Hillbilly Rockstar (Blacktop Cowboys 6)

Too many times Devin had used Crash to deal with groupies who’d overstayed their welcome. “I’ll explain the situation.”

“Where’d you meet her?”

“In the media room. She’s the features reporter for the Kansas City newspaper.”

“Never a dull moment with you. I’ll tell the cops you’re on your way down.” He left the room.

Devin snapped the last button on his shirt before he rapped on the bathroom door. “Gretchen?”

The door flew open and the tiny blonde stormed past him. Clutching the towel above her ample cle**age, she spun around and glared at him. “Don’t bother to handle me; I heard everything.” She snatched up her clothes and mumbled angrily to herself as she jerked them on.

“This is not how I planned to end the evening.”

“Me either.” She shimmied her skirt up her thighs. “God. I know better than this.” After she pulled the sleeveless black shirt over her head, she glared at him. “I’ve worked very hard to maintain a professional reputation. And now I have to tell the police that I’ve been up here with you for the last hour?”

He kept his tone even. “It was your choice to come with me.”

She wobbled on one foot as she pulled her boot on. “I’m aware it’s my own fault for being blinded by your celebrity, by your devastating good looks, by your Western charm and by your voice . . .” She inhaled a deep breath. “That deep voice of yours is liquid sex . . . It sucked me in like a siren’s call.”

There wasn’t anything he could say at this point.

“I don’t suppose you’d tell them that we were up here finishing the interview from earlier?” she asked hopefully.

Devin shook his head. “I don’t lie. Especially not to cops. Especially not in a situation like this one, where someone has gotten hurt.”

Her eyes turned shrewd, and he realized she’d slipped into reporter mode. “There’s a story there. Do you have a stalker or something?”

He automatically hedged. “I’ve had a string of weird things happen.”

“Think it’s a pissed-off boyfriend or husband of some woman you had a f**k-and-run encounter with?” She smoothed her hair in the mirror above the dresser. “Because you do have quite the reputation.”

“Didn’t seem to stop you from dropping to your knees in front of me, did it?”

Devin probably deserved her fiery glare, but hey, she’d been a willing participant.

The interrogation with the cops didn’t take long—everything Devin had told them about his whereabouts was verified with the hotel manager and Gretchen. Every minute of his time after he walked offstage had been accounted for.

As soon as they were alone, Crash said, “Rosenthal and Carl Carlson are expecting us to meet with them and the security firm in Denver. There is no way in hell you’re getting out of it this time. Don’t get so pissy. Rosenthal is trying to protect your ass.”

“More like protecting his asset,” Devin muttered.

“If you’ve got a better idea, I’m sure he’d love to hear it.”

If Devin had to be saddled with security, he’d damn well choose it himself. No way would he allow a security detail to clog up his bus and hamper his creative process. He’d allow one person to travel with him. One. He’d agree to more security in the arenas and to and from events, but not in his personal space.

Although his bus could easily house the five members of his band, he insisted they have their own bus—a contract stipulation he’d had since he’d hit the big time and that wasn’t about to change now.

Few people understood that with all the time he spent on the road, his bus was his haven. The one place he didn’t have to be on—he didn’t have to be Devin McClain, country music star. He could just be Devin Hollister, a Wyoming ranch kid who’d made good.

“Uh-oh. I know that look,” Crash said as they turned the corner into the hospital’s parking lot.

“What look?”

“The one that says you’ve got something up your sleeve that ain’t no one gonna like.”

Devin scrolled through his contacts list. “Hang on. I gotta make a call before we go in.”

“Dev, it’s midnight.”

“She’s up. And it’s eleven in her time zone. She wouldn’t know what to do if I called her at a normal time.” He listened as the line rang five times.

“So didja finally get yourself thrown in jail and you need me to wire you bail money?” she drawled in that sexy twang.

He laughed. “Tex-Ass darlin’, I love that you’re so optimistic when it comes to me.”

“Hillbilly rockstar, I’ve been a party to your wild partyin’ ways, so it’s not such a huge leap to imagine you’ve gotten yourself ass deep in alligators. Hang on a sec,” Tanna said. “Stop bein’ so f**king smug, Doc. Yes, I know you won.”

He heard Fletch’s deep laughter in the background.

“What’s goin’ on, T?”

Tanna sighed. “I bet Fletch it was his cell phone ringing and not mine, since he’s on call this week. So thanks, buddy. You cost me an hour’s worth of sexual favors, which I’ve just learned will require him using lube and vibrators on me.”

“You ain’t complaining.”

“True. Fletch says hey and thanks. So why are you callin’ me?”