“That’s awful.” Taylor walked him toward the old bar piano with stickers on the side to show him—it wasn’t her touring piano.
He glanced at the keys that seemed in perfect working order. “For the fans, but they get a full refund, or they can trade their tickets for my show they put on the calendar in two months.”
She pointed to the empty bar as she said, “The Turquoise Horse is where the Lipstick Outlaws were formed.”
He joined her on the piano bench. They hadn’t played together in years. “And if you hadn’t released an album, I’d have never met you again at that hotel in Memphis.”
She bumped into his shoulder with a smile. “That you totally arranged?”
His face was hot as he said, “I… I knew where you were staying and had Tam change my hotel, yeah.”
She sucked in her lower lip, hypnotizing him as always. “So, play a song with us, since you're here.”
He wrapped his hand around her waist. “Are you rehearsing the song you wrote about me?”
Taylor glanced at him with a gleam in her eyes as she asked, “You want to hear us perform it?”
“Absolutely.” He loved that she'd written something about them.
She quickly showed him two keys to play and then nodded at Katie Lyn and the others.
The lights dimmed again, and Taylor placed her fingers on the ivory keys as they played Taylor’s song.
I’ve been looking through your kind eyes
And I’ve seen what people don’t
I can tell you know what pain is
But you can show it to the world
There’s so much you have to hide
There’s so much you have to prove
There are so few people who can’t tell the truth
So let me help you carry the way
I’m going to help you carry the way
Kiss me quick before I wake up
things like this don’t happen to a girl like me
so I’m gonna hold tight to all of this
I’m gonna hold your hand until I wake up from this dream
You have looked through my shy eyes
You could tell we are so different
We’ve been breathing to the same air
It seems there’s nothing more we could share
But you could tell that I have more
So many things that I have to show
You saw in me a new window to the world
Kiss me quick before I wake up
Things like this don’t happen to a girl like me
So I’m gonna hold tight to all of this
I’m gonna hold your hand until I wake up from this dream
The lights turned back on and the others started comparing notes.
Taylor was beside him as she asked, “So what did you think?”
She was stunning and sincere when asking his thoughts. He kissed her cheek. “I think I am absolutely in love with you, Taylor.”
The others all left the stage and she turned toward him as she said, “Good, because I found a dress that your mother, my mother, and I all like. Thank goodness for email.”
No other woman he’d ever met would do anything like that.
Ever. Tam and her wife discussed white dresses and unapproving in-laws so he thought that was the normal, to just pick what you liked. His voice rose an octave as he asked, “You coordinated with my mother?”
Taylor nodded like it was no big deal that she'd coordinated across the Atlantic and in three very different time zones. “My mother has been studying the art of an English tea party, and yours are going to their house in a few weeks when she has a show in Denver.”
Taylor was going to be a smashing hit in London. His childhood schoolboy chums would adore her. His mother had obviously changed her tune and would bring Taylor into the family parties.
Her father and mother were calling him for his opinion on wines and martini mixes, making him part of their family.
Literally there wasn’t anything Taylor couldn’t do.
But he shouldn’t be surprised. She'd charmed him long ago. “That was all part of your plan?”
Her voice grew serious as she took his hands. “I want us to have a happy life together and that includes everyone getting along.”
He squeezed her fingers. “All that matters to me is that you’re happy, Taylor.”
She laughed. “And you. That and the whole living happily-ever-after thing we're planning.”
With Taylor, he had everything. The world was his and waiting a year and five months while they both pursued their path was worth the ending. Even if she chose to stick with her band for years, he’d find a way to make it work. Love was about being there for the other person.
The most beautiful, sweet woman he’d ever met was now his.
Always.
And Taylor was there for him, so he’d do the same.
