* * *
“That was great. Our best anthem yet.”
“We could always get a job just singing the National Anthem. Or Katie Lyn could at least.”
Maybe she was biased for her friend, but Katie nailed every single note perfectly.
They rode in the limo and looked out over the landscape of the city. C.C. tapped out a cadence against the empty space beside her.
“Hey, C.C., what’s that rhythm? It would be great to start My Girls.”
Cinnamon hummed the first two measures. “See?”
Rissa clapped it. Mac counted it out. Katie Lyn started singing. Together they did an acoustic version in the back of the limo.
“Wow, that wasn’t too bad. When we get to the bus, get us the words and what you have. During sound check, we can start putting it together. Once it’s nailed, we can do a recording and maybe some live plays around town.”
They arrived and Cinnamon rushed onto the bus to grab her notebook. There would be a copy machine inside somewhere. They were escorted through the U.S. Cellular Center and to their stage. Behind them she heard the sounds of their crew, already busy carting stuff in to turn this clean slate into the Lipstick Outlaw’s own for the night.
They set up their instruments and studied the copied pages of My Girls.
“I like this,” Rissa said. “So, this is what you two have been working on. It’s catchy.” They practiced it until Val came and said they were ready for the meet and greet.
Last one, Cinnamon chanted to herself. Last one and they were that much closer to home. She followed the girls backstage. Yes, like the song said, they were sisters. She wanted to hug each one.
They stopped abruptly and she almost ran into Taylor and C.C. They parted . . . and there stood Silas. Cinnamon gulped, her chest thumping and throat tightening. She took a staggering step toward him, then halted. He stood, legs apart, arms at his sides, and a hopeful, yet wary expression in his dark eyes. He waited for her to make the first move.
“What are you doing here?” She reached out to touch him but caught herself. His beard had grown a few inches longer. His hair had grown out too. They’d only been apart a couple weeks, but he carried a ragged edge to him. Did she look as worn?
“I’m your meet and greet tonight.” He held out his hand to her. “I’m Silas Black, a new fan to country music, but to be honest, I’m quickly getting hooked. I think it’s spoken to me that this is the right time to begin listening.”
She smiled. He’d been listening to her interviews. What else had he heard?
She kept his hand in hers, not willing to let go. “Cinnamon Chadwick,” she said, playing along with him. Only then did she realize how much she missed the silly little games they sometimes played. “I’m glad to meet you.”
He smiled, losing some of the nervous lines on his face. “To be honest, I’m a real big fan of yours.”
She tried to think of some snappy comeback, to keep the game going, but she lost it. Tears bubbled up, spilling down her cheeks in hot trails. She dropped his hand and rushed into his arms.
“Silas, I’m so sorry for overreacting at the bar.” She pressed her face against his chest, breathing him in like morning coffee and bacon. “I saw—”
“Shh . . .” he stroked her hair, whispering near her ear. “I handled it badly and said some stuff I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry, too. I never meant to hurt you, I only wanted you to talk to me.” He drew her back and studied her face, then placed his forehead against hers. She felt his smile through the rise of his forehead. She smiled, too. A weight lifted off her chest.
“Can we start over?”
“No.”
She lurched back. “No?” He couldn’t forgive her?
Silas still smiled as he held her close and searched her eyes. “No. I don’t want to lose one single, precious thing we’ve built. So, we can’t start over. I want to continue from where we were.”
“Aww. That’s adorable,” Taylor said.
Claps, whistles, and more aww’s echoed around them. Cinnamon blushed. “I didn’t know we had an audience.”
“I didn’t care,” Silas whispered back near her ear.
Val stepped forward. “That was just beautiful. Look at me, I’m a crying mess now. But we have a show to do. We go live in half an hour and there’s lots to be done. Silas, why don’t you stay out of the way for now, and once the girls are into the show, they can bring you on as a walk-on guest.”
He looked startled. “But I don’t sing or play anything.”
Val waved his excuses off with a laugh. “Not as a musical guest, silly. As a romantic interest of Cinnamon. I was thinking next tour we’d start bringing loved ones out on stage during the show. I was going to suggest Katie Lyn start with Lynette and Madison, but I think Cinnamon can start by introducing you.”
Cinnamon watched him gulp, cast an eye at the curtain shielding the stage and the seats where the hundreds of fans would soon be. She understood stage fright. She took his hand and thumbed circles on the inside of his wrist. “I’ll be beside you every step of the way. It gets fun once you get past the bright lights.”
His beaming smile told her everything she needed to know. She loved his big, bright grin. She wanted to see that happy expression every day that she could. She rushed into his arms and threw her arms around his neck in a huge bear hug. She looked over at her bandmates.
