The Girl He Used to Love

by Amy Vastine

  “That’s what my daddy told me when they brought him home from the hospital. Although, I often wonder if the doctors pulled a switcheroo.” Her attempt at lightening the mood fell flat. Dean went back to watching Sawyer with intense interest.

  After the cover song, Sawyer sang one of his originals about chasing fireflies. He’d never admit it, but that song had something to do with their mom. She had run off and left them behind when Sawyer and Faith were just kids, but before that she had been the one who would take them out on a hot summer night armed with a pickle jar and a lid poked with holes. He pretended to hate her. Maybe a little part of him did, but there was another part of him that missed her as much as Faith did.

  “Can you reintroduce us when he’s finished?” Dean asked when the song came to an end.

  “Why? You want him to help you change your flat tire?”

  “No,” he answered as if she hadn’t been kidding. “I want to make your brother a star.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  DEAN SHOULD HAVE left the moment he realized he was sharing space with none other than Faith Stratton. At the very least, he should have stayed on the phone, begging his business partner to come rescue him so he could get out of this town before anyone else spotted him. Though, given their history, it was unlikely Faith would go running to his parents’ house to announce his arrival.

  Gone was the little girl who had been attached to Addison’s hip and the sweet, doe-eyed teenager who had made him lose his mind and his sister in the process. In her place was a gorgeous, dark-haired, grown-up woman. Those warm brown eyes were still capable of stopping a man’s heart, but everything else had changed...matured.

  Seeing her stirred up feelings he preferred to avoid, bury, pretend he never felt. Dean was the master at hiding his true emotions. He also had a knack for keeping his personal life very separate from his business life, and this detour into Grass Lake had quickly become business.

  Sawyer was the answer to Dean’s prayers. It had been a long time since he had heard someone sing with such real emotion. He had noticed it during the Johnny Cash cover; he had felt it during the second song. Dean needed to talk to this guy and get him in front of Landon immediately.

  With her hands on her hips and her chin tipped down, Faith frowned in confusion. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “He’s amazing, Faith. I could introduce him to some people in the business. Does he write his own stuff?”

  Her eyes gave away her wariness. She folded her arms across her chest. “Sometimes.”

  That was a plus and made the guy that much more desirable. “I have a legitimate record label with real artists signed to it. He could have a real music career.”

  “My brother helps me run the farm. Singing is what he does for fun, not for a living.”

  Before he could explain how that could change, Faith was called away by another customer. Dean had worked at the Strattons’ horse farm and equine therapy center that last summer in Grass Lake. It was a worthwhile business, but Dean knew how much work went into it. Hopefully, Sawyer would be a little more excited about Dean’s proposition than his sister was. He was exactly what Grace Note Records had been looking for—young, attractive and, most importantly, talented.

  Bringing in a potential new artist would ease Landon’s mind and keep him from giving up on their company. Without Landon, Dean would have to close up shop. He didn’t have the capital to buy his partner out.

  The rest of Sawyer’s set finished strong. It didn’t matter if he was singing a cover or an original, the songs all sounded as if every note belonged to him. He had a unique sound that would do well on the radio.

  Faith approached her brother as soon he stepped off the tiny corner stage. She whispered in his ear and he immediately glanced in Dean’s direction. The two siblings exchanged a few more words before Sawyer made his way to the bar.

  “Dean Presley—long time, no see.” Sawyer Stratton looked more like his father than the boy Dean had once known. He had big, brown, soulful eyes and chiseled features that would definitely make women swoon when he was on stage. There was nothing scrawny about him and he might have been an inch or two taller than Dean. “You got something against umbrellas?”

  Dean could only imagine how ridiculous he looked as the two men shook hands. He ran a hand through his towel-dried hair and glanced down at the puddle of water that had collected under his bar stool. He was a wreck.

  “I’ve got nothing against umbrellas. I would have loved an umbrella tonight.”

  “You in town for the weekend? Your mom didn’t mention you were coming home when I saw her earlier this week.”

