by Layne, Sandi
Mac’s Daring Heart
Sweethearts of Country Music, Book 6
Sandi Layne
©2019, Sandi Layne
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
No part of this work may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.
While this novel is a work of fiction, the author respectfully and fictitiously used real locations, businesses, music venues, television shows, awards, song titles, social media networks, streaming services, and music media networks throughout the story for entertainment purposes. No copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The publication and use of these trademarks are not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Epilogue
Sneak Peek
More from Sweet Promise Press
More from this Series
About the Author
Prologue
“We recommend Vanderbilt, where Andrew went, Mira Annice. The Blair School of Music has a Bachelor of Performing Arts Degree, you know.” Elizabeth Cunningham slid the university brochure across the coffee table toward her daughter. The front parlor of their Oak Hill home was as formal as the rest of the house, with pale furniture, coordinating pillows and area rugs, and windows so clean as to be nearly invisible as the summer sun shone through. Elizabeth was a fixture, here, in all her graceful serenity.
Mira Annice Cunningham—Mac to everyone but her parents, and whom no one would ever consider graceful or serene—pushed the brochure back and blew out a breath. “Mom. C’mon. I’ve been studying violin for, like, my whole life. I’m even in first chair at school, now.” She’d picked up a violin at the age of five and her parents had made sure she kept her fingers on the bow—but off the horsehair—for about a dozen years.
Mac’s mother smiled a little at her words and seemed to relax. “I know, dear. Your dedication will stand you in good stead when you apply for admission.”
Mac decided to hedge a little. “I thought maybe I’d try to learn something new. I was thinking bass guitar. For a band, you know?” She had already learned how to play the bass; she truly appreciated the instrument. She just . . . hadn’t told anyone, yet. “This is Nashville! Music City!”
Elizabeth’s brown eyes were flinty, her voice implacable. “Yes, and you’re a violinist. And you will study the violin.”
“Or?”
“Or you will be unable to access your trust until it goes into probate, young lady!”
As threats went, it was a palpable one for a seventeen-year-old girl. Mac went very still. “Are you serious?”
“I am. And Micah will be studying Statistics. He’s already been accepted to their undergraduate Mathematics program.”
He wants to design video games, Mac thought with a frown. He said he had already talked with some people, too. Had their parents really convinced him to turn his back on what he’d wanted to do forever? He’d wanted to create games since he’d found the old text-adventure game Telengard at a yard sale. He’d changed reward parameters and even the Word of Power when they were only ten!
Her mother was still talking. “I asked, and it is not policy to allow twins to room together. So, you’d have the opportunity to continue to meet new people. As you have at Garrison Forest.” The all-girls boarding school in Maryland was, Mac had to admit, a great institution with a long history. Academically, she was totally ready for Vanderbilt. If she had to go there. Which it seemed she would be having to do . . .
Elizabeth made a gesture that caught Mac’s attention. “No more pranks, you understand?”
Mac sighed. The prank she and Micah had pulled in middle school would never, ever die. “Mom! I think we’re old enough not to do that.” Elizabeth nodded once. “Let me talk to Micah.”
“You’ll be a violinist, Mira Annice.”
“Yes, Mom,” Mac said in a long-suffering tone as she left the room.
She corralled her twin brother and dragged him to the kitchen.
“I’m going to study Statistics,” Micah told her as they huddled over a shared bowl of ice cream—something they’d done all their lives, when they could. “I’ve looked into day trading, you know?”
“Are you planning to use the money from your trust fund?”
“Yeah! Dad showed me the paperwork, and we get access when we complete a bachelor’s degree at, ahem, an institution of our parents’ choice. And then I can do what I want, so long as I can make money on the market.”
“Will you do it for me, too?”
“You’re going to do it, then?”
Mac smiled and scooped up another spoonful of chocolate chip ice cream. “Yep. But I’ve been learning bass guitar. I wanna be in a band.”
“And I’m going to learn how to design video games. I’ve got a lot of the theory and I’m learning the technical stuff. But why do you want to do bass? I mean, why not acoustic?” He gestured with his spoon, as if directing an orchestra. “Or you could play the fiddle for a band! It’d be fun!”
“Oh, I could still do that, but the bass guitar is important, you know? I mean, where’s a country ballad without a bass line? It helps to set the tone for a whole story!” Mac whipped out her iPhone—the very latest, of course—and picked a video to share with her twin. “Listen to this!” She played Before He Cheats by Carrie Underwood. “I want to do that.”
“Sing? I’ve heard you and you’re not that good.”
“No! Help drive the mood, you know? A violin laughs and cries and shows the emotion, and I like it, but the bass . . . it kind of gives a reason for it, you know?”
Micah’s eyes widened, and she liked that his were just like hers, but with heavier brows. “You know, that’s pretty profound, Bambi.”
She rolled her eyes. “I might not be the math genius, but I’m not stupid.”
