by Leah Braemel
“Yeah, she can’t figure out why I’d want to, considering you’ve got liens being laid against the ranch left and right and your bank account is empty.”
“You reminded her what the land is worth no doubt.”
“Hey, I may not have a university diploma like Ben, but I’m not completely stupid.”
“Never said you were.”
“Let’s get this deal signed so my lawyer doesn’t start charging me triple time.”
“You’re the one who chose to bring in some hot shot big wig lawyer from Dallas. What’s she charging you, like six hundred an hour?”
“Like I had a lot of choices around here? Your family’s had dealings with everyone. No offence, but I wanted to make sure I got someone impartial. Besides, Victoria’s hot.”
And from what Jake had heard, a barracuda who could rip them all to shreds with one look.
Chapter Fourteen
“You ready to go?”
Paige drank in the sight of Jake as he emerged from the bedroom. Worried about making a good impression for their agent, he wore a crisply ironed white shirt left open at the neck, a tuft of chest hairs peeking over the V, and a pair of Dockers over expensive tooled leather cowboy boots. He’d left his hair loose so it draped over his shoulders with a sexy swing. If he were up on stage, the women in the crowd would be flinging their panties at him, her included. Except those women wouldn’t see the exhaustion in how he walked, the slump of his shoulders, or know how he’d tossed and turned in the bed beside her every night since Friday’s bombshell.
Desperate to ease the shadows tormenting him, she gently cupped his poor bruised face and brushed her lips over his. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“I don’t think I can back out now. Besides, I can’t leave Cam and Drew and Hunter hanging.” He rested his forehead on hers. “Thanks for arranging to take the day off.”
“Hey, you’d do the same for me. Now let’s get your music career kick started, shall we?”
“Let’s do this.” The first drops of rain bouncing off the pavers, Paige followed Jake out to his truck and jumped inside.
Despite the torrent of rain lashing the windshield, the trip didn’t seem as long as it normally did, though Jake’s leg started jumping thirty miles out. “Second thoughts?”
“Nope.”
Three hours later, she sat beside Jake as their agent explained the contract point by point.
Jake was leaning forward, as if intent on every single word Ruben uttered. Wearing a faded blue plaid shirt that he’d declared a lucky shirt for some obscure reason, Cam tugged on his tie as if it were about to strangle him. Also in his Sunday best, Hunter drummed his fingers on his thigh. Drew—who had pulled a sports jacket over a black Dirt Road Graduates T-shirt—seemed the least interested in the conversation. Instead he had his head bent over his smart phone, his thumb scrolling over the screen.
She asked a few questions about net proceeds calculations, and ensured Jake and Cam retained the rights to any songs they wrote. While Ruben answered her questions, his frown deepened with each response. His speech grew more clipped, a hint of an east coast accent slipping into his slow Texas drawl. The phrase “lean and hungry” leaped into her head, a warning from a play she’d read in high school. That type of hunger might be necessary to get the best deals for his clients, but did he represent a danger to her too? Would he see her as a threat to Jake’s future? Or perhaps he was afraid she’d noticed something wrong with the contract.
“All right, gentlemen. Now’s the important part.” Ruben slid them each a copy of the contract, and handed them each a pen.
She frowned as Jake signed and initialed at all the spots Ruben indicated, showing no signs of doubt. A confidence she was sure was an act. You’re overanalyzing. He wanted this before the DNA results came in, remember?
Once the contracts were all signed, they all stood and Ruben shook their hands. “Congratulations, gentleman. Now, boys, how about we go out and celebrate proper—there’s a real good old-fashioned country bar just down the road. My treat.”
They spilled onto the street, everyone talking. While the band members discussed their various hopes and dreams for the future on the walk toward the Stockyards, Ruben sidled next to her, covering her with a massive black golf umbrella. He opened his mouth as if he were going to say something then stopped and stroked his chin, his gaze assessing.
To her surprise, he handed her his umbrella and maneuvered himself next to Jake where the two spoke quietly.
