successful one.”
“For a while.”
“And you use that.”
“Marketing,” she said. “I’d be a fool not to, if I want to stay in business in a tough world.” The practical assessment surprised him. “You have a problem with that?”
She was challenging him now.
“Only when you use it to lure in kids.”
She went very still. When she spoke, her voice held a new edge that made him wary. “Lure?”
“Sexy girl rocker,” he said. “If you’re a teenage boy there’s not many lures bigger.”
For an instant she looked startled. But her voice was no less edgy, and the edge sharpened as her words came bursting out.
“That dream died thanks to the kind of thing you’re accusing me of selling. I would no more have drug paraphernalia here than I’d cook up meth in my kitchen.”
At the fierceness of her voice Wyatt drew back slightly. Perhaps he should have done some research before he’d come charging in here. He didn’t care for the way she was looking at him. Which was odd, since he’d come in here not caring what she thought, only wanting to find out what drew his son here day after day.
“You know,” she said, “when Jordy told me his father did nothing but work and hassle him, I thought he was being a typical teenager. That his situation just made normal parenting seem like hassling. Seems I was wrong. You really are a … hard-ass.”
Wyatt had the feeling Jordan had used another word, and he noted the fact that even angry she had not repeated it. He assumed a woman who’d lived in the rock world had much worse in her vocabulary, so either she’d censored herself because she didn’t use the language with a potential customer, or because she was protecting Jordan.
Belatedly—much too belatedly—he realized that she knew he wasn’t a potential customer at all, that she knew who he was.
“How did you know?”
To her credit, she didn’t play dumb. “Please. Like there’s more than two sets of those eyes in Deer Creek.”
He blinked. He’d of course known Jordan had the same color eyes. It was one of the reasons, along with childhood pictures of each of them that could be interchangeable, that he’d never doubted Jordan was his son. He just hadn’t expected a total stranger to notice it within five minutes.
And he hadn’t wanted to tick off the one person in town that Jordan seemed to voluntarily gravitate to within that first five minutes, either. He wasn’t even sure what had set him off. There had been a time when he’d been smoother, when he’d assessed a person accurately and chosen the right approach to get what information he needed from them.
Apparently that time was long past.
“Is my son here?” he asked, not even bothering to comment on her recognition.
“He’s in back.”
His brows furrowed as he glanced at the hallway behind her. “Doing what?”
“Smoking dope.”
His gaze snapped back to her face.
“Isn’t that what you expected?”
There was no denying the sour tone, or the annoyance in her voice.
And there was no denying that, if she was telling the truth, he had it coming. He just couldn’t seem to find the right path on anything connected to Jordan.
With an effort he was almost too weary to make, he pulled his scattered thoughts together and made himself focus on the reason he was here and the best way to get what he needed from this woman, not the woman herself. It was surprisingly difficult. She had a presence, and he had the brief, flitting thought that she must have been something onstage.
“Ms. Reynolds,” he said, trying to sound reasonable, “I’m just looking for my son.”
“What you’re doing,” she said, “is driving him away.”
“He’d have to be a lot closer before I could drive him away,” he said wryly.
Something flickered in her eyes, whether at his rueful words or his tone he didn’t know. But it was a better reaction than that fierce anger, or that icy cool, and he’d take it.
“Look, I just found out how much time Jordan spends here. I wanted to check the place out.”
“So you come in with an attitude and a lot of assumptions?”
She had him there. “Yes,” he admitted simply.
That won him the briefest trace of a smile.
“I’m sorry,” he said, not realizing he was going to say it until the words were out.
“About which?” she asked, clearly requiring more than just a simple, blanket apology.
He looked at her for a moment. She held his gaze steadily. Nerve, he thought. Or else he’d lost his knack for intimidation entirely in the last year. Since that had been his goal he should be happy, not standing here missing the skill.
“The attitude,” he said finally. “And the assumptions … they should have stayed at the possibilities stage.”
“Every music store is a haven for druggies and their gear? A bit old-school, aren’t you? Why risk it when people can get whatever they need or want online, with no open display of wares to get hassled over?”
She had, he knew, a very valid point. Several of them. He really should have thought more before he’d barged in here on the offensive.
“I was just worried about Jordan.” He let out a long breath, lowering his gaze and shaking his head. “I pretty much suck at this father thing,” he muttered.
“It’s a tough gig.”
The sudden gentleness of her tone caught him off guard. “I know this has been … difficult for him.”
“Ya think?” she said. “His mom dies, the father he never knew shows up out of nowhere and proceeds to drag him back to that nowhere with him … well, nowhere in his view, anyway.”
He’d been right about that, it seemed, Wyatt thought. Jordan talked to her. A lot. Certainly more than to him.
“I know he hates it here,” he said.
“I know. ‘It’s too cold, half the roads aren’t even paved, and there’s hardly any people,’” she said, clearly quoting something Jordan had told her.
“That’s exactly what I like about it,” Wyatt said.
“The cold, the roads, or the lack of population?”
“Selection C.”
Her brows rose. “So it’s not just me who sets you off, it’s people in general?”
He wasn’t quite sure there wasn’t something about her in particular, but he didn’t want to delve into that now.
“I’ve seen what people can do.”
For a moment she just looked at him. Then, with an odd sort of gentleness, she said, “I have, too. They can build skyscrapers, write incredible poetry and stories, and impossibly beautiful music. They can be kind and generous and pull together when others need them. They can weep at pain and sadness, or at a beautiful sunset.”
He stared at her. “And they can inflict pain, murder and mayhem on each other.”
She didn’t flinch. “Yes. That too. Fascinating, isn’t it?”
“You wouldn’t say that if you’d ever had to deal with the reality.”
Her gaze narrowed, and he regretted the words. And not for