Jolie’s Little Fourth of July (Holidays at Rawhide Ranch)

Chapter 1

Jolie stared down at the guitar laying in its case.

She couldn’t. She just couldn’t.

The noise from the fans out in the stadium was deafening. The band currently performing was nearly finished with their set. Then there was a break before The Raging Misfits went on.

But she couldn’t go out there.

She couldn’t even pick up the guitar.

A wave of nausea hit her hard.

Just tell Mikey you’re ill. The guys can handle this set without you.

Right. They might be able to go on without her on guitar. But not without their lead vocalist.

You’re being an idiot.

How many concerts have you played? Thousands.

She’d managed to get through their rehearsal this morning. Just. But now… how was she meant to pick up her guitar and freaking sing when she could barely breathe? She was trembling, sweaty, and nauseous.

This couldn’t be happening.

Closing her eyes, she breathed in deep.

Pick up the guitar.

But she couldn’t… she couldn’t do it.

The other members of The Raging Misfits would understand if she told them. They’d been together for years. The guys were like family to her.

This tour was their big break, though. For years, they’d played in bars and clubs. Until one day an agent saw them play and signed them on.

And now they were on an eighteen-month tour with Velvet Rock. They’d been playing for almost five months straight.

And with every concert, every new town, she felt that knot in her chest tighten.

You’re going to disappoint everyone.

Get out there. Stop being a fuck-up.

This was the last concert before they had a break so everyone could go home to spend Fourth of July with their families.

Not that she had a family to go home to.

Shit. The more time she spent staring at her guitar, the worse she felt.

She couldn’t.

Taking a step back, she nearly tripped.

Another step.

One more and her breath started to ease.

She wasn’t going on. No way. She… she had to get away. Go somewhere quiet.

And try to breathe.

Where the fuck was she?

Brand Starr stomped through the backstage area of the venue, searching through the rooms. There were people everywhere and yet no-one had seen that tiny brat?

He wasn’t buying it.

She was hiding and inconveniencing them all. The stage manager was freaking out because he couldn’t find her, and there were five minutes until The Raging Misfits was on stage.

So where was she?

If this was some damn prank, then he was going to introduce her ass to his hand. He’d been having that thought for a while now. It was fast becoming an obsession.

Putting her over his lap.

Spanking her ass until it turned cherry red.

Then wiping away her tears and reassuring her that she was Daddy’s good girl.

Fuck.

A fantasy. That’s all it was.

When Mikey, the tour manager, said that this unknown band was joining their tour to open for them, he’d thought the other man had lost his mind. Brand had kind of lost it.

Yeah, he had a temper.

But most of the time, he could keep it under control. Gone were the times when he’d tear shit up in a rage. Nope, he was a tame guy now.

Well, as tame as a rock ‘n roller ever got.

Still, he hadn’t been happy with Mikey. At all.

He’d figured The Raging Misfits would be like all newbies to the touring circuit. They’d come in arrogant and with inflated egos. Then moan and complain when they realized how much fucking hard work it was.

Especially her.

She was young and tiny. Inexperienced. He hadn’t expected her to last a month before pulling out. Nothing sexist about it. But you had to have stamina and grit to last on tour and he hadn’t seen it when he’d first met her.

So yeah, he’d expected her to balk at the hard work and determination needed.

Well, she’d proven him wrong.

Five months in and she was showing she was tougher than he’d ever imagined. She hadn’t really stepped a foot wrong. She was the first one to every rehearsal. Always putting in a hundred and ten percent. And she was kind and polite to everyone.

Even him.

He knew that had to be hard because he could kind of be a dick sometimes.

Stuff often came out of his mouth before he thought about how it might sound.

But she had taken everything he threw at her and kept on smiling.

Although… that didn’t mean she didn’t have her ways of getting revenge. He grinned as he remembered the peanut butter in his bed. And the salt in his coffee. Oh, and then there was the chili sauce in his shower gel.

Yeah, that one had nearly ended with her over his knee. Of course, she’d never owned up to any of it. But each incident happened to coincide with when he’d been extra dickish to her.

