Nashville by Heart: A Novel

by Tina Ann Forkner

  “It’s been about a year.” He waited for her to express shock, but instead, a sadness passed over her face.

  “Same for me,” she said. “I used to go home a few times a year, but money’s been tight.” He didn’t say anything but noted the way her shoulders slumped.

  “Homesick much?”

  “Every day.”

  “The best way to handle being homesick is to remember why you’re here,” he said. “Why are you here?”

  She wrinkled her forehead. “To get a record deal.”

  “And who are you doing it for?”

  “My momma.”

  He nodded. He believed her. And that was another one of the things he enjoyed about her. She was all about family, even though hers lived far away, and it gave her a softness that other women in Nashville didn’t always have, at least not the kind he hung out with.

  “Your momma did a good job with you. I bet she’s proud. Are you her only kid?”

  “That’s me,” she said. “A lonely only child.”

  She’d told him she didn’t want kids until she’d made it big, but that once she did, she wanted a bunch of them. Her comment had sent little swirls through his stomach that made him feel completely ridiculous. He could see her as a mother, but she was right about her career. He hoped she wouldn’t meet some guy who swept her off her feet and convinced her to have a family before he could get her career going. In fact, he hoped she didn’t meet a man at all.

  “I hope you’re doing this whole music thing for yourself too.”

  “Of course.”

  “And your dad?” He figured it was worth a try to get her to talk about him.

  “Listen,” she said. “I don’t mean to be rude. I know you’ve heard of my dad, and he’s probably some kind of inspiration to you with all the hit songs he’s written, but I don’t have a relationship with him. I don’t want a relationship with him.”

  He leaned on his elbows, trying to gauge how serious she was.

  “Darlin’,” he said, hating to push, but he had to. “I really want to use that angle. You don’t have to have a relationship with him in order to say you’re his daughter. I guarantee it’s going to help.”

  Her cheeks reddened, deepening in color down her neck and across the fine skin along her collar. He felt horrible, but this was business. Connections wouldn’t make her career, but they could open doors.

  “I’m not his daughter,” she said, her tone as vicious as he figured she could ever sound. “Dads visit their daughters. They don’t forget about them.”

  He reached across the table and lay a hand softly on her wrist, the feel of it rousing a desire to pull her into his arms and smooth her pain away.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  She shook her head. “It’s not you. It’s him.” Her voice softened. “It’s just that if he can’t claim me, I’m not claiming him.”

  He sighed, not seeing any way he could convince her of how publicly naming her father would open doors for her in Nashville. Clients didn’t always know the best way to promote themselves. That’s why they had him.

  “Just think about this,” he said. “People will find out anyway. It’s not like you’ve changed your last name, right?”

  She shrugged. Will glanced across the table at her. She definitely resembled her father, especially when she was being stubborn. Then he thought back to Gillian’s words about Cooper Heart. She was right: Cooper Heart had been an inspiration to Will in those early days. Will had thought Cooper was a great guy, but he must have been wrong. He now thought that when he saw Cooper again, which could be any time in Nashville, he’d be the first to tell him he was crazy to have abandoned Gillian.

  “As your agent, I suggest you say you are his daughter early in your career. That way, you have control. Send out a tweet. Facebook it, if you want.”

  She shook her head brusquely. “I’m not changing my mind.”

  Maybe, he thought, she’d change her mind in the long run, but when he glanced at the determined angle of her slender jaw, he wasn’t so sure. He’d keep the Cooper Heart card in his back pocket and only use it if he needed to push hard to get her a record deal.

  “About The Steel Spur,” he said. Her face brightened, and he was glad to see her happy again. “Audrey volunteered to listen to you rehearse, to give you some pointers.”

  “Sure. I’d appreciate that.”

  “I trust her opinion,” he said. “You should too. The Steel Spur’s a huge opportunity, and you want to be ready.”

  “I know.” She sat up straighter. “I’ll do my best.”

  “You’ll do great,” he said.

  “Do you think they’ll like my songs?”

  “Darlin’, trust me. It don’t matter what you sing. They won’t be able to get your voice, or your pretty face, off their minds.”

  Just like me, he thought.

  Chapter Eight

  Where The Blue Fiddle was quaint with its regular honky-tonk crowd and cozy atmosphere, The Steel Spur was all lights and plenty of action. On any given night it was packed with tourists and locals alike, and the only acts they let on were the best and surely headed for the charts. Gillian could hardly believe she was getting to perform!

  “Heavens to Betsy,” she said. “I’m so nervous.” As she waited behind the curtains, Will placed a hand on the small of her back. She took a deep breath.

  “You’ll do fine.”

  She drew strength from the pressure of his hands as they massaged up her back and gripped her shoulders.

  “You’ve worked hard for this, darlin’.”

  “You’re going to have to stop calling me darlin’,” she teased, just to get her mind off her butterflies. Maybe it was the way he leaned in close enough that she could smell his cologne, but she remembered something Audrey had said to her one day as she was going over her set. Audrey had been giving her pointers about the music, but she’d also been giving her some other tips.

