“RIGHT TURN IN FIVE-POINT-TWO MILES,” THE FEMALE voice of Cat’s GPS said with staccato precision. Although she was tired to the bone, Cat had to grin. “Is it my imagination or do you sound as road-weary as me?” Cat glanced at the screen on her dashboard, half expecting Rita, the name she’d given the voice, to answer. Earlier Cat had accused Rita of being a bit tipsy when she sounded as if she were slurring her words.
Cat glanced at the map showing her SUV driving down the two-lane road and sighed with relief. “Yes! I’m almost there.” After driving all day from her parents’ home in Chicago, she was anxious to reach her destination near the city limits of Cricket Creek, Kentucky. Because Cat wanted solitude for songwriting, her friend Mia had handpicked the location of the log cabin nestled in the woods and with a river view from the back deck. Cat knew the cabin was nicely decorated with rustic yet stylish furnishings because Mia had sent dozens of pictures. Cat was also aware that the fridge was fully stocked, including a chilled bottle of Cupcake Chardonnay, because Mia sent even more pictures of the contents of the fridge. To say that Mia was excited about Cat’s move to Cricket Creek was a vast understatement.
“It sure is pretty here, Rita.” The sun was dipping lower in the sky, casting a soft golden glow over cornfields in the early-spring stages of growth. In the distance, tender green leaves made the woods appear fresh, and redbud trees added a splash of bright reddish purple to the landscape. When she passed cows lazily grazing in the grass, Cat waved and offered a tired “Moo.”
Although Cat knew she would miss living in Nashville, her switch to small-town life already felt like the right choice. So did leaving Sweetside, her big corporate record label, for independent My Way Records in Cricket Creek. But changes, even ones for the better, still held an element of fear that Cat couldn’t completely shake.
“In one mile turn right on Riverview Lane,” Rita reminded her.
“It’s not soon enough.” When the sign appeared, Cat smiled, having been worried that the road out here in the countryside wouldn’t be marked. She turned down the dusty gravel lane and, even as weary as she felt, her pulse kicked up a notch. This was going to be her home.
Cat had sold her sprawling home in Brentwood, Tennessee, completely furnished except for the music industry awards and personal items she’d taken with her. She’d donated most of her designer clothes to charity and sent dozens of shoes to Mia’s Cricket Creek–based foundation, called Heels for Meals. Cat wanted a fresh start, a new beginning, to go back to performing and writing songs for the love of music and not worry as much about record sales and concert attendance.
A sudden stiff breeze caused dust to kick up, and the field of wildflowers on either side of her started dancing in the wind. I’m going to like living here, Cat thought, and she felt a sense of peace chase away her lingering fear. During the past year of legal entanglements with her record label, selling her home, and ending a toxic relationship, Cat had vowed to keep negativity out of her life. She longed for less chaos and more simplicity. Through it all, her charity work had kept Cat grounded, bringing her some joy along with the constant reminder that there were those in dire need which made her own problems seem somehow trivial.
Luckily, Mia had done the legwork with the local real estate agent and found the location on Riverview Lane. Not only did Cat trust her best friend’s judgment, but the never-ending pictures already had her in love with the quaint cabin.
The fields of flowers gave way to woods with only fingers of lingering sunlight able to reach down through the trees. Cat knew that there were a few other cabins nestled in the woods, but they were mostly for weekend use by tourists or fishermen putting their boats in Cricket Creek, which led to the Ohio River. So for the most part Cat should have the solitude she’d been craving for the past year.
“Five Riverview Lane is located on the left. You have arrived.”
“Thank goodness,” Cat nearly shouted as she pulled up in front of the cabin. After killing the engine she inhaled a deep breath and then blew out a sigh. Staying up late with her mother and father the night before was catching up with her, but her parents were heading out of the country to do some charity work, so she knew it would be a few weeks before she’d see them again, making her fatigue worth it.
“Oh . . . wow,” Cat said when she spotted a doe walking up from the edge of the trees on the opposite side of the lane. Knowing she would frighten it away, Cat sat there for a moment and drank in the deer’s quiet, gentle beauty. As she’d suspected, as soon as she opened her door the deer bolted, doing a graceful jump back over the gulley and then disappearing into the woods.
