The Wishing Tree in Irish Falls

by Jen Gilroy

  She straightened and her gaze drifted to the piano. The new song she’d been working on with Seth was still on the music rack, the pencil he’d tucked behind his ear beside it. Even though that future no longer included him, she still wasn’t going to be held hostage by her past. Unlike with Todd, she knew her own mind. She didn’t like what Seth had done, but she still had a choice. And she wouldn’t let herself down, or Hannah, either.

  ~ ~ ~

  Seth hadn’t seen Annie in almost twenty-four hours. Even on that long-ago day when Amanda was in labor with Dylan, time hadn’t passed this slowly. He cradled the mug of cold coffee on his desk at the station as the morning farm report washed over him. He had to fix what he’d done, and he would. But that meant seeing Annie, and since the town had closed ranks around her, that wouldn’t be easy.

  “You look even worse than you did before the show.” Brendan came into the office without knocking and sat in the chair by Seth’s desk.

  “Apart from telling me I look like crap, what do you want?”

  “To talk to you.” Brendan studied him.

  Seth’s heart gave a dull thud. “About Annie?”

  “Yep.” Brendan’s brow furrowed. “Without her in the bakery, the day doesn’t feel right.”

  Seth’s day didn’t feel right, either. Annie’s life had melded with his so slowly he hadn’t realized what a big part of it she was—until, all of a sudden, she wasn’t. “She’ll be back at work tomorrow, won’t she?” He reached to pat Dolly.

  The dog blinked then lay down with her back to him. What? He’d even offended his dog?

  “No. She’s taking some time off. Then Tara decided to join her.” The edge to Brendan’s voice made the hairs on the back of Seth’s neck quiver. “Mom’s in her element now she’s back in the bakery full-time. Holly’s working extra hours, and Hannah’s helping, too.”

  “That’s good, I guess.” Seth winced. How had his life gone so far downhill so fast? Although he hadn’t known everything Todd had done to Annie, if he’d stopped to think, he’d have realized that talking to Rick without telling her first was the worst thing he could have done and quickest way to destroy her trust.

  “Not that you asked for my opinion, but you messed up big time.” Brendan frowned. “Never go behind any woman’s back, but especially not one like Annie.”

  “You think I don’t know that now?” Seth rubbed his temples. “I thought I was doing something good for her. I saw she had a problem, and I wanted to solve it. I wanted to help her.”

  “See, that’s how guys think.” Although Brendan still eyed him like he was the lowest form of pond scum, a faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Women are way different. You should know, seeing you were married once.”

  “My marriage wasn’t . . .” No matter how much he liked him, he couldn’t talk about the disaster that had been his marriage with Brendan because he was Annie’s brother. His tongue got thick. He loved Annie, but instead of doing it right, he’d spit out those precious words like they were meaningless. “I’m not married to Annie.”

  “No.” Brendan raised an eyebrow. “But you’re in some kind of relationship with her, aren’t you?”

  He had been, even though neither of them had ever used that word. “Yes.” The tightness in his chest lifted. “At least I was.” And he wanted to be again.

  “So, you have to think like a woman thinks.” Brendan’s grin broadened. “Annie would be pissed if she knew I was here, but somebody has to talk sense into you. “What you saw as helping, she saw as you sticking your nose in her business. You didn’t give her a say. You decided you knew what was best for her like she was a little kid or some helpless female.”

  “She’s the least helpless female I know.” Seth groaned and dropped his head into his heads. Even if he hadn’t done pretty much what Todd had, it would still have been bad. He’d treated Annie how his grandparents had treated him when he was a kid, like he didn’t have ideas and thoughts of his own. And he’d done the same thing to Dylan this past year. “I know I was wrong, but Annie won’t listen to me. I told her I was sorry.”

  “Women don’t only want words. They want actions. What kind of marriage did you have anyway?”

  “Not a good one.” Seth stared at Dolly stretched out on the floor. “If I did it again, I’d want to do it differently.”

