Page 36 of Tate (The Montana Marshalls #2)

T ate could feel it, the niggle, the itch creeping up his spine that this night could go very, very badly.

He’d even alerted Sly, who stood opposite him up in front of the massive stage, tucked into the discreet shadows of the Bridgestone Arena in Nashville.

In front of him, twenty thousand country music stars, celebrities, and fans filled the arena, the glittering spotlights glaring down into the audience.

He could only see the first thirty or so rows, but Glo and her entourage were sitting just ten feet away, and that’s what counted.

Besides, Sly had worked with the crew of the stadium and not a few other personal security teams.

Still, something stirred in his gut.

Please, he just wanted to get Glo home safely.

Maybe then she’d shake out of the strange arm’s length freeze going on between them. It might be his imagination, because sure, they’d stepped out of never-never land and right back into the scrutiny of Senator Jackson and her henchmen, but Glo, too, seemed off.

She’d gone back to calling him by her nicknames. Champ. Rocky. The Rock. And a few strange ones like Bullwinkle, Tiger, and yesterday evening’s Bono.

Of course, he’d been trying on the strange glasses Sly had procured for them, something to stop the glare of the spotlights. Orange wraparounds and yeah, maybe he looked a little like Bono.

She’d walked out to the estate’s security booth and told the team she was going riding.

He’d volunteered to ride with her, but Rags got up and grabbed the keys to a four-wheeler.

Meanwhile, he and Sly had gone over tonight’s plan. Again.

And while he hadn’t expected to be her date—he could hardly keep an eye on her while sitting beside her—he wasn’t exactly sure why she’d chosen Sloan to sit with her.

Maybe that accounted for the roil in his gut.

Cole Swindell finished playing, and the audience cheered as he ran down the thrust to the main stage. The spotlight flashed to Carrie Underwood, dressed in yet another outfit, and suddenly the worry in his gut ignited.

“And to present the award for New Group of the Year, please welcome Senator Reba Jackson.”

“What?” The voice came through Tate’s headpiece and he nearly winced at Sly’s shout.

Agreed. What the?—

Tate glanced over and sure enough, the senator walked down the stairs in the center of the stage and over to the mic. She wore a long white dress, like she might be a virginal offering, her shoulder-length amber red hair down, and raised her hands to calm the applause.

Like mother, like daughter, Glo was breathtaking tonight in a crazy teal dress that was both short and long, with a sort of skirt that overlaid the back of the sleeveless dress, and a pair of glittery gold heels that were so high he’d wanted to reach out for her elbow and steady her.

Of course, she hadn’t needed it, Sloan filling in just fine.

And at the moment, the man was smiling, a weird look of satisfaction on his face.

Tate frowned.

Especially since Glo had gone nearly white.

“Hey, ya’ll,” said the senator, her voice pearly smooth in the mic. “I know this is a surprise. I wasn’t actually supposed to be here tonight. I spent the day with the good folks from Atlanta talking about how we’re going to make America a safer, better place, right?”

More cheers.

He looked at Kelsey, seated next to Glo. Her mouth was open, her eyes pinned to Reba. And next to her, his outrageously lucky big brother Knox, who’d flown their ranch plane down to Nashville, fit perfectly into the superstar boyfriend persona.

While Tate stood on the sidelines like the hired help.

Which he was.

“And that means I’m not going to stand down and be afraid, even when there are threats against me and my family!”

More cheers, galvanizing the American spirit. People loved a fighter.

“When I got the call from Carrie today asking if I’d present tonight’s award for New Group of the Year, I was thrilled. Because we all love to encourage new ideas, new dreams, right?” More applause.

“But more, I understand how things can change in this world, and I want to be the person who can adapt, change with them, and show up when people need me.”

Oh, for cryin’ out loud. Tate tried not to roll his eyes, kept his face unmoved. But, really?

“Which is why, before we announce tonight’s winners, I need to let you in on a little secret.” She leaned into the mic, close, and whispered, “Promise not to tell anyone until tomorrow, when we make our announcement?” Laughter from the audience.

And his stomach clenched, a fist inside?—

“Okay then. You’re the first to know.” She took a breath.

“In the race for president, I’ve found the political party that I’ve long aligned with to be not hard enough on foreign policy, not willing to draw a line in the sand to put America first. So, as of tonight, I’m switching parties.

And not only that, I’m doing it with the endorsement of Isaac White, my co-contender, the senator from Montana.

