Friday afternoon, the day before the Mill-Aid concert set off the MusicFest, eighteen days and fifteen hours after he’d last made love to Jo—not that he was counting—Flint learned about Jo’s meeting that morning with the city men in suits. She hadn’t called yet to tell him if she’d decided to sue or settle.
At least she’d had the decency not to rub his nose in his fate by bringing the Nashville cats to the café. She’d been all that was polite ever since last week’s harsh exchange of words, but the atmosphere in the café wasn’t the same. Flint almost wished he could tick her off so she’d throw dishes at him.
“They drove up in a big Rolls Royce,” Hoss was saying, not having any understanding of the spikes he was driving through Flint’s soul. “Heard one of them wore a diamond ring bigger than a golf ball.”
Not lawyers, then, Flint concluded. Record producers. They must be pushing for the cash settlement.
He would lose regardless of her choice, so there was no point in adding his opinion. She’d practically moved in with Amy to help her sister cope with the divorce, anyway.
This one-day-at-a-time business sure looked bleak without Jo in his tomorrow. Despite her differences with him, she and his sons had become thick as thieves. The way his kids took to her, he’d even caught himself picturing her at his side when he had to deal with their awkward teenage years. Jo could give them the sensible woman’s view that he couldn’t. She might not be maternal, but she knew how to keep males of any age in line.
Flint had to smile at that knowledge, even if it was a hopeless dream. This must be what was called payback time. Now he had some understanding of how Melinda had felt staying home while he was out on the road, taking the glory.
“Sure it wasn’t Randy who picked her up?” he asked, disguising his heartbreak. “He’s supposed to be in town by tomorrow.”
“Didn’t see them myself, can’t say,” Hoss replied, unconcerned and clueless. “But I reckon I’d’ve heard if it was.”
That was something anyway. Flint glanced over at his sons. They’d had their heads bent over that computer for weeks, earplugs in place as if they were fooling him about the stolen music. He didn’t have wireless internet in here, so he couldn’t imagine what in heck they were doing when their fingers flew over the keyboard.
If he could have kept the café, wireless internet would be an interesting possibility. Jo wasn’t the only one who could be creative.
After Hoss settled his bill, Flint strolled over to his sons’ booth. They hastily shut down their program, and he tousled Adam’s hair to show he knew what they were up to. Both boys grinned with innocence. “It’s almost time for the dinner crowd. Set up the tables before Jo gets here, willya?”
They jumped up eagerly, unlike the sullen kids they’d been in the spring. His heart swelled with pride and love as they chattered about their friends coming tomorrow. He wanted them to always be this happy. He never wanted to smash their world apart again.
Well, he could always let Jo have the café, and he could move into the loft upstairs and work for her. For his kids, he just might consider crawling that low.
Promptly at five o’clock, Jo swept in on waves of excitement so vibrant that every person in the room turned to stare. Of course, that shimmering red outfit of hers practically screamed Look at me! Since that first dinner, she’d dropped the apron in the evenings and gone for the hostess look. She would have graced the finest restaurant in Nashville.
“I talked to the record label,” she whispered to him as she grabbed the stack of colorful tablecloths her mother and her cronies had whipped up out of the damaged materials. “They’re taking me out to dinner after work.”
“You know what they say about sitting down with vipers,” he said laconically, drying off a mug and shutting the dishwasher with his hip.
The fire of challenge rose in her eyes, and he figured she was just about to light into him when his cell phone rang. With regret, he answered it rather than enjoy an exchange of barbs with Jo at her best.
She hurried off to spread the cloths while he assured the Barn Boys’ manager that hotel rooms were arranged and ready. Whether he liked it or not, he’d become the contact man for half the people coming in. If he was rich, he’d open a damned hotel.
“That upholstery is purple,” Amy complained, tying on her apron and joining him behind the counter as he hung up his phone. “I know Jo likes color, but purple?”
“All the other fabric was too heavy or too light or something.” Flint had let most of the decorating discussion go over his head. At this point, he’d even hang ferns if he thought it would help. The ladies had assured him that covering the pink vinyl would be all he needed. He’d yanked the booth cushions off their frames, and they’d stapled away as if they knew what they were doing.
“Well, it ought to hide stains if you don’t cook anything greasy.” Amy popped a roast into the oven.
Jo showed Johnnie and Adam how to make little castles out of the white linen napkins, then hurried back to the counter. “The record company wants me to send them recordings of all my songs,” she whispered.
“You don’t have any recordings except the one with the Buzzards,” Flint pointed out, glad that the glory hadn’t gone to her head, and she was still talking to him.
Apparently already apprised of the news, Amy began chopping sweet potatoes for a casserole, ignoring their whispered conversation.