No, she hadn’t misstepped.

Until now.

And if she didn’t get her little ass into gear and out onto the stage, then he was going to be seriously unimpressed.

Running his hand through his dark hair, he let out a sigh of frustration.

Where. The. Fuck. Was. She?

Now he was starting to get worried. What if something had happened to her? What if she was hurt?

Had someone gotten to her?

Sure, there was security, but that didn’t mean that she was entirely safe. There were plenty of assholes out there.

His phone buzzed. There were plenty of people searching for her.

No one could find her.

Frustration bit at him as he came to a supply closet. There was no reason for her to be in here, but he’d looked everywhere else.

Opening the door, his nose wrinkled at the smell of bleach.

He ran his gaze over the shelves of cleaning supplies. Then turned to leave.

But his brain screamed at him to stop and look closer.

Spinning back, he looked again.

Fuck. He’d nearly missed her. All that was visible were her cowboy boots. She loved those boots. He’d never seen her perform without them on.

A whimper filled the room.

His breath stilled in his lungs. Fuck. That noise.

It was like a punch to the gut. He didn’t know when he’d stopped being wary and annoyed by her and began to feel protective.

He wanted to wrap her up tight in his arms.

Keep her safe.

Make sure that she was fed and healthy and happy.

But he couldn’t do any of that. Because a relationship with another musician on tour was a bad fucking idea. If things went downhill… yeah, it could be uncomfortable for everyone.

It wasn’t something he was willing to risk.

However, it was damn hard to keep his hands off her.

Shutting the door, he turned on the light.

Another cry. “No light.”

Fuck. Did she have a migraine or something? His mom suffered from bad migraines, and any sort of light made them worse.

And now he felt like a complete dick because he hadn’t considered that she might be ill.

What was wrong with him?

He quickly turned the light off again and ran his hand over his face with a sigh.

Get your act together, asshole.

“Jolie? What is it? What’s wrong?” He had to blink several times and wait for his eyes to adjust to the darkness again. Thankfully, there was a small window that let in some light.

He could see that she had jammed herself into a lower shelf. Just her feet were poking out from behind a large box of disposable gloves.

She didn’t reply. But he heard her breathing grow faster.

Fuck.

“Hey, talk to me, Songbird.”

“S-songbird?” she asked after a long moment. “Really?”

“You don’t like it?”

“N-not very imaginative.”

“Hmm. I could try harder. What sort of nickname do you think would suit you?”

“I-I don’t know.”

Shit. She sounded panicky again. He was meant to be soothing her, not upsetting her more.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he murmured. “It’s not anything to get stressed over.”

What the hell was going on? This wasn’t his Jolie.

She’s not yours.

Right. But this wasn’t the woman he’d gotten to know over the last few months. The one who always had a smile on her face and a kind word for everyone.

Was that the real Jolie, though?

Or was she this scared Little girl, hiding in a supply cupboard, panicking because she didn’t know what nickname she liked.

“Why don’t you come out of there, Jolie? Everyone is looking for you.”

Her breathing quickened even further.

Fuck. It felt like he couldn’t say anything right.

“What is it? What’s wrong? Tell me and I’ll fix it,” he demanded gruffly.

Arrogant? Maybe.

But he didn’t care. All he was concerned with was the girl fighting for breath as she sat on the bottom fucking shelf. The shelves were set far apart but she was still crammed in there.

“Jolie? Can you talk to me?”

“N-no.”

“Why not?”

“You… you wouldn’t understand.”

He frowned. “Why not?”

“Is everyone mad at m-me?” she asked.

“Don’t try to change the subject. Why wouldn’t I understand what’s wrong? Is it a female thing? I have three sisters and was raised by a single mom.”

“Right. Guess that makes you an expert,” she said dryly.

Okay. He guessed he had sounded like a bit of a dick. “Sorry. I just meant that you could tell me.”

“You’re you so you wouldn’t understand.”

He let out a rumble of frustration. He didn’t appreciate her talking in riddles. “What the fuck does that mean? Just tell me.”

“I can’t go on stage.”

