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  That was where he'd gone wrong. Because he could swear that last night, in the moments that were burned into his memory as if by a red-hot brand against his heart, that it wasn't a country music star that Regina saw when she looked at him. When she touched him.

  When she called out his name.

  No. She was seeing him. The real version, the one he shielded from almost everyone, including himself. He wasn't defined by the tools he held in his hand or the songs he sang in the shower. His true self was something else entirely, and he'd managed to convince himself that Regina not only saw it, but liked it. Maybe even loved it.

  And that solved half of the problem facing him. The other half, well the other half was Regina's responsibility. But Chase thought he could maybe move that needle along. After all, he had less than two weeks, much less, if Regina decided to cut her vacation short and return to Tennessee, and he needed to make the most of that time.

  This spur-of-the-moment excursion was a gamble. They might be driving toward the dumbest idea he'd ever had. But it was all he had, so he kept going, the truck trundling through the North Dakota night.

  * * *

  Regina had been dreaming of Puddles.

  Puddles had been a wispy bit of fur the first time Regina laid eyes on her, just enough kitten to fit in her hand, the runt of the litter. Annabel and Priscilla, age eleven and twelve, had been promised kittens if they made the cut for all-city chorus, and had spent the summer talking of little else. When the audition results were posted and both girls were chosen, their parents had kept up their end of the deal and contacted a breeder of pedigreed American Shorthair kittens on Chicago's north side. Nearly a thousand dollars later, the back of the station wagon held two cat carriers, the cats' breeding papers were in their mothers purse, Annabel and Priscilla were ecstatic, and Regina was in tears. At eight years old, she knew she hadn't earned a kitten of her own and never would.

  But her father took pity on her. After they got home, he took Regina out for a drive that ended at the humane society. "Whichever one you want," he'd said, and she'd studied the cages full of unwanted kittens and found the smallest, most pathetic, trembling one of all trembling in the corner.

  The underdog. Or under-cat, as she came to secretly think of Puddles. She lavished attention on Puddles, hand feeding her, reading to her, taking her out in the sun when it was warm enough. Her sisters made fun of her undersized kitten. Even the other cats seemed to quickly catch on to the class structure in the house and ignored her. Puddles never got regular-cat size, and she was skittish around everyone but Regina, but Regina loved her fiercely.

  "Good morning, sunshine," a warm voice said, and a hand settled on her knee and squeezed. Regina's eyelashes fluttered open, and for a moment, she couldn't remember where she was. Then she caught a glimpse of dawn-pink sky, and discovered she was still in the cab of a truck belonging to the hands-down most appealing man she'd ever met.

  "Oh no, was I snoring?" she asked in horror, straightening the skirt that had gotten bunched up over her thighs as she slept.

  "Nope, just talking in your sleep. I sure as hell hope Puddles isn't the name of some guy back home...?"

  Regina blushed. "No, she was my… Oh, never mind." She wasn't about to explain to Chase that her best friend when she was a child had weighed less than five pounds and showed her love by catching and killing beetles and leaving them on Regina's pillow. "Have we really been driving all night? Am I kidnapped? Are you working on my ransom note?"

  Chase grinned. "Hadn't thought of that, but it's not a bad idea... I just needed a cup of coffee and I thought you might like to, uh, do whatever women do at rest stops."

  Regina had already grabbed her purse, grateful for the mini toothbrush she kept in her makeup kit. They were parked in front of a gas station, the old-fashioned kind with a diner attached to it. "Give me five minutes," she said.

  In the bathroom, as she freshened up and combed her hair, she wondered where exactly Chase had brought her. She'd never imagined an all-night road trip when he suggested a drive. She wasn't even sure what direction they'd come, though given the position of the sun, she thought maybe they'd gone west. Or north. Or possibly east... somewhere pretty, at any rate, with lush fields of crops and sheep dotting a hill in the distance.

