Undressed. Heather Macallister

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      JORDAN CHRISTIAN UNROLLED his sleeping bag on the padded bench in the back fitting room. Going next door to see what Lia looked like had been a bad idea. Bad, bad idea.

      Bad, because he liked what he saw. Bad, because she did, too. Bad, because she wasn’t going to admit it. Bad, because he was going to make her admit it.

      Yeah, he was. Assistant Manager Lia had issued a challenge with her I’m-all-about-my-work attitude and her you-don’t-do-it-for-me expression. It had been a long time since Jordan had encountered a challenge he felt like accepting.

      And Lia of the red cheeks, the slicked-back ponytail and the buttoned-up shirt all the sales associates wore was one heck of a challenge.

      Jordan had used his best stuff on her, too. Little songs—women had fainted over his little songs—the smile, the drawl…none of it’d worked.

      ’Course, she was mad about frying her computer, but Jordan figured his best stuff wouldn’t have worked anyway. Either he was rusty, a very real possibility, or she’d convinced herself that men were a distraction from her career. Maybe both.

      He lay back on the sleeping bag and crossed his arms behind his head. When he’d first seen Elizabeth Gray, the owner of the salon, he’d thought she was so tightly wound that when she finally did spring loose, he’d hear the twang wherever he happened to be at the time. As her assistant, Lia was trying to be exactly like her. That was just wrong.

      Because he was spending nights here, he’d overheard them talking the past few days, long after the place had closed down and regular folks had gone home to their families. He’d learned that the wedding-dress business was deadly serious, when he figured it would be all smiles and giggles and happiness. That seemed wrong, too.

      There had to be a song in there somewhere.

      Jordan got his musical inspiration from traveling around the country, working odd jobs and observing people. It kept him grounded and connected to his audience.

      He might spend a day or two somewhere, or he might spend a couple of months, depending on whether he was recognized or not. No timetable, except that he was due back in Nashville next week to start his new CD. If he had a relative to visit, as he did here in Rocky Falls, so much the better. Since he was performing on most holidays, he liked connecting with family when he could.

      During his travels, he’d slept in barns, his truck, lots of bed-and-breakfasts, campgrounds and more than a few tacky motels, but he’d never before slept in the dressing room of a store. It was now one of his favorites. He could work on his music without bothering Jimmy in his apartment, and until everybody left, he enjoyed listening to the women talk.

      Jordan liked women, but contrary to his ladies’-man image, he avoided the groupies and the singing hopefuls who wanted to latch on to him. That didn’t mean he wasn’t tempted, but early in his career, he’d learned that one-night stands left him broody and hollow. Women were too often dazzled by Jordan Christian, the singer, and forgot about Jordan Christian, the man.

      To be honest, part of Lia’s appeal was that she not only didn’t recognize him, it wouldn’t matter if she did. She wasn’t the dazzled type. She also wasn’t the type to pull up stakes and follow him back to Nashville thinking he had more time to give to a relationship than he did.

      Which made her just about perfect.

      Shoot. He wished he had more time here, but he’d have to work with what he had. Music helped him think and he needed to think about what he wanted to do and how he was going to do it. Reaching for his guitar, he propped it on his chest. China. Lia had mentioned China.

      Jordan feathered his fingers in a chord and then altered a note that added a vaguely eastern sound. He liked it. As he plinked the strings one at a time, a word faded into his mind. Butterfly.

      Butterfly

      In a cocoon…

      They were all about butterflies here. Girls would come, find their dream dress, and for most of them, it would be the most expensive, elaborate and just plain biggest dress they’d ever wear. And afterward, they’d be changed. They’d emerge beautiful, glowing women. Butterflies.

      Jordan turned out the light and softly strummed in the dark.