Casey waited with a faint smile on his lips while she swapped shoes and changed tops.
“Pretty sure Andie is not going to judge you on your fashion choices,” Casey said.
She understood what he meant—Andie had pretty much worn the same outfit of jeans plus T-shirt every time Eva had seen her—but a girl had her pride.
“I would judge me,” she said, scooping up the keys to the van. “Let’s go.”
Casey had to wait while she cleared supplies off the passenger seat in the van, tossing them into the back, and he gave her a look when she started the engine and the fan belt started to squeal.
“How long has it been doing that?” he asked.
“Just started the last couple of days. It’ll settle down. Bertha is made of whatever they make the black boxes in planes out of. She will run forever.”
Casey made a dubious noise as he put his seat belt on and immediately clutched the grab handle when she started down the drive.
“Yeah, the suspension’s not as good off-road as your pickup,” she said, noting his move.
“You’re telling me. You could sell tickets to this next time the Fair is on,” he said, clearly unimpressed. “Babe, you should get this thing checked out. I bet it’s barely roadworthy.”
“It’s fine.”
“Not if the shocks are gone. I don’t like the idea of you driving around in a substandard car,” he said.
“I’ll be fine. Bertha hasn’t let me down yet,” she said.
“That’s because you haven’t been in an accident. Does this thing even have airbags?” He glanced around, searching for the telltale markings.
She was about to make another joke when she remembered his parents had died in a car accident.
“I get her checked every year, and there are driver and passenger front and side airbags,” she said. “I swear to you she’s safe. I wouldn’t have driven all the way from LA in her if she wasn’t.”
His worried frown eased a little. “Okay. But I’m going to check your shocks tomorrow after work.”
“Be my guest. I will stand by and admire your manly skills. Do you think you could do it with your shirt off? Just for extra fantasy points?”
“I might be able to arrange something. Tell me more about this fantasy of yours.”
They flirted their way to Danny’s, where Eva let him out and waited while he collected his guitar from the back.
“I don’t think this is going to take long. Andie just wanted to talk ideas for the nursery. She’s thinking of doing a mural on the wall and ceiling. I think she’s allowing herself to get a bit excited now,” she explained. “So I might be back sooner, rather than later.”
“Just let yourself in, whenever you get here,” he said, kissing her through the open car window. “If we’re playing, we won’t hear a knock.”
“Have fun,” she said, waving him off.
She waited until he disappeared into the garage, his guitar case in hand, before reversing onto the street. Maybe being with his friends and playing the music he loved would help clear his mind and heart of whatever was troubling him.
Or maybe she was going to have to force the issue and make him talk to her. It had to be one thing or the other, because she didn’t have it in her to let him go on hurting without doing something about it.
*
Rory, Wyatt, and Danny had all beaten him to practice this week, and the three of them were talking loudly as he entered the garage.
Casey stopped in his tracks. What the hell? If he didn’t know better, he’d think he’d walked into the middle of an argument.
“You should have told us, that’s all I’m saying,” Wyatt said. “I feel like I just got ambushed.”
Okay, so maybe he had walked into the middle of an argument.
“Look, I don’t know what this is about. He just called and wanted to meet with us all, and I figured now was a good time, since we were all going to be here anyway…” Rory was red in the face, his hands busy in the air as he tried to explain himself.
“Someone want to tell me what’s going on?” Casey asked.
Wyatt sighed heavily, then waved a hand toward Rory. “Your dog and pony show, Rory. You fill him in.”
Rory rolled his eyes. “I got a call yesterday, from a guy out of Nashville called Jimmy Borman. He said he’s in Billings for business, and he must have connections in at KUPR, I guess, because he said he heard our song and they passed our contact details on to him. He said he really liked our sound and wanted to talk. I mentioned we had practice tonight, so he said he’d come on down.”
“So, who is this guy? An agent? A manager?” Casey asked.
Danny held up his phone, which he’d been tapping away at for the last few minutes. “Google says he’s a record producer. Works with a bunch of big names.”
Casey listened as his friend listed a handful of the country music scene’s brightest stars.
“And he didn’t say what he wanted to talk about?” Casey checked.
“He just said he liked our sound, that’s all. Look, I’m sorry I didn’t give you guys a heads-up. I didn’t think it was a big deal.”
“Yeah, you did. You just knew that we’d agreed we weren’t going to get sucked into any of this stuff and you didn’t want us to say no,” Wyatt said.
Rory shot him a frustrated look. “Come on. Who in their right mind turns down a meeting with a big-time music producer?”
“Casey already told us his situation,” Danny said.
Casey could feel the temperature rising in the room and he held up a hand.
“Maybe we should all take a breather for a minute,” he said, even though his gut was tied up in knots.
Wyatt walked away a few paces, shaking his head. Rory stuffed his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. Danny pressed his lips together and stared at the ground.
“It’s just a meeting,” Rory said.
“What time are we expecting this Jimmy guy?” Casey asked.
“He said he’d be here by five,” Rory said.
Which meant they had fifteen minutes to get their shit together.
“I’m assuming he wants to hear us play?” Casey asked.
“I think that was part of the plan.”
