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She’s My Kind Of Rain (Rawlings Ranch #1) Chapter 8 23%
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Chapter 8

8

DAISY - JUNE 18, 2004

I can’t believe that part of my job is literally to go out on the town and enjoy all that Nashville has to offer. Telluride is everything I hoped it would be, and the last few weeks have been amazing, but my heart aches knowing I can’t call my dad and tell him all the exciting news lately, or have him here to show me his favorite spots.

I survey my reflection in the glass of a storefront we pass on our way to one of my favorite places, wondering if it would be his too.

“You know that little tag around your neck might as well say famous ,” Kaylee jokes, while I share my work badge with a guard standing at the bar’s front door.

“It only works on Broadway though. If I flashed this tag anywhere else it probably would do us no good, but if you want to stand in the line, be my guest,” I tease, lightly elbowing her side as we head through the entrance.

To most, Broadway Street is home to some of Nashville’s best restaurants, bars, and live entertainment, but to me it’s home to the infamous Westmore. Settled at the heart of all Country Music’s “bests”, The Westmore is warm and welcoming, but also extravagant. Every wall is filled with photos of some of Country Music’s most memorable artists. Each photo signed and hung as yet another trophy to this bar’s notorious success for discovering some of the biggest country stars there ever was.

The bar itself is tucked off to the right of the door, and the stage reminds me of the Grand Ole Opry, possessing all of the attention from anyone who is lucky enough to pass through the front doors. Every time I enter this building, it’s hard not to get caught up in the potential these walls bring in, and even more the potential that I, too, might find Country Music’s next big star while sitting here.

“So, what exactly are we looking for? The hottest guy to hit the stage? Someone who needs a little work, but has potential? Or, for once, are we just here for a good time?” She eyes the crowd around us.

“We aren’t dating them, Kaylee.” I jokingly roll my eyes, but she and I both know it doesn’t matter what the singer looks like or if we can fix them. “I’m hoping someone stands out enough to make an impact. I’m looking to wow Mr. Montgomery with my first official signed artist as head of A&R. Nashville is a lot different than back in Tansy. Here, you can see a good singer just about anywhere you go. Talent is practically oozing from this town.” I let out a huff, trying to ignore the nerves coiled tight in my stomach.

I haven’t gotten anyone signed yet, and the idea that I might consistently go home empty-handed doesn’t sit well with me. I need to sign someone or, at least, find someone worth signing. I need to prove to myself that I can actually do this just as much as I need to prove it to Mr. Montgomery.

“Listen, I don’t know a whole lot about the man, besides his coffee order, but I do know that he’s going to be amazed by the person you finally find. The right artist will come, and so will the respect he has for you. So let’s find someone who has that wow factor you like to talk about so much.” She offers me a reassuring expression as she glances around the room.

I know she’s right, however, now that I have the job, I have this pressure on my shoulders to prove why I was the one chosen over everyone else who was sitting in that waiting room.

“Yeah, you’re right. See, this is why you’re my best friend. Without you, I’d be over analyzing every single person in Nashville. I want to find someone that gives me goosebumps and stops my heart when they play.”

“Hah, I thought you said we weren’t trying to date them.” She shoulder bumps me as she returns my earlier jest. “Also, analyzing every single person? Good luck doing that. This place has so many people coming and going, I doubt you’d ever even see the same person twice.” She flips her hair behind her shoulder and approaches the bar to get a drink.

I look around the room, noting she’s not entirely wrong. Besides the barmaid, Nancy, I don’t recognize a single face, and we’ve been coming here every single Friday since I got the job and fell in love with the place. And just like every Friday, Kaylee grabs one drink, whatever Nancy recommends, though it’s clear Nancy feels very strongly about her ability to make a Bushwacker—almost to the point that I think she might make a commission off its sales. I snicker at the idea. It’s honestly really good, nevertheless I often settle for a glass of water or something simple because I’m here more for business than pleasure. Kaylee, on the other hand, will use any excuse to go out. I guess when you spend ninety percent of your time at a coffee shop, it makes sense that you’d want to do something exciting for a change.

Turning back to the bar, I see that Nancy has talked Kaylee into a drink she refers to as Some Beach. It’s one I’ve had previously, a dangerously good combination of liqueurs and tropical fruit juices. Like the Bushwhacker, you can easily get in a few drinks prior to realizing you’ve made a grave mistake. Hoping to avoid such a fate tonight, I request water.

“I’ve heard people discuss liquid courage before I was even old enough to drink. I was unaware they were talking about it always coming from you, Miss Nancy.” Kaylee giggles in anticipation.

