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  "No, look, Sherry, I'm behind you. Really. Anything that's good for you, I'm happy for. You still going to remember us when you're a star?"

  Sherry punched his arm hard enough to hurt. "Dang," he exclaimed. "I hope he's going to teach you to act like a lady."

  "Speaking of that. Why isn't she your girlfriend?"

  Chase rolled his eyes. Trapped—even if he wanted to floor it, traffic heading toward Route 15 was choked with trucks, and he was stuck with Sherry for another ten minutes at least. "Well, I live here. She lives in another state."

  "So?" Sherry shrugged. "Visit her between hitches. Lots of other guys have long-distance relationships."

  That was hard to argue with. Given the ratio of men to women in Conway, most single men had girlfriends back home who they went to visit whenever they got the chance, driving for hours or crowding onto the few flights out of the tiny local airport. Long-distance relationships were the norm, not the exception, for oilmen.

  "I don't," Chase said testily.

  "Well, forgive me," Sherry said, but she didn't sound very happy. "Listen, I thought we were friends."

  "We are friends."

  "Yeah? Well, when are you going to tell me why you live like a monk up here? Is there some law against having fun where you come from?"

  "Sherry, you know I come from the exact same place as the rest of the guys—"

  "Yeah, yeah, Red Fork, Arkansas, home of the Fighting Bulldogs," Sherry said. "I know, I know. I feel like I went to your high school. What I want to know is, when are you going to get over losing your dad and realize you deserve to move on with your own life?"

  "I'm not—"

  "At least you had him until he was old," she said. "My parents... well."

  She didn't cry. She never did. Still, Chase felt small for reminding her of the pain of her parents' accident.

  He hadn't ever known his mother, but he'd had his dad his whole life, and now his father's legacy, which would allow him to do whatever he wanted. Sherry had a kid brother to worry about, and two jobs just to make ends meet.

  "I'm sorry," he said. "I was being a jerk."

  Sherry shrugged. "I don't care if you're a jerk. I'm used to it. I just don't want you to be a pathetic jerk."

  "Well, what am I supposed to do about it?"

  "How the heck am I supposed to know? Look, I've already turned around my and Harry's lives this week. You're going to have to do your own. Only I'll give you a start, okay?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Two things." She held up two fingers. "Number one? You need to let go of what your dad thought. So you didn't see eye to eye. Okay. Now you get to do your own thing, which is what you've been telling me to do ever since we met."

  "Point taken," Chase muttered. "What's the second thing?"

  "Figure out this girlfriend thing," Sherry said, putting her feet up on the dashboard and trailing her hand out the open window. "Because you're just too darn pathetic by yourself."

  * * *

  Regina stirred her club soda with the little red and white straw the waitress had brought. The Tip Top was nothing like any truck stop she'd ever seen. Not that she'd seen that many. Other than driving past them on the way from Nashville to Chicago, a trip she made once or twice a year for family holidays at her parents' house, she'd never given them much thought.

  But when Carl texted her to collect on her promise to have lunch, she'd chosen the establishment out of spite. It did have the tallest, and largest, sign in town. Under the pink neon star were the words HOT SHOWERS BEST COFFEE IN TOWN BREAKFAST SPECIAL PRIME RIB.

  The lunch menu, however, did not feature prime rib. Regina scanned the offerings, planning to order the most expensive thing since she was going to make Carl pay for it, but since that was the "Driller's Special," which included four eggs, a New York steak, home fries, toast, and sausage, she was going to have to choose something else. Her stomach didn't really feel up for such a big meal.

  To be honest, her stomach didn't feel up for much at all. After Chase left this morning, her day had taken a turn for the complicated. First, there was a call from Meredith, who peppered her with questions about the hiking and the views and the rafting. Regina, who made a policy of lying only when absolutely necessary, mumbled something about the weather having kept her inside, and catching up on her reading, and then pretended to take another call when Meredith pressed for details.

