Small Town Girl (37 page)

Johnnie ran up to show him shots he'd taken with his digital camera of the arts and crafts booths lining the field around the parking lot. After assuring Travis all was in place for their arrival, Flint stuck his cell phone back on its clip and admired the photos in the camera's window.

"Man, how many of those pillows do they have?" he asked, studying the shot of Jo's mother and her cronies standing in a tent stacked with colorful pillows and throws.

"About ten million. And they're asking buckets of money for them. Amy says the rich tourists won't think they're any good unless they pay a lot. The parking lot is filling up, and there's people everywhere. Can we go up in the loft to take pictures?"

"Sure 'nuff. But stay out of their way up there. The booms are dangerous."

"Aw, Dad." Johnnie brushed off his warning with a teenager's indifference. "Is Jo here? Mama Sanderson wanted to talk to her." He took the camera back and flipped through the pictures again.

"I thought she was out there somewhere. If you see her, tell her I need to talk with her, too. Run tell Dave that the concessions are here, willya?" Flint waved Johnnie off as his phone rang again.

Hanging up on that call, he hastily punched the programmed number for Jo's apartment. Surely she wasn't sleeping through the big day? She hadn't called him when she'd got in last night, so he figured the record company honchos had kept her out late. He was trying real hard not to fret while he waited to hear what she'd decided, but he itched under his collar something fierce.

He got her answering machine. Jo didn't have any assignment except as gofer, but that was an important task with their limited budget. He didn't understand her refusal to use her glorious voice onstage today, but given what he knew about her past, he wouldn't push her. She had to be here somewhere, or on her way. He hung up his cell. Setting aside the cowboy hat he usually wore onstage, he swung up the ladder to straighten out Harry and the lights.

He had exactly one hour before he had to step in front of the audience and introduce the first act. He didn't have time to think about how it would feel walking out there without his guitar.

He just knew he wouldn't look half as bad as Randy would with a black eye and split lip. He smiled in satisfaction at the memory of Jo's sucker punch. If he had to fall in love at a ripe old age, at least it was with a woman who could stand up for herself.

"You're the man, Flint." Dave smacked him on the back as Flint straightened his tie and arranged his low-crowned Stetson prior to making his stage entrance. "Make us a fortune out there." He jumped down from the narrow piece of makeshift stage behind the curtain, leaving Flint alone with his Nashville cronies.

"Go get 'em, boy," Travis said in his guttural growl. "Make 'em rowdy."

Travis had showed up to check out the stage conditions—and probably to check out Flint's chord hand. Flint didn't begrudge his old friend the curiosity. He did begrudge him the company he'd brought along though.

"It's only nine in the morning and the house is full," RJ murmured in disgust. "Don't these people ever sleep?"

He'd arrived backstage in full regalia: skintight leather pants, white silk shirt open to the navel, and ten-gallon hat. Someone had applied enough makeup on his black eye for a busload of church ladies, Flint noticed.

RJ had already thrown ten fits when he'd discovered his place on the lineup, so he damned well knew he wasn't on until after all the big acts played. Flint didn't want to know why the scoundrel had showed up early.

If Flint wasn't so worried about Jo's absence, he would have been delighted to anticipate her reaction to her ex's appearance. If he was really lucky, she'd find a bucket of pig shit and christen the bastard.

Except for worrying about Jo, Flint was primed to run out in front of the audience, to hear the applause and feel the lights one last time. He'd never needed the glory. It had always been about the music. But a farewell appearance would ease the parting.

The band out front played the cue for Flint's entrance.

The kind of scream that made a father's blood curdle erupted behind him.

Instead of running onstage, Flint swung toward the backstage area to locate his boys. A creak followed by more screams froze him in his tracks, and he anxiously scanned the makeshift setting, catching the sway of the scaffolding for the backlights just before it collapsed in a cloud of dust and a crash of timber—with Johnnie and Adam in the middle.

