Made in Nashville: HarperImpulse Contemporary Romance

by Mandy Baggot

  ‘There sure is. Now we hear here at Countrified 103 that you’re soon going to head out on the road. It’s your first headlining tour. Tell us all about it, Jed.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Well, we’re at the plannin’ stages right now but I can tell you that I’m gonna be all over the country. We’re aimin’ to visit over forty states so watch out for some rebel country comin’ to you real soon.’

  ‘I know our listeners love that rebel country. So, tell me, how much of that is the real Jed Marshall?’

  Jared adjusted his baseball cap and saw Buzz rise out of his chair. He felt it stir inside him before Davey had finished the end of the sentence. His belly had become a pit of molten lava, heating up from zero to boiling point in seconds. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled.

  ‘I’m not sure I understand the question.’ He said the words through gritted teeth. He understood alright. He just wanted clarification. He needed to know Davey Duncan was committed to the route he’d gone down. This was his last chance to back out. His only chance.

  ‘Well, you’re giving country music fans something different, something harder and rockier - an edgy sound. Some people have questioned the authenticity of that so, tell us, how much of that is the real you?’ Davey asked him.

  He made fists with his hands, the silver rings tightening below his knuckles. Bad move.

  ‘Now, I love your show and all, Davey, but I take exception to you insinuatin’ that my performance might be fabricated in some way.’ His tone was brutal but that was him. He said what he thought. He made no allowances. He didn’t pretend to be anything else. For a presenter to suggest as much on live radio was a punch below the belt he wasn’t willing to take.

  ‘I…’ Davey started to back track.

  ‘I write all my own songs. I write about what I know and who I am. The only thing fabricated in this studio is you. Ladies and gentleman, if you’ve checked out his photo on the station website just imagine him fifty pounds heavier and twenty years older and you’ll be gettin’ closer to it.’

  He stood up, grabbed a nearby staple gun and fired it down onto the desk, missing Davey’s hand by millimeters. The presenter let out a yelp.

  ‘We’re done with this interview. Thank you so much for the opportunity,’ Jared snarled.

  He snatched open the door and almost bowled into Buzz.

  ‘You can’t leave,’ Buzz said, blocking his path.

  ‘Get out of my way, Buzz.’

  He was hot and heaving with rage. He couldn’t stand still. He made to move past his advisor.

  ‘You need to go back,’ Buzz repeated, risking a hand on his arm.

  ‘I’m not doing anything with that jerk-off. You put me in that room with him again and I’m gonna use his body parts to redecorate!’

  ‘Calm down. Take a few deep breaths.’

  ‘Get fucked.’ He leveled a boot at the wall and the plaster cracked.

  ‘Jared! You can’t do that! We’re meant to be building your reputation here. You know what a lot of the industry professionals think of you. A maverick. Someone who doesn’t play by the rules. Someone who doesn’t fit in with the all-American country scene.’

  ‘I don’t fit in. I never asked to fit in. I just make music, Buzz, you know that. My music, my way,’ he appealed.

  ‘I know. But there are times that require a little diplomacy. This was one of them.’

  Jared kicked the wall again and put his hands to his baseball cap. He rested his eyes on Buzz and swallowed.

  ‘I appreciate what you’re sayin’. I’m not gonna take any of it on board but I appreciate it. Thank you kindly.’

  Honor wasn’t due to work at the music store but she just needed to get out of the house. Ever since Larry’s visit earlier in the week she’d been unsettled. What was she going to do? She’d been so sure when she’d told him no, that she meant it, but now she didn’t know. Perhaps this was a golden chance to get back something of what she’d had. She could record a couple of her new songs, slip them onto the greatest hits disc like Larry suggested and see what happened. If it earned the record company money maybe she would get a new contract. Making music again. The idea gave her goose bumps.

  ‘Don’t tell me, Target is all out of cut price DVDs,’ Mia greeted, bashing the cymbal of the drum kit she was sat behind.

  ‘You got me.’ She smiled.