  “Don’t do anything to invite gossip,” Audrey had said, her face serious. Gillian wondered if Audrey thought she had dibs on Will or something.

  Audrey must have read her mind because she’d laughed. “Heavens no, doll. It’s not that way between Will and me. I’ve got a man.”

  Gillian had been unable to explain her relief.

  “Look, all I’m saying,” Audrey said, “is that neither of you need this town gossiping about your love lives. He’s been through the wringer already, and while he’s obviously hot for you, doll, he doesn’t date clients—any more.”

  “OK,” Gillian had told her, but after that, she kept thinking about what Audrey had said about Will being obviously hot for her. Was it that obvious? And was it the other way around too? Could people see she was hot for him? The idea made her smile a bit, when it probably should have made her afraid. The tabloids could be relentless.

  “I’ll call you darlin’ if I want,” he said. “As long as it’s OK with you.”

  “It is,” she said. “But people might think there’s more between us than agent and client.” She was no longer teasing.

  When he didn’t say anything, she turned slightly to look at him. His eyes were intent on her in the dim light.

  “Would that be so bad?” His voice was quiet in her ear.

  She wasn’t sure what to say. Yes. No, of course not. Yes. Heck no, that would be unprofessional. And yes. A million times yes. He must have mistaken her silence for an answer.

  “Never mind,” he said. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

  Then, Gillian heard the announcer say her name.

  “Go.” He gave her a soft nudge. “You’re gonna be a hit, darlin’.”

  Gillian walked into the spotlight, her trusty boots grounding her into the wooden stage. She stood on the bit of orange tape marking her spot. Will had suggested over and over that she needed a new pair of boots, but she wanted to wear her own. She hadn’t told Will they were a gift from her dad. It would’ve sounded crazy after she’d
ranted about wanting nothing to do with him. And she didn’t, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t miss him, wish he was there or hold memories of him in her heart.

  She’d worn those boots since she was thirteen, singing the national anthem at dozens of rodeos, Amazing Grace in front of churches and Patsy Cline songs in her share of talent competitions. They still fit, and it seemed right to be wearing them at her first big gig, along with the necklace from her momma.

  The big lights blinded her as she cleared her throat and strummed a chord. She wished she could make out the faces of her friends who promised to be there, but it was impossible. Even Tasha’s bossy countenance would have been reassuring.

  Realizing the silence was because everyone was waiting on her, she leaned into the mic and said hello. It came out as a croak, and the microphone crackled. The lights dimmed, and her eyes adjusted a little. A few good-natured chuckles come from the people seated at the numerous tables. Several folks were leaning on the railings from the balcony.

  “Whooo, Gillian!” The shout broke the strangling silence. Recognizing Tasha’s exuberant voice, she found herself cracking a smile.

  “I’m pretty sure that was my roommate,” she said, her voice rising in the microphone. “We’ve got rent to pay, so I’d better get singin’.”

  Laughter and mild applause rippled through the crowd. With that welcoming reverberation, she leaned closer to the microphone and crooned the first few stanzas of a song, acapella, drawing it out long and soft before strumming her guitar and launching into the melody. Behind her, The Steel Spur band followed along, the banjo and fiddle players picking out the sounds she herself had written. The place was alive with music and her own voice, and as the pace picked up, couples began to fill the wide, shining dance floor.

  With each song, the crowd reacted enthusiastically, which was so much more than she’d hoped for. After the last song, applause thundered off the walls.

  “Goodnight, y’all!” She waved at them.

  The crowd responded with whistles and hollers, and she had to keep reminding herself they were cheering for her. When she came off the stage, Will spun her around and pushed her right back out.

  “What the heck?”

  “They want the encore, darlin’.”

  She walked back up to the microphone and rearranged her guitar. Leaning toward the mic, she realized this was the first time she’d ever really felt at one with a crowd.

  “I guess y’all want one more song.”

  “We want ten,” called some cowboy from the back of the room.

  “Well,” she said. “There’s another act after me, but I do have one more for y’all. This one’s my happy song.”

  It was a silly little song she’d written with her dad when she was only thirteen, not too long before he left and she’d started writing about broken hearts. She hadn’t played it for anyone before, so the band had to catch up with her, but when they did, it was amazing, and she had to admit, she really felt happy in the moment.

  When she finally exited the stage, Will reached for her, and the intimacy of it caused musical notes to waltz around in her stomach.

  “I’m so proud of you.” He enveloped her in his arms. She couldn’t find it in herself to resist him as he gently pulled her against the solidness of his chest, nor could she rid herself of the thought that maybe holding women in his arms was something he did often. Now that was a ridiculous thought, she realized. She had no reason to think of—or care about—his dating or how many women he’d held. He was simply her manager.

  And yet, in her heart she knew he wasn’t. One thing was for sure though, he was certainly good at holding a girl in a way that made her want to throw her arms around his neck. The singer part of her didn’t give a hoot who else he’d held, but she realized with a start that the woman side of her did.

  “Do you do this to Audrey when she comes off stage?”

  “She’d slap my face.”

  Gillian chuckled. “I was nervous out there.”

