Authors: Mary J. Williams
"Will you buy a lake?" This time, when Colleen's hand brushed his, he moved closer until the touch was no longer random.
"Perhaps. But first, I want a closet full of shoes."
Dalton grinned. "I can identify with a dream like that. Thank you for this, Colleen."
"It's a treat for me, too. This was one of those slow, catch up on paperwork afternoons. I hate paperwork. Damn."
Opening one eye, Dalton peeked Colleen's way. "Is something wrong?"
"I forgot to put on sunscreen. In another five minutes, my skin will go from light pink to lobster red."
"Do we need to go back?
"No. With a complexion like mine, I always have SPF gazillion in the glove compartment." She began swimming to shore. "Stay here. I won't be long."
Dalton gave Colleen a bit of a head start then leisurely followed. It gave him the chance to watch as she left the water. The view was spectacular. Her underwear wasn't designed for swimming, the result being an interesting see-through effect. His opinion of her ass didn't change. It was fine indeed.
"Need some help?" he asked as Colleen retrieved the sunscreen.
Lifting her arm, Colleen peered at him, her green eyes sparkling. "Rubbing lotion on me holds more appeal than the lake? I'm flattered."
"I doubt there is a straight man alive who would turn down a chance to touch you, Colleen."
"Well then." With a slow smile, Colleen handed him the bottle. "Touch away."
Dalton wasn't an untried boy, but neither was he made of stone. Was he capable of touching without taking a taste? Maybe. Now wasn't the time to test the theory.
"I don't have a condom with me."
Taking back the sunscreen, Colleen gave him a look of genuine regret. "As a modern, sexually active woman, I pride myself on always being prepared. But not today. Another time?"
"It feels inevitable."
That brought a big, bright, palpitation-inducing smile to Colleen's lips. When she turned away, Dalton raised a hand to his chest. He rubbed the spot just above his heart with a puzzled frown.
That was different
. He didn't have time to contemplate what it meant. If he couldn't touch Colleen, he could still enjoy the show.
"Mind if I watch?"
"Too bad that sounds kinkier than the reality." Colleen picked a patch of green grass to sit. She began at her feet and slowly worked up. "One of the ways you lured me away from work was the promise we would talk."
"Did I say that?" Dalton teased. At the moment, his interest was centered on the slope of Colleen's calf.
"Should I stop?" Colleen flipped shut the bottle's cap.
"No!" Hearing the tinge of desperation in his voice, Dalton cracked up. "You make me feel like a teenager. Can I talk you out of that bra?"
"If we were teenagers? Probably. But not today. I'll lotion up, you talk."
"Fair enough." Leaning back on his elbows, Dalton stretched out his long legs. "I wasn't a teenager, but I was just as reckless and stupid."
SEVEN YEARS EARLIER
"WHEN WE MAKE it big, our first investment will be a new van with a working air conditioner."
Sweat rolled freely down Dalton's face. The open window did nothing to ease the heat. It made it so they could breathe while they roasted.
"Amen, brother." Ashe drove through the Arizona afternoon wearing nothing but a pair of shorts. The old beach towel that protected him from the springs sticking out of the imitation leather seat was soaked with perspiration. His shaggy dark hair clung to the side of his sweat-drenched face. He had the seat pushed back as far as possible to accommodate his long legs.
In the back, their instruments were carefully packed beside four suitcases and some camping equipment. There were nights when the budget didn't include money for a motel room.
The Ryder Hart Band
was at the end of a drive-through summer tour that had taken them through the Southwest. Their manager insisted this would be the last time. After their album hit in October, it would be first class all the way.
Dalton wasn't getting his hopes too high. The album was good—borderline great. The hard work was finally paying off. He joined Ryder and Ashe because they shared a vision. The sound they wanted to produce. The music they wanted to make. Yes, the name out front was Ryder's—something he and Ashe fully endorsed—but in every way they were equals. Writing partners, business partners. Most of all, friends.
To say it had been a struggle put it mildly. Three eighteen-year-olds with barely a pot to piss in. What they earned went toward expenses. Dalton sent as much as he could to his mother. Ryder did the same for his sister. Ashe came from money, but they cut him off when he chose music over conformity.
