by LuAnn McLane
2
Hello Good-bye
ON THE WAY BACK TO HIS CABIN JEFF RELIVED HIS conversation with Cat Carson and then scrubbed his hand down his face. As first impressions go, he knew that one pretty much sucked. But seriously, why in the hell hadn’t someone given him a heads-up that she was moving to his little neck of the woods? Granted, over the past few years some pretty extraordinary people had landed in Cricket Creek, but it was still big news that Cat Carson was moving here. Jeff understood why she would want to keep her residence quiet. Maybe it wasn’t permanent. He certainly couldn’t imagine someone of her stature living in the little cabin for very long.
“Damn.” Jeff hadn’t meant to be rude, and, even though he’d tried to smooth things over he still felt as if he somehow owed her an apology. Could he help that he didn’t listen to her pop music, which in his opinion shouldn’t get airplay on country music stations? It wasn’t as if he hated Cat’s trendy beach-themed songs. And she did have an amazing voice. When she sang “From This Moment” at Reid and Addison’s unexpected wedding, he’d been blown away just like the rest of the audience. He remembered feeling disappointed when he found out she wasn’t staying for the reception. He also recalled now that when she’d signed with My Way Records, Sweetside had fought her tooth and nail, so it really must have been a tough year for her.
Plenty of big-name country stars had similar-styled hits. They were fluffy and fun, he supposed, but were songs to be played at parties and not to be performed at the Grand Ole Opry. Jeff just didn’t want that kind of music to be considered classic country, because it wasn’t.
Like many traditional country artists, Jeff worried that country music was becoming a vanilla genre, casting too wide a net, causing his beloved genre to lose its identity. But unfortunately, record labels were in it to make money, which was the reason Jeff had signed with My Way Records. Owner Rick Ruleman had assured him that his career would go in the direction he wanted and that it would be all about the love of the music. Rick had told him that he wanted to create legends, not the flavor of the moment.
Jeff had to wonder what Rick had in mind for Cat Carson. While he applauded her decision to embrace a more traditional sound and write her own songs, what did she know about the hardships of everyday life, the backbone of great country lyrics?
Jeff entered his A-frame cabin, headed to the galley kitchen, and opened the fridge. He suddenly had the need for a cold beer. After popping the top he glanced at his guitar, but felt too restless to try to work on the song lyrics that had been giving him trouble. Instead, he slid open the door to his back deck and walked outside.
Sunset brought with it a chill, but Jeff inhaled a deep breath of earth-scented air before sitting down on a lounge chair. He took a long drink of his beer and then looked above to where Cat’s cabin sat up on the ridge, just to the right of his cabin. When he saw the soft glow of lights, Jeff suddenly wondered what she was doing. But then his curiosity shifted to concern. That heavy-ass suitcase must have left some serious bruising, and Jeff considered taking her ice, just to make sure she had enough. Maybe she needed dinner. Or perhaps a shot of bourbon to dull the pain? No, she was probably a wine kind of girl. He had several bottles in his wine rack. Would she prefer red or white?
Just what the hell was he thinking? He inhaled a deep breath and tried to get Cat Carson off his mind.
Jeff leaned back in the chaise longue and gazed up at the darkening sky. There were a few streaks of deep pink and red lingering from the sunset and in just a little while the stars would pop out, glittering against the inky blue backdrop. The lack of city light out here in the woods made for amazing night skies, so much so that Jeff had downloaded an app on his smartphone that showed the constellations.
“I need music,” Jeff murmured, but just when he was about to head inside to turn on his outdoor speakers, his cell phone rang. Jeff looked at the screen and grinned when he read the caller ID. “Hey, Snake. What’s up, man?”
“Nothin’ much. Just thought I’d give ya a holler.” Snake’s real name was Wes Tucker, but his snake armband tattoo earned him the nickname. Snake’s mother was about the only person who still called him Wes. “We still jammin’ at Big Red tomorrow night?”
“Far as I know,” Jeff answered. Big Red was the former barn down by the river that they’d converted into a practice studio way back in high school when they’d first formed the band South Street Riot.
