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When she opened the door, his eyes lingered on her face. Their gazes held for what seemed like a very long time. When he glanced at her snug but short T-shirt and the rest of her, she saw his mouth tighten and his jaw set.
Maybe he disapproved as much as Edna. Or maybe—
His eyes darkened under the glare of the outside apartment light. She’d seen that same change in him last night right before he’d kissed her.
She stepped aside and opened the door wider. “This is a surprise.” Knowing who he was made her nervous, when she hadn’t been jittery around him before.
After he closed the door behind him, he took off his Stetson and held it in his hands. “I didn’t know if you’d let me in now that you know who I am.”
He was dressed in a black T-shirt, black jeans and black boots that weren’t as worn as his brown ones. The air of masculinity emanating from him was as powerful now as it had been the first day she’d met him. Her fingers itched to touch his biceps, let alone the beard stubble on his face. No wonder women mobbed him in droves!
“I don’t know you,” she admitted. “Not really.”
Tension pulled between them and vibrated. “I wanted to be an ordinary guy for a little while. I still do.”
“But you’re not an ordinary guy.”
Jonah rushed into the kitchen then. “Zane! You can help with puzzles!”
Zane tore his eyes from hers and ruffled the boy’s already-disheveled hair. “Life’s one big puzzle, partner. But I guess I can try and help you figure one out, if your mom thinks that’s okay.”
He leveled a look at her that seemed to say, This is your call.
Common sense battled with the attraction she felt for him. She’d never let hormones sway her before. On the other hand, what could it hurt to find out more about him? About the man behind the guitar.
A wise voice inside her head whispered back, It could hurt your heart a lot.
She silenced that voice. “I’ll make a pot of coffee. Why don’t you two get started?”
Chapter Three
Jeannette watched Zane carefully as he picked up a puzzle piece and showed Jonah how to look for straight and crooked edges. He looked relaxed now, leaning over the coffee table with her son. She couldn’t keep her gaze from skimming down his torso, over his slim hips and his long jean-clad legs.
Easily, she remembered everything she’d read about Zane for the last decade of his career—number one singles, Grammys, CMA awards for Best Male Vocalist, sellout concerts, a multimillion-dollar tour cut short. Curiously, she’d examined photos of him with glamorous women, climbing in and out of limos, even a helicopter flight to one of the concerts. She’d never even seen a helicopter live, let alone been in one. The same with a limo.
So why was he here in her living room, spending time with her and her son? And what was the truth about what had happened at the concert and how he’d reacted afterward? She had so many questions and she didn’t know if she’d ever have the answers.
When Zane glanced her way, her outfit almost made her cringe. “I’m going to change out of my work clothes. I’ll be right back.”
Quickly, she mentally flashed through her wardrobe which wasn’t that extensive, and in a few minutes came up with a pink scoop-necked sweater and jeans. After she slipped on an old pair of espadrilles, she took the band from her hair and brushed it. With a touch of lip gloss, she knew she was about as ready as she’d ever be—to face Zane, his private and public persona and anything he wanted to tell her.
As she reentered the living room, Zane nudged Jonah’s shoulder. “Doesn’t your mom look pretty?”
Jonah stared at her for a couple of seconds, then glanced back at Zane. “She looks like she always does.”
Although she’d first been embarrassed, Jonah’s remark helped her smile when Zane chuckled. “Kids say it like it is,” Zane decided with a shrug. “You must be pretty all the time.”
She was twenty-eight years old and shouldn’t feel like a shy teenager, but she did, especially now that she knew who he was. Did glib remarks fly off his tongue easily? Was that honesty she saw in his eyes? Or practiced flirting? How would she ever know?
Once Jeannette was seated on the sofa beside Zane, she helped Jonah put together the last few pieces of the puzzle.
“You didn’t eat.” Zane motioned to her sandwich, half eaten, on the dish on the coffee table.
“I had enough.”
His brows arched.
She felt she had to explain. “Sometimes I’m just too tired to eat when I get home. Or too busy.”
