His Country Cinderella

Jeannette didn’t know what was wrong with a salad and yogurt, but she held her tongue as Jonah put his blocks away and then slipped into his jacket.

Back at her apartment a short time later, Jeannette made herself a sandwich while Jonah got ready for bed. She’d just taken it to the living room with a glass of milk when he came running in, brown hair standing up all over, pajama top crooked. “Is this late night?”

When Jonah didn’t have to go to school the next day, she let him stay up a little longer. It gave them much-needed time together. “This is late night. What do you want to do?”

“Puzzles,” he said without hesitation.

“Okay. Pick out two favorites and dump them on the coffee table.”

Jeannette took a few bites of her sandwich and a sip of milk, planning to finish it while she played with Jonah. But there was a knock at the door and she stopped midbite. She and Jonah didn’t get many visitors. They weren’t here that much. She was on a waving basis with two of her neighbors. Maybe one of them needed something.

Going to the door, she looked through the peephole and froze. It was Zane Gunther!

So many thoughts ran through her head. Why was he here? Was he here because he wanted to see her again? Or was he here to sum things up before he left her life completely?

She looked down at her uniform and wished she could go change, even if it was to put a robe on top of it. But she didn’t have time for that. Not if she didn’t want him to leave.

When she opened the door, his eyes lingered on her face. Their gazes held for what seemed like a very long time. When he glanced at her snug but short T-shirt and the rest of her, she saw his mouth tighten and his jaw set.

Maybe he disapproved as much as Edna. Or maybe—

His eyes darkened under the glare of the outside apartment light. She’d seen that same change in him last night right before he’d kissed her.

She stepped aside and opened the door wider. “This is a surprise.” Knowing who he was made her nervous, when she hadn’t been jittery around him before.

After he closed the door behind him, he took off his Stetson and held it in his hands. “I didn’t know if you’d let me in now that you know who I am.”

He was dressed in a black T-shirt, black jeans and black boots that weren’t as worn as his brown ones. The air of masculinity emanating from him was as powerful now as it had been the first day she’d met him. Her fingers itched to touch his biceps, let alone the beard stubble on his face. No wonder women mobbed him in droves!

“I don’t know you,” she admitted. “Not really.”

Tension pulled between them and vibrated. “I wanted to be an ordinary guy for a little while. I still do.”

“But you’re not an ordinary guy.”

Jonah rushed into the kitchen then. “Zane! You can help with puzzles!”

Zane tore his eyes from hers and ruffled the boy’s already-disheveled hair. “Life’s one big puzzle, partner. But I guess I can try and help you figure one out, if your mom thinks that’s okay.”

He leveled a look at her that seemed to say, This is your call.

Common sense battled with the attraction she felt for him. She’d never let hormones sway her before. On the other hand, what could it hurt to find out more about him? About the man behind the guitar.

A wise voice inside her head whispered back, It could hurt your heart a lot.

She silenced that voice. “I’ll make a pot of coffee. Why don’t you two get started?”

Chapter Three

Jeannette watched Zane carefully as he picked up a puzzle piece and showed Jonah how to look for straight and crooked edges. He looked relaxed now, leaning over the coffee table with her son. She couldn’t keep her gaze from skimming down his torso, over his slim hips and his long jean-clad legs.

Easily, she remembered everything she’d read about Zane for the last decade of his career—number one singles, Grammys, CMA awards for Best Male Vocalist, sellout concerts, a multimillion-dollar tour cut short. Curiously, she’d examined photos of him with glamorous women, climbing in and out of limos, even a helicopter flight to one of the concerts. She’d never even seen a helicopter live, let alone been in one. The same with a limo.

So why was he here in her living room, spending time with her and her son? And what was the truth about what had happened at the concert and how he’d reacted afterward? She had so many questions and she didn’t know if she’d ever have the answers.

When Zane glanced her way, her outfit almost made her cringe. “I’m going to change out of my work clothes. I’ll be right back.”

Quickly, she mentally flashed through her wardrobe which wasn’t that extensive, and in a few minutes came up with a pink scoop-necked sweater and jeans. After she slipped on an old pair of espadrilles, she took the band from her hair and brushed it. With a touch of lip gloss, she knew she was about as ready as she’d ever be—to face Zane, his private and public persona and anything he wanted to tell her.