Jake turned to her. “Ruben wants to talk with me a minute. Why don’t you go with Cam and the guys and I’ll meet you down there?”
“Sure.” She hesitated, glued to the cement as tourists wearing raingear they’d hurriedly bought in the Stockyard stores ventured up the street, taking pictures of the Fort Worth Stock Yards sign that arched over the road, and the pair of drovers that rode their horses beneath it. Overhead flags flapped, sending sprinkles of the leftover rain onto the umbrella as Ruben drew Jake closer, his gaze occasionally darting in her direction.
“Hey, Paige darlin’, you comin’ with us or not?” Cam shouted, walking backward. Drew laughed when the guitarist tripped over a fire hydrant and landed ass first in a puddle.
Another quick glance at Jake and Ruben. They were facing away from her now, looking in the window of a western wear store.
They’re not talking about you. Yet she was certain she was on Ruben’s mind, and she suspected he didn’t see her as an asset to Jake’s new career.
* * *
Despite the drizzle, Jake lingered on the sidewalk, watching Paige follow the rest of the guys. Like him, she’d dressed up. He hadn’t noticed it until she’d climbed the stairs to Ruben’s office. Instead of her usual black shirt and blue jeans, she wore a lacy black blouse beneath a cream linen jacket. A pair of matching cream linen pants hugged her hips. She’d drawn her hair up, tucking the tinted ends into some fancy do. Damn it, she’d muted herself to help him make a good impression.
Heedless of the rain, Ruben stopped to pull out a cigarette. He cupped his hand over the match until it caught. His gaze wandered to where Paige had stopped to allow Cam to share her umbrella. Lost cause trying to keep him dry, considering the ass plant Cam had just done. “Are you two serious?”
“We’re living together, so I’d say that’s a big yes.” He frowned when Cam laughed at something she said. He couldn’t hear it but there was no mistaking the guy’s body language. If Paige hadn’t been with him, Cam would have been making his moves, scooping her up.
Smug satisfaction flared through him when Paige widened the distance between them. That’s right, buddy, she’s taken.
Ruben’s frown deepened. “Is she going be able to handle you being out on the road all the time? Because, son, you’re going to be away a lot. And having a girlfriend back home whining about how you’re never there is going to distract you.”
“Paige’s isn’t a whiner.”
“I hope not, because those contracts you just signed mean you guarantee to choose your singin’ career over her.” He took one last glance at Paige then turned away, walking in the opposite direction. “Now there are some matters I want to talk with you about without the others around. For instance, Roy and I have been listening to those demo songs you sent us. Your drummer’s your weakest link. Oh, he’s okay, especially for the smaller venues you’ve been doing, but we’re going to sit him down with a couple better drummers and hope he’ll pick up some tricks. Nothing fancy, and it’ll probably only take a few lessons and then you’ll see a measureable improvement.”
“What happens if Drew doesn’t improve? Would you cancel the entire band’s contract?”
“No. We’d work somethin’ out—we’d probably bring in a replacement.”
Shit. While he personally had no objections, Hunter mi
ght threaten to walk too. Or maybe not. “What else needs to be worked on?”
“Your fiddler—Hunter is it?—he’s good, but he needs a better quality instrument.”
The worry that had formed in his chest eased. “Okay. Whatever it takes.”
“Good because it can make the difference between continuing to play in those dives and hitting the big time.” Ruben eyed him. “There’s something else you should know. Southern Gents told me you’re the reason why they sought out your band. They think you’re way better than the rest of ‘em. And I have to agree. Right now, they’re willing to give you time to get your feet under you, let you learn how to work a big crowd. But I don’t think it’s going to be long before you’re hearing ‘The Grand Ole Opry welcomes Jake Grady, the country’s newest singing sensation.’”
“Not Jake Grady and the Dirt Road Graduates?”
Ruben took a slow drag on his cigarette and gave Jake a sideways glance. “D’you know the name of Jason Aldean’s band? Or Dierks Bentley’s?” He exhaled, the smoke swallowed by the wind and rain. “Folks will be talkin’ about you, Jake. Not Cam or Hunter or that drummer of yours, so you’d better get used to it.”
