Hillbilly Rockstar (9 page)

Yes, she could. Because he was entirely at fault.

Even Crash hadn't stuck around after chewing Devin's ass; he'd hightailed it to the other bus to leave Devin to deal with his bodyguard on his own.

So, reeking with sweat, he waited in the main living area to have this out with her.

The door opened. And closed. He heard the beep of the alarm being engaged. Then she appeared from the deep stairwell and stopped in front of him. She leveled that scary-ass stare for about thirty seconds before she closed her eyes.

Devin couldn't stand the silence. “Liberty—”

“Don't. Say. Anything.”

That shut him up.

She locked those steely eyes to his. “Don't ever do that again. Let me remind you: I protect you. That's what I am paid to do. You shoving me aside impedes my ability to do my job. I am not the one who's had death threats leveled at me. I am not the one whose bus and home has been broken into. But because of those things, I am your personal security 24/7.”

“I'm sorry.”

Liberty released a slow breath. “I am too. You need to know that I have to report this incident to GSC, who will pass it on to the promotion company.”

“Jesus. Why?”

“Because like it or not, they are paying me to protect you, and you didn't allow me to do my job today. This is my livelihood, not a fantasy where I'm spending months getting wild on the tour bus with a country rockstar. If I don't report it, won't it appear that I have something to hide? Who gets the blowback from it? You?” She shook her head. “Me. If you don't trust me to protect you, then I'll have to find a replacement you can trust.”

Was she . . . threatening him?

Her face held frustration and determination but no malice. “I won't put
you or myself in jeopardy. We've been on the road three days, Devin, and we've already had a major problem.”

“It won't happen again. I swear.”

The look on her face said she didn't believe him. “Excuse me. I need to talk to Reg before we take off.”

He'd be pissed off by her dismissal if he didn't feel like such a fool. And things had been going so well between them.

You're surprised you fucked up something else in your life? Isn't that the way it goes? One step forward and two steps back?

Devin grabbed a beer from the fridge and headed to his room. In the shower, he let the hot water pound on his back while he chugged the icy cold beer. Reality hit him. What if that guy'd had a gun? Or a knife? Those fifteen seconds could've turned out completely different.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He fucking hated this. How the hell wasn't he supposed to react instinctively when a threat surfaced? It wouldn't have mattered if Crash or Gage or Odette had been behind him. He would've done the same damn thing. He also hated that a couple of unknown, unseen crazy motherfuckers could upend his life. Force him to change how he lived and who he was.

Bitching, moaning, whining wouldn't change a damn thing. Being proactive only got him into trouble. So for the time being, he had to trust in someone besides himself. Not his choice and completely out of his control, but in order for this bullshit to end, he had to let Liberty do her job.

He toweled off, slipped on a pair of boxer briefs and dropped into a push-up position. Four sets of twenty-five got his blood pumping. He switched and did three hundred ab exercises. Then he finished with a series of plank poses.

As Devin dabbed the sweat from his face and neck, he figured he probably should've waited to shower, but pushing his body had delivered the desired effect; he'd calmed down. He'd centered himself and was ready to offer Liberty the apology she deserved. But first he needed to work on his music.

Because at the end of the day, no matter where he was, that driving
need never abated. He could prop his feet up anywhere, strap on his guitar and slip into the skin of what—who—he was meant to be. A singer. A songwriter. A modern-day wandering minstrel plying his trade in hopes to earn a few coins and a little respect.

And it stung that in trying to earn Liberty's respect, he'd lost it.

T
hree weeks had passed since the truck-stop altercation.

After the incident, Liberty kept all interactions between them strictly professional. No sharing a meal or a beer or even a laugh on the bus. On the outside, it looked like nothing had changed. They worked out together. Liberty escorted him on his visits to children's hospitals. She remained stationed outside the door of his ready room even though he hadn't “entertained” any fans since Salt Lake City. Something had shifted, and he hadn't been in the mood for that type of female companionship. Instead he'd used the time to fulfill his media requirements so afterward he could concentrate on songwriting.

Whether it was Liberty's vigilance or just plain luck, there'd been limited security issues in the last three weeks. That's not to say a few situations hadn't arisen where his ability to give her the reins was tested, but he'd done it. Happily. Without even a single pat on the back from her.

Yet, in the last week, he'd sensed a thawing in her cold attitude. She'd actually initiated a couple of conversations that didn't revolve around his security. And he'd lapped up that little bit of attention like a starving dog.

Things were tense all around with his bandmates and his crew. Tay and Jase were back at it. Odette and Steve complained about having to trade off the bus's one bedroom with them. Sarge had issues between the roadies and ended up with a fist to the jaw when he broke up a fight.

Crash was tired of playing referee between all factions.

Since they had two days off and not a long distance to travel between gigs, Devin decided they needed to blow off some steam. Over the years, when this tension arose—because it always happened at some point during
the tour—they'd organize a softball game. Or team up for laser tag. Or race go-carts. But this time, they needed a more extreme activity.

