Hillbilly Rockstar (10 page)

He bit back a groan. The whisper of her breath sent gooseflesh rippling across his body. He held in another groan when the scent of her skin hit him. Why did the woman always smell like chocolate and vanilla? He wanted to bury his face in her neck and run his lips across her heated flesh to find out if she tasted like pure decadence.

“Devin?” she murmured.

“I'm fine,” he said loud enough that two roadies turned and looked at him.

“As long as there aren't any other questions, I'll meet you all in the equipment room in fifteen minutes.”

Sarge whistled. “Sweatshirts for everyone in the truck.”

“That's one way to make sure we all look alike,” Tay grumbled.

Jase slapped her ass. “Wrong. You'll still be the sexiest one out there. What say we have a murder/suicide pact? Then, when these clowns are shooting at each other, we can sneak back to the bus and take extra time scrubbing each other clean.”

“I hope their shower is bigger than mine,” Liberty said. “There's hardly room for just me in there.”

“You're welcome to use my shower whenever you want,” Devin offered.

That took her aback. “Sure. Thanks. Maybe I will.”

Devin steered her toward the equipment truck. Crash and Sarge were
whipping gray sweatshirts into the air. “That's a good way to get rid of the shit that isn't selling.”

He snatched the shirt Crash lobbed at him.

Liberty held hers out and squinted at the image. “Who decided that a—”

“Microphone in front of my open mouth was a good idea? It looks like I'm about to suck a big dick, huh?”

She laughed. “Yes.”

“I normally donate leftover clothing to homeless shelters or to the reservations in Wyoming, but I'd be happier to burn these motherfuckers at the bonfire tonight.”

“At least you can laugh about it.”

“Better than cryin'. Come on. Let's get ready to kick some ass.”

After they'd changed and were walking back, Devin said, “What's the plan?”

“Try not to get nailed with a paintball,” she said dryly.

“Besides that. Don't you have a stealth-attack strategy?”

“Nope. Shoot first, shoot often.”

They stood in line for paintball markers—aka paintball guns—and masks. Once everyone had been outfitted in the protective outer layer, the paintball master went over the rules. “What you're playing is a variation of woodsball—a capture-the-flag game. We have four acres of game area behind us in which we've placed ten flags. Your goal is not to capture just one of the flags, but as many flags as you can.” He held up a helmet. “On the top are dowel holders for the flags. If you capture a flag, you must display it.”

“So other players can kill you and steal your flag?”

The guy grinned. “Yep. Finding the flags isn't the problem. Keeping them without getting taken out is the issue. If your partner is taken out, you're not automatically out. You can still win. Immediate kill zone is anywhere near the heart or head. Three paintball strikes anywhere on your body puts you out. Any questions?”

Liberty raised her hand. “Why are there only five slots on the top of the helmet if there are ten flags? Shouldn't there be ten slots?”

“Sweetheart, no one has ever captured more than five flags.”

Sweetheart? That was condescending. Although . . . sometimes Devin called Liberty
sweetheart
. Did she get that look of extreme annoyance on her face when he did it?

She gritted her teeth in what was supposed to pass as a smile. But he knew if the game master were playing this round? He'd be the first one in Liberty's crosshairs.

Good thing G.I. Jane was on his side.

Two hours later they were down to three teams and a couple of renegades.

“Can you see who's behind that big oak tree thirty yards to your right?” Liberty asked.

“Sarge.”

“Shit. We'll have to go around and try to flank him from the back.”

“But he's alone. There's two of us and one of him.”

“Which just means that Check, his partner, also a military guy, is someplace close, watching his six.”

If it made him a pervert to get a boner when she slipped into military speak, so be it, because that was fucking hot.

“How do you know Check hasn't been taken out?”

“Sarge wouldn't be so visible. He's trying to draw us out so Check can take the shot.”

“Where's the last flag?”

Liberty peered around the cement block, making the four flags on her helmet wave in the breeze. “I think that big roadie dude went after it.” She snickered. “He's too broad a target for even
you
to miss, McClain.”