“Thank you so much,” she mouthed to them. Later she’d give them all a giant bear hug, too.
Epilogue
Silas survived his first appearance on a stage with only a minor amount of stage fright. Cinnamon met him halfway across and held his hand tight as the crowd roared with approval. She walked him off and gave him a deep kiss, which he promptly returned.
After the show, Val met the band and she was beaming. “Wonderful, just wonderful. What a splendid idea to bring family on stage. Katie Lyn, start prepping Madison now so she’ll be her fearless, adorable self when you introduce her.”
Katie scoffed. “Madison is always fearless.”
They all laughed.
“I know this tour is done, and we all did great and we’re tired, but we still have promotions to do over the spring and summer time. The trailer to Karma releases soon. The teaser is doing great. People are contacting the website, saying they want more. And don’t forget we have that end-of-tour capping interview at Nights over Nashville tomorrow evening. And, oh yeas, you now have an invitation to sing along for a few shows with Luke Combs as part of his summer tour.”
C.C. squealed. “Luke Combs! For real? He’s only the hottest thing in country right now.”
“And he’s an Asheville native who happened to be in the audience tonight. He liked what he heard and saw.”
“Wow, you guys sure stay busy,” Silas commented.
Cinnamon giggled. “Like I said when we first met, welcome to my crazy life.”
He hugged her tightly. “You had me from hello. When you first got off Galoot and met me in the driveway. I was caught right there.”
* * *
Cinnamon rode back to Nashville with Silas instead of taking the bus. Nestled next to him in the car was the only place she wanted to be. He drove her home and stopped in the driveway.
“Aren’t you coming in?”
He cast her a doleful look. “After our fight, I went ahead and finished the house. Upstairs, too. I’m not sure I want to be here when you see it.”
Fear tapped at her heart. They’d been angry with each other. What had he done to her home?
“Come with me,” she requested.
He followed a few steps behind along the porch, and through the hall. She flipped on the elaborate chandelier lights and so far, everything downstairs looked great. She looked over her shoulder as she approached the stairs. He shrugged silently.
She turned the lights on as she went. The walls were papered and painted, with her pictures back where she had them. The guest bedroom and bathroom seemed fine, ready for use. She looked ba
ck at him again and raised an eyebrow.
Sucking in a breath, she pushed the door open to her bedroom . . . and gasped. Above the bed was a lovely, ornate crystal chandelier. Wainscoting and baroque paper in shades of scarlet and purple decorated the walls, with gold detailing in all the right places. He reached over and picked up a remote. The gas fireplace roared to life and cast a surreal glow over the scene. That had been a wood-burning fireplace, and she knew the conversion to gas absolutely was not in her budget. She glanced back at him and shook her head, and grinned. It didn’t matter. The room and the glow looked wholly inviting and . . . romantic.
She glanced into the master bath and saw the same claw-foot tub and heavy wallpaper.
“I don’t see why you didn’t want to come along. This all looks better than my wildest dreams.”
“I wanted to make it sultry and sensual. That way if you ever brought another man here, you’d think of me.”
She smiled and rubbed his cheek. “Silas, there won’t be another man after you.”
“Well, there’s one more room. Downstairs.” He took her hand and led her down to the rear of the house. “Remember that brick walled room you used for storage? You now have a storage room inside the barn, and this room has been revamped.”
He slid the door open and she stepped in. And her breath left her in a whoosh. A small stage sat front and center. A bar sat to the side. Several chairs faced the stage. And a bank of tall shelves sat opposite the bar. It all looked ready for musical entertaining.
“You said famous artists had rooms like this, where they could jam and entertain. Maybe someday you could add a pool table or something.” He lifted a shoulder.
“Yes, your friends might like that. But what are the shelves for?”
“All the trophies you ladies are going to win.”
“You know, I still haven’t seen an invoice or receipt. And I think you went over budget.” She tried to look stern, but her lips twitched, giving her away. “Way, way over budget.”
He tried to look sorry, not looking any more convincing than she had. “Maybe by a little bit.” He spread his thumb and index finger apart a few inches. “Except the dog ate the papers.”
She laughed, moving in for another kiss.
Sneak Peek
Read the first chapter of MAC’S DARING HEART, book 6 of the Sweethearts of Country Music…
“¡Hola, Pilar!”
“¿Cómo estás, chica? I downloaded the new track online and it’s very good. I can hear you.”
Mac Cunningham grinned 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 lik
e 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?
Cinnamon’s Courageous Heart: Sweethearts of Country Music, Book 5 Page 15
