"Wouldn't it be more responsible to tell kids not to drink in the first place?"

"Absolutely. I don't know how realistic it is, though. In an ideal world preaching would make an impact, but I can't honestly say I've ever seen the just-say-no principle work. The desire to fit in is a lot more immediate and compelling than some country singer's opinion. God knows peer pressure is alive and well. Probably even more so in small-town America than in its bigger-city counterparts, where I'm sure it's bad enough."

"You might have a point," Lonesome Jack said. "Listeners, what do you think? Let's open the lines now and take a few calls." He pointed to his engineer, who toggled open a line, and said, "Hi, you're on the air. Who am I speaking to?"

"My name is Benjamin McGrath," said a familiar voice.

P.J. straightened in her chair. "Ben?" She glanced at the disc jockey in confusion.

He winked at her. "Please welcome Priscilla Jayne's manager, cowgirls and cowpokes," he said to his listeners in a hearty DJ voice.

"I'm calling to congratulate her on the success of her single 'Crying Myself to Sleep,'" Ben said. "It's the second record on herWatch Me Fly album to go digital gold. I have in my hand a copy of a certificate commemorating the sale of more than one hundred thousand downloads. I overnighted the original and it will be presented at tomorrow night's concert. Congratulations, Priscilla."

A laugh bubbled out of her. "Ohmigawd. Seriously?"

"Absolutely," Lonesome Jack said, then leaned into the microphone. "So listen up, all you fans out there. If you don't have your ticket to Priscilla Jayne's concert yet and you'd like to see the official presentation, you'll want to run, not walk, to your nearest Ticketmaster. Uhoh, wait a second. Marley's signaling me." He leaned over to hear as his coworker spoke in his ear, then returned to the mic.

"Erase what I just said," he drawled. "It appears both concerts have sold out. But don't despair, my little buckaroos, because we here at KPIX are still the proud owners of a block of tickets. And for the next ten lucky listeners to be the ninth caller when they hear this-" he played the opening bars of "Crying Myself to Sleep" "-you'll not only be our guest to hear Priscilla Jayne's concert, but you'll be issued a backstage pass so you can personally offer her your congratulations after the show."

Jazzed up yet vaguely uneasy, P.J. had to concentrate in order to answer the number of legitimate phone-in calls that followed. She was still in a daze and bouncing from one emotion to another as she wrapped up the interview with the DJ and thanked him not only for having her on today's show and the airtime his station devoted to her music, but for the part he'd played as well in staging the news of her single going digital gold. Leaving the soundbooth, she floated down the hallway to the reception area where she promptly bounced off Jared's chest when she walked right into him without seeing him. She distantly heard Lonesome Jack's program playing softly through speakers mounted on the wall.

"Hey." Wrapping his hands around her shoulders, he steadied her, then held her at arm's length to grin down at her. "Congratulations! How cool was that? You didn't know anything about it, I take it?"

"No." Then, because his open expression reminded her of the boy she'd known back when they were each other's only support system, she admitted, "For years I dreamed of the kind of success I'm beginning to enjoy. But now that it's coming my way-" She broke off, because she'd just gotten excellent news and truly didn't know why she wasn't simply bouncing with joy.

"You're seeing there's more than one side to it," he suggested. "There's the good part-the being paid like a queen, having your work loved by many and seeing your records go gold. But there's a downside, too. Your private life is fodder for sleazy journalists to spread across their rags for every Tom, Dick and Harry to consume with their morning Wheaties, and you've got a potential stalker who apparently feels perfectly justified in sending you sick, incomprehensible messages."

"Yes!"Relief surged through her that he understood, and, stepping forward, she leaned her forehead against his chest in sheer gratitude. He smelled of soap and man and laundered cotton, and her itchy restlessness settled as she breathed him in. She rocked her head back and forth against the solid warmth of his chest. "I know nobody likes a whiner, J. But that photo really shook me up."

"Hell, yes, it shook you. You wouldn't be human if it hadn't." Cruising his hands up over the curve of her shoulders, he slid them in to lightly encircle her neck, his thumbs resting on her collarbones and his fingertips working the vertical slope of her nape like a maestro coaxing a symphony out of a sax. "But I'm good at my job and I'm telling you this flat out-I will keep you safe. Trust me."

