The Closer You Get (6 page)

“Try to be gentle, Brett,” Pat said, seeming to sense Cammie’s
self-consciousness. “We have fragile egos.”

“That was good” was all Brett managed before retiring back to
his room.

Pat put down the guitar and stood. “You should be flattered,
Cammie. He never pays too many compliments.”

“Unfortunately, he’s convinced I’m looking for my big break,
which couldn’t be farther from the truth. Guess I just got carried away.”

He patted her back. “Once music’s in your blood, you can’t
escape it. That’s why an old goat like me is still going at it like he’s still
some young buck like Brett.”

Cammie smiled. “You’re not old. You sound great.”

“I ain’t getting any younger,” he said as he headed for the
exit. Before he left, he paused and turned to her again. “Just a few words of
advice from someone who’s been around the block a time or twelve. Don’t let life
pass you by without getting what you want, Cammie. Grab those dreams and let ’em
take you where they will. Before you’re past your prime and it’s too late.”

Grab some dreams.

It suddenly occurred to her she didn’t really have any dreams.
She didn’t believe in forever relationships, or in fate falling into your lap,
at least in most cases. She didn’t believe she was destined to do great things,
or to find great love. One day at a time seemed appropriate for now, the only
option she had at the moment. Dreams only led to disappointment.

Cammie glanced at her watch to find it was almost showtime and
Brett clearly wasn’t close to being ready to perform. But he had shown her a
side of himself she hadn’t seen before, and couldn’t seem to forget.

Ridiculous. It wasn’t as if he’d walked in naked, but it was
the next best thing. She had tried not to notice the light shading of hair on
his sternum or his ridged abdomen that sported some kind of tattoo. She
certainly hadn’t intended to glimpse his zipped but not buttoned fly. And she
had to admit he looked incredibly sexy with wet hair.

Best to concentrate on something else besides those images.
Anything else. She dropped down on the couch, turned on the TV with the remote
and surfed through the channels. Unfortunately, all she found were sitcom
reruns, an ancient Western and a televangelist with his very own 900 number
urging all sinners to call. Then there was the buxom blonde and burly lifeguard
lying on a beach in the clutches of passion―definitely not advisable to
watch.

Then something else called to her. She switched off the
television, walked to the berth reserved for her stay and pulled a bag from the
cabinet underneath. She took out a ringed binder, its black cover once textured
now worn smooth. The notebook had been many a mile with her and held several
compositions she’d been working on over the years, none completely finished.

She turned to the latest page—her most recent endeavor—a song
she’d started in her head while driving a busload of elderly women and men to a
tour of Graceland. The lyrics jolted not only her mind but her heart. Although
the title inferred happiness, it was about the pain of loss and the search for
love.

The melody frequently played in her head, calling to her to be
put down on paper. Again forgetting she wasn’t exactly alone, she softly sang
the chorus.

“‘Seeing you in my dreams most every day is the price I’ve had
to pay for loving you. Someday I’ll reach my destiny and I’ll no longer find
thoughts of you still burdening my mind. That’s when I’ll be on the road to
getting over you....’”

She quickly clamped her mouth shut when she sensed his
presence. No doubt Brett believed she’d meant for him to hear her sing.

Cammie slammed the binder closed but failed to raise her eyes
from the notebook. “I didn’t know you were there.”

“You don’t have to stop on my account,” he said quietly. “That
was real pretty, ma’am.”

“It’s mediocre at best,” she said, still not brave enough to
venture a look at him in case he was in a state of undress.

“Mediocre? Anyone who sings like you doesn’t come close to
mediocrity.” He sat down beside her on the tiny bed, leaned forward and rested
his elbows on his knees, his hands laced together. “And about earlier today, I
didn’t mean anything by what I said about you trying to be discovered. I was
kidding. Bud told me you had a sense of humor.”

“I do. Most of the time.” She ventured a glance and a weak
smile. He was already dressed in a navy blue neatly pressed shirt and blue
jeans, his trademark black hat resting brim-up between them. “I’m a little
touchy when it comes to music. Sorry I jumped down your throat.”

“You’re not the first and you won’t be the last.” He pointed to
the binder. “Are those songs?”

“Yeah. My decrepit book of dreams.”

Brett smiled so gently it took her aback. “When I have a
chance, will you let me look at those?”

“Take my word for it, you aren’t missing anything.”

“Why don’t you let me decide?”

She studied the front of the binder to avoid his scrutiny. Then
he touched her.

