FLOWERS and CAGES (20 page)

"It was delivered this morning. Our band manager, Alden Christopher pulled a few strings with the dealership in Los Angeles."

A brand new Porsche. The car must have come in from Phoenix. Not a big deal for a big name rock star, but that kind of preferential treatment wasn't an everyday occurrence in Colleen's world. Or every week. Or year.

Reverentially, Colleen ran her hand over the gleaming finish. Not a speck of dust in sight. The person who delivered the car must have washed and polished it before handing the keys to Dalton. She doubted that he noticed. He would be used to little touches like that. It emphasized in flashing neon how different his world was from hers.

"You didn't get the same color."

Placing his hand on the car's surface—almost touching Colleen's—Dalton said casually, "I've grown partial to red."

There was nothing casual about the butterflies his words caused in Colleen's stomach. They stood next to the vehicle that would carry him out of her life, and he chose this moment to slather on another layer of charm?
Jerk
.

"Did you say something?"

Colleen was certain she hadn't. Has Dalton read her mind? Connected was one thing. Telepathy was a level of togetherness she wasn't certain she was ready to explore. Ever.

"It's gorgeous."

Dalton dangled the keys in front of Colleen. "Want to take her for a drive?"

"Does a bear do his business in the woods?" Practically giddy, Colleen grabbed the keys, then looked at her feet. "It's a stick shift. I need different shoes. And a bra. This t-shirt is practically see-through. If we meet up with someone, I don't feel like giving them a free show."

"While you're changing, pack a bag."

That stopped Colleen in her tracks. "Where are we going?"

"Los Angeles."

Slowly, Colleen walked back toward Dalton. She must have misheard.

"Los Angeles, California?"

"Is there another?" Dalton's lips twitched before morphing into a full-on grin. "You should see your face. Wait." Lickety-split, he pulled out his phone, taking Colleen's picture. "Look. I'd title this one
flabbergasted
."

Colleen pushed the phone away. Yes, she looked surprised. Who wouldn't? Dalton Shaw—casual as you please—had just asked her to accompany him to Los Angeles. With no warning. No lead-up. Out of the freaking blue. How else was she supposed to react?

"It's a little far to go for a test drive."

"It's September."

"But it feels like the middle of July. So?" Colleen needed more than a reminder of the changing calendar. She needed details.

"Let's go inside. Pretty soon, your nose will be as red as the car."

"A few minutes ago you were all charm. Now you're comparing me to one of Santa's reindeer?"

"Santa's
heroic
reindeer." Dalton reminded Colleen, guiding her into the apartment.

"Never mind." Colleen wasn't in the mood to debate fictional North Pole dwellers. "What do Los Angeles, September, and most importantly, me, have to do with each other?"

Seating her first, Dalton flopped onto the sofa. "I've done the,
remember the bad times tour.
For the most part, I would say it was a hit. Not that there weren't a few sour notes. I learned a few things about myself and my sister. I may have changed your mother's opinion of me from bad to good."

Colleen couldn't argue with that. "She's a sucker for a good present. The earrings you gave her have leapfrogged to the top of her favorites."

"
And
I met you. Which, in order of importance, should have been mentioned first."

"There's that charm again."

"It isn't deliberate."

"That's what makes it so lethal."

Dalton's arm swung around Colleen's shoulders. "Here's the low down. The last thing I said to my friends was,
see you in September
. We are headlining a benefit concert on Wednesday—which I can't miss. Come with me. Watch the concert. You've never seen us live."

"My job."

To be honest,
Dole's Auto Repair
could sink into the dusty ground for all she cared. Chances were, she had ratcheted her last lug nut at that place. Other than some back salary, Colleen never wanted to see the greasy walls again. She wanted desperately to tell Dalton yes. Just as desperately—illogical as it may be—she grasped at a reason to say no.

"If you want, you can come back on Thursday. Private jet. Train. Hell, I'll send you by taxi."

Colleen didn't care about her mode of transportation. If was the first part of Dalton's statement that stuck in her head.

"
If
I want to come back?" Did she have a choice?

"You can stay as long as you want. I wouldn't argue if you never left."