  “Then start now.” Brendan’s tone was crisp. “If you don’t, I’m not letting you anywhere near my sister.” Although he gave Seth a fixed stare, his eyes twinkled.

  “Actions, huh?” Despite himself, a smile tugged at Seth’s mouth. He bent to rub Dolly’s ears, and she thumped her tail against his foot.

  Unlike women, dogs didn’t hold grudges.

  “Then I need your help.”

  Dolly gazed up at him.

  “You too, mutt.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Rick Meyer didn’t look anything like how Annie had imagined a big-shot Nashville producer would. His sandy hair was thin on top, he had a slight build, and he wore square glasses. Behind the glasses, his pale blue eyes were sharp but kind. In fact, he looked a lot like the partner in the accounting firm at the top of Malone Street who came to Quinn’s each year at tax time to check the books Tara handed over.

  Rick said something to Pete then raised a hand to wave Annie over to where the two of them sat at a table in front of the Black Duck’s stage.

  “You can do this.” Rowan whispered in Annie’s ear.

  “We believe in you.” Tara smoothed a stray curl of hair away from Annie’s face.

  Annie’s shoes echoed as they hit the scuffed wooden floor. She was moving on with her life. She’d finally taken her old boots to a thrift store in a town twenty miles away and put the ones Seth had given her in the darkest corner of her basement. They were nice boots and she had to be practical. She’d wear them again when Seth was another part of her past—a stepping stone on the way to the woman she still wanted to be.

  “Annie?” Rick got to his feet, moved around the table, and held out a hand. His handshake was warm and firm. “Seth and Pete have told me a lot about you.” His smile was warm, too. “I like your song, so I decided to take a little trip north to come meet you in person.” His voice had a blurry drawl, like someone who’d spent a lot of time in the south but wasn’t Southern by birth. “I’m looking forward to hearing you sing.”

  “Thank you.” Annie glanced at Pete, who nodded encouragement.

  “I want to keep this real informal and relaxed.” Rick scanned the Black Duck. Between them, Tara and Rowan had somehow convinced the owner to close for a couple of hours this afternoon, and Annie didn’t want to think about what that might have cost Quinn’s. A free bread delivery at least, maybe more.

  “Sounds good.” Annie pressed her lips together. She wouldn’t fidget, and she wouldn’t let her mouth run ahead of her brain. And most of all, she wouldn’t let herself think about Seth.

  Rick pushed his glasses up his nose. He wore sand chinos and a blue button-down shirt like one Duncan had, although he had to be more than ten years younger, early fifties at most. “Seth told me you can accompany yourself?”

  Annie nodded because she didn’t trust herself to speak.

  “He asked me to give you something.” Pete stood, reached under a table, and pulled out a guitar case. “He thought you might want to use this guitar today.”

  Jake’s Gibson. Annie sucked in a breath.

  Pete set the case on the table and opened it.

  “Nice.” Rick moved over to look. “My daddy had an old Gibson. I still play it on occasion. He passed a few years back, and I find playing it brings him closer.”

  Annie’s eyes smarted, and she swallowed the lump in her throat. Seth knew her so well he’d know Jake was in her thoughts today. Playing Jake’s guitar would be like having
part of him with her.

  She stood beside Pete by the open guitar case. Above the usual roadhouse scent of stale beer and fried food, there was an aroma of Jake, too—woody, citrus, and a crisp masculinity. She blinked then reached for the guitar and tucked it into the curve of her body.

  “I made a passel of mistakes in my life, but you’re the daughter I wished for. The daughter of my heart, Annie girl.”

  She started at the sound of Jake’s melodious voice.

  “Annie?” Pete’s puzzled expression dragged her out of her reverie.

  “Nothing.” Her tight shoulders relaxed as warmth, mixed with a rock-solid calm, flooded her body. “I’m ready whenever you are.”

  “Okay, show me what you’ve got.” Rick moved back around the table and sat in the chair again. He tilted his head back and smiled at her.