  Next was a call from Priscilla, who was calling to brag that her six-year-old daughter had played the most complicated piece at her violin recital, and then forced Regina to listen as the child sawed and screeched her way through the piece over the phone. It was small consolation that the famous McCary talent appeared to have skipped a generation. Priscilla didn't ask about Regina's life, other than a quick "say hi to Curt" at the end of the call, which made Regina wonder if it was worse that her sister couldn't remember Carl's name, or that she forgot they were no longer dating.

  Which made her think of Chase, of course, and the fact that he was still trying to please his father who had passed away. Was that what she was doing? Trying to impress her family at the expense of her own dreams? Surely not. She had worked so hard to carve out her own space. She had chosen country music specifically because her family knew nothing about it. In fact, they liked to pretend it didn't exist. Classical music was all the McCarys knew, and that was fine with Regina.

  Except she'd been pushing herself so hard to succeed that she'd almost forgotten how to enjoy life, something she proved to herself when she decided to sit out by the hotel pool in the afternoon. After buying a stack of magazines and a bottle of sunscreen, she'd only lasted an hour before the sight of the moldy, cracked-concrete swimming pool, complete with water bugs and a vending machine that was out of everything but grape Fanta, became too depressing to bear.

  She'd watched a little TV, resisting the urge to check email or take care of the thousands of work tasks piled up on her laptop, until it was time to get ready for dinner. She was down to two clean dresses, and she wasn't about to wear her favorite for Carl, though running her hands over the aquamarine silk did take her into a daydream that involved Chase tugging down the zipper with his teeth. By the time she touched up her makeup and headed out the door, she was ten minutes late.

  But naturally, Carl was even later. It was one of the habits that, when they were dating, Regina told herself would improve once they moved in together. It never did. Carl would take calls in the car while she waited; he kept her waiting at restaurants and shows and concerts and parties. He was always apologetic, always swearing that it had been an "emergency." Well, she wouldn't have to worry about that any more.

  When he slid into the booth across from her, she'd practically memorized the menu and gone through two more glasses of club soda brought by the sympathetic waitress, a sixty-ish type who was built like a schooner and insisted that Regina was too thin and ought to consider a cheeseburger. Carl was wearing a black shirt with gray piping and a curlicue embroidered over the pearl buttons. One anyone else, it might have looked fussy. On him, it looked like cowboy couture.

  "So, babe," he said, leaning in for a kiss that Regina neatly deflected, so that his lips only brushed her cheek. "Let's celebrate."

  "What are we celebrating?" Regina asked drily, but Carl either didn't catch her tone or ignored it.

  "I've already had strong interest from several of the top labels," he said, leaning back in the booth with his hands clasped behind his head. "And that was just from playing Sherry's tape over the phone. Going to get her up into the studio next week."

  "Good for you." Regina didn't even bother to try to sound enthusiastic.

  "Hey, don't be like that. This is a success for both of us. After all, I couldn't have signed her without you. Tell you what. Let's go to the Bahamas to celebrate."

  "I'm not going to the Bahamas with you!"

  The waitress appeared, her pencil poised over her order pad, and looked from Regina to Carl and back. "You sure about that, honey? The
man wants to take you somewhere nice..."

  "I'm sure."

  "Or the Alps," Carl continued as though neither woman had spoken. "I've always wanted to go to Switzerland in the summer."

  The waitress's eyes widened, but Regina only set her menu down and sighed. "Just the club sandwich for me, please. On wheat toast."

  "You're not fun," Carl accused.

  "I don't know about that," a deep voice rumbled.

  Regina whirled around in her seat. Chase had approached their booth and was glaring at Carl with his arms folded across his chest. He nodded to the waitress. "Hey, Ronnie, how's the knee?"

  "Better, sweetheart, thanks for asking—you know these two?"

  Chase shrugged. The expression on his face eased when his gaze skimmed from Carl to Regina. "Enough to say hi. Enough to know she's more fun than she thinks she is, anyway."

  "Hey there," Carl said frostily. "Nice seeing you, though I'm surprised. I thought we settled everything this afternoon."

