Small Town Girl (39 page)

He'd like it with Jo even better.

Chapter Thirty

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"All right, folks, hold your breaths now," Jo called to the audience.

She'd managed to get reports on the boys from Dave, who'd talked to Amy. They were telling her all would be well. She was praying they weren't lying.

But excitement over the contest had her bouncing up and down, completely in tune with what she was doing and disregarding the bright lights as she waved an envelope around. "The finalists were judged in Nashville by recording-company professionals. You've heard the names of the runners-up. I am holding the envelope with the winner chosen for our First Annual MusicFest song-writing contest. If the winner is in the audience, they or their representative may come up onstage to sing for us and for the CD we're recording live."

Jo had seen Martin and his suits enter and take seats saved for them at the side of the stage, and she waved at them, hoping they couldn't see the sweat on her palms. She'd learned last night that one of the suits was from Flint's publishing company. Flint had apparently told them about her, and they were interested in her songs—once the copyright problem was settled. She'd officially be a
songwriter
. That didn't guarantee fame or fortune, but glee rocked her anyway.

Instead of making promises, Flint had acted on his belief in her. That was the reason she'd made the decision she had last night.

"The monetary prizes are free tickets to next year's MusicFest and free rooms at the Northfork Motel 6 for the week," she called to the audience, "but the real prize is letting promising new artists have their material heard by music-publishing professionals. So all you poets out there, have your pens ready for next year."

Her hands shook as Flint's friend Travis from the Barn Boys came onstage to open the envelope. Now that she had half a minute to think, she wanted to hand him the winning envelope and flee, but she didn't know where to run. With Randy's departure, she was out here all by herself. The only thing holding her in place was her knowledge that the boys' song had to be the winner. They hadn't been one of the four runners-up.

Travis took the envelope and turned to the audience, giving Jo the opportunity to step back toward Slim and the band and out of the spotlight. Clenching her teeth to keep them from chattering, Jo listened as Travis ran through a speech about Mill-Aid and how the profits from the day's ticket sales and the sales of the CD being recorded would go to Northfork toward the purchase of the mill to support the town's economy. Flint was supposed to have given that speech earlier.

She didn't know what she should do next. She wasn't supposed to be out here. She didn't know the lineup like Flint did. He ought to be standing here when the boys' names were called out so they could enjoy his shock and pride. They'd worked hard for this moment, and they weren't here to revel in it.

"And the winner is…" Travis ripped open the letter to the band's dramatic drumroll. "Adam and John Clinton!" he shouted.

At the ecstatic applause and foot stomping from the audience, Travis glanced at the paper again, then back at Jo and the band, who were hooting and clapping. He raised his eyebrows questioningly and stepped back. "Flint's boys?" he inquired softly.

Until she started shivering with joy, she hadn't realized how proud she was of them, how much she wanted to see them out here taking credit for their hard work.

Or how much she'd wanted Flint to see what good kids he had. He worried so much over being a bad father. She wanted him to see he'd done the right thing coming here where his kids could blossom with the attention of the people who loved them.

Travis frowned, and Jo's heart did a nosedive.

"The judges were from Nashville," she explained hastily, fearing Travis thought the contest fixed. "The recording had no name on it. They won it, fair and square."

"Yeah, but they're not here to sing it," Travis explained the obvious.

"You'll have to sing their song, Jo," Slim said from behind her where he'd been preparing to play the tune. "I can't sing that number right."

Travis caught her elbow before her knees buckled at the idea of going out under those spotlights again. She'd done it once out of anger and a sense of justice. Was her accomplishment a onetime thing or could she do it again for the boys?

"You know the song?" he asked.

"Of course." She glanced toward the exit and escape. She needed to be at the hospital with Flint. Travis could handle the emcee job. But the boys had worked so hard…

Travis ignored her hesitation and dragged her toward the fixed microphone.

