by Jane Jamison
As he usually did, Reed took it all in good fun. “Want me to pick you up when you start hitching your way home?”
Stone laughed then gave Reed a good-natured punch to the arm. “Hey, I heard your set. Y’all did really good. Especially that last song about the man losing his wife to his brother. Hell, I thought we’d have to start passing out hankies to the ladies.”
“Thanks, Stone.”
The camaraderie between performers was one of Wyatt’s favorite things about singing in Nashville. They’d rib each other and fight over chances to perform, but when push came to shove, they respected each other’s talent and wished everyone good luck. It was assumed that whoever made it to the top would reach down a helping hand to the others.
The Dive bar was one of the oldest listening bars in Nashville. The inside was nothing special with the usual rickety tables and barely padded seats crammed next to each other on the floor. A huge bar kept the alcohol flowing while waiters and waitresses, often musicians trying to eke out a living, scurried around, taking orders.
The Dive was larger than a lot of places like the famous Bluebird Café. It was well off the main drag of restaurants and clubs around the bustling 2nd Avenue and Broadway area, but it was well known for finding the best of the best to perform. Auditions weeded out the wannabe-famous prospects from the real musicians, and if chosen, they’d sing for free just to get a chance to be heard. Unknowns like Wyatt and Stone played there often, and, once in a while, even a celebrity or big-name singer would pop in unexpectedly to jam with the locals. Wyatt had met a lot of great people, including Reed and others, while singing at the bar.
“Let’s do this.” Stone led the way onto the stage to a smattering of applause.
Unlike many bars, The Dive had a strict listening policy. If a customer talked too much or heckled the performer, they were politely, or if necessary, more firmly escorted out and told to never return.
Wyatt took his stool next to Stone and nodded for his friend to take the lead in the performance. He liked going last, and Stone preferred to go first anyway. They worked well together, singing separately then joining in on each other’s songs whenever it felt right. Aside from splitting the rent and the rest of the bills, getting to know each other’s songs was a great benefit of sharing the rental home.
“Hey, folks, I’d like to introduce myself and my friend. I’m Stone Garrett, and this is Wyatt Montgomery. We plan on sharing a few songs, some new and some old, with you for the next hour. I hope y’all enjoy it.”
Stone went straight into one of Wyatt’s favorite songs, one that would lend itself well to a duo. After letting Stone take the lead for several opening bars, Wyatt joined in, playing backup and lending his voice to the harmony. They had strong voices, with Wyatt’s being a bit deeper than Stone’s, but Stone had a greater range. Wyatt’s pride and joy, his Gibson Hummingbird Acoustic-Electric guitar, mixed well with Stone’s Martin guitar. Way before he was ready for the song to end, Wyatt turned over the last part to Stone, giving him the audience’s attention.
The applause was wonderful, another kind of music to Wyatt’s ears. If he could live on that sound alone and forget the problems that existed when he was offstage, he’d be a happy man. Their hour together would go too fast as it always did whenever they played together. He grinned, thanked the crowd, then introduced the next song.
* * * *
Raelee Barnes stood near the front door of The Dive and thought she’d walked into one of her fantasies. She’d seen a lot of handsome singers since arriving in Nashville, but the two men on stage made her realize that what she’d thought was handsome before was second rate. Even their singing was sexy. The tall, grinning one with short light-brown hair sang backup to his friend with dark hair and a slightly stockier body. Stocky as in built like a Mack truck.
She rested her hands on top of her guitar case and let their music slide over her. They were good. Damn good.
Neither of the men had an ounce of flab anywhere. And unlike so many of the city boys around town that sported cowboy hats, faded jeans, and boots, she could tell that they didn’t give much thought to what they put on. Yet they still looked like they’d just walked out of an ad for any product using sex to sell it. Neither one had on a hat, but their jeans were the type that had molded to their bodies not by design, but by continued daily use. The dark-haired one had on a pair of running shoes he’d probably used for actual jogging while the other wore the kind of boots only a working man would have. There was no embellishment or color to make the light cocoa color of the hide stand out. They were what they were with no apologies needed.
