by LuAnn McLane
Cat knew that she was being portrayed as a stubborn star by Matt Stanford, president of Sweetside Records. He claimed she was difficult to work with and the tabloids were having a field day. His unfounded words hurt. Cat trusted in Matt as a father figure with her best interest at heart, but in the end all he cared about was money, not her as a person or artist.
Although his unfair portrayal of her still stung, it only reiterated that she was doing the right thing by stepping back and reevaluating where her career was going. Being in the limelight came with the territory, but losing control of her creativity had made her feel as if the life was being sucked right out of her. Rick Ruleman of My Way Records understood. After a hit record, he’d been pigeonholed into hard-core rock and roll when his real love was ballads and bluegrass. Rick had lived a life pretending to be something he wasn’t, and Cat didn’t want the same scenario to happen to her. All she wanted was control of her destiny, and Rick had promised he’d hand the creative reins over to her.
Just when Cat had decided to go out onto the deck to drink her coffee, she heard a knock at her front door. Her stomach did a funny little lurch when she wondered whether her visitor might be Jeff, since there weren’t too many other people it could be this early in the day. She glanced down at her attire and winced, but then squared her shoulders and headed toward the door. What did she care how she looked? She wasn’t about to let her judgmental neighbor get to her the way he did last night.
Lifting her chin, Cat swung open the door so hard that she sloshed hot coffee onto her bare feet. “Oh … damn!” she blurted, and then felt heat in her cheeks when she glanced up at … Jeff. Of course he had the nerve to appear calm, cool, collected and oh so sexy in worn jeans and another faded flannel shirt.
“Not the reception I was hoping for, but I guess I sort of deserve it,” Jeff admitted with a slight grin. He held up a tinfoil-covered plate. “I brought a peace offering in the form of homemade coffee cake.”
“You baked a cake for me?”
“Of course!”
“Seriously?” She suddenly pictured him in a Kiss the Cook apron, stirring batter with a wooden spoon. Kinda sexy …
“No.” He laughed, and Cat found herself liking the rich sound of his deep chuckle. “No, actually, my mother brought it over very early this morning. Warm from the oven, I might add.”
“Earlier?”
“We’re farmers. We get up when the rooster crows.”
“Does that really happen?”
“Getting up early or the rooster crowing?”
“The rooster crowing.”
“Yes.” Jeff inched the cake forward. “And there’s no snooze button. The best you can do is put the pillow over your head and groan.”
“So you’re giving your mom’s cake to me?”
“Yes, and it’s a cinnamon cake. My favorite.” Jeff held the plate up higher. “I’m not as big a jerk as you think.”
“Let’s hope not,” Cat mumbled, and he laughed. She caught a whiff of cinnamon and then stood back for him to enter. “It smells divine. I accept.”
“The apology?” He put the plate onto the breakfast bar and turned to face her.
“The cake.” Cat lifted the tinfoil and took a pinch of cinnamon crumble and popped it into her mouth. “Oh, now that’s delicious. Okay, I guess I will have to accept your apology too,” she tried to joke, but he frowned. “What?”
“How are your legs? Not bruised too badly, I hope?”
Cat shrugged. “Like I said, I bruise easily and run into random things. Not a good combination, but let’s just say I’m used to it by now. Most of the pictures of me as a kid growing up show bruises on my shins. It didn’t help that I liked climbing trees,” Cat added, and then wondered why she’d felt the need to share this information with him. “But the attack-of-the-suitcase thing was over the top even for me.” She’d blame her runaway chatter on nervousness, but Jeff didn’t make her feel nervous exactly … just aware in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time.
Jeff nodded. “Hey, I get it. I told you I was a daredevil, remember? I’ve suffered many a broken bone.”
Cat grinned. “Right. If I dare you to do something, you will do it.”
“And I’ll tell you to watch me. Typical country boy behavior, I’m afraid.” His grin was a little shy, and yet had a hint of something in it that made her pulse flutter. He cleared his throat. “Well, I hope you enjoy the cinnamon cake.”
