She’s My Kind Of Rain (Rawlings Ranch #1)

Chapter 7

7

SAWYER - JUNE 18, 2004

I’ve spent the last few weeks singing any song that plays on the radio no matter where I am to prepare for the day I find myself back on a stage. One great thing about being in Nashville is that more people than not enjoy country music and don’t mind hearing it all day long, but I’m fairly certain the crew is just as ready for me to hit the stage as I am.

Another good song comes on and I sing along, taking a moment to wipe the sweat as it drips down my face. “Fuck, it’s hot out today. How many damn windows are left?”

Rhett arches his back to check the number of windows leaning against the house we have been building, then steadies himself on the ladder next to me. “Only two more, then we can get the fuck out of here. It has to be at least 100 degrees. I’m sweatin’ head-to-fuckin’-toe. There ain’t no way I’m dyin’ doin’ somethin’ this damn borin’. Can’t believe I took a break from rodeos to be this miserable for a steady check.”

This is the first time I’m hearing about Rhett quitting anything in his life, and I’m so fucking hot I’m almost convinced I’m delusional. I go back to singing, trying to distract myself, more than one of my co-workers stopping to listen for a moment, before returning to whatever tasks they were assigned to do. A compliment or two comes from anyone new to the crew, who isn’t used to me singing while I work. It’s honestly the boost in confidence I’ve been needing. I receive some cat calls from the smart-asses who not only enjoy my singing, but also pushing my buttons. Fortunately, the ring leader is Rhett and they are well aware that taking it too far can land them right in his sights for social ridicule.

“So, I’ve been thinkin’ about this singin’ venture of yours and what our new plan should be movin’ forward.” Rhett clears his throat and I ready myself for whatever scenario he’s concocted and clearly excited to share. “Playin’ at The Westmore seems fine and dandy in theory, but everyone’s pushin’ for that dream, and if that doesn’t get them somewhere they give up. Plus, ya have to have an invitation and I don’t think anyone here listenin’ has that power. I mean, half of ‘em barely know how to tie their own laces.” He chuckles, wiping the sweat from his forehead, and continues, “I have no doubt you’ll get a spot on that stage, I just don’t think it needs to be our only focus. No matter where you’re at, or what ya do, I think ya need to have a bit of fun. It’s been a few weeks now, and ya literally sing everyday. So, I was wonderin’ if ya felt ready to sing at another spot? Cuz I think I found one you’re gonna like.”

His excitement is contagious, yet I still feel slightly hesitant. My gaze dips down, landing on my hands, I hadn’t even realized the white-knuckled hold I have on the ladder. Loosening my grip, I take a deep, steadying breath.

“I’m not gonna lie, I’m a little worried to feel confident moving forward and then have the same thing happen once I’m surrounded by strangers.” The memory of the night at Gator Ray’s still makes me a bit sick to my stomach.

His smile is soft and understanding.

“I get that, but I do think that Miss Nancy was onto somethin’. The place was alarmingly dirty and smelled like shit masked with cigarette smoke. I’m willin’ to bet that if ya played somewhere clean and welcomin’ that it’d be different. I found a place I think ya might like. It’s called The Red Fern, and if I didn’t know any better I’d guess they hired your Pops to decorate the damn thing. Friday nights are scheduled performances. The owner was there when I stopped in and said he was happy to have ya, if you’d like. I took down his number and told ‘em I’d let ‘em know.”

He leans on his elbow, an exaggerated expression like he’s waiting for my response written all over his face.

I ponder what he said for a few minutes, going back and forth in my head on what the worst case scenarios could be. I didn’t like humiliating myself, however the factors this time will be different. Being aware of the performance alone means I can choose a song I’ve practiced, and if the place truly looks just like my house I can’t imagine any place feeling more comfortable than that. Rhett stops what he’s doing, waiting for my answer.

I let out a nervous but excited breath. “Honestly, what do I have to lose? When’s the slot?”

“Now that’s the spirit. And ya bet your sweet ass I already told him we’d take tonight’s slot at 8:30.”

We both laugh at his predictably eager behavior and I go back to singing along with the radio, excited that this time could be different.

I pull up to my house and park next to Rhett’s truck, flip the ignition off, and take a deep breath. The grueling heat from today’s sun has really taken a toll on me, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little nervous to sing on stage again. It’s not like these spots are a dime a dozen. Most people would kill for the opportunity. What if I’m not ready to perform in front of a crowd? I mean, I know I’m getting more confident, and I manage to sing in front of the guys no problem, but this will be different. Not to mention, I am performing early. Early enough that probably plenty of people in the crowd will be sober enough to remember my performance. I blow out a breath. Damn, I hope I don’t fuck it up, but thanks to Rhett I have that push I need to give it one last try. Without him, I probably never would have given this dream a shot.