He was finishing a conversation with his agent when the buses turned off the highway and crossed to a county road. Naturally, that brought Liberty out of seclusion. Devin hadn't seen her today, and he took in her bare feet, faded jeans and the flowing floral blouse that fell to midthigh. While he understood her clothing had to conceal her gun, her long, baggy shirts also covered up her ass—which was a damn crying shame.

She peeked out the window above the kitchen sink. “Why aren't we on the highway?”

“Change in plans. We're gonna have a little fun today. And before you ask, yes, we weighed the risk factors, and Crash already contacted the promotion company. They rented the place out for the entire day. And night.”

Her gaze sharpened. “What fun thing do you have planned?”

Devin grinned. “A paintball fight. There's also a campground on the property, so we'll circle the buses, have a campfire, drink some beer, throw some horseshoes and give everyone, including the drivers, a night to just chill out.”

“Paintball,” she repeated. “You do realize paintball guns are actual
guns
?”

“There's where the fun part comes in.”

“And you're telling me that you just decided to put yourself in danger—”

He held up his hand to stop her impending tirade. “The Big Sky HR department personally signed off on all of the crew. I'm not in any danger from any of the people on these buses. Big Sky also approved this outing and paid for it. I'm assuming they didn't announce that Devin McClain was reserving the place for his touring entourage.”

“You didn't think to run this idea by me first?”

So that's what'd put the starch in her spine. “It's not a security issue—it's a personnel issue. And I'm tellin' you now, aren't I?”

Liberty glanced down at her feet. He saw her inhale deeply before she dragged her gaze back to his.

“Darlin', I don't like that smirk you're wearing. What gives?”

“Oh, I was just imagining if I wasn't tasked with guarding you how much I'd love to plug your ass with a dozen paintballs.”

Devin leaned closer. “Bring it. Obviously, you and me have some issues to work out too.”

Her humor fled. “Sorry. That was unprofessional.”

“Liberty, I was kiddin'. As long as we're actually talkin' for a change, instead of avoiding each other on the bus and faking a happy relationship in public . . . I have to know if you're ever gonna forgive me for the mistake I made that day at the truck stop.”

“I heard every word of all fifteen apologies you gave me.”

But it wasn't enough. He knew she'd reported the incident. What she didn't know was Devin had called both Garrett at GSC and Carl at Big Sky. He swore to them the crazed-fan ambush had been a wake-up call and he wouldn't fight any of the security requirements for the rest of the tour—but only if he could retain Liberty. The men had conferred and agreed to let her stay, but warned him another incident like that would end her employment with him.

Devin didn't kid himself. Pulling Liberty from this duty wouldn't be to reprimand her—but to punish him. It wasn't a coincidence that Carl mentioned the LaGruder goons as replacements if he screwed up again. Just thinking about those
Robocop
clones caused him to shudder.

“Did you have something else to say?” she prompted.

“Actions speak louder than words. And I've followed your instructions over the last three weeks. When that woman accosted me at the meet and greet two weeks ago, I didn't try to handle it on my own. I immediately called for security.”

Liberty just blinked at him.

“Last week when the PETA protestors rushed me in the parking lot because of my support for Wyoming furriers, I didn't engage them, even though I wanted to beat their hemp-wearin' asses for their urban ignorance of real life in the West.”

“I sensed that,” she said dryly. “Although adding the PETA—People Eating Tasty Animals—bumper sticker to the back of the bus was a little over-the-top.”

Devin held up his hands. “Totally Sarge's idea. I swear.”

“Look. I realize it's been difficult to change your normal reactions of self-protection first, so I appreciate that you've been working with me, instead of against me.”

“So you know I don't wanna backtrack and lose all the ground that I've gained. Which is why you should rise to the challenge of bein' on a paintball team.” He displayed a sly smile. “Against me.”

“No way, guitar slinger. You want to participate in a paintball fight? Fine. But I'm not letting you out of my sight, so it appears you and me are partners.”

That wasn't what he'd been going for. “I already promised to be Crash's partner.”

“Too bad you'll have to renege,” she said sweetly.

“How will I explain why I'm partnered up with you when I won't let Tay and Jase, or Odette and Steve partner up?”

She shrugged. “Tell them you're a terrible shot and you need me to teach you how to be a straight shooter.”

“FYI, sweetheart, I am a damn good shot. I've been huntin' since I was five.” He issued a challenge. “Or maybe you want to partner with me because you have lingering combat issues and you expect me to keep you from goin' ballistic.”

Liberty paled.

Shit. With as many times as she'd been in the thick of overseas conflicts, she probably did have some issues from that. He stepped forward and curled his hands around her biceps. “Dammit, Liberty. I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking. I'm a jerk.”

She stared at him, clearly debating on what to say.

“Come on. Chew my ass.” His hand slid down her arm to her wrist. He then formed her fingers into a fist and brought it up to his jaw. “Or better yet. Punch me.”

Then she did the oddest thing. She opened her fist and cupped his face. “I've witnessed the stubborn set to this jaw too many times to count in the last month. Even if I did pop you one, I'd probably hurt my hand.”

He chuckled. “Probably.”