  Tawny-haired Mia had been a good friend for the past five years. Honor hadn’t known her when she was at the peak of her career and in some ways that really mattered. Mia knew Honor the way she was now. She didn’t know her any different. She kept her opinion on Honor’s music career to herself and was only ever supportive. She listened. She understood. She did everything a true friend should.

  ‘Come on, doll. What are you doing here? Aren’t there some great bands playing downtown today?’ Mia asked, getting up and putting the drumsticks down.

  ‘I have no idea. That’s your thing not mine. In fact, why don’t you go? I can take care of the store and you can go get drunk and rowdy with the roadies,’ Honor suggested. She took an acoustic guitar off the rack and put the strap over her head.

  ‘Doll, I can’t afford you more than two days.’

  ‘Who said I wanted paying?’

  ‘Hold up there. Who’s gonna keep you in Target goods if you’re giving yourself for free? What’s going on? Spill it.’ Mia backed herself up to the counter and leapt up onto it, crossing her legs and focusing on her friend.

  ‘Micro Records want to release a greatest hits album,’ she blurted.

  ‘That’s nice. Anyone in particular? My grandma loves Vince Gill.’

  ‘My greatest hits album.’ She finished the sentence with a sigh and dropped her eyes to the floor.

  ‘Is this a good thing or a bad thing? Because I don’t want to get my reaction wrong. I can feel it might be critical,’ Mia responded, chewing her middle finger.

  ‘I don’t know. When Larry walked through my door and said it, the vibration of the “no” I gave him ricocheted off the kitchen walls. I don’t have a say about it coming out but I do have a choice about putting some new tracks onto it,’ Honor explained.

  ‘Uh huh,’ Mia said, nodding her head up and down.

  ‘So what do I do?’

  ‘What do you want to do? In your heart.’

  In her heart. Deep down in her heart there would always be a musician. But because of what had happened to her, that musician was composing secret melodies. But was that how she wanted it to stay?

  ‘You don’t have to answer that. I can see it written all over your face. What are you waiting for? Make the call. Get back in the recording studio!’ Mia exclaimed, sliding down off the counter.

  ‘It isn’t that easy.’ No matter what her heart told her, her head and the memories were fighting hard to tell her something else.

  ‘It’s as easy as you make it. What are you scared of? It isn’t like someone’s going to break into a recording studio and jump you, is it?’

  The bluntness of the statement hit her hard. Honor was familiar with Mia’s straight-talking and shock tactics but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. It was still a fragile area she barely spoke about. Everyone knew what happened and sometimes that made it harder. It was like a barrier between her and the world. People didn’t want to speak about it but it was the first thing on their mind whenever they looked at her. The scar on her face did all the talking.

  ‘That was a really stupid thing to say. I didn’t mean it like it sounded. I just know when I heard your first album all those years ago…well you have such a talent, doll. But it has to be what you want. The way that Larry talks sometimes, he could almost get me to do anything,’ Mia said. She put an arm around Honor’s shoulders.

  ‘He does have a way about him. And this time I know he’s right. It has been too long and…if I don’t do something now I may never do something again,’ Honor said. She played a chord on the guitar.

  ‘Listen, you want me to come to the studio with you, I�
��m there. I’ll get Rocky to cover the store and we’ll do it together. But only if I get to play something on the album. I don’t care if it’s only the tambourine,’ Mia said, squeezing her into a hug.

  ‘That sounds good,’ Honor agreed.

  ‘Then you’ve got a deal. So, were you serious about covering here? There’s this great new bluegrass band I’d love to check out. The lead singer has a tattoo of Johnny Cash on his shoulder and the cutest butt,’ Mia said, grinning.

  Honor laughed and played another chord on the guitar. ‘What are you waiting for? Go!’

  Chapter Three

  ‘Hit me with another one.’ Jared slammed the beer bottle onto the bar and wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his black t-shirt. He’d left Buzz an hour ago in the radio station parking lot. He couldn’t listen to any more of it. What had he expected him to do? Let Davey fucking Duncan diss who he was live on air? No way. He couldn’t sit there and listen to it and let it run off of him. If someone was saying something wrong you put them right. That’s just how it was.

  ‘Hey, Jed. I just heard you on the radio.’