Cat walked around and opened the tailgate of her white SUV, now covered with a light sheen of golden brown dust. She leaned in to drag out her overstuffed suitcase, but the doggone thing barely budged. Thinking of the hearty snacks and chilled wine waiting inside, Cat tugged harder, grunting with the effort. “Apparently I need to do some lifting at the gym,” she grumbled, but then remembered it had taken both Cat and her father to heft the suitcase up into the SUV. With a quick intake of pine-scented air, she braced the heels of her boots into the gravel, grabbed the handle with both hands, and gave the suitcase her best tug.
It worked.
The suitcase slid across the slick tailgate much quicker than Cat had anticipated, making her backpedal, but not nearly fast enough. The painful impact of the heavy luggage smacking into Cat’s legs sent her stumbling backward. Cat’s butt hit the gravel with a bone-jarring thud. After a stunned grunt she uttered a string of words that didn’t even fit together, but she was so spitting mad that she continued saying them, adding a random curse word here and there. “Stupid, ye-ouch, oversized damn piece of luggage. Dear God, that hurt. Oh, my shins . . . Sent from holy hell.” She sat there breathing as if she’d just run a marathon and then glared at the suitcase as if it were somehow to blame. “Wow, ohhh, that hurt like . . . ohhh. I hope your blasted wheels are broken, you lousy piece of ugly . . .” she whimpered and then added weakly, “leather . . . crap.”
Cat desperately wanted to dislodge the luggage from her legs, but all her brain could deal with was the pain shooting up her shins. Rocks bit into her denim-clad butt and both elbows stung. “Don’t you know I bruise easily?” She intensified her glare but then sudden tears welled up in her eyes and with a little groan she shoved hair that had escaped from her ponytail off her forehead. Cat considered herself a tough cookie, but this past year had tested her mettle in more ways than one, and in that moment she threatened to fall to pieces. “This is your new beginning! No negativity,” she reminded herself and swallowed hard. “Get a damned grip!”
Cat gritted her teeth, determined to shove the suitcase aside. “Get off me.” But just as she leaned forward she heard the crunch of gravel and her heart rate increased. Could it be another wild animal from the woods? But this time, instead of a doe, could it be the kind with claws and big teeth?
Before she could turn around to face her fear, the suitcase was suddenly lifted from her legs as if it didn’t contain piles of clothing that had the lid bulging like a muffin top. From her sitting position Cat looked at scuffed brown cowboy boots and jean-clad legs.
“Hey, are you okay?” His deep Southern drawl oozed with charm and a hint of concern.
Cat leaned back on her palms and tilted her head up. Wow, he was tall. And even through the pain throbbing in several places she noted that he filled out his flannel shirt quite nicely. “Define okay.” She meant it as a joke but her voice had a slight hitch in it.
“Okay as in, are you hurt?” The tall cowboy flashed Cat a slight grin that caused two very cute dimples in his cheeks, which were covered in dark stubble that matched the dark hair clipped close to his head. He had a strong jaw and straight nose but a full mouth that suddenly captured her attention. “No, really—are you okay?”
“Sorry, but I was distracted by . . . ah, your sudden appearance.” She blinked at him, thinking he looked familiar. She wondered whether he’d recognize her, but with her hair pulled back and not a trace of makeup hopefully he wouldn’t. Cat wanted to remain on the down low while she got her life together. “To answer your question, um, yes.”
“Yes as in okay?”
“Yes as in hurt. Everywhere. In fact, I think I’m one giant bruise. Where did you come from, anyway?”
He jammed his thumb over his head. “I heard your . . . um, rather colorful shouts of distress and decided I needed to jog up here and investigate. So just bruises?”
“And maybe broken bones.” She frowned at her legs.
His grin disappeared, and his green eyes suddenly appeared concerned. “Are you serious?”
“Yes . . . well, kinda. Oddly enough, I’ve never had a broken bone, so I don’t know, but it sure feels like my legs are crushed.” Okay, she might be a teensy bit overly dramatic, but she was a singer, an entertainer, and an only child diagnosed with ADD. Drama was in her blood.
“Well, I’ve had a few broken bones, and, believe me, you’d have a pretty good inkling.”
“Come on, it was the attack of the killer suitcase. That thing is a monster on wheels. Do you really think I’m overreacting?” she asked with an arch of one eyebrow.