Slowly, they built a following—a reputation. When Ryder's sister joined the band last year, she brought an attitude and a killer lead guitar.
The Ryder Hart Band
had a unique sound that distinguished them from the pack. And Zoe was a big reason.
"Why don't you sweat?" Dalton asked the woman sitting cool, calm, and collected in the backseat.
"Heat—and the sweat that goes with it—is a state of mind," she answered with a deadpan expression. "I chose cool to be cool. It's as simple as that."
Zoe's long, blond hair sat atop her head in a messy, yet somehow put-together bun. The loose lilac-colored summer dress she wore brought out flecks of purple in her normally deep blue eyes. At eighteen, she had more poise—and snark—than a woman twice her age.
Zoe Hart was a beautiful young woman with talent to burn. Dalton loved her the same way he loved Ryder and Ashe. They were the family of his heart. However, those who didn't know the real Zoe found her intimidating as hell. Much to her delight.
"I hate you." His grin belying his words, Ryder lightly jabbed his sister in the arm. "Hand me a bottle of water before I melt away completely.
Zoe complied, tossing him a bottle from the cooler behind her seat. Ryder poured half the contents over his head. It was warm—the ice they started out with had melted about twenty miles ago. But their lead singer sighed with relief as the liquid ran down his face. He was a damn good-looking man. Dalton could admit that with no jealousy— or fear of denting his well-documented heterosexuality. Facts were facts. Ryder's face drew the ladies. And where there were pretty women, men followed. When they started out, it was a formula that put bodies in the bars where they played. They still came to see Ryder. But now, their music was as big a draw—if not bigger.
"Where are we playing tonight?" Ashe asked. In the rearview mirror, he sent Zoe a smile when she passed him a bottle of water.
"Midas," Dalton answered.
Ashe groaned. "Who is she?"
"I don't know what you're talking about." Dalton tried to look innocent, but he hadn't been able to pull that off for years.
"Shit, Dalton." Ryder kicked the back of his seat. "If you aren't bragging, there's something wrong with her."
"Even money says she's married." Zoe scoffed. She rarely cursed—it wasn't necessary. One raised eyebrow conveyed the contempt of a string of f-bombs.
Dalton could have protested, but these people knew him better than anyone. Why bother to lie?
"Bonnie and her friends were in the crowd last Saturday."
"That's where you went during our break. And after the last set."
"She had one of those older model Cadillac sedans. The backseat was huge. And, the air conditioner was in perfect working condition."
"I get it," Ashe nodded. "A bored housewife and sweat-free fuck."
"You never play a return engagement. Not with women," Ryder pointed out. "What makes Bonnie so special?"
"A big… personality?" Zoe left no doubt what she meant.
"Bonnie lives in Midas. A fact I didn't know when I mentioned the town was next on our itinerary. I know." Dalton held up a hand before anyone could comment. "It's my fault. When she asked, I didn't think."
"Men." Zoe shook her head. "There isn't enough blood in your body to power your dick and your brain at the same time."
"It isn't a big deal," Dalton shrugged.
Glancing down at his crotch, Zoe chuckled.
"
Bonnie
isn't a big deal. Get your mind off my dick."
Unfazed by the taunt, Zoe put on a pair of sunglasses, humming as she stared out the window. But the lurking smile rankled.
"Your sister is a pain in the ass."
"I know." Ryder's smile echoed Zoe's. "She's also right. The last thing we need is trouble. Groupies are one thing. Married groupies?"
"Trouble with a capital
Hell No
," Ashe chimed in.
"One more night, brothers and sister. Tomorrow we head back to civilization. What can happen in a little town like Midas?"
AFTER THREE MONTHS of endless shithole bars and music festivals,
The Thirsty Raven
wasn't the worst place they had played. But as they set up their instruments, it was difficult to recall one that ranked lower.
"There is a gaping hole in the ladies' room. And no door on the stall. If I were so inclined, which I am not, I would have a scenic view of the parking lot while I peed."
"If you need to go, I'll stand guard outside the men's room. It's filthy, but the walls are solid."
"I appreciate the offer, Dalton, but I'll wait."
