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Authors: Mary J. Williams
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gave a brief account of his bout of post-dinner paranoia.
"I'll give Colleen credit. She did as I asked—once I promised I would explain at a later date. If the tables were turned, I don't think I would have been as understanding."
"You trusted your instincts," Ryder said. "Keep doing that."
"I will." Dalton yawned. His early start and the day's drama had finally taken its toll. "I'll call tomorrow night."
"If you need anything , Dalton. Don't hesitate."
"I know."
Dalton ended the call. Stretching, he closed his eyes and relaxed his body. Even with the air conditioner at full blast, the room was unpleasantly stuffy. The sheets had the feel of a mild-grade sandpaper, and the neon sign flashed vacancy through the drawn curtain. However, he was too tired for any of that to matter.
Within minutes, Dalton drifted off to sleep with a slight smile on his lips and a final thought of the lovely Colleen. For the next six hours, he slept soundly. And blissfully dreamed of nothing.
CHAPTER SIX
EVERY MORNING, DALTON tried to run at least five miles. More if time permitted. Yesterday, he had skipped the ritual but not today. Starting at a leisurely pace, he circled behind the motel, cutting through the alley littered with a puzzlingly large amount of empty beer bottles. Was that a week's supply? A month's? Didn't the owners believe in recycling? The battered green refuse dumpster overflowed with a gag-inducing amount of malodorous black plastic bags. When the hell was garbage pick-up in this town?
Shaking off the less-than-pleasant beginning, Dalton veered onto a promising-looking path. It didn't take long for his muscles to loosen. Speeding up, he breathed with practiced ease. Running was the perfect way to explore an area. When they were on tour, Dalton never took the same route twice. It was amazing what he saw on foot. Small, interesting things that he never would have discovered riding along in a car. It was how he found his favorite boot maker. The tiny shop in the middle of an out-of-the-way neighborhood in Milan. It had been an unexpected and pleasant surprise.
Dalton didn't expect anything close to pleasant as he wound his way through the middle of Midas.
The Midas Manor—Dalton snorted at the pretentious name—was located at the point where the town began to morph from dirt poor to stinking rich. There wasn't much of a middle class in Midas, but it did exist. Somebody needed to provide essential services to the town. Food and various sundries. Dalton imagined the bulk of the clientele came from the south side of town. However, when faced with no cream for their morning coffee, the northsiders probably stooped to send a servant to pick up a pint.
Shaking his head at his fanciful thoughts, Dalton journeyed on. This wasn't something he would have done seven years ago. Today he believed a healthy body led to a healthy mind. In his early twenties, he relied upon youthful energy and stupidity. Sometimes he wondered why he hadn't landed in trouble more often. The trouble he found in Midas that fateful summer set him on a different path.
Not to salvation—Dalton had no idea what that even meant. He learned the hard way to stop coasting on his innate gifts as a drummer and a man. He began to study other musicians. He honed his craft. When he listened to the band's early recordings, he heard a wild, undisciplined boy. Now—older, more experienced, smarter—he no longer pounded the drums. He made them sing.
Of course, it was that youthful abandon that brought him to Ryder's attention. Lead singer of a fledgling band that already included Ashe, they needed a drummer. Their backgrounds were different—as were their basic personalities. But in each other they recognized something. The love of music and a burning ambition to succeed. That need brought them together. Through thick and thin—that was their motto.
Few bands lasted a year, let alone a decade. Music brought them together. Their
"I'll give Colleen credit. She did as I asked—once I promised I would explain at a later date. If the tables were turned, I don't think I would have been as understanding."
"You trusted your instincts," Ryder said. "Keep doing that."
"I will." Dalton yawned. His early start and the day's drama had finally taken its toll. "I'll call tomorrow night."
"If you need anything , Dalton. Don't hesitate."
"I know."
Dalton ended the call. Stretching, he closed his eyes and relaxed his body. Even with the air conditioner at full blast, the room was unpleasantly stuffy. The sheets had the feel of a mild-grade sandpaper, and the neon sign flashed vacancy through the drawn curtain. However, he was too tired for any of that to matter.
Within minutes, Dalton drifted off to sleep with a slight smile on his lips and a final thought of the lovely Colleen. For the next six hours, he slept soundly. And blissfully dreamed of nothing.
CHAPTER SIX
EVERY MORNING, DALTON tried to run at least five miles. More if time permitted. Yesterday, he had skipped the ritual but not today. Starting at a leisurely pace, he circled behind the motel, cutting through the alley littered with a puzzlingly large amount of empty beer bottles. Was that a week's supply? A month's? Didn't the owners believe in recycling? The battered green refuse dumpster overflowed with a gag-inducing amount of malodorous black plastic bags. When the hell was garbage pick-up in this town?
Shaking off the less-than-pleasant beginning, Dalton veered onto a promising-looking path. It didn't take long for his muscles to loosen. Speeding up, he breathed with practiced ease. Running was the perfect way to explore an area. When they were on tour, Dalton never took the same route twice. It was amazing what he saw on foot. Small, interesting things that he never would have discovered riding along in a car. It was how he found his favorite boot maker. The tiny shop in the middle of an out-of-the-way neighborhood in Milan. It had been an unexpected and pleasant surprise.
Dalton didn't expect anything close to pleasant as he wound his way through the middle of Midas.
The Midas Manor—Dalton snorted at the pretentious name—was located at the point where the town began to morph from dirt poor to stinking rich. There wasn't much of a middle class in Midas, but it did exist. Somebody needed to provide essential services to the town. Food and various sundries. Dalton imagined the bulk of the clientele came from the south side of town. However, when faced with no cream for their morning coffee, the northsiders probably stooped to send a servant to pick up a pint.
Shaking his head at his fanciful thoughts, Dalton journeyed on. This wasn't something he would have done seven years ago. Today he believed a healthy body led to a healthy mind. In his early twenties, he relied upon youthful energy and stupidity. Sometimes he wondered why he hadn't landed in trouble more often. The trouble he found in Midas that fateful summer set him on a different path.
Not to salvation—Dalton had no idea what that even meant. He learned the hard way to stop coasting on his innate gifts as a drummer and a man. He began to study other musicians. He honed his craft. When he listened to the band's early recordings, he heard a wild, undisciplined boy. Now—older, more experienced, smarter—he no longer pounded the drums. He made them sing.
Of course, it was that youthful abandon that brought him to Ryder's attention. Lead singer of a fledgling band that already included Ashe, they needed a drummer. Their backgrounds were different—as were their basic personalities. But in each other they recognized something. The love of music and a burning ambition to succeed. That need brought them together. Through thick and thin—that was their motto.
Few bands lasted a year, let alone a decade. Music brought them together. Their
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