When Cash awoke the following morning, he grimaced, recalling Marilyn, drunk and difficult, waiting for him in the back seat of the limousine. She had been dozing but woke up still angry, and as he had done the night before, he had put her to bed, deciding she was just a demanding, tiresome, spoiled brat. He’d considered joining Lenny’s party, but exhausted and drained, he’d crawled into bed, watched some mind numbing television and fallen asleep.
He stretched and yawned, confident she’d still be fast asleep. He had no desire to spend any more time with her, but she was unpredictable and could continue looking for a publisher just to spite him. He had to keep her at bay until he knew Sam had all the pieces in place. Only then could he remove her from the tour, and most definitely his life.
Glancing at the clock he saw it was midmorning. Sleeping well had never been an issue for him, and the hours after a taxing performance were no different, but even after so many years, he’d still not found any comfort being alone after such a big concert. His martial arts had been tremendously helpful in disciplining his mind and his body, and after a hot shower he headed down to the gym to start the day with his exercises. Sam was joining him for lunch, and he had just enough time to get in his workout.
In his penthouse in midtown Manhattan, Sam was reading the newspapers and reviewing the accolades the critics and media hounds and bestowed upon Cash and his band. The rocker was loved not just by his fans, but by the press, and Sam knew it was because Cash wasn’t just a fantastic performer, but a genuinely decent guy.
Though tremendously talented and as successful as one could be, Cash hadn’t changed a bit since Sam had taken over his career. He had matured of course, had grown serious about certain things, but he was the same easy going, well-mannered, and courteous Texas country boy that Sam had met over a decade before.
Why Cash had taken to rock had always puzzled Sam. Cash was at heart a cowboy, and early on, when Sam had asked him about his choice of musical direction, Cash had told him he loved the energy of rock, the intensity of the electric guitars, and the joy he felt belting out a song.
Sam often thought it was the country boy in him that gave him the depth of feeling in his ballads, like the one he had sung as his encore. Many times he thought he could detect just a trace of a twang in his performance, a twang he had heard listening to the playback of Sapphire Eyes that morning.
The recording was clean, haunting, and memorable; just Cash and the piano. He’d run it by their producer, but suspected it would be released as a single off the CD just as it was. Pure, soulful, and perfect.
The country girl he’d had Jerry video was destined to be a big star. She was young, fresh, stunningly attractive, possessed the voice of an angel, and had songwriting ability to boot. She oozed authenticity, and Sam assumed she’d been singing about Cash, as Cash had been singing about her, and from what he could see on the video, she really did have sapphire eyes. He could already imagine the headlines, Cash Colt Discovers New Country Star, Becky - what was her last name? He realized he didn’t know. He wanted her under contract right away, before some other manager discovered her and locked her up.
The immediate priority, however, was dealing with Marilyn. What a handful she would be, but Sam liked women who were a handful; he specialized in women who were a handful. He and Cash had that in common, their unique taste for domination, but Cash was far more romantic and lenient than he, though he could be extremely generous and kind if he felt the young lady in question was deserving. Marilyn certainly didn’t fit that description, and whether he became involved with her or not, he knew exactly how to deal with her. Thinking about how he’d love to paddle that perfect bottom of hers made him squirm, but he’d only spank her if they became lovers, which was not out of the realm of possibility.
Time to make those phone calls, he silently sighed, and folding up his papers and stacking them neatly, he reached for his phone. He had to leave in just over half an hour to meet Cash for lunch.
While Sam was making his calls and Cash was working out, Marilyn was trying to open her eyes. Her head was pounding, she felt god-awful, and she couldn’t quite remember everything that had happened the night before. She knew she’d started drinking because Cash had been an asshole, paying attention to everyone but her, but she couldn’t remember how she got back to the hotel and into her bed.
Fucking Cash. He must have brought me up here, she thought miserably, and it dawned on her to check what she was wearing. Lifting the sheet, she discovered she was still in the designer silk dress she’d bought on her shopping spree the previous afternoon, and the garter belt and stockings as well. She’d bought those as a surprise for him.
What a joke, she groaned, and crawled back into a fetal position to sleep some more.
She began to doze, and an image of an attractive man floated through her sleepy head. As the fuzzy recall cleared, she remembered it was Sam Reed. He’d flirted with her and she had flirted back, and she’d felt the tummy flip. It had made her smile, and with that she drifted back to sleep.
Becky had already been to church where she had sung for the congregation, and returning home had prepared lunch for her and her father. She wanted to take her feisty little mare, Itsy Bitsy, out for a gallop across the fields, but she knew the mountain lion might still be in the area, so thought it better to wait. Wandering out to the fenced field behind the house where the horses spent their days, she fed them carrots and stroked their necks.