Thank you for reading Taylor and Eddie’s love story. I was so thrilled to be part of the Sweethearts of Country Music and to write this fun story of a British pop star and a country singer. This was so much fun I want to write more rock stars soon. Please sign up for my newsletter and get a free novella for signing up now at https://www.victoriapinder.com or come and find a list of all my romances of bold women and the brainy men who love them are waiting for you.
Sneak Peek
Read the first chapter of CECILIA’S SOULFUL HEART, book 3 of the Sweethearts of Country Music…
“I can't do this.” C.C. DeVera stared frantically up at her best friend, Mac, her heart racing with panic and dread. “I can't!”
Mac Cunningham took her gently by the shoulders, her hazel eyes tinted green in the afternoon sunlight. “It's okay, we'll find them.” Her voice was soft, soothing, nearly drowned out by the pounding music and screaming crowd.
In what was probably their biggest gig yet, the Lipstick Outlaws were playing Willie Nelson's 4th of July picnic. They'd been thrilled at the invitation, even more at the lineup. To be included with the likes of Alison Krauss, Luke Combs, and Jamey Johnson—not to mention Willie himself? Willie Freaking Nelson?
It was unbelievable.
But they went on at two o'clock, it was five minutes to two, and C.C. couldn't find her sunglasses.
“Breathe, Ceece,” Mac said, rubbing her arms in slow rhythm. “Think. Where was the last place you had them?”
C.C. closed her eyes and tried to block out the noise around her, focus on Mac's touch, and slow her rapid breathing. “I—I had them before hair and makeup,” she said. “But I checked the tent, and they aren't there. I asked Melanie, but she hasn't seen them either.” It was still weird to think that they now had their own hair and makeup technician . . . their own crew . . . their own roadies.
It blew C.C. away.
Only six months since they signed a contract with Val McCann, their manager, and they'd had an album debut at number one, opened for Miranda Lambert on tour, and been on the cover of Rolling Stone magazine, an article dubbing them, The Group from Nowhere. The Lipstick Outlaws were a true Cinderella story, as far as the media were concerned, although few realized the years of work that led them to this moment. Still, the whirlwind was a bit overwhelming at times. The attention they'd drawn being the first all-girl country rock band that played every instrument and wrote every song?
It was unusual, and although Val had assured them in the beginning that they'd hit it big, sometimes C.C. couldn't believe how fast it had actually happened.
And sometimes, it was a little too much for her.
“Guys, what's going on?” Rissa Walker, the band's guitar player and the one who brought them all together, rushed up, looking a bit frazzled. Her long, brown hair was caught up in a high ponytail, showing off a pair of big silver hoop earrings. “We need to get out there!”
C.C.'s fingers tightened around her drumsticks, and she spun the right one, but it did little to calm her nerves. “I need my shades,” she said, her voice a little shaky.
She wo
rried that Rissa would be annoyed. Mac was the only one who really understood how important her sunglasses were—how essential they were. C.C. wasn't exaggerating when she said couldn't go on stage.
Without her sunglasses—without her protection—she really couldn't.
Rissa shot a weighted glance at Mac, then looked back to C.C. “We have to get out there,” she said slowly. “People are waiting for us.”
At that, C.C. took a deep breath and turned to peer through a gap in the thick black backdrop behind the stage. She couldn't see much, but what she could made her stomach churn. The place was packed, people standing in front of the rows of red, plastic seats . . . and farther back in the grassy area, others danced to the recorded music filling the gap between live performances. The sun was bright and hot, and many wore red bandanas in honor of Willie. Adults and children alike were dashing through the misters sprinkling cool water into the air.
C.C. clenched her eyes shut. “I can't,” she whispered. “I—”
“Excuse me,” a deep voice said, and C.C. turned around to find a nervous looking man with messy brown hair and glasses watching her. “I wasn't trying to eavesdrop, but I couldn't keep from listening. I mean, I wasn't listening, but I heard—” He shook his head and pressed his lips together, then took a deep breath and thrust a fist toward her. C.C. looked down, surprised to see he was clutching a pair of black Ray-Bans.