“Would you like a cup of coffee?” Cat found herself asking. “And I’ll be happy to share the cake with you. You should at least have a slice.”
“I would, but I’m running late. My sister, Sara, runs an educational program for grade schoolkids on the Greenfield farm. It’s a hands-on thing teaching them about farming, called Old MacDonald’s.”
“E-I-E-I-O.”
Jeff groaned. “And the kids sing it nonstop. My dad usually drives them around the farm on a hayride, but he’s fishing with his buddies so I’m Farmer Jeff for the day.”
“So, Farmer Jeff, shouldn’t you be wearing overalls or something?”
“My dad does, but I have to draw the line somewhere.”
“Well, you’re no fun.”
“You might be surprised.”
“Well, now …” Cat arched an eyebrow. “I dare you.”
“To do what?”
“Wear the overalls.”
Jeff laughed. “You’re not playing fair.”
Cat shrugged. “I want a picture.”
“Okay.” He reached in his pocket for his cell phone. “Then I need your number.”
“That was smooth.”
He grinned. “I have my moments.” Jeff extended the phone toward her. “Type it in, please.”
“Sure.” When Cat reached for the phone, his fingers grazed hers and she felt a nice little tingle. This exchange suddenly felt like flirting, which was a luxury that Cat hadn’t allowed herself in a long time. “I fully expect a picture, and you need to have a piece of straw hanging out of your mouth or something,” she added as she handed his phone back to him.
“You’re pushing it.”
“I usually do,” she admitted lightly.
Jeff grinned and slipped his phone in his pocket. He paused, and she wondered whether he was reluctant to go or maybe wanted to ask her something. Maybe dinner later? “Well, I should get going. My schoolteacher sister doesn’t like tardiness. If there’s anything you need, let me know.”
“Just the picture,” Cat said, trying not to feel a little bit disappointed.
“I have a feeling I shouldn’t have divulged the whole dare thing to you.”
“You would be one hundred percent correct.”
He grinned and there was that slight pause again. “Hope you have a good day,” he said.
“You too, Farmer Jeff. And thanks again for the coffee cake. Tell your mom I said thanks too.”
“You’re welcome.” He walked over to the door and then turned around. “Am I going to be Farmer Jeff from here on in?”
Cat grinned. “Count on it.”
“Thought so.” Jeff nodded and then headed out the door.
Cat watched him walk away and then realized she was standing there in the kitchen still smiling. The lighthearted teasing or flirting made Cat feel a little bit giddy. But then she shook her head. The banter was most likely part of the country boy charm and meant nothing more. Not that she wanted her relationship with Jeff Greenfield to be anything more than friendly.
But then Cat remembered the warm tingle she’d experienced from a mere brush of his fingers and had to wonder whether he’d felt the connection too. She shrugged, trying to dismiss the feeling. As a songwriter Cat tried to remain in tune with her senses and emotions. “Stay focused,” she whispered, but then walked over to the window in time to see Jeff drive down the road in his red pickup truck. She wondered whether he would send a selfie of himself wearing overalls; then she smiled at the thought.
After locating a small plate, Cat cut a
generous slice of the cake and then refilled her coffee mug. She moaned as the cinnamon crumble melted in her mouth. Even though Cat refused to obsess over her weight, she didn’t often eat something as decadent as cake, and the indulgence was a party in her mouth. She worked out and tried to eat a healthy diet, but she had lots of younger fans and didn’t want to portray the too thin image that girls thought they had to live up to. Although her lyrics were flirty and fun, she was well aware of the influence she had on her audience and made a pact with herself to always remain a positive role model. When she was asked to do increasingly sexy music videos, Cat protested, causing even more friction with her label. Wearing a bikini on a boat was as far as she wanted to go, and for Cat that was even pushing it. When the last video was supposed to be her rolling around in bed wearing little more than a sheet, she’d flatly refused. If Matt Stanford wanted to label her refusal as being difficult to work with, well, then so be it.