“I met the nicest man,” she told them. “His name is Cody, and he’s kind of a gorgeous hunk, but in a really good way.”
She shivered when she thought about their phone calls, and knew she would probably be embarrassed when they met up again…if they met up again.
“He’s different,” she said softly, as Sandman nudged the smaller mare, Itsy Bitsy, away from the fence so he could get the carrots. “He’s different like I’m different, and I still can’t quite believe it.”
Dividing the carrots evenly between Sandman, Itsy Bitsy, and the other two horses, she wandered back to the house, praying that she would be hearing from him soon, very soon.
At noon sharp Sam walked into the hotel restaurant and spotted Cash sitting in a corner. Indian blood from his grandmother, mixed with Irish and French on his fathers side, had given him distinctive features. Black hair, puppy dog, soft hazel eyes, unexpected pale skin, high cheek bones, and a gentle jawline. He was striking, almost simultaneously feminine and masculine.
“Hi Cash,” Sam smiled, sitting opposite him. “How do you feel?”
“Fantastic,” Cash replied. “That show was great last night. One to go. Do you know how long I’ve wanted to play in Texas. I know it’s not Texas Stadium anymore, but it’s still home to the Cowboys,” he declared.
“You know your album sales are through the roof,” Sam remarked, “and Texas will be one of the biggest rock events ever.”
“How are things on the Marilyn end?” Cash asked quietly, scanning the room to make sure no-one was in earshot.
“Completely under control. I’d say you’re as covered as you could be. The Spanking Rockstar! Unbelievable! I have to admit it’s a great title, but it will never see the light of day. She’s quite the vixen.”
“Hmmm,” Cash replied, sipping his coffee. “That’s one word. I did wave the authorized biography carrot as we discussed.”
“Good. Who knows, maybe it’s something we should seriously think about,” Sam remarked. “I assume you’re going to gracefully part company when you head off to Dallas tonight?”
“Ah, yes. That’s one of the things I want to talk to you about. You may not like this, but I want to spend this afternoon and tonight with Becky. I have a few days before the show, and I thought-”
“Hold on there cowboy,” Sam interrupted, holding up his hand. “You’re right, I don’t like it. You need to be on that jet tonight, and rest up for a couple days. You need to take some time before the pre-concert craziness starts. The band will be on that plane and you need to be with them.”
“But Sam, if I leave now I can be at Becky’s by late afternoon, and fly out in the morning. I’ll be in Dallas by lunchtime,” Cash explained.
“See her after the concert. A few days won’t matter.” Sam frowned.
“You told me last night this girl doesn’t even know who you are. Where will you stay that you won’t be recognized?”
“That’s why I have to go,” Cash argued. “She’s already asking questions. I want to tell her before she sees a recent picture of me somewhere, but I need to spend some time with her before I walk that tightrope. I’m sorry, Sam, I have to do this. As far as where I’ll stay, I want Andrew to arrange a bus. Have it waiting for me outside the town, somewhere out of the way. Anything will do. It’s just one night. A camper van. I don’t care.”
“Wow, kid, you’ve got it bad. I’ve never seen you like this,” Sam declared.
“I’m going, and if you help me it will be much easier,” Cash said firmly. “Besides, you want to manage her, right? I can open that door.”
“All right,” Sam sighed, realizing his client was determined, and it would be better if he and Andrew coordinated everything so nothing would go wrong. “I’ll call Andrew and make sure you get a decent bus. He can figure out where to park it, and when you land you’ll have a car waiting to take you there.”
“Sam, thank you,” Cash smiled, “but no driver for the car. Just have a rental the airport and I’ll drive myself, and I promise I’ll be in Dallas by this time tomorrow. As far as my stuff, I’ll take an overnight bag, but I’ll put the rest of it in a couple of laundry sacks and give them to Lenny.”
“Please, don’t worry about such mundane details. I’ll take care of all that. Pack what you need and get out of here. If you’re going, just go,” Sam declared. “I’ll call Andrew so he can arrange the last minute jet.”
“You’re the best! Now, about Marilyn,” he added. “I was thinking…” he said slowly, letting his voice trail off…
“Yes, about Marilyn?” Sam asked, raising his eyebrows. “You were thinking that I should let her know you’ve left. Correct?”
“Uh-huh, and I would obviously have no objection if you, uh, wanted to get to know her better,” Cash grinned.
“You won’t be here,” Sam replied sardonically, “so who else is going to give her the news that you’ve bailed, and a well-deserved smack on that perfect ass of hers. Hmmm, I wouldn’t say no.”
“I tried that. Seemed to work for about five minutes,” Cash remarked.
“I know, but we have very different styles, and it takes more than once,” Sam replied quietly. “I don’t even know if I’ll go there, but I know how to handle her regardless.”
