No.She sucked in a breath, straightened her spine. His suspicion didn't hurt; it pissed her off. Just what did he think she was going to do, demand heservice her? "Look," she snapped, "I can go by myself, if you'd rather not. You're the one who keeps harping about taking someone with me every damn place I go."
"Did I say no? Christ. Give me a minute to change gears." He climbed to his feet and followed her off the bus, his book still in hand.
They didn't speak, and a tension that neither acknowledged grew with every step that brought them closer to the assigned room. When they reached a door with her name on it, he took a step back and looked at her with shuttered eyes. "I'll wait out here."
"Whatever. I'm not rushing for you, though, so you might wanna get comfortable." She nodded at his book. "You may just get to finish that." Opening the door, she paused to glance at him over her shoulder. "You want to-" A huge yawn caught her unawares and she went with the flow, dropping her bag to stretch her arms in opposite directions as she inhaled a lungful of air, then expelled it in a long, squeaky, attenuated breath. "Sorry," she said once it passed. "You want to come in and grab a chair?"
Taking another brisk step back, he tipped his chin toward the corridor they'd just traversed. "I saw one down by those props. I'll go grab that."
"Suit yourself." She essayed an indifferent shrug even though her first inclination was to break into a happy dance.
She walked into the room but immediately stepped back out into the hall when he strode away. Slipping off her sandals, she watched until he was halfway down the long hallway, then grabbed her bag, eased the dressing room door closed behind her and raced down the corridor in the opposite direction. Reaching the exit, she glanced back and saw him leaning over a stack of old scenery. His shirt strained across his shoulders, his jeans pulled tight over his muscular butt, and for a moment she stood frozen, staring at him. Then she caught herself and pushed through the door before he could see her. She put her shoes back on and jogged around to the front of the venue.
A taxi arrived scant moments after she'd reached the arena's main entrance and she slid inside. "Hotel Teatro in Denver, please."
The morning rush-hour traffic doubled what should have been a twenty-minute ride back to Denver, but eventually the cab pulled up to the long sidewalk awning that protected patrons of the boutique hotel from the elements as they crossed the sidewalk to the ornate front entrance. A doorman came forward to open her door.
"Good morning, miss."
"Good morning." She relinquished her overnight bag to the bellman who came out for it, then followed him into the hotel. Pausing inside, she managed to take in the sweeping staircase, the rich use of marble throughout the lobby and the intricate ceiling without gawking. It was a near thing though, for first-rate hotels were still pretty new to her. Trying her best to project an image of a woman who frequented places like this all the time, she turned through the archway to her left to check in at the front desk.
In short order she'd been escorted to her suite and shown the amenities. She tipped the bellman, closed the door behind him and leaned back against the smooth wood with a sigh of relief. Then she pushed away and went into the bedroom to unpack. After calling room service she flopped down to watch a morning show while she waited for her breakfast to arrive. Propping her feet on the coffee table, she gazed around contentedly. This was heaven.
Not long after she'd finished eating, however, she began to grow antsy. For all that she'd been dying for some privacy, she was accustomed to being surrounded by people. And without someone to share it with she didn't quite know what to do with the entire day that stretched in front of her.
She supposed she could watch more television. But a little viewing went a long way and at the moment she wasn't interested in anything on the schedule. She could go shopping or work on the song that had been scratching at the back of her mind for a while now. Except shopping was more fun with a friend and the song still had some percolating to do before she could even begin to delve into it.
Then, just like that, it came to her what she wanted to do.
She wanted to see Gert MacDellar. Years ago John Miglionni had located Jared for J's sister and in tracking him down had gotten P.J. as a bonus. When they sent Jared home to Colorado Springs, John's office manager, Gert, had taken P.J. in until Mama could be convinced to take her back. She had discovered later that Gert had also seen to it that her mothergot convinced, and on Gert's schedule, not Jodeen's. For months Mama had bad-mouthed the older woman something awful as a blunt and bossy old broad. But P.J. had adored Gert for those very reasons. She had known exactly where she stood with her and Gert had treated her the way P.J. always imagined real families treated each other.
They'd kept in sporadic touch over the years but P.J. hadn't actually seen Gert in person since the day the crotchety old woman had carefully packed the new dresses she'd bought P.J. into a sturdy suitcase and driven her down to Mama's trailer in Pueblo.
Energized, P.J. called the concierge desk for a taxi.
If she also felt a brief jitter of unease, she shoved it aside. Maybe it was reckless to waltz into Jared's business, but-what the hell-he was safely stashed out at the amphitheater. Besides, it had been a tough week. She was due to catch a break.
If she had second thoughts when her ride pulled into the small parking lot that fronted Semper Fi Investigations' converted Arts-and-Crafts-style house, it had nothing to do with J. Maybe Gert wouldn't want to see her. Yes, she had responded to P.J.'s occasional letters, but maybe that was just old-lady good manners. Gert probably wouldn't even recognize her, and then P.J. would have to introduce herself and everyone would feel awkward and-
"You will get out now?" the cabbie asked in his musical accent.
"Yeah." Taking a deep, controlled breath, she opened the door and stepped out. The taxi immediately reversed in a tight, fast turn, rocked to a halt, then shot out of the lot. It was already at the corner light by the time she climbed the stairs to the covered front porch. A discreet chime sounded when she opened the door.
Going from bright sunshine to dimmer indoor lighting blinded her and for a minute she simply stood on the threshold. Then an irascible voice said, "Close the door. We're not paying to air-condition the great outdoors."
P.J. laughed, her nerves settling. That was the Gert she'd known, and she could see her now, seated behind her enormous oak desk, sporting the same blue-tinted up-do and cat's-eye glasses she'd had the last time P.J. had seen her. "You said the same thing to me fifteen years ago."
"Then you don't learn very fast, do-" Cutting herself off, the elderly woman with the ramrod posture rose to her feet, her hand going to her bony chest. "P.J.?" She rounded the desk and strode over, stopping right in front of her. "Well, my God. Itis you."
"Hello, Gert. It's been a long time but you haven't changed a bit."
"And you're all grown-up. But that voice is the same. I should have known it from the first word out of your mouth." She reached out a hand as if to touch P.J.'s face, but then let it drop to her side. And that glimpse of uncertainty made P.J. lose her own.
Closing the distance between them, she gave Gert a hug.
The old lady squeezed her fiercely in return, then held her at arm's length to conduct a comprehensive appraisal. "You might not have grown any taller, missy, but you grew up real pretty. You finally have a little meat on your bones."
She grinned. "That started in your kitchen with the brownies you made. You still have that Felix the Cat clock on your wall?" She'd loved Gert's house. It had been a seven-room ode to the forties and fifties.