"Yep. Everything's essentially the same. Thank you for the tickets to your concert, by the way."
Pleasure lit her up from the inside out. "You're coming, then?"
"Well, of course I'm coming. I wouldn't miss seeing you in action."
"Mac, have you seen the Pedersen file?" A tall sun-streaked brunette with a faint British accent strode into the room. "The blasted thing has disappeared." Seeing P.J., she halted midstep. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize anyone else was here." Then her dark eyes went wide. "Omigawd. You're Priscilla Jayne!"
It always surprised her-and thrilled her a little-to be recognized. She stepped forward, her hand extended. "Yes. How do you do?"
"This is Jared's niece, Esme," Gert said, then to the young woman added astringently, "Try not to drool."
"You won't remember this," P.J. said to the brunette, "but I met you once, a long time ago."
"I'm afraid I don't, but Mum's told me about it."
"How is your mother? I have a song called 'Mama's Girl' that makes me think of her every time I sing it."
"Mymum? Not your own?"
"No. Well."Good going, Morgan. You couldn't keep your mouth shut? Then she squared her shoulders and met Esme's gaze head-on. "I was a thirteen-year-old who'd been thrown out of my house when I met your mother and saw how much she loved you. It made a lasting impression on me."
Esme reached out and touched her arm. "I'm sorry. That was frightfully rude of me. Mum would be really honored to know you feel that way." Her gaze dropped to P.J.'s denim and froth skirt. "What a smashing piece."
"Isn't it great?" Running her hands down the garment she'd bought on the Los Angeles shopping trip, she smiled. "I was telling my friend Nell just last week that Gert started me on my love affair with skirts and dresses."
"You knew Mac before today then?"
"Yes. I lived with her for a short period. She bought me my very first non-hand-me-down dress."
Esme turned to the old woman. "You never told me that Priscilla Jayne lived with you."
"Yes, there's a surprise, dear. That I don't tell a twenty-one-year-old girl everything about my life."
P.J. grinned and gave Gert's hip a little bump. She knew the old lady's gruffness rubbed some people the wrong way, but she loved it. Because she knew it for what it was: a very thin layer over a solid-gold core.
"Is that what brings you here? A visit with Gert?"
"Yes."
"Did you know my dad, too?" Without awaiting an answer, she whirled off down the hall. "Daddy! You'll never guess who's here!"
"You might not surmise it from her constant chatter," Gert said wryly, "but she's a very bright young woman."
P.J. hadn't really considered the fact that she might see John, and her heart took a funny skip. She'd had such mixed feelings about him as a kid. Mostly she'd admired him and felt grateful to him for getting her and J off the streets. But a big chunk of her had been pea-green jealous of the way Jared had hero-worshipped the man who would become his brother-in-law.
But when he sauntered out of his office, fifteen years older but still lean and tall and easy in his skin, she smiled, her momentary unease dissolving. His black hair was dusted gray at the temples and was no longer worn in a long ponytail. But he hadn't lost an iota of the cool she remembered and still carried the same air of confidence and competency that even her thirteen-year-old self had known defined him.
"Well, look who's here," he said with a warm smile. "Little Priscilla Jayne Morgan, all grown-up."
"Hello, Rocket."
"Omigawd," Esme said. "Nobody calls him Rocket anymore."
"Except your mother and Jared," John said dryly, hooking an elbow around his daughter's neck and scrubbing his knuckles over her scalp. "And Coop and Ronnie and Zach and Lily and all their assorted kids."
She grinned. "Yeah, except for them."
Sliding his arm down to circle her shoulders, he hugged her to his side and directed his attention back to P.J. "So where's Jared?"
Her heart gave another of those funny skips but she gestured vaguely. "Out at the amphitheater. It's so big that the security walk-through should take up half the morning." Which wasn't exactly a lie-a walk-throughwould take half the day:if such a thing existed. She flashed him an insouciant smile. "Besides, there's nowhere safer than with you, don'tcha think?"
"I suppose that's a point. Congratulations on your success, by the way. Tori and I have been loving the hell out of watching your career rise." His cell phone rang in his pocket and he pulled it out to check the screen. "Excuse me for a minute. This is a call I have to take." He loped back down the hall and disappeared into his office.
Esme came back to P.J. and for a moment simply stood gazing down at her. "You're so tiny."
"Compared to you and your father and Jared, I am," she agreed. "I feel like a munchkin."
"I didn't mean that rudely. It's just that your voice is so big I assumed you would be, too." Esme gave her a crooked smile. "Which merely proves that axiom about whatassume makes of you and me, I suppose. Speaking of Jared-"
"Did your mother get the tickets I sent?"
Esme's face lit up. "Yes! How lovely of you. Mum had already bought some, but not in such a premium area! My best friend Rebecca is so jealous. We gave our old tickets to her and her parents."
Conversation around Esme never lagged, and P.J. found it easy to allow the young woman to take it where she would. She squeezed in chats with Gert in between Esme's topics and found herself having a perfectly lovely time. When the front door opened behind her she was seated in a chair pulled up to Gert's desk, her feet propped up on a pulled-out file drawer while she sipped iced tea from a tall, frosty glass. As she laughed a big belly laugh at an acerbic comment Gert had just made, it occurred to her that this was the most relaxed she'd felt all week.
A condition that promptly imploded when Jared's irate voice growled, "Security walk-through, my ass! What the hell do you think you're doing?"
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Headline, Country Billboard:
Priscilla Jayne Concerts Playing to Sellout Crowds
"HEY, UNCLEJARED!" Esme rushed over, her face alight with her habitual enthusiasm.
"Hey, pipsqueak." He leaned down to give her a fleeting peck on the lips, but barely broke stride in his unwavering advance on P.J.
He stopped in front of her, his hands firmly in his pockets to keep from doing her bodily injury. When he'd realized she was no longer in her dressing room-that she hadn'tbeen in the room the entire time he'd been sitting guard outside of it-his gut had turned into a mass of screaming nerve endings. She'd willfully put herself in danger on his watch.
That he wasn't happy about it was an understatement. "Say goodbye, P.J."
She looked up from her conversation with Mac, meeting his gaze dismissively. "When I'm ready."
He knew that stubborn look, but he was royally pissed and that trumped mulishness hands down. He wasn't about to take no for an answer. "Say. Goodbye," he commanded through gritted teeth, hauling her to her feet.
"Jared," Esme said uncertainly and Mac's eyes narrowed. But his willingness to carry little Miss Escape Artist out the front door-thrown over his shoulder like a sack of spuds if necessary-must have shown. P.J. turned to Mac.
"Thank you for treating me to the most fun I've had all week," she said warmly, rising onto her toes to plant a kiss on the older woman's cheek. "You come see me tonight after the show." She turned to his niece. "You, too, Esme. It was so good to see you again. Tell your mama I'm looking forward to seeing her tonight, as well." Projecting her voice to reach down the hallway, she said, "You can come, too, Rocket. If you absolutely must."
John's laughter floated out of his office.