It was no more significant than a lift of her chin so she would
again meet his eyes. But when he dropped his fingertips, the area tingled with
the memory of that simple gesture.

“I don’t know why, but for some reason you don’t understand
your talent,” Brett said. “Now, it’s not my place to say what you should or
shouldn’t do, but I’d continue to work real hard on that last song. It’s got
hit
written all over it.”

Cammie looked at him with doubt, just a bit afraid of her
sudden awareness of him, every little nuance, including his aftershave. “You
don’t have to humor me, Brett.”

He grinned, exposing perfect white teeth. “That’s the first
time you’ve called me by my name, Cammie. And now that we’ve been properly
introduced, I’ll go to work.” He pushed off the bed, put on the hat and adjusted
it low on his brow. “You’ll still be here when I get back?”

An odd question. “Of course. Nothing better to do.”

“I don’t know. A girl as pretty as you just might run off with
one of my fellow performers. Mark Jensen’s bus is parked on the other side of
the band’s.”

Cammie’s heart grew stone cold at the mention of his name. Bud
had warned her this would happen, but she needed more time to prepare, to gather
some courage. If she was lucky, they’d leave before Mark realized she was
there.

“Really?” Her voice sounded hoarse and tentative.

Brett frowned. “You okay, Cammie?”

“I’m fine.”

He walked toward the door and paused to face her again. “Are
you sure? You look a little rattled. But I guess Mark Jensen’s been known to
have that effect on the ladies.”

Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. If he only knew
what she really thought of Mark Jensen. “You’re going to be late, Mr. Taylor. If
you don’t leave, there might be some rumors started about us.”

“I can think of worse things than that.” He smiled and tipped
his hat.

So could Cammie—turning the rumors into reality.

A sudden image of Brett kissing her played out in her mind. How
foolish to imagine something so absurd. He wouldn’t be interested in a woman who
drove buses and had reached a total stalemate in her life. And she wouldn’t be
interested in a singer who had women falling all over him every day of the
week.

She’d already had enough bad experiences with one talent too
many. It would take a lot more than a little innuendo from a certified living
legend to lead her to believe Brett Taylor would be any different.

* * *

“
D
ON
’
T
LOOK
NOW
, but here comes trouble.”

In response to Pat’s comment, Brett glanced toward the edge of
the white tent set up behind the outdoor stage. Yeah, trouble was heading their
way in the form of Mark Jensen, an up-and-coming singer with a huge ego to match
his big mouth. He wore a sleeveless T-shirt revealing a roadmap of tattoos
snaking up both arms, a camouflage baseball cap and a cocky expression as he
arrived at the semicircle of chairs where the band had gathered after the
concert.

“Great show, Taylor.” Jensen surprisingly offered his hand.

Brett reluctantly accepted the handshake, but he damn sure
wasn’t going to stand. “Thanks. Didn’t see yours.” Intentional on his part.

“It turned out pretty good,” he said. “Oh, and I also wanted to
say I’m sorry I knocked you off the top spot with my number one.”

So much for courtesy. “Well, after hanging in there for seven
weeks, it was bound to happen.”

“We could go celebrate with a cold one in my new bus.”

Brett figured from the look of the jerk’s glassy eyes, he’d
already had a few too many cold ones. “No, thanks. We’re going to be heading out
shortly.”

Jenson pulled up a canvas chair and sat without an invitation.
“You don’t know what you’re missing. My rig’s custom, right down to the surround
sound. It’s pretty sweet.”

“Brett’s got that setup, too,” Rusty chimed in. “But I bet he
has one thing you don’t have.”

Mark looked skeptical. “I doubt that.”

“Do you have a good-lookin’ female bus driver?” Bull asked.

Jensen frowned. “No way that’s the truth.”

Rusty grinned. “Yeah, way. And she can sing, too.”

The whole conversation gave Brett an uneasy feeling. “Drop it,
guys.”

“Brett’s right,” Pat joined in. “Cammie’s a professional and
she should be treated like one.”

That seemed to get Jensen’s complete attention. “Cammie?”

“Short for Camille,” Bull said.

Jensen rubbed his scruffy chin. “She sounds damn interesting.
Might have to check her out in case you’re pullin’ my leg.”

Brett had an urge to knock the smirk off the bastard’s face.
“Leave her alone, Jensen.”

When Mark grinned, pushed out of the chair and headed toward
the parking lot, Brett came to his feet, intent on following him.

