Side Trip(40)

That’s a yes!

He dashed to the passenger side and got into the car. He smiled at her, settling into his seat. She stared straight ahead, and his smile faltered. What could he say to her without making more of a mess than he already had?

He watched her, uncertain what to do next, when he noticed that her tears still fell.

“Please don’t cry,” he whispered. He found a clean napkin in the dash compartment and gave it to her.

“Some of the things you said . . . ,” she started, then angled her face away.

“I was wrong,” he admitted. He’d been totally off base, hadn’t he? Or maybe, he thought, watching a tear cling to her chin and her lower lip quiver, he’d hit closer to the truth than she cared to admit. Not to him, but to herself.

She wiped her face. “You hurt me.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” He reached over and caressed her hair. “I’m tired and cranky and my gig in Albuquerque was a joke. I’ve got another one tonight, and I don’t want to do it.”

She looked at him. “Why are you?”

Dylan sighed. He bounced a fist on his thigh. What to tell her? He knew Joy wouldn’t scoop him with the media, but for now he wanted to keep the specifics in the small circle of Jack’s attorney, Billie, and Chase. Only they knew why he had to make this trip.

“Let’s just say I have an obligation to fulfill.”

Joy nodded. “Maybe you’ll trust me enough someday to tell me.”

Maybe. But that was as unlikely as Joy sharing with him about what happened with Judy.

Dylan cupped her cheek. “Forgive me?”

She nodded. “Forgiven and forgotten.”

He wished he could say the same. Doubtful he’d ever forget the look of hurt on Joy’s face before she’d stormed from the café.

Damn. She was weaseling her way under his skin and he wasn’t sure that he wanted to stop her.





CHAPTER 15





BEFORE


Joy

Amarillo, Texas

Joy walked to the Wagon Wheel, a dive bar three blocks from the roadside motel they’d checked into. Dylan hadn’t invited her to watch him play; he hadn’t even told her where he was playing. She hadn’t asked either, nor did she take offense, not after what he’d told her earlier in the car. He had some sort of obligation. Knowing that, she felt more empathetic, but it didn’t stop her from following him when he left the motel.

Dylan had been quiet during the last leg of their drive to Amarillo. He clearly felt awful about how he’d acted. He’d look at her when he thought she wouldn’t notice. He also didn’t argue over the music. In fact, he put on Connie Francis without any prompting from her. He listened to the entire Connie’s Greatest Hits album without one complaint.

But Dylan wasn’t the only one brooding.

Joy hadn’t been in the mood to strike up conversation either, treading through her own murky puddle of thoughts. Dylan’s accusation about her reluctance to discuss Mark with him had hurt because he’d been right. She’d been in Dylan’s company for over forty-eight hours and she’d hardly breathed a word about her fiancé to him.

Why was that?

Simple: guilt.

An emotion she was all too familiar with. Only this time it had nothing to do with Judy and everything to do with Mark.

Dylan was here. Mark wasn’t.

There was also one more thing that rubbed raw. Dylan was right, too, about Mark not knowing her the way he should. The engagement ring? By golly, it was obnoxious. She’d never admit it to Dylan, but Joy had wanted to tell Mark after he proposed that the ring was over the top. A solitaire mounted on a gold band would have sufficed. Minimalist was more her style. But Judy would have gushed over the setting, and Mark seemed so pleased to see it on her finger. Joy kept the ring on and her thoughts guarded.

The ring sparkled in the beam of the bouncer’s flashlight as he checked Joy’s ID and she paid him the cover charge. The bouncer noticed the glitter, too.

“You alone tonight?” he asked in a gruff voice. Interest glimmered in his ink-black eyes.

“My fiancé’s inside.” Lie. She twisted the ring around her finger to hide the two-carat diamond. It always caught when she styled her hair, and it snagged on her clothes when she dressed. It also attracted unwanted attention. She should have left it in the room after she’d checked in. But the motel didn’t have a safe and Mark would never forgive her if someone stole the ring or she misplaced it.

Mark would never forgive her if he found out about Dylan. But she didn’t ask for her cash back and return to her motel room, steeped with remorse that she’d even consider entering the bar, knowing full well her desire to be there wasn’t just about the music. She wanted to see Dylan. She’d find a seat toward the rear and out of view, kick back, drink a beer, and enjoy his performance the same way she’d enjoy that of any other musician. Dylan would never know she was there. And when Mark called tomorrow morning and asked about her evening, she wouldn’t have to lie, a welcome relief for a change. She’d spent the evening alone at a bar listening to good music.

The bouncer grunted and gave Joy her change. She pocketed the bills and muttered a “thanks.”

The Wagon Wheel was a biker bar, as if the line of Harleys parked outside and heavily muscled, leather-clad men inside hadn’t tipped her off. Thank goodness she wore black jeans and a black T-shirt. She fit right in. Almost. The black Mollusk logo cap from the Venice Beach surf shop barely covered the blonde hair that would have been a beacon in the dim bar. Oh, right, and her shoes. There had never been a time when she wished she had her black Dr. Martens combat boots rather than her white Keds. She shouldn’t have shipped those to New York with her other stuff.