Sneak Peek: (Unedited) Chapter One, Love on the Run

I’m wrapping up the first draft of Love on the Run, which should (knock on wood) be out at the end of May. It’s up on pre-order at iBooks, and once I get the edits back on it and know how much revision is needed, I’ll put it up for pre-order everywhere else. (iBooks is really good about shifting the dates a few week if needed, that’s why they get it first)

But I’m in love with this first chapter, and I thought I’d share it, warts and all. It might not stay the first chapter — for one thing, Dean and Liana don’t meet until the second chapter as it stands right now. I don’t know if that’s smart. But on the other hand, sometimes love starts long before you meet the right one. Sometimes it starts at the moment when you reclaim your life. And that’s what happens here. I love Liana Hansen, and I hope you will, too.

~ Zoe

P.S. Did you know that Pine Harbour #1 is out in audio format now? I’ve got a widget on the side of my blog with a link to a free offer if you’ve never tried the audiobook thing before.

EXCERT FROM

LOVE ON THE RUN

(PINE HARBOUR #5)

— CHAPTER ONE —

LIANA Hansen tugged her signature black t-shirt over her head and settled the snug, soft cotton over her curves. The v-neck showed just enough cleavage to be sexy, but the cut stayed on the conservative side, guaranteeing there would be no wardrobe malfunction while she was on stage.

“Ten minutes, Ms. Hansen!” the tour manager called out after knocking on her dressing room door.

She reached for her water bottle and took a small sip, careful not to mess up her makeup.

When he knocked again, she frowned at the door. He knew she wouldn’t holler back. Top of her short list of concert day requests was not talking too much before the show. Limes instead of lemons with her water and cucumbers on the veggie tray—she really wasn’t that demanding.

So seriously, W.T.F.?

She pulled the door open, about to snap at Brad that she’d heard him the first time, and the smart remark died on her lips.

It had been a few days since Track Gantley had stopped by her dressing room to play his little mindfuck games before the show. She should have known she was due. A chill rippled through her body and she struggled not to show the tour headliner—and her long-ago ex-fiancé—her fear.

It was entirely ridiculous, because he wasn’t going to say anything that bad.

She stepped aside, letting him into her dressing room. He left the door open, and she could just imagine how that would be spun in the gossip blogs.

Track is well known for mentoring other performers on his tour. This summer, that’s a little awkward because one of them is Liana Hansen, the hussy who broke his heart and selfishly put her career ahead of the family he wanted. Of course, Track still selflessly reaches out to her, but he’s careful not to let her get her claws into him. Even when she invites him into her dressing room, he leaves the door open…

Or maybe that was just her own fear of how it would look.

“I saw that you shifted the set list around a bit,” he said, sitting on the edge of the counter that ran along one wall. He stretched his long, denim-clad legs out in front of him, and crossed his ankles. He was wearing his brown cowboy boots tonight, the ones with the extra half-inch heel.

Someone feeling small, Track? Need to bully me to make yourself feel like more of a man? But she didn’t say that. She just smiled coolly and nodded. “I’m starting with River Bed Lullaby tonight.”

His lips tightened. “That’s not what I’m concerned about and you know it.”

Yeah, she did. But if he wanted to say something, he had to come out and say it.

“You took ‘Forget Me Not’ off the the list.”

“I’ve decided to close with ‘Cravings’. You’d mentioned that you wanted me to play another song from the latest album.”

“I wanted you to play a single.” He meant “Build a Bridge,” the only song on Catch Me if You Can that she didn’t have a writing credit on. The weakest single of the three she’d managed from that album, the last single before it was decided not to push any more songs.

She hated that fucking song, and wouldn’t be playing it, no matter what. “‘Cravings’ could have been a single.” She licked her lips. “I want to put it on an EP for Christmas. Second chance for it.”

He sighed and pushed himself upright, sliding his thumbs into his pockets. Pretending he was casual about this conversation.

Neither of them were ever casual about a conversation between them. Ever. Eight years of tension and anger and resentment still simmered hard beneath the surface.

“It’s not the right tone for you, Liana.” He gave her a look that anyone else would read as concerned.

She saw the judging sneer. Heard the censure in his voice. Don’t be slutty, he meant.

“I have to get out there,” she said instead of all the things she wanted to say.

“Have a good show.” He smiled, and the coldness of it hurt so much she wanted to cry.

Good thing she was starting with a sad song. All the feels, delivered straight to the Savannah fans courtesy of Track Fucking Gantley.

America’s favourite singer.

Liana’s private enemy—and her boss for at least one more album.

At least as the second act she didn’t have any meet and greets before the shows on this tour. Track might be able to turn his feelings on and off like a deranged robot, but she couldn’t do it.

She grabbed her gargle bottle and swept out into the hall before Track could say anything else. Her band members were already milling around, and she gave them all a quick smile.

Let’s do this.

Jackie Billings, her lead guitar, narrowed her eyes as she glanced over Liana’s shoulder. Shit. She didn’t need her worrying. She gave Jackie a wink to say, it’s all good. It wasn’t. This tour had been a terrible idea. They were six weeks into it and each night she was getting progressively wound tighter.

