Ryder and Hope took the stage for the last song of the night. His band started the intro for Lasting Goodbye, and the crowd went crazy.
Hope took the first verse, singing in her low, silky voice. They harmonized on the chorus, then Ryder sang the second verse. The arrangement sounded fantastic with the full band and the changes they’d made to the tune. They finished, and the audience roared. He hugged Hope, let her go, and hoped Brooke wasn’t going to be too upset. Especially after what came next.
Ryder held up a hand to quiet the crowd. “We have an announcement to make.”
“Hope is your sister!” someone yelled.
Everyone laughed, including Ryder and Hope.
“I wish she was. I’d love to share a gene for even a portion of the talent this woman has. Ladies and gentlemen, Hope O’Malley.”
The audience went wild again.
Hope held up her hand this time. “We want to reveal the name of the songwriter who wrote this amazing piece. She’s here with us tonight. Brooke Davidson.” Hope visored her hand over her eyes. “Brooke, come on up here.” The house lights went up, but no one walked forward. “She’s shy, folks. Give her some encouragement.”
The audience chanted her name a few dozen times, then the words faded away.
“Well, it’s her song.” Hope took Ryder’s hand. “And we want to thank her for her generosity and her talent. Thank you, Brooke, wherever you are.” Hope threw a kiss to the camera.
They took a bow, and Ryder searched the first few rows again, hoping Brooke was just being shy. He led Hope offstage, past Tracy and Steele who were waiting to go on and wrap up the night. Spotting Schmiddy standing in the shadows, Ryder broke away from Hope. “Did Brooke leave?”
“Don’t know, sir. I wasn’t in charge of her transportation tonight.”
“Shit. Would you call her?” Even as he said it, he knew what a total asshole he sounded like.
Schmiddy growled just quick enough that it sounded like he’d cleared his throat. Pulling out his phone, he dialed, waited, and shook his head. “Going to voicemail. Any message, sir?” The bodyguard said the last words with definite disdain.
“No.” Ryder walked away, more angry at himself than he’d ever been. He should have just told Brooke why Hope was at the ranch for two days. Why they wanted to talk to her after the show, how they were going to surprise her.
But he’d gotten all pissy and defensive, and wanted to gloat in her apology after Hope and he sang the song, after they named her as the songwriter. “Fucking son of a bitch.”
“Nice language.” One of the female backup singers brushed past him.
“Sorry.”
Hope stood nearby, her phone to her ear. She shrugged and shook her head, then turned away. Was she talking to Brooke? Or just leaving a voice message?
He wanted to kick something, send it flying and landing with a bang. What the hell was wrong with him? He never behaved that way at his concerts, or anywhere for that matter. He headed for the dressing room he shared with Chase, slammed into the room, and looked for something to throw.
His buddy came out of the bathroom. “Didn’t find her?” The television on the wall showed the event taking place, and Steele and Tracy waved to the audience as they left the stage.
“No, and she’s not answering her phone.”
“Here.” Chase poured two shots of tequila. “Let’s get smashed and act like depraved twenty-year-old country singers.”
Ryder lifted his glass. “Just like old times.” They clicked glasses and downed the shots. After a couple seconds of catching his breath, he picked up the tequila bottle. “’Cept Steele was with us back then.”
Chase pulled out his phone and texted. “I gave him a nine-one-one to Dressing Room Four.” The guy smirked. “Pour one for him, too.”
By the time they’d found another shot glass and had three poured clear to the rim, Steele burst through the door. “What’s going on?”
“Ryder. Shots.” Chase lifted his glass.
“You interrupted me for… I was talking with Tracy and the foundation people…oh, hell.” He reached for his shot. “I’d rather skip the boring shit.”
Ryder held up his glass. “To letting Tracy handle the boring shit.”
They clicked and downed their drinks.
“You’re one behind, buddy. Wanna catch up?” Chase held up the bottle.
Steele narrowed his eyes, giving each of them a glare. “Yeah, why the fuck not.” He took a shot, and the three of them grabbed a beer each and sat on the grouping of stuffed chairs in the corner.
“So, why the tequila tonight?” Steele set his booted ankle on the opposite knee.
“Brooke. She took off after intermission.” Ryder rubbed his eye with the palm of his hand. “We kind of got into it, and you know, after the shock and all.” He pointed to his brother. “Thanks for that, by the way.”
Steele nodded. “Any time.”
“I handled it damn badly with Brooke.”
“I’m sure you did.” Chase set the bottle on the chair arm, spinning it in circles. “After all, you’re a man.”