  Although the words were ordinary, a part of her had waited her whole life to hear them. She went onto the small stage. In the hazy sunlight that filtered through the Black Duck’s narrow windows, the stage was scarred by the hundreds of feet and all the equipment that had been dragged across it over the years. Tara and Rowan had set up a small table for her with a glass of water and a restaurant chair. She glanced toward the side of the stage and gave her sisters, with Hannah between them, a small smile.

  Annie played a few chords and tuned the guitar. Fanciful or not, Jake was here with her. Maybe her dad and Nana Gerry were too. So, she sang for them, Hannah, and, most of all, for herself. “My Hometown Heart” first then Dolly Parton’s “Coat of Many Colors” for Jake, and some of the other songs she’d written. The songs that came from her heart and, as the music flowed between her voice and the guitar, she couldn’t tell where one began and the other ended.

  Annie might only have played to an audience of two (five, if she counted her sisters and Hannah), but it was the audience she couldn’t see who drew the music and performance out of her, so she was a different Annie than the one who’d made Hannah’s breakfast that morning and cried into her pillow over Seth last night.

  When she finished the short set, her legs trembled, and her palms were damp. Pete stood and clapped, and then her sisters and Hannah clustered around her.

  “You were great, Mom.” Hannah buried her face in Annie’s shoulder. “If I could sing like you, I . . .” She gulped.

  “Someday you’ll sing even better, honey.” Annie stroked her daughter’s hair.

  “Way to go, Annie.” Rowan’s voice was gruff, and her practical, usually unemotional sister’s eyes were suspiciously bright.

  “I’m so proud of you,” Tara whispered in Annie’s ear.

  And Annie was proud of herself. She patted Jake’s guitar and set it aside before moving away from her family. Rick got to his feet beside Pete, and his gaze snagged hers and held. Then he clapped three times, and the sound echoed in the almost-empty room.

  “Nice job.” Pete pulled her into a hug as she reached the table. “Can I get you water or a soda?”

  “Water please.” Annie sat in the chair Pete held out for her. Her legs were still rubbery, and her heart pounded as if she’d run a race.

  “So.” Rick eyed her across the table. “You sure can sing.” He flipped the cover of his tablet closed and set it atop a green folder. “You have stage presence. You’re pretty, but not in a threatening way. You’ve got that girl next door look a lot of men go for, but their wives and girlfriends would see you as a friend and not competition.”

  “But?” There was a “but” in there somewhere. The hesitation in Rick’s voice was clear. She took the glass of water from Pete and waited until he sat down again.

  “Seth’s still got it.” Rick folded his hands.

  “Pardon?” Annie sipped water and crossed and uncrossed her legs.

  “He could always spot talent. I used to tell him he should be a music talent scout on the side.” Rick’s expression was quizzical. “He told me you were good, and you are. But the question is, how bad do you want it?”

  “I . . . what do you mean?” Annie wrapped her hands around the glass, and the coldness from the ice water seeped into her skin.

  “How much do you want a career in music?” Rick leaned back and put his hands behind his head. “In this business, you have to push yourself forward everywhere. You also have to be on the road a lot and away from your family. Eventually, if you worked hard and got some breaks, I might be able to get you a spot to open for some big names, but you’d spend a lot of time sitting around backstage or on a tour bus. That’s okay if you’re twenty years old and hungry, but you seem like a real homebody.”

  “I am.” Her eyes smarted. She wouldn’t cry, at least not in public. Rick was only being honest, and honesty was good.

  “There’s nothing wrong with roots.” Rick leaned forward, his expression intent. “No offense to the great Dolly Parton, but the only song you sang that didn’t yank on my heartstrings was hers. You were singing somebody else’s words, and your voice was lifeless.”

  “Oh.” Annie looked at her hands. She’d done her best, and it had to be enough.