I promise, I still believe in a fairer, safer America, but now with a party that also believes in a stronger America! ”

More applause, but Tate had to wonder if it wasn’t simply because of the emotion in the room more than her announcement. He didn’t exactly follow politics, but it seemed that both parties were a mess. It didn’t matter which camp you lived in, you did what was right, regardless of your affiliation.

Still, it felt like an odd place to make the announcement…unless he accounted for the audience watching. Country music fans. People who also believed in a stronger America.

Shoot, he believed in a stronger America.

But he also believed in Glo having her moment in the spotlight, and his mouth tightened as Glo offered a wide grin and clapped as if she wasn’t completely blindsided.

She had her stage face on.

“Now, for tonight’s award!”

The video queued up and announced the nominees. On the jumbotron in the back, Tate caught the Belles’ stage photo. Glo wore a painted tattoo down her arm, an all-leather getup, her hair a white halo.

He loved all the versions of her, but for a second, the memory of her in faded boyfriend jeans, a T-shirt, and bare feet sitting on a stool in his mother’s kitchen, stealing a cookie, might be his favorite.

“And tonight’s award goes to?—”

He held his breath.

And then Kelsey was on her feet, launching into Knox’s arms, and Dixie and Elijah Blue high-fived. Sloan pulled Glo up to embrace her.

Or at least Tate thought so, until Sloan grabbed Glo’s face and popped her a kiss, right there in front of the entire crowd. Phone lights flashed, and Tate fought to keep his face impassionate.

Get your hands off her, Slick .

He’d nearly delivered that exact threat tonight when Sloan showed up at the house, dressed to the nines in a tuxedo and bow tie. He wore a little scruff on his face, like he might be trying too hard.

And of course Glo needed a date tonight. But why she’d picked Slick?—

Tate blew out a breath as she and the Belles took the stage, along with Elijah Blue and Carter. The senator gave her a hug, an air-kiss, and stood back, beaming.

Tate kept his eye on the audience, watching. But no one jumped up with a semi-automatic. No rumblings of the floor underneath them suggested a bombing. Just the thunder of his heartbeat as he watched Sloan smirk.

He’d set it up—Tate knew it in his gut. This little stunt to make sure Reba got the limelight. And maybe it wasn’t a big deal.

But it burned inside Tate for the rest of the night. Watching Sloan settle his arm over Glo, his proprietary behavior extending to the way he settled his hand on the small of her back as they exited.

Tate stood by just in the wings, as the press took pictures of the Belles, with their entourage and without. Sloan added a few with Glo and her mother. Reba looked like she’d won her own award, for the grin on her face.

They finally extricated themselves, moved out of the building, back down the red carpet still thronged with fans, and into the limousines pulled up at the curb.

Carter, Dixie, and Elijah Blue climbed into their limo.

Sloan stood at the door and turned to Glo.

“Where to first, darlin’? The Sony party? The Big Machine Label Group?”

For the first time, Glo shot a look Tate’s direction, her expression stricken. “My feet are tired?—”

“Take off your shoes. You’ll be fine.” Sloan all but pushed her into the limo.

Kelsey glanced at Tate also, as she climbed in. “Don’t give up on her now,” she said, and he frowned.

Knox clamped him on the shoulder as he followed her in.

Tate climbed into the front, next to Rags. “Did you know about this?”

“The after-parties? No. But whatever the boss wants.”

Tate wasn’t quite sure who the boss might be tonight.

They ended up at the Sony gig, held in an old church just a few blocks from the arena in downtown.

The entourage got out, and Tate followed them into the packed venue.

Paper chandeliers hung from the beamed rafters, and at the front of the expansive room, Kenny Chesney got up and took the mic, singing one of his newest hits.

Sloan had hold of Glo’s hand and pulled her onto the dance floor. She wore one of her fake smiles but obliged as other celebrities danced around her. Tate spotted Benjamin King, a singer who had filled in a couple months ago when the Belles were recuperating from the traumatic bombing.

Benjamin was with his wife, a tall redhead, and their daughter, Audrey, talking to Brad Paisley. Ben must have seen Tate, because he nodded, catching his eye.

Wow, he so didn’t belong here. But as long as Glo was here, so was he.

“We’re a far distance from the ranch,” said Knox, coming up to him. He handed him a can of Coke. Tate drank it and crumpled the can in his fist.

“She only went out with Sloan because she needed a date.”

“I know.”

But maybe Sloan didn’t, the way he hung onto Glo. For her part, she seemed stiff, and almost annoyed, even as she played the role of belle of the ball.