“Yeah, like that’s an excuse.” Steele looked at Ryder.
“Do you care for the girl?” Chase watched Ryder, waiting for a reaction.
Ryder sat stone still. Did he care for Brooke? He did, but was it more than just the sex? Hell, he’d been fighting his feelings for so long, how did he get in touch with them? “Here’s a stupid question. How do I know?”
Steele and Chase shared a look, then his brother sat forward, his forearms on his thighs. “Are you happier when she’s with you, or when she’s not?”
Chase nodded. “When you think of her, does anything happen inside you?” He snorted. “And I’m not talking about in your pants.”
Steele laughed. “Good point. Would you want to be with her even if you couldn’t have sex with her?”
Ryder’s head had been swiveling back and forth as he looked at the men, and now it started to pound. “Fuck if I know.”
“Like Reno says, ‘go somewhere and get in touch with your feelings’.” Chase grinned. “And you’ll have to ask her if you need more direction than that.”
Ryder closed his eyes. “Why is this so complicated?”
“Relationships? Complicated?” The sarcasm in Steele’s voice had Ryder opening his eyes and shooting his brother a smirk.
The outside door popped open and Reno walked in, phone to her ear. “Found them. Dressing Room 4. They’ve got the tequila out.” She hung up. “We’ve been looking for you boys. Are you reliving your wild bachelor concert days?”
Chase pulled her down onto his lap. “Just giving young Ryder there some advice.”
Reno smiled at Ryder. “And how’s that working?”
The door opened and Tracy came in and stalked up next to her fiancé. “Thanks for leaving me with the—oops!”
Steele pulled her onto his lap, then silenced her with a kiss. “A brother in need, sugarbeet. I knew you’d understand.”
Tracy moaned but smiled. “So, why the tequila?” She gestured to the shot glasses on the table.
“Brooke took off.” Chase shrugged one brow.
“Yeah. I kinda figured.” Tracy tipped her head, looking at Ryder. “Did you say something to her that she might have misunderstood?”
“Of course I did. That’s my specialty.” Ryder finished his beer. “Cocky superstar shit, as Brooke calls my behavior.”
“Well, if the tequila doesn’t work…” Reno got up off Chase’s lap. “You call Tracy and me, and we’ll help you figure it out.”
Tracy stood, too. “Any time, Ryder.” Her brows lifted and she smiled. “I just realized, you’re going to be my brother-in-law.” She did a little dance. “So I can poke my nose into your business any time I need to.” She laughed.
Ryder shook his head. “Much appreciated, ladies. After the tequila, I’m going to hole up on the ranch for a few. I just might be calling you from there.”
“Good luck, Ryder. Truly mean that.” Reno winked at him.
Ryder hated all this attention, but he nodded. “Thanks.”
“We’ve got to get to the hotel. The reception is in the main ballroom on the second floor. You all should show up before you’re too messed up to appear in public.” Tracy waved at them as she and Reno left the dressing room.
Chase stood. “I haven’t reached the point of inability to appear publicly yet. Another shot?”
The guys stood and walked to the table.
Ryder picked up the bottle and looked at the contents. “At least one…hey, did she mean if we were too messed up, we didn’t have to go to the reception?”
Both Chase and Steele laughed.
“Remember, single guy, your brother and me, we’ve got women who would not be at all amused.” Chase held up his shot glass.
As Ryder poured the tequila for one last shot, Ryder felt a sort of hollowness creep through him. How did the thought of having no one to care if he was drunk or not make him feel like something was missing in his life?
****
When her plane landed in DC, Brooke took her phone off airplane mode, and it lit up like a stoplight. She’d gotten a call from Schmiddy, but no voice message. Then a call and message from Hope. “Where are you? We had a huge surprise for you? Are you okay? Call me, please.”
“Huge surprise.” She mumbled the words, but the guy next to her moved away a little bit. She’d been angry and snippy the whole flight, cursing Ryder under her breath, then Hope, then herself for being foolish enough to fall for a guy like him.
Next there’d been a call and voice message from her mom. “We’re so excited for you, sweetie! On national TV! Dad DVD-ed it, or whatever the recording thing is, so if you want to watch it, it’s here.” She laughed. “By the way, I don’t blame you for not going up on stage. All those people, my goodness.” She paused. “Terry says congratulations, too!”
Brooke sat with the phone at her ear for almost ten seconds. What the hell had she missed?
She had three text messages, all from her girlfriends, all saying about the same thing her mom had said. She even had e-mails, but didn’t take the time to read them.
Brooke dropped her hand holding her phone into her lap. “What’s going on?”