“Sweet. Man, it feels good to have the band back together again. It still seems a little bit surreal …”
“I feel ya.” They’d broken up not long after graduation, when they’d gone separate ways. Guitarists Jackson Pike and Sammy Slader went off to college. Snake, the drummer, left Cricket Creek to backpack across the country. Keyboardist Colin Walker had remained in Cricket Creek to work on his family farm but played solo gigs at places around town. But here they were, all of them nearly thirty years old and finally closing in on a dream none of them thought would happen. “But you gotta admit it’s pretty damned cool.”
“Dude, no doubt.”
“Jammin’ at Big Red brings back old times.” Rather than have strangers assembled for his road band, Jeff knew he wanted South Street Riot with him if he could get his friends on board. Colin was already doing some sessions work over at My Way Records. Most people didn’t realize that road bands weren’t always the same musicians who recorded in the studio. In this case Jeff had lobbied for South Street Riot to do both. “There’s nobody I’d rather go on the road with.”
Snake chuckled. “You sure about that? Remember that trip to Panama City Beach after graduation?”
“Um … some of it,” Jeff answered with a laugh. “We’ve matured, though, Snake.”
“Speak for yourself.”
Jeff laughed harder. “Yeah, well, I don’t think you’ll ever grow the hell up.”
“Part of my charm,” Snake answered. In truth, Jeff had been envious when Snake took off for parts unknown. Guilt had kept Jeff working on the struggling Greenfield farm before finally heading to Nashville, much to the sorrow of his parents and especially his older brother, Reid, who thought he was being irresponsible. All of them were convinced he was chasing a pie-in-the-sky impossible dream.
When Jeff found some success and then signed as a solo artist with My Way Records, he convinced South Street Riot to join him as his backing band in the quest for stardom. Although Jeff recorded his first single with hired session musicians at My Way Records, his friends really were the guys he wanted with him both on tour and in the studio.
“So everybody’s down with jammin’ tomorrow?”
“Colin’s got a singing gig at Wine and Diner for the happy hour crowd but he said he can make it by eight o’clock.”
“Cool, well, I was just checkin’ in. Anything else goin’ on?”
Jeff glanced up at Cat’s cabin. “Can you keep something under your hat?” While Jeff knew that Cat’s presence in Cricket Creek wouldn’t stay under wraps for long, he wanted to respect her wish to remain on the down low. But he knew he could trust Snake.
“Yeah,” Snake replied. When Jeff hesitated, Snake urged him on. “Damn, do you need a drumroll? I can provide one but only on my legs at the moment.”
“Cat Carson just moved into the cabin on the ridge.”
“Seriously?” he asked with a low whistle.
“I kid you not.”
“Aren’t you the lucky one.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Have you seen Cat in the music video for ‘Sail-Away Summer’?” Snake asked.
“No,” Jeff answered in what he hoped was a bored voice. But he just might have to look the video up.
“Well, Cat is smokin’ hot in it. She’s in a bikini on this sailboat … Dude, she has a bangin’ body. Forever legs and a real nice—”
“That’s enough, Snake. I get it.”
“Whoa, now. That sounded pretty damned protective. You got a thing for her?”
“No!” J
eff scoffed, but then glanced up at Cat’s cabin again. “First of all, I don’t even know her. And secondly, she’s not my type.”
“Type?” Snake gave Jeff a short laugh. “I never did get that whole type thing.”
“Not everybody loves all women like you, my friend.”
“Why limit yourself to a certain … type? To me that’s kinda like sayin’ you like candy but only peanut butter cups. Sorry, but I just don’t get it.”
“We all have preferences,” Jeff insisted.
“Really? Then what’s yours?”
Jeff was momentarily startled when a vision of Cat slid into his brain. “I don’t know,” he sputtered. “How’d we get on this sorry-ass subject anyway?”
“Um, I think we were talking about your hot new neighbor. The one you have no interest in. You didn’t say what it was like meeting her.”
“I think I kind of insulted her.”
“What? But you’re always the picture of perfect politeness. I didn’t think you knew how to be rude.”
Jeff blew out a sigh. “Well, I kinda insulted her music.”
