A Montana Christmas Reunion

Assuming she wouldn’t get close enough to Saxon to hand him Leland’s letter, she figured she could ask someone on his staff to deliver it. She’d come this far. And a sick man back home counted on her. At least, Doreen Mercer, who owned the café and kept tabs on Leland, claimed he wasn’t well.

Dashing to the theater, Jewell dug out her ticket. She was maneuvered into a line of noisy people filtered between two sets of velvet ropes.

Making sure the letter hadn’t fallen out of her purse, she peered around two women directly in front of her and her breath stuck in her throat. Saxon stood up ahead cordoned off by the left rope. He appeared to be greeting concertgoers, thanking them for coming and handing out T-shirts bearing his likeness.

Panic gripped Jewell. She should flee before she made a spectacle of herself and fainted or threw up. But she was hemmed in by the boisterous crowd. The line inched forward. Everyone wanted to speak to Saxon. Most wanted his autograph.

Jewell forced herself to think. This could be her chance to hand over Leland’s letter, duck under the rope and escape. Except her feet wouldn’t move, and she pawed in her purse and couldn’t find the letter. Nor could she take her eyes off Saxon. He looked the same yet different. He’d shot up to six feet early in his teens, but he used to be runner thin. Now he had filled out nicely in his chest and shoulders. While his dark hair had always had a slight curl, tonight it looked wonderfully mussed. Probably styled.

Admittedly, she’d viewed him online a few times. But, wow, he was way more potent in person. So darned good-looking it played havoc with her vow to see him in the trappings of his trade and once and for all...flush him from her system.

The woman behind Jewell nudged her to close the gap between herself and the folks in front of her, who had reached Saxon. Paralyzed, she let herself be shoved.

Because she hadn’t located the letter, she bent her head to find it and quickly scoot past Saxon to where helpers ushered ticket holders into the theater. The letter stubbornly evaded her search. Suddenly she had no time left. Should she rush by, let someone seat her and ask an usher to deliver the letter?

“Jewell? Jewell Hyatt, my God!”

Hearing her name breathed out quietly but reverently had her lifting her head. Her gaze locked with Saxon’s silvery-gray eyes. First disbelief spread over his handsome face; then something akin to joy made heat flood her belly. “Hello, Saxon.” Her greeting sounded high and strained but was all she could manage.

“What are you doing here?” He ignored staffers who were trying to move Jewell and those behind her through the line faster.

“I...ah...came on business. Uh...Leland asked me to bring you a letter.” She bent and fumbled again inside her purse in earnest.

“Leland? Who cares?” Saxon said gruffly.

Jewell glanced up in time to see a hefty man to Saxon’s right poke him and mutter, “Boss, we need to move folks along. Some are still stuck out in the rain.”

Nodding, Saxon raised a hand and signaled a man standing at the end of the velvet ropes. “Donovan! Hey, Donovan!”

That man rushed up.

Saxon indicated Jewell. “She’s an old friend. Seat her in VIP.”

Even though Jewell had the letter half out by then, the man in the dark blue Western-style suit propelled her briskly into the hall. She almost dropped her purse and the T-shirt Saxon had given her before he recognized her and set up a fuss she didn’t want or need.

“Really, this isn’t necessary,” she said when they ended up standing by the first row, which was within spitting distance of the stage.

“Saxon wants you here.” Leaning over, the man unhooked a gold rope, then pressed her into the first of six empty plush seats. He adeptly reattached the rope, straightened and stood at the end of the row with feet apart and hands tucked behind his back like a military guard.

Jewell sensed eyes boring into her back. She felt on display because this short set of seats was separated from the longer row behind by eight or ten feet of empty space. This was too much. She felt imprisoned, and why? She yanked out Leland’s letter, zipped her purse and started to ask her apparent jailer to deliver it before insisting she had to leave. But as she rose from her seat, a younger guy pulled Donovan aside and began gesturing and whispering. Then he departed through a side door to the left of the stage.

Waving the letter, Jewell attracted Donovan’s attention. “I came here primarily to give Saxon a letter from his uncle. I’m from Saxon’s hometown. Frankly, I don’t know why his uncle didn’t mail this. Maybe Saxon travels too much,” she offered lamely.

“Keep it. I have orders to take you backstage after the performance. Lance just said it may be a short concert due to the hurricane landing sooner than expected.”

“Heavens, then I really need to give you this and go. I have to drive back to my hotel in DC.” She managed to unhook the gold rope but dropped the letter. She bent to retrieve it, but Donovan scooped it up and tucked it in his suit-coat pocket as the lights dimmed and blinked twice and a disembodied voice from above asked everyone to take their seats. “The concert begins in two minutes.”

Stepping over the rope, Donovan scooted Jewell into the adjacent seat, and after growling, “Stay,” which reminded her of how one would address a dog, he plopped his big body into the seat she’d just vacated.

A hush fell over the theater. Overhead lights went lower still, this time to a muted golden glow. All at once blinding spotlights in multiple colors pinged around a stage where a small band now appeared holding various instruments.

Jewell didn’t want to feel eager, but it was the only way to describe the flutter of anticipation that clutched her. And when Saxon bounded onto the stage with guitar in hand, she was transported back to watching him emerge in similar fashion to perform so many times in the past. She’d loved him then. Now she was starstruck. He exuded a commanding presence as he stepped to the front of the stage, smiled and clipped the leather strap of an acoustic guitar around his neck. The audience went wild.