“Then we’d better get set up,” Casey said, turning to pick up his guitar case. He could feel the others watching him, but he kept his focus on his gear.
He understood Rory’s strategy—he believed that once Casey had a whiff of the big time, he’d forget about the things holding him back. Casey didn’t love being manipulated, but he wasn’t about to get into an argument over it—he valued his friends too much, and this moment had probably been inevitable from the moment they’d entered the competition. Hell, it had probably been inevitable from the moment they started getting full houses at the saloon.
What was happening to The Whiskey Shots was every band’s wet dream—they’d built momentum, they had a loyal fan base, and people were paying attention.
And it had all happened organically.
Any other guy would be doing backflips right now and punching the sky.
Casey just felt sick. And resigned.
But there was nothing left to do now except follow this through to its natural conclusion and hope he had the intestinal fortitude to do what had to be done with a bit of fucking dignity and grace when the time came.
After a minute or two the others started following his lead, setting up their gear. He was conscious of Rory darting him assessing looks and he mustered a smile to reassure his friend.
Rory hadn’t acted maliciously. He just wanted what every guy who’d ever been in a band wanted—to make it big. Casey couldn’t really blame him. Not so long ago, he’d have been exactly the same.
Danny started playing, the clash and bass of the drums filling the space. Casey settled his guitar strap around his neck and let his hands find the familiar opening chords of one of the Shot’s earliest songs, “Small-Town Love.” The guys followed his lead, pic
king up the tune as he started singing.
By the time he was singing the final words of the song the band had found its groove. They’d been playing together for so long now, it was their default, even though there had been angry words tonight and people’s noses were out of joint.
Normally they talked about the set list for their next gig at the top of practice sessions so they could smooth out any creases in the songs they planned to play, but Casey just launched straight into the next song, another of their earlier ballads, and again the guys came along for the ride.
Jimmy Borman arrived halfway through, stepping through the garage door and waving a hand to signal they should keep playing. Casey felt himself getting tense, but he willed it away and focused on the music.
It had gotten him through plenty of things, and it would get him through this, too.
“Hey, that was great,” Jimmy said when they were done, and Casey turned to give him a quick once-over, trying to get the measure of the man.
He wore expensive-looking jeans and worn boots, and he looked as though he’d had a few too many long lunches, his western-style shirt straining over his belly. His dark hair was touched with gray at the temples, and a thick moustache covered his top lip. Casey guessed he was in his mid- to late-forties, maybe early fifties, and he could see the assessing shrewdness in the other man’s eyes as he studied Casey in turn.
“It’s Casey, right?” Jimmy said, offering Casey his hand.
“That’s right. This is Danny, and that’s Wyatt. And I gather you and Rory spoke on the phone.”
“We did, we did,” Jimmy said, shaking hands all around. “I’m not sure what Rory told you, but I’m glad I got a chance to talk to you boys while I’m in town.”
“I told them what you told me—that you liked our sound and wanted to talk,” Rory said.
“I don’t just like your sound, I love it,” Jimmy said. “I just about fell out of my chair when my buddy over at KUPR played your single for me. I’m sure you boys know this, but that song is pure gold. Sexy and catchy as hell, it’s exactly the kind of crossover music that is charting right now.”
Casey was aware of Danny and Wyatt exchanging looks, pleased with the other man’s praise.
“Thanks,” Casey said, because what else was there to say?
“I was a little surprised you didn’t have a few songs up on iTunes for yourselves, to be honest. Your sound is real polished, and they tell me you’ve got quite the local following.”
“We do okay,” Wyatt said. “And I guess we just never got around to recording anything. We’ve just been concentrating on the music and our gigs.”
“The music is going to be what brings the fans, so you made the right call. Before we talk more, do you mind if I listen to you boys a bit? Maybe you could play me three or four of your crowd favorites. And I’d love to hear ‘Song For Eva’ live,” Jimmy said.
“Sure thing, we can do that. Got some beer in the fridge if you want one, too,” Casey offered.
“Don’t mind if I do,” Jimmy said with a grin, rubbing his hands together happily.
Rory fixed Jimmy up with a beer and got him settled on the old sofa that had been pushed into one corner. Plumes of dust puffed up when the producer sat, but Casey figured the other man had endured worse in his life.
They had a quick consult over which four songs to play, then Danny counted them in.
Twenty minutes later, Jimmy set down his empty beer bottle and applauded as the final notes of “Song For Eva” faded away.
“Fantastic. You boys are tight. And Casey, those pipes of yours are golden. Who writes the songs? All of you?”
The guys pointed at Casey. “He’s our resident poet,” Danny said.
“Well, Casey, congratulations. You’ve got a great ear and a lot of talent. Every song you played just now has got the potential to top a chart. And I know you don’t know me from Adam, but I don’t say that lightly. At all.” Jimmy shook his head. “I honestly can’t believe you boys haven’t been scouted already.”
Casey didn’t need to look at his bandmates to see they were pumped by the producer’s words. Even Wyatt had recovered from his bad mood and was now grinning like a loon.
“So are you out here scouting? Is that what this is about?” Casey asked.