They grinned at each other, laughing when ice cream ran down their chins.
“It’s gonna be epic,” they said in unison as they wiped at the sticky, sweet mess they’d made all over the kitchen counter.
Both of them had only the most studious and conscientious expressions as they presented their application information to their parents. Vanderbilt University was in the bag, just as it had been with their elder brother.
It was, indeed, epic.
1
“¡Hola, Pilar!”
“¿Cómo estás, chica? I downloaded the new track online and it’s very good. I can hear you.”
Mac Cunningham grinne
d at the screen on her phone where her high school roommate, Pilar Hoffman, mimed playing a guitar. “Well, that’s a relief. Nice to know I’m not wasting my time. How’s school?”
Pilar was in the Oral and Maxillofacial Surgery program at the University of Maryland. Mac thought the program sounded brutal, but Pilar—a native of Nueva León, Mexico—enjoyed it. It was in part Mac’s experiences as Pilar’s roommate at Garrison Forest in Maryland that had made understanding Cecilia—whom everyone called C.C.—DeVera second nature, when she’d first met the drummer a little more than a year before. Like C.C., Pilar had overcome many of her social concerns in the years since high school.
They chatted before Pilar fluttered her fingers. “Oh! ¿Has visto esto?” The blonde stretched out of sight of the FaceTime camera and returned with Country Music, a U.K. periodical. “I saw the interview! It’s so good, Mac. You looked great, by the way. Thanks for not wearing a hat.”
“I haven’t seen the interview yet. I called you before checking the mail.” She rose from her perch at the breakfast bar attached to the small kitchen and scooped up the mail she’d dropped a few minutes prior, including the large envelope with what felt like a magazine. “Hey, I’m gonna check it out, okay? Thanks so much!”
“Por seguro. ¡Tenga buen día!”
“You have a good day, too!”
With some caution, Mac sliced open the envelope and flipped immediately to the article Pilar had mentioned. She did a quiet little dance in the living room before nodding and making another phone call, this one without video. Never knew if she’d be interrupting C.C. and the Drummer’s Dude! Dalton Gregory was a great guy, but Mac still didn’t know if he knew she’d been calling him D.D. for months.
“C.C.! Did you get the latest issue of CM?” Mac’s low-heeled boots made a sturdy clump with each step; she’d never been terribly graceful, no matter how much her mother and aunt had drilled her on ladylike steps when she’d been little. Still, she tried to sound all settled and calm and I do this every day as she paced back and forth in the loft she shared with her twin brother in Nashville, Tennessee, but it wasn’t easy. After all, she’d already had a fan-call about it, after a fashion, and she had to concur that the presentation was pretty great. “We’re on pages sixty-four and sixty-five!”
C.C.—the drummer for Lipstick Outlaws, and her closest friend—made a happy sound on her end but ended it with a snarky snort. “I saw it. That wasn’t the picture I liked for us, though.” The feature piece—titled “Independent Women!”—had a one-page article discussing their rapid rise in popularity with a paragraph dedicated to each of the members of the band, starting with Rissa Walker since they had all pointed a finger to her when they started telling their story. C.C.’s interview had come next, with the seemingly obligatory reference to her Filipino background, to which C.C. had replied very politely, though she had followed it up with a “Can we focus on the music?” question that did not make copy. Mac’s blurb had been last, which she understood. She took a sort of perverse pride in being under-appreciated as a bassist.
Mac eyed the full-page image once again. “I’m smirking. But at least they didn’t use the one with the hats. And they spelled your name right.”
“Finally! Because DeVera is such a hard name to spell.” C.C let out an audible breath. “Do I look as nervous as I was?”
Mac stopped her pacing and perched her hip on the back of her brother’s leather club chair to study the glossy image; Micah wasn’t home just then to complain. “I don’t think so,” she decided slowly, peering at the drummer’s brown eyes and gorgeous dark hair with the highlights that the photographer caught in bright detail. “You were holding your sticks pretty tight, but you did great, considering you weren’t wearing your shades.” For years, C.C. had used her sunglasses as a shield to help her cope with social anxiety.
“I’m only wearing them during shows now, you know that.”
“What about during Taylor’s wedding? You and D.D. can wear matching pairs!” Mac teased.
“Speaking of,” C.C. countered, “did you get your passport renewed?”
“Oh, yeah. As soon as I heard we were going to England for the wedding. At least we’ll be staying at Eddie’s place and we won’t have to worry about getting a hotel in London in July!” Mac’s doorbell rang. “Gotta go, Ceece.”
“Will you be able to rehearse that new number tonight? We’ll be at The Turquoise Horse.”
“Rehearsal for my brother’s wedding, remember?” Mac sighed but smiled, thinking of their home turf, as it were. “My parents are thrilled, Micah thinks it’s a joke, and Andy wants me to play Forever and Ever, Amen on my violin. I’ve had to transpose most of the music!”