“Oh, honey, you’re not the first to accuse me of such a talent, and I’m sure you won’t be the last.” She lets out a chuckle and heads to another customer who just approached the bar.

A soft whistle sounds from behind us. “Evenin’, ladies.”

I fight back a groan. From the sound of the awful southern accent alone, I can already tell I’m going to hate this guy.

Kaylee gives me a cringey look before we turn to see who is talking to us.

“I couldn’t help but notice ya from across the bar and I’m sure had ya been turned the other way, ya woulda noticed me too, so I figured I’d save your tight little asses the trouble and make my way over to you.”

Each forced twang after the next makes me feel more and more disgusted by him, but the term ‘ tight little asses’ makes me cringe.

I survey his entire appearance, holding in a laugh that would surely be laced with distaste. The man has a weak mustache that screams I’ve never kissed anyone besides my mom, and he stands about four inches shorter than the both of us, even with his cowboy hat perched—incorrectly, I might add—on his head.

“Has that ever worked on anyone?” I do my best to keep a straight face, trying not to stare at his crinkled straw hat decorated with a beer company’s label on it. He doesn’t look like a gentleman, he looks like an idiot. To further separate him from any cowboy I would find attractive, he’s wearing cargo shorts, flip flops and a button down t-shirt that, of course, has many of the buttons undone.

“Oh darlin’, all I have to do is wink and I have women on their knees...”

Before the wannabe cowboy can finish his sentence, another man’s voice comes from our left. “I would assume that’s because they’re tryin’ to decline ya at your level, since it appears their distaste for your behavior is over your head,” says an extremely handsome, sandy blond haired man who meets my gaze with deep chocolate eyes.

“Listen, buddy, how about you mind your own business? These ladies clearly have no issue with me being here.” His southern twang—if you could even call it that—all but vanishes while he does his best to defend his behavior while slamming his pointer finger into the cowboy’s chest.

The handsome stranger has his hands on his hips, and I can’t help but scan his tall lean body. Opposite to the asshole in front of us, he appears to be dressed in something I think an actual cowboy would wear, from dark denim and a plain shirt, to worn cowboy boots and a hat that looks just like from the movies.

“That’s probably because they couldn’t see you.”

Holding my breath, I look from the strangers to Kaylee, unsure of how to respond, but doing my best not to laugh because I truly don’t like to hurt people’s feelings—even if this guy deserves it.

“Do either of these broads belong to you?” He pauses for a very short time, adjusting his bent up hat, pretending to care about the cowboy having a chance to answer. “No? Okay, then let me work my magic and continue giving blondie over here butterflies.” He winks. “The name’s Russ, baby.” Scooching closer toward Kaylee, he strokes her arm.

I can’t believe what I’m hearing or seeing, yet even more so, I can’t believe that Kaylee has kept her mouth shut this long. We’re both bold in different ways, however Kaylee very rarely will put up with anyone’s bullshit. At this point, I’m almost positive she’s just enjoying watching this trainwreck as much as I’m shocked by it, but I can see that him touching her arm has set the fire ablaze in her eyes. Her hand is tightly wrapped in a fist and I brace myself for whatever is about to happen next. There’s no way in hell Kaylee is letting this man walk away with his ego unscathed.

She rips her arm away from his touch. “That’s real cute of you to assume.” Her tone is entangled with anger and sarcasm as she leans forward and literally pats the man on the hat like he’s a child. “And you sure are making me feel something, but it sure as hell isn’t butterflies. So how about you find your momma, since I can only assume you got in here with someone who actually meets the height requirement of an adult, and get the fuck away from us.”

Russ looks as if he has just been clocked by Mike Tyson himself, shock smothering his ability to even respond to what my sweet, yet feral, friend just slapped him with. He huffs, giving the cowboy at our side a dirty look, and with his wounded ego, he turns and leaves, clearly landing on the decision that neither of us are interested in him.

Satisfaction is written all over my best friend’s face until she realizes we’re still in the company of the shaggy, dirty blond cowboy. She looks him up and down before rolling her eyes and letting out a huff.

I’ve noticed a few times now how annoyed she gets whenever a cowboy tries to talk to her. It doesn’t matter how cute or sweet they are, it’s like if they have a cowboy hat and boots on, she’s immediately not interested.

Without hesitation, he ignores her clear disdain and chuckles then says, “I’m Rhett.” He reaches out to shake my hand. I oblige, however Kaylee stares at his hand and chooses to decline, acknowledging his introduction. “So, what brings y’all here? I’m sure that dumbshit wasn’t on tonight’s agenda.”

“Listen, cowboy, we didn’t need any kinda saving, and we sure as shit don’t need you to just replace the last asshole to cross our path. Why don’t you just mind your own business and leave us alone?”