Rae, as her friends called her, had picked up and left her small town of Greensboro, Indiana, ready to take the music world by storm. First, she’d tried her luck in Los Angeles, but had soon learned that her “countrified” voice stuck out—and not in a good way—with what producers in California were looking for.
She had songwriting talent, that much she knew, as well as a voice many had described as a mix between Patsy Cline and Carrie Underwood. Yet, as confident as she was in her talent and her good looks, she’d been unprepared for the multitude of talented people trying to make it in Nashville. She was just one of many, and that, for her, was a feeling she’d never experienced.
She didn’t like it much, either.
She had to keep reminding herself of what her grandmother had often said. “Honey, the cream always rises to the top.” She was banking on being that cream.
“Who are they?”
The waitress that had come up to grab more menus had stopped to listen, too. “Aren’t they great?”
“Yeah. They’re really good.” Damn. As if she needed more competition.
“And hot. They’ve got it all.”
Rae glanced at the starry-eyed girl. If she didn’t watch it, she’d crush the menus she had clutched to her chest. No doubt dreaming about holding one or both of the guys. She’d bet they had a ton of women lusting after them. “Do they always play together? Are they a professional duo?”
Granted, she wanted to know the answers to her questions, but there were more questions she’d rather ask, but were too personal. Like if they were single. Or straight. Or if she could yank both their jeans down and lick their balls.
“Not all the time. They do show up to do a set at least once a week. By popular demand on top of that.”
“What’s their names?”
The curvy blue-eyed blonde—figures—narrowed her eyes and checked her out. “Why do you ask?” Jealousy oozed out of her. “Is it professional curiosity? Or is it personal?”
Rae gave her a wouldn’t-you-like-to-know smile just to irritate her. “I’m a musician and they’re musicians. Haven’t you ever heard of networking?” She batted her eyes. “Besides, I’ll bet we have loads of things in common.”
Strike one.
The blonde pushed out her breasts. “Is that so?”
Rae couldn’t resist. She arched her back and thrust out her chest. What was this? Dueling boobs? “Yeah, that’s so. So are you going to tell me their names, or should I wait and ask them? In private.”
Blondie at least had enough brain cells to know when she was backed into a corner. She put on her best fake smile and stuck out her hand. “Sure. Why not? I’m Bitsy, by the way.”
Seriously? Bitsy? And she even tells people that’s her real name?
But Rae knew a truce when she saw one. “Hi. I’m Rae Barnes. It’s nice to meet you, Bitsy.”
She paused, thinking Bitsy would fill her in on the men’s names now that they’d become fake besties. Getting the names out of Bitsy of the Big Boobs was harder than extracting gold from a turnip. When Bitsy still didn’t give them up, she tried one last time. “And they are…?”
“Oh. The one on the right is Wyatt Montgomery. The other one’s name is Stone Garrett. But don’t bother.”
“Bother?”
“Trying to get with them. They aren’t interested in anything but short-term flings.
”
“Do I look like a fling kind of girl?” Come on. I dare you to say yes.
Bitsy’s brain cells, however, were still in working order. “Of course not. I’m just trying to save you the trouble.”
“Sure. Of course. I get it.” Nothing but a fling, huh?
If there was one thing Rae loved, it was a challenge. But two challenges? Even better. “I might just have to change all that.”
Bitsy snorted an unladylike sound. “Good luck with that, sister.”
“Thanks, sister.”
Rae’s hand went to the gold locket hanging from the gold chain she always wore. As was her habit, she rubbed her thumb over the molded texture. It was an heirloom piece from her grandmother, and although its monetary value wasn’t much, its sentimental value was priceless. She’d rather give up her precious guitar than ever part with it.
She gave Bitsy a genuine smile to ease the bite of her words. Still, she had doubts the girl would recognize the difference between that smile and the first one. “Thanks. Can you tell me when I’m supposed to go on?”