He held his breath, because there was a possibility this guy was just full of hot air, a big talker with nothing of substance to offer. And if that was the case, Casey could stop feeling like he had a steel band wrapped around his chest. The pressure would be off, and life could resume.
“I’ve got an arrangement with a major agent group where I bring them promising acts whenever I find them. I guess you could call it talent development at large. After I heard ‘Song For Eva,’ I had a word with them about you guys. They told me if I liked what I saw here tonight, I was authorized to offer you guys a showcase in Nashville.”
Not just hot air, then. This guy had something of substance to offer. This was a real opportunity.
“A showcase. What would that look like?” Wyatt asked. “We just play gigs, we’re not up on all the fancy industry stuff.”
“We fly you in, put you up at a nice hotel, and you play for a select group of people. And then, ideally, someone signs you boys.” Jimmy wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.
Rory let his breath out in an audible rush. “Well, I reckon I could choke that down,” he said.
“I’m not going to press you guys for an answer tonight, but here’s my card,” Jimmy said, passing it to Casey. “Talk amongst yourselves and get back to me. And for God’s sake don’t sign with anyone else before you talk to me again, okay?”
“Don’t think you need to worry about that,” Danny said dryly.
Jimmy shook his head ruefully. “Yeah, I do. That single of yours is blowing minds. Every time they play it, the switchboard lights up with people asking where they can buy it.”
“For real?” Wyatt asked.
“For real. And I probably shouldn’t have told you all of that, but it’s not like you’re not going to hear it from KUPR. Just remember—I was here first,” Jimmy said with a wink that should have looked ridiculous but was actually oddly charming.
“We appreciate you coming all the way down to hear us tonight,” Casey said, offering the other man his hand.
Jimmy said his goodbyes, and Rory walked him out to his car. The moment they were alone, Wyatt widened his eyes and mouthed half a dozen four-letter words.
“Can you believe that just happened?” he finally said out loud.
“Kind of surreal, huh?” Casey agreed.
“Do you think he’s right? Do you think we’re going to get other offers?” Danny asked.
“Does it matter if he can get us this showcase thing in Nashville?” Wyatt asked.
They were both vibrating with suppressed excitement, goofy smiles on their faces.
Rory returned, stopping in the doorway to spread his arms wide. “Huh?” he said. “Huh? Who’s your daddy now?”
“Yeah, all right, all is forgiven,” Wyatt said, grabbing his friend in a headlock and ruffling his hair.
“So should I call him tonight or wait until tomorrow? What do you think, Case?” Rory said once he’d fought his way free and smoothed his hair back down.
“I think you guys need to work that out for yourselves,” Casey said. Every word felt like it was squeezed out of his suddenly dry throat. “I can’t do a showcase. I can’t go off to Nashville to see how this plays out.”
“But this isn’t us going on some speculative tour, where we grind away in third-rate venues for nickels and dimes. This is them investing in us. This is top labels wanting to sign us. This changes everything,” Rory said.
Casey smiled tightly. “Do you know how many albums get released every year? I tried to count them once, stopped when I got into the thousands.”
“Yeah, but they don’t have your songs and our sound,” Rory said.
“We’re not that good, Rory,” Casey said with a
shake of his head. “I know we’re riding high right now, with a few good gigs under our belts and getting a bit of smoke blown up our skirts. But all of that can disappear into nothing overnight. And I can’t afford to take that kind of risk, not right now.”
“So, what, we just tell Jimmy thanks but no thanks?” Rory asked, his tone incredulous.
“You tell him to book a showcase, if that’s what the rest of you want. And I’ll help you find another singer. The songs are yours, I’ll sign them over. But I can’t do this, not the way things are with the ranch right now.”
Wyatt was already shaking his head. “We’re not doing this without you.”
“You think we can just replace you? You’re our lead singer,” Danny said.
“I’ll help you find someone else. There are plenty of guys around who’d jump at the chance, especially with an opportunity like this on the table.”
Rory was staring at him, his face pale. “You’d really just walk away? You won’t even give it a shot?”
Casey could see the anger and disbelief in his friend’s face and it made his gut hurt.
“If I walk away from the ranch right now, we’re fucked,” he said bluntly. “There’s no way we can pay someone to do what I do, not with the money we’re making at the moment. We’ve got big debt on top of the mortgage, equipment that needs replacing, a barn that needs a new roof… I can’t just walk away from all that and go off to chase some kid’s dream in Nashville.”
“There must be some way we can make it work,” Rory said.
Casey studied the toes of his boots for a beat, trying to find the words that would convince Rory he’d been over this a million times and still wound up at the same place.
“I think Casey’s already gone through all the options. Right, Case?” Wyatt asked quietly.
Casey lifted his head, trying to ignore the stinging at the back of his eyes. “I love you guys, I love this band, and I’m sorry to have to let you down like this. But I just can’t afford to take a risk right now. Not when my family need me.”
He could say more. He could tell them exactly how tight their finances were. Ranchers everywhere were feeling the pinch, but none of them were working with as little fat as the Carmodys were. One false step, one bout of bad luck, and they could lose everything their parents had fought so hard to create.
The Rebel and the Cowboy (The Carmody Brothers Book 2) Page 21