She raised her head to gaze up at him. Usually when a man said, "Trust me," it was the last thing she was inclined to do. But Jared meant trust him as a professional, and in that arena she did.

It made her uneasy to realize that she'd apparently been harboring a secret wish to trust him on a more personal level, as well. But she merely met his eyes and nodded. Then she drew a deep breath and eased it out before taking a casual step back. When his hands slipped away to drop to his side she shivered against the sudden lack of warmth in the air-conditioned lobby.

"I'll do that," she said, then cast a meaningful glance at the receptionist, who was clearly pretending she wasn't straining her ears for all she was worth in an attempt to overhear their conversation. "Right now, though, I think we better ask little Miss Nosy over there to call us a cab."

 

NELL LAY QUIETLYin her bed in the stateroom she shared with P.J. and stared through the stygian gloom as if she could actually see the ceiling that hid behind the darkness overhead. When the linens on the other bed rustled quietly, she turned her head in that direction. "You awake?"

"Yeah."

"Good interview today. I meant to tell you earlier that I'd tuned in to listen. I was impressed Lonesome Jack didn't once bring up the business with your mother." She smiled in the darkness. "But then he had an entirely different surprise in mind, didn't he?"

They'd celebrated when P.J. had returned from the radio station, but then it'd been time for sound check, after which she'd had a hundred details to see to. And when those had been done P.J.'d had to get her stage makeup done and get dressed for the concert. The next thing Nell knew it had been showtime. This was the first opportunity she'd had to discuss anything in private with her friend.

She heard a return smile in P.J.'s voice when she said, "Wasn't that something? I called Ben back as soon as we quit partying and of course he'd staged the whole thing. But he also said the positive press is starting to outweigh the negative-and that the bad stuff probably fueled sales, anyway." She blew out a noisy sigh. "What a business."

"Yeah, it's lunatic." Nell hesitated, then said casually, "This is changing the subject, but have you ever seen Hank without a shirt on before today?"

"Sure, once or twice. It's a rare thing, though." P.J. laughed. "Too bad, too. The boy's got a six-pack on him, doesn't he?"

"I'll say." It had blown her away. She didn't know why, exactly-he generally wore his shirts neatly tucked in and it wasn't as if she'd ever seen them stretched over a beer belly or anything. It was just:

She'd never once considered him in a sexual way. "He's no Eddie," she said, thinking out loud. "But-" Seeing him half-naked and disheveled as she had this morning had made her look at him in a brand-new way.

"He might not flaunt it like Eddie does, but his build leaves Mr. I've-got-the-attention-span-of-a-gnat's in the shade." P.J.'s bedding rustled once again and her voice sounded closer, as if she'd rolled to face her. "He's more man than Eddie will ever be, if you ask me."

"Oh, I know. I like him a lot. He's easy to talk to and he's professional and really talented. But Eddie is so gorgeous." She shook her head. "And my God, that makes me sound shallow."

"Ya think?"

"I know, I know. But the thing is, I've had a crush on that man for what seems like forever."

"Yeah." P.J.'s voice was soft in the darkness.

"And I realize he's never going to look at me the way he does his parade of sweet young things. Still:" She drew in a deep breath, then eased it out again. "I want to fix myself up a bit. Trouble is, I was born without the girly gene, which means I don't have the first idea where to start. You always look pulled together, though, with all your dresses and skirts and funky jewelry."

"A woman named Gert, who took me in after my homeless spell, bought me the first dress I ever owned that wasn't a hand-me-down," P.J. said. "I'd pretty much lived in jeans and T-shirts up until then, and that little sundress made me feel so feminine that I started buying more whenever I could get the moons to align."

"And how does one accomplish that?"

P.J. laughed. "Well, in my case it was when I'd scratched together a few bucks and Wal-Mart had a sale. Those skirts and dresses made me feel good about myself during a period when that wasn't often the case."

Nell turned on her side to face her friend who, now that Nell's eyes had adjusted, was a dim outline in the other bed. Tucking her bent arm beneath her head, she said, "Would you go shopping with me, Peej? Help me find a few pieces that are flattering and get a haircut and some makeup and stuff? Just a little makeup," she quickly qualified. "I know myself well enough to realize I'll never use anything too complicated."