As she reentered the living room, Zane nudged Jonah’s shoulder. “Doesn’t your mom look pretty?”

Jonah stared at her for a couple of seconds, then glanced back at Zane. “She looks like she always does.”

Although she’d first been embarrassed, Jonah’s remark helped her smile when Zane chuckled. “Kids say it like it is,” Zane decided with a shrug. “You must be pretty all the time.”

She was twenty-eight years old and shouldn’t feel like a shy teenager, but she did, especially now that she knew who he was. Did glib remarks fly off his tongue easily? Was that honesty she saw in his eyes? Or practiced flirting? How would she ever know?

Once Jeannette was seated on the sofa beside Zane, she helped Jonah put together the last few pieces of the puzzle.

“You didn’t eat.” Zane motioned to her sandwich, half eaten, on the dish on the coffee table.

“I had enough.”

His brows arched.

She felt she had to explain. “Sometimes I’m just too tired to eat when I get home. Or too busy.”

“Jeannette, you have to—”

“I know what you’re going to say. But I did sample a new recipe for wings at the restaurant, and a square of bread pudding, too.

“That’s what you had to eat all day?”

“And breakfast. Jonah and I had scrambled eggs, toast and a little bit of fruit.”

“Mom makes great eggs.”

“I’ll bet she does. Ready to start on that second puzzle?”

Jonah looked at Jeannette with one of those “little boy” looks that told her he wanted something. She waited.

Finally, he asked, “Can Zane read me a book?”

Zane seemed to know intuitively what to do. He gave her a little nod, showing her he was game.

“It’s a book or a puzzle. Then you do have to go to bed.”

“Oh, Mom. It’s late night.”

“Yes, I know, and it’s already getting late. One or the other. You choose.”

After a few seconds Jonah decided, “A book. In my room.”

Jeannette knew if she let Zane into Jonah’s room, she was letting him further into her life. Yet sitting beside him on the sofa, almost aware of every breath he took, definitely aware of his cologne and the restrained strength of him beside her, she felt as if she were fighting a losing battle. “Go pick out the book. Then we’ll be in.”

After Jonah was out of earshot, Zane asked, “Does he often back you into a corner like that?”

“More often than I’d like him to. For four-and-a-half he has great manipulative skills.” She lifted her chin and studied Zane’s face. “Why did you come tonight?” Could she get even one of her answers?

“Because I wanted to see you again…because I hoped you didn’t believe everything you read.”

She had to be honest with him. “I hadn’t read much, not until this afternoon when I went to the library and searched your name on the computer.”

“I see.” His voice was tense and much more distant.

“No, I don’t think you do.”

“Mommy! Zane! I found a book.”

Rising to her feet Jeannette said, “My guess is he picked the longest one he could find.”

But when they reached Jonah’s room, Jeannette found he had picked one of his favorite books rather than the longest. It was a funny book with silly pictures and lots of rhymes.

Sitting on the bed beside Jonah, Zane put expression into the words without half trying. Jonah laughed and so did Zane, and her heart ached with everything Jonah needed that she couldn’t provide. A dad’s love was different than a mom’s. Her gaze fell on the photograph of Ed on Jonah’s bedside table. He would have loved his son and done anything for him. He’d proven that when he’d taken two jobs and worked so many hours she’d hardly seen him. That had been her fault. If she hadn’t missed so many days of work because of morning sickness, if she hadn’t started spotting…if she hadn’t gotten pregnant…

She had switched from birth control pills to patches and one week she’d simply forgotten to change it. When she discovered she was pregnant, she hadn’t known how Ed would react. They’d been together for three years and he’d been dragging his feet about commitment. They’d been living together, but sometimes she still felt he could walk away at any time. Yet when she told him she was pregnant, he’d said they should get married. However, he kept putting it off, finally pushing the event until after the baby was born. She would have liked to have gotten married before Jonah was born. But she was just so glad Ed was finally ready that she hadn’t questioned him and hadn’t pushed, although a part of her had always wondered if he was doing it out of duty or out of love.