“Sit back down, Brett,” Pat said. “If you don’t, then you’re
headin’ for a fight. You bruise your knuckles, you can’t play. You break your
nose, you ain’t gonna be as pretty.”

He never looked for a fight, but sometimes they found him,
anyway. “I don’t trust that guy, and I’m going to make sure he doesn’t mess with
Cammie.”

Bull laughed. “Cammie can take care of herself, Brett. And
she’ll be real pissed off if you charge in there to defend her honor.”

“I doubt she’ll even open the door to him,” Rusty said. “In
fact, when I went to ask her if she wanted to join us, she was sound
asleep.”

Brett realized they had a point. Cammie was probably still
sleeping, and she could put Jensen in his place with just a look if she wasn’t.
Besides, he didn’t want to suffer her wrath if he made a misstep in the macho
department. For those reasons, he reclaimed the chair. He’d give it five
minutes, and then he’d go check on her, even if it made her mad.

CHAPTER FOUR

C
AMMIE
WOKE
UP
mad as a
hornet, thanks to some heavy-duty knocking that nearly startled her out of the
bunk. She made her way to the cab in a fog and opened the door, expecting to
find Brett waiting to gain entry. She couldn’t be more wrong. The man appearing
at the bottom of the steps would send some women into the kind of hysterics
reserved for the naive starstruck. But she knew what resided behind the
disarming smile and dark green eyes. Those attributes only served as a shell for
the arrogant singer who had an affinity for booze and—as he’d termed
it—broads.

“Hey, darlin’.”

At the sound of the familiar and unwelcome endearment, Cammie’s
frame went as rigid as the gearshift. “What are you doing here, Mark?”

He scaled one step and tried on his patent grin. “Come on,
Cammie. That’s no way to greet your boyfriend.”

“Ex-boyfriend.” Heavy emphasis on ex.

Without the slightest hesitation, he scaled the second step and
entered the bus. “Just thought we’d have a little visit for old times’
sake.”

She had no desire to repeat a past she’d vowed to forget. “I
have nothing to say to you, so please leave.”

Blatantly ignoring Cammie’s request, Mark brushed past her,
walked into the living area and sat on the sofa, as if he had a right to be
there.

He sized up the area a few moments before turning his gaze back
to her. “Not too bad, but it’s not as good as my rig.”

Arrogant jackass. “Then I suggest you return to your rig and
let me get this rig ready to roll.”

Mark removed his cap, set it aside on the sofa and forked a
hand through his gold-blond hair. “No need to rush, darlin.’ Your boss is havin’
a little party in the hospitality tent with his band. That gives us plenty of
time to talk, or whatever else we might want to do.”

Cammie wanted to scream from frustration. “Again, I don’t care
to talk to you, and ‘whatever’ is definitely out of the question.”

The smile disappeared and his expression turned stone cold.
“Still a little prissy, aren’t you? Always just a little bit too good for
me.”

Obviously his insecurities still existed, masked by his
overinflated ego. “No, Mark, I’m a lot too good for you. So why don’t you run
along and grab a groupie.”

He reached up, caught her arm and dragged her down beside him.
She smelled the overpowering scent of whiskey as he placed his lips to her ear.
“Why don’t we take up where we left off?”

Cammie shifted all the way to the end of the couch, putting
some much-needed distance between them. “Not on your life.”

He turned and faked a pout. “Now, you don’t mean that.”

“Oh, yes, I do.”

“Don’t you think you at least owe me an explanation as to why
you ran out on me without even giving me a reason?”

She tapped her chin and pretended to think. “Let’s see. I
believe her name was Sandy, or maybe it was Sheila. Of course, we can’t forget
Bethany and that tall, skinny blonde whose name escapes me. I believe that’s
enough reasons, don’t you?”

He streamed a fingertip down her arm. “Well, sweetheart, since
you weren’t putting out, I had to find someone who would.”

And she had no regrets that she hadn’t let the relationship go
that far. “I
wasn
’t about to sleep with you
after learning I’d have to take a number.”

“Those girls didn’t mean anything to me, Cam,” he said.

She wanted to laugh. “You’re a creative person, Mark. Surely
you can come up with a more original line. Better still, let’s just pretend we
never happened. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have things to do.”

She glanced toward the hall and decided that going into the
bathroom would be the best move. Even if he didn’t immediately depart, he’d
probably grow impatient and finally take the hint, or get tossed out by one of
the guys. At least that’s what she hoped would happen.