“Well, damn, it’s like one and the same, bro. I mean, what the hell?”
Jeff looked up at the night sky. “Yeah, I know. She asked what song of hers was my favorite and I was stuck for an answer.”
“Awkward. Hey, but you gotta hand it to her. Cat does have an amazing voice. Pure, but with a little bit of a sultry edge here and there. Remember when she sang ‘The Star-Spangled Banner’ for the Cougars on opening day?”
“Oh, wow. I’d forgotten about that.”
“Dude, she killed it.”
“Yeah …” Jeff felt himself nodding in agreement.
“And didn’t she sing at Reid and Addison’s wedding?”
“Yeah, I think Cat and Mia Monroe go way back and Addison is Mia’s cousin. So there you have it.”
“Cat wasn’t nearly as well known back then, but, man oh man, she shot to the top of the charts fast not long after that. In just a couple of years Cat Carson went from opening concerts to headlining.”
“Too fast, in my opinion.”
“You’re not the only one with that opinion. When she won vocalist of the year two years ago, some people were royally pissed. You gotta admit that it must be tough to win an honor like that and then have to take some serious heat from your peers.”
Jeff stood up and leaned against the railing. “Blame the record companies who create artists rather than artists creating themselves,” Jeff responded tightly.
“And you’re throwing Cat into that category?” Snake asked. “Part of the criteria for the honor is sheer numbers and she has them.”
“Well, yeah, I get that.” Jeff gave Cat’s cabin a guilty glance. “I don’t know, Snake. I guess she just seems one-dimensional. I mean, yeah, she has a great voice with some serious range, but no depth or emotion to her music.”
“I don’t know if that’s a fair statement.”
“Come on … ‘Sail-Away Summer’? Are you kidding me? Snake, there was, like, a dance remix. And now she claims she wants to do more traditional country? Give me a break.”
“But sounds like she’s trying to take control of her career mold. You gotta give her credit for that.”
“Why? Because she’s tired of singing about her toes in the sand? And suddenly she’s a serious country artist?”
“Rick Ruleman must see something more in her than just a great voice. I mean, I read where she had a pretty big disagreement with Sweetside, so I guess that’s why she ended up here. So she’s not just about fame or the money.”
“Maybe she just likes getting her way,” Jeff answered, knowing he was being unfair. “It’s no secret that she comes from money, so she doesn’t need it.”
Snake laughed. “Sounds to me like you’re trying really hard to talk yourself out of liking her.”
“I don’t even know her.”
“Well, you might try not to like her, but she’s your neighbor and will be at the studio on a regular basis. So odds are that you’re going to get to know Cat Carson a lot better in no time. If not, I’ll be glad to do the honors. She is my type.”
“Stay the hell away from her, Snake,” Jeff growled, and then felt a little bit stupid.
“Okay … so, what are you trying to tell me?”
“I’m not trying to do anything more than drink a damned beer. As a matter of fact, I think I need another one,” Jeff added, even though he hadn’t finished half of the one he held in his hand. Meeting Cat still had him feeling a little bit off-kilter and he didn’t even know why. And seriously, why the hell did he just jump all over his best friend? “See ya at practice tomorrow.”
“I might get there early.”
“I’ll meet you there. Just give me a call when you’re on your way.” After Jeff ended the call, he took another swallow of beer and then set the can down on the railing. Usually an even-keel kind of guy, Jeff didn’t understand why his reaction to Cat Carson was so strong in more ways than one. Despite butting heads, his instant attraction to her caught him off guard. Maybe it was because he’d been concentrating on his career for so long that he’d put even the thought of a relationship on the back burner and Cat had suddenly lit that fire. Or maybe it was because his brother Reid and sister, Sara, were both happily married with a baby. His other brother, Braden, had a girl in his life, which made his mother concentrate on his lack of a love life during their Sunday dinners at the farmhouse. She was always trying to fix him up with someone, and now that she had grandchildren she wanted to fill the farmhouse with them.
