"What?"He shook his head. Then his eyes went from cool and disinterested to flat-out furious and between one heartbeat and the next he was towering over her, radiating so much rage and heat she was surprised she didn't go up in flames. "What difference did the size of my trust fund make? You and I shared something no one else could truly understand, but you waltzed off because I wasrich? Youknew that didn't matter."
"Yes, it did!" She could still remember exactly the way she'd felt when she'd learned he had a cook like someone in the movies, when she'd seen the Colorado Springs mansion he'd called home and heard him correct her grammar. She hadn't needed Mama's whispers that a rich boy like him would have no use for a girl like her to make her feel unworthy. "You lived in a palace. I lived in a trailer! You had your sister and John and your niece and your baseball buddies. You were exonerated of your father's murder. You didn't need me. Your life was perfect. Mine was-"
"Perfect?" he roared. "Fuckingperfect? "
Her driver poked his head out the bus door. "You okay, Miz Morgan?"
"Yes, thank you, Marvin," she said, barely sparing him a glance. Her attention locked on the hint of pain peeking out of Jared's eyes. Her heart beating an erratic tattoo, she began to suspect she had been wrong all those years ago. "I'm fine."
"Okay, then," he said with palpable reluctance and directed a hard glare at Jared. "Yell if you need help." He withdrew back into the bus.
Jared wrapped his hand around her upper arm and marched her away from the vehicle. When they'd reached a point he apparently found sufficiently removed, he dropped his light grip on her as if she were covered in toxic waste and casually slid his hands in his pockets. The pain she'd glimpsed was neatly tucked away once more and he gazed at her with that recently familiar lack of emotion.
"Yes," he agreed coolly, "I had my family and that was great. But my baseball friends were left behind when we moved up to Denver. And would you like to know what most people remembered about my father's murder, Priscilla Jayne?"
Nothing good, she was guessing, if the remote look in his eyes was anything to go by. Still she nodded.
"It wasn't that I was exonerated or that someone else was ultimately convicted. It was that I was accused of it. People don't remember the retractions, honey. They remember the headlines and the talking heads rehashing the manhunt for suspected murderer Jared Hamilton night after night."
"I'm sorry." Reaching out hesitant fingertips, she stroked them along his forearm. His skin under her hand was warm and firm.
He slid his arm out from beneath her touch. "Not a problem," he said carelessly. "It was a long time ago. So, listen, it's been real, but I've got some packing to do."
He started to turn away, but she grabbed his arm. "Jared, please," she said, hanging on when he merely stood and gazed at her gripping fingers as if they belonged to a stranger. "I don't want to part like this."
"Then we won't," he said with that careful politeness. "My flight leaves tomorrow night from L.A., so I'm going to ride down there with you. We'll chat. Catch up."
Yeah, sure they would. It didn't take a genius to see that was never going to happen and her temper started to percolate.
Maybe it was his well-mannered distance that put her back up. Maybe it was-she didn't know-something else entirely. His refusal to show a genuine emotion for longer than two seconds running, perhaps. Whatever it was, if this was goodbye, they were damn well going to say it her way.
"We'll have to do that," she agreed with a polite smile of her own. "But before you go, I have something to say."
"What?"
"Get your head down here," she snapped. "I'm not going to scream this out for any Tom, Dick or Harry who might be hanging around to hear. I'm on enough tabloid covers as it is."
He dipped his head obligingly and, reaching up, she slid both hands into the soft, cool strands of his hair. Then, yanking his head closer yet, she rose onto her toes and locked mouths with him.
She wasn't sure what she'd intended-or, okay, if she'd planned anything at all. But if she had, she was pretty sure it would've been something along the lines of a brief, hot kiss that she directed. Instead she lost control of the situation the minute their lips touched. Between one moment and the next, it seemed, it was all teeth and tongues and runaway heat. She found herself plastered to the hard warmth of Jared's long body while his hands splayed over her butt, keeping her close.
And, oh God, it felt good.
Too good. She could barely think. Ripping her mouth free, she stepped back.
"Take that with you when you go," she said, and if her voice sounded even raspier than usual, well, it couldn't be helped. Head held high, she whirled on her heel and strode back to the bus.
It took every ounce of willpower she possessed to not look back.
CHAPTER NINE
Headline, Nashville Tattler :
Mama Promises More Revelations about Priscilla Jayne's Shocking Secret Life
"DID YOU SEE THIS SHIT?" Furious, Hank stormed onto the stage and thrust the tabloid at Nell. "Shocking secret life, my ass. Something's gotta be done about P.J.'s old lady."
Taking the paper, Nell skimmed the article. "Jodeen doesn't seem to actually reveal any shocking secrets," she murmured when she finished. "Funny how that's often the way with these rags, isn't it?"
He snorted. "Like there's anything to reveal. Something's got to be done," he repeated.
"Like what? You going to take out a contract on her?"
He pretended to consider it. "Not a bad idea." Her startled look dredged forth a faint smile. "No, I'm not planning anything violent. But why the hell doesn't P.J. do something?"
Nell gave him a level look. "What's your mom like?"
"Mine?" His smile grew. "She's great."
"Thought you were wonderful, told you you could accomplish anything you applied yourself to?"
"Yep, that's my mama."
"P.J.'s mama pretty much ignored her or told her what a burden she was up until the day Peej showed signs of becoming a money machine Jodeen could cash in on."
He scowled. "My point exactly."
"Oh, you don't think you would've spent a good part of your life hoping your mother would somehow turn into the kind you were lucky enough to be raised by?"
"Hell, n-" But he cut himself off and thought about it. "I don't know. Maybe."
"I have a friend who's an E.R. nurse. She sees abused kids way too much, kids with broken bones whose X-rays show too many previous breaks to be accidental. And the one true constant, she once told me, is that they all deny their parents had anything to do with their injuries. It's a built-in defense mechanism, because the truth is just too ugly to admit."
"Shit."
"Yeah." Then she shook her head. "We can't do anything about Priscilla's bad luck in the parent pool and I doubt she'd appreciate knowing we were discussing it. So you want to help me with a song I've been working on instead? I've practiced it over and over again on piano, but I'd love to hear how it sounds on fiddle."
"You bet." Man, he liked this woman. She was smart and funny and talented-and he'd bet the bank she'd be one warm, round armful if he could ever get her there.
But she had a yen for Eddie. Idiot Eddie, for crissake, who would never in a million years appreciate a woman like her the way she deserved to be appreciated. And that was supposing the fool could manage to look past the superficial in the first place, which, considering how far removed Nell was from the twenty-something airheads in sprayed-on Lycra that Eddie generally went for, wasn't likely.
He had to admit, though, that his band mate, for all that he couldn't keep his pants zipped for more than four or five hours at a pop, didn't pretend to be anything other than what he was. He was honest and up front about his shortcomings.