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

Chapter 9

9

SAWYER - JUNE 18, 2004

Tonight’s crowd fills the bar, sounds of laughter and fun only a few steps away from the very spot I’m standing. Something about being here, backstage, takes away the nerves I was feeling while sitting in the parking lot. Rhett was right about the entire bar feeling like Pops had control over the decor and even more so that it was nothing like Gator Ray’s. It looks like it hasn’t been updated much since its doors opened—according to the photos that are displayed here backstage. Most of which I assume are friends and family of the owners or singers that passed through. Every picture emanates a true happiness that you still feel being in this space. Unlike most other bars, nothing here is flashy, something it and I have in common.

The clock hands inch towards my time slot, yet my nerves themselves seem to diminish rather than grow with every passing minute. Other performers start to show up, and to my surprise, I recognize the young blonde from Gator Ray’s. She waves, recognizing me, but continues her conversation with another female performer, and I count it as a blessing. The last thing I want to do right before I go on is talk about the last time I sang—well was supposed to. A small spout of nerves return due to the reminder, however I do my best to shake them off because time is up.

I take one final breath and walk out on stage. Looking out through the bright lights, I can’t see anyone in particular past the first couple rows of people standing close to the stage. I look down at my guitar, wondering, in this moment, how many stages it has seen, how many stages my Pops or his father had seen—if any—and what they would think seeing it now in my arms about to play for a crowd.

Warmth fills me as I think of my grandpa, and for a moment, the roar of the bar and all the bright lights blur into the background. Pops. I hope you’re watching. Thanks for all you taught me. I wish you were here to see it.

There is a chance that there are important people in this room and I’m glad I don’t know who they are or what they look like. Most of the artists I’ve heard lately have gone for more modern day Country. But that isn’t me. It never has been. Besides, I don’t want to sound just like everyone else. I want to stand out. So I made a bold song choice for that very reason. Jody Reynolds’ Raven Hair. Something about the song has called to me since I heard my Pops play it, and I hope that calling was for this moment. Sucking in a deep breath, I let it out slowly one last time before I begin.

Well, here goes nothing.

All of my nerves seem to have vanished. I start out strumming my guitar, extra grateful that this bar has a backup band equipped to play just about anything you can think of. We add a twist to the song to make it ring in a little more country than rock and I begin to sing.

I get lost in the music, singing of sadness changed by love, and the entire room quiets for the first time I’ve ever seen since being in Nashville. Words tumble out of me as I carry on about the loss of my love with the fear of never finding her again. I vaguely notice the attention of the crowd. Everyone either sways to the beat or records me with their phone as I continue each line of the song, the music and the melody drifting around me, through me, with every verse. I feel like the entire room is holding on to each lyric that comes from my lips until the very end, when the entire crowd falls, along with me, for the girl with the raven hair.

The music ends, and for a moment, all I can hear is the pounding of my heart and my labored breathing. Praise erupts from the crowd and my heart feels whole.

I did it. I want this feeling, this rush, all the time.

I look down into the sea of people cheering just before walking off the stage and there she is, at least as far as I’m concerned, the muse for the very song I had just sung.

Something in me wants to walk directly off the stage and right to her. As if I’m a moth and she’s the flame, just as the song said. She has a magnetizing pull that I’ve never felt before. The look in her eyes…I can’t quite decipher if it is intrigue or if it is true genuine sadness. The high from singing is already gone, but the promise of a new one rests in her piercing blue eyes.

I hurriedly stride off the stage and place my guitar back in its case, still thinking solely of the women I just saw. She was beautiful. Her dark hair glistened like black silk and her eyes were so bright against her lightly tan skin I could see them all the way from my position at the mic.

I close both the drawbolts on my case, ensuring that Pop’s guitar is safe, then head toward the back door to place it back in my trunk. Praying that when I return, I can find the girl.

“Nice set, that was really somethin’.” A sweet voice comes from behind me. I turn to look and there stands the blonde from earlier. “Seems to me ya made a lastin’ impression.”

I give her a smile, acknowledging the compliment. “Thanks, glad this time it was a good one.”

She laughs while I wave, saying a quick see ya, before swiftly heading out the door so I can return and look for the girl. Oddly enough, I feel like I should be on a high from my performance and how the crowd seemed to take it, but in this moment all I can think about is her.