“That's perfect!” Mac exclaimed. “I mean, it is, isn't it, Ceece? Will these work?”
“I know they're not yours,” he said, opening his palm. She glanced up at him and he met her gaze. His eyes were green and kind, at least that was the impression she got before he quickly looked away.
“It's okay.” C.C. slid her drumsticks into her back pocket and reached out tentatively to take the sunglasses, then slipped them on. Immediately, she could breathe again. “Yeah. These will work,” she said. “Thanks.”
The guy shrugged and nodded, then jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “I better get back to work.”
“Thanks, Dalton!” Rissa called out after him.
He gave a little wave, and he was gone.
“Who was that?” C.C. asked Mac.
The bassist rolled her eyes. “You really don't pay attention, do you?” she asked. “He's the new sound guy.”
That's right, C.C. remembered hearing about that now. But there had been so many additions to the crew over the past few weeks that she could hardly be blamed for not knowing everyone.
Dalton.
It was a nice name, she thought. Kind of old-fashioned, but it fit him. He looked like a Dalton.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the Lipstick Outlaws!”
The crowd erupted in applause, and all thoughts of anything except the music faded into the background.
C.C. sat down behind her kit and slipped on her headset. She adjusted the crash cymbal, then tapped each of the toms with her left stick to test the tone as she spun the right one over her head. Everything beyond the stage was a soft blur now, only the skins of the drums in focus, the girls around her a kind of shield against the outside world.
“Hello, Austin! Happy Fourth of July!” their lead singer, Katie Lyn Bishop, shouted into the mic. When the crowd screamed, she gave a little whoop and shook back her blonde curls. “We're the Lipstick Outlaws—”
That was C.C.'s cue to start up a low steady beat on the bass and floor tom. Bum. Badadadum. Bum. Badadadum. Mac joined in on the groove, grinning at her as she played a counter-rhythm on the bass.
“We're so happy to be here today,” Katie Lyn said as Rissa added a guitar riff . . . then Taylor Jones, a tinkling descant on the piano. “Let's start off with a new one, shall we?” The crowd screamed even louder—“This is Kiss Me Quick!”
And with that, they were off. C.C. fell into the beat, her sticks an extension of her own fingers, twirling above her head and slashing into the cymbals. In her periphery, she was vaguely aware of the crowd clapping and singing along, but the music filled her, pushing out all anxiety until all she felt was the primal pulse of their instruments, the echoing chant of their voices.
This was what she loved. This was what she lived for. The six of them creating something together—something unique and beautiful.
Something bigger than any one of them alone.
After Kiss Me Quick, they moved directly into the ballad, Silly Me, then took a moment for Katie Lyn to introduce the members of the band while Cinnamon Chadwick grabbed her fiddle for the intro to When Karma Comes Calling. The rest of the set went smoothly, and when they finished the final chords of Came to Nashville, their first hit, the girls ran to the front of the stage, hands joined as they took a bow, and the audience went crazy, chanting “Outlaws! Outlaws! Outlaws!”
“Can you believe this?” Mac shouted into C.C.'s ear.
She shook her head. She really couldn't.
***
“Great set,” Val McCann told Dalton as the band took their final bow and ran off the stage.
“Thanks?” He was never sure how to respond to compliments like that. Sure, he knew that the band needed the sound crew—otherwise no one would actually hear the music. Still, it seemed strange for him to take credit for something he had very little to do with.
The music was the set. The band was the set.
Val grinned, like she could read his mind, and patted his shoulder. Her cropped auburn curls were held back with a red bandana and she wore a Lipstick Outlaws t-shirt with the sleeves cut off, her tattooed arms on full display.
“It's a team effort,” she told him. “And I was right to bring you on as part of the team.”
“Well, I'm glad to be here.”
Val nodded and started to walk away, but he called out, “Val?”
“Yeah?”
