“Good job, little girl. Now come on down here and show me what you’re really good at,” Loud Mouth yelled.
“That’s enough!”
The dark, rich tone that rang out caused the entire bar to go silent, all eyes turning to the tall guy approaching Loud Mouth. Cheyenne couldn’t see much of the mystery man’s face, but she could tell he was big. No, maybe gigantic would be a better word. He towered over everyone around him by several inches. Perhaps a foot.
“What’re you gonna do about it? Huh? Does her pussy belong to you? If not, I suggest you stay out of it,” the drunk guy snarled.
“If I hear one more disrespectful word out of your nasty mouth, I’m gonna make sure you don’t speak for the rest of the night,” the other man growled.
“That so? I’d like to see you try.”
The next thing Cheyenne knew, the room erupted in chaos. The drummer made his way out from behind his drum set and gripped her arm tightly, yanking her back with him. Without arguing, she managed to hide behind the instruments while the brawl went on in front of her. She couldn’t believe this was happening. They’d never let her back in here now.
She had no idea how long the fight lasted, but the cops eventually arrived to break things up and the bar owner opted to close down early. The damage was extensive, chairs and tables broken, glass bottles shattered and strewn across the floor, alcohol in puddles throughout, glistening in the overhead lights that had been turned on.
Cheyenne waited for the band to pack up their things before she ventured out with them, not wanting to run into the drunk guy if he happened to still be lurking in the parking lot.
The band members had gone their separate ways and Cheyenne was beating feet to her car when someone said, “You okay?”
The voice sounded familiar, and when Cheyenne lifted her gaze from the ground and looked up—way, way up—into the face of the man now standing almost directly in front of her, she realized he was the one who’d been towering over the rest of the crowd, the same one who’d addressed Loud Mouth for saying crude things.
“I’m all right,” she muttered. Good grief, how freaking tall is he? “Thank you, by the way.”
“I’m not sure why you’re thankin’ me,” he answered humbly. “You’re leavin’ because of me.”
“Yeah, well, that’s the way these things go sometimes,” she responded politely, although in all the months she’d been doing this, never had a fight broken out before tonight.
“Name’s Travis Walker.”
Cheyenne shook the big guy’s hand when he extended it and watched as hers disappeared almost entirely in his palm. The man was massive. Granted, she was on the small side, topping out at a full 5'1”, but still. He made her feel like a child.
“Nice to meet you, Travis Walker. I’m Cheyenne Montgomery.”
He nodded, but she didn’t think he was really listening to her. “I’d like you to meet someone. Don’t go anywhere.”
Cheyenne glanced around, hoping the drunk old guy from inside had been carted off by the police, because now that she was standing alone in the parking lot while Travis ambled over to a group of people loitering near the door, she suddenly didn’t want to be there.
Luckily for her, Travis returned quickly, another man at his side, this one not nearly as tall or as broad.
“Cheyenne Montgomery, I’d like you to meet Clayton Crosby.”
“Nice to meet you,” Cheyenne said, shaking the proffered hand. She wasn’t sure why Travis wanted her to meet this guy, but she tried to appear happy to be introduced. In actuality, she just wanted to get to her car so she could go home.
The guy laughed, glancing between her and Travis.
“What’s so funny?” she asked, confused.
“He didn’t tell you who I was, did he?”
“No, sir,” she told him quickly.
“Figures. Travis here ain’t much on talkin’,” Clayton said with a grin that made his rough features soften somewhat. “I’m a record producer.”
It took her a moment to process what he was telling her and then all of a sudden it sank in. Not wanting to get her hopes up too quickly, Cheyenne didn’t say a word as she ignored the anxious flutter in her belly. Hell, she wasn’t sure she could make her voice work if she had to.
Clayton laughed again. “We’re probably gonna have to work on gettin’ you to talk a little more.”
She nodded.
“Question for you. That song … the last one you sang. You write that?”
“Yes, sir,” she said hurriedly.