I get out of the car and hear a whinny to my right. I turn to find Wrangler and Angel, Rhett’s horse, out in the pasture.

I think for a moment how grateful I am to be able to live in such a beautiful place. This property has it all, but most importantly it has my heart. I think back to the day Pops died sadness begins to stir in my chest. I glide my hand through my hair, like it will swipe away the feeling, but it does little to ease the pain that often lingers. But amidst the hurt is another emotion. Love. I think of the note he’d left, informing me about how he was leaving me the ranch. And as honored as I’d felt that he’d entrust something he loved so much to me, what stood out most were the words he’d written.

The place is yours, and don’t forget that a country road will always take you home.

A soft smirk forms on my face at the notion. I never thought too deep into it until now. Pops had always been one to put a line from a song into a lesson. I just thought the note was an ode to the fact that the ranch was, in fact, in the country and it was my home. But, in this moment, I realize that isn’t what he was saying at all. Even from the grave, Pops is still amazing me with his ability to know what I need even before I do. He knew I loved this place and he knew I loved that song, yet he wasn’t saying the ranch was home, he was saying the music was.

I take one last look at the beauty that surrounds me then head straight inside to get ready to perform tonight. A new energy pulses through me, along with an excitement I haven’t felt in a while.

I reach into the shower and adjust the temperature, ready to rid myself of the sweat and grime covering my skin. God, it’s been a long day . I take off my clothes and toss them into the hamper and step inside. The water streams down my body, taking any remaining stress of the day with it. I let the water cascade over me a few moments longer, humming to the very song in Pop’s letter, then wash up and turn off the water. Reaching for a towel, I wrap it around myself and head toward my closet to get some clothes.

Opening my closet, I step inside to grab a clean pair of Wranglers and a plain white crew neck t-shirt. I snag my favorite tobacco-colored leather work boots and a leather belt to match, then walk over to my bed and sit down. I sigh, not from nerves, but because of how good it feels to take a moment to relax. Lacing my boots, I head down the hall to wait for Rhett, noticing a note on the counter once I reach the kitchen.

Hey Bud,

Got an errand to run and didn’t feel like waitin’ up. Don’t forget your slot’s at 8:30. You’re gonna do great. Don’t forget to point all the ladies my way when they ask who your manager is. See ya there, and good luck.

-Rhett

I read the note another time, expecting nothing less from Rhett. He gets antsy waiting around, especially when he’s excited about something. He reminds me of the Energizer Bunny, always going, but nowhere in particular. I wouldn’t have even been surprised if he’d said he was running all the way to the bar just to burn off his excitement that I was going to play a scheduled slot. I gather my keys and my guitar and walk out the door.

I put my guitar inside my trunk and head toward the barn to check that everything is done for the night. Once inside, I see that Wrangler and Angel are both in their stalls, with clean water and bedding. A soft smirk peaks at the edge of my lips. Even when Rhett’s going a million miles a minute, he never once goes back on his word.

Wrangler swings his head out of his stall and I amble toward him. Man, Rhett’s done well with the barn. It had been decent before he moved in, but I swear, you can probably eat off the damn ground, it’s so clean. Not that I would. Wrangler nuzzles my chest with his nose and I press a hand to his cheek. Coming out here always helps make me feel a bit lighter when I’m stressed and tonight is no different.

His warm brown coat shines just as much as the day I got him. Billy’s dad had brought him down here to the ranch and asked if I wanted him back when I moved in with Pops. I didn’t hesitate the moment I saw him cantering around like he had something to show off. His personality shined from the very moment he had stepped off the trailer, and ever since that day, he’s been just as wild and free-spirited.

“Wish me luck, buddy,” I say, giving him one final pat, turning to leave.

The drive from the ranch to Broadway is about twenty minutes after you get past the gate, yet today it feels like five steps from my front door. I pull into the parking lot of The Red Fern, pleased to see that there are reserved spots for performers, but also slightly anxious about the excessive amount of cars parked here already.

Blowing out a deep breath, I try to force my breathing to remain even and remind myself that there’s no pressure. It’s just one song. One night. I need to let loose, maybe even have fun like Rhett insists I need more of. And whatever I do, I definitely don’t want to choke.