  Jared turned on the bar stool to greet Byron Starks, a guitarist he knew well.

  ‘Man, where’ve you been hidin’? I’ve not seen you in weeks,’ Jared said, slapping his arms around him in a tough hug.

  ‘I’ve been on the road with Lindy Mason.’ The tall, dark-haired man took off his Stetson and put it down on the bar.

  ‘Lindy Mason…now that’s what I call a gig. Is she at a loose end? Because I need a supportin’ artist for my tour,’ Jared responded.

  ‘She doesn’t support for anyone…unless you’re country royalty like Vince Gill,’ Byron answered.

  ‘The whole of Nashville’s in love with him,’ Jared said with a laugh. ‘Say, you want a beer?’

  ‘That depends. Are you going to let me drink it this time or throw it over me?’

  ‘I did that?’

  ‘Yes you did. Right before you leapt up on that stage over there and hi-jacked someone else’s gig,’ Byron informed him.

  ‘Hell. Get this man a beer,’ he called to the bartender.

  ‘So, what happened with Davey Duncan?’ Byron asked, getting up on the adjacent stool.

  ‘The dude is a tool, man. You heard what he said?’

  ‘Yeah but that’s what he’s like. He asks the controversial questions. You gave him exactly what he wanted.’

  ‘Is that right? Because when I hammered the staple gun into his desk that wasn’t the feelin’ I got.’

  ‘The phone lines were jammed up after you left the studio,’ Byron continued.

  ‘Hell, Buzz is gonna drop me on my ass the first chance he gets.’

  ‘Your fans were outraged. They had to filter out all the F-bombs directed at Duncan. There was nothing but support for you,’ Byron ended.

  ‘There was?’

  ‘Absolutely.

  ‘Man, that’s made me feel better. Hey … ’ Jared turned his head away, listening to the music playing over the speakers. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘What’s what?’

  ‘That music? That voice? Sshh. Hey, man, could you please turn this track up?’ Jared called to the bartender.

  ‘Another beer. The music louder. Want some nuts?’ the barman grumbled, twisting the dial on the sound system.

  ‘Oh my God, man. I’ve never heard anybody sing that way before.’

  The woman’s voice was soulful and sensual and as she made her way up a run to a high C, Jared felt a shiver run over his entire body. He clutched at his beer bottle and closed his eyes.

  ‘Have you not heard this before?’ Byron asked, taking his drink from the bartender.

  ‘Sshh, man.’

  Neither of them spoke again until the song came to an end.

  ‘Man, who was that?’

  ‘You don’t know?’

  ‘No, I don’t know. If I knew I wouldn’t be askin’,’ Jared snapped.

  ‘Her name was Honor Blackwood.’

  ‘Was? Man, are you telling me she’s dead?’ His heart leapt at that thought.

  ‘No, not dead, just not singing any more. She got attacked on stage, something like eight or nine years ago. She’s never performed since,’ Byron explained.

  ‘Hell, are you kiddin’? You’re tellin’ me some asshole got onto the stage and attacked her? While she was singin’? Singin’ like that? Like an angel?’ Jared exclaimed. His hands were already clenching into fists. He balled them together.

  ‘Yeah, it was terrible. They caught the guy, some crazy stalker and he got serious jail time. But she never recovered from it.’

  ‘Is she still around? Here?’ Jared asked him.

  ‘I don’t know. As I said, she doesn’t sing anymore. Not anywhere. Not even somewhere like here,’ Byron said, indicating the small stage in the bar.

  ‘Well, Byron, I think I’m gonna have to change that.’ He took a slug of his beer, then wiped his mouth. ‘Because I think I want Miss Honor Blackwood to support me on my tour.’

  She picked up the same guitar every time Mia left her in charge of the store. It was a Takamine limited edition glossy dark blue electric acoustic. It had ornate Japanese fish entwined with gold detailing printed on the neck and body and it cost over a thousand dollars. Every time she played it she thought about buying it before someone else did. But what would she do with it? She had her battered-up first acoustic at home she knew she’d never part with. It had always been the guitar she wrote with and the rest of her collection she had auctioned off for charity. She’d had no use for them and they’d taunted her just by being in the same space.