"Dalton—"

Pressing his hand to Colleen's lips, Dalton met her gaze. It was hard to read what was going on behind those brilliant blue eyes. "For now, all I'm asking is that you come with me. Think of it as a vacation. When was the last time you took one of those?"

"I don't know. Maybe never."

"To say you're overdue puts it mildly."

"I want to say yes." More than anything.

"Then it's settled." Dalton gave her a gentle kiss. "We can talk about the rest later."

It didn't take Colleen long to change her clothes. Or pack the few things she deemed appropriate to wear in Los Angeles. Before heading out, she called her mother, expecting all kinds of arguments on why going away with Dalton was a colossally bad idea. After all, a pair of big, bold, shiny earrings only bought so much goodwill. Leave it to Sherry to surprise her daughter once again. Instead of a lecture, Colleen received a blessing and a bon voyage. Mothers, Colleen shook her head. She would never figure hers out.

"Ready?" Dalton asked, securing his seatbelt.

"Let's hit the road."

Life was filled with unforgettable moments. Colleen had a feeling, when she looked back, this one would rank near the top. She sat behind the wheel of a brand new, fire-engine red Porsche. On her way to Los Angeles. And riding shotgun, Dalton Shaw.
Was this actually happening
?

As the sign Colleen had seen so often in her dreams whizzed by, she had her answer.
Leaving Midas
. Damn straight this was happening. And best of all, she was wide awake, savoring every second.

THE TRIP FROM Midas
to Los Angeles flew by. On the day Dalton left for Arizona, all he could think about was coming home. However, from the second they left Midas in their rearview mirror, he wished for time to slow down. All because of Colleen.

First, watching the enjoyment she received from driving the Porsche was a sight to see. Dalton had never met anyone—man or woman—who appreciated a car's every nuance the way Colleen did. She sighed over the powerful engine. Chuckled as she shifted into high gear, breathing in the smell of expensive leather as the air from the open window blew her hair in every direction.

Observing her, Dalton was reminded of a drawing he saw in a Paris museum. The subject lay in a pool of water, her long, dark hair swirling in the water. This was similar. With a major difference. The woman in the painting wept. There were no tears for Colleen. Her smile was brighter than the Arizona sun and twice as warm.

"It's going to take an hour to comb the tangles from my hair," Colleen said, raising her voice over the sound of the wind and the tunes blasting from the radio.

"Want to close the windows?" Dalton only asked to play along. They both knew the answer.

"Hell, no." Turning toward Dalton, Colleen tipped her sunglasses down. Her green eyes glowed emerald bright. "Do you know what this feels like?"

"Tell me."

"Freedom."

Dalton didn't know how long they drove in silence. Colleen bopped to some classic rock, he watched Colleen. At some point, with no warning, she rolled up the windows, adjusted the air conditioning, and turned off the radio. That was when time really began to fly. When they started talking. There was no set topic. It wasn't about gleaning deep insights. Though, in a way, that's exactly what happened.

"I had sex for the first time on my sixteenth birthday."

Colleen's hands were busy pulling her hair into a semblance of a ponytail while Dalton steered from the passenger seat. He didn't think anything of it when she told him to grab the wheel. The stretch of road was long, curve-free and there wasn't another vehicle in sight.

"I beat you by a year."

"I concede defeat," Colleen laughed, taking back control of the car. "I didn't sleep around, though my reputation says otherwise. And it wasn't about rebellion. Or boredom. I liked sex. The boys I dated made up for lack of skill with youthful vigor. I contributed enthusiasm."

"Sounds fair." Dalton wasn't jealous. Though he couldn't help envying any boy lucky enough to have known the teenage Colleen.

"I thought so. Gossip runs rampant in a small town. I wasn't oblivious. My skin wasn't as tough as it is now. But looking back, I wouldn't change a thing."

"You scared them."

"How do you mean?" Colleen asked, her expression puzzled.

"It doesn't matter what century we live in. Girls are expected to act a certain way. You were a confident young woman who unapologetically embraced her sexuality. For those small-minded Midas assholes, you must have been a fucking nightmare."

"You think so?"