“A little.” He gave her a slight grin. “Although that overstuffed monster does weigh a ton.” He tilted his head in the direction of the suitcase. When he knelt down beside her she got a subtle whiff of spicy aftershave that made her want to lean closer. “So do you think you can move?”
She made a show of wiggling her toes. “That’s a good sign, right?”
He nodded. “Think you can stand up?”
“I’m sort of afraid to try,” Cat admitted with a wince. “I think I’ll just chill here for a few minutes. Or maybe overnight.”
“Out here with coyotes and raccoons?”
Cat glanced toward the woods. “Okay, scratch that idea.”
“Do you want me to carry you inside?”
His question made her eyes widen. “No!” Cat replied, but in truth his offer held more than a little bit of appeal.
He held up both hands in surrender. “Gotcha.”
Although Cat could be a bit dramatic, she also thrived on being independent, so her unexpected, rather needy reaction to this perfect stranger felt confusing. She blamed it on fatigue. Or maybe low blood sugar. Or maybe she was damned tired of being strong and wanted a shoulder to lean on other than her parents, who didn’t fully understand what was going on in her life and career. No, it wasn’t that last one! Fatigue and hunger were the culprits. She glanced at those wide shoulders. Maybe.
“Well, then at least let me help you up.”
Cat gave him a quick nod conveying more conviction that she felt and then accepted his outstretched hands. His grip was warm and strong as he effortlessly tugged her to her feet. Cat was tall and had a solid build, but he suddenly made her feel feminine. He held on after Cat stood up, presumably to make sure she remained steady on her feet, which she wasn’t. To her dismay her legs hurt and her knees felt wobbly.
“The offer remains,” he said with a hint of concern.
Cat inhaled a deep breath. “I’ll be okay, really.” She stiffened her spine. “I’ve just had a long day of driving and I pushed too hard to get here. Low blood sugar,” she added. She swayed slightly as she pulled her hands from his, and he immediately put an arm lightly about her waist.
“Are you sure about that?” His question still held concern but a slight hint of amusement.
“I’m fine,” Cat insisted. In the cool air, his body felt warm, and she fought the urge to snuggle closer.
“Hey, just let me help you inside. Look, I know we’re strangers, but not for long. I live in the cabin just around the bend in the road. My family owns this property and it butts up to our farm. The local real estate company handles the rentals for us. I didn’t realize you’d be moving in or I would have come over to help earlier. That’s the way we do things around here.”
“Oh.” Cat wondered why Mia hadn’t mentioned that she would have a cute country-boy neighbor, but then maybe she didn’t know.
“I’m just being a neighbor and a gentleman. I’ll bring your suitcase to you once you’re inside.”
“Okay, thanks. But now that I’m standing, I’m feeling better,” she lied. “It was just the initial shock of pain that threw me for a loop. I can make it on my own.”
“My mother always told me to err on the side of caution.”
“And do you?” She tilted her head up to get a better look at his face. Again, Cat felt as if she somehow knew this guy, but she met so many people, and it was embarrassing when she failed to remember names. Having ADD certainly didn’t help matters. “Well?” she prompted, still racking her brain for his name.
“No.” Oh, there were those dimples again. “Dare me and I’ll do it. It’s kind of a country boy thing.”
He helped her up the three steps to the front porch that Cat knew wrapped around to the back to overlook the river in the distance. She knew there was a grill, a swing, and a hot tub, all visible in Mia’s pictures. Unfortunately, her friend had had to head out of town to watch her husband play baseball, or she would have been there to greet Cat. “Oh, I forgot. There is supposed to be a packet with keys and instructions in the mailbox.”
“Sit down here in the chair and I’ll go get it for you.”
“Thank you.” Cat eased into the big wooden rocking chair and watched her neighbor walk across the lawn. While she wanted the cabin in the woods for solitude, it was comforting to know she’d have what seemed to be a nice guy nearby to rely upon if an emergency occurred. He certainly oozed small-town charm, and she suddenly wondered whether he had a girlfriend, but then quickly squashed that thought. She was on a mission to switch gears in her music career and didn’t need any complications to get in the way.