“We’ll get you some painkillers and whatever else you need and?—”

“I should have known you wouldn’t listen,” she interrupted him.

Fuck.

Yep. Total dick.

Taking a deep breath, he resisted looking at his watch. He knew the five minutes had to be up and that she should be on stage by now. But it didn’t matter. What mattered right now was Jolie.

“I know I’m letting you d-down. Guess you were r-right about me, huh? Inexperienced and unreliable.”

“What? What do you mean, I was right about you?”

He sat on the floor in front of her.

“You should go,” she said. “I’m all right.”

She still didn’t sound like herself. Unsure and delicate.

“Go?” he repeated incredulously. As though he’d just leave her here in a fucking cupboard? When she was clearly upset about something?

Yeah. No. Not happening.

“Babe, I didn’t think those things about you.”

“I heard you say them to Mikey when we first arrived.”

Urgh, fuck.

He didn’t even remember saying that, but he knew he likely had. It was unfortunate that she’d overheard him.

“I might have said those things. Sometimes I get worked up and say shit I don’t mean. I’m trying to do better.”

Seemed he had a ways to go.

“I’m not perfect,” he added. Far from it.

“It’s okay. Neither am I.”

Fuck, she was sweet. He wanted her to stay like that. To not get fucked up and spat out by this industry.

“You’re not any of those things. You’re the hardest worker I know, Jolie.”

“I’m l-letting everyone down, though.”

“It’s all right if you’re not feeling well. Everyone has those days. But you should have told me.” Fuck. “Should have told someone.”

Yeah, good save.

“I’m not sick.”

Crap. He was at a loss here. “Talk to me, then.”

She shook her head.

His hands tightened into fists as something else occurred to him. “Did someone fuck with you?”

“What? No!”

“Are you sure? If they did, you can tell me.”

And then he’d hunt them down and fucking kill them.

She breathed out. “No one did anything to me. I’m not s-sick. I just… I can’t play tonight. I just… I can’t.”

He didn’t get it and he wanted to press her further. Demand that she answer him.

Yeah? And how is that working for you so far, asshole?

Not so great.

Taking a deep breath, Brand forced himself to stop and think. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“W-what?”

The surprise in her voice was kind of insulting. But probably no less than he deserved. “Can I help? Is there something you need?”

“B-because you want me on stage. I get it. I’m trying.”

Fuck.

“No, Bumblebee. I mean, is there anything that I can do to help you. Nothing to do with getting you on stage.”

“I’m late.”

“Don’t worry about that. Your guys will sort it.” He’d seen how protective her band mates were of her. It sent a flash of jealousy through him and he tamped it down. From what he’d observed, they treated her like a sister.

Not like they wanted to fuck her.

“I’m m-making a mess of everything.”

“Hey, no you’re not. Stop talking that way.”

He wished he was better at talking to her. At being… softer. Closing his eyes, he took in another breath. He wasn’t good at talking to people. Not unless he was ordering them around.

Either for work or at the BDSM club he belonged to.

Yeah, he was a bossy bastard. But none of the subs he’d played with had ever complained.

At least not to your face.

And if anyone in the band or crew had a problem with him… well, they probably went to Mikey.

“I want to help, Bumblebee. Something happened and I need to know how to fix it.”

He was practically begging by this stage.

“That’s just it,” she whispered. “I don’t… I don’t know how to fix it. I just. I can’t play, Brand. I can’t.”

Stage fright?

But that couldn’t be it. She’d played without a hint of nerves for the last five months.

Maybe fatigue? It happened. Touring was hard on the body and mind. “You need a break. A rest.”

“I… I guess so.”

“Then you’ll rest,” he told her firmly.

Easy.

Relief filled him. At least he knew how to take care of her now.

“The concert. I can’t let everyone down. The band needs me.”

“I’ll go on.”

“Y-you?” she asked in surprise.

“Yeah. Although I’m gonna need you to get out of this damn closet first.” It was making him antsy, her being tucked away in the dark and smelly room.

Could he convince her to go to his room? He was staying in a hotel tonight. Then he’d know she was comfortable. The bus was never that comfortable. Especially with a bunch of men.