“Fuck you very much, Miz Deadeye. Jesus. Were you ever a contender for
Top Shot
? They dig hot military women on that TV show, especially when they outshoot them macho guys.”

She rolled her eyes. “They'd cream my butt on that show.”

I'd like to cream on your butt.

He had to quit thinking about her ass and focus. “So, we goin' after him?”

“Yes, sir. On three, keep as low to the ground as you can and shoot on sight.” Liberty shifted into a crouch.

“Shoot him in the back?”

“Always. There are no rules of engagement in paintball like there are in war.” She checked her ammo supply and looked at him. “One. Two . . . Three.”

Devin mimicked her stance, a funky kind of duck walk, until they cleared the last section of hedge.

Then Liberty had her gun up and she'd clicked off three shots in a row at close range.

Pow.

Pow.

Pow.

The big roadie turned around and Devin plugged him in the chest. “Aw, fuck me, man. How many shots do I got on my back?”

“Three. And that's more than enough for you to hand that flag over,” Liberty said and motioned for Devin to retrieve it.

“No wonder you wanted her on your team,” he complained to Devin.

With victory on his mind—mostly whether he could get away with laying a big kiss on her as they toasted their superior teamwork—Devin forgot to employ the stealth tactics Liberty had drilled into him. He pushed upright and walked forward to snag the flag when he heard a rustling noise beside him.

He froze as Check sidled out of the woods, his gun pointed at Devin's chest, a maniacal grin on his face.

Everything happened in slow motion as Liberty launched herself in front of Devin, taking all three paintballs meant for him, right in the chest.

As Liberty hit the ground, she shouted, “Devin! Shoot him!”

He raised the muzzle and squeezed off his last four shots. Then Sarge rushed him. Using Liberty's body as a shield, Devin bent down, retrieved
her gun and pumped three paintballs across Sarge's torso. Then he set the gun aside and rolled Liberty to her back. “Baby, are you okay?”

She raised her eyebrows at his term of endearment but didn't comment. “I'm fine.”

Devin dragged his finger through the red paint decorating her protective chest plate. “I can't believe you took a bullet for me. Three bullets.” Although this had been fun and games, the reality was that Liberty would've dived into real gunfire to save him.

Risked her life for his.

What kind of crazy person signed on for shit like that?

“Devin.”

Dazed, he looked at her. “What?”

“You can quit putting compression on my chest. I think the danger of me bleeding out is long past.”

That's when he realized he had one hand in the middle of her chest and the other wrapped around her neck. And he was close enough he could give her mouth-to-mouth if she needed it.

Maybe you need it.

“Seriously, Devin. Let me up.”

He bent closer. “You'll really put yourself in the line of fire for me.”

“Yes.”

Something changed in that instant. The dividing line between her professional responsibilities to him and his personal feelings for her should've widened. Instead, Devin felt them erode completely.

By the panicked look in her eyes, he knew she was fully aware of the shift.

“Devin—”

“Don't deny you feel it too. There's no goin' back for us, Liberty.”

Before she could argue, he stood and offered her a hand up.

Pow, pow, pow
rocked him on his feet, and he whirled around.

Boomer shot him one more time in the center of his chest. Then he stopped and pushed up his goggles. “I believe, as last man standing, all those flags belong to me and I win the game.”

Devin laughed. He couldn't believe that mild-mannered Boomer had outlasted them all. “Yep, buddy, you sure do.”

Liberty rolled to her feet. “What's next on Devin McClain's fun agenda?”

“Horseshoes.” He draped his arm over her shoulder as they walked out of the wooded area, and she didn't try to shrug him off. “Wanna play?”

“Pass.”

“Volleyball?”

“Pass.”

“Mini golf?”

“Double pass.”

He sighed. “You're shooting down all my fun ideas.”

“Because my idea of fun is shooting stuff. We've done that today. I've had my quota of fun.”

“So, you're just goin' back to the bus?”

“Yep.”

“Will you at least come out of your hidey-hole and eat with us? Roast some marshmallows? Sit by the campfire?”

Liberty stopped and faced him. “Why is it important to you?”