"I do." Dalton patted her knee. Another plus to Colleen driving. Because she wore shorts, he was able to admire the long expanse of her creamy legs.

"I like your way of thinking." Colleen's hand covered his, squeezing. "Why the drums?"

It was a startling turn in the conversation, but Dalton didn't hesitate to answer.

"It started out as a way to take out my aggression."

"Were you an angry boy?"

"I was…" Dalton tried to find the right word. "Frustrated. I never knew my father. My mother lived in her own drug and alcohol-filled world. Maggie was always a handful. I needed an outlet and finding someone to fight was never a problem. We were boys."

"If you say so." Colleen shook her head with a perplexed smile.

"Girls are different," Dalton agreed.

"Don't get me started on how girls deal with each other. That would take hours and boxes of Kleenex. I'm interested in you and your childhood need to pound things."

"I got lucky."

A teacher stepped into one of Dalton's fights. Mr. Dedham could have done the expected thing and sent the boys to the principal. Instead, he had them meet him after school in the auditorium.

"Pound on these instead of each other. Try it for one afternoon."

These
turned out to be a set of drums. The other boy, Dalton had long ago forgotten his name, did what he was told then left. Dalton came back the next day. Then the next. He had no idea he had found his calling. But from the first instant, he loved the feel of the sticks in his hands. He was hooked.

"And magically, you never got into another fight."

"Fair point, smartass," Dalton chuckled. "I've had my share since then. None since prison. I stopped blaming myself for that one long before my latest visit to Midas."

"Glad to hear it." Colleen took her foot off the gas. "I need to stretch my legs. While I check out the bathroom, why don't you get us something cold?"

The rest stop was full-service. Gasoline. Restrooms. The store had a big sign boasting fresh-picked local produce.

"Water or juice," Dalton asked, stepping out of the car. Colleen was right. He needed to move around.

"Anything without bubbles. I know you think I'm irresistible, but you might change your mind if you have to listen to me belch from here to Los Angeles."

Dalton was still smiling when the bell over the convenience store door signaled his entrance. The place wasn't crowded, but the young man behind the counter seemed to be doing a steady business. He estimated seven or eight patrons of varying ages. Walking toward the refrigerated coolers that lined the back wall, he was about to reach for a carton of orange juice when he heard the first whisper.

"Is that…?" a female voice whispered.

"OMG!" said someone else with a definite squeal. "I think you're right."

Amused, Dalton waited. He could have hurried down the far aisle—in the opposite direction. The exit wasn't that far away. Avoiding the inevitable would have been a piece of cake. Instead, he let them make their move. Or not. Fans were part of the price he paid for his success. A small, and more often than not, enjoyable price.

"Excuse me."

Turning, Dalton removed his sunglasses and smiled. The response made him grin. Unadulterated adoration. It was something he never got used to. Or tired of. After all, he was only human.

Two women, he guessed they were in their late thirties, stared at him with wide eyes surrounded by sunburned faces. They were dressed for the weather in baggy shorts and t-shirts. The brunette's shirt proclaimed her love for
The Ryder Hart Band
in bold red letters. He recognized it as the logo from their last tour.

"Did you make it to a concert?" Dalton asked, taking the pen from the woman's numb fingers. Unable to speak, she nodded, turning so he could autograph the back part of her shoulder.

"I was there, too." The other woman spoke up, pushing her mute friend aside.

"I hope you had a good time."

"Oh," she gulped, blinked, and then swallowed again. "It was the best show ever. Ever! Can I get a picture?"

"Absolutely."

That opened the floodgates. Every person in the store wanted an autograph, a picture, and a few moments of Dalton's time. He didn't know how, but their numbers seemed to multiply. Taking it in stride, he posed, keeping an eye out for Colleen.

"My granddaughter is going to have a fit when I post this on Facebook." Grinning, the woman who didn't look like anybody's grandmother, smooshed her face next to his before snapping the selfie. "Ella was supposed to be with me today but opted to sleep away the morning rather than take a boring road trip. Boring, my ass. By the way, you look even sexier without the beard." She planted her lips on Dalton's cheek, catching the moment on her phone.