Liberty grinned. “I can’t wait.”

“I can’t wait until I live closer. I feel like I’m missing out.”

“The time left on your enlistment will go by faster than you know it. And since I’m buying a bigger place in Denver right after I’m done with this assignment, you can stay with me.”

“Hang on.” Bailey had a short, muffled conversation with someone and then came back on the line. “My study partner is here, so I’ve gotta go. Love you, sis. I miss you.”

“Miss you too, Bails. Love you. Be safe.”

The conversation with Bailey increased her melancholy. It was so tempting to pull the covers over her head, stay in her pajamas and sleep until they reached their destination.

Except that you need to be on top of this security nightmare that Devin created.

He hadn’t told anyone he planned to perform the controversial song “What Love Isn’t.” His argument that, technically, it wasn’t part of his set but the Wright Brothers’ set didn’t hold water. The crowd’s response that night had been overwhelmingly positive. But in this day and age, media response was instantaneous, and word spread rapidly that he’d performed the song.

People in the Bible Belt were serious about lodging protests. So yesterday afternoon, when the bus pulled into the parking lot in Little Rock, a large crowd of protestors had gathered.

That had pissed Devin off. He didn’t address the protestors directly—besides playing the song on his set list first thing.

While Liberty understood where Devin was coming from—freedom of speech and not allowing a minority to silence him—it’d created bigger problems.

Trying to get the right media spin on it wasn’t her job, but she’d been thrust into dealing with the aftermath as part of her job. She’d stayed up late last night worrying about possible security breaches in the next two small venues because she was Devin’s lone protector.

Due to her restlessness, and, yes, her annoyance with Devin, she’d slept in her bunk for the first time in weeks. Rather than continuing to obsess over how their professional disagreement also affected their personal relationship, she faced the wall and closed her eyes, trying to shut down her brain.

She had no idea how much time had passed when his warm body pressed against hers and his deep voice in her ear pulled her from dreamland. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself. Are you finished working?”

“Yeah. Had a hard time concentrating today.”

Gee, I wonder why. “What time is it?”

“A little after three. We’ll be hitting Pine Bluff soon.”

“I should shower.” She tried to push up, but Devin held her in place, his hand on her stomach.

“Are you still mad at me?”

Liberty sighed. “I don’t know if mad is accurate. You know how much I love surprises,” she said dryly. “I dread seeing how many zealots greet us today.”

“Besides their homemade signs spreading the hate, they’ve been law-abiding.”

“Until they’re not. We’re lucky that they haven’t showed us the throwing things, burning things, Molotov cocktail side of public protests. We’ve had a good go of it the last few weeks with few incidents.”

“Because I played it safe,” he said testily.

“No, because I’ve worked my ass off to keep you safe,” she shot back.

“Liberty—”

“Don’t, okay? It’s your tour. It’s your career. It’s your song. So it’s your choice on how you handle it. When it comes to the artistic side, I’d never presume to tell you what to do.”

“But?”

“But nothing. As your bodyguard, you courting controversy makes my job harder. And that comment wasn’t meant to say that how it affects me should hold any weight on your decision. Because at the end of the day, no matter what you choose to do, it is my job to adapt and protect you.”

Devin nuzzled the back of her head. “I didn’t write the song to be controversial. I wrote it because I was pissed off and needed a way to express it.”

“What’s the real story behind the song?”

“I’ve watched a friend havin’ to hide who he is because the country music industry is highly homophobic. The guy is a brilliant performer and songwriter, but he’ll lose everything if he’s ever brave enough to step out of the closet to live openly with the man he loves. The whole theme of the song is . . . love is love. No one has the right to judge anyone else and tell them what love is or isn’t. When a reporter questioned me whether the song was autobiographical, I said no. But I went off on her, stating that I think g*ys should be able to marry and that too many people worried what others were doin’ behind closed bedroom doors when it ain’t nobody’s business. That didn’t sit well with my demographic—according to the record label.

“I stand behind everything I said and the song because I believe it. But I’d already had enough threat stuff goin’ on before I offered such a juicy sound bite. So I agreed to leave the song off the set list for this tour. I thought I’d made the right decision.”

“When did that change?”

“I don’t know if it did. Now I’m f**ked because if I don’t play it, the hard-core religious groups targeting me claim they’ve won. If I do play it, I’m putting myself and you and the entire tour at risk. There’s no easy or right answer.” He sighed into her hair. “I’m sorry it put us at odds.”