The Closer You Get (5 page)

“Everything okay out here?” Bud asked as he rounded the
bus.

She sent Brett an anxious glance and hoped she could steady her
voice. “Yeah, everything’s fine.”

“Nice talking to you, Cammie,” Brett said before he started
away. “See you in the morning.”

After Brett disappeared out of sight, Bud sent Cammie a serious
scowl. “What’s going on?”

Cammie gulped down a good dose of guilt. “Nothing’s going
on.”

“With Brett, it’s never nothing. What did he want?”

“To check out his employee.” And that sounded completely
suspect.

“That’s what I was afraid of,” Bud said. “Just keep in mind
that he has one hell of a way with women.”

“He wanted to see if I know my job. That’s all.”

Bud laughed. “Don’t believe that for a minute. When you left to
come out here, he said you had to be the prettiest bus driver in all the music
industry.”

She could very well be the only female driver in the industry.
“Oh, please. When are men going to learn to respect women for something other
than looks?”

“Sorry, Cam, but you just can’t take your looks for granted.
They kind of slap people in the face when you enter a room, especially men.
Brett’s only human and he’s bound to notice, but at least he’s not a lowlife
like that Mark Jensen.”

Cammie wiped the dirt on her palms off onto her jeans, yet she
couldn’t wipe away the memories. “Do you think I’ll run into Mark on the road?”
she asked quietly.

Bud rubbed his palm over his neck and lowered his eyes. “It
could happen.”

She suspected he wasn’t being completely forthcoming. “Could or
will, Bud?”

“He’s scheduled to perform in Fort Worth, so I guess it’s
possible you’ll run into him. Can you handle that?”

“Why, of course,” she said cheerfully, but not too
convincingly. Coming in contact with Mark Jensen again was the last thing she
needed in her life right now.

Cammie rarely thought about him, at least not fondly. He only
crossed her mind when she’d seen some article heralding his success. Still, she
wondered, if things had worked out, would she be touring with him now? Probably
not. Mark didn’t have the capacity to be faithful to one woman. If by chance she
did happen to run into him, she’d face it when the time came, knowing he’d done
her a favor by setting her free.

Pushing the unpleasant thoughts aside, she started toward the
entrance. “Time to go, Bud. We’ve got to get on the road before dawn or we’ll be
fighting rush-hour traffic.”

Bud grabbed her arm, preventing her from going inside. “Listen
to me for a minute. Brett’s a real good guy, but he’s lived so long in this
atmosphere, he doesn’t know any other way. I don’t want you to be caught up in
another bad relationship.”

Neither did she. “Do you honestly think I’m that foolish?”

“I’m just saying you need to be careful.”

“I will,” she said. “Nothing Brett Taylor could say or do will
make me forget what I want out of life, and it’s not getting involved with
another high-strung singer.”

Bud grinned. “That’s the spirit, Cammie. And who knows, by the
time I get back, maybe you’ll have him whipped into shape.”

An hour later, with thoughts of Brett Taylor weighing heavily
on her mind, Cammie drove out of the lot hoping she hadn’t made a terrible
mistake.

CHAPTER THREE

B
RETT
LISTENED
TO
the steady roar of the engine, palms resting on his chest as he
contemplated whether or not to get out of bed. From the look of the diffused
light coming into the shaded window, he assumed it was probably early morning.
He was too keyed up to rest, too frustrated to settle down. And when the phone
began to ring, he decided he was too damn tired to talk to his mother.

He didn’t even have to check the cell to know it was her. Only
a few people had his private number. Only one of them got up with the chickens.
As much as he wanted to ignore the call, putting off the conversation only
delayed the inevitable lecture.

Brett fumbled for the phone, sat up on the edge of the bed and
braced for the fallout from his many sins. “Hey, Mom.”

“Don’t you ‘hey’ me, Bobby Brett Taylor.”

“What did I do now?” Like he didn’t already know what he’d
done.

“I can’t believe you got so close to home and you didn’t bother
to stop by.”

He should’ve known his cousin would’ve let the cat out of the
bag. “First of all, we got into San Antonio midafternoon. Since I had some songs
to rehearse and a show to perform, that would mean by the time I made it to
Kerrville, I would’ve had all of fifteen minutes to visit.”

“That’s fifteen minutes more than you’ve given your family in
months.”

Here we go again.
“I’m sorry. I’ll
have some time at the end of the summer to come home. Or you could come to
Nashville and see me.”

“Who’s going to take care of the ranch and the house?”

As usual, no good deed went unpunished. “You’ve got plenty of
people to look after the horses and the house.”

“I don’t want to impose on them.”

No surprise there. “How’s everyone doing?”

“Caroline didn’t catch you up?”

“We didn’t talk that long.”

“But she did show you the pictures from Christmas.”

Obviously his cousin had set the gossip line on fire. “She
showed me one picture.” And that photo had disturbed his sleep the past three
nights, along with the guilt that had accompanied it.

“She’s asking more and more about you, honey.”

He didn’t have the energy to deal with that now. “Jana will
handle it. She always has.”

