Mac’s Daring Heart: Sweethearts of Country Music, Book 6

by Layne, Sandi

  “And here they are, the newest Sweethearts of Country Music, the Lipstick Outlaws!”

  A buzz of pure adrenaline raced through Mac’s body, warming her skin and firing her synapses so that her mind was sharp, clear, vibrant. She was so ready for this as she and Ceece set themselves in their little area, C.C. in the intimidating arrangement of her drum kit and Mac close by where her grayish bass guitar waited on its slender stand. She slung the Ibanez up and over her torso, checked the connections, and waved as the audience in front of them cheered.

  “Out-Laws! Out-Laws! Out-Laws!”

  Katie Lyn turned to catch all of them to make sure they were ready and then C.C. hit her sticks and Mac tucked herself into her pocket with the bass line. Katie Lyn grabbed her mic and began, “Been stressing in the wrong city . . .”

  It was the right song to open with, and the crowd responded favorably. Mac loved being the blood thumping in the veins of the music, the reason behind the emotion, the power that folks tended not to notice unless it wasn’t there. The bass line is the blood, she’d said in an interview once, and it remained true for her. True enough to keep playing, even when part of her heart was back there, behind the lights, back where Derek was watching her, along with her brother, watching her and being proud of her and loving her enough to buy her a ring even before he’d popped the question.

  The lights shifted at the end of the song and they moved to the next one, Black Pony, before they did their usual introductions. “Rissa Walker, here, on lead guitar. She’s the heart behind the Lipstick Outlaws! And of course, Taylor Jones, our beautiful import from Denver, on the piano.” Huge cheer for the gorgeous blonde. “Y’all like her music, so do we! Back on drums, we have our wonderful C.C. DeVera!” C.C. had a sizable fanbase, and they all shouted so that the cheers were echoed off the Nissan Stadium, Mac was sure. “Woman of Mystery, she’s probably rolling her eyes behind those sexy sunglasses. And on the fiddle and banjo, we’ve got the versatile Cinnamon Chadwick! She moves hearts with her words, doesn’t she? And here’s Mac Cunningham on bass guitar! Local girl with a brand-new rock on her hand, people! Yes, Mac is off the market!” More cheers and Mac didn’t even try to hide her grin as she shook her head and waved with her left hand before coming up to take Katie Lyn’s mic, as they’d arranged days before.

  “And this lady with the fine set of pipes is Katie Lyn. Where would we be without her, hey, y’all? Great to be singing here in my hometown, Music City!”

  The applause fueled C.C.’s rhythm and the band went on to do the most-downloaded track from their album, to the appreciation of everyone. They had half an hour and it had to count. Thirty minutes. Most of it, Mac spent picking at the four heavy strings of her bass with her right hand while her left held the tension at the frets. And every time she shifted, she saw the flare of light from the diamond and felt like smiling. But she didn’t, because this half-hour was all about the band and the music.

  After that would be time for the love of her life, waiting just beyond the speakers.

  And as they stepped off the Riverfront Stage, the huge foray into the bigger arena of Country Music successfully completed, Mac Cunningham ran straight to the arms of her fiancé. “I love you!” she told the strong, hot column of his throat.

  “You were amazing out there, hon. Just amazing.”

  “And hey, thank you,” her brother said from just behind Derek’s shoulder.

  “For what?” she demanded as Derek put her down amidst all the band-changing insanity.

  Her twin stepped close and stared into her eyes, in their old way, and she was comforted by his constancy. “For what? For asking first. I will never let him live that down.”

  Their laughter was heard by the other members of the Lipstick Outlaws as they moved in a flurry to affect a flawless changeover. And then they hugged and met the other significant others who had made it to the concert, before Mac pulled C.C. aside.

  “Thanks for putting up with all of this.”

  “Congrats, Mac. Way to go. He’s a keeper.”

  “He really is. We’re gonna go be, like, proper engaged people now. Are we done for the weekend?”

  Her friend laughed and pulled her into a hug that was sweaty with musical exertion. “We are, indeed. Call me.”