“So be it …” Cat whispered and was hit with sudden inspiration. “Kinda like ‘Let It Be’ but with an edge.” She scooted back from the table and went in search of paper and pen. For the first time in a long while, words started flowing from her brain onto the page.
4
While My Guitar Gently Weeps
AS SOON AS SHE ENTERED WINE AND DINER, MARIA’S empty stomach reacted to the tantalizing aroma of food being served. She hadn’t meant to skip breakfast, but she’d been so engrossed with listening to demo tapes with Rick Ruleman that she’d nearly been late for her meeting with Cat Carson.
The clinking of glasses and silverware, along with chatter and laughter, brought a smile to Maria’s face. Originally called Myra’s Diner, the renovated restaurant still served classic favorites, but the expanded menu included several gourmet offerings, which drew in both locals and tourists. And while the décor remained true to an old-school diner, with the servers wearing retro uniforms, the atmosphere felt fresh and full of fun. Fifties and sixties music pulsed in the background and when songs like “The Twist” came on it wasn’t unusual for servers to encourage dancing. Wine and Diner put a smile on Maria’s face, even as she walked in the door.
The line for the hostess station was five people deep so Maria decided to look around to see whether Cat had already arrived. Out of the corner of her eye she saw her friend Myra hurrying her way.
“Maria Sully!” Myra said before giving her a huge hug. “It’s so good to have you back in Cricket Creek, where you belong.”
“Myra Robinson!” Maria answered with a laugh. “Are you going to tell me that every time I eat here?”
“I want to remind you so you don’t ever move away again. And remember, it’s Myra Lawson now.”
“I keep forgetting that you got married to Owen Lawson!”
“Yeah, I finally found some fool crazy enough to have me.” Myra shook her head slowly and chuckled.
“I’d say Owen’s a lucky man,” Maria said with a lift of her chin.
“I happen to agree with you but I also think that might be open for lively debate,” Myra admitted with a wince. “But never a dull moment, that’s for sure.”
“I thought you’d retired when your niece came back and took over the diner. And yet you seem to be here every time I come in.”
“That was the plan,” Myra said. “But then Jessica had to go and get married and have a baby. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to retire,” she said with a roll of her eyes.
“I have a feeling you love every single minute.”
Myra tossed her long braid over her shoulder and laughed. “I do. And little Ben is such a pistol, but I love him to pieces.”
“I imagine you do. I can’t wait for Clint and Ava to make me a grandmother. And it’s so wonderful to see your restaurant doing so well.”
“Ah … Wine and Diner might be all fancy-pants now, but I still get requests for my apple pie and chicken-fried steak.”
“And how’s your sweet niece Madison?”
“Happily married to Jason Craig and writing her plays.”
“Right, Jason built the outdoor concert stage for Pete, didn’t he?”
“Yes, and he did the initial remodeling of the diner and builds the sets for her plays. That’s how Maddie and Jason met.” She shook her head and chuckled. “Those two sure did butt heads at first.”
Maria grinned. “If I remember, Madison is a sassy little thing. Big blue eyes and bouncing curls.”
“You remember correctly and it still holds true.” Myra pulled Maria to the side and then leaned closer. “Gets it from me, not her easygoing mama.” Myra stepped back and angled her head. “You know, the two of you should get together and write a musical someday. It could be … What do the kids say?”
“Epic?”
Myra snapped her fingers. “Yeah, epic!”
Maria nodded slowly. “Funny you should say that because I’ve always wanted to write the score for a play. We should discuss it sometime soon.”
“Maddie would be so thrilled. Maria, we are so proud of your songwriting success, but it’s so damned good to have you back, my friend.” Myra reached over and squeezed Maria’s hand. “And I know Pete’s happy you’re back too. I haven’t seen him smile so much since … well, since before you two split. And having your son move back from California last Christmas and reunite with Ava? You must be over the moon.”
