The Cowboy and His Wayward Bride. Sherryl Woods
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about Harlan Patrick. Heâs been on my mind a lot lately.â
âI see.â
Clearly he didnât intend to give away a thing without her asking a direct question. âHowâs he doing?â she asked finally.
âStill misses you, if thatâs what youâre asking. I suspect he always will. Never seen a man as lovesick as he was from the minute you left town.â
That wasnât what sheâd been asking, but in some tiny corner of her heart, she was glad to hear that he hadnât forgotten her. Talk about conflicting emotions. Her life was riddled with them.
âYouâve seen him in the last couple of days?â she asked, broaching the subject of his whereabouts cautiously.
Harlan hesitated. âNow that you mention it, his daddy did say that the boy had taken off unexpectedly. Never did mention what it was all about, though. Business, I suppose. You want me to have him call you when he gets back?â
Laurie sighed heavily. She had a feeling there would be no need for that. The timing of his unexplained departure had to be more than coincidence. If she knew Harlan Patrick, sheâd be seeing him any day now, as soon as he could get someone to give him her concert itinerary.
âThatâs okay,â she said, then added quietly, âthank you.â
âThanks for what?â
âFor not hating me.â
âOh, darlinâ girl, I could never hate you,â he said, his tone sympathetic. âThere was a time when you were practically family. As far as Iâm concerned, youâre as good as that now.â
âBut I brought so much pain into Harlan Patrickâs life.â
âAnd so much joy, too,â he reminded her. âDonât forget that. Sometimes the best you can hope for in life is that it all evens out in the end. You take good care of yourself and come see me next time youâre home. Iâll get the piano tuned, and weâll have an old-fashioned sing-along. I canât carry a tune worth a hoot, but itâll be fun all the same.â
âI will,â she promised. âGive Janet my love, too, will you?â
âOf course I will. You take good care of yourself, Laurie. Donât forget all the folks back here who love you.â
As if I could, she thought, but didnât say. âGoodbye, Grandpa Harlan. I miss you.â
Only after sheâd hung up did she realize there were tears streaming down her cheeks. For the first time in more than six years, she realized just how much she missed home. And when she thought of it, she didnât remember the little house in which sheâd grown up, didnât even think of her mother, though she loved her dearly. No, she remembered White Pines and the close-knit Adamses, who back then had been more than willing to accept her as one of their own.
And she remembered Amy Lynnâs daddy and the way sheâd always loved him.
* * *
He might as well have been traveling in a foreign country, Harlan Patrick thought on his first day in Nashville. Heâd taken off without thinking, without the slightest clue of how to go about tracing a woman who didnât want to be found.
On the flight, which heâd piloted himself, heâd had plenty of time to try to formulate a plan, but images of Laurie and that baby had pretty much wiped out logic. All heâd been able to feel was some sort of blind rage. Aside from a friendly tussle or two with his cousins growing up, he wasnât prone to violence, but for the first time in his life he felt himself capable of it. Not that heâd have laid a hand on Laurie, but he couldnât swear that her furniture would be safe. Smashing a few vases and chairs might improve his mood considerably.
Then again, it probably wouldnât. Satisfaction probably couldnât be had that easily.
After landing, he rented a car and drove into downtown. He found a hotel smack in the center of things and dragged out a phone book. It was then that he realized just how little he really knew about Laurieâs life in the past few years. An awful lot of it had been played out in public, of course, but that wasnât the part that would help him now.
âWell, damn,â he muttered staring at the Yellow Pages and trying to figure out which talent representative or which recording studio to call. He couldnât even remember which record label produced her albums, even though he had CDs of every single one of them. It was hard enough listening to her songs without learning every little detail of the life that had stolen her from him.
He plucked a scrap of paper out of his pocket and glanced at the number, then dialed her house first, though he recognized it was a long shot. She was on the road and sheâd told him that sheâd never gotten around to hiring a housekeeper because she wasnât comfortable with somebody else doing cleaning and cooking she was perfectly capable of doing for herself.
When no one answered at the house, he searched his memory for some offhand reference sheâd made to the new people in her life. Unfortunately, though, the few days theyâd had together just over a year ago hadnât been spent doing a lot of talking, at least not about the things that hadnât mattered. That baby was living evidence that theyâd spent most of the time in bed, remembering just how good it felt to be in each otherâs arms.
âOkay, Harlan Patrick, think,â he muttered under his breath.
For all of its skyscrapers and new construction, Nashville was still a small Southern town in some ways. Surely the music industry was tight-knit enough that everyone would know everybody elseâs business. He picked a talent agency at random and dialed.
âHi, sweetheart,â he said to the drawling woman who answered. There was enough sugary sweetness in her voice to make him feel right at home with a little flirting. He had her laughing in a matter of seconds.
âYou are sooo bad,â she said in response to his teasing. âNow, tell me what I can do for you.â
âActually Iâve got some business to do with Laurie Jensen. Any idea how I can get in touch with her?â
âLaurie Jensen?â she repeated, her voice a degree or two cooler. âIâm sorry. We donât represent Miss Jensen.â
âCould you tell me who does?â
âWhat kind of business did you say you were in?â she asked. This time her tone was downright chilly.
âI didnât, darlinâ, but itâs an ad campaign. We were hoping to get her to do the spots for us.â
âI see,â she said. âWell, maybe you ought to have your ad agency contact her people. Thatâs the way it works.â
Harlan Patrick tried to hold on to his patience. âDonât you see, sugar, thatâs the problem. I donât know her people.â
âAny reputable ad agency will,â she said, and hung up in his ear.
Harlan Patrick stared at the phone, stunned. Then he sighed ruefully. Obviously he wasnât the first person to try a ruse to get to a Nashville superstar. He resigned himself to an afternoon spent working his way through the phone listings.
He didnât waste time trying to wrangle information from unwilling receptionists. The minute he discovered the agency didnât represent Laurie, he moved on to the next. It was after six when he finally struck paydirtâor thought he had.
âNick Sanducciâs office.â
âYes. Iâm trying to arrange a booking for Laurie