  “You crushed it.” Suddenly he was crushing her to his chest in a bear hug. She laughed, gently extricating herself, even though she didn’t mind being pressed up against him. Not one little bit.

  “Thank you,” she said. “For tonight, for getting me here, for signing me, for… everything.”

  Before she could think about what she was doing, she stretched up on the tiptoes of her boots, plunged one hand through that thick mop of his hair, and planted a kiss on his cheek. She ached to kiss him firmly on the mouth, but truth be known, she wished he’d kiss her first, even if he was her music manager. He seemed to be about to, until a sharp voice penetrated the spell.

  “Will Adams.” The Steel Spur’s manager was headed their way with his hand stretched out. Will shook it enthusiastically, and then it was Gillian’s turn.

  “What have I done to deserve an act like you, sugar?”

  Gillian shrugged, deciding to dismiss the fact that even though she was a grown woman whom he didn’t even know, he’d just referred to her as something used in cakes, cookies and to sweeten one’s coffee. Deciding he was being sincere, she smiled primly.

  “You must have been a very good boy?”

  Will smiled approvingly as the man exploded into laughter. “I want you to come back. We’d like to have more of what we saw tonight.”

  “Any time,” Will answered for her. “Call me, and we’ll set it up.”

  The two men shook on it, then Will took her hand and placed it in the crook of his arm, walking her to the stage exit and past the dance floor.

  “I can handle everything from here on out. Any time anyone asks you something like that, just defer to me.”

  She shook her head in disbelief. “I don’t know if I’m ever going to get used to having an agent.”

  “You probably won’t, but you’ll learn to deal with it.”

  “Gillian!” Tasha and as many of her friends who could get off work grabbed her arms and ushered her back to a table they’d reserved. They toasted her with clinks and chugs, making Gillian an emotional wreck. How did she get so lucky?

  “You have a lot of good friends.” Will scanned the group of supporters. Gillian noted that they were all overly polite to Will. They were no doubt nervous about who he was, but they warmed up to him. Soon several of them broke off to hit the dance floor.

  She liked hanging out with Will like this, seeing him relaxed and jovial, not working. “Are you having fun?”

  “Me? Oh yeah. But this night is about you. Are you having fun?”

  “I’d be having more fun if I were out there.”

  “Then how about a dance, darlin’?” Will held out the crook of his arm. Gillian took it, casting good-natured warning looks to her friends as they whispered and giggled like teenagers.

  Out on the dance floor, Will held her at arm’s length, even though she wished he’d pull her closer—much closer.

  “You’re going be a star,” he said.

  “We’ll see,” she said.

  “It gives them hope, you know.” He nodded to the group gathered around the table in the back.

  “My friends? Yeah, I guess so.”

  “That’s why they’re so happy for you.”

  He settled in as the lead, his left hand on her hip and his right hand holding hers gently as they began to two-step to the rhythms of The Steel Spur band. Will was good, and she followed his movements like they’d danced together before.

  “You like to lead,” she said, noting his fluid movement, perfect steps and the sure way he held onto her. His hand rested solidly on her hip, sending little waves of electricity up her torso.

  “I do. Especially when I’m dancing with a beautiful woman.”

  His compliment found its mark, even though she was sure he was the type who said that to all the ladies. She was a pretty good dancer in her own right, and the two of them rocked around the dance floor like they’d been dancing together forever. After the first spin, the band settled into Gillian’s favorite Da
rius Rucker love song, and before she realized it, Will had pulled her close, both hands on her hips, encouraging her to sway in a rhythm with him. It took very little encouragement on her side, and the two of them moved in time together.

  He smiled down at her. “You have rhythm.”

  “I’m a musician.”

  “It doesn’t always translate to dancing.” He slowly spun her around and captured her in his arms again. “That’s all in the body.”

  “You’re not so bad yourself,” she said.

  She caught a tantalizing whiff of his cologne mixed with lingering hints of cigar smoke and the faintest hint of sweat that filled her senses with the manliness of it. That probably would’ve sounded funny to say, but after living for years with her single mom and then rooming with Tasha, she wasn’t accustomed to having a man around. Inhaling the scent of him, she watched the pulse throb in his neck. It felt like such a secret thing to see up close how his blood rushed through his veins. It quickened her own pulse.

  He gazed down at her. “Do you dance often?”

  “Hardly ever. I’m usually so exhausted after I get off work at night, I go home and binge on Hallmark movies.”

  “So you’re a romantic?” He adjusted his hand comfortably at the curve of her waist. The chills shivering up her arms were impossible to hide. He responded by sliding his hand around the small of her back and pulling her a little bit closer, tucking one of her hands inside of his. Before she could stop it, not that she wanted to, the space between them completely disappeared. She found herself more than enjoying the feel of his body against hers, wishing they could be this way all the time, hating that tomorrow it would probably be back to business again.

  “You’re beautiful tonight,” he whispered. Her pulse raced, and she responded by pressing her cheek against his chest. Feeling the crisp fabric of his western shirt on her face, she found herself inexplicably wishing it were the warmth of his skin instead. He whispered something else that she couldn’t hear over the beat of the music, and she lifted her head to hear.