But as she stood, he again grabbed her hand and pulled her back
down, this time into his arms. “I’m not done with you yet, Camille.”

Cammie felt trapped and anxious. He’d never been violent, at
least not with her, but when he drank excessively, he tended to become easily
agitated. Only one of the many reasons she’d broken off their relationship.
“You’re hurting me, Mark.” Her voice sounded tentative, shaky, and she hated
that.

“I won’t hurt you, baby. I’ll make you feel real good.”

Before she could wrest out of his grasp, he tried to kiss her.
She had enough wherewithal to clamp her mouth shut and turn her face away. “I
mean it, Mark. Leave now, or you’ll wish you had.”

“I’m not leaving until I get what I came here for,” he said.
“What you wouldn’t let me have when we were together.”

Fear
prompted her fight-or-flight
response
when he began to work the buttons of her shirt. She managed
to shove his hands away, at least for the time being. “I said no, and I mean
no.”

He pushed her back on the couch and hovered over her, looking
larger and more menacing than she remembered. “Come on, darlin’. You know you
want it as bad as I do.”

Anger kicked in along with a spurt of adrenaline. She would not
allow this to happen. He’d have to knock her senseless before she’d let him
touch her again.

Cammie bit down hard on Mark’s shoulder the minute he moved on
top of her, and when she lifted her knee and hit the intended target, he slapped
her face with the back of his hand, sending a pain shooting all the way to the
top of her head.

“Get off her!”

Cammie felt the pressure of Mark’s body lift away right before
she saw Brett backing Mark up against the refrigerator, one arm pressed against
Mark’s throat.

“What in the hell do you think you’re doing, you son of a
bitch?” Brett hissed.

“I know her, Taylor.” He looked back at Cammie with a
provocative grin. “Real well.”

When Brett glanced over his shoulder, looking for confirmation,
Cammie had no choice but to tell him the truth. “We
knew
each other, but that was a long time ago, and he’s not welcome
in my life anymore.”

Brett turned back to Mark. “Do you want me to call the police,
Cammie?”

Did she? No. She couldn’t afford to invite a scandal into
Brett’s life and end the job before it had barely started. “Not this time, as
long as he promises to never come near me again.”

“You heard the lady,” Brett said. “The next time you pull a
stunt like this, I’ll turn what’s left of you over to the law. Understood?”

When Mark grumbled a halfhearted acknowledgment, Brett released
him and shoved him toward the door. “Now get the hell out of here and don’t ever
come back again.”

Mark picked up his cap from the floor, slapped it across his
thigh and gave Cammie a suggestive wink. “Later, darlin’.”

Once he was gone, Cammie collapsed against the cushions and
released a ragged breath. The tears she’d been determined to keep at bay rolled
down her cheeks, regardless of her determination to stop them.

Brett sat beside her and surveyed her face. “Did he hurt
you?”

With great effort, she swallowed a sob. “It’s nothing.”

“He slapped you. I don’t consider that nothing.”

After swiping at the latent tears, she made an effort to smooth
her tousled hair. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

He softly touched the tender area on her cheek left by Mark’s
hand. “I don’t know a hell of a lot about Jensen, but I don’t like what I saw
just now. Do you really know him?”

“Yeah, I know him.”

“How well?”

Cammie shot off the couch and walked to the kitchen sink. “Well
enough to steer clear of him.”

“And you let him in here?”

“He didn’t give me much choice.” She drew some water into a
plastic cup, took a quick drink and dumped the rest into the sink. Then she
turned and leaned back against the counter. “I knew him back in Nashville when
he was playing the club circuit.”

Brett stood but remained planted in the same spot. He looked as
if he wanted to say something but stayed silent.

“Anyway,” Cammie continued, “I haven’t seen him in about four
years. I was afraid I might run into him while we were on the road, but I didn’t
expect it quite this soon. He’s always been a drinker, and aggressive when he
drinks, when it comes to fighting. But I’ve never seen him act that way
before.”

Brett pulled a bandanna from his back pocket and handed it to
her. “He might have more than booze on board.”

She wiped the moisture from beneath her eyes. “What do you
mean?”

He shrugged. “He could be on speed or sleeping pills or
painkillers. Whatever he thinks he needs to get by in this atmosphere. It
happens.”

“But not with you?”

He sighed. “I used to drink to cope when I first started out,
but Pat set me straight before it got too out of hand. I know my limits, and
that’s a beer every now and then. No hard stuff, and no more than two.”