“Elise has been negotiating. The label said they would set me up with musicians in Nashville as part of the settlement,” Jo continued hurriedly as more customers entered. “It will just be a studio record, one your publisher can use to sell my songs to other artists.”
She rushed off to welcome their guests before Flint could discern the significance of that. He couldn’t believe the record company was blind enough to believe that she was anything less than the next star on their horizon. Why in hell weren’t they offering her a recording contract? They were about to make lemonade out of the lawsuit lemon and couldn’t see the potential of chiffon pie. He’d have to put a flea in his publisher’s ear. A singer made a heck of a lot more than a writer.
“She’s going to be famous, isn’t she?” Amy murmured.
“She deserves it,” he grunted. And she’d been smart enough not to have kids who would be hurt by her career. Smarter than he had been.
Amy shot him a sympathetic look. He didn’t want pity. He just wanted this next week to be over so he could figure out what to do next. Maybe he could write songs for Jo.
He wanted to write songs with Jo. That should have shocked him, but he was beyond shock by now. Jo had lit his drab world like fireworks, opened up possibilities. He’d have to return the favor. He’d already sent her new song to the publisher and the Barn Boys like he’d told her he would. Once she made her choice, he would make a few calls to be certain she got noticed. He still had some influence in Nashville.
Friday night before the big concert meant tourists and music groupies were crawling all over town. The gift shops and antique stores had stayed open, and the restaurant boomed. Rational discussion was impossible. Flint made coffee and iced tea and meat loaves, sliced Amy’s chickens, and tried not to drop dishes when he served customers. In between, he helped his sons clear tables and fill the dishwasher. His hand ached like hell, but he couldn’t help savoring his brief success. He could have made the restaurant work if life hadn’t kept whopping him upside the head.
He had taken the new electric beater from Amy to figure out why it wasn’t working when shouts of excitement at the door warned him to look up.
RJ sauntered in, his wavy blond hair styled to perfection, his subtly embroidered black silk shirt screaming designer, and the bling on his fingers broadcasting wealth. Or debt deeper than he could pay, Flint figured.
“Randy!” some of the locals called in welcome.
Randy brushed them off. Flint watched as his ex-friend scanned the room, not even noticing Flint behind the counter but focusing on Jo. Even though her calf-length silk skirt was modest by Jo’s standards, her strapless red top gleamed against the silver-blues and purples of the café. Combined with Jo’s shiny gold hair and bright smile, she was impossible to miss.
As was RJ. The two of them stared at each other over a sea of heads. Damn, but they made a beautiful pair. Some PR flack back in Nashville would be drooling gravy.
Flint handed the beater to Amy as RJ headed straight for Joella.
***
“Get your hands off me,” Jo muttered when Randy caught her arm and tried to steer her away from her customer.
“That’s all right, dearie,” Ina said cheerfully. “I can pour my own tea. You go talk to your pretty fella.”
“You’re looking good, Jo,” Randy said with the sincere admiration that had turned her head once before. And with the same tenacity that she had once thought manly, he didn’t release her arm. Flint had taught her that a real man listened instead of forcing himself on others.
“I have a car outside. Let’s go somewhere quiet and talk.” Randy tugged at her.
Jo jerked her elbow away and propped her hands on her hips. She could see Flint winding his way through the crowded room in her direction. In her heart of hearts, she was thrilled that he would come to her rescue even after their disagreement, but she was taking Randy down on her own. “I’m working, and there is no such place as quiet around here if you had eyes in your head for anyone but yourself.”
“Jo, I know you’re mad, but I just talked to Martin at the record label, and he says everything will be fine once we work out our differences. You don’t have to sue me to get money, Jo. We’ll be rich. You’re too good for this two-bit job.” Randy flashed his most charming smile, the one that used to make her swoon. Now all she noticed was the cheap silver fillings in his back teeth.
She’d learned her lesson all right. She would never follow another selfish, shallow man down that long lonesome highway. Flint had opened her eyes to a world of possibilities, and instead of tearing her down to build himself up, he’d encouraged her and offered his help, even if it meant her leaving him. She couldn’t believe she’d actually valued herself so little that she’d thought a lying Ratfink was her only path out of here.
Flint came up behind Randy, but her hero didn’t do anything except cross his muscled arms and wait for his cue. Jo wanted to kiss him for that, and for a lot of other reasons, but she had to get even with him for the brains in her boobs line first.
“I like my two-bit job,” she said sweetly, taking one fight at a time. “And I think you’re belly-crawling, low-life scum to come back here and try to talk me out of what is mine since you can’t get away with outright theft. I don’t need you to make my fortune.”