Bitsy went into full-on work mode then. “You’ll have to ask Ruben. He’s over there.”
“Oh.” Wasn’t it enough that she’d had to audition for Ruben Zucker? She’d hoped that he was the day manager and another, less disagreeable and disgusting person took over the reins at night.
Ruben was a big lump of human flesh with bulging eyes that made her think of a blowfish. His bald head shone under the lights, and there was always a faint aroma of fried chicken surrounding him. He was constantly cramming food into his mouth. She’d only met with him twice but that had been enough to give her a bad taste in her mouth every time she heard his name. Or smelled fried chicken.
“Yeah. Want me to get him for you?”
Bitsy had picked up on her dislike for the man since it was most likely a mutual thing. “No, thanks.” She gripped her guitar tighter and headed toward Ruben, ready to take on the eating monster again.
Ruben’s big eyes fell on her and stayed there, making her self-conscious as she walked through the bar and around tables filled with tourists and locals. She bit back the urge to tell him that her face was higher up. “Hi, Ruben.”
“Oh, hey, uh…”
He might not remember her name, but she was sure he remembered the size and shape of her breasts. “Rae Barnes. I’m supposed to do a set tonight.”
“Right, right. I forgot.” He shoved a couple of fries into his mouth and chased it down with a gulp of beer.
Like hell you did.
Instead, she gave him as pleasant a smile as she could muster. “So, can you tell me what time I’m supposed to go on?”
“Go on?”
She was going to break a tooth if she bit down any harder to keep from cussing him out. If the two sexy guys on stage had been singing a fight song instead of a love song at that moment, she might’ve given in to her urge.
“Yeah. Remember last Wednesday afternoon when I auditioned? You said I could go on this Saturday night? That I should get here about now and ask for the set time?”
He was playing with her, trying to make her feel indebted to him for letting her sing. She’d met his kind before while singing in clubs.
“Oh, yeah. Sure. You’re the girl from that small town up north, right?”
“Right. So what time do I go on, Mr. Z?” Maybe using a little pleasantry would help.
He gestured toward the stage with a chicken leg in his hand. “As soon as Wyatt and Stone get off. You’re going to partner up with Burke Horan.”
Burke Horan was a well-known singer in the Nashville bar scene. Although most didn’t think much of his voice, he was a fine guitarist and a good guy. And very happily married, much to the dismay of a lot of the women.
“Is Burke here?” She scanned the bar, especially the area where the performers liked to hang out, but didn’t spot him.
“Not yet. But he’ll be along. You go ahead and start the set. He’ll take over once he gets here.”
“Sounds good.” She turned then cringed when he took her elbow.
“Wait up.”
What now? “Uh, yes?”
“Come and see me in my office when you’re done.”
“Why?”
“It isn’t a bad thing, girly. Just come and see me, all right?”
“Okay. Sure.” She didn’t relish spending another minute with Ruben, but dealing with people she didn’t like was just a part of doing business. She pointedly looked at his hand on her elbow and lifted her eyebrows. He dropped it, and she wasted no time in hurrying away.
Chapter Two
Stone almost fell off the stage. “Who is that?”
Wyatt waved to the audience again, passed Stone, and headed down the steps to the holding area. “Who’s who?”
“Her.”
He couldn’t understand how Wyatt could’ve missed seeing her. Even with the spotlights focused on them, her beauty had shone from the back of the bar. In the first moment he’d seen her, he’d stumbled over a sentence in the lyrics and had to think hard to get his train of thought back. If Wyatt hadn’t been singing along with him, the audience would’ve noticed.
He’d known a lot of gorgeous women, had even had a fling or more with a few of them, but none of them was anything like her. Her long brunette hair cocooned her sweet oval face then streamed over her shoulders and down to the middle of her back. She was dressed conservatively for Nashville, but her jeans—or did women call them leggings?—fit every inch of her as though they’d been painted on. Her green blouse wasn’t too revealing, and yet, the way the shiny material clung to her curves was more erotic than a nude photo of any other woman. Her shapely legs flowed into sparkly high heels, giving her that mile-long look he loved. She was, without a doubt, smokin’ hot.