Liberty lazily skimmed the razor stubble coating his cheeks, and he suppressed a shudder of pleasure. “Or I'd scuff up my knuckles on this sandpaper.”

Devin let the caress linger, reveling in her simple show of affection. With every gentle sweep of her fingers, he felt that inexplicable pull toward her getting stronger. She fascinated him on so many levels; he'd never met a woman like her before.

“Damn, man. Are you out of razors?”

“You don't like the scruffy look?”

“Not on you.”

“Shoot. I believed I was lookin' all hip, bein' emo and shit.”

She murmured, “You're too much of a manly man to ever look like a hipster.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Was that a compliment?”

Her hand stilled and their gazes collided. “You don't need me to tell you that you're too handsome and charming for your own good, Devin McClain.”

She immediately retreated.

Dammit. Looked like he'd blown it again.

The bus stopped.

Devin watched shamelessly as she bent over to slip on her shoes, hoping for a glimpse of her ass.

Then she whirled around and caught him looking. “Unreal. Are you so hard up for female attention that even
I'm
starting to look good?”

“Darlin', that low opinion of yourself sure as hell ain't comin' from me.”

“I'm too masculine-acting for you, remember? You'd have no problem keeping it professional between us because you're not attracted to me in the least, right?”

“Wrong.” Devin caged Liberty against the wall, blocking her retreat.

“But you said—”

“I know what I said. I've also admitted that I was an ass and I've apologized for that too. I thought we were beyond that.” His eyes searched hers. “Please tell me we can get beyond that.”

“Don't.”

“Don't what? Remind you that it doesn't have to be all or nothin'? You won't even talk to me about any of this. Not even after I've been following every one of your damn rules—to the letter.”

“How generous of you to quit fucking groupies night and day.”

“That was my choice, not because of some edict from you,” he shot back.

“And why
did
you close yourself off from all that easy pussy?”

“Because none of them . . .” Jesus. He wasn't giving her the satisfaction of confessing that the women vying for a piece of him had lost appeal after he'd started to become friends with her. “I realized none of them are worth my time.”

“And I am?”

“That's what I'm askin' you. Can we move past what was said and done in the last month and start things over?”

A hopeful light entered her eyes before she banked it. “You're right. We're both a little stubborn—”

“Ya think?”

She punched him in the stomach—just hard enough to get his attention.

Hard enough to get him fucking hard.

“I swear you are the most exasperating man I've ever met.”

Devin grinned. “So that means I'm memorable? Sweet.”

“Move.”

He stepped back. Right before she closed the door to the bathroom, he clapped and said, “Good talk.”

He heard her laugh.

That had to be a good sign, right?

Liberty appeared a couple minutes later, hair fluffed, gloss on her lips, cheeks rosier.

Devin doubted that Liberty the soldier had stopped to fix her hair and freshen her makeup before heading out of the barracks. And part of him would rather see her in dirt and camo than lip gloss and a tailored blouse.

Since when? You're the one who insisted she blend, remember?

She snagged her stun gun from behind her . . . pillow? When she glanced up, she said, “What?” a little brusquely.

“You sleep with a weapon under your pillow?”

“Yep. I'd keep sleepwalking to a minimum if I were you.”

Two loud thumps sounded on the side of the bus.

Liberty brushed past him and unlocked the door. “Hey, Crash.”

“I want you to know that I had no part in this unscheduled stop. I tried to talk him out of it.”

Traitor.

The rest of their conversation was in low tones, which also annoyed him. Devin stopped at the top of the stairs. Both Liberty and Crash looked at him guiltily. “What?”

“Nothin'. I'm of the same mind-set as Bert. The two of you need to partner up.”

Bert. He fucking hated the nickname his road crew had given her. Bert was a guy's name. In the last month, Liberty had shown him that she was far from the butch persona he'd initially believed her to be, so the name really grated on him.

Devin braced his hands on the rails and leaned over the stairs. “Crash, do me a favor and stop callin' her Bert.”

“Why?” Liberty demanded. “You afraid people will think your latest squeeze is a man?”

Devin's gaze never left hers. “It's not about me. Bert is a crusty old guy's name. Liberty is a beautiful name, and it fits you and what you stand for so perfectly.”

Her mouth dropped open.

Gotcha, darlin'
. He grinned.

“I don't wanna know where the fuck that came from,” Crash said. “Anyway, you and Liberty will take a rash of shit for bein' partners, so I hope you've got a good cover story.”

They reached the front entrance and stood behind the crew as a young kid recited the rules.

During a pause, Sarge asked, “So we're not on teams?”

“No, sir. Everyone has a partner. Who you ended up with was luck of the draw.”

“Except for Devin and Liberty,” Crash pointed out.

More grumbles. Some loud enough he could hear.

Odette piped up first. “How come you two get to be partners and no one else who is a couple does?”

“Because I'm the boss and I knew you'd all be gunning for me. I needed an extra edge, which I got because Liberty is an expert paintballer.”

Once the guy started speaking again, Liberty's warm lips connected with his ear. “I should be upset you're so good at stretching the truth, but I'm more annoyed that you put me in the line of fire with that ‘expert' comment.”