by Fran Baker
Nobody but Cassie seemed to be paying any attention to his orders. She rubbed her hands together to warm them. For some reason she was jumpy, but it wasn't the ordinary kind of jitters that plagued her before every performance. Her hands and face felt like they were carved from ice.
In the professional sense of the word, she was a smashing success— a winner— living proof that the American Dream was still a reality. But gold records didn't guarantee that her heart would ever sing again. Shiny statues couldn't hold her after the applause faded into the rafters. And rave reviews were just so many empty words when there was no one to share them with.
“Miss Cassie Creighton?” A secretary elbowed her way through the swarm of people. “Message for Miss Cassie Creighton.”
“Here I am.” Cassie blinked away the stinging tears and composed herself as much as possible.
“Can you give a short interview?” the secretary asked. “There's a reporter from a country and western newspaper who's doing a story on the award winners tonight.”
Cassie's professional instincts took over. Maybe this would help her shake off the blues and get her mind back on the business at hand. “Sure.” She pasted on a stage smile. “Lead the way.”
Cassie sat on a folding chair in a dim hallway which had been closed off from the backstage din. She shook her dusky hair back and faced the young woman who sat across from her.
“I won't keep you long,” the reporter promised as she deftly adjusted the microphone on her portable tape recorder. “Just a few questions and then we'll be done.”
The initial queries were identical to those asked of Cassie in hundreds of previous interviews, and she answered them almost by rote. Then the woman led the conversation down an unexpected path.
“Tell me something about how your career's upswing has affected you personally,” she encouraged. Although the interview was supposed to be brief, the columnist apparently planned to get as much mileage out of it as she could. “Do you have a special man in your life, and what does he think of your success?”
Cassie drew a slow breath, fighting hot tears and a sudden urge to run as far away as her legs would carry her. “I did have someone who was very dear to me,” she admitted. “But it's been over for some time.”
The sharp-eyed reporter continued to dig without pity. “Do you feel that your career caused the split, that maybe he couldn't stand being overshadowed by you?”
“Oh, no!” Cassie wanted to retreat— to hide like a snail in its shell— but her denial was firmly voiced. “He's a much stronger person than I am, very secure and successful in his own right. As a matter of fact, if there were a way to measure success, the scales would definitely tip in his favor because he's doing what he wants to do with his life.”
“Do you mean to tell me that you don't want to be a singer?” Cassie's eyes were clouded with memories. She stared into space, unaware of the shadow cast over her by someone standing directly behind her chair. Maybe talking frankly with this stranger about her mistakes would somehow purge her heartbreak over Hoyt, help her to get on with her life.
“I was always determined to become a singer. But people who work nine to five don't understand that behind the glamour and the illusion and the luxury, the music business is extremely demanding. Entertainers trade in their privacy, sometimes even sacrificing their families, for the success. And you'd better believe there's a little bit of autobiography in every sad song you hear on the radio.”
“Well, would you like to marry someday and have a family?”
“Oh, I'm definitely a traditionalist, a one-man woman.” She was so lost in her thoughts of what could have been that she didn't care that she was exposing her innermost thoughts. “When I marry, I want it to be forever. I've had one love in my life. And if I can't have him, I won't settle for anybody else.”
The journalist was on the brink of posing another question when Cassie stood abruptly and excused herself. She made her way backstage and was standing apart from the hoopla, listening to the applause as one of the stars received an award.
“You're as white as a ghost, even in your stage makeup.” The familiar drawl was the most welcome sound Cassie had ever heard. “Maybe you need someone to protect you from nosy reporters.”
Cassie's heart pounded as Hoyt slipped an arm around her shoulders. “What do you mean?” she asked, doing her best to appear unconcerned.
“Newshounds can get pretty personal if you let them.”
Cassie was at a loss for words. How much had he heard when she was talking with the reporter? She looked up at him, her lash-fringed, violet eyes trying to read his expression. She leaned against him, absorbing his warmth and strength. “What are you doing backstage now?” Her question was barely audible over the noise from the audience.
Without speaking, Hoyt reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a folded sheet of paper, and handed it to her. Cassie scanned the contents, then looked at him with a puzzled frown.
“I don't understand!”
“You said that you wanted your contract back. So there it is— signed, sealed, and delivered.” His blue eyes, filled with undisguised desire, roamed her face. “Now you can shout it to the world. Cassie Creighton has everything she ever wanted. You're free.” His voice was husky as he rubbed his chin against the silky length of her hair.
“No, Hoyt. I don't have everything I want.” She turned in his embrace, upped her chin, and met his level stare. It was now or never.
“Oh?” He cocked a curious eyebrow.