“Whatever,” Jeff mumbled. He did need to concentrate on his music. Although he’d signed with My Way Records and had a top-twenty hit single, his career continued to move more slowly than he’d hoped. Everyone thought that once you had a hit single you became an instant millionaire, but that was so far from the truth it wasn’t even funny. Opening for a big name was an honor, but mostly on the artist’s own dime. Jeff knew he still had a lot of dues to pay before making the big time.
Jeff sighed. He could take the easy route and put out something with a catchy hook that was part of the popular new country sound but that felt like a sellout, and he refused to go in that direction. But now that Jeff had brought his band on board, he felt the pressure for continued success at a faster pace. They’d all taken a leap of faith and put their regular lives on hold to try to make this happen. Still, Jeff wanted to give this his best shot, but in his own way and on his own terms. If not, he’d just as soon go back to farming. But if things didn’t take off, he just might have to do that pretty damned soon.
Jeff drained the rest of his beer and crushed the can. In order to keep the momentum going, he needed another hit single fast, or would risk being on the long list of one-hit wonders.
Pushing away from the railing, Jeff thought about grabbing his guitar and starting work on the song that had been giving him fits. Songwriting usually came to him pretty effortlessly, but Jeff guessed the pressure to write something fantastic was getting to him and screwing around with his creativity. He just needed a spark of inspiration and knew the melody would slide into his brain like magic. The question was … where could he find the elusive spark?
3
Let It Be
CAT INHALED THE RICH AROMA OF COFFEE BREWING AND smiled. “Bless you, Mia, for hooking me up with all of the essentials,” Cat said and then reached past wimpy cups, searching for the largest mug in the cabinet. “Aha,” Cat announced when she found a giant thermal mug decorated with the Cricket Creek Cougars logo on it. “I designate you as my official coffee container.” Cat poured the steaming brew into the mug, leaving enough room for vanilla-flavored creamer.
Sunshine streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows at the back of the great room, drawing Cat over to take in the lovely view of the river. She cradled the mug in her hands and smiled at the sunshine sparkling off the water. She moved a bit gingerly on her sore legs, but ice and ibuprofen helped dull the ache
a little bit. Although the cabin wasn’t huge, the layout made the space seem bigger; in truth, she liked the cozy feeling much better than her big house in Brentwood. Later, Cat had a lunch meeting with songwriter Maria Sully at Wine and Diner up in town, but right now all she wanted to do was sip her coffee and lounge in sweatpants and a hoodie.
After a year of turmoil Cat finally felt as if her life was back on the right path. She inhaled a deep coffee-scented breath and blew it out. Okay, well, at least she was heading in the right direction. Switching gears and taking time off from touring to get back to the basics of music put a smile on her face and joy in her heart. She hadn’t felt this sense of freedom in a long time.
Cat’s smile faltered a little bit when she thought of the staff who no longer worked for her. While Cat hadn’t fired any of them, her move to small-town Cricket Creek, coupled with taking her career in a new direction, had her crew staying in Nashville. And honestly, Cat thought there likely was some pressure from her former record company for her staff not to follow her. This meant that her manager, personal assistant, and road manager were no longer working with her. Cat took a sip of coffee while feeling a little stab of guilt. She wasn’t just Cat Carson, country singer, but a franchise. A lot of people’s livelihoods had depended upon her success—probably the reason that Cat had taken one album too many to seriously consider making some life and career changes. She cared about all of them, which had made her final decision a difficult one.
Cat stared down at her coffee and swallowed some emotion. She missed them, especially Amy Peterson, her personal assistant. Not only was Amy a sweet person, but she helped Cat keep her scatterbrained ways under control. Cat took solace in that she’d given them all glowing referrals, and the last she’d heard they had all found employment. In the meantime, the front desk secretary at My Way Records, Teresa Bennett, had taken on the task of keeping track of Cat’s mail, appointments, and personal appearances. She would have to eventually hire a new staff, but for now all she wanted to do was concentrate on her songs and get the opportunity to do more charity work, perhaps with Mia and her Heels for Meals in Cricket Creek. She also felt huge satisfaction from visiting fans going through a tough time. Just the month before she’d been a prom date for Colby Hughes, a high school football star diagnosed with leukemia. Putting a smile on Colby’s face made her legal troubles seem trivial.