She suspected his drinking resulted from his divorce. Not that
she dared to seek confirmation. “I’m happy for you, and sad for Mark if that’s
what he’s doing. He’s not a bad guy, but he does have a sense of entitlement. He
always has.”

Brett took off his hat and tossed it onto the dining table.
“Whatever’s going on with him, I’m just real sorry this happened to you.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Brett. It’s mine for opening the door to
him.”

He lowered his eyes. “It’s the band’s fault he knows you’re
here.”

“How’s that?” she asked, although she had her suspicions.

“The guys were braggin’ about you when Mark stopped by the
hospitality tent,” he said. “We didn’t know he knew you and he never even let
on. He just smiled and said he’d catch us later.” Brett raised his gaze to hers,
his blue eyes full of remorse. “I swear, Cammie, if I’d known about the two of
you, I would’ve never let him get near you.”

Unsure how to respond to the revelation without sounding
ungrateful, Cammie pushed past Brett and straightened the throw pillows that had
found their way to the floor during Mark’s sick attempts at seduction. “Are the
guys on their way?”

“Yeah. We’ve got a crew coming in to service the buses while we
have dinner. Then we’ll come back here and move the buses to the hotel. I’ll
bunk with Pat and you can have my room.”

“That won’t be necessary,” she said. “I can sleep on the
bus.”

“It’s already been arranged, so I don’t want any argument. You
could use a good night’s sleep on a regular bed before we hit the road again.
It’s going to be a long haul for the next couple of weeks.”

The thought of sleeping on a full-size mattress did sound
appealing. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

The sound of familiar voices drifted through the door as the
band members filed in, looking more than a little concerned. “What in the hell
happened between you and Jensen?” Bull asked when they moved into the living
area.

Brett sent a brief glance in Cammie’s direction. “He’s drunk
and he got out of hand.”

“He says you bit the hell out of him, Cammie,” Rusty added. “My
question is, what did he do to warrant that?”

When Cammie looked away, everyone went completely silent.

“He didn’t hurt you, did he?” Pat asked.

“I handled it,” Brett answered. “Cammie’s okay now and I don’t
think she wants to talk about it.”

Rusty stepped forward, hands balled into fists at his side.
“I’ll kill the son of a bitch if he ever lays a hand on you again. That goes for
all of us.”

Cammie drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Thanks, but I
don’t think we’ll have to worry about him anymore. Brett set him straight.”

Pat laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Since Brett seems to
have everything under control, we’re going to go get cleaned up now and we’ll
meet you both outside in a bit.”

Brett checked his watch. “The limo should be here in about
thirty minutes.”

Limo? “Sounds great,” she said. “That should be enough time to
get my stuff together.” She needed to get herself together.

When Brett retired to his stateroom to shower, and the guys
left, Cammie opened the small closet that contained the few items of clothing
she’d brought with her, basics consisting of comfortable jeans, shorts and
T-shirts. But for some reason she wanted something a little dressy. She pulled
out a pair of her better jeans and a red silk sleeveless blouse, then retrieved
her black leather jacket.

She smiled when she remembered what her grandfather had called
the outfit. “Biker duds” came out of his mouth the first time she’d worn it.
Then he admitted it turned too many of the drivers’ heads and forbade her to
work in it.

Well, tonight she wasn’t working. She was going out to dinner
with friends and she was going looking like a woman, not a long-haul truck
driver.

After Cammie dressed and applied some makeup, she called for
Brett. When he didn’t respond, she grabbed her purse and headed out the door.
Dusk had settled onto the dusty grounds, the March evening relatively cool for
Texas. She spotted her escorts among several of the road crew assembled at the
rear of the band’s bus.

She faked a smile as she joined the group, determined not to
let the harrowing experience dampen her spirits. “I’m ready.”

When she failed to receive a response, for a moment she worried
she’d forgotten some vital article of clothing.

“Close your mouth, Jeremy,” Pat said.

Bull let out a whistle and Rusty let out his breath.

“What’s wrong?
” she asked
.

Brett gave her a slow once-over and an even slower smile.
“You’re wearing leather.”

Nothing like stating the obvious. “Haven’t you ever seen a girl
in leather before?”

“Yeah, Cammie,” Pat replied. “We’ve seen lots of girls in
leather. Leather pants, leather boots, all kinds. We just haven’t seen you in
leather. And it does become you.”