“It's not for me; it's for you.” Devin rested his hand on her shoulder and reached up to wipe away splatters of paint from her face. But he succeeded only in smearing it and making it look even more like blood. “Fresh air and a cold beer will do you some good.”

“Probably. But this is time for you to hang out with your crew without me hovering. You should enjoy it. Given the rest of your tour schedule, it'll be pretty rare.”

And it was really rare his bodyguard admitted that he was safe enough not to have her by his side.

The thing was, he
wanted
her by his side tonight.

“You're off the clock. You've earned some alone time in the bus.” Devin hated to play this card, but he was shameless. “But in keeping with our cover, my crew will ask questions on why you're not around at all when you always are. So you need to put in an appearance for a few hours at some point.”

“Then I'll forgo the weenie roast, but I'll be there for the bonfire.”

It wasn't all he wanted, but it was something.

E
veryone seemed to be enjoying the campfire.

Even Liberty, who'd had her fill of the great outdoors during the years she'd spent living in military tent encampments, could admit it was a beautiful night. Away from urban sprawl, and with just a sliver of moon showing in the inky sky, the stars shone brightly.

Bottles and cans of beer were nestled in tubs of ice. Bags of chips and s'mores supplies were scattered across the picnic table.

The mood of the band and the crew had mellowed. The roadies were congregated on the left side, laughing and bullshitting while the paired-off band members, Tay and Jase, Odette and Steve, were snuggled together in front of the campfire. Although she and Devin shared a log, he was talking across the fire to Leon and Gage, so she felt like the odd woman out.

Story of your life, Liberty.

Fighting the melancholy, she closed her eyes and listened to the crickets and other bugs creating a nighttime symphony. Every once in a while she heard a coyote yowl.

Devin scooted closer before he spoke softly. “You all right?”

“I'm fine. Why?”

“You're awful quiet.”

“I'm always quiet around other people.”

“You yammer on when it's just you and me.”

Liberty cracked her eyes open to glare at him, but he wore the charming smile that indicated he was yanking her chain. “Funny.”

He set his hand on her thigh. “I know this ain't your thing, so thanks for hanging out tonight.”

“No problem.”

“Hey, Dev,” one of the roadies yelled. “Why don't you get out your guitar and sing? Like them old-time cowboys used to do after a long day of working cattle.”

“Don't you guys get enough of me bellowing at the top of my lungs every night?”

She smiled. At times the man was surprisingly humble.

A chorus of no's rang out, followed by the “Devin, Devin, Devin” chants that he heard before his shows started.

Devin drained his can of beer. “None of y'all better record this, 'cause after a few drinks, I can't guarantee it'll be my usual stellar performance.” Before he could get up to retrieve a guitar, Check brought him one. “Thanks.”

The road crew moved in closer. Liberty wondered why Devin seemed nervous when he regularly played in front of a crowd of thousands.

He strummed a few chords. He didn't look up as he started to turn the random warm-up notes into a recognizable song. The strange thing was—the song he picked wasn't one of his. Liberty didn't recognize the tune, but whatever it was, the raw emotion in it captured her heart and then wrung it out.

No applause followed when he finished singing, and she realized it was because no one wanted to break the spell.

Devin continued to mesmerize with the next four songs, each a different style: first a bluesy number, then a stripped-down rock ballad, followed by a Motown classic and finishing with a crossover pop megahit. He nailed every style, needing nothing but his voice and a few guitar chords to showcase his mastery over all types of music.

His crew clapped and whistled when Devin took a break. Crash handed him a bottle of water. She watched as Devin's throat muscles worked, the liquid soothing those golden vocal cords.

He sighed gustily after he drained the water. “Thanks.”

“You need another?”

“Nah. I'm good.”

People milled around, getting more beer and loading up on snacks.

“Are you gonna take requests?” Boomer asked.

“Sure. Give me a minute, though.”

“No problem.”

“You take requests?” Liberty asked.

He glanced up and her stomach swooped. The look in his eyes was forceful, but he spoke to her very softly. “Yes. So here's your chance to get me to play something you might actually like.”

Her cheeks heated—and not from the campfire. “I like your music, Devin. It's not the typical country dreck.”

