You bet." Man, he liked this woman. She was smart and funny and talented-and he'd bet the bank she'd be one warm, round armful if he could ever get her there.

But she had a yen for Eddie. Idiot Eddie, for crissake, who would never in a million years appreciate a woman like her the way she deserved to be appreciated. And that was supposing the fool could manage to look past the superficial in the first place, which, considering how far removed Nell was from the twenty-something airheads in sprayed-on Lycra that Eddie generally went for, wasn't likely.

He had to admit, though, that his band mate, for all that he couldn't keep his pants zipped for more than four or five hours at a pop, didn't pretend to be anything other than what he was. He was honest and up front about his shortcomings.

Maybe I oughtta take a lesson,Hank thought. Because he knew damn well if Eddie were ever interested in Nell, he wouldn't dither around about it. He'd let her know right away.

Not wanting to think about it any longer, Hank reached for his fiddle.

"Wait." Nell put a soft hand over his as he tucked the instrument under his chin and raised his bow. "Let's change the note here to C flat."

He leaned into her to see what she was pointing at on the sheet. "This one?"

"No, the one next to it there, see?"

A fresh, elusive fragrance tickled his nose. But instead of complimenting her on it or telling her what pretty skin she had or how much he enjoyed spending time like this with her, he merely nodded and began to play the new song.

And berated himself for being such a goddamn chicken-liver.

 

JARED BLEW OUT A BREATH, squared his shoulders and climbed onto the arena stage through the almost ladder-like stairs at the back of the boards. He was so tense he felt as though one false move and he'd fracture into so many tiny pieces he'd look like a damn mosaic. And wasn't that insane? How could one little kiss unleash fifteen years of suppressed emotion?

It shouldn't be able to.

Yet, oh, man, it had. Unleashed it big-time. The back of his tongue still retained P.J.'s taste, his palms itched and his fingers kept wanting to curl into the shape of that luxuriant curve of her butt.

But he trusted intellect, not strong emotions. Fifteen years ago he'd lost his temper and as a result he'd thought for a brief, awful time that he'd killed his own father. In the wake of it, once his life had finally stabilized in Tori and John's care, he'd made himself a vow that he would never again let his feelings take control. Because just look where that had gotten him. He'd quit acting in the heat of the moment, had given up committing any rash acts at all. The stronger his emotions were, in fact, the more likely he was to rein himself in. If there was a small part of him that was exhausted by always having to guard against a spontaneous reaction, it was a small price to pay. Because the truth was he just couldn't trust what might happen if he ever let go.

Which made his reaction earlier with P.J. all the more shocking. He'd formed that resolution years ago, and considering how well it had always worked for him he'd just naturally assumed it was an established fact by now.

Not so, apparently. Because his ironclad control had sure as hell slipped with her.

And slipped big.

It was bad enough he'd allowed her to anger him with that crap about his "perfect" life. In the short time they'd been reunited, she'd managed to rile him faster than anyone he'd ever known. But he always got himself back in hand fairly quickly. And he'd done so today as well.

Only to lose it completely when she'd kissed him.

Holy shit. A kiss was a kiss was a kiss-or that's what he'd always believed, anyhow. Kisses were nice and they led to activities that were even nicer. But face it, they were pretty much interchangeable.

Not hers.A harsh breath exploded from his lungs. Hers had damn near blown the top of his head off.

He was going to pretend it hadn't, though. He was going to corral her before sound check and have that catch-up talk he'd told her they'd have. He was going to chat and smile and keep it light and friendly. He'd keep his hands in his pockets and his gaze off her mouth. And afterward he'd ride that midnight bus down to L.A. with her.

Then he was getting the hell back to Denver, where life had boundaries he understood.

P.J. wasn't onstage when he rounded the huge speaker blocking his view of most of it, but he hadn't expected her to be. He'd come extra early by design.

Hank and Nell had come even earlier. They sat on stools on the left side of the stage, Hank playing a stanza or two of a song on his fiddle before Nell interrupted, made a notation on some sheets of paper she held, then waved at him to continue.