  Dean loved his mother, but he would have to convince Sawyer not to mention this visit. “I wasn’t planning on being in town at all. I was headed back to Nashville after a scouting trip to Birmingham. If my car hadn’t gotten a flat, I never would have heard you sing. You were a million times more entertaining than the band I saw earlier tonight. Did you write some of that set yourself?”

  “About half.”

  “Ever post songs on the internet? Have any social media presence?”

  “Nope. No time for that. Only place I play is right here,” Sawyer said.

  “What if I told you I could give you lots of time to play music?”

  “Oh, yeah? You want to make me the next Boone Williams?” Sawyer snickered like it was a joke.

  Country star Boone Williams had been the first to sign with Dean’s label after the singer had a falling out with his record company. At the time, it had seemed like a huge win. Little had Dean and Landon known the problem was more Boone than it was his label.

  It had been five years since the megastar recorded an album and three years of nothing but bad press. Stories of infidelity, drug and alcohol problems, divorce and a child custody war circulated ad nauseam. Dean had convinced Boone to go to rehab, but the guy was still in a fragile state, claiming with his sobriety had come a complete loss of creativity. There were no songs to record in his near future.

  Lately all Boone did was cost Dean money. Sawyer would not become another Boone. Dean’s gut told him he had a gold mine in front of him. “I want to make you the next Sawyer Stratton.”

  Sawyer called Faith over. Her hair was pulled back in a high ponytail. Her slender neck and apple cheeks were slightly flushed. She had always been pretty but that word no longer did her justice. Dean hated himself for drinking her in.

  “Something tells me you put him up to this,” Sawyer said to his sister. “If this is payback for telling Charles Hackney you like guys who wear tight jeans and big belt buckles, so help me...”

  Faith poked her brother in the chest. “Don’t you dare mention tight jeans and Charles in the same sentence. I’m not sure I’ll be able to look at that man the same way ever again.”

  Sawyer’s grin was wide and toothy. Something told Dean he was the same old troublesome younger brother he had been.

  “Just tell the truth,” Sawyer demanded. “Are you two messing with me?”

  “I’m not joking,” Dean insisted. “I need new artists and you’re the first real talent I’ve seen in a long time. I would love to hear you sing again.”

  Sawyer gave him a light punch in the shoulder. “Well, flattery will get you everywhere.”

  “Your mom is going to be ecstatic,” Faith said with a smile, leaving Dean to question what his mother had to do with this. If he was lucky, he’d be out of here before she even heard he was in town.

  “She’ll probably throw you a welcome home parade,” Sawyer added.

  Every muscle in Dean’s body tensed. “Oh, I’m not staying. I was thinking you could come to Nashville. Meet some people. Nashville’s where the magic happens.”

  “Nashville?” Faith’s face drained of color. “Things are kind of busy at the farm right now. One of th
e paddocks needs the fencing along the east side replaced and Sawyer’s in the middle of revamping the tack room.”

  “Nashville is where the magic happens,” Dean repeated, looking at Sawyer in hopes of swaying him.

  “I think what my sister is trying to say is I’ve got responsibilities here, Dean. I appreciate that you think I sound good enough to do more than play in this old bar, but with Dad gone, it’s just me and Faith, and we have the farm to run.”

  Responsibilities? Didn’t Sawyer have a responsibility to himself to do something he loved? And Dean didn’t need to ask him if he loved making music; he’d heard it in every word the man sang.

  The relief on Faith’s face stopped him from pointing that out. She needed her brother, and Dean wasn’t sure how he was going to handle that. He had to get back to Nashville. Once he was out of this godforsaken town, he’d find a way to lure Sawyer there.

  Dean glanced at his watch. It was almost midnight. Too late to ask Landon to drive down here to get him. Going to his parents’ house was completely out of the question. If he showed his face there, they’d never let him leave. There was only one option.

  “I don’t want to bother my parents this late at night and I need a place to crash. You think I could sleep on your couch? I’ll be gone in the morning, I swear.”