  Her twin dodged D.D.—Dalton—and relocated a part of C.C.’s drum kit. “Whoa! Mac! Are you ready to go?”

  After another round of congratulations, Mac and Derek escaped with Micah to join the colorful mass of people that were still seated on the grass and concrete in front of the Riverfront Stage. When Mac heard her name shouted, she automatically smiled and waved until she heard it again and saw LeeAnn Blakemore’s styled gray bob, waving a Lipstick Outlaws t-shirt over her head like a battle flag. “Mac Cunningham!!”

  “It’s your mom,” Mac stated, honored and oddly touched to see the older woman there. LeeAnn was joined immediately by Bethany Dyer and Blake Blakemore, waving wildly to beckon them over.

  Bethany tugged Mac down next to her on a blanket as soon as everyone was in the same patch of grass. “Mac, y’all sounded great! Love that Nashville song, too!”

  LeeAnn tugged at Mac’s hand. “The ring! I wanna see the ring!”

  Derek’s dad shook hands with his son and Mac felt something in her soften and ease to bask in the family-feeling of this group as the final band appeared for their half-hour set. Her parents hadn’t come to see her—neither had Andrew, though she was pretty sure she’d heard he and Lynda were coming to see Carrie Underwood that night—but Micah was there with his girlfriend, Derek’s family was there, and that was more than she had thought to see, once upon a time.

  Micah leaned in toward her, a solemn expression in his eye. “Big Brother got his wires crossed, maybe,” he said, looking embarrassed and disappointed at the same time. “I think he was expecting the big reveal at your dinner party.” She sighed and nodded until he put a hand on her head and—as they always had—checked in. “You okay there?”

  “I am. Really. You?”

  He jerked his thumb toward Derek. “I like him. Or he never would’ve got this far.”

  She laughed and nudged him with one knee before Derek beckoned for her to join him as they heard the final number of their evening; the main stage would be firing up next and that would be their cue to leave.

  * * *

  “What’s next week look like?” she inquired as the two of them walked, at long last, to her car. She’d known she wasn’t going to want to walk home after all that she had hoped would happen that day.

  Derek brought her left hand to his mouth, kissed the ring he’d put there, and smiled. “Oh, office on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Heading back to Phoenix on Sunday, though. You?”

  “Touring up in the Northeast, two weeks, actually. It’s that time of year. And then, of course, Taylor and Eddie’s wedding.”

  “Wow. Right. Yeah.” When they reached her Cadillac, he leaned against it and pulled her into his embrace. “We’re gonna make this work, Mira-Mira.”

  “We are, Mr. B.”

  “B? For Blakemore?”

  The inspiration had only just hit her, and she went with it. “Mr. Bambi. If you’re mine, you get the name.”

  He was still laughing when he kissed her.

  Epilogue

  Derek stretched his legs out in the Club World section of the British Airways flight from London to New York. In his mind, he was replaying some of the social media notes on Taylor Jones’s wedding to Eddie Williams. The attention had been a bit daunting, even after Mac reminded him that she wasn’t nearly as popular as the Juilliard-trained pianist and her super-famous husband.

  “I don’t know if I want a wedding like Taylor’s,” he said at length into Mac’s ear.

  She grinned at him, eyes sparkling even in the indirect cabin lighting. “She looked like a princess, though! I remember Katie Lyn and Alec’s wedding. That really was a Disney Princess dream. New Year’s Eve at Disney World!” She laughed lightly, clearly rec
ollecting the event with pleasure. Derek pressed his lips together, reminding himself that his fiancée was allowed her own choices for their wedding and, really, the groom was supposed to wear what he was told and say his lines on time. Mac shifted under her lap belt and studied his face with some solemnity before cupping his jaw in one hand. “Hey, that was perfect for them, but it’s not us.”

  Relief swept through him. “No, it’s not.”

  “We just haven’t had any time to sit and plan.”

  “I like planning, and we’re sitting now,” he reminded her, taking her left hand in his to enjoy the way the light danced through the facets of the two-carat diamond on her finger. “What about getting married where Andy did?”

