A man answered the number he’d gotten for J. Hyatt, veterinarian. “Uh, hello. I’m trying to reach Jewell Hyatt.”
“This is Dr. Cooper. I’m covering Dr. Hyatt’s calls. May I help you?”
“I’m phoning from Maryland. I... We had a hurricane here and I’m checking to make sure she got home okay.”
“Not yet. She called to say her flight was canceled and there’s a backlog. She’s rebooked but due back in a couple of days. May I take your name and leave her a message?”
The news that the other vet had heard from Jewell unwound the tight knot in Saxon’s belly. “Thanks, it’s not necessary.” He clicked off then because he didn’t want any more questions. She’d made it safely back to DC. That gave him peace of mind.
But even afterward all the chords he jotted down sounded like other songs he’d written. And thoughts of Jewell kept interfering. Words came to him about how her hair looked like fire and her skin like snow. Saxon tossed aside his guitar with a thud and scrubbed his hands down his face. He should shave.
“Everything cool back there?” Dean called. “I like listening to you play.”
“I’m okay. Just wrestling with a new song.”
“Carson’s asking if you’re ready to stop for lunch. Up ahead is a steak-and-burger place he knows. Donovan says we can get out and stretch and go inside without locals bugging you for autographs.”
“If that’s what the band wants, it’s fine by me. I don’t mind talking to fans. Most are respectful. We need them.”
“Yeah. Carson says Donovan worked with rock stars too long. Those fans mob an artist.”
“I guess we’ll see in a few weeks. The Hollywood benefit features crossover hits as well as country.”
“Hey, there’s the steak house. I hope it’s open. This dinky town looks sleepy or dead.”
Saxon stood again and peered out as Dean parked. He could see from one end of the street to the other. The businesses were small and built of weathered wood. As he put on his cowboy hat and swung down out of the bus, he was reminded acutely of Snowy Owl Crossing. Surprisingly, he felt a wave of nostalgia but was abruptly jerked back to the present by his rowdy band members trooping inside the eatery.
Donovan engineered seating so that tables where the band sat acted as a buffer to the back booth he chose for himself and Saxon.
Two waitresses emerged from the kitchen, bringing menus and trays of water glasses to the noisy men. The woman who served Donovan and Saxon smiled and winked at Saxon. “Saw you on TV at the last country music awards. Bought some of your songs for our jukebox.” She pointed to the opposite end of the room. “Willie Nelson’s been here. Reba, too. They gave us autographed photos we framed and put on the wall. Would be right honored to add you,” she drawled.
Donovan sighed and adjusted his tie, but Saxon nodded and smiled. “I’m sure we can scare up a photo I can sign.” He passed back the menu. “I smelled burgers when I walked in. That’s what I’ll have, with a large order of fries.”
The others ordered, too, and as soon as the women left, Donovan took a wrinkled paper from his suit pocket. Scowling, he set it in front of Saxon. “Why don’t Harmon or Andrews know you have family in Montana?”
Saxon stiffened. Fred Harmon was the owner of his label company, and Sid Andrews had been his agent/manager from the get-go. Saxon snatched the paper, wadded it up and shoved it in his shirt pocket. “What does it matter?”
“You have relatives we don’t know about anxious to see you in person, you bet your butt it’s the label’s business.”
“It’s nobody’s business but mine.” Saxon mustered a thin smile for the waitress who slid a sizzling steak in front of Donovan and a fat burger in front of him.
Donovan waited to speak again until the men at the adjacent tables were served and the waitresses had left. “How old is this uncle? Why can’t he phone you? Is he dying?”
That last question hit Saxon like a barreling freight train. Had Jewell said Leland was sick? “I don’t know.” Squirting ketchup near his fries, Saxon watched Donovan slice his steak. “He’s my dad’s older brother. When my folks died, he was named my guardian. We had a rocky relationship. He thought I should be a rancher, not a singer. This is the first I’ve heard from him since I moved to Nashville.” Saxon pushed a fry through the ketchup, then shoved it in his mouth and picked up his burger. “Can we not discuss this?”
“I knew the redhead who brought the letter spelled trouble the minute you asked to see her backstage. You never invite women to your bus. Now she’s gone and you’re acting weird. I work for Fred. He’s invested a bundle in you. It’s my job to keep you from going off the rails.”
Half choking, Saxon had to take a drink of water. “I earn my keep at the label. As for Jewell, leave her out of it. She had business in DC, so my uncle asked her to deliver his letter.”
“I admit you earn your keep. The question is, did you hear from your long-lost uncle because he’s suddenly broke and sees you as a potential cash cow?”
“You read his letter. He doesn’t say why he wants to see me.” Saxon stabbed another French fry in the pool of ketchup.
“While we’re in Austin or San Antonio, I’ll put out feelers. You know, to see if the old guy’s in debt or shopping for a loan.”
“No!” Saxon wiped his hands on his napkin, tossed it down on his plate and got up. “Stay out of it, and that goes for Sid and Fred, as well. I get wind of anyone poking around Snowy Owl Crossing, I’ll find a new label.” He stormed out, aware that his band members had stopped talking and gaped after him.
He got back on his bus, scribbled his name on a photo and took it back in to the waitress. He rarely flew off the handle, and so he was sure band members who’d been with him the longest would be curious. He had to decide how much to tell them. For all Donovan’s faults, he didn’t gossip. So the guys wouldn’t be privy to details about his uncle’s letter unless he shared them. However, they’d all seen Jewell, and most knew he’d taken her to his bus. If he said nothing, the guys would speculate that his tussle with Donovan most likely had to do with her. Damn!
Back in the bus he paced. Was his uncle sick? Did he need money? When he was growing up, his parents had never even mentioned his uncle. So he’d been in shock to learn someone he’d never met had been named his guardian. He actually didn’t know much about his parents’ families, period. Maybe he should be the one asking questions. But ask who? Not his uncle. They hadn’t spoken since he left home. Jewell? She’d brought his uncle’s letter but had claimed she had no idea what Leland wanted. He had no reason to doubt her.
* * *
IT WAS LATE afternoon three days after the hurricane when Jewell finally caught a flight out of DC that eventually got her to Billings. Still feeling off-kilter, she would have spent the night in a hotel and driven home in the morning, but she was anxious to get there. She collected her pickup from the long-term lot, grateful the sun would be setting behind her on the drive.
After connecting her cell to the hands-free device, she phoned Pete Cooper, her fill-in at the vet clinic. “Hey, Pete, it’s Jewell,” she said when he answered. “I’m heading home as we speak. Thanks for taking my calls. I’ll pop a check in the mail tomorrow. Did anything come in that I need to handle tomorrow?”
“Not really. Tawana called. The Artsy Ladies plan to meet for a late lunch at the café Monday at one o’clock. She said it’s important. I left you a note.”
“Ugh! They’re probably in a tizzy over the fact I wasn’t able to secure an owl refuge. I’m afraid