She still didn’t know. She’d never know.

“All done,” Jonah suddenly said, slapping the covers of the book together. “We could read it again.”

“Or not,” Jeannette said firmly. “Say good-night to Zane and I’ll help you get ready for bed.”

Jonah’s good-night for Zane came accompanied with another hug. Her little boy was getting attached very quickly. Maybe if Zane were an ordinary man, she’d let it continue. But how could she when she knew who he was? When he didn’t have a normal life? When his interlude in Thunder Canyon might not last very long? When he could be gone tomorrow?

Tonight when she finished Jonah’s bedtime ritual and left his door open a crack, she found Zane pacing the living room. “What’s wrong?” she asked, knowing something was.

“I have no business being here. If a journalist got wind of what I was doing and where I was, I’d be dragging you and Jonah into everything that’s going on.”

“You call that tripe written about you journalism?”

He grimaced. “Well, at least you could see it wasn’t that. Some people can’t see through it. They think an article in a publication that writes about alien abductions is the same as one in the New York Times.”

She eyed him thoughtfully. “Would you like a beer?”

“Yes, I would.”

“Did you have supper?”

“I ate one of those frozen dinners you stocked my freezer with.”

“How about a Southwestern omelet? I bought salsa on sale at the grocery store and Woody, my manager, was going to throw away perfectly good containers of sour cream. The waitresses divided them up.”

“That sounds great. But if you’re too tired to cook, I don’t need anything.”

“This will take five minutes. And from your pictures six months ago and the way you look now, I’d say you need to eat a little more than you’re eating, too.”

“You sound like Dillon.”

“With good reason. How much weight have you lost?”

“About fifteen pounds. But I often lose ten when I start a new tour.”

“Really?”

“It happens. My hours aren’t regular and I’m a perfectionist. I work in my bus, not only writing music, but staying on top of the business, promotion with my publicist, gigs with my manager, money flow with the accountant. I delegate, but I still oversee everything. I don’t want any unhappy surprises when I least expect them.”

Jeannette took eggs from the refrigerator and pulled out the jar of salsa. The frying pan, though clean, was sitting on the stove from that morning. “Is any part of your life normal?”

“Normal becomes what we make it, don’t you think?”

“Is that an excuse for saying no?”

“You cut right through it, don’t you?”

“I have to, Zane. I’m a single mom. I can’t lie to myself and I can usually read evasive tactics in others. It’s a gift,” she added teasingly, trying to lighten the conversation a little.

Shaking his head, Zane took a spatula from a utensil crock on the counter and handed it to her. “Do you need anything else from the refrigerator?”

“There’s some grated cheese in there. If you could get that—”

In five minutes the omelet was finished and divided in two. Jeannette had popped bread into the toaster and grabbed the strawberry jelly from the fridge. “Edna made it. It’s good.”

Zane ate like a man who was enjoying his food. After he finished, he said, “That hit the spot. Maybe I just enjoy food more when I have someone to eat with.” He motioned to her empty plate. “It might be the same for you.”

“It might be. I eat more with Jonah, or when we have a Sunday dinner with Edna and Mel.”

“Does that happen often?”

“Not lately. With this job at LipSmackin’ Ribs, my hours are all over the place. I work weekends whenever I can.” She didn’t have to say because of the tips. He knew that already.

Zane picked up his fork and hers with both their plates and loaded it all into the small dishwasher.

“You don’t have to—”

“Yes, I do. You cooked. I clean up. It’s an unwritten contract.”

“I think there are a lot of men in this world who are unaware of that contract.”

Zane closed the door to the dishwasher. “Let’s go sit on the sofa and talk. You deserve to know the truth about what happened at my last concert.”

In the living room they settled on the sofa a few inches apart. Jeannette thought about sitting in the matching chair, but she wanted to be near Zane for a reason other than her attraction to him. Maybe he’d give off signals that would tell her if he was being glib or guarded or dishonest. She also had to admit she just wanted to be close to him. Because he was a star? Actually, no. It was because there was something about him that made her heart race and her skin tingle and her stomach flip-flop.