“I've moved out of the dreck category?” He aimed his panty-dropping grin at her. “Darlin', I'm gonna get a big head if you keep complimenting me today.”

“Too late,” she retorted sweetly.

Devin leaned closer. “Name a song.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to play something just for you.”

The man was throwing her all sorts of mixed signals today.

No, he's not. You're just not ignoring them—or him—for once.

“How about . . . ‘Learn to Fly' by Foo Fighters.”

He smiled. “Excellent choice. A favorite of mine too.”

That surprised her. “Really? But I thought . . .”

“That I'd only listen to country dreck?” he teased.

“Yeah.”

“Nope. I love all kinds of music. I have great taste. I listen to stuff that'd surprise even you.”

“Such as?” she challenged.

“You're demanding proof that I have good taste in music?”

Liberty snorted. “Dude. Everyone thinks they have great taste in music and they want to prove to everyone else just how cool they are. That's why you see guys in their fifties driving around with their windows rolled
down, cranking out AC/DC, Skynyrd, the Eagles or Springsteen. The ladies from the eighties are just as bad, zipping around in minivans blasting Bon Jovi, Journey, Def Leppard, Whitesnake and U2. And don't get me started on the rap booming from teenagers' windows, which is only marginally less annoying than some forty-year-old white guy trying to look hip by listening to Kanye West or Jay-Z at ten billion decibels.”

Devin laughed so hard she worried he'd fall off the log. Finally, he stopped laughing, but he couldn't quit smiling. “God, woman, you crack my ass up. But you're exactly right.” He strummed a couple of dissonant chords. “But you didn't weigh in on those folks who listen to country dreck.”

“I'm sorry I called it that. I'll admit I have a new appreciation for country. And I find the fans way more diverse than in other styles of pop music. I mean, at your concerts I see grandparents, young kids, teenagers and twentysomething guys and their friends. Which tells me the music speaks to a larger segment of the general population.”

“Country music doesn't try to be offensive or controversial.” He frowned. “My recent brush with controversy was totally unintentional.”

So far, Devin hadn't played the song in question in concert. Which was a shame because it was a great song.

“Sometimes that lack of passion makes it generic. That's what makes it so gratifying when something I write stands out. I don't mean a song that hits the top of the charts, but one that resonates with listeners. I'll never forget the first time I was onstage and the audience knew every word to my song and were singing along so loudly I couldn't hear anything in my earpiece. It was unlike anything I could've ever imagined.”

She knew when he feared he'd revealed too much, and he was about to say something that'd make light of how he'd opened up to her. So she beat him to the punch. “After almost a month on the road with you, I know all the words to all your songs.”

He pointed at her. “Now, I'm gonna look backstage during a
performance to see if you're tellin' me the truth or just stroking my ego. And since you tossed down the challenge, how about if we swap iPods tomorrow before we work out?”

“Deal. But if a Christina Aguilera song comes on, I might accidentally crush your iPod beneath my foot on the treadmill.”

He laughed. “Harsh. Have you ever really listened to the words of ‘Beautiful'? There's a pretty powerful message in that song about true beauty beyond outward appearances. Listen to it with an open mind.”

Again, she picked up on the underlying message in his words, and it caused her pulse to race.

During their exchange, Devin hadn't looked away from her. The man was stunning in the campfire's glow. Her fingers itched to trace every contour of his rugged face. See if she couldn't smooth away some of the shadows.

“Are you playing another song? Or the two of you gonna sit here makin' moon eyes at each other all damn night?” Sarge complained.

That broke the moment.

Liberty looked around. How long had everyone been watching them?

What does it matter? Everyone assumes you're in Devin's bed every night anyway.

Devin cleared his throat. “I've got a few more songs in me before the campfire smoke starts fuckin' with my voice.”

Before Liberty could suggest they call it a night, he strummed the opening chords to “Learn to Fly.” And he kept her transfixed until the very last note.

Then his head came up. Their eyes met, and once again it was as if everything around them faded into the background.

Applause and wolf whistles erupted. He mouthed, “Thank you,” and gave her a sweet smile she'd never seen before.

