They launched into the intro and she brought the mic to her lips. Looking beyond the lights to the shadowy tables ringing the dance floor, she sang:

She was eighteen years old and all alone

When a slick-talking man on the Thurston

County road

Slowed down his car and said

Let me give you a ride.

Itwas ironic, all things considered, but despite everything she still loved this song. Her friend Nell had written it, and from the very first time P.J. had heard it, its story and haunting melody had resonated with her. It'd also accessed feelings she was ashamed to acknowledge. For how did one admit to all the guilty longings for the kind of mother she'd always wished she'd had? "Mama's Girl" had hit on her most heartfelt, number-one fantasy-a mother who loved her daughter unconditionally and made sacrifices to assure her child's happiness.

It was a pipe dream, of course, but every time she sang the song she could almost make herself believe that it was true-that the saga of a single mother whose every thought began and ended with her daughter's welfare washer story. Even now, after Mama had tried to rob her blind and had smeared bits and pieces of her life across the media, the emotional connection to the mother of her song kept sucking her back into the fantasy.

Unfortunately, that had caused her to dig herself into a great big pit with the media when "Mama's Girl" started racking up airtime. But what should she have said when they'd asked if the lyrics were based on her own experiences-that the woman in the song was so far removed from her real mother that it wasn't even funny? That she sang an ode to a nameless, faceless woman she'd give her left arm to have been raised by?

No, not faceless, P.J. admitted. She had never forgotten Jared's sister, Victoria, or the way she'd treated her daughter, Esme. Had never been able to erase the memory of the love stamped all over the woman's face whenever she'd looked at her little girl. Nor had P.J. forgotten Victoria's generosity-not when Tori had given her the most beautiful dollhouse she'd ever seen when P.J. had left Denver to go back to live with Mama.

So every time she sang this song, Victoria's was the face she envisioned.

By the time they finished the set, P.J. was all jacked up with the euphoria of performing. Fans stopped her every two steps as soon as she left the stage, but she smiled and laughed and happily talked with them. She was in a fine mood by the time she reached the bar.

"Great show," Wayne said.

"Thanks, it was fun. Can I have a large,large club soda, please?"

"You bet. You want something stronger to go along with it? Another shot of Wild Turkey, maybe? It's on the house."

"No, thanks. One shot lubes up my pipes. Anything more throws off my timing. But I appreciate the offer."

He brought her a tall club soda and she drank it down in one long swallow. Laughing, Wayne took the glass from her hand, refilled it with the soda gun, squeezed a wedge of lime into it and handed it back to her. A second later the waitresses converged on the bar and he left to attend to the break's rush orders.

"Looks like you've got this crowd wrapped around your little finger," Jared's voice suddenly said directly into her right ear.

Sensation shivered from the point of entry all the way down her side and she swiveled to face him. He was wedged between her stool and the one next to it, looking hot in his worn jeans and white tank top with a white shirt hanging open over it. He smiled down at her. She noticed, however, that the smile didn't quite reach his eyes. That seemed to occur a lot-and she realized anew that although she'd known the boy almost inside out, she didn't know squat about the man he had become. "I enjoy meeting fans," she said coolly.

He slid onto the stool next to hers. "You were really good up there."

Okay, she'd admit it: his praise thrilled her. But attributing it to a momentary blast from the past, she merely inclined her head. "Thanks."

"So what are you doing in a podunk bar when you're slated to begin a tour of big-time venues?"

"Doing what I love best-jamming with other musicians." She shrugged. "And if I can exert a little damage control with the fans at the same time, so much the better."

"You'd do a lot more damage control if you gave an interview to one of the magazines or CMT."

"Well, thank you for that advice. If the time ever comes when I wanna see my private life dissected in front of millions, I'll be sure to keep it in mind." She shook her head in disgust. "I thought you'd be the one person to understand the effect all this media attention has on a person's psyche. But I guess you've changed even more than I'd already noticed." Hopping off the stool, she stalked across the bar to the back exit.

"P.J.!"

She didn't even slow down.

Dammit, he'd brought her wonderful mood crashing to earth and she resented the hell out of him for it. This had been the happiest she'd felt in almost two weeks.