  "You mean when you called me." Chase continued to look at Regina, while he spoke to Carl. "To let me know that even if I'd signed with Regina here, I could still change my mind and back out of the contract."

  "Heh," Carl said, wincing.

  Regina rolled her eyes. Such a Carl move.

  "Well, I'm sorry to break up your little party," Chase said, digging in his pocket for his wallet. He peeled off a twenty and handed it to Ronnie. "That ought to cover their drinks. Unfortunately, Regina and I need to get going."

  "Going where?" Carl sputtered.

  "Oh right... that, um, thing," Regina said. She wasn't sure why Chase had come looking for her, after their wistful parting earlier in the morning. Maybe he just wanted to give her the message again... that he wasn't available. That it wasn't going to work out between them. Which she wasn't sure she could go through again. On the other hand, it beat sitting here with her slick ex-boyfriend, who couldn't stop competing with her even when he was trying to seduce her. "Gosh, I almost completely forgot. How careless of me! I'm so sorry, Carl, how about a rain check back in Nashville?"

  She slid to the edge of the booth. Chase offered his hand, which she took without hesitation. Then she had a new problem—trying to ignore the flutter of sensation that went straight to the core of her when they touched.

  "Now look here, Reggie, I get that you're a little peeved with me," Carl protested. "I maybe could have handled this a little differently. But that doesn't mean you have to fly off the handle and get yourself all wound up just to prove something to me. Look here. You want to sign this guy, fine. You win, fair and square. But you can take care of the paperwork later. The work day's done. Let's just enjoy ourselves."

  "I can't believe you said that," Regina said. "Since when did the end of the work day mean anything to you? Do you know how many nights I had to eat microwave dinners in front of the TV because you didn't get home when you said you would?"

  "Damn, Carl," Chase said mildly. "I guess your job must be a lot more interesting than I thought."

  Carl shot Chase a thunderous look. "I don't know if your oil boy here told you, but they work twelve-hour shifts on the rigs, and that doesn't count the drive to the job site. It's not like he's going to make it home before dark either."

  "Are you seriously jealous?" Regina demanded. She stabbed the table in front of Carl angrily with her finger. "For your information, Chase turned me down. He doesn't want to be a singer. He likes his job. So don't worry. He's not going to come to Nashville and compete with you for attention."

  "Piece of advice, Carl," Chase said as he settled his hand on Regina's waist and guided her away from the table. "Try the fried chicken. Best in the county."

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  "Just drive me out of sight," Regina said when Chase helped her up into the cab of his old red pickup truck. "A block or two should do it. I'll just walk back to my motel."

  Chase started the engine without looking at her. "Girl, we're going on a road trip."

  "We're doing what?"

  "You're on vacation, right? And the way I understand it, you can't show your face back in Nashville for a while longer, and I can't believe the four walls of your motel room are all that interesting, so I'm taking you to see the sights."

  "At night? What's there to see, exactly, in the middle of Nowhere, North Dakota?"

  He shot her a smile before shifting gears. His truck smelled like wool and tobacco and tools. Man smells... nice smells. The way, it occurred to Regina, a truck ought to smell.

  It was a far cry from the new-leather and cologne smell of Carl's Porsche.

  "Tell you what," Chase said. "How about I drive, and you don't ask questions?"

  "Why would I agree to that?"

  Chase shrugged. "Why wouldn't you? I mean, what do you really have to lose?"

  They drove through town while she tried and failed to come up with a response. The men returning from the day shift streamed into the Wal-Mart parking lot and fast food restaurants. They'd sleep well tonight, Regina thought, yawning, after a hard day of physical activity. She herself had tried to nap after her failed attempt to relax by the pool, since she'd had only a couple hours of sleep the night before, but the noise that penetrated the motel's thin walls had kept her awake. Well, that and the thought of Chase and the things they'd done...

  "You're taking me to a rig," she guessed, in an effort to distract herself. He probably wanted to show her why he was choosing a life of hard labor over what she offered him. Well, it would be interesting, at least. She'd never seen an oil rig... She wasn't even sure she knew what they looked like.