"Let me know if you change your mind."
It turned out to be a good crowd. A little rowdy, but the band had seen worse. During their last break, Dalton had stopped looking for Bonnie. The truth was, he was relieved. He had hoped she wouldn't show. It wasn't Ryder's warning or Zoe's ribbing. It was him. Women were fun. Sex was necessary. However, there was a reason why Dalton moved on after one night. He refused to make promises he wouldn't keep—and women expected promises.
Bonnie had a husband. That had been part of her appeal. It hadn't occurred to Dalton that she would want to see him again. And in her hometown? It would be a relief if he never saw the little brunette again.
Dalton took a deep breath of air. The crowd had thinned, making it easy to find a little peace before he had to go inside. The heat had lingered, giving the night an oppressive feel. He was ready to go home. Ready for a change. Only twenty-two, it felt like he had been on the road most of his life. It wasn't far from the truth. His mother had no interest in keeping track of her children. Where he wandered and what he did when he got there had been his choice for as long as he could remember.
Playing in pick-up bands had been easy. Nobody asked his age, so at fifteen, his weekends became devoted to music. It brought focus to his life—and a few bucks so he could help with the bills at home. A year later, he quit school. The drums became his life—and paid enough to keep him off the streets.
For the first time, Dalton's dreams had become a reality close enough to touch. When they were back in Los Angeles, they could scrap the old van and concentrate on taking the band to the next level.
"Dalton?"
Shit
. Dalton recognized Bonnie's breathy voice. So much for clean and easy. He would have to man up and tell her the truth. One night was fun, two was not going to happen.
When Bonnie stepped out of the shadows, Dalton's planned friendly greeting vaporized from his brain.
"What the hell happened to your face?"
Dalton's words were harsh. When Bonnie flinched, he silently cursed himself. Taking her hand, he pulled her farther into the light. Carefully, Dalton took Bonnie's chin between his fingers, tipping her head.
"It's not as bad as it looks," Bonnie hiccupped.
"It looks like someone used your pretty face as a punching bag."
Bonnie's bottom lip had swelled to twice its size, the split crusted over with dried blood. Several bruises began to form on her face, the most prominent on her left cheek. In the morning, her right eye would be impossible to open.
"It doesn't matter. I wanted to see you before you left to let you know—" Bonnie's voice caught.
"Take it slow."
Dalton led Bonnie to an old log. Sitting next to her, he gently took her into his arms. He didn't consider himself a volatile man. It took a lot to set him off. But when it came to the abuse of women and children, Dalton's boiling point was low—minuscule. His first instinct was to protect the victim. His second—destroy the abuser.
"I needed to see you one last time." Dalton took a black bandana from his back pocket. He used it on stage to keep his hands dry, but it would do so Bonnie could wipe her tears. "That night in Winslow was very special to me. I wanted you to know that I'll never forget you."
"Does your husband hit you often?" It was a stupid question. One time was too many.
"Collier isn't a bad man. I know it's my fault. When he drinks, I say stupid things."
"Honey, there isn't anything you could say that would give that bastard the right to lay a finger on you."
"He's always sorry. Tomorrow he'll bring me flowers."
"That isn't going to happen."
"Why not?" Bonnie asked in a small, pitiful voice.
"Because tonight, I'm going to put him in the hospital."
"No!" When Dalton tried to stand, Bonnie clutched at his arm. "He'll hurt you. Collier was captain of his college boxing team."
Now instead of beating up on other over-privileged idiots, Collier pounded on his wife. And nobody stopped him. What about her family? Or his? They had to know.
"I can take care of myself."
"I—"
"Jesus, Bonnie. I look the other way when you go slumming out of town. But this is unacceptable. A musician? What the fuck?"
"Collier!" Bonnie cringed. "It isn't how it looks."
Collier. The name suited him, Dalton thought. Tall, blond, and arrogant. He looked trim, but he must have outweighed his wife by at least seventy pounds. Standing, Dalton planted his feet in front of Bonnie's cowering figure.
"Make a move toward her and I will crush you."
Crossing his arms, Collier smirked. "Nice, Bonnie. You found yourself a tough guy. But is he tough enough to take down me
and
my friends?"