Wyatt let out a low whistle. “Damn. Now that’s what I call a w-o-m-a-n.”
Stone laughed. Wyatt had a way of coming up with the strangest lines sometimes. “Are you channeling your inner Wynonna again?”
“It’s Peggy Lee who did it right. Get it straight, man, if you’re going to rag me about it.”
“Sometimes I wonder if you’re the one who needs to get it straight. If you know what I mean. Get ready. She’s coming our way.”
Stone handed his guitar to Wyatt then stuck out his hand. “Hi, I’m Stone Garrett. I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before.”
Wyatt bumped his shoulder against him as he stepped forward. “Smooth, bro, real smooth. Why not ask her what sign she is? Hi, I’m Wyatt Montgomery.”
Her big brown eyes, eyes the color of hot chocolate with melted marshmallows, simmered over him. Stone was sure he’d turn to mush under her gaze. If he did, it wouldn’t bother him at all. Anything she wanted to do to him was just fine.
“Hi. I’m Rae Barnes.”
“That’s a different name for a girl.”
Stone closed his eyes for a moment before opening them and feasting on her. If some men were like bulls in a china shop with their manners, then Wyatt was a damn elephant. Yet she took it in without irritation. Or at least without showing how irritated she was.
“Hi, Stone and Wyatt. It’s good to meet you. Great set. As for you…” She eased closer to Wyatt, and Stone was sure she’d torn out his heart for good measure when she glanced her fall-into-me eyes up at Wyatt. “My full name is Raelee, which is a family name. My daddy has three other daughters and was hoping for a boy he’d name Ray. He started calling me Rae, much to my mom’s disapproval, and it stuck.”
She traveled her fingertips down Wyatt’s shirt. Stone had never minded it when Wyatt took the lead when meeting women, but he did now. Anything that took her attention off him made him want to crack his guitar over Wyatt’s head.
Her tongue peeked out from between her ruby lips as she fingered the locket around her neck. “Now, if there aren’t any more questions you need answering—because of course, answering your questions is the most important thing I have to do tonight
—then I’ll get to work. Is that okay with you two?”
Damn, but how he loved a feisty woman. And Rae Barnes was as feisty a woman as he’d ever met. “Sure.”
Brilliant comeback, dumb ass.
She waited, cool as a winter rain, until they stepped aside to let her pass. Like Moses parting the Red Sea, she held her head high and swayed toward the stage.
“Daaamn.” Wyatt drew out the word as they watched her get settled on the stool. “She’s amazing.”
“Yeah, and she put you in your place fast enough.” Not too many women had ever done that to Wyatt. While he was the quiet one, preferring to let his friend break the ice, Wyatt was the bulldozer who couldn’t be stopped. Until, that is, he ran into a boulder. He saw Wyatt’s intrigued expression.
Bulldozer, meet Boulder.
“Who’s she doing a set with?” Singers were rarely allowed to have an entire hour set on their own. There were too many people wanting the spotlight to have one person, especially an unknown, hog the time.
Wyatt spun on his heels and darted toward Ruben. “Hey, boss.”
He wasn’t ignoring Stone’s question. When Wyatt got his mind set on a goal, it was hard to get him to take the blinders off.
The only time Wyatt ever called Ruben “boss” was when he wanted a favor. And Stone knew exactly what he wanted.
“How about I share the stage with Rae?”
Stone pushed Wyatt aside. “Naw, man, let me. After all, I was here before Wyatt so I should be the one to show her the ropes.”
“You were here before me? By what? Thirty minutes? That’s bullshit. Come on, Ruben. Let me help her out and show her how it’s done.”
Ruben chomped off a third of his burger. “Fuck off, the both of you. She’s supposed to be doing a set with Burke Horan.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
