All Smoke No Fire (2 page)

She nodded, a sad smile on her face.

He came to the bridge and sang it like he absolutely meant it.

Lord now you know, you know what I deal with in my mind

So I’ll be here waitin’ right here

When you finally find the time

I just want a little bit

They sang the chorus together, then she stepped back from the mic, set her hands on her guitar, and bowed her head.

Dax finished the song, his voice strong despite the exhilaration running through him that threatened to make him choke up.

Aw just a little bit back

If it ain’t too much to ask

I just want a little bit

Aw just a little bit back

If it ain’t too much to ask

Playing the last note, he stepped back, waiting. The crowd stayed silent.

Marilou reached out and grasped his forearm. “Dax. Amazing.”

Then the audience went crazy, shouting and clapping, some chants of “buy-it” starting, but Marilou held up her hand and the audience quieted. “I’ve never been touched by a song the way this one has moved me. And while I would love to add this one to my next album, I don’t think I could do it justice.”

He turned to look at her, hoping she was teasing him.

The crowd let out a few “aws,” and a “You’re crazy!” came from a woman in the back, who was probably Harper.

Marilou looked dead serious.

Dax’s chest contracted and his throat seized up. She was turning him down? Publicly? So much for the backstage crew’s assurances that she was a nice lady.

“No.” She smiled at him. “I think Mr. Dax Marshall needs to get into a studio and record his own album.” Turning toward the crowd, she cupped one hand behind her ear. “What do you think?”

The crowd got very loud for a few minutes, then as they settled down, Dax heard Shaw’s voice. “I been telling him that for years!”

Dax coughed out a laugh. This was not what he wanted. The laid-back life of writing songs appealed to him more than the manic world of the music business.

Marilou smirked at Dax, leaning away from her mic. “So it’s settled, then.” She winked. “Wait for me in my dressing room?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He waved to the audience as he walked offstage, his knees shaking a bit. He reached the curtains and sent up a prayer of thanks that his legs hadn’t buckled on stage.

“Dax Marshall, everyone.” She shouted the words. “Remember that name. He’ll be famous one day.”

The man who’d helped him get his guitar out earlier clapped him on the back. “You must have something special, for her to call you out on stage like that. She doesn’t do that often.”

Often
? Dax tucked his guitar in its case. “I’m just glad I didn’t wet myself out there.”

The guy laughed. “That’s a sure sign that you may be cut out for this. C’mon. I’ll get you into her dressing room. She’s just got two songs left.”

They walked to a door guarded by a uniformed casino employee who let Dax into the small room. A couple of cushy chairs sat in a corner, a table held some bowls of iced soda pop and water bottles, along with a bowl holding a variety of protein bars. An open door at the back led to a tiny bathroom,

He set down his guitar case and paced the room. Had she been kidding about his recording the song himself? She had to have been. He was no singer. Of course, the guys had commented that his voice sounded better lately. But he didn’t have that stage personality, the one it took to keep a room full of people entertained. And the roadie backstage, what did he mean by, “she doesn’t do this often”?

Marilou burst into the room. “Dax.” She stormed right up to him and pulled him in for a hug.

Her soft curves and sweet floral scent hit him on a physical level, sexy, hot, and sensual, but his mind stayed where it should be: on work. “Thank you for letting me perform with you, Ms. Roselle.”

She stepped back, holding his upper arms in her firm grip. “It’s Marilou, and thank
you
for bringing that song to me.” Shaking her head, she walked to the table and opened a bottle of water. “It’s an incredible tune, emotive and heartbreaking.”

It was all that and more to Dax. He’d written it after his little sister had died.

Dax worked up his courage. “You’re…interested in buying the song?”

With her mouth full of water, she shook her head and swallowed. “No, but I have an idea for it.” She pointed to the two chairs in the corner. “You want something to drink?”

If she’d been offering him a shot of whiskey he’d have taken it just to settle his nerves.

“No, thank you.” He waited for her to sit, then took the chair next to her. “What’s your idea?”

The way she smiled, her eyes twinkled in the light.

He’d be real busy trying to seduce this beautiful woman if he wasn’t so nervous.

“Dax, I want you to ride to New Orleans with me tonight.”