“Oh, I am.” Maria pressed her lips together, suppressing sudden emotion. “Look, I know the whole town hopes Pete and I will patch things up.” She closed her eyes and swallowed hard. To this day Maria found it painful to think that her husband had cared more about saving his business than saving their marriage. “It’s just not that simple.”
Myra nodded. “Life never is.” She put a hand on Maria’s shoulder. “Love sure never is.”
Maria felt a little jolt at hearing the word love. “I’m just taking it a day at a time.”
Myra gave Maria’s shoulder another squeeze. “That’s a good plan. So do you need a table or do you want to sit at the counter?”
“Actually, I’m here to meet Cat Carson. Do you know if she’s here?”
Myra leaned and whispered, “At the last booth in the back on the left. Cat’s wearing a baseball cap pulled low. She made it clear that she wanted to keep her presence quiet if at all possible. I don’t think she’s comfortable with all that hoopla. Sweet girl.”
Maria frowned. “I probably should have just met her at the studio. I wasn’t thinking. In Nashville having famous artists walking around town is normal.”
“Her back is to the restaurant and so far no one has recognized her, or if they did they’re leaving her alone. Around here people tend to be respectful.”
“I’m not surprised. Thanks, Myra. I’ll find her. And tell Madison that I’d love to get together. Oh, and hey, I’m planning on starting a songwriters’ roundtable at Sully’s sometime soon. Madison should come.”
“I’m sure she’d love that. I’ll tell her.”
“Good. And you’re right—I loved Nashville but it feels right to be back in Cricket Creek. You and I really do need to get out together too. Do some two-steppin’ at Sully’s.”
“Deal,” Myra said. “It was great talking to you. Enjoy your lunch with Cat.”
Maria nodded and then headed to the back of the dining room. She slid quietly into the booth and smiled across the table at Cat. “Sorry I’m a little bit late. I was talking to an old friend.” She extended her hand. “I’m Maria Sully.”
Cat grasped her hand and gave her a bright smile. “You’ve written some of my favorite songs. It’s an honor to meet you.”
“Thank you, Cat. I’m a fan of yours too.”
“Really?”
Maria tipped her head sideways. “Why on earth would you think otherwise?”
Cat toyed with the straw poking out of her iced tea and shrugged. “I’m sure you know that I’m not always viewed very seriously. I’ve taken some heat for my pop-sounding songs.”
Maria arched an eyebrow
. “You want to know what I think about that?”
“I would.” Cat nodded and leaned forward.
“Pardon me for being so frank, but that’s … well, bullshit.”
Cat’s eyes widened and then she sat back and chuckled. “Really?”
“Absolutely. Listen, you’re an artist and you don’t have to fit into any mold except for the one you create.” Maria pointed at her. “You. Not your label. Not what the fans want. And not what anybody says you can or can’t do. If you love singing about the beach and sailing off into the sunset, then do it. And if country calls it too pop and Top 40 radio calls you too country, then who cares? Just be true to yourself. Sing from your heart.” Maria patted her chest. “And whoever doesn’t like it can shut their mouths and listen to something else.”
Cat grinned. “In other words, kiss my Southern sass?”
“I couldn’t have said it better.” Maria wanted Cat to be completely at ease with her and not pull any punches.
“May I take your drink order?”
Maria paused to order a sweet tea from the server and then picked up the menu. “You’re never going to please everyone, so don’t even try. At My Way Records, Rick and I want to develop talent and create something that lasts, not—as he calls it—the flavor of the moment. Don’t get me wrong. We want hit records. We want to make money, but not at the expense of the integrity of the label or the artist. Quite simply, we want to develop talent with the hope of creating legends, which means music that transcends time. All of the great artists had their critics. Look at Elvis or the Beatles or Johnny Cash. But they thumbed their noses and did as they pleased. I know it sounds cliché, but you have to think outside the box.”
“Wow. I don’t know if I can live up to all of that,” Cat admitted.
“That’s the beauty of it. You don’t have to live up to anything. Just dig deep into your heart and soul and the rest will come naturally.” She smiled her thanks for her drink to the server and then looked at Cat.