  She looked around the store, eyes alert, checking. Only when she was sure there was no one around did she start to play. It was a song she’d been working on the previous day at home. The lyrics were about a broken woman finding the strength to end a bad relationship. She’d had all the experience she needed to write it.

  He came home on Friday, a little worse for wear

  Wrapped his arms around me, like he didn’t have a care

  Sometimes sweet and loving, other times keen to bruise

  It was time for us to say goodbye, nothing left to lose

  Goodbye Joe, it’s been so nice to know you

  Goodbye Joe, give me back my heart

  Goodbye Joe, you let me down now I’m picking me back up

  Goodbye Joe, this girl has had enough

  You cried out when I told you, begging me to stay

  Held me back from leaving, blocked out the way

  Told me I’d be nothing, a loser without you

  I’d rather be a loser than have you tell me what to do

  Goodbye Joe, it’s been so nice to know you

  Goodbye Joe, give me back my heart

  Goodbye Joe, you let me down now I’m picking me back up

  Goodbye Joe, this girl has had enough

  Where next? She was really struggling with the bridge on this song. Nothing sounded quite right. She grabbed a notepad and pen from behind the counter and took it from the top.

  Google had provided Jared with the answer he was looking for. After one more beer and a bucket of fries, he’d got on his Harley and rode across town to Instrumadness Music. He parked the bike and took off his helmet. He put on his baseball cap and walked toward the door. When he reached it he stopped. Through the glass he could see her. She had her back to him, but he knew it was her from the head of raven curls. She had a guitar slung around her neck and she was playing. Then, within seconds, the strongest, most sugar-coated voice was floating into the air.

  He nodded in time to the song. It was good. Soft. Not his style. But strong and emotional. She strummed an angry chord and stamped her feet. He smiled at her display of frustration and put his hand on the door.

  Chapter Four

  The bell rang and she whipped around to face him, cheeks flaming, hands shooting down by her sides.

  ‘Good afternoon, ma’am. I didn’t mean to interrupt,’ he started, stepping
into the store.

  ‘You didn’t … you didn’t interrupt. What can I do for you?’ she asked, taking the guitar off her.

  She didn’t recognize him. Or if she did there was no showing it on her face. What he did see though was her scar. A Z-shaped mark about four inches long on her right cheek. He chewed the inside of his mouth. How had someone done that to her? A man had thought he had the right to hurt her. Behavior like that made him sick.

  ‘I’m looking for a new guitar, ma’am. I play a little and well, I just want something new. Any suggestions?’ he began.

  Where had that come from? He didn’t need a new guitar. He had twenty of his own and hundreds at his disposal. Why didn’t he just ask her what he wanted to ask her?

  ‘What do you play?’ He watched her look him up and down. ‘What style?’ she asked.

  ‘Kind of a rocked up country, ma’am. A little dirty Southern style I guess you’d call it,’ he said, grinning.

  ‘Dirty Southern, huh?’ She looked at him, her blue eyes seeming to evaluate.

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ he answered.

  Her eyes left him and went to the racks of guitars on the wall of the store. She strode confidently toward a walnut-colored instrument. She took it down and held it out to him.

  ‘A Gretsch?’ he queried, a laugh escaping.

  ‘You can’t play dirty Southern music with a Gretsch, then you’re no player at all. Haven’t you heard Vince Gill?’ she asked. Her dead-pan expression was challenging him to disagree. He took hold of the instrument and put the strap around him.

  ‘The amp is on just there.’ She indicated to a Marshall stack to his left.

  ‘This one?’ he said, pointing.

  ‘Well, you can plug it into any amp you want, sir. But if you break it you’re gonna have to pay for it,’ she warned.

  She’d smelt the alcohol on him when he’d taken the guitar from her hands. Biker boots on his feet, torn-up jeans with chains hanging from his belt and a black long-sleeved top under a leather jacket. He was at least a week unshaven and wore a baseball cap low down over his face. He didn’t look like he could afford a place to sleep let alone an expensive guitar.