Chapter 1

1

Macaulay Jensen stepped out of his tour bus and smiled. The sun was still low on the horizon, peeking from behind the distant mountains, but the air was already heavy with the promise of triple-digit heat. The ground was soft beneath his feet, the dirt worked into fine dust by endless traffic, and he could smell the freshly mowed grass, rolled out like a rich carpet in front of the stage. It was the best possible day for the concert, and the forecast promised there wouldn’t be any unexpected rain or last-minute thunderstorms.

“I just went and spoke to the stage manager,” Jill said from behind him. “You can do a sound check if you want. He said the stage is free at seven-thirty.”

“It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“The day. It’s beautiful out here.”

“Yeah. It’s great. Do you want to do the sound check?”

“No.”

Jill blinked. “What?”

“I want to go see who else is here.”

She held up a flyer. “You know who’s here.”

Hoolabaloo 2008 featured three days of music and attracted bands and performers from almost every style and genre. There were alternative bands, indie bands, country singers, folk singers, spoken word artists, thrash metal, classic bands, tribute bands, and some of the biggest names in the entire music industry. The program had no overall pattern. There was no rhyme or reason to the show. Whoever wanted to show up and play was more than welcome to sign up for a slot. When Jill asked if Macaulay wanted to add the date to his concert tour, he didn’t even think twice. He loved playing these types of festivals.

“I want to see who’s here right now. And maybe get a few autographs.”

Jill blanched. “We didn’t come here so you could add to your autograph collection, Mac.”

Jill had been his road manager since his first tour—almost ten years ago—but she still treated him like she didn’t quite know what to make of him.

“You don’t need to look so scandalized. I won’t knock on anybody’s trailer.”

“Look, we’ll just do the sound check, then we can find something to eat.”

He plucked the flyer from her fingers. “You go get something to eat. Somebody’s already made sure all the wires and plugs are hooked up.”

“But not yourwires and plugs, Mac. I’m just asking for fifteen minutes of your time.”

“‘Bye, Jill.”

He half expected her to chase him as he walked away, but when he glanced over his shoulder, she was still staring at him with mingled anger and confusion. It was actually one of her more common expressions. He waved, but she didn’t acknowledge him.

There was already a line of buses and trailers in the parking lot. They had pulled in at about three that morning, and Macaulay had tried to sleep through an endless parade of trucks arriving after them. But now everything was silent, except for the steady sound of drums floating to him from the stage, and the occasional shout from the men building the booths.

He couldn’t believe the park would be filled to capacity in just a few short hours, bursting with people, overflowing into the streets. Then the scent of blossoms and mowed grass would be overwhelmed by kettle corn, cotton candy, barbecue, funnel cakes, and cheap beer. The thought sent a surge of nostalgic excitement through Macaulay. It’d be just like the county and state fairs of his childhood, only without the stench of farm animals, and with the possibility of meeting some of his favorite musicians.

“There you are!”

Arms wrapped around his waist from behind, stopping him from turning around. Though he saw the tattoo of thorns ringing the feminine wrist, and the press of very full breasts against his back was unmistakable, he didn’t need to see her face to know who the smoky alto belonged to.

Wendy DeMartino. One of the headliners. As rock-oriented as he was alt-country.

The second reason why he’d known he needed to come to the festival.

She slid underneath his arm to face him. She’d cut her hair since the last time he’d seen her. Now it was short and spiky, though they’d been friends long enough for him to know the black was natural. It accentuated her pixie features, and her blue-gray eyes looked larger. Maybe it was because she wasn’t wearing any of the heavy makeup she did during her shows. He’d never tell her, but personally, Macaulay thought she was more beautiful without it.

“I was beginning to wonder if you were going to show up.”

“I rolled in around three.” Macaulay couldn’t hold back his smile. She had an energy unlike anything he had ever experienced. “What time did you get here?”

“Last night.” She rolled her eyes. “This place was fucking dead. I got stuck watching Mouse and Soderquist trying to outpiss the other. I’d tell them to just go get laid, but I wouldn’t wish them on my worst enemy.” Burying her face in his chest, she gave him a hug that squeezed his ribs. “But now you’re here. God, it’s been too long. Don’t disappear on me like that again, you hear me? I’ll hunt you down.”

He laughed. “I didn’t disappear on you. I went on tour. That happens sometimes.” He wrapped his arms around her tightly, letting her warmth seep through him. “You need to get me on your tour. I think I could stand playing a few stadiums.”

“Man, that would be great!” Wendy pulled back enough to wink up at him. “You’d bring in more chicks, that’s for sure. We’ve had to beef up security because of all the morons trying to get backstage.”

“Are you kidding? It feels like my entire fanbase is made up of guys.” The early sun reflected off her black hair, making it look almost blue. “What are you going to do with your day, since you’re not playing until tonight?”

“That depends. What’s my favorite guy doing today?”

Macaulay knew not to take her seriously—Wendy had flirted shamelessly with him since the day they met. Still, even though he was completely not taking her seriously, he felt himself flush a little. “I was going to make a fool of myself and collect autographs.”

She glanced around at the various idle vehicles. “Well, if you promise to keep me company until they rope me into the sound check, I can do some introductions for you. You should meet these guys anyway.” Her eyes glowed when she turned back to him, her smile somehow softer. “You’re too fucking good not to be pulling the same kind of gigs they do.”

Macaulay took her hand, folding his fingers around hers. “Maybe somebody important will hear me play today, and my big break will come. But my venues are getting bigger, and my manager is excited because Gift You Give Yourself has outsold my first album.”

“Oh, God, I lovethat album,” she said as they walked along the edge of the grass. “Every time ‘It Mattered Not’ comes on, everybody in the bus knows not to bug me. I get violent if I can’t hear the whole thing.”

Macaulay glanced away so she couldn’t see his pleased blush. She was the only woman—the only person—on the planet who had the ability to make his face and neck turn red.