She was pretty sure Jackie was the only who noticed or cared. The older woman didn’t have a lot of love for Track, either, but Liana’s drummer and bass player both did, so the women kept their opinions on the down low.

The only thing worse that Liana being miserable on tour would be tensions flaring in other directions as well.

Jackie might think that Track was a pig, but she was a professional. And it wasn’t like the rest of their industry was made up of sensitive feminists, either. Nashville was a hard town to be a woman in, which was ironic, because it was a town that celebrate female singers in a way that rock never had.

But the hoops those vaunted stars needed to jump through…

Liana had learned the hard way that sometimes it just wasn’t possible to please the kingmakers.

Didn’t mean she didn’t have a career.

Didn’t mean she wasn’t still blessed.

Speaking of which… She set her gargle bottle down on a ledge and wiggled her fingers. Jackie took one hand, West Jackson took the other, and her bass player, Andrew Yoast stood across from her, completing the circle between Jackie and West.

Liana let Andrew lead the prayer. He was most devout. It was enough that she pulled them together.

With a whispered amen at the end, they broke apart, and as the lights fell, Andrew and West took their spots on stage.

Liana swished her mouth rinse, vocalizing a bit in the back of her mouth as she did the secret, super gross routine that nobody wanted to see. Jackie snickered at her as she spit it out, and that little secret laugh pushed away the darkness Liana had been feeling.

Fucking Track.

But this? She loved performing. Loved connecting with a crowd, watching them sway back and forth as she brought tears to their eyes, or have them jumping for joy as she sang to the rafters about living in the moment, no matter what the cost.

She’d belt that particular song out no problem today.

But first she had to tear some hearts out.

Jackie plugged in her electric guitar, and while they still stood in the dark of the side stage, she played the first three, slow notes of ‘River Bed Lullaby’.

The crowd went wild, and warm, welcome relief poured into Liana’s heart.

It would be a good show.

Jackie walked onto stage, the spotlight following her all the way across to the far side, then split into two, the second light tracking back to pick up Liana as she walked into view.

The song, her first hit, when she was only eighteen, was about a young woman knowing that she was losing her mother to the bottle. A fearful prophesy that her mother might one day kill herself. A plea not to hurt them both. Begging her to let her daughter help.

It was Liana’s favourite song, still, and Jackie played the part of the wounded mother well, pouring soulful agony into her guitar as Liana sang to her from the other end of the stage.

They usually did this  song at the mid-point of the show, but Savannah brought up a lot of ugly feelings for Liana.

It was where Track had proposed.

Where she caught him cheating on her a year later.

America’s golden boy. Ha.

No, every time she played here, she took the crowd to the dark, ugly parts of her soul first. It gave decent cover to the raw edge of her voice when she finally hit centre stage and held out her hands, offering the crowd a figurative circle of connection just like the one she’d shared with her band before they came on stage.

“Hello, Savannah!” she called out. “You are looking beautiful tonight, I gotta say. Yes, you. Stunning.”

She grinned, then pressed her hand to her chest. “Anyone feeling a little sad right now? I know. Me too. But there’s joy to be found in music, right?”

That was West’s cue, and behind her, he started into the next song.

And on they rolled, through some of her favourites, and all of her hits—and the two columns didn’t always match up, but there was enough to make her and the crowd and the band all happy, so by the time they hit the last song, “Craving”, she was flying.

Until she glanced over at Jackie, whose head was bowed over the guitar, riffing hard, and behind her stood Track.

The mocking look on his face was a punch to Liana’s guts, like he was laughing at her. She stumbled over the bridge, missing the beat where she should have started singing. Her band just looped a few lines again, and this time her voice took flight where it should.

I’ve got cravings that

Would shock you

Desires I can’t

Speak of

She tore her gaze away from the wings because fuck him, but the damage was done. The heart of the song, her heart, had been squished like a bug, and when her voice dropped low and slow at the end, she knew she didn’t have the crowd with her.

They applauded when the lights went down, but it wasn’t deafening.

She hated that she needed that roar to drown out her doubts.

Jackie took one look at her face and made sure she was between Liana and Track as they exited the stage.

“Liana!” he called out to her, but she was into the hallway that led to the dressing rooms, and Andrew and West were making enough noise behind her that she could pretend she didn’t hear.

Jackie was talking to her, but her friend’s voice was coming from a distance. A dull roar thundered inside her head as she yanked out her in-ear monitor and handed it to one of the roadies.

She shook her head. She just needed a minute alone.

Somehow she made it to her dressing room and shut the door, sliding down it as the tears started to fall.

What the hell was going on?

When did she start losing her mind?

She scrubbed the heels of her hands against her eyes, cursing at herself under her breath. Her palms were covered in eye makeup and her face was almost definitely a mess.

She shoved to her feet and found her makeup bag, fixing as much as she could as her heart rate sped up.

It was time to go.

She shoved a few things in a bag, grabbed her purse, and headed for the door.

The hallway was full of people, but she made noises about heading to the tour bus, then kept on walking, finding a cab on the app on her phone.

The last thing she did before she told the driver to take her to the airport was send a text message to Jackie. I’m taking off for a couple of days. Going to see Hope. Don’t tell anyone where I am.