Losing the performance high, however, was nothing compared to the way he'd crushed her second-favorite fantasy. For years she'd carried the dream of him around in her heart. For a brief while he'd been her hero, and she'd missed him like crazy when her mother had first let her come home after Rocket rescued her and Jared from the streets. But she'd seen the mansion Jared lived in, and the seeds of Mama's insistence that a rich boy like him had no time for a girl like her had found fertile ground. So when she and Mama moved mere days after reuniting, she'd let her relationship with Jared lapse.

She'd dreamed of him, though. God, had she dreamed of him! And long before she'd ever believed she might have an actual shot at realizing her fantasy of becoming a country singer, she'd made up scenarios in her head of one day running into him. She, of course, would be the hottest singing sensation since the coalminer's daughter. He would be so struck by her beauty and talent that he'd beg her to marry him on the spot. And they'd live happily ever after in a nice house with a really big yard full of dogs and cats and stuff.

"Juvenile bullshit," she muttered now, pushing through the back door into the brisk evening air.

She shivered. It had been about seventy degrees earlier today but the town was nestled in the western foothills of the Rockies and the temperature felt as if it had dropped thirty degrees. Rubbing her arms as the sweat she'd worked up onstage encountered the chilly air, she eyed the cartons of empties stacked next to the Dumpster. She separated out one and sat on it. Planting her elbow on her knee, she rested her chin in her palm.

After a moment it occurred to her that although she was tired of being jerked around, just sitting on her butt stewing about it didn't seem to be getting her anywhere. So maybe it was time to get up and actually do something.

She marched back into the bar, located Wayne and walked up to him. "See that guy over there?" She indicated Jared with a lift of her little finger.

"Yeah. Seen him talking to you a minute ago. Then I seen you taking off, lookin' mad enough to chew nails. He bothering you?"

"Yes. Can something be done about it?"

"You betcha." He pulled out a sawn-off oar from beneath the bar and raised it in the air over his head.

"Whoa, whoa,whoa! I don't want him beaten up."

He grinned at her. "I'm not gonna hit him. This is just to signal Bubba."

"Who's Bub-Whoa."

A man the size of a refrigerator appeared next to her, and Wayne jutted his chin toward Jared, who was sitting down the bar a ways, killing off a bowl of peanuts. "Man in the white shirt is bothering the lady here," he said softly.

"I'm sorry about that, ma'am," Bubba said in a quiet, surprisingly high-pitched voice as he politely inclined his head to P.J. "I'll see to it he doesn't do that again."

"Without violence, right?"

"Yes, ma'am." He started to turn away, then turned back and gave the front of his white straw cowboy hat a courteous tug. "Enjoyed your singing."

"Thank you." She turned bemused eyes to Wayne as Bubba ambled away. "Big boy."

"Oh, yeah."

They both watched as Bubba walked up to Jared, leaned down and said something in his ear. Jared turned his head to stare at P.J., his face impassive but eyes hot, before nodding and climbing to his feet. He dropped a couple of bills on the bar then strode across the room and out the front door.

Take that,she thought, watching until the door closed behind him.How do youlike being the one with no power over what's happening to you? She turned back to Wayne. "You have any bottled water?"

"Sure."

"Let me have one of those, wouldja? I need something to sip onstage." She wasn't stupid-she knew she hadn't gotten rid of Jared permanently. But for the moment at least he wasn't sitting there raining on her parade. She was used to being in charge of her life, but too many things had been happening lately without her input. It had to stop.

And to that end, she felt as if she'd taken her first steps. Maybe only baby steps, but it felt good all the same to be proactive again. Her heart regained some of the lightness she'd been feeling before Jared had ruined her mood.

By the time she and Cold Creek closed down their final set at close to two in the morning she was flying high. She talked to the band while they broke down the drums and packed the stringed instruments in their cases. But when they invited her to join them for an after-hours drink, she declined. The shot she'd tossed back before the first set had long worn off, but she didn't think it was a good idea to have another drink just before she climbed behind the wheel. Plus she wanted to get out of town before the press got wind of tonight's gig and hunted her down-but she could use a few hours' sleep first. So she thanked them, thanked Burt and Wayne and Bubba, and headed out to the nearly empty lot.