“Now, Jo, you know you don’t know this business like I do. You need me, girl. The crowd’s all down in Asheville. I’ll take you clubbing and introduce you to a few people. You’ll be a sensation.” He snaked an arm around her waist and drew her toward him.
She’d forgotten how much she hated Randy’s spicy cologne. If he patted her on the ass, she was taking him down right now. She shoved out of his embrace.
“Need help, Joella?” Flint asked in a disturbingly flat tone.
Randy’s head jerked around at the sound of a familiar voice. “Flint?” he asked in disbelief. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Helping me get back what is mine, RJ,” Jo said. “It might cost Flint every penny he earned, but he did what was right. Do you get that at all, RJ?”
“Now, honey, you know how it is when you get all caught up in the excitement. I meant to do right by you. I’m here now.” Randy patted her reassuringly—on her ass.
Without a second thought, Jo plowed her fist into his midsection.
Randy grunted, grabbed his abdomen, and doubled over in pain.
“Are you hearing no, yet, Randy?” she inquired politely, keeping her bruised and aching fist balled up and in sight. “Or do I need to speak a little louder?”
“I think he got the message. If not, he can sniff around later when we’re not so busy.” Flint grabbed the collar of Randy’s silk shirt and steered him toward the door. Every head in the place turned to stare.
Jo knew she wasn’t strong enough to really hurt him. She figured the big oaf was pretending hurt just to keep from facing the stares. Randy sure lacked abs of steel, though.
“How’s your hand?” Amy asked, hurrying up to hug her.
“Wishing it could do it again,” Jo retorted. “Wishing I had smashed the scum’s jaw while I was at it. Now I understand why men have fistfights.”
Which woke both of them up. With muttered uh oh’s, they raced for the front door.
Hoss jumped up from his place at the counter, and placed his brawny arm across the doorway. “Uh-uh, ladies. You go back to making pretty. I don’t know what just went on here, but I reckon Flint is taking care of bidness. You don’t need to be gettin’ involved.”
Jo could hear what kind of business they were taking care of. Two solid blows and a muffled groan told the whole story. She supposed Flint had as much or more right to lay Randy out as she did, but she didn’t want Flint hurting his injured hand.
She darted under Hoss’s outstretched arm and into the street where a crowd had already begun to form. Flint was just hauling Randy off the sidewalk, dusting him off in an elaborate charade of gallantry before shoving his ex-partner into Slim’s arms. Randy’s former band member looked disgruntled but grabbed Randy’s shirt to hold him up. Slim and the band had just learned about the plagiarism and had worked up a fine rage for Jo’s sake—and maybe a bit of their own—these last few days.
At Jo’s arrival, RJ glared, wincing as he spoke through a cut lip. “Didn’t take you long to find another sucker for sleeping your way out of here, did it?” he asked in scorn.
Stretching his injured hand, Flint halted in midflex and balled up his fingers. Jo caught his arm before he could swing again. He had muscles of steel and could easily shake her off, but he obliged her by refraining. “There are better ways of getting even,” she reminded him. “Remember tomorrow.”
With Flint in charge of the Mill-Aid committee, Randy had been demoted to the bottom of the play list. He’d be lucky to have a few drunks sleeping it off in the audience by the time he reached the stage.
Flint nodded in recognition of what she was saying. With a flare of fire in his eyes, he captured Jo’s elbow and steered her into the café with a proprietary grip.
She liked Flint’s hand on her far too well. She loved walking by his side, and having him take her part put her in orbit. And she wished she knew if he felt the same, or if he hated her. She wondered if she punched Flint in the stomach, if he’d spill his guts.
“I’ll let Slim introduce him tomorrow,” he growled. “I sure the hell won’t.”
“No one can expect you to emcee all day and night,” she agreed. Nothing like a joint enemy to make allies. But she wanted Flint as more than an ally. She was tired of guessing where they stood. Tonight, she had to make some tough decisions. She wished Flint would help her, but he was making it pretty plain that he was staying out of her business. Fine then. Two could play that game. She just wished she was as good at it as he was.
She glanced around the restaurant and found Adam and Johnnie staring at them with worry and awe. She winked at them, and they grinned in relief.
She hadn’t told Flint about their surprise. They’d thought it up all by themselves, and she’d only helped a little. Let Flint think she was the one who had used the songwriting contest application.
“The record company is taking me to dinner tonight,” she murmured. “Elise will be there. Don’t pinch me. I don’t want to wake up.”
Flint’s eyes looked powerfully sad as he released her arm. “You’re not dreaming, sweetheart. The kingdom is yours for the asking.”
She had enough experience to know kingdoms turned into pumpkins at midnight, but she couldn’t help hoping maybe this time, the glass slipper wouldn’t break if she said the right words.