He blinked a few times as the words took their time registering in his brain.

“I’m from Louisiana.” She put the cap on her water bottle. “I’m riding on a parade float a few days before Mardi Gras, plus I have a gig on Bourbon Street on Mardi Gras day.”

“What are you saying?” Did she want him to ride with her to—what—talk? Write songs?

She sat on the edge of her chair. “Sorry, I’m just rambling on too fast. I want to sing your song with you on the float, introduce you to the people of Louisiana. We’ll sing some of my songs too, of course, and we can work on arrangements on the way down there.”

It felt like his head filled with helium and hovered a foot above his shoulders.

“I don’t understand.” Dax stared back at Marilou with those incredibly blue eyes of his. The chairs in the corner of her dressing room were too darn close together for her to be able to ignore the sexual pull this man held for her.

Patting his knee, she felt a chill race through her at the warmth under her hand, seeping up through his pressed jeans. “I want to give you a break, Dax. Give you the opportunity to try being in front of an audience, see if it fits you.”

“On a parade float?” His eyebrows dropped.

She needed to slow down, curb her enthusiasm a bit so she didn’t scare the bejeebers out of him. “And at the bar on Fat Tuesday. I’ll have you come out for a few songs in the middle of my set, then let you play two or three of your own.”

Rising to his feet, he let out a long breath. “I have a job.” He paced to the far end of the room. “I can’t just…” Dax stopped as if he’d hit a wall.

What was he thinking? Marilou had done some research on the guy when he’d contacted her people a few months ago. He worked up on the Bakken, roughnecking for an oil company, which explained his big, sexy shoulders and his flat abs, visible even with his long-sleeved blue-plaid shirt. Her eyes dropped to his shiny black boots, then trailed up those muscled thighs to his narrow waist.

“No.” He stared at the wall.

His word had her gaze moving back to his face where it should have stayed the whole time. Crap, she had to watch herself. It didn’t pay to get involved with a man she was trying to help break into the business. She’d learned that the hard way, hadn’t she? But this man was more than a temptation. She could easily let herself get nekkid with him.

“Ma’am…Marilou, I’m not a performer.” He glanced at her, his nice lips pulled into a tight line.

“You proved that statement false tonight. The crowd loved you.” She stood. “You had some witty comebacks for me, which was kinda ballsy of you.”

His head dropped a bit and his eyes looked unfocused. “There were a few moments out there…” Dax’s voice rolled soft and low. “With the lights on me, the band behind me, a room full of people listening. I imagined doing it, you know?” He met her gaze. “Really singing for a living. But I don’t think this timeline will work for me. Give me a few months to think about it, plan out songs for a CD, maybe.” As his voice rose, his shoulders slumped.

If she knew anything about body language, this guy just needed some encouragement. Well, that she could do. Marilou stood, crossed her arms and cocked her hip. “That’s what I was afraid of. All smoke. No fire.”

He lifted his hands, his brows dropping low. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Fire.
Fire
, Dax” She rubbed her forehead, hating to push him, but knowing her time limitations. “Having a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity laid out like a flying carpet in front of you and jumping on it with both feet. That’s what fire is.”

After letting that sink in a few seconds, he shook his head. “I have fire. I proved it tonight on stage.” His words snapped a bit as if he’d found a spark deep inside. “Just because I can’t leave tonight doesn’t mean I don’t want to try this.”

A knock sounded on the door and the casino’s marketing manager poked her head in. “Ms. Roselle, your VIP winners are in the ballroom. Are you ready?”

“Give me just a few minutes, please?” She smiled even though she’d like to reprimand the woman for walking in without waiting for an invitation to enter.

“Oh.” The woman checked her watch. “Of course.” She frowned at Dax then faked a smile for Marilou. “I’ll just be waiting right here outside the door.”

“Perfect.”

When they were alone again, Marilou went with her trump card. “My manager, Delroy North, works out of New Orleans, and I have an appointment with him the day after Mardi Gras. I’d like to introduce you to him.”

Dax audibly sucked in a breath. “You would?” The breath left him on a hiss, like a deflating balloon. “I don’t mean to be rude, but why are you doing this?”