"Ladies and gentlemen." His voice boomed through the speakers and settled the crowd expectantly. "Flynn Clinton is the man who brought us all together for this momentous event. He's written many of the songs you'll hear today. He lost his wife about a year ago. He's been bringing his sons up here in this town where he grew up, and he's been trying to give back to the community everything he's got from them."

Travis paused dramatically, in a way Jo could never have done. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she recognized the truth in everything he was saying.

"His boys had an accident in back just before this event began."

A chorus of gasps and murmurs rose from the audience.

Travis waved them to silence. "They're a bit battered, but they'll be all right. The point is, Flint had to give up this opportunity to take credit for all his hard work so that he could be with his sons. For those of you who aren't from around here, Adam and John Clinton, the winners of the contest, are Flint's sons."

He paused to let the crowd murmur some more before continuing. "Obviously, they can't be here to sing their song. They're missing their chance to be on our CD with all the biggest names in the business. But we won't let their song go unheard. Your own Miss Joella Sanderson is here today to perform it for you. I want you all to give a big hand to this little lady, and in the years to come, when those boys are writing the songs you'll be hearing on the radio and Miss Jo will be singing them, you'll remember you heard them here first!"

The crowd roared. Jo knew Dave and George and Hoss and all her friends were leading the stomping, but she managed a watery smile as she wiped her eyes. Down in their corner, Martin and his suits were smiling proudly. Travis worked for them. He was giving her the opportunity to show them what she could do.

But this song was for Flint and his sons, not for her.

Without adding a word to what Travis had said, Jo turned and signaled Slim to begin. Praying with all her might that the boys would hear this someday, she let their words fly with all the power in her.

When the song ended and the audience was still enthusiastically applauding, she murmured into the microphone to be recorded, "That song was for a man who gave up everything because it was right, a man who is a hero to his sons, an inspiration to all, and the writer I hope I can be someday."

She handed the portable mike to Slim to announce the next act, then rushed off the stage in search of the nearest exit.

She prayed no one knew how scared she'd been, but she'd proved to herself that she could sing onstage if she had to. She was proud that she'd done it, but she didn't need to do it again. Now that it was over, her only thought was to find Flint and the boys.

Even as her family and the men in suits came rushing up to congratulate her, Jo knew the decision she'd made not to go to Nashville was the right one. Singing for friends expressed her love, but applause wasn't sufficient reward for baring her soul to strangers. She never again wanted to feel as if she
had
to sing.

Now, all she had to do was explain to these big men wearing bling and designer suits what she
did
want and try not to get kicked out of their Rolls while she was at it.

Carrying a cardboard cup of the black fuel oil the hospital called coffee, Flint wandered the dark corridors back to his sons. He was lucky that both beds in a semi-private room had been available so he could stay with them, but he couldn't sleep.

All afternoon visitors had wandered in from Northfork, bearing gifts and concern and news. He knew about as much of what happened at the concert as if he'd been there.

He wished he'd seen Jo wow them with her song. And could have heard her sing his sons' song. He was so damned proud of them that it almost hid his heartache.

A song had been humming in his head ever since the boys had fallen asleep, but he didn't have a guitar to pick out the notes on. He'd got desperate enough at one point to look for a piano but couldn't find one. He'd tried scribbling a few verses, but Jo was better at saying the things he was feeling. He needed the music.

As if thinking of Jo had conjured her into reality, he heard a soft croon drifting down the hall. Foolishly, his heart skipped and his pace quickened.

He knew better. He'd heard all about how Jo had left the concert in triumph in a Rolls with the Nashville suits. After the performance she'd put on, they'd be quick to lock her in tight. He couldn't blame them. He'd like to lock her in as well, but she needed to spread her wings and fly. She'd do it much more sensibly than he had, and she deserved every bit of fame she earned.

He just didn't know how he'd live with the emptiness where her laughter belonged.