Before she did something fan girly like throw herself at him, Crash's booming voice cut through the noise.

“Dev. We gotta add that cover tune to the set list. Your fans will go nuts for an acoustic version of that.”

Devin shook his head. “Not everything needs to be exploited.”

“But—”

“I said no.” He looked at Boomer. “You had a request earlier. What was it?”

“‘Friends in Low Places.'”

“I resemble that one. At least tonight.”

Boos rang out.

By the time he reached the chorus, it'd turned into a sing-along. The next tune was also a drinking song that everyone chimed in on. Liberty hated to call a halt to the fun, but she could tell the smoke was really bothering him.

As soon as she stood, she felt all eyes on her. “Go ahead and boo me, but I'm taking Devin to the bus.”

No one booed, but several people protested.

Then Devin was on his feet. “Cut her some slack. She's only doin' her job.”

A roadie said something that made everyone laugh.

Check wandered over and took the guitar. “Thanks for playing tonight.”

“My pleasure.” Then Devin said, “Good night,” to everyone before he turned and they started the long walk toward the bus.

Liberty broke the easy silence between them. “Thanks for pestering me to sit by the campfire. Fresh air did do me some good.”

“The last time I just chilled out beneath a starry sky was last spring. A year ago, I was home for a week during branding. Hank and Abe Lawson put me to work. So did Kyle and Celia Gilchrist. I usually help Bran out, since they all brand right around the same time, but I had to get back to Nashville and missed it.”

“I was there that year. First and last time.” She shivered. “Not my idea of fun. I conveniently had to work this year.”

“I actually enjoy it. Seems to be the only time I can really catch up with everyone.”

“I mostly stayed in the house and took care of Jake.”

“You're close to Harper.”

“Very. Are you close to your older sister?”

A beat of tense silence passed. “Not really. It's not like we had a falling-out or anything.”

“That's too bad, especially since you both lost Michelle. I'd think that loss would've brought you closer.” When she realized how judgy that sounded, she quickly said, “Because I lived apart from Harper for so long,
it's good to be within driving distance. It surprised me she's not the way I remembered her.”

“Like what?”

“I always thought we were polar opposites. I was tough; she wasn't.” She shook her head. “My beauty queen sister with the soft heart and the soft voice . . . I thought she'd have a soft will. But nope. She's made of strong stuff.”

He bumped her with his shoulder. “Must run in the family.”

“I am a marshmallow around her boys. I love how she is around them.”

“How's that?”

“Happy. She's exactly where she's meant to be. For the longest time, neither of us thought we'd ever have that. A place of our own.”

The ground crunched beneath his boots. “Do you have it?”

“I'm working on it.”
And you're helping me achieve that goal, even though you don't know it.
“How'd we get on this subject?”

“Does it matter? I like talkin' to you. We were on track to getting to know each other before the truck stop—”

“I've moved on from that incident,” she said in a rush.

Devin slowed their pace. “Personally? Or professionally?”

“Both.” What was it about the dark that made it easier to talk? “I just didn't . . . don't know how to bring it up.”

“How about . . .
Devin, I miss our witty banter on the long bus rides
. Or more accurately:
Devin, I miss insulting you at every opportunity
.”

She snorted. “You
need
someone to insult you to keep your head from swelling like a Macy's parade balloon.”

He reached for her hand and squeezed. “See? I missed this. Give me another one.”

“Believe it or not, I don't have an arsenal of insults.”

“Damn. 'Cause some of them were really creative. I heard you muttering under your breath last week, callin' me an arrogant asshat.”

Liberty laughed softly.

“Maybe you've built up a store of compliments for me?” he asked hopefully.

“Not any of those either.”

“Double damn.” He swung their joined hands. “So I'll give you one. Thanks for takin' bullets for me today.”

“I hope paintballs are the only kind I'll ever have to take.”

“Me too. But I am gonna drop a note in the suggestion box about not using red paint. Because that fucked me up. Bad.”

Her too, but she wouldn't admit that to him.

Once they were locked in the bus, she said, “I'm tired. Think I'll call it a night.”

Devin looked as if he didn't believe her.