“Lacey’s still your daughter, Brett.”

“She thinks of Randy as her dad now. At least that’s what
Jana’s been saying the past seven years, and she’s probably right.” A fact that
still wounded him to the core, even if he’d been partially responsible through
his absence.

“True, he’s been there for her,” his mom continued after a
slight pause. “But she’s still legally yours, and she knows that. It’s time for
you to decide whether to try to rebuild a relationship with her, or let her go
and sign away your rights so Randy can adopt her.”

He couldn’t do that even though he probably should. Maybe he
hoped someday he might be in a better place where he could reconnect with her.
Maybe someday she’d seek him out and want to have a relationship with him.
Regardless, he wasn’t ready to give her up completely. “Look, Mom, I’ve barely
had any sleep and I have to perform again in a few hours. I can’t think clearly
right now, much less make any serious decisions.”

“Guess some things never change,” she said. “But someday soon,
you’re going to have to decide for your daughter’s sake. She deserves that much
from you.”

She deserved better than him. “I’ll take care of it, Mom.” He
wasn’t sure how, but he’d figure it out later. “And hopefully I’ll see you later
this summer when I have a break.”

“That would be real nice, son, but I’m not going to hold my
breath.”

After his mom hung up, Brett tried to go back to sleep, but
sleep wouldn’t come. Time to take a shower and face the day. And his bus
driver.

* * *

E
ARLY
MORNING
WAS
Cammie’s favorite time of day, when she could absorb the beauty of the
passing countryside in the moments before the sun began to rise. Right then a
silvery mist lingered over the landscape, giving the Texas terrain an almost
heavenly quality. Considering she’d been driving for a good five hours, with two
more to go, she should be exhausted. But she didn’t feel the least bit tired. In
fact, she experienced a strong since of serenity and calm―

The rasp of the curtain sliding open behind Cammie startled her
so badly she almost jumped out of her skin and into the left lane. Even more
surprising, Brett dropped down in the seat to her right. Since the night they’d
left Austin, he’d barely said two words to her. And now here he was, sitting
next to her and acting as if he’d never played the part of phantom
passenger.

“Where are we heading?” Brett asked as he propped his bare feet
on the dash.

Nice toes
—her first thought.
Watch the road
—her second. “Fort Worth.”

“I know, but what venue?”

She sent him a quick glance before turning her attention back
to the highway. “Do you really have that much trouble keeping up with the
schedule?”

“Yeah, I do. One day melts into the next until the weeks become
one big blur. It’s your job to tell me when we get there and the boys let me
know when it’s time for me to go on.”

Obviously he could use a copy of the schedule Bud had given
her. “At the moment, we’re just this side of Waco, which means we have about two
hours before we arrive at some giant racetrack north of Fort Worth where you’re
scheduled to perform at approximately 1:00 p.m. to kick off a multi-act concert
before a hundred thousand or so fanatical fans.”

“Okay. That’s probably more detail than I need to know.”

“Sorry,” she said. “I’m a stickler for detail.”

“No kidding.”

She glanced his way to catch his grin. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. It’s kind of weird having you here instead of Bud. No
offense.”

“None taken,” she said.

“By the way, where is Bud?”

“In the other bus on his way to the airport.”

“I thought he was going to Oklahoma before he headed back
home.”

“That was the plan before Bud’s baby girl got impatient and
Jeanie went into labor about thirty minutes ago.” She sighed. “You know, it’s
hard for me to imagine Bud raising a daughter. Actually, it’s hard to imagine
him being a dad, although he’ll probably be a good one.”

“I’m sure he will.”

Cammie took another quick look to see his smile had faded as he
stared out the windshield. After a sudden span of silence, she welcomed the
passing car full of coeds hanging out the windows and waving madly. “Looks like
you’ve been spotted by some fans,” she said.

“It happens now and then. It’s like they think I’m going to
pull over or something. If they saw me now they’d probably have a change of
heart.”

True, he hadn’t shaved and his hair was mussed, but Cammie
found something appealing in Brett’s disheveled state. “You could probably come
out wearing rags and not shave for a week and it wouldn’t matter.”

“You think so?”

Cammie laughed. Surely he was kidding. “I know so.”

He looked at her with a sideways glance. “You could always tell
when Bud didn’t get enough sleep. His eyes got real bloodshot and he grumbled a
lot. But not you. You look like you’ve had eight hours and just stepped out of
the beauty parlor.”

She fidgeted with the radio, more out of self-consciousness
than necessity. “Thank you, I guess, but I wouldn’t go quite that far. I’m used
to crazy hours. I don’t require much sleep. Never have.”

Cammie felt a little twinge of disappointment when Brett slid
out of the seat and started to the back of the bus. So much for a decent
conversation.

Then, without turning around, he asked, “Can I get you
something to drink?”

She looked back at him from the overhead mirror. “Yeah, I’d
like that,” she said, almost too enthusiastically. “Orange juice would be
good.”

After a time, Brett brought back a large white tumbler and set
it into the drink caddy mounted on the dash. “Thanks,” Cammie said, looking into
his crystal-blue eyes that seemed full of amusement.