“I don’t mean to be rude either, but I’ve got a room full of people waiting for me, and I’ve got Ms. Congeniality tapping her foot…” She pointed. “Outside that door.” Her hand dropped. “I’ll explain everything to you on the bus. If you decide not to go all the way to New Orleans with me, we’ll find the next airport and I’ll pay your way back to North Dakota.”

He just stared at her.

She could almost hear the gears chugging away in his brain. “Dax, I have no nefarious plans for you. My bus drivers are a married couple, not two bulky men with chains and handcuffs. And to cut right to the end of the story, I see a lot of talent in you, and I want you to learn how to see that in yourself.”

His brows shot up for a second. “I appreciate that, but I just don’t know.” Bending over, he picked up his guitar case and straightened, nodding to her. “Thank you for the opportunity.”

Seeing the resigned look in his eye, her stomach clenched. She’d been in the exact same place once, but that fire inside her had flared at the last minute and she’d gone for it. She’d never regretted it for a second.

“My bus is leaving at eleven-fifty-five.” She checked her watch. “That gives you forty-five minutes to decide.” Walking toward the door, she listened for anything more from him. She pulled open the door and turned toward him.

He hadn’t moved and stood staring at the wall.

“There are no guarantees in life, Dax.”

His head swiveled and his gaze locked with hers.

“And more often than not, no second chances.” Marilou walked out, hoping, praying, he’d be on her bus tonight. If not, she might just hire two big bulky thugs with chains and handcuffs to kidnap Dax…for his own good.

****

Dax watched the door close behind Marilou.
No second chances
. The words echoed in his head. Was this his big chance? Why did it feel so right even though it scared the living shit out of him? Pulling out his phone, he read the text messages from his friends as he wandered out of the dressing room and across the bustling backstage area.

Where R U guys
? He sent the text to Shaw then watched the roadies pack up the equipment on the stage.

We’re front row center.

Glancing out at the seats with the house lights all the way up now, he spotted his three buddies grinning at him. Shaw pushed his cowboy hat back on his head as Dax pocketed his phone and walked across the stage.

“What’s going on?” Pete held a beer out for Dax.

Plopping down onto the edge of the stage, he reached for the beer. “Thanks. I sure need this. Where are Harper and CJ?”

Behind his friends, about a dozen of the cleaning crew wandered through the seats, picking up trash.

“Buying T-shirts and shit.” Huck held up his beer. “You did great. To our buddy, the bravest fucker we know.”

The guys laughed and drank.

Huck’s curly blond hair looked wild tonight, while his brother Pete’s nearly-identical hair was tucked under a baseball cap.

Shaw didn’t drink, but pulled off his hat and ran his hand through his brown hair. “What’s wrong?” His dark eyes narrowed. Always the intuitive one.

“She wants me to go to New Orleans with her.”

The guys froze.

“Tonight.” Dax shrugged his eyebrows, still not quite believing it.

Pete and Huck’s mouths dropped open.

“And perform on a parade float, and in a bar, and then meet her manager.”

“You’re so full of shit.” Huck laughed.

“You kidding?” Pete leaned forward.

Shaw set his hat back on his head. “Are you gonna do it?”

Pete turned toward Shaw. “He’s not joking, is he.”

“No joke.” Dax took a couple lukewarm gulps of flat beer. “She says I have talent.”

“Damn, boy.” Huck pointed backstage. “What are you doing sitting here talking to us? Go. Get famous.”

“I wouldn’t be back until next Wednesday.” A week from today. “Probably more like Thursday.” Especially riding her bus. Dax had always wondered what those luxury musician’s tour buses were like. But hell, he didn’t have any of his stuff, except the duffle bag he’d packed for tonight. Shit, was he actually thinking of doing this thing?

“You should.” Pete nodded. “Just go for it. What would it hurt?” Pete had been lucky with the risks he’d taken. He’d recently started a second career—third, if you counted helping his parents run their ranch—painting motorcycles. Which was how he’d met his girl, CJ.

“I’m not supposed to talk about this yet…” Huck shifted his gaze around, as if spies lurked everywhere. “But the company is offering volunteer layoffs right now, until the price of oil goes back up. They’re only talking to certain people, keeping it on the down-low so it doesn’t cause a panic.”