C.C. laughed with true amusement. “Poor you! I’ll call Sunday then, to get things set up for Monday.”
“You’re on. Bye!”
Mac stared again at the article, thinking her own answers to the scant questions she’d been asked were probably boring. She was not an exciting bass player, in her estimation, but she was solid, reliable, and she felt the music in her heart and mind. She’d done her research, when she’d chosen to start learning bass guitar. It was one thing to want to be that heartbeat in the music; it was another thing to do it right. She’d watched Suzi Quatro videos online, seen how that woman had rocked it with the boys and still managed to sing and carry the band with her—while playing bass guitar! Mac in no way wanted that responsibility, but she did like the strength of Quatro’s hands on the strings, her confident power, and Mac hoped to emulate Quatro to a small degree. Even if she was a lot more sedate in her performances.
The bell rang again and Mac tucked her phone in the pocket of her dark blue jeans as she jogged across the oak planks that made up the floor, past the wrought iron spiral staircase, through the narrow aperture for the front hall and to the door to the apartment. “Coming!” The visitor had to be a friend of Micah’s, but their timing could not have been worse. Unless it was her twin himself, in which case she’d string him up by his tie for cutting it so close. With a reprimand poised on her lips, she jerked open the door.
And saw a perfect stranger.
A really perfect stranger. A perfect stranger with deep red hair of a shade that almost didn’t look real. Had she seen him somewhere before? He had a bit of a scruff—scruff was just about her favorite thing except for corded forearms—and deep brown eyes that were like chocolate. I better not be drooling, she snapped internally, blinking and slapping her thigh with the magazine she still held while his face slowly softened into a rather bemused smile.
“Hello?”
“Hello!”
“Jinx!” Mac blurted before covering up her mouth with her free hand. She and Micah had grown up speaking simultaneous phrases and Jinx! meant that whoever said it first owed the other a soda pop. “Sorry,” she murmured, blushing as the perfect stranger stared at her, a smile tugging up the corner of his mouth. She thought she might swoon like some starry-eyed girl in a romance novel, what with her embarrassment and instant appreciation for the man at the door.
She pulled herself together.
“Hi,” she said, pitching her voice to something approximating normal. “Can I help you?” The security at the Werthan Building was excellent, but she didn’t know everyone in the building. Had she missed a gorgeous neighbor in the month and half she and Micah had lived in their new place?
Color raced up his throat from the unbuttoned collar of his basic white button-down. “Uh, yeah? Maybe? I’m, uh—” He stopped, blew out a breath, cleared his throat, and offered her a sheepish smile. “Sorry. I’m Derek Blakemore and I’m looking for Mike Cunningham. We’re supposed to be getting the tuxes before his brother’s wedding rehearsal . . .”
“Oh! You’re Andrew’s friend and the best man!” Mac grinned at Derek Blakemore, relieved that he was not going to be a perfect stranger for long. “Come on in. I’m Mac.” It was on the tip of her tongue to add a label to her name, but which one? Mac, bassist for Lipstick
Outlaws? Sister of the Groom? Violinist for the Wedding? Micah’s roomie and twin sister?
His grin was entirely welcome as she eschewed all the labels and backed away to invite him inside. He made a show of looking about. “So, is Mike here?”
She harrumphed. “He will be. He never even mentioned picking up the tuxedos. Maybe he forgot. Can I snap your pic to send him?” At his startled expression, she smiled with what she hoped was mischief and not paranoia. “You know, like, Hey, you’re late and your date’s here!”
“Date?” He shook his head. “Doesn’t he have a girlfriend? But sure, go ahead.” He stood as if he were getting a passport photo, as Mac took a pic and sent it immediately to her twin. Then, her guest cleared his throat again. “So.” He cast his gaze toward the beamed ceiling. “Nice place.”
She laughed, feeling nervous but also stupidly happy that he’d be there for at least a bit while they waited for Micah. “I’ll tell Micah you like it.” Her brother had doubted the appeal of the historic, renovated warehouse, but she’d told him it was perfectly located, and he had liked the resale projections, so there they were. “Come on in and have a seat.”
She tried to walk much more gracefully on her way back to the living room area of the loft. However, the planks under her feet did not allow for a silent passage, and the old brick walls echoed loudly enough that she glanced back at their guest to see if he reacted. Derek Blakemore. What did she know about him, anyway?
Well, she did remember at least one thing. “Micah said you’d come in from Arizona? And Andrew said you guys went to school together,” Mac tossed back over her shoulder as they passed the stairs and kitchen. The two windows that were the focal points of the living room cast sharp light over her guest when she turned again to indicate he should choose a chair or the sofa. He chose Micah’s favorite chair and fell back easily into it, his long, denim-clad legs stretched out in front of him, as if he’d fallen into that chair often. But he hadn’t. I would have definitely remembered seeing him in Micah’s chair. Yep.