  “At Belle Meade Plantation? I’m sure my mom would like that.” She tugged on her blond-streaked braid. “If we’re actually planning right now, I have to think about the tour schedule. And you know, it’d be cool if the girls and I had a bachelorette party at The Turquoise Horse, for old time’s sake. We did start out there, after all.” She paused and laughed a little. “I wonder if Rissa would have her bachelorette party there, or if Jake’ll claim it? I’m just glad he finally talked her around. It only took, what, a year?”

  Derek shook his head. He couldn’t imagine having to wait so long to ask Mac. “Who was running The Turquoise Horse while we were all in England, anyway? Both your managers were with us, as well as Jake.”

  Mac wiggled her brows. “And did you see Val and Jack? Those two are going to wind up making a walk down their own aisle someday, I’m thinking.”

  “Y’all have really had a busy year, in that way, haven’t you?”

  “We really have!”

  “Right then. What about our walk down the aisle?” In about two shakes of a lamb’s tail, as his grandpa used to say, both had their iPhones out and were checking calendars and time frames and obligations. “Okay. Are the newlyweds going to be living in England?”

  Mac’s expression fell. “You missed that part, right.”

  He nodded; he had not, after all, spent the entirety of his time in the U.K. in his fiancée’s pocket. “What happened?”

  “Oh, we’re super happy for her. We are. But when we had that bachelorette party for her?”

  “I think Eddie called it a hen party,” Derek remarked.

  “Yeah, that. Well, she told us she wasn’t going to be coming back. Imagine, wanting to spend time with your spouse,” she said, her tone resigned but with a smile along the underside. “I don’t know how we can replace her, you know? We’ll be looking for a pianist, as well as another back-up singer. Can’t count on one person being able to do it like that, again. Not to mention her songwriting!”

  Concerned, for Taylor had been a huge part of the Lipstick Outlaws, Derek brushed his thumb over Mac’s smooth cheek. “That would explain the melancholy picture y’all took at the hen party.”

  “You stole my phone?”

  “No! Remember, you wanted that pic of you and C.C. looking all . . .” He swirled his hand in an inarticulate attempt to say what he meant to say. Pretty? No. The ladies were always beautiful. Put-together? No, he didn’t want to cast aspersions on either of their day to day attire.

  Mac rescued him. “Ah, all wedding-day-ish. I have a feeling,” she said, drawing the word out a bit, “that she’ll get some ‘new hardware’ of her own, pretty soon.” With a smile, she fluttered her left hand back and forth and Derek enjoyed the way the facets of the diamond shone.

  “New hardware? Eloquent, aren’t you?” he teased.

  She blushed and settled herself in her seat again. “Says the man who twirls his hand around instead of finding an adjective.” They shared a grin and she went on. “So. A wedding! Lucky for us that our tour schedule is light for the next few weeks. We’d planned on Taylor being away for her honeymoon, anyway.”

  Plans, Derek reminded himself. Right. “Right, then. Your schedule is open for a bit?”

  “Yep, see?” Angling her phone, she showed him the month’s view. “We’re recording the new album—terrifying—and there’s the interview on News Channel Five.”

  He flipped his phone for her to view, likewise. “I’ve got another run to Arizona.”

  She made a face at his phone. “In August? Phoenix in August?”

  “Well, I’ll catch some baseball.”

  “Who plays out there?”

  “Diamondbacks.”

  “Ah. Okay. So . . . touring picks back up in the fall, for us.”

  “Right.” He studied her calendar, then his own and then said, “What if we got married next month?”

  Her laugh sounded incredulous as she met his gaze, but he didn’t see a no in her expressive hazel eyes. “Seriously?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Might take some work, but I’m game!”

  * * *

  Weeks later, as he waited for Mira Annice Cunningham in the Stable Hall of Belle Meade Plantation, he reflected how the insanity of wedding preparations had gone down with every single person they knew.

  Her mother had protested immediately that six weeks was not enough time to plan a proper wedding nor would they be able to find a suitable venue. His mother had protested immediately that Derek was their only child and a small wedding wouldn’t be nearly enough for all the people she wanted to be there.