Zane glanced at her, then raked his hand through his thick brown hair. With the table lamp beside him, she realized there were burnished strands in it. He wore a Stetson so much of the time that she hadn’t noticed them before.

“I began promoting my new CD last September when I performed at Frontier Days. I had written a lead song—‘Movin’ On’—and performed it for the first time here at the arena at the fairgrounds. When my CD was released last year, sales skyrocketed and the tour started off with a bang.”

“How many concerts do you do a week?”

“That depends. I’d rather do several close together, and then give everybody a break for a week or two. That’s easier on their family life. But spring through summer is our busiest time.”

“You said you have a bus?”

He frowned. “Yep. I used to call it my home away from home. But now—”

“Tell me what happened,” she requested, knowing the bus was involved.

He hesitated, obviously reluctant. After heaving a deep breath, he began, “It was early April. I’d done a bunch of media events in New York and L.A. We’d started a monthlong series of concerts and did a few in the Southwest. Texas concerts are great because I can usually wiggle in time to see my mom and old friends who still live in Midland.”

When he stopped, she could see the shadows in his eyes, the click of memories playing that he’d rather avoid. He shifted on the sofa, leaned forward, placed his hands on his knees. “We performed at a venue near Austin. It was an outdoor arena with stadiumlike seats under cover, others close to the stage, not covered. It was an evening show with all the lights and hoopla that can make a concert spectacular. The audience was great. They’d come to enjoy themselves, to sing along, clap, stomp, whatever it took to feel part of the music.”

Jeannette could see Zane was reliving it, maybe feeling the rhythm under his feet, his guitar in his hands, the songs in his head.

“Because it was a night concert, I did the meet and greet beforehand,” he explained. “I met with folks in the fan club, spoke with others who’d won tickets through radio contests, that sort of thing. But I also signed autographs for about an hour before the concert with the general audience. I wanted to get on the road and didn’t want it to go too late afterward.”

She could imagine the crowd, the concertgoers vying for his autograph on hands and T-shirts and CD covers. It had been a long, long time since she’d been at a concert, but she remembered the feel of it, the excitement, the bass vibrating in her chest.

Zane rubbed his palms on his jeans and stared straight ahead. “The audience got more revved up with each song, and we found ourselves doing more than we scheduled, just because we were enjoying it so much. I usually plan two encores, but I think we did five that night. I’ll admit it’s hard for me to leave the stage when the audience is that encouraging. Or at least it was.”

From the tone in Zane’s voice she could tell he felt differently about all of it now.

“Tell me what happened,” she requested gently.

He turned to look at her for a moment, and then he closed his eyes and shook his head. “I’ll never forget it, as long as I live.” He paused. “I had a bodyguard who went with me everywhere. Roscoe handled my personal security team. They’re supposed to keep me safe and they always did a terrific job of it. My promoter was in charge of the security force for the concert venue. They’d done a fine job with that large crowd. The concert had gone off without a hitch. The band had already left. Then…”

He stopped. “I’m not sure what happened. My tour bus was parked at the back of the stage. Often a crowd gathers there to catch a glimpse of me leaving. It happens everywhere we go and it’s not unusual. There had never been a problem before. But that night the crowd around the bus suddenly got too large and too close. Roscoe and his team formed a line for me to get to the bus. I was on the first step when I heard and felt the surge, saw the fans break through the guard line. The next thing I knew, someone was down and there was screaming. The 9-1-1 call went out and I still wasn’t sure what had happened. Roscoe shoved me into the bus and I was fighting him to get into the crowd. But he insisted they would tear me apart. I told him I wasn’t leaving until I knew what had happened. We’d called the police to tell them we were circling the venue. As far as I was concerned, this was my concert, my responsibility. I made the calls myself to the chief of police and the nearest hospital, but nobody would tell me anything. During all that, my manager called a lawyer. I didn’t want to talk to him. I wasn’t worried about liability. I was worried about whoever got hurt.”

Jeannette could hear the emotion in Zane’s voice, the rough huskiness that stopped him from telling more.

Finally he shifted on the sofa. His knee grazed hers as he faced her. “I shouldn’t be telling you any of this. My lawyer has instructed me not to talk about it to anybody, not to go near Ashley’s family or talk to them.”