  Sawyer glanced at Faith, who bit her bottom lip. It wasn’t any wonder she’d be hesitant about inviting him into her house. The last time he had been there, he’d said some pretty horrible things.

  “I’m sure your mom wouldn’t mind being woken up because you were home,” she said in her attempt to say no without actually saying the word.

  “I don’t want to make a scene, you know?”

  “I get it,” Sawyer said.

  “What about Tanner’s B&B?” Faith was quick to suggest.

  “They don’t take guests in the middle of the night, Faith. You know that,” Sawyer argued.

  Dean was desperate. “You won’t even know I’m there.”

  “You can come home with us,” Sawyer said. “I’ll even let you borrow some dry clothes because I’m not only talented but kind and generous, as well.”

  “Right. That or you don’t want me to ruin your couch.”

  Sawyer grinned. “That, too.”

  * * *

  FAITH MUST HAVE misheard her brother because there was no way he’d offered to let Dean Presley sleep on their couch. She waited and cornered him while Dean went to hold his phone under the hand dryer for a minute.

  “Have you lost your mind? You can’t let him stay at our house.”

  “What else is he supposed to do?” Sawyer replied.

  “He has family in town. Family that would probably love to see him.” Not that he cared about the people he’d left behind. His parents visited him in Nashville, but he had made it very clear that he wanted nothing to do with this town...nothing to do with Faith. He had always blamed her for what had happened to Addison. Of course, no one blamed Faith as much as Faith did.

  “It’s late, sis. Have a heart.”

  He was so much like their dad, always willing to give the shirt off his back. Faith was really no different. Josie had warned them both that their generosity was their weakness. Kindness rarely helped pay the bills. He was also infuriatingly right. There really wasn’t anywhere else Dean could go if he refused to wake his family. One night on their couch wasn’t going to kill her.

  “Fine.”

  Sawyer gave her a kiss on the top of the head. “You want to close up for me? His jeans are so wet, I’m starting to feel uncomfortable for him. Unless you want to take him...”

  No way did Faith want to be alone with Dean. The last time they were alone at her house, he had ripped her heart out. It was almost closing time, anyway, and Josie wouldn’t care who helped her lock up. “I’ll stay. You go.”

  Dean returned from the men’s room. His water-logged phone still didn’t work.

  “Let’s go, Music Man,” Sawyer said, grabbing his guitar case. “Let’s get you dried off before you chafe something.”

  She watched Dean thank Hank for holding the door open for him and Sawyer. He still had his good manners. And broad shoulders. And green eyes that matched the color of the rolling hills that surrounded Grass Lake. Faith’s chest burned. He also had a stone heart.

  “Am I going to get the story on that one?” Josie asked when she came back to the bar with a drink order. “Or is this something I’m going to have to pry out of you with promises of chocolate and my child’s free labor?”

  “Your daughter already works for free,” Faith quipped. Lily volunteered at the farm several times a week. “You can’t bribe me with something I already get.”

  Josie’s round face always wore a smile. Her blue eyes often had a mischievous glint. She nudged Faith with her elbow. “Then just tell me.”

  Faith let out a heavy sigh of resignation. “Dean is Marilee Presley’s son. He’s a big-shot record executive in Nashville. He thinks Sawyer should come to the city and start a music career or something.” It sounded even more ridiculous when she said it out loud.

  “That’s amazing!” Josie lit up. “Does he work with anyone I listen to?”

  “Boone Williams.”

  “Boone ‘She Loves Me Better Than You’ Williams?”

  Faith wished Josie wasn’t so impressed. “That’s the one,” she said.

  Josie hopped up and down. “Our Sawyer is going to be famous like Boone Williams? This is better than winning the lottery! Why aren’t you excited?”

  “Our Sawyer runs Helping Hooves with me.”

  The Stratton siblings had been working under their father since they were old enough to hold a dandy brush. John Stratton had believed caring for horses was therapeutic. He had gone back to school after their mother left and gotten his master’s degree in counseling with a certificate in equine-assisted therapy. Soon after, he’d opened up Helping Hooves.