“I want to go home.” She kept her voice steady. If he didn't want her— no, she wouldn't let herself think along those lines.
“You mean you want to go back to Coyote Bend?” Surprise flickered across his handsome face.
“No.” She hesitated only a second. This man could crush her spirit as easily as he had built her career. “I want to go home to the Diamond T. I love you, Hoyt. I always have. I always will.”
“I've been waiting a mighty long time to hear you say that.” His eyes smoldered in the semi-darkness. Hoyt traced the soft curve of her upper lip with his fingertip and her breath was stolen away.
“Are you positive, Cassie? You've been away from the land for two years, and I can't— I won't— ask you to give up your career for me.” He attempted to smile, but there was a suspicious sheen to his eyes. “I'll give you all the love a man can give a woman and more, but will that be enough? There's nobody out on the range who's going to stand up and shout ‘Encore!’ every time you turn around. Can you really give it up, live without the applause?”
She nodded her head and her black hair spilled over her shoulders. That was the least of her worries. “The applause has an awfully hollow ring to it when you don't have anyone to share it with, Hoyt. It's nice to know that the fans care about me, but it's even better to know... ” She broke off then, too choked to finish. She had lived with this hope buried inside her for so long that it was hard to believe it was finally becoming a reality.
“Besides, I've heard that babies make the kindest critics of all. I thought that I'd tune up the guitar that you gave me and start practicing my lullabies.” Her face radiated a serenity that his blue velvet eyes shared.
“Hoyt... ” She hesitated, biting her lip. This seemed like such a silly thing to worry about at this glorious moment, but she wanted them to start with a clean slate. “How do you think Dee Dee will take the news?”
“Dee Dee?” He looked amused. “She gave up waiting around for me a long time ago. She's latched onto some oilman who has political aspirations.” He chuckled. “If that poor fool isn't careful, she'll drive him right into the governor's mansion.”
Cassie closed her eyes and took a deep breath. There was so much more she wanted to say, but it would keep.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer said, “here's your choice for ‘Female Newcomer of the Year,’ Miss Cassie Creighton.”
Hoyt brushed her lips with his, his eyes making an unspoken promise she knew
he would keep. She ran onto the stage. Love, and the confidence it instilled, shone on her lovely face.
“First of all, I want to thank the deejays for this wonderful award.” She clutched the golden statuette and stood on tiptoes to speak into the microphone. “I can't begin to tell you what an honor it is for this tenant-farmer's daughter— who grew up in Coyote Bend, Texas, with an ear glued to the radio and a dream growing in her heart— to walk out on this stage tonight and accept this beautiful symbol of your approval.”
Cassie held up her hand to stop the smattering of applause. “I'm not finished,” she declared. The crowd laughed as she ignored the director's frantic motions to speed up her delivery. “I hate to tell you this, but my manager says that when I get wound up, I can talk the leg off a chair.”
The audience laughed and settled back to hear her out.
“The deejays, the fans, all of you have been wonderful to me.” She glanced at Hoyt, waiting for her in the wings. Her voice softened. “You know, somebody once told me that I shouldn't forget my roots, that it was wrong to deny them. It took a while, but that advice sank into this thick skull of mine. And when it did, I realized that that somebody was telling me that I should be proud of what I am, where I come from, and what I can do.”
The people filling the auditorium seemed to sense that they were about to witness an important event, and they were with her all the way. She ignored the “spot” tapes and turned to speak directly to Hoyt.
“The song I'm going to sing is a cut from my new album, which we've called ‘Magic Circles.’ The album is the story of a very poor but stubborn woman who loves a very rich but equally stubborn man. She thinks she has to prove that she's worthy of him, and he obliges by handing her enough rope to hang the entire state of Tennessee.”
She looked back at the audience. These people were with her, friends to the end. “The couple comes full circle in my album, and I'm proud to admit that Cassie Creighton has come full circle, too.” She took a deep breath. “I wrote this song and it's dedicated to the man I'm going to marry— just as soon as we can shake a preacher out of bed and get him into his britches.”
The whippoorwill had claimed her mate, and the applause was deafening. Cassie pulled the microphone off its chrome stand, turned again to Hoyt, and offered him her heart as she sang her song of love:
“I feel him move quietly beside me in the night,
His breath in my hair, it's all so right.
“Never thought it could happen, thought it just couldn't be.
But I open my eyes and he's right here with me.
“He's with me tonight and it's been so good.
He can give me what I thought no one could
“I touch his cheek, my head's on his shoulder.
I know at last that hurtin’ times are all over.
“Never thought it could happen, thought it just couldn't be.
But I open my eyes and he's right here with me.”
-The End-
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Table of Contents
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
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
