Free The Rancher and the Rock Star by Lizbeth Selvig Page B

back. “Don’t ever accuse me of doing this for money again. Not until you take a look at the path you’re on.”
    He pushed past the stunned band members. Only Wick followed, but when Dawson tried to do the same Gray caught his arm and shook his head.
    “But, Dad . . . Jeez, you just fired a guy you’ve known forever.”
    “I didn’t fire him. He doesn’t work for me. And I have only an hour to get ready. You’re staying with me.”
    “Why? So I can see you put on one of those lame sequined shirts? You look like some loser who got lost on the way to Las Vegas.”
    Gray had given up being wounded by his son. Besides, his nerves were numb enough that someone could have dropped a piano on his head and he wouldn’t have felt it. “You don’t like anything I do. I get that. I’m your worst nightmare. Fine. You’re coming with me anyway. And when it’s time for me to go on, you can sit with Chris right in front.”
    “Front row seats to a Gray Covey concert? Dude, how’d I get so lucky?”
    “My son, glowering at me for two hours in the front row. How’d I get so lucky?”
    For half a heartbeat Dawson fought a smile. It was half a heartbeat long enough to burn away Gray’s annoyance.
    “Do I have to sit with Chris? Can’t I watch from in back with the techs?”
    “Dawson!” In a moment of perfect timing, Corky Hotchkiss, the head sound technician, passed on his way to check the miles of cable under his care. Lanky for a man of medium height, with saggy-seated jeans and earphones hanging around his neck like a stethoscope, he looked like a middle-aged guy lost in a dorm room, not a brilliant sound engineer. He clapped Dawson on the shoulder. “I heard you were visiting. Good to see you!”
    “Hey Corky. Yeah, you, too.”
    “Did I hear you say you’re looking for a place to watch your dad?”
    “More than anything.” Gray didn’t miss the hundredth, long-suffering eye roll of the day.
    “How ’bout you come sit with us at the mixer board? I could maybe find a job for you since one of my guys is sick. You can come now.”
    “Please, can he take me now?” Dawson seemed disbelieving at his luck.
    Gray clapped his hands together and stared up. “Hallelujah. Go. Just stay in the arena.”
    “I will.” He turned to follow Corky. “Oh, Dad?”
    “Yeah?”
    “Whatever you do, don’t wear the silver. You always look like a disco ball.”

 
    Chapter Six
    “T HEY’RE ALWAYS BEAUTIFUL, aren’t they?”
    The cool iron of the safety railing pressed into Abby’s torso, and a faint mist spritzed her cheeks. Kim leaned forward to look over the frothing pool below Kennison Falls, the thundering treasure for which their small town was named. Hidden in Butte Glen State Park, just a mile from town center, the thirty-five foot falls were as wide as they were high. They were also a huge tourist draw, but, despite regular crowds, the site was always peaceful. Abby closed her eyes and opened them as soon as Gray Covey’s image invaded the darkness behind her eyelids.
    The picture was now familiar. As was the act of pushing it away.
    “Yup, they are.” Kim straightened.
    “Ready to head back? We can grab some ice cream.”
    “Okay.”
    They walked the two-mile round trip often, but tonight tension hung in the air as it had for the twenty-four hours since Gray and Dawson had driven away. Abby knew Kim felt bereft. How could she not? Abby’s life had fallen into a black hole, too, after six weeks of light from Dawson’s presence. And the lone, meteorite-bright day his father had spent in their lives.
    Gray.
    Their ridiculous arguments hung word-for-word in her memory. His tiny, stolen kiss still burned her lips if she let the thought simmer too long. She was a grown woman, but the whole surreal experience and her lingering reactions left her both regretful and embarrassed. Kim’s twenty-four hour sulk hadn’t helped.
    “So,” Abby said after they’d made a quarter-mile of progress in the