  Yes, it was a little odd, but wasn't it kind of romantic, too? Maybe they were going to watch the sunrise over a vista point, or dip their feet into a waterfall. Chase was on a budget, she reminded herself sternly. Other than the cost of gas, this had to be one of the cheaper ways to show a woman a good time. Drives in the country—guys had been courting women that way for generations, hadn't they? Regina warmed to the idea as she carefully applied her favorite shade of lipstick—"Bombshell Scarlet"—and blotted with a tissue.

  Returning to the car, she passed a couple of old gentlemen rocking in cane chairs outside the diner. She could see Chase inside the shop, paying for coffee at the register.

  "Good morning, young lady," one of the men said, nodding. He was eighty if he was a day, a ball cap covering his few remaining strands of silvery hair.

  She smiled back. "It is a good morning."

  The second gentleman tipped his own hat, a straw number that looked like it had seen a lot of years of wear. "What brings you to Alden Springs?"

  Regina froze. "What... What did you say?"

  "Er..."

  "As in, Alden Springs, Wyoming?"

  Chase chose that moment to come out of the store, balancing a paper bag with two steaming cups of coffee. The wide grin on his face faltered when he saw her expression. "Something wrong, sweetheart?"

  "You brought me to Alden Springs?"

  Chase swallowed and exchanged a glance with the two old guys, who turned their attention to staring at the road, wise enough to avoid a dustup between lovers. Which he and Regina might not be much longer if he didn't handle this right.

  "I called ahead," he said quietly, taking her elbow and guiding her back to the truck. "We're expected. Have a little something to eat. You'll feel better."

  "You called Mason Crenshaw? What on earth would have possessed you to do such a thing?"

  "Now calm down and think this through a minute, Regina. You've had a couple of... disappointments this week, what with Sherry signing with Carl and I... Well, I didn't exactly turn out to be the client of your dreams. I just thought—"

  "If you thought that revisiting my biggest professional failure would make me feel better, you're crazy," she protested as Chase opened her door and helped her up into the cab. "I want you to turn this thing around and drive us home. Please. Please? I'm asking nicely."

  Chase closed the door carefully, making sure not to catch her dress. "Can't do that."

  * * *

  That dress was half the problem. Printed with tiny pink flowers, it looked like something his grandmother would have worn to clean the house in, except that the way it was cut with little puff sleeves and a neckline that dipped low enough to give a guy all kinds of imaginative ideas, with that little satiny bow right between her breasts – well, damn, one look at it when he laid eyes on her last night and he'd almost been ready to move to Nashville and become her client just so he'd be guaranteed a chance to see her on a regular basis.

  Except Chase didn't belong in Nashville. And he was getting the feeling that Regina didn't, either. And the only way he knew to prove that to her was to take her back to the site of her wrong turn.

  "You can. You just turn the wheel and head back to North Dakota. Or… or the nearest bus station. I don't care, just not... there."

  Chase didn't say anything, but he started back down the road, following the directions Mason Crenshaw had given him over the phone last night. Mason actually hadn't sounded all that upset. In fact, he'd sounded pleased. "She sure is something, ain't she?" He'd chuckled when Chase said he was Regina's "friend," and Chase had been momentarily tempted to hang up on him. But he was willing to forgive the young man's crush. He felt kind of bad about stretching the trut
h. Technically, he and Regina wouldn't really be "passing through" since he was pretty sure they'd be turning back the way they came before long—but in for a penny, in for a pound.

  "Oh, no," Regina moaned as the little downtown came into view.

  "Aw, come on, it's not that bad." In truth, it was a nice little downtown, bustling already at seven a.m., with trucks lined up outside the diner and a few ladies enjoying a walk down the street in brightly colored sweat suits. There were no other cars in front of Crenshaw Hardware, none but a very carefully maintained vintage Camaro that looked like it had been rebuilt with spare parts and a generous helping of faith.

  As they parked, the front door opened and a man came out, wiping his hands on his pants and squinting into the sun. Regina caught her breath, which Chase took as a good sign, and he jumped out of the cab and around to the other side before she could bolt.