He and Cam had been singing together since high school, Hunter had joined when Jake was in college. How would they take it if Jake left the band and went out on his own? Would they see it as a betrayal? What would Cam do if their positions were reversed? Take it probably. And Jake would be happy for him. At least he liked to think he would be.
Ruben stopped in front of an authentic western wear store, not one with the cheapo hats that the tourists clamored for. “Ah, here we are.”
Once inside, Ruben bee lined for the cowboy hats. He picked up a large, sandy cowboy hat, the type Ben usually wore. “Try this on for size.”
Ten minutes later, Jake stared at himself in the mirror. He hadn’t worn a roper’s hat since he was a kid, and then only for Christmas photos to keep his gram happy. And didn’t he cut a figure with that split lip, bruised jaw and the racoon eyes he was sporting? “It’s too hot.”
“Okay, try this one.” Ruben handed him a dark brown leather hat that Jake immediately discarded as one that only posers wore. Resistols, Stetsons, in felt and straw, were handed to him for the next fifteen minutes. Each one looking more ridiculous than the last.
“This’s the one.” Ruben appeared behind him in the mirror and plonked a straw hat on Jake’s head.
Jake stared at the reflection of him wearing the natural raffia hat. It was exactly like one his father used to wear, right down to the diamond vents and leather hat band. Despite the store’s a/c, sweat beaded up on his forehead and in his hair. “I feel like a damned fraud.”
In so many ways.
The agent’s forehead creased in a frown. “The ladies want their country music stars to look like cowboys, son.”
“Hey, I am a real cowboy, and I don’t wear a cowboy hat.” Next thing they’d be expecting is for him to be calling everyone darlin’ while kicking the dirt and sayin’ “aw shucks.” “Luke Bryan don’t wear a cowboy hat.”
“You aren’t Luke Bryan. Not yet anyway.” Ruben took out his wallet and stalked to the cash register. “I don’t care what you wear out in your fields but when you’re on stage, you’re going to wear that hat. It’ll be your trademark.”
Once they were back on the sidewalk, Ruben stopped once more. “Look, son, your career is not just about your singing. It’s about meeting your audience’s expectations. They’re expecting you to look like a cowboy, not the guy who drives their garbage truck. Trust me. I know what I’m doing.”
That made one of them.
Once they entered the bar, the bartender greeted Ruben as if he were an old friend and showed them to the table where the rest of the band already had beers in front of them.
“Nice hat. Lose a bet?” Cam smirked. “Or are you hopin’ the bartender here will mount it on the ceilin’ with all those other big names just because you have a music contract.”
Jake flipped him a middle finger and sat beside Paige, lifting the Shiner bottle she pushed toward him. “Did I miss anything?”
“We were just wondering what happens next.” At Drew’s remark, all of them looked to their host. “Jake said your tour manager was going to have us filling in for some other group?”
“Roy’s your tour manager now you’ve signed all the contracts.” Ruben grinned, his thin lips stretching his cheeks until he reminded Jake of a meerkat he’d seen in a cartoon when he was a kid. “You’ll be opening for Cherokee Creek at the Bucking Chute next Friday through Sunday.”
“Holy fuck, the fucking Bucking Chute?” Drew traded high fives with Hunter and Cam. “We have arrived, man!”
Though the Bucking Chute wasn’t a particularly big venue, it was one of the oldest and most famed for launching careers. And it was three hours away. He could commute. It would make for a long day, but it would save money on hotels. Or they could take the trailer his father had used for hitting the fair circuit. Maybe Paige could even come with him.
“I’m working on getting the paperwork through,” Ruben continued, “but if everything goes right, you’ll also be starting for them in Oklahoma City the following week. We’re trying to get you booked into the Boots and Spurs Festival in Greensboro. They’ll be there, but you’ll be playing separately on one of the small side stages. And you’ll be playing in the midafternoon, but a lot of folks camp there for the entire weekend, so you’ll still get plenty of attention.”