“If anyone can, it’s you!” Cash exclaimed.
“Probably better if I handle the news of your departure anyway,” Sam sighed. “She was so hopping mad last night, seeing you might just get her all riled up again.”
“I think she’s redeemable, Sam. I mean, she pulled the plug on that reporter at the last minute. She’s just totally indulged, and I think she’s bored. As far as I can tell she has nothing to do except shop.”
“Leave her to me and put that stupid book out of your mind. Trust me, it won’t happen.”
“Thank you. Without meaning to be redundant, you’re the best,” Cash stated, looking his manager in the eye.
“You’re welcome. It’s my job,” he smiled. “Who knows, maybe a few hours away will be good for you. Enjoy yourself, but please, be careful. Get back to Texas in one piece.”
“Of course I will,” Cash laughed, “and I’ll arrive really happy.”
“I suspect you just might at that,” Sam grinned.
Cash raised his hand, signaling a waiter.
“Could you please order me a hamburger and fries,” he asked, standing up from the table. “Terrible I know, but I’m in the mood to indulge a bit. I’m going to make a quick phone call and come right back.”
“Becky?”
“I’m not calling Marilyn,” Cash declared, rolling his eyes.
“And I need to call Andrew and get him working on all this,” Sam remarked.
Cash headed to the small conference room at the back of the lobby, and as he assumed it would be, the room was empty. Closing the door, he pulled out his personal phone and called Becky’s number. She answered immediately.
“Cody. What a surprise,” she declared, and Cash could hear her smile.
“Hi Becky. I only have a minute but I have some good news. At least, I hope you’ll think it’s good news. Do you have any plans later today and tonight?”
“No, it’s Sunday and the diner is closed,” she replied, feeling her pulse quicken.
“My schedule has freed up, and I’d like to spend the afternoon and evening with you.”
“Cody, I would really like that,” she replied, her excitement bubbling through the phone.
“I’m glad to hear it. One thing though, I’ll be sleeping in a bus. Is there a place around there I can have it parked? Somewhere legal and safe?” he asked, thinking he might be able to save Andrew some trouble.
“Sure. How about my farm,” she offered.
Cash wasn’t sure what to say. A driver would be dropping it off and picking it up, and he wouldn’t know it was Cash Colt renting the vehicle. Having it at Becky’s back door would be very convenient.
“Are you sure your father wouldn’t mind? I mean, he doesn’t even know me.”
“Not at all. We have a huge place. When you arrive just drive-”
“Sorry to interrupt, but I won’t be driving. The bus will be dropped off and then picked up. You have to have a special license to drive one of those things,” he added, hoping the explanation sounded feasible. “I’m just arranging it so I have a place to lay my head.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier to check into the local motel?” she asked, “or even stay here. We have two extra bedrooms.”
He thought about it for a just a moment, and realized her father might not be as amenable to a complete stranger staying overnight in his home, as he would be to having a bus parked in one of his fields.
“That’s really generous, but I don’t think it’s a good idea. The bus will be fine.”
“The motel is really good,” she repeated. “It’s owned by-”
“No, sorry, the bus is better for me,” he said hastily cutting her off.
He started pacing, this was not going as easily as he thought it would.
“Sorry,” she apologized, feeling embarrassed for having given him the third degree.
“It’s no problem. I don’t mean to be mysterious,” he said, hating the difficult conversation. “I think having the bus parked in your field would be perfect.”
“So, all you need is my address.”
“Yes, thank you, Becky.”
“It’s 5381 Harriford Road. We have three driveways, and he should take the last one. It will lead into an open field with trees along one side. You can’t miss it. If he parks under the trees you’ll have plenty of shelter and privacy.”
“You’re sure it’s no trouble?” he pressed.
“Positive,” she assured him. “I’m so excited. When do you think you’ll get here?”
“I don’t know about the bus, but I’ll be there in about three hours.”
“I’ll have a pie waiting,” she promised.
“Sounds wonderful,” Cash sighed. “I’ll see you soon.”
Ending the call, he immediately texted Andrew the address, along with the directions, then headed back to the restaurant. It had filled up, and he dropped his head as he walked to the table, hoping no-one would recognize him.
“Everything sorted out?” Sam asked.
“Yes. I can park the bus on Becky’s property. I just texted Andrew the information,” Cash replied.
“This girl Becky, she’s something very special to you,” Sam remarked, a statement more than a question.
“Yes, she is. At least I think so. I’ll be able to better answer that question tomorrow,” Cash said somberly, and as if ordained by the timing-in-life-Gods, the waiter appeared and placed the fat hamburger in front of him. It was surrounded by Cash’s favorite fries; thick and large, still carrying their crusty skins. Life was good.