Brett reclaimed his seat. “Bud told me you used to sing backup
in a band.”

She didn’t have the energy or the want-to to travel down memory
lane. “Yes, I sang backup in a couple of bands on the Nashville club circuit.
The money helped put me through college.”

“That wouldn’t be the real reason you took this job, would
it?”

Cammie’s face flushed from anger. Brett Taylor had basically
accused her of hidden motives. The thought never crossed her mind to latch on to
some superstar to establish a career. “That is an absolute untruth,” she said
through clenched teeth.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to tread on your feelings—”

“Let’s just get this straight, shall we? If you think I have
any other reason for sitting
temporarily
in this
seat aside from doing a favor for a friend, you’re wrong.”

Brett came to his feet and raised both hands, palms forward.
“Beg your pardon. I won’t bring it up again.” He quickly turned on his heels and
walked away.

Cammie’s shoulders slumped forward, her neck throbbed with
tension. She was tired, but that was no excuse for her abrasive attitude. She’d
truly wanted to know him better, and now she’d insulted him.

But singing was a subject she didn’t often broach. Music only
reminded her of Mark Jensen and their debacle of a relationship. Recollections
of having to leave college, dashed hopes of becoming a teacher and passing on to
children the only love in her life she could still count on. Regardless of the
harsh memories, the biting resentment, she should learn not to take it out on
other people. Especially her boss.

* * *

T
HEY
ARRIVED
AT
F
ORT
W
ORTH
five hours before Brett was
scheduled to share the stage during the day-long spring music festival with some
of country music’s finest. After the star left to join the band for a quick
rehearsal, Cammie watched several buses bearing the names of notable singers
pull into the lot. She should be excited and totally thrilled by her
surroundings, but she’d been feeling a little down, maybe even a little
homesick, even though she refused to give in to those emotions. Confronting
Brett hadn’t exactly helped her despondency, particularly when she considered
she still had a month to go before she had to relinquish her duties to Bud. She
really needed a good, long nap. The world would look much better then.

After a quick shower, Cammie stretched out on the berth and
immediately fell asleep, only to be awakened by the sound of the door closing to
Brett’s stateroom. She hauled herself out of bed and immediately went to the
refrigerator to take inventory. Three beers, one cola, a jar of picante sauce, a
tub of cream cheese and one half-eaten sub sandwich. Slim pickings.

She tucked the cream cheese container under her chin, grabbed
the soda, then rummaged through the kitchen cabinet and pulled out a box of
crackers. The limited fare would have to do for now, or at least until she
gathered enough energy to explore the area for some real food.

Cammie sat down at the dining table and began to spread the
crackers with cheese when Pat entered, well dressed and good-smelling. “You
handsome rascal. I’m surprised you made it all the way to the bus without
getting assaulted.”

His grin traveled all the way to his kind eyes. “You’re great
for an old guy’s ego, Cammie. Now how much do I owe you for that one?”

She bit into the stale cracker and took a long drink to wash it
down. “Not a thing. I meant every word.”

Pat settled onto the couch with a skeptical grin and picked up
the guitar laid out on the sofa. He began to sing a classic country love song,
lifting Cammie’s sullen mood with the melodic strains.

She only intended to watch, but as if the tune had molded into
a chisel bent on tapping into her soul, she was unable to stop herself. Before
she knew it, she’d opened her mouth to join him in a duet. Pat looked at her
with amazement when she hit the first note, but never broke stride with the
lyrics.

Once they ended the final chorus, Pat shook his head. “Honey,
Bud said you were good, but he didn’t say you were that good. You put your heart
and soul into that song.”

The sudden rush of memories brought about Cammie’s sigh. “It
was one of my mother’s favorites. She used to sing along with it on the
radio.”

Pat’s expression turned serious. “Bud mentioned the bus
accident that took your parents. I’m real sorry about that.”

She shrugged around the sadness. “It happened a long time ago,
when I was eight. But that’s the funny thing about music. Just when you think
the memories have faded out of sight, you only have to hear a certain song, and
it brings everything back.” The good and the bad.

“Yep, you’re right about that.” He began to strum the guitar
again. “Do you know this one?”

Cammie smiled. “Does the sun rise in the east?”

As she joined Pat again in singing another classic country hit,
she realized she’d lied to Brett last night. She couldn’t deny that she still
deeply cared about music, but she didn’t plan for it to be a major part of her
life again. That would simply be too painful.

Not long after the song ended, Cammie looked up to find Brett
standing in the kitchen, arms crossed over his chest, his shirt unbuttoned, hair
wet, feet bare, one hip cocked against the sink.

He hesitated for another moment, then stepped forward. “What
the hell was that?” he asked.

“I didn’t think I was that bad,” Pat answered.

Brett caught Cammie’s gaze. “Was that you singing?”

“Yeah, that was me,” she said as she came to her feet, fighting
the urge to crawl under the table. She could feel heat radiating from her
cheeks, mortified that he had actually caught her in the act.