“That’s what I’m talkin’ about.” Drew held up his beer bottle in a salute.
“And you gentlemen are going to be going to Nashville for a short stop-off too—Southern Gents wants to get you into the studio to record a demo. Something people can download right there in the venue. Play it for their friends when they get home. We’ll be putting them on sampler disks and giving them out. And we need something the DJs and radio stations can listen to, see if they’re willing to give some air time and help build some buzz. Build you up.”
The warmth of Paige’s hand on his knee—his jumping knee—soothed him and the nerves settled down.
“Jake, since you write a lot of your songs, do you think you’ll have something special that would be ready to record? Something that’s your own work? Stan said you sang one about bein’ called to some girl. Is that one you boys wrote?”
“Yes sir. It was called ‘The Angel I Love.’” The song he’d written right after he’d met Paige. He wondered if she’d realize it was about her.
“Now they’ve asked permission to bring in some extra musicians, get some orchestra behind you. Make you sound real polished. So I went ahead and gave them the okay to bring in whoever they need.”
“That’ll come out of the band’s royalties though, right?” Paige asked.
“Yes, ma’am, you’re right.” He met Jake’s gaze and nodded approval. “Glad to know you’ve got a friend with a good head for business.”
She did. He had no doubt. Damn, he wished she could come on tour with them.
“Hey, son,” Cam slapped him on the back. “You look like you just lost your best friend when Ruben here’s given us the golden ticket. It’s time to celebrate.”
While Drew and the others whooped, Hunter leaping out of his chair, Jake’s knee started jumping again. Recording sessions. Touring. Oklahoma City. Up in the Pennsylvania mountains. And the end of the yellow brick road—Nashville. Away from the ranch. Away from his responsibilities. Away from Paige.
It was happening so fucking fast.
Chapter Fifteen
The anticipation that had been niggling at him since they’d signed the contract hummed through Jake’s veins like bees doing their honey dance. With its old-fashioned white clapboard flat front, and a weather-worn sign proclaiming they had “da beste bier”, The Bucking Chute sure didn’t
look frightening from the outside, but when he’d parked the truck, the bees coalesced in his stomach, then dive bombed outward, fighting their way out through every nerve ending.
Paige touched his bouncing knee and stilled it. “You’re going to do great. Just pretend it’s you and the guys at one of your practices.”
He and the guys had met every single night since the call, trying out his new songs, deciding which ones worked, which ones didn’t. Late at night, long after the practices ended, he’d poured over his notes, adjusted lyrics here and there, fine-tuned a transition that had given Hunter problems. Last night’s rehearsal had been damned near flawless, which should have made him feel less...anxious. “We’ve never played somewhere so big before.”
Not to mention Ben and Gabe would be in the audience.
“You’re thinking too hard. How about I provide a little distraction?” With a mischievous grin, she flattened her hand on his chest, slid it down until it stroked his fly.
Oh man, and they had to be parked out on the street with people streaming past. What he’d give to be somewhere more private. Hell, even a side street. With a reluctance he didn’t feel, he stilled her hand. “I think I’m not the only one whose nickname should be Trouble.”
“Distracted you though, didn’t I?”
There was no way to deny it.
She slapped the cowboy hat against his chest, then tugged on the door handle. “Come on, let’s get you inside, shall we?”
Five minutes later, he wanted to be back in the truck. Driving back to Joshua Falls. Hell, to the Canadian border.
“Holy hell, this place is massive.” Way bigger than anything they’d played before. Lines upon lines of tables with benches on either side filled the back half of the building. The area in front of the stage was entirely open, dozens of people already dancing to a lone fiddler. Groups clustered around three pool tables to one side, the other side was entirely bar, almost every stool taken. Despite the open doors and windows, cigarette smoke filled the air. Good thing he wouldn’t be singing here regularly because, damn, the smoke would ruin his voice in short order.