  Faith had always loved horses and couldn’t wait to follow in her father’s footsteps. She had imagined working side by side with her dad for years and years. Now that he was gone, Faith was the only licensed therapist while Sawyer assisted and did most of the heavy lifting. They weren’t doing a terrible job running the place, but there was no way one of them could do it alone.

  “We’re trying to get accredited and there’s a lot of work to do. Sawyer’s place is here, not Nashville,” Faith added.

  “Oh, please! Your brother has more talent in his pinkie finger than everyone else in Grass Lake combined. If anyone has a shot at being something, at being someone, it’s Sawyer.”

  Wasn’t he already someone?

  “How many people get discovered in small-town bars and become super famous?” Faith asked Josie, but answered first. “Not many. My brother is too much of a realist to get caught up in some crazy fantasy.”

  There was nothing to worry about. Faith would ignore the tightness in her shoulders and the way her stomach ached. Dean would leave. There was no way he would stick around long enough to convince Sawyer to go with him. Dean wouldn’t be able to get out of Grass Lake quick enough.

  Faith was annoyed at the way that thought stung. It made little sense. Addison would have been shaking her head in disgust. She hadn’t understood how Faith could have those kinds of feelings for her brother. Oh, how Faith wished she had never felt anything for Dean. Had she not, maybe Addison would still be alive today.

  “Say what you want,” Josie told her. “But I saw the way he listened to your brother play. It was like watching a snake charmer hypnotizing a cobra. It will be Sawyer doing the helping when he sells a million records for Mr. Presley’s company.”

  Josie announced last call and slipped behind the bar to take over for Sawyer. Faith grabbed a dish towel and went to clean off one of the newly abandoned tables. Faith n
eeded Sawyer’s help more than Dean ever would. Her brother would stay loyal to the family. There was no doubt in Faith’s mind.

  CHAPTER THREE

  DRY SOCKS WERE Dean’s new favorite thing. Although it was possible hot showers ranked a little higher. Hot showers, dry socks and dry pants were definitely in the top three. It didn’t even matter that the sweatpants were a little long.

  “Feeling better?” Sawyer asked when Dean joined him in the Strattons’ sitting room. The chocolate Lab at his feet lifted his head and gave Dean a once-over before probably determining they had already been acquainted. And by acquainted, Dean meant that Sawyer’s dog, Scout, had stuck his nose right in his crotch and given him a good sniffing. Dean felt like maybe that made them more than acquaintances at this point.

  “One hundred percent.”

  “Well, you look a million times better,” Sawyer said, leaning back in his oversize upholstered rocking chair. “I think I might actually be able to be in the same room as you without laughing.”

  “Does that mean you might reconsider my offer to come to Nashville?”

  A smile spread across Sawyer’s face as he shook his head. “Not tonight. Faith says yes to a lot of things she’d rather say no to, and letting you stay here was harder than she wants you to know. I’m not going to push her buttons any more tonight.”

  Dean felt a little guilty for using the Strattons, given the way things had gone down between him and Faith after Addison’s death. But one night and he’d be gone. This visit would be nothing more than a tiny blip on the screen of their lives.

  “We can talk about music, though. No harm in that,” Sawyer suggested.

  Talking about music was easy. Dean had been in love with music since as far back as he could remember. Growing up, his dad had played banjo in a bluegrass band on the weekends and his mother had an unhealthy obsession with Garth Brooks. The first CD he’d bought was a George Strait album that his eight-year-old self had listened to on a constant loop for months.

  The more he and Sawyer talked, the more Dean could see the young man had a similar passion for great music. His eyes lit up when he told Dean a story about buying his first guitar. He had taught himself how to play by watching videos on the internet. Eventually he’d started writing his own songs as well as fooling around with the arrangements of some classics. Country music was his first love but he’d learned a couple Eagles’ tunes for his old man.