“Jeannette, you have to—”
“I know what you’re going to say. But I did sample a new recipe for wings at the restaurant, and a square of bread pudding, too.
“That’s what you had to eat all day?”
“And breakfast. Jonah and I had scrambled eggs, toast and a little bit of fruit.”
“Mom makes great eggs.”
“I’ll bet she does. Ready to start on that second puzzle?”
Jonah looked at Jeannette with one of those “little boy” looks that told her he wanted something. She waited.
Finally, he asked, “Can Zane read me a book?”
Zane seemed to know intuitively what to do. He gave her a little nod, showing her he was game.
“It’s a book or a puzzle. Then you do have to go to bed.”
“Oh, Mom. It’s late night.”
“Yes, I know, and it’s already getting late. One or the other. You choose.”
After a few seconds Jonah decided, “A book. In my room.”
Jeannette knew if she let Zane into Jonah’s room, she was letting him further into her life. Yet sitting beside him on the sofa, almost aware of every breath he took, definitely aware of his cologne and the restrained strength of him beside her, she felt as if she were fighting a losing battle. “Go pick out the book. Then we’ll be in.”
After Jonah was out of earshot, Zane asked, “Does he often back you into a corner like that?”
“More often than I’d like him to. For four-and-a-half he has great manipulative skills.” She lifted her chin and studied Zane’s face. “Why did you come tonight?” Could she get even one of her answers?
“Because I wanted to see you again…because I hoped you didn’t believe everything you read.”
She had to be honest with him. “I hadn’t read much, not until this afternoon when I went to the library and searched your name on the computer.”
“I see.” His voice was tense and much more distant.
“No, I don’t think you do.”
“Mommy! Zane! I found a book.”
Rising to her feet Jeannette said, “My guess is he picked the longest one he could find.”
But when they reached Jonah’s room, Jeannette found he had picked one of his favorite books rather than the longest. It was a funny book with silly pictures and lots of rhymes.
Sitting on the bed beside Jonah, Zane put expression into the words without half trying. Jonah laughed and so did Zane, and her heart ached with everything Jonah needed that she couldn’t provide. A dad’s love was different than a mom’s. Her gaze fell on the photograph of Ed on Jonah’s bedside table. He would have loved his son and done anything for him. He’d proven that when he’d taken two jobs and worked so many hours she’d hardly seen him. That had been her fault. If she hadn’t missed so many days of work because of morning sickness, if she hadn’t started spotting…if she hadn’t gotten pregnant…
She had switched from birth control pills to patches and one week she’d simply forgotten to change it. When she discovered she was pregnant, she hadn’t known how Ed would react. They’d been together for three years and he’d been dragging his feet about commitment. They’d been living together, but sometimes she still felt he could walk away at any time. Yet when she told him she was pregnant, he’d said they should get married. However, he kept putting it off, finally pushing the event until after the baby was born. She would have liked to have gotten married before Jonah was born. But she was just so glad Ed was finally ready that she hadn’t questioned him and hadn’t pushed, although a part of her had always wondered if he was doing it out of duty or out of love.
She still didn’t know. She’d never know.
“All done,” Jonah suddenly said, slapping the covers of the book together. “We could read it again.”
“Or not,” Jeannette said firmly. “Say good-night to Zane and I’ll help you get ready for bed.”
Jonah’s good-night for Zane came accompanied with another hug. Her little boy was getting attached very quickly. Maybe if Zane were an ordinary man, she’d let it continue. But how could she when she knew who he was? When he didn’t have a normal life? When his interlude in Thunder Canyon might not last very long? When he could be gone tomorrow?
Tonight when she finished Jonah’s bedtime ritual and left his door open a crack, she found Zane pacing the living room. “What’s wrong?” she asked, knowing something was.
“I have no business being here. If a journalist got wind of what I was doing and where I was, I’d be dragging you and Jonah into everything that’s going on.”
“You call that tripe written about you journalism?”