  The young man's grin widened as Chase helped Regina out of the truck. In truth, he didn't even look twenty, more like an earnest and fresh-scrubbed eighteen. "Hey, Regina! It's about time you came to see me!"

  Then he picked her up and spun her half way around, hugging for all he was worth, and even though Chase sort of wanted to throttle the kid, he kept himself in check for all their sakes, and crossed his fingers behind his back for luck as they headed inside.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The shop was clean and well organized, even if it looked like it belonged to another era, with its old wooden shelves and antique cash register. After Mason had given them a tour, showing off the improvements he'd made to the display cases and inventory, he dragged a couple of folding chairs into his little office in the back and poured coffee. "I just made it," he said proudly. "Because I knew you were coming."

  Then he popped the top on his Mountain Dew. "You're still drinking that?" Regina said, laughing despite herself. Back when she'd been a brand new agent, she'd added "Mountain Dew" to the list of changes she had intended to make to her new client, along with a head-to-toe makeover and a new wardrobe. She knew better now. Fans would’ve responded to Mason, if they'd ever had the chance, for the same reasons she did. He was sweet and mischievous with a touch of devilish charm that girls would go crazy for.

  "So, you're doing good, looks like," Mason said. "Guess settling down suits you."

  He winked at Regina, and she felt her face go hot. "Oh… no… I didn't settle down. I mean, not with him. We're not. We're just..."

  "So we have a proposal for you," Chase interrupted.

  Regina turned to gape at him. He didn't meet her eyes, but dug in his pocket for a folded piece of paper.

  "What on earth is that?" she asked, but Chase ignored her.

  "Would you mind...?" he asked, pointing to a battered old Truetone acoustic hanging from the wall.

  "You play?" Mason slapped his knee. "I'd be glad to." He handed Chase the guitar and unfolded the piece of paper while Chase strummed a few chords.

  "See, the thing is, I can write 'em, but I can't carry a tune to save my life," Chase said, winking at Regina.

  "Chase Warner," she muttered, tempted to grab the guitar out of his hands and smash it over his head.

  "Now, honey," he said softly. "You know I told you I didn't want you to hear this one until we found someone to sing it to you proper. That okay with you, son?"

  Mason chuckled. "Happy to oblige."

  Then the two of them started up as though they'd been sharing a stage forever.

  The tune was a simple one, a romp through the key of C Major with a bluesy baseline. Mason hummed along, and instantly Regina remembered what had snagged her attention in the first place. His voice was fresh and irresistible, and he hit every note with the precision of a tuning fork.

  As Chase picked out the melody, he seemed to get more comfortable, adding a few little riffs here and there among the chords. By the second time around, he nodded at Mason and the boy began to sing the words.

  "Sometimes a fool loses his way

  and he sits out every dance

  Seems like it's never his lucky day

  but sometimes a fool gets a second chance."

  "Well," Mason said when the song was over, as Chase carefully leaned the guitar up against the old desk. "Don't suppose you want to tell me where you got the idea for that one."

  "Nope," Chase said. All traces of amusement were gone now. His eyes were dark and unreadable, and he put his hands flat on his knees and took a deep breath. "That would be for the lady to say."

  He was leaving it up to her. He'd written her a song, and managed to say everything—his history and hers, and theirs together and the future they could only dream of—in a few verses.

  "Chase," she said softly, clutching her hands together tightly to keep them from trembling. "That was beautiful. And, Mason"—her voice cracked—"hearing you sing again, it reminds me..."

  Why she'd gotten into this business? Not exactly. Because she hadn't gotten into this business to do anything but make money from other people's talent. Lots of money, acclaim, fame—until she could hold her head up high when she went back to Chicago for family visits.

  Except that had never really been what it was about. As she looked around the crowded office, with its old black-and-white photos and softball trophies and the row of guitars, and out into the shop with its kegs of nails and rows of garden tools and paintbrushes, Regina understood clearly, for the first time in her life, what her business was really about.

  "Underdog," she breathed. Underdog Enterprises. That wasn't a bad name, was it? Meredith wouldn't mind. She wouldn't be competing with Meredith. Or Carl either, for that matter. Because she wouldn't be searching out the Sherrys of the world, introducing them to the mainstream with the promise of money and fame.