Shoving his wireless microphone at Travis, Flint ran down the stage steps in a blur, not distinguishing anything except the crumpled figures of his sons beneath broken two-by-fours and fractured lamps. They'd had cameras. In a blinding flash of hindsight, he knew what they'd done. They'd climbed the scaffolding to catch his stage entrance. He didn't have enough curses in him to cover his stupidity in not predicting this.

Panicked shouts and the press of people didn't register as Flint bullied his way through the crowd to kneel beside Johnnie, whose leg was bent at an angle Flint knew wasn't right. Adam lay unconscious yards away. Using all the prayers he thought he'd forgotten, he cradled his frightened youngest in his arms and shouted for an ambulance.

He was more terrified than Johnnie. Desperately, Flint wished Jo would get here
now
. He needed her to check on Adam. He couldn't be in two places at once.

Sally rushed up to hold Adam's head as he'd wanted Jo to do.

Flint thought his insides would crush with the pain of knowing Jo would never be there when they needed her.

Sucking in a deep breath, he nodded curtly at Sally and waited for help to arrive.

Travis came down to lay a heavy hand on Flint's shoulders. "Let the medics handle it, boy. You got a show out there and a lot of people counting on you."

Flint glared at his good buddy. "They're not counting on me. They're counting on you. I'm damned well not leaving my boys."

If he'd learned anything at all in his life, it was that the show would always go on without him.

Chapter Twenty-nine

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Cursing the late night and the unaccustomed alcohol, cursing the alarm that hadn't gone off on one of the most important days of her life, cursing the button that had fallen off her cuff and the hair that wouldn't stay in its damned clips, Jo parked her aging Fiesta in the far back field of the mill. Still fighting with the clips in her hair, with one sleeve dangling open, she dodged through a sea of parked cars, crossing trampled grass and cow patties toward the pounding rhythm of a band. She was beyond late.

Why was it that everything always went wrong at the worst possible times? She'd planned this outfit for weeks, the silky, cream shirt with the flirty collar, the suede miniskirt to match Flint's suede jacket, the knee-high suede boots with stout heels made for walking because she knew damned well she wouldn't sit for twelve hours. She wanted to make an impression on Flint's Nashville friends. And on Flint, she wasn't too proud to admit. And now the damned cuff wouldn't fasten, and she didn't have time to sew on the missing button. She couldn't even get the safety pin in it with one hand.

She'd tried calling Flint from the apartment to say she was on her way, but she'd only got his voice mail. She'd be there before he bothered checking messages.

Her heart beat frantically. She needed a chance to talk to Flint. By now, he probably thought she'd run off with RJ and the Nashville cats.

Maybe that's what he wanted her to do—get out of his life.

The ghost of an old song whispered—
too late to say you're sorry
.

She didn't intend to be sorry. Through all the drinking and thinking, she'd made up her mind about how she'd handle this sue-or-settle thing. She hadn't told anyone yet. She still had time to change her mind. She didn't know if Flint would appreciate her decision. She was still scared witless that she was doing this wrong, but she knew what she wanted. If she was wrong, well, it wouldn't be the first time.

But right now, she didn't want to miss the boys' big chance. She glanced at her watch. The Buzzards should be starting their set. She'd listened to them play the songs of the finalists all week and had recognized one. Flint would be so proud.

Discovering the ambulance behind the barn set her pulse on fire.
Mama
?

She jerked open the employee entrance to the mill building and almost slammed into a stretcher on its way out. Holding the door, she stepped aside, and her heart stopped beating as she recognized Adam's pale face. His eyes were closed.

She located Flint holding Johnnie's hand as his son was carried out on a second stretcher. The boy was trying hard not to cry but released a pained sound when the cot bumped over the sill.

Flint caught sight of her and relief flooded his face. Jo's heart did an inappropriate dance of joy. She'd never thought to see the day that he needed her.

"Thank God!" he cried. "Get out there and stand in for me. RJ is chomping at the bit for being kicked down the lineup. Keep him the hell away from the mike, or he'll take over the whole CD."