He liked that idea.

“You don’t know our sets. The songs. You… you never play with anyone else,” she said.

That was one of his rules. One of many.

“When did I turn into such a grouchy old man?” he wondered.

“I’m not sure. Maybe around the time you turned twenty-five?”

“Hey, brat! Ought to beat your ass for that.”

To his surprise, she giggled.

The tension in his shoulders eased.

“So we’re good? You’re going to go, and I’ll go play your set.” As well as his own. He’d be fucked by the end of the night, but he’d manage.

Too bad he wasn’t twenty-five anymore. At thirty-nine, everything was a hell of a lot harder on his body.

“You can’t do that. I can… I can do it.”

“I think you need to rest,” he said firmly.

“No,” she countered. “I can do this. I just need to get out of here.” She attempted to slide forward off the shelf and nearly climbed right into his lap. He grabbed hold of her hips, steadying her.

“Sorry,” she whispered.

“If you’re not feeling up to doing this?—”

“I am.”

“Little girl, if I decide you need to rest, then that’s what you’ll do,” he grumbled at her.

They both froze at his words.

Fuck. Inappropriate, much?

“I, uh, um . . .”

“Can you please let me get up?” There was a strange note in her voice.

As though she was near tears… was it something he’d done?

He didn’t like the idea that he might have hurt her. Scrambling to his feet, he held out a hand for her to take. She hesitated for a moment, then let him pull her up.

She barely weighed a thing, and he tugged too hard, accidentally pulling her into his chest. She let out a sharp breath, tensing against him. His body reacted to her closeness, and he wanted to tug her up against his body. To take her mouth with his. To run his hands over her and learn every curve.

“You need to eat more.” That was not what he’d intended to say.

Shit.

What was wrong with him?

“I’m fine. Thanks for your concern.” Her voice was stiff.

“It’s just if you don’t take care of yourself, you can burn out. Get tired. Sick.”

“I’m fine. I’m ready to go,” she replied coldly. “I can do this.”

Great.

Now, he’d really pissed her off.

Perhaps he’d be better off not talking.

“I didn’t mean to sound like a dick. I just… I’m worried about you. If you’re not up to doing this?—”

“I am.”

She slid past him. He should have gotten out of her way. Should have darted ahead to open the door like a gentleman.

But he’d liked her body pressing against him just a bit too much. And it took him a few moments to get his damn dick to settle down.

Then he realized that she was gone.

Shit!

Heading out of the cupboard, he caught sight of her down the long corridor. He raced after her.

“Jolie! Wait!”

The brat didn’t even slow down.

“Bumblebee!”

Oh, that had her turning back toward him, her cheeks red. “Don’t call me that.”

“You didn’t protest before,” he pointed out. And he rather liked that nickname.

She was cute like a bumblebee. But she definitely had a bite.

“Yes, but… that was before.”

“It was like three minutes ago.”

“Exactly. Before.”

Before what?

Maybe before you were a jerk to her?

They headed to the back of the stage, where Mikey gave them a relieved look. That quickly morphed into anger.

“Where the hell have you been?” Mikey demanded as he stormed toward Jolie. “The guys are out there on their own, trying to keep things going. You knew what time you were going on, so what the fuck have you been doing?”

“Hey!” Brand stepped between them. “Do not speak to her like that.”

Mikey stared up at him in shock, his mouth opening and closing.

Okay, yeah. Brand wasn’t known for his diplomacy. And he’d said far worse to people for far less.

But this was Jolie. And Mikey didn’t get to talk to her that way.

“You do not swear at her. Get me?” Brand growled.

“Brand,” she whispered. “Don’t.”

“Do you get me?” he repeated, glaring down at Mikey.

“Yeah, uh. I get you.” Mikey adjusted his suit jacket sleeves. A nervous tic. “But she needs to get out there.”

“She’s going.” Brand turned to Jolie, who was gaping at him as if he’d grown another head. “Are you ready?”

She took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. Why did she look like she was going to vomit?

“You don’t have to go out there,” he told her gently.