  No. She'd be looking for the odd ducks, the ones who didn't quite fit. The ones who had a unique song to sing and a singular dream to share—not for the hordes, but for the few who really connected with their music. The ones who were more comfortable in a back-roads dive than on a stage in front of a huge crowd.

  "Chase," she whispered, almost unable to breathe from the excitement. "Do you suppose Buddy would let me book some acts?"

  Chase chuckled with what sounded a lot like relief. "Hell yes, woman. And God knows, after we lose Sherry, we're going to need something to keep the regulars entertained."

  "I don't know that I follow," Mason said agreeably, taking a big gulp of Mountain Dew. "But that wasn't a half bad song. You got more like that?"

  "Well, not quite like that," Chase said, reaching for Regina's hand and giving it a squeeze. "That was sort of a one-off. You now, to get the girl, and all. But I imagine I could come up with a few more for the right client."

  "I always thought," Mason drawled, leaning his chair back on its legs. "I mean, not to second-guess my agent, because she's tops, but I always thought what she and I were missing was a decent songwriter."

  Regina burst out in delighted laughter. "Give me a break," she said. "I was new back then. You suppose you could give me another shot?"

  "Well, I don't know," Mason said, his voice turning serious. "I mean hell yeah, I'd love to sing again. Kind of miss being on the road. But I love it here in Wyoming. I don't want to move."

  "What if we could fix it so you could do both? Maybe hire some help so you could record now and then, find you a nice independent label, someone with a compatible vision?"

  Mason nodded. "Yeah, I'd like that. Hell yes I would. Sometimes it gets a little frustrating, you know, singing to the mice and the old guys who come in here with their hearing aids turned off."

  "I need a few weeks," Regina said, the wheels turning faster in her mind. "I have to..."

  Give notice. And set up her own corporation. And talk to the clients she wanted to take with her. She wouldn't take anyone who was currently earning money for the Jester Group, just the ones they hadn't been able to place. The square pegs looking for round holes, the offbeat and publicity-shy and quirky.

  She could do this. Her
expenses were ridiculously low. There were a thousand venues between Nashville and North Dakota, all of them eager to book acts backed by someone with her credentials. And the indie labels were doing the most interesting work these days. She couldn't wait to get her hands on a phone and… "We need to go," she burst out, grabbing Chase's arm. "I've got calls to make."

  Chase looked both relieved and pleased. He raised his coffee cup in a toast. "Here's to the future," he said as two coffee cups clinked against a can of Mountain Dew.

  "So I take it I'm back on the payroll?" Mason asked.

  "If you’re willing," Regina beamed.

  "Good deal." He turned to Chase. "Man, I feel bad for you. You sure can write—it's just a damn shame you can't sing."

  Chase laughed. "Yeah, I hear you. I'm just hoping she'll find something else to keep me busy."

  EPILOGUE

  Sherrilyn Cates—Carl had dumped the name "Stiletta" as part of his development of his latest client—returned for a farewell concert at Buddy's only days after she signed with one of Nashville's top labels. She seemed a little embarrassed by the custom-made, thigh-high boots and shimmering metallic dress. She looked great, though. Her hair had been trimmed into a shoulder-grazing, magenta-tipped bob and her makeup was simple except for her bright red lips, which Carl said was an homage to Regina. He'd been a good sport about Regina's new venture, sending her half a dozen clients he hadn't been able to place.

  Regina crowded around a table with all of Chase's friends from the ranch. She'd gotten to know them well in a short time. Chase came down to Nashville on his weeks off, but she came up to Conway sometimes when she couldn't stand to go three weeks without seeing him, and that meant sharing close quarters with six other people. She'd even learned to share a bathroom with Matthew and Jayne.

  There was no way a long-distance relationship was a permanent solution, of course, but there were a few logistical issues to be settled. Like where Underdogs Talent Management should be located. And if that was going to be here in Conway, where they would build their dream house.