I offer him a soft, apologetic smile. I’ve not asked Kaylee what exactly it is that she has against cowboys, I figure she’ll eventually tell me. But whatever the reason, she hates them as a whole. Apparently so much, that even one going out of his way to help us can’t even sway her opinion.

He gives me an almost determined look, a smirk inching across his face. “Well, ain’t she a firecracker?”

I snicker, silently nodding in response. “To answer your question, I work for Telluride Records, so technically I suppose business is the reason we’re out tonight,” I say. And I don’t know if it’s that I’m grateful for him saving us, or he’s just got such an inviting personality, but I find myself continuing, “I’ll be honest, I’ve yet to be wowed by anyone we have seen since I got the job. Given it’s only been a few weeks, I still have hope I’ll find someone with an extra spark.” I let out another soft laugh, wondering if Nancy spiked my water because I’m just spewing off information to a total stranger.

He grins, a genuine expression never leaving his face since the moment he walked up. “Well, ya want me to make your job easier?”

My stomach flip-flops and I try not to let my lips dip into a frown as I prepare myself for the inevitable awful feeling I’m going to experience when I have to crush his dreams. “Oh no, it’s fine. The right person will come.” I motion around to the room. “After all, we’re in The Westmore, aren’t we?”

His smile waivers, only for a split second while I assume he’s considering how to respond. “Yeah, that’s the problem right there. You’re at the wrong place.”

“Oh, am I?” I raise a brow in question.

“Yeah, ‘course this place is well known, blah blah blah, that’s the problem. Now everyone is fightin’ for a space and not always everyone who goes up there has a… spark like ya said ya were lookin’ for. Don’t get me wrong, this place is filled with talent, but it ain’t ever filled with somethin’ new.”

It’s like he says exactly what I’ve been thinking lately.

That thought must be all over my face as he continues, “Now, ya don’t have to take a stranger’s word for it, but I know a place that does have the spark that you’re lookin’ for. And before ya worry that I’m tryin’ to sell ya anythin’, I’m not. I just know this town damn well and that the magic ain’t all here. Ever heard of The Red Fern?”

I think for a moment of all the bars we have gone to—a rather short list, if I’m being honest. I’ve stuck to only bars toward the center of the strip, mostly because they were rather secure, and had places like The Westmore, which were invite only, so the singers tended to perform rather well.

“I haven’t,” I let out softly, somewhat disappointed I limited myself without even realizing it.

“Well, ya don’t gotta be sad,” he replies, his southern charm making such a simple statement seem deeper than it is. “I didn’t mean to set off that kind of emotion, but I promise if ya head there tonight instead of stayin’ here, you’re, at the very least, gonna enjoy the music that ya find.” Another chuckle leaves his handsome lips then he adds, “I gotta be on my way. Y’all are welcome to join me, it’s also on the strip so it ain’t too far.”

“Listen, Cowboy, we don’t want to join in on whatever bullshit scheme you have going and tonight I’m not in the mood to just be polite about it. At the very least, pretend you don’t just see Daisy as an opportunity for fame,” Kaylee chimes back into the conversation after overhearing his offer.

“Hey now, Angel Outlaw, there ain’t a doubt in my mind that if I sang for Miss Daisy here,” He gestures to me, “that she would wish we had never met. So don’t ya worry, I’m not lookin’ to get famous. She mentioned not findin’ anyone with a spark, and it just so happens I believe I know someone with what she’s lookin’ for, specifically someone who no one important has heard. And just so y’all don’t feel any pressure, I won’t say who they are or when they play.” He looks over to a huge clock on the wall, then back to us. “Sets start in thirty minutes. I’m headed that way now. Offer still stands, y’all are welcome to join. Or don’t,” he adds, winking at Kaylee like he finds her disgust to be a fun game.

I think at this point most men would just label Kaylee crazy and move on since that is truly what she’s going for, but he doesn’t, and for some reason I’m pulled toward the slight chance that this guy might be right.

“We’ll come,” I blurt out and then turn to Kaylee. “We haven’t found much here besides decent singers, which, like you’ve said, is just what this town is known for. Why not give it a shot? I want to go. Let’s go.”

I focus all of my attention on my best friend, silently pleading with her to understand. She knows how important this is to me. We’ve only talked about it, like, eight million times since I got the job. I wouldn’t ask this of her unless I believed in the chances. And with each second that passes, it’s like some unseen force is drawing me, whispering, begging me to find my spark.

Something shifts in her gaze, softening the anger burning like coals in her eyes, and she nods in agreement before turning to down the rest of her drink. Looping her arm with mine, she motions for Rhett to lead the way.

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