Hillbilly Rockstar (Blacktop Cowboys 6)

“Probably. But this is time for you to hang out with your crew without me hovering. You should enjoy it. Given the rest of your tour schedule, it’ll be pretty rare.”

And it was really rare his bodyguard admitted that he was safe enough not to have her by his side.

The thing was, he wanted her by his side tonight.

“You’re off the clock. You’ve earned some alone time in the bus.” Devin hated to play this card, but he was shameless. “But in keeping with our cover, my crew will ask questions on why you’re not around at all when you always are. So you need to put in an appearance for a few hours at some point.”

“Then I’ll forgo the weenie roast, but I’ll be there for the bonfire.”

It wasn’t all he wanted, but it was something.

Chapter Ten

Everyone seemed to be enjoying the campfire.

Even Liberty, who’d had her fill of the great outdoors during the years she’d spent living in military tent encampments, could admit it was a beautiful night. Away from urban sprawl, and with just a sliver of moon showing in the inky sky, the stars shone brightly.

Bottles and cans of beer were nestled in tubs of ice. Bags of chips and s’mores supplies were scattered across the picnic table.

The mood of the band and the crew had mellowed. The roadies were congregated on the left side, laughing and bullshitting while the paired-off band members, Tay and Jase, Odette and Steve, were snuggled together in front of the campfire. Although she and Devin shared a log, he was talking across the fire to Leon and Gage, so she felt like the odd woman out.

Story of your life, Liberty.

Fighting the melancholy, she closed her eyes and listened to the crickets and other bugs creating a nighttime symphony. Every once in a while she heard a coyote yowl.

Devin scooted closer before he spoke softly. “You all right?”

“I’m fine. Why?”

“You’re awful quiet.”

“I’m always quiet around other people.”

“You yammer on when it’s just you and me.”

Liberty cracked her eyes open to glare at him, but he wore the charming smile that indicated he was yanking her chain. “Funny.”

He set his hand on her thigh. “I know this ain’t your thing, so thanks for hanging out tonight.”

“No problem.”

“Hey, Dev,” one of the roadies yelled. “Why don’t you get out your guitar and sing? Like them old-time cowboys used to do after a long day of working cattle.”

“Don’t you guys get enough of me bellowing at the top of my lungs every night?”

She smiled. At times the man was surprisingly humble.

A chorus of no’s rang out, followed by the “Devin, Devin, Devin” chants that he heard before his shows started.

Devin drained his can of beer. “None of y’all better record this, ’cause after a few drinks, I can’t guarantee it’ll be my usual stellar performance.” Before he could get up to retrieve a guitar, Check brought him one. “Thanks.”

The road crew moved in closer. Liberty wondered why Devin seemed nervous when he regularly played in front of a crowd of thousands.

He strummed a few chords. He didn’t look up as he started to turn the random warm-up notes into a recognizable song. The strange thing was—the song he picked wasn’t one of his. Liberty didn’t recognize the tune, but whatever it was, the raw emotion in it captured her heart and then wrung it out.

No applause followed when he finished singing, and she realized it was because no one wanted to break the spell.

Devin continued to mesmerize with the next four songs, each a different style: first a bluesy number, then a stripped-down rock ballad, followed by a Motown classic and finishing with a crossover pop megahit. He nailed every style, needing nothing but his voice and a few guitar chords to showcase his mastery over all types of music.

His crew clapped and whistled when Devin took a break. Crash handed him a bottle of water. She watched as Devin’s throat muscles worked, the liquid soothing those golden vocal cords.

He sighed gustily after he drained the water. “Thanks.”

“You need another?”

“Nah. I’m good.”

People milled around, getting more beer and loading up on snacks.

“Are you gonna take requests?” Boomer asked.

“Sure. Give me a minute, though.”

“No problem.”

“You take requests?” Liberty asked.

He glanced up and her stomach swooped. The look in his eyes was forceful, but he spoke to her very softly. “Yes. So here’s your chance to get me to play something you might actually like.”

Her cheeks heated—and not from the campfire. “I like your music, Devin. It’s not the typical country dreck.”

“I’ve moved out of the dreck category?” He aimed his panty-dropping grin at her. “Darlin’, I’m gonna get a big head if you keep complimenting me today.”

“Too late,” she retorted sweetly.

Devin leaned closer. “Name a song.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to play something just for you.”

The man was throwing her all sorts of mixed signals today.

No, he’s not. You’re just not ignoring them—or him—for once.

“How about . . . ‘Learn to Fly’ by Foo Fighters.”