  “I could fix that some, or a good vocal coach could. At least fix it so it isn’t as noticeable, but it still comes down to how much do you want it?” Rick’s gaze drilled into her.

  “I don’t know.” Annie linked her fingers together so he wouldn’t see her hands shake. What was wrong with her? All she’d ever wanted was a career in music, and now she might have a chance, why was she hesitating?

  “I grew up in Nebraska.” Rick’s voice got a remembering tone. “I was a farm boy who spent summers working the fields and winters strumming an old guitar with a high school band. I was good at math and got a scholarship to college. My folks wanted me to be an accountant and settle in the nearest big town to our farm, but when I finished my degree, the pull of music was too strong. I got the message pretty quick I wasn’t good enough to make it as a performer, but I was lucky and found my niche on the business side. I still had to want it, though, and work pretty much twenty-four-seven for a lot of years to get where I am.”

  Annie’s insides clenched. Maybe she didn’t want it as much as she thought. “Music was always my dream from when I was a little girl, but then I had my daughter, Hannah, over there.” Annie inclined her head toward her daughter and sisters. “I had to put music aside, and now . . . I . . .”

  She what? She was tired, emotionally spent, and she wanted to go home and not think about music, Seth, or the rest of her life—at least for the next forty-eight hours.

  “Your daughter sang ‘My Hometown Heart’ with you on that recording.” Rick glanced in Hannah’s direction.

  “Yes, she did.” Pete broke in before Annie could get her mouth open. “Hannah’s only sixteen, but you should hear her sing. Her voice is different than Annie’s, but I think she’s got something special.”

  So, this was how it would go. Rick would hear Hannah sing and, before Annie knew it, Hannah would be on the road to Nashville—maybe on a road to getting her heart broken, too. Annie sat up straighter. That wasn’t how it would go because she had a say. “My daughter wants a career in music, but sixteen is too young. Hear her sing if you want, but I won’t let you turn her head with false promises.”

  “I agree.” Rick chuckled. “There are already too many teenage girls running around thinking they’re the next Taylor Swift. If Hannah has real talent, it will keep for a few years. That time will also give her a chance to focus on school and get her head screwed on solid.”

  “Really?” Annie let out a shaky laugh.

  Rick nodded and looked even more like the accountant he might have been. “My wife and I have a daughter about Hannah’s age. Gracie wants to be a pediatrician. She doesn’t have any musical talent or interest in the business, but even if she did, there’s no way I’d let her anywhere near a studio right now.”
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  “Thank you.” Annie’s head spun and relief washed over her. “I appreciate your time, but I need to think about—”

  “Hang on. I’m not finished yet.” Rick smiled, and the protective dad morphed back into the successful producer. “There’s more than one way to have a career in music.”

  Annie stilled. “What do you mean?”

  “Apart from that cover of Dolly’s, Pete said you wrote the rest of the songs you sang today.”

  “Yes, although Seth helped me with some of them.” Despite what Annie thought of Seth right now, he’d helped her make her songs better. “He worked with me on ‘My Hometown Heart’ too, so Hannah could sing backup vocals.”

  “Seth’s a natural musician and a great guy. It’s a shame he . . .” Rick stopped and something flickered in his expression Annie couldn’t read. “Anyway, now I’ve met you, it’s those songs of yours that interest me more than trying to make you into a solo act.”

  Annie bit her bottom lip. Todd had taken her songs, but he’d said they weren’t worth anything without him. He’d mixed them up, swirled them around and changed pretty much everything about them before he’d gotten that deal.

  “You’re a good singer.” Rick’s eyes got that sharp look again. “But, from what I’ve heard, you have the potential to be a great songwriter—the kind a lot of folks would line up to work with. You have an innate sense of how to put words to music, and what you write about is real. That’s something neither Seth nor I, nor anybody else can teach you, or package with a few harmonies. You have it or you don’t, and you sure do.”

  Annie put a hand to her mouth and glanced at Pete then back to Rick. “You believe in me?” Her voice shook.