Caught by surprise, Jo blinked. She had no clue what he was talking about. Her only concern was for those two boys and Flint. "Wait a minute, I'm going with you!" she yelled as he hurried past without looking back.

She started to run after them, but then realized from prior experience that there wouldn't be room in the ambulance. She'd left her car out in the back field. She glanced around, hoping to find someone with a car closer. Before she could act, Dave raced up with clipboard in hand.

"Joella, get the hell out there and do something!" he whispered harshly, grabbing her elbow and dragging her inside.

"Do what?" she protested in confusion, fighting him off and trying to escape. "I need to go with Flint. What happened? Will the boys be all right?"

"Broken bones, the medic said. Amy's gone for her car to follow them. We need you here." With panic clearly written in his eyes, Dave Lugged with more strength than she'd realized the older man possessed. "It's going to hell out there, Jo. You know these guys. Make them behave before they ruin everything. The whole town is counting on this concert." He shoved her up the stairs toward the break in the curtains at the stage entrance.

The stage entrance
. With terror for the boys already shredding her nerves, Jo stared through the gap in the curtains to the bright lights bouncing off the stage. She hastily backed away from the sight of an enormous sea of strangers on the other side. "What the devil are you—?"

Before she finished her question, Randy's singing voice echoed over the top of the Buzzard's raucous music. "Oh my word. What's
he
doing out there?"

"Randy took over the minute Flint turned his back. Why in hell isn't he singing the song the band is playing? The audience will be walking out any minute. He's ruining
everything
."

Randy, onstage—with the band that had every reason to hate his guts. Had Randy had anything to do with whatever had happened to the kids? Jo couldn't believe that. He was a selfish jerk, but not a monster.

All the scary things that might be happening in that ambulance frightened her more than the bright lights, the audience, and the testosterone overload out there ruining everything. She needed to be with Flint.

Amy was with him. Probably Sally, too. Flint hadn't wanted her with him. She wanted to cry, but she was shaking too badly. If she couldn't have Flint, then she'd made the wrong decision last night, and her future was out there on that stage. The town's future was out there as well. She gagged on a swell of nausea. Had she been taking the easy road?

"You're the only one who can sweet-talk them into behaving. Get out there, Jo." Without giving her further time to question, Dave shoved her past the curtain.

Jo stumbled over a warped board into view of the entire barn filled with a standing-room-only crowd. The lights blinded her, and she froze, trapped in a time warp when hoots and catcalls had shamed her. She wanted to fall down and crawl out of sight before she threw up again.

"It's a tired old love song," Randy crooned into the mike on center stage.

Those were her words. She was hearing her song onstage for the very first time since she'd figured out she'd actually written a song—and Randy and the band were crucifying her baby.

Randy was singing Flint's haunting version of her song, while the band was playing the line
one my mammy used to play
, in time to the original rocking composition the Buzzards had helped create before Randy deserted them.

Flint had given Slim and the band the new music. They knew they were playing the wrong tune. The Buzzards were getting their revenge by screwing with Randy's head. At any other time, Jo would have laughed and enjoyed the joke, just as the local people in the audience who knew her songs were doing. They'd seen her entrance. They thought Randy was part of some prank she was perpetrating on them.

That was her song they were mangling!

Not only her baby, her ticket to fame and fortune, but the future of the town.

They were ruining the festival
. She couldn't let Randy's ego bring down her friends and family, not if she had to crawl out there and heave her guts across someone's loafers. Flint had made it clear that she couldn't help Adam and Johnnie, but Dave was right. She knew how to make Randy and the boys behave.

Flint thought she could do this. He was counting on her. His future was riding on this concert, too. Those spotlights out there weren't on her—they were on Northfork. Hell, looked at in the clear light of nausea, her whole life had been a rehearsal leading up to this. What would Erin Brockovich have done?

Sweat puddled under Jo's arms, but the fury of righteousness shoved terror aside. The image of upchucking on Randy's snakeskin boots carried her forward. With her loosely pinned curls already falling down, she staggered into the lights with Ratfink in her gun sights and the need for justice providing momentum.