“I was wondering if we could talk about my new software?” he asked. “I've been working on it, and I think it's just about ready.”
Val crossed her arms. “This the stuff you told me about? The sound and lighting integration?”
“Right.” He swallowed, trying to slow the stem of words ready to pour out. “Obviously, lighting isn't a big consideration at these daylight gigs. But I think we can really do something spectacular at night or even indoors.”
“I don't know,” Val said, frowning slightly. “The girls aren't really about big, flashy shows.”
“I'm not talking about anything flashy,” he protested quickly. “But I think there's a place for the lighting to enhance the music. I think the two can really work together to create a mood, an ambience, like good wine for a meal. If you think about it—”
“Okay, okay!” Val held up her hands and laughed. “We can talk about it on the bus, okay?”
Dalton let out a heavy breath. “Okay. That's . . . okay.”
Her lips quirked. “Okay.”
She headed backstage and Dalton joined the rest of the crew to break down the Outlaws equipment. Most people would have been surprised to learn the he actually enjoyed the more physical parts of his job—hauling speakers, rolling and unrolling cables, climbing scaffolding to adjust lights—but Dalton found it a nice break from his own thoughts. When he was on his computer, working on software or creating lighting layouts, his mind was constantly working, seeking out potential problems and finding solutions. He supposed that was why he had been drawn to engineering in the first place. The intricacies of each individual element balanced with the necessity to see the big picture. It was a challenge that he really enjoyed.
And being on tour with the Lipstick Outlaws only made it better.
He'd been on a handful of tours as a sound tech, dozens more during his apprenticeship, but this was something new, something amazing. Val seemed open to his ideas, and he was finally—finally—going to get to put his own stamp on a show.
If he could convince her it was worth it, that is.
Dalton packed away a set of mics in a padded case, then carried them backstage. He looked up at the sound of laughter, and saw the girl
s coming out of the talent tent. Dalton could see why the crowds—and the media—loved them. Their music was incredible, of course. That went without saying. But they were also beautiful, and all in different ways. Katie Lyn and Taylor were both blondes—but Taylor seemed elegant and polished beneath the jeans and boots, while Katie Lyn had more of a girl-next-door vibe. Mac Cunningham had her blonde-streaked brown hair pulled up in a messy bun, but still exuded confidence in a don't-mess-with-me-and-my-girls-and-we'll-be-fine kind of way. Cinnamon—Dalton still wasn't quite sure how you ended up with a name like Cinnamon—was the redhead of the group and man, could she wail on a fiddle. Rissa was the de facto leader, dark-haired and petite. She sometimes fiddled with her guitar volume on stage, which kind of drove Dalton nuts, but . . .
Then there was C.C.
She was at the back of the group, talking with Mac, her long, dark hair streaked with red and blue for the Fourth of July. She wore a simple white t-shirt and jeans with a hole in the knee and had traded her show boots for a pair of worn sneakers. Her ever-present drumsticks stuck out of her back pocket, and he realized she was wearing her own sunglasses now—a pair of gold-framed aviators—and the sight deflated him a bit.
He kind of liked it that she'd been wearing his. Yeah, it was weird. They were only sunglasses, and his—whatever with C.C. DeVera (he would not call it an obsession. It was more of an interest. Okay, a rather strong interest)—was a little pathetic and groupie-like and embarrassing.
But he couldn't help it. She was so beautiful, and when she played, it was like—she was even more. It was like the music was part of her, it flowed in and out and through her, and the joy on her face was obvious, even behind the shades.
Right. That didn't sound weird at all.
He blushed, embarrassed at his own thoughts.
C.C. glanced in his direction, then, and Dalton quickly looked away. The last thing she needed was some creepy guy on the crew staring at her. She had enough of that on a daily basis from the fans. He stacked more boxes and crates, and checked them against his list.
Taylor’s Legendary Heart: Sweethearts of Country Music, Book 2 Page 16