  "We'll probably see a rig or two," Chase said agreeably. It wasn't exactly an answer. "You didn't get to eat. Are you hungry?"

  "Not really," Regina said drowsily. "That conversation with Carl left me a little unsettled."

  "Suit yourself, but Matthew made us a picnic. Got it behind the seat."

  A picnic... That was sweet—the sort of gesture that would never have occurred to Carl.

  "See those orange lights out there?" Chase asked after a while. They were outside the town now, headed into the black star-dusted night, through fields planted with wheat and soybeans. Looking out toward the horizon, Regina saw dots of orange. "Those are the rigs. That's the flare gas burning. And the lights. Got 'em lit up all night, since the work never stops."

  "Pretty," Regina said, and then she yawned. "Oh! I'm sorry. I'm just...."

  A blush crept over her cheeks. She didn't want to say it. I'm just a little fatigued because of the things you did to me with your hands and your lips and... no. Definitely not. If they were going to pretend last night never happened, then she was going to keep her end up.

  Chase laughed. "No problem. I caught a nap in the hammock today, so I'm good. Why don't you doze a little? I'll wake you up when we get there."

  He reached across the seat and patted her knee. The gesture, which Regina was sure was meant to be innocent, felt anything but. Her hand moved of its own accord, to join with his —but he pulled his hand out of the way at the last minute, draping it casually over the steering wheel.

  Regina let her eyes flutter closed to cover her embarrassment. She focused on the gentle rumble of the truck's engine. She didn't know much about cars, but it seemed to her that this one, though old, was well maintained. Well, Chase probably had to do all the maintenance himself to save money.

  It was nice, though.... The motion of the car lulled her into gentle relaxation. She rested her head against the old bench seat.

  "You can lie down if you like," Chase said. "Plenty of room on this seat."

  It was tempting, but that would put her head practically in his lap. And while the idea of his jeans-clad thigh serving as a pillow had a certain appeal, Regina wasn't sure that was what he was offering. He was just being polite.

  "Thanks, but I'll be fine," she said lightly.

  A few moments later, he began to hum. Regina didn't know the tune—a sweet, melancholy slow melody in a minor key�
�but the sound of his voice combined with the gentle purr of the engine to lull her to slumber.

  * * *

  Chase sure as hell hoped he knew what he was doing. Regina had been asleep for half an hour when he finally relaxed a little. He'd gently prodded her shoulder just to make sure, and the poor girl hadn't even stirred . What would he have done if she'd refused to come along on this hare-brained adventure? There were promises on the line, promises he had no business making and little hope of keeping.

  But Sherry had called him pathetic, and he'd had to kind of agree with her, and he didn't like the way that felt one bit. After all, there was nothing more pathetic than a man who didn't make an honest effort.

  In the past forty-eight hours, since he first laid eyes on Regina McCary in the smoky interior of Buddy's Tavern, Chase had done a fair amount of thinking about effort—and conviction and determination and the path he'd carved out for himself. And to his surprise, he'd come around to a tough realization: he'd gotten it all wrong.

  A man could go hell-for-leather, sacrificing everything to stick to his path, and it would all be for nothing if he chose the wrong direction in the first place. Chase's mistake hadn't been turning away from Gerald and everything his father had wanted for him. Never mind that he'd never been able to explain that to his father That conversation came under the heading of "regret," a place Chase still saw no reason to go.

  But he'd spun his compass and set out in the wrong direction. Oh, the oil field was fine. Chase was happy there; it fit him. But the solitude he'd chosen was another matter. He didn't have to be alone to prove to himself that he was tough enough. On the contrary, Chase was beginning to see that letting someone else in might be a test of real strength.

  He'd resisted Regina because she saw him for something he wasn't. Not just her perception that he didn't have two nickels to rub together, though he really ought to set her straight about the whole inheritance business at some point, but the fact that she saw a lucrative recording contract when she looked at him.