The guy next to her stared straight ahead.
It was late, but she texted her mom. Can I stop by in a half hour?
The reply came back. Of course, but why aren’t you in Montana?!?!?
She grabbed a cab and made it to her parents’ house in record time, searching the internet the whole while, but not coming up with anything about her.
Terry opened the door. “There’s our star.” He took her bag from her and set it down, then gave her a huge hug.
“What happened? I’ve got all these messages, but no one’s telling me what I missed.”
“You didn’t see the show?” He backed up, frowning at her. “Weren’t you going to stay in Montana another day?”
“I had to leave.” It sounded too dramatic, even to her own ears.
“Had to?” Terry bent his knees, looking into her eyes. “Something you want to talk about?”
“Let her come in, hon.” Her mother came from the kitchen with a tray full of cups and a teapot. “She’ll tell us in her own good time.”
They followed Greta to the living room where the TV screen sat frozen on a scene at the Montana college fieldhouse. When they got seated and the tea distributed, Terry pressed the play button.
The first notes of Brooke’s song came from the band, and it sounded so good. Hope sang, then Ryder, then they sang together, and all too quickly, the song was over.
Brooke laughed at the smart-ass in the crowd’s comment about Hope being Ryder’s sister. But then her heart took a tumble as Ryder and Hope revealed Brooke as the writer of the song.
“Oh, no.” Why had she run off in a drama stampede? Talk about overreacting. And Hope had practically begged her to stay to the end of the concert.
When they called her up on stage and turned the house lights on, Ryder had searched the faces of everyone in the first rows. Had he thought she was just too shy to stand up and be acknowledged? The look on his face then—when he must have realized she wasn’t there—it sent a stab to the middle of her heart.
Even if Hope and Ryder had slept together on his ranch, Brooke should have kept it professional. Stayed through the show. She closed her eyes. She’d known all along what Ryder was. He didn’t even date women long enough to have photos of himself with them appear online. Why did she think she was so special that he’d all of a sudden change his lifestyle for her? “Stupid girl.”
“No, you’re the smartest girl in the world.” Her mother took her hand, leaning in and kissing her temple. “You just have a few more life lessons to learn before you can handle every situation logically, and not emotionally.”
“But some situations are emotional. Not everything is logical, Mom.” She looked into Greta’s eyes, hoping for wisdom.
“Even though you love him, Brooke, you still have to see each situation through practical eyes.”
Which was just what Brooke had been telling herself… “Wait, what? Love?” She pulled her hand away, stood, and paced to the window. “We haven’t known each other long enough for love.”
Terry laughed. “Have your mom and I ever told you the story of how we met?”
She turned from the window. “About a hundred times. She was picketing your business. You saw her from your car window and joined the march, just to get to know her.”
“Right.” Her dad took her mother’s hand. “It wasn’t love at first sight, but I was intrigued. And after talking to her for three hours, I knew she was someone I wanted to know a whole lot better.”
Brooke loved their story. She’d written a song about it, which was currently locked in a file cabinet in her apartment. “Even though I’d like to get to know Ryder a whole lot better, he’s not reciprocating that interest. I need to move forward or I’ll end up trying to relive the past few weeks.” She sighed and picked up her bag. “So, I’m going to go back to my apartment, dig out the song called Terry Wants to Marry My Mom, and see if I can rewrite it into something that will sell.”
“You know, selling isn’t everything.” Greta stood, and Terry grabbed his car keys.
“Logically speaking, I’ve been too unfocused in my career. Now that I know what kind of song sells…twice…” She wagged her brows. “I’m going to revive my writing, and really get out there and show it off.”
“Good for you.” Her mother hugged her goodbye, and her dad walked out to the garage with her.
Brooke was grateful that Terry stayed quiet on the short drive. All she could think about was her pile of songs. She checked her emails. One popped up from the local music school, asking if she’d be interested in teaching a class in songwriting, and another came from a bar that held a writer’s showcase open mic every week.
She smiled at Terry. “I’ve already got two job offers, Dad. Ain’t it great what a little positive thinking can do?”
He nodded. “Positive thinking, and your name shouted out to a million people.” At her apartment, he carried her bag inside and checked every room and closet. He kissed her forehead. “Don’t forget the person who did that for you. Keep him in your heart, because—while I’m not intuitive like your mom—I did recognize the look on Ryder’s face when he searched for you in the audience.”
“Dad, he has my phone number, and he didn’t even bother to—”
“I’m just saying, sweetheart, I don’t think you’ve heard the last verse from that cowboy.”