  And of course, everyone thought that such a rush to the altar meant that the bride was pregnant!

  “We haven’t been in the same place at the same time long enough to even try!” Mac had nearly shouted at the big family meeting—held at the twins’ place in the Werthan Building—where they’d decided to break the news to everyone.

  Derek knew his red face matched his hair, but he didn’t move from his fiancée’s side as he held up one hand. “Look, we know this has been kind of crazy, but we love each other, she proposed, I said yes, and we’re going to do this. We’d like y’all to celebrate with us. I got us a Monday date at the Plantation and music will not be a problem.”

  That line had settled everyone, making them reflect that yes, neither the prospective bride nor the prospective groom were idiots and yes, they could make this work.

  Music filled the Stable Hall, taking precedence over Derek’s memories as the Lipstick Outlaws sang for their bass guitarist; even Taylor was with them. As Mac walked to him up the temporary aisle between a few rows of chairs, he found he only had room in his thoughts for her and the pretty, sleeveless, white dress she wore. It was simple, very summery, and had a pink and gray design that ran in a soft spiral around the whole thing before it stopped just at her knees. Her hair was also simple and pretty, curling gently about her shoulders.

  But it was her smile he would remember most clearly. Confident, loving, with just a hint of mischief, she grinned at him as she took his hand in front of their gathered friends and family.

  “Hey, you up?” Mac whispered as Katie Lyn finished singing.

  Derek brought her hand to his lips and kissed her wrist. “For you, always.”

  Sneak Peek

  Read the first chapter of RISSA’S REBEL HEART, book 1 of the Sweethearts of Country Music…

  Nashville.

  The home of country music. The beautiful city in the heart of Tennessee that beckons musicians, singers, and songwriters in hopes of making their musical dreams come true.

  Many succeed.

  Many, many fail.

  Gazing out the window of Crema, her favorite coffee shop, Rissa gently strummed her guitar and smiled when it made the sweetest sound. The guitar had been a gift from her grandmother, and Rissa had named it Maybelle—in honor of Mother Maybelle Carter. The guitar strap, with Maybelle’s name stamped in the leather, had been a gift to herself when she first moved to Nashville.

  This coffee shop. This city. This guitar.

  This was her happy place.

  Unfortunately, what makes a person happy doesn’t always make them money, and Rissa was in desperate need of it. Rent was due on the first, and landlords don’t r
eally care about musical dreams. Neither do utility companies, or the mechanic who was holding her Mustang for ransom until she came up with the money she owed him for repairs.

  Which was why she was performing in a wedding this afternoon and at a honky tonk later tonight.

  With a tired sigh, Rissa placed Maybelle in her guitar case and paid the bill before heading out into the beautiful but deceiving sunshine. To her disappointment, the city hadn’t seen a flake of snow, but the chilly temps left no doubt it was winter in Tennessee.

  After zipping her jacket, she made the short walk to her crappy but cozy apartment, with her trusty guitar by her side. Rissa knew she was luckier than most artists. She’d sold a few songs and had actually heard them on the radio. But they hadn’t been huge hits, and the royalties were meager. Even worse, the exposure hadn’t led to bigger and better things. So, Rissa did what most struggling musicians do. She spent her days waiting tables and working for tips. And at night, she played honky tonks and open mic nights in hopes of catching someone’s attention.

  Rissa’s story wasn’t unique, and she wasn’t opposed to paying her dues. But, after seven years in Nashville, she couldn’t help but wonder when—or if—her dream of being a successful Nashville songwriter was ever going to come true.

  She’d just stepped inside her apartment when her phone rang. Tossing her keys onto the coffee table, she reached for the phone in her pocket and sighed when she glanced at the screen.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “Clarissa Walker, I’ve been calling you all day.”

  She hit the speaker button before scrolling through her phone.

  “Weird, I have no missed calls. What’s up?”

  “We just hadn’t talked in a while. And then you didn’t answer . . .”