Page 122 of Risking it for the Cowboy

Where had she gone? She’d walked away seven songs ago and never returned. There was only one more song in the set before they closed it down on “Last Goodbye” with her picking solo. It was a duet.

Maybe she’d gone to the bathroom?

He kept playing, distracted, glancing at Jack, then Bo, both of whom gave subtle shrugs. She was nowhere. Not in the wings on stage right or left. No longer with those record execs. He switched on the showman smile he didn’t have to think about as he plied a crowd, but his eyes roved this way and that.

He didn’t like Charlie disappearing.

Even with Jason still in jail this time, it made T.R. uneasy.

He brought down the song. Played his heart out through the ending. Kept grinning as he slung his guitar around his back and bowed to the vociferous applause. Darted backstage to the greenroom and pulled out his phone.

Charlie was always quick responding to a text.

He saw four missed calls and a voicemail. He unlocked his phone and noted all the calls had come from three capital letters. CUZ. Tyler?

He tapped play. “Thaddeus. Tyler here. Wanted you to know that Jason was once more bailed out of jail. Unusual, yes. Make sure Charlie knows. I sent her a text but hasn’t been read.”

Aw hell. Not the news he wanted. With Jason out and likely pissed, he wasn’t putting it past the bastard to do something that couldn’t be undone.

“We want more! We want more!” The crowd was chanting for an encore as he shoved out the greenroom door. He waved at his bandmates, nodding, and throwing up one finger.

“Stall,” he exaggerated, gesturing, knowing they couldn’t hear him.

Jack took the hint and started joking through the mic.

As soon as he got eyes on Charlie, he’d be fine.

He tried to take a calming breath. Remembered Charity. Remembered the anger coursing through him when Charlie had called, broken glass and police walkies staticky in the background. Years had cooled the beast. Keep that cool, man.

He edged along the crowd, all chanting at the stage, when someone spotted him.

“It’s him! It’s T.R.!” Phones started snapping pics.

He waved stiltedly.

“Where’re you going?”

“You’re so amazing!”

“Play us another!”

The demands lobbed at him. He darted out into the corridor where the bathrooms were.

Banged on the ladies’ room door. “Charlie?”

No answer.

Shit. Had she left? Why? He was her ride here.

He returned to the bar, curiosity spreading through the fringes of the audience.

“Hey, T.R.,” the bartender said. “Killer show.” He nodded toward the men to whom Charlie had been talking.

They grinned and approached.

“Fantastic show,” a bearded man in a sportscoat said, throwing out his hand.

T.R. shook. More and more distracted, he didn’t want to blow these guys off. Charlie had been beaming when she’d given him that thumbs-up. Jesus, now of all times? When he couldn’t give them the deference they were due?