“Not long now,” the large man guarding the café door replied. “Listen, if she says I can’t let you in, I can’t let you in. That woman will have my balls if I don’t follow her orders. Come back when it’s over, buddy.”
Dante nodded. “I’ll do that.”
He turned and headed back to his rental truck. Then he looked up open stores and programmed his GPS. It might take him half the show, but he’d find a way in.
Forty minutes later, he pulled back into the Bluebird Café lot. He’d switched to cowboy boots, added a Stetson, and traded his cargos for a pair of Wranglers. And a button-down plaid shirt covered his T-shirt. Sure, he could still use a haircut. His dark curls weren’t close to military short. Not that it mattered for his missions. He found it easier to blend in if he didn’t look like the other boots on the ground in the Middle East. But without the hat, he still looked more southern Italian than American cowboy. Still, he approached the door ready to play the part.
He reached the bouncer. “One ticket for Ms. Tate’s show,” he drawled in a Southern twang that would have his Italian ancestors rolling in their graves.
“A hundred dollars,” the bouncer said. “All proceeds go to the Wounded Warrior Project. But I should tell you, she sang ‘How Do I Remember You’ already.”
“That’s not the song I came to hear.” Dante handed over the cash, the first obstacle removed, and walked into the café.
He found a seat at a corner table set for two. Then he turned his attention to the woman on the stage.
Chrissie had traded her sequined tops for an I Love Nashville T-shirt and jeans. She looked at home on the smaller stage as she picked up an acoustic guitar and took a seat on a high stool.
“Sing it, Chrissie!” Someone close to the front called out. “Play ‘When Love Comes Second’, Chrissie!”
He’d grown accustomed to the thunderous applause she received in the larger venues. In this intimate setting, with small groups of people gathered around tables, the polite cheering seemed out of place.
She played the first few chords of her new chart-topping single. Then she stopped, and her smile faded. “I know you all came to hear my new hit. But tonight, I can’t sing that one.”
A chorus of “what?” and “you’re kidding” rang through the café, accompanied by murmurings.
“I can’t perform it for you tonight,” she continued. “Because I think I got the words all wrong.”
The crowd fell silent.
“Having the opportunity to sing for you all, it’s meant everything to me for so long. I love getting up onstage night after night and sharing my songs with you. I write from the heart. And I think you all know that by now. My lyrics are about my family, and at the same time, my music supports them. I’ve kept my eye on the prize for my family and for my fans. More songs written straight from my heart.”
“You delivered!” a voice from the crowd shouted. “Sing ‘When Love Comes Second’!”
“But that’s just it,” she said with a woeful smile. “Love shouldn’t come second. Especially not for the men and women serving our country.”
Dante was on his feet and heading for the stage as soon as the words crossed her lips. As he headed for the stairs leading to the raised section, he called out, “Are you saying love comes first, Ms. Tate?”
She turned her head to him, and her eyes widened. Judging from the surprise in her big blue eyes, Moira hadn’t told the talent that her former bodyguard had dropped by and tried to get into the show. But the former Marine was on to him now. Chrissie’s new hired muscle had abandoned her post stage right and was heading for him.
“I’ll handle this,” Chrissie called to the former Marine.
Moira stepped aside and let him slip past her. He climbed the two stairs to the stage. No doubt the Marine had seen through his disguise, too. Maybe the rest of the crowd had as well.
Either way, he was walking up there dressed as Dante the cowboy. He’d never felt so unprepared. Sure, he’d worn disguises before. But he’d never tried to win over the woman he loved while hiding behind a costume. There was a chance she’d break his heart all over again, and in front of this crowd of bona fide cowboys.
“Are you sure?” Moira asked as Chrissie raised her hands.
“Yes,” she said, her gaze fixed on him. “Don’t worry about me. I was trained in hand-to-hand combat by a Navy SEAL.”
The crowd laughed as if this was all part of the show. And maybe for her it was. Maybe she’d been lying about changing the lyrics to her new hit. Hell, for all he knew, it was a marketing ploy set in motion by his old pal, Mason. And there was only one way to find out.
“Planning to take me down, ma’am?” he asked.
Chrissie nodded and set her guitar in a nearby stand. “And you should know, cowboy, that I hit hard. So unless you plan to haul ass—”
“I’m not running away,” he said firmly. “Not this time. And not ever again. Because honey, love doesn’t come second in my world.”
“Well, I warned you,” she said, grinning at him as she stepped closer. And this wasn’t the fake grin she wore for her fans. This was the real deal.