He grimaced. “Well, at least you could see it wasn’t that. Some people can’t see through it. They think an article in a publication that writes about alien abductions is the same as one in the New York Times.”
She eyed him thoughtfully. “Would you like a beer?”
“Yes, I would.”
“Did you have supper?”
“I ate one of those frozen dinners you stocked my freezer with.”
“How about a Southwestern omelet? I bought salsa on sale at the grocery store and Woody, my manager, was going to throw away perfectly good containers of sour cream. The waitresses divided them up.”
“That sounds great. But if you’re too tired to cook, I don’t need anything.”
“This will take five minutes. And from your pictures six months ago and the way you look now, I’d say you need to eat a little more than you’re eating, too.”
“You sound like Dillon.”
“With good reason. How much weight have you lost?”
“About fifteen pounds. But I often lose ten when I start a new tour.”
“Really?”
“It happens. My hours aren’t regular and I’m a perfectionist. I work in my bus, not only writing music, but staying on top of the business, promotion with my publicist, gigs with my manager, money flow with the accountant. I delegate, but I still oversee everything. I don’t want any unhappy surprises when I least expect them.”
Jeannette took eggs from the refrigerator and pulled out the jar of salsa. The frying pan, though clean, was sitting on the stove from that morning. “Is any part of your life normal?”
“Normal becomes what we make it, don’t you think?”
“Is that an excuse for saying no?”
“You cut right through it, don’t you?”
“I have to, Zane. I’m a single mom. I can’t lie to myself and I can usually read evasive tactics in others. It’s a gift,” she added teasingly, trying to lighten the conversation a little.
Shaking his head, Zane took a spatula from a utensil crock on the counter and handed it to her. “Do you need anything else from the refrigerator?”
“There’s some grated cheese in there. If you could get that—”
In five minutes the omelet was finished and divided in two. Jeannette had popped bread into the toaster and grabbed the strawberry jelly from the fridge. “Edna made it. It’s good.”
Zane ate like a man who was enjoying his food. After he finished, he said, “That hit the spot. Maybe I just enjoy food more when I have someone to eat with.” He motioned to her empty plate. “It might be the same for you.”
“It might be. I eat more with Jonah, or when we have a Sunday dinner with Edna and Mel.”
“Does that happen often?”
“Not lately. With this job at LipSmackin’ Ribs, my hours are all over the place. I work weekends whenever I can.” She didn’t have to say because of the tips. He knew that already.
Zane picked up his fork and hers with both their plates and loaded it all into the small dishwasher.
“You don’t have to—”
“Yes, I do. You cooked. I clean up. It’s an unwritten contract.”
“I think there are a lot of men in this world who are unaware of that contract.”
Zane closed the door to the dishwasher. “Let’s go sit on the sofa and talk. You deserve to know the truth about what happened at my last concert.”
In the living room they settled on the sofa a few inches apart. Jeannette thought about sitting in the matching chair, but she wanted to be near Zane for a reason other than her attraction to him. Maybe he’d give off signals that would tell her if he was being glib or guarded or dishonest. She also had to admit she just wanted to be close to him. Because he was a star? Actually, no. It was because there was something about him that made her heart race and her skin tingle and her stomach flip-flop.
Zane glanced at her, then raked his hand through his thick brown hair. With the table lamp beside him, she realized there were burnished strands in it. He wore a Stetson so much of the time that she hadn’t noticed them before.
“I began promoting my new CD last September when I performed at Frontier Days. I had written a lead song—‘Movin’ On’—and performed it for the first time here at the arena at the fairgrounds. When my CD was released last year, sales skyrocketed and the tour started off with a bang.”
“How many concerts do you do a week?”
“That depends. I’d rather do several close together, and then give everybody a break for a week or two. That’s easier on their family life. But spring through summer is our busiest time.”
“You said you have a bus?”
He frowned. “Yep. I used to call it my home away from home. But now—”
“Tell me what happened,” she requested, knowing the bus was involved.