“Actually, she does,” Mikey said.

Brand spun to him. “No, she doesn’t.”

“Right… yeah… sure.”

Brand was a big guy. Tall and muscular. Intimidating. And he wasn’t scared to use any of that to his advantage when needed.

“I’m going on,” Jolie said. “Just… I’m fine. Thanks for all your help.”

Well, that was a dismissal if ever he’d heard one.

She took several steps toward the stage, then hesitated. Andy, one of their crew, moved up to her with her guitar. She stepped back, looking ill.

Fuck.

He strode over, unable to hold himself back.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, placing his hand on her lower back.

“I just… I can’t play. I can’t.”

“Then don’t,” he said simply. If it made her this shaky and pale to even think about playing, then she wouldn’t do it.

End of story.

“But they need me to play.”

“No, they don’t,” he replied. “They have this. And I can always come on and play if I’m needed.”

“You… you will?” she asked.

“Yep.” He’d do anything to help her right now.

“Okay… okay, then. I have this,” she said in a stronger voice.

“You have this. And, Bumblebee?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ll be right here watching. Give me a sign if you need me. All right?”

She stared up at him and he swore that her normally blue eyes were glassy with tears. But then she closed them, breathing in deep and turned away. Disappointment filled him until she reached out and squeezed his hand.

“Thank you.”

“After I’m finished playing, I want to talk to you, all right?”

She looked pensive, but she nodded before striding out onto the stage at the very end of the song. Brand saw the relieved look the guys she played with sent her. They’d take care of her.

“What are you doing?” Mikey asked, coming up beside him.

“That’s none of your business.”

“You can’t get involved with her. You know what happened with Rocco?—”

Brand swung around to glare at him. “Of course I know what happened with Rocco. He’s been my friend and a member of my band for years. Yeah, he fell in love with the wrong person. But that has nothing to do with Jolie. And frankly, it’s none of your business.”

Rocco had gotten involved with a member of another of the bands who’d been on tour with them. Their break-up had been so spectacular that the label had to replace them with The Raging Misfits.

Mikey swallowed but held his ground. “I shouldn’t have brought them onboard. Clearly, she’s unprofessional.”

“She’s been nothing but professional and you know it. She stays. The band stays. And you stay out of it.”

He turned away from Mikey. He’d always gotten along okay with the guy, but he wasn’t going to put up with him disrespecting Brand’s girl.

And that’s what she was going to be.

Jolie Ryan would be his girl. Tonight, she was coming back to the hotel with him. And tomorrow, after he made sure she had plenty of sleep and ate well, he’d tell her the way it was going to be.

But four hours later, when the concert was over, she wasn’t there waiting for him.

He went to the tour bus The Raging Misfits were using, knocking on the door. One of the guys, Owen, opened the door and looked out at him.

“Brand? What the fuck? I’m trying to sleep here, man.”

“Sorry. I need to see her.”

Owen gave him a wary look. “Who? Jolie?”

“Yes, Jolie,” he said impatiently. “Is she sleeping?”

“Uh, man, she’s not here.”

“What do you mean, she’s not there?” he snarled. “Where the fuck is she?”

Owen brushed his fingers through his hair. “I mean, I don’t know, man.”

“What the fuck? Where would she go? You let her leave?”

“Let her?” Owen gaped down at him. “Dude, I don’t let Jolie do anything. She can do whatever she likes.”

“It’s the middle of the night!” he yelled. “You can’t let her roam around in the dark. Anything could happen. You guys are supposed to take care of her.”

“Chill, man. You’re gonna give yourself an aneurysm. I’m sure she’s fine.”

Brand narrowed his gaze. He had a feeling that Owen knew more than he was letting on. He’d seen these guys with Jolie. While they weren’t as protective as he’d be of her, they still watched over her.

However, he got the feeling he wasn’t getting anything out of Owen today. He was loyal to her.

“Fine. But if anything happens to her, if one hair on her head is disturbed, I’ll be coming for you.”

Turning, he stomped off.

He’d find her tomorrow. And the first thing he’d be doing was putting her over his knee.