He'd avoided thinking about losing her during the day, but it was tough not to at night in empty hallways with nothing else to occupy his mind. He finally had to admit that his life would be damned lonely without her. He could follow her back to Nashville, he supposed. Maybe if he was just there for her, it would be enough…

Hell, no. A piece of her would never be enough. He might as well slit his throat and remove his head. If he'd loved Melinda half as much as he loved Jo…

He stopped stock-still in the doorway to his sons' room.

A woman sat on Johnnie's bed, smoothing his forehead with slender fingers. Moonlight filtered through the blinds, haloing golden curls. She sang quietly, as naturally as breathing, settling his son's restless slumber.

Flint would imagine an angel come down from heaven, except she'd doffed her fringed jacket to reveal a purple tank top instead of the shirt she'd worn earlier. Her miniskirt stopped halfway up her thigh. He doubted angels wore miniskirts and cleavage.

"What are you doing here?" he asked gruffly. Then regretting how he sounded, he offered his coffee in apology.

Jo wisely refused his offer but searched his face as if expecting something he wasn't prepared to give until he knew what the hell was happening. She was supposed to be on her damned way to fame and fortune. What was wrong?

"You should have let me come with you," she reproached him.

"Don't be ridiculous." He slumped in the hard hospital chair that had stamped permanent creases on his ass. "They needed you onstage more than we needed you here." If anything proved he had no way with words, that ought. Even he winced.

She looked at him sadly, then adjusted the sheets over Johnnie's narrow shoulders. "They didn't really need me. Travis could have gone out there and thumped Randy on his fat head. Dave could have told the band where you'd gone and guilted them into behaving. They were just acting like babies and needed slapping."

Flint chortled, comfortable with Jo's familiar outrage.

"That's not the version I heard. You rubbed RJ's nose in his own shit. You were so good, he had to pull out someone else's material for his set. Your voice will make that CD."

She shrugged and switched to Adam's bed to brush a rumpled curl off his brow. "How are they? Will they have to stay here long?"

"Just overnight. They were ready to walk up the mountain to hear you sing until the pills kicked in." He struggled with all the things he wanted to say, then settled for saying, "Thanks for making their song famous."

She studied on that a moment, then shook her head. "Fame isn't what the song was about. It was you they wanted to hear it. Males are so predictable. They just can't come out and say what they're feeling."

"Women wouldn't have anything to complain about if we did," he agreed with a smile that came from deep down inside him where their understanding warmed the icicles he'd been hiding behind. He took a chance on telling her some of how he felt. "I've got a song I've been wanting you to help write. I'm not as good with the words as the music. You heading out to Nashville soon?"

She cocked her head and stared through the darkness at him. A hint of her usual mischief crept into her reply. "And miss the fried Snickers bars and the rest of the festival? No way. If Nashville wants me, they know where to find me."

Nashville didn't work that way, but Flint couldn't help letting hope lodge in a corner of his heart. "What about the demos? You have to have those to sell your songs."

She chuckled. "You don't think Randy's album is a good enough demo? I need some new songs first. I can't write music. What do you say, we help each other?"

He wanted to relax and say he could handle that, but he couldn't, not if she meant to leave, and she hadn't promised not to. "I'd like that real fine, but my boys have to come first. I don't want them counting on having you around, and then you disappearing someday, so I'm thinking us spending too much time together is risky until we know how things are gonna turn out. I'm not doing risk where my boys are concerned." There, that was about the most he could say.

"Risky, hmmm?" she said reflectively.

Jo sounding reflective was a damned dangerous sign, Flint figured. He waited for the broadside to follow.

She merely rose from the bed and lingered near his chair long enough for him to drown in the sexy scent of her bath powder.

"So, you're planning on being a steady business type, are you?"

He stood up. In his boots, he towered over her enough to intimidate even this steel magnolia. "I've got me an idea or two," he admitted, slipping deeper into his Southern drawl. "The boys like it here, and I've a hankering to stay."