After he’d strummed a few chords, his gray eyes found Jewell. His smile softened momentarily but then hardened. In that first moment, the love she’d so desperately tried to stamp out flooded back, filling her with a desire to return to the past where their connection had been simple and natural and—she’d assumed—forever.

Chapter Two (#u11c9daf7-e6be-593f-b325-313a39360242)

Someone slid a stool onstage. Saxon half sat on it and then began to play and sing. Jewell, who used to believe he had a good voice, sat mesmerized. His voice had deepened and mellowed. If he still wrote the songs he sang, as he’d done back when she was his primary cheerleader, his lyrics now were decidedly more emotional.

It’d been a long time since she’d seen him perform in person. Never since he’d become famous. After the first time she’d heard him on the radio, she had blocked the pain by telling herself she was too busy to listen to music anyway. Because her work required short jaunts between ranches, it wasn’t worth turning on her pickup radio. But if she were being totally honest—country music had always been her favorite, and frankly, she’d been afraid if she heard Saxon singing any of his early tunes, she’d start blubbering.

She was near to weeping now.

She began to wonder about this song that dealt with loneliness and suppressed love, or lost love. Had she ripped apart Saxon’s heart? After all, she’d been the one to break things off—to surgically end their relationship.

At twenty-one, she never thought he would have ever expected her to realign her life to follow him. Everyone who knew her knew being a vet in Snowy Owl Crossing was what she’d planned and prepared to do from the time she was old enough to dream.

Now, listening to Saxon’s voice grow thick on a chorus about broken promises, Jewell trembled under his almost icy scrutiny. It was patently obvious that he had zeroed in on her. Was he taunting her? It seemed not to matter how tense his jaw was—his voice remained seductive. She was carried back to college days when he’d sung her parts of new songs, and it had frequently ended with their making love.

Uncomfortable, she shifted in her seat. But noting a hush fall over the crowd, she turned slightly to glance behind her. A row of women stared openly at her with envy, because as Saxon began his next number, it couldn’t be more evident that he sang the love song to her.

All at once a photographer who’d been taking pictures of Saxon and his band suddenly knelt and snapped off a battery of her. Blinded, Jewell jerked aside. And she worried about where those photos might appear and what they might reveal on her face—the rapture, the love she hadn’t been able to completely abolish.

Listening as he crooned her name, she felt her nervousness increase tenfold. Partway into the second verse, she thought, Phew! There was no way the people in the audience could know that the jewel he mentioned—like a vibrant diamond he longed for—was her. Only she was aware how many times in the past he’d kissed her and jokingly called her his million-dollar gem. At least, she used to assume it was a joke because they’d laughed together.

More uneasy, she flipped up her jacket collar to hide her burning face. Why was Saxon doing this? He hadn’t held her in years. He hadn’t called or tried to contact her. And she was quite sure he hadn’t been a monk since they’d parted.

Relief washed over her when the song ended—enough for her to actually relax as Saxon announced that he would sing his latest hit next.

Concertgoers clapped and shouted. Some whistled catcalls. But Saxon had barely run a thumb over his guitar’s strings when the man who’d first introduced him burst onstage through the back curtains. Grabbing the microphone, he said, “I’m sorry to tell you all, but the hurricane has reportedly made landfall, bringing bands of heavy rain. We need to cancel the rest of the show. As we told each of you at the outset, Saxon and his band appreciate how so many of you ventured out given the unsettled predictions for Althea. Unfortunately, we hear many streets are flooding, which has taken officials by surprise. I spoke with local authorities, who suggest you go home if you live nearby or seek accommodations in this city for tonight. Local motels will offer discounts if you show them your concert ticket stub. Everyone, please take care. And we’re sorry. Staff will give each of you a free CD at the door.”

Behind her, Jewell heard gasps and the sound of feet retreating up the aisles. She stood, intending to follow. Donovan leaped up to talk to another man. Suddenly he glanced around and beckoned her.

“Please remember to give Saxon the letter. Tell him I enjoyed the show but I have to go.”

The man blocked her exit. “Saxon is waiting for you backstage.”

“You don’t understand. I need to see about a room, because it sounded as if I’d be foolish to try and drive back to my hotel in DC until this storm passes.”

“Watching the stampede of folks out of here, you’d be wise to let someone on Saxon’s team secure accommodations for you.” Then without waiting for her to agree or object, he clasped her upper arm and all but dragged her through a set of black velvet curtains near the stage. Saxon’s band had already cleared out with their instruments.

He stood in a hallway gesturing and talking to a couple of those same band members. Donovan whisked her along, barely letting her boots touch the floor. He didn’t stop until her shoulder jostled Saxon’s upper arm. “One lady friend delivered as ordered,” the man announced.

It didn’t surprise her to hear Saxon huff out an exasperated-sounding, “She’s an old friend, not some item I ordered off a menu.” As if to make a point, he swept her up and swung her around until excitement built inside Jewell like it had when they used to ride the Tilt-A-Whirl at the county fair. Then he unceremoniously plopped her down and went on talking to a young man holding a guitar.

Her stomach had yet to settle when Saxon again skewered Donovan with a glance. “Speaking of menu, I’m starved. Ask Carson to see if he can scare up a decent meal for two and deliver it to my bus before this town drops its shutters?”

“I can’t stay, Saxon. I need to call around and find a room,” Jewell said.