Well, shit.Nell was a sweetheart, but Hank sure didn't top the list of people he was dying to see.

But those were the breaks. As that old philosopher Mick Jagger said, you can't always get what you want. Releasing his frustration on a hearty exhalation, he assumed a pleasant expression and shoved his hands into his pockets as he sauntered across the stage.

Hank spotted him first and the slight smile curving his lips disappeared. "Aw, hell." Lowering his fiddle, he gave Jared his usual what-the-hell-are-you-doing-in-my-territory fixed stare. Then he turned to Nell. "Hand me that paper, will you, darlin'?"

She passed him a tabloid-sized newspaper and the musician immediately thrust it at Jared. "Here. Why don't you make yourself useful for a change and do something about this?"

"Hank," Nell remonstrated without heat.

Jared looked down at what was indeed a tabloid and swore when he saw the headline. Then he shut out the others to read the entire article.

When he finished, he didn't kick it across the stage or reach for the closest book of matches to torch it the way he wanted. Instead he handed it with extra care back to Nell. "God, I despise that woman," he murmured to himself, his gaze still locked on theNashville Tattler and its screaming headline even as Nell twisted to put the paper away. "She was malicious fifteen years ago and she hasn't changed a bit."

"You know P.J.'s mother?" Nell asked.

He looked up, surprised that he'd actually said it out loud. Then he gave a mental shrug. What the hell-he'd given up caring who knew about his earlier days a long time ago. "We've never met, but I know she's a liar and a lousy mother. That story in the rags a while back about P.J. running away from home when she was thirteen? Pure bullshit. Her mother kicked her out."

"And you would know this how?" Hank demanded skeptically.

"By living on the streets with me," P.J.'s voice came from behind him.

Aw, crap. He turned to face her. He'd give a lot not to have had her overhear this particular conversation. But that cat had slipped its cage.

"Yeah, right," Hank guffawed. "Mister Hundred-Dollar T-shirt, here? Pull the other one."

Tired of the other man's attitude, Jared gave him a flat-eyed stare. "What, you think bad parenting can't cross the socioeconomic line? Think again, pal. I had a dad who made Peej's mom look like Mother Teresa."

"Sez you." P.J. snorted. "My mother was barely getting warmed up when your dad took that letter opener through the heart."

Oh, gawd. She couldn't believe she wasjoking about this! Yet there was something liberating about being able to do so after all the years of pretending that if only she wished hard enough everything would turn out okay. The truth was her mother was never going to be the parent she'd spent a lifetime dreaming of. And while she wasn't close to being ready to share that with the rest of the world, she could at least admit it to the people here. She was among friends.

Well, two of them were, anyway.

Jared looked down at her with a coolly raised eyebrow. "And that doesn't tell you something right there-that he was murdered and according to Rocket and Tori they had more suspects than they knew what to do with, but I was the top pick anyhow? If Dad had survived your mother would have had to hang her head in shame. The woman was a piker compared to my old man. Hell, she wasn't even in the same league-she was strictly the minors."

She saw the stunned looks on Nell's and Hank's faces and couldn't prevent a wry smile. Because she and Jared might not be friends in the normal sense of the word, but their time in Denver had forged a bond that would never break no matter how thin they stretched it. If she never saw him again after tomorrow the experience they'd shared as kids would still be a link that connected them forever. They'd survived things together that most people couldn't even imagine.

Jared turned those imperturbable eyes on Hank. "So do me a favor, buddy, and quit making assumptions. You don't know the first damn thing about me."

Hank stiffened and P.J. took a casual step forward that put her between them.

Jared merely put his long hands on her shoulders and leaned over her head. "But because I live to brighten your day, I will tell you that I'm out of here after we get to L.A."

"And not a moment too soon," Hank muttered. But the look he gave Jared was more thoughtful than his usual you-asshole glare.

She, on the other hand, just felt sort of edgy. Dissatisfied. "Where's Eddie?" she demanded and winced at her petulant tone.