barbecue was pure torment. Harlan Patrick retreated to the paddock with a cigarette he’d bummed from Slade. To his surprise the hand had been coaxed into joining the family—apparently by the very woman he’d protested vehemently that he wanted nowhere near him. Val had been looking especially pleased with herself all evening. Harlan Patrick was glad somebody’s romance looked promising.
He hitched himself up on the split-rail fence and tried not to light the cigarette or to think about Laurie. The last time he’d seen her she’d been telling stories about the country music business and the sometimes overzealous fans. She’d looked so alive, almost as alive as she’d been in his arms down by the creek that afternoon.
How could he even think about asking her to give up something that obviously brought her so much joy? How could he compete at all with the adulation of millions of fans? He was just one cowboy out of thousands who fantasized about her.
As he sat on the railing, he heard someone begin to strum a guitar. It might even have been his father, who professed to have musical talents, but sure as heck couldn’t carry a tune. Harlan Patrick’s heart clenched in anticipation. He knew it wouldn’t take long once the music started for someone to coax Laurie into singing.
Sure enough, that low, sexy voice of hers caught on a breeze and carried to where he sat. It was a new song, one he hadn’t heard before, and it was gut-wrenching, another surefire hit. Despite his instincts for self-preservation, he tossed aside the still unlit cigarette in disgust and began moving back toward the patio where everyone was gathered.
A security floodlight at the end of the patio bathed Laurie in a silvery glow as flattering as any spotlight. She had the guitar now, and her eyes were closed as she sang about lost love and past mistakes. Harlan Patrick had the feeling she was singing about the two of them, which made it all the harder to bear when the lovers in the song parted one last time.
As the last notes died, he was drawn to her side.
“That was beautiful,” he said in a quiet voice not meant to be heard over the family’s enthusiastic applause and catcalls. “A new song?”
Her gaze met his, and the rest of the crowd seemed to disappear.
“I’ve been working on it for a while now.”
“That ending’s a real tearjerker.”
She shot him a knowing look. “It’s the way it had to be.”
His heart seemed to slow to a stop. “Then you don’t see any way to change it?”
“Not offhand. Do you?”
He held out his hand. “Dance with me.”
She glanced around. “There’s no music.”
“I can fix that. Come with me.” When she hesitated, he grinned. “Dare you.”
Her eyes sparkled with a hundred shared memories of the mischief those two words had gotten them into. After another moment’s hesitation, she slipped her hand trustingly into his and went with him. He picked one of her CDs from a whole stack inside and slid it into the player, then turned the volume down low. This was for the two of them and no one else.
“We’re not going back outside?” she asked.
“Scared to be alone with me, Laurie?”
“Of course not.”
He tugged her gently into his arms. “Good. ’Cause I want you all to myself right now. Just you and me and this music that’s so all-fired important to you.”
She started to pull away, but he held her close. “That wasn’t a put-down.”
“It sounded like one.”
“You know me, darlin’—sometimes I’m not as good with words as you are.”
“Oh, please,” she retorted impatiently. “Nobody in Texas is better at a turn of phrase than you, Harlan Patrick. That’s why women fall all over themselves chasing after you.”
“Maybe I should try my hand at writing songs, then,” he suggested in jest.
She regarded him evenly, clearly taking the idea far more seriously than he’d intended. “Maybe you should.”
“I’d be lousy at it.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because I’d be writing them with happy endings.”
She sighed and rested her head against his chest. “You’re right. You are the ultimate romantic.”
He was amused by the wistful note in her voice. “Why is it that I have to fall for the only woman on earth who’d consider that a bad thing?”
“It’s not a bad thing. It’s just not very practical, especially in my line of work. Nothing sells better than a good ol’ song about love gone wrong.”
He pulled back and regarded her curiously. “Is that why you’re so