Jeannette knew Ashley Tuller had been thirteen. This was breaking her heart, imagining what her parents felt…what Zane was feeling. “You don’t know me very well, Zane,” she admitted. “But I can tell you I won’t go to a tabloid and I won’t talk to a reporter. That doesn’t mean you’ll believe me. I think I already understand that Ashley’s death was life-changing for you, so if you don’t want to talk about it more, or can’t, that’s okay.”

“I haven’t talked to anyone about it except for my lawyer. I haven’t even spoken to Dillon or the guys in my band about the details.”

If he hadn’t told his best friend, his closest friends, she doubted he’d tell her. She didn’t know if she should, but she reached out and covered his hand with hers.

The nerve in his jaw jumped. “Ashley had a head injury, severe trauma. She was airlifted to a hospital in Dallas best equipped to deal with that. For three days she was in a coma—three days when her parents didn’t know if she was going to live or die. From what I understand, her older sister was by her side twenty-four hours a day.” He shook his head. “I can’t even imagine their pain. Even if I could talk to them, what would I say? Dillon lost his son and I know what he went through. I just wish—”

“What do you wish?”

“I wish I could do something so I didn’t feel so powerless. I wish they could know I didn’t leave the scene like some of the tabloids reported. Since the family filed a civil suit, everyone around me is telling me to listen to my lawyer. I feel like he’s tied my hands and feet and taped my mouth shut. This isn’t me. I do something when I can. I don’t wait around to see what happens next.”

“You’re waiting for the trial.”

Zane nodded. “It will probably be sometime in December. We haven’t gotten the official date yet.”

“I guess your lawyer’s trying to settle?”

Zane leaned back against the sofa cushions and shook his head. “This isn’t about money. I know that. No amount of money will bring Ashley back. Her parents want someone to pay. And need somebody to blame. I understand. But I don’t think a trial or settlement is going to be the answer.”

Her hand was still covering his. She pulled hers away and put it back in her lap where it belonged. She knew Zane had arrived in May. She’d been cleaning his house and taking him supplies for that long. But she wasn’t completely sure why he’d come. “You came to Thunder Canyon to escape the paparazzi?”

Again he studied her, maybe unsure he could trust her. She could probably earn a bank account full of money if she took his story to any number of magazines. After all, it seemed like former acquaintances of Zane and anyone who had been there that night was doing just that. But no one had the words from his mouth but her.

The thing was, Jeannette knew in her heart that she would never sell Zane’s story to anyone or even talk about it.

Maybe he saw that.

“My lawyer suggested a leave of absence. But I couldn’t have returned to the tour if I’d wanted to. The night this happened, I felt like I’d grown a stone in my chest. That feeling hasn’t gone away. At first I couldn’t think about anything else. All I could think about was Ashley, day and night, and what her family was feeling. Even when her parents started giving interviews, saying it was my fault, I couldn’t be angry with them because I felt it was my fault, in spite of what my lawyer says, or my promoter or my manager or my band. They all have a lot to lose—their livelihood, but also their reputation, which really matters in this business. My bodyguard quit. He felt as guilty as hell. I’ve been with Roscoe since I won my first award. My mother is torn up because I’m torn up. That’s the kind of relationship we’ve always had.”

Jeannette remembered the one headline she’d read: RIFT BETWEEN ZANE GUNTHER AND HIS MOTHER.

“Has this caused problems between you and your mom?”

He gave a twisted smile. “You read the tabloid, huh?”

“No, I just saw the headline.”

“No rift. I call her when I can, so she knows I’m okay. I can’t do it from the mountain. I can’t get a signal till I’m down on the road. I went home once since this happened and photojournalists—” he made quote marks with his fingers “—took advantage of it, so I thought it was better if I stayed away.”

“You really are isolated.”

Quickly, he straightened. “Hey, don’t feel sorry for me. That isn’t why I’m telling you this. I just wanted you to understand what happened, not what the press says happened. Not what the lawyers say happened. Heck, I couldn’t believe you didn’t know who I was. I was grateful and humbled. Maybe I need a little more humbling.”