And yet Cat looked at the flannel stretching across his shoulders and suppressed a sigh. Because she stood at five foot nine, Cat was always attracted to big, tall men. Throw a sexy Southern drawl into the mix, add arresting blue eyes, and he was quite a pleasant package. The dimples and crooked smile were just an added bonus.
Mia must have known that Cat would find this guy attractive, and she wondered whether the location of her cabin near his was more than a coincidence. Cat nibbled the inside of her lip. Surely her friend wasn’t trying to do any matchmaking. Well, if so, Mia’s efforts weren’t going to work. Although Cat did have an unfortunate knack for ending up with jerks for boyfriends. Maybe a matchmaker wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
Cat watched his long, lazy stride and realized she was staring. She cleared her throat and squared her shoulders, trying to act nonchalant as he approached.
“Here you go.” He handed her the packet. “By the way, in all the commotion I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Jeff Greenfield.”
“Really?” Cat raised her eyebrows. So that’s why he seemed so familiar. “‘Outta My Mind with Lovin’ You’? I was singing along just a little while ago when it came on the radio. I love the lyrics. Did you write it?”
“I did.” Jeff smiled. “Thanks.”
“You’re with My Way Records.”
“Yes . . .” Jeff said, then tilted his head sideways. “Oh boy—wait. You’re Cat Carson.” He shoved his fingers through his hair. “You sang at my brother’s wedding.”
“Right. A couple of years ago! Gosh, that slipped my mind.”
“Wow, I’m sorry. I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you. I guess I was so concerned with you being hurt . . .”
Cat waved him off. “If you don’t mind, I’d like my residence here to be kept under wraps. I’m planning on doing some songwriting and I’d like some peace and quiet.”
“Aren’t you with Sweetside Records?”
“Not anymore,” Cat answered darkly.
“Wait. Did you sign with My Way Records?”
Cat paused. “Yes, but keep it quiet, please? It was a year from hell with legal issues. Plus, Rick wants to make an official announcement after I get some songs written and a single ready to release. He’s going to team me up with Maria Sully!” She looked at Jeff to get his reaction.
“She’s one of the best songwriters in the business,” Jeff agreed. “I’ve always been so proud that Maria’s from Cricket Creek.”
“You should be, but I have to admit that I was surprised. I thought she lived in Nashville.”
Jeff nodded. “Maria moved to Nashville years ago when she and Pete Sully split up. He owns Sully’s Tavern, not far from here.”
“So when did Maria come back to Cricket Creek?”
“Maria returned last Christmas when Clint came home from California because Pete was having health problems.”
“Clint?”
“He’s their son. Clint let Maria know what was up when he came here to check up on his dad. Of course, everybody’s hoping they get back together.”
Cat raised her eyebrows. “You know all of this?”
“Of course.” Jeff chuckled. “Oh, the story gets better than that. When Clint came home to look after his dad, he reunited with his high school sweetheart, Ava Whimsy.” Jeff’s grin remained. “To be fair, Ava’s family farm butts up to the Greenfield farm, so we know her family well.”
“But still . . .”
“It’s a small town, Cat. That’s how we roll. You’d best get used to it.”
Nibbling on her lip, Cat mulled his statement over for a moment.
“Hey, it’s not idle gossip. We care about each other,” Jeff said with a hint of defensiveness.
Jeff looked so sincere that Cat couldn’t help but smile. She had the odd urge to put her hand over his, but refrained. “I believe you, and—trust me—I am so thrilled. I can’t wait to meet Maria and get started at My Way Records.”
“But you just came off a big year. I don’t get why you’d want to switch to a small label when you were with the big dogs.”
Cat shrugged. “It’s simple. Rick Ruleman will let me take my music in the direction I want it to go.”
“Which would be?”
“Less pop-sounding and more traditional,” Cat answered, and watched for his reaction. He tried to hide it, but she could feel Jeff’s slight but sudden withdrawal. She understood. Jeff’s music was traditional country, much like legendary George Strait, and she bet he wasn’t a fan of her songs. Old-school country artists often felt as if singers like her were simply jumping on the country bandwagon. Although popular with fans, they weren’t taken seriously by the icons in the industry.
“That’s . . . um, good,” Jeff said, but shoved his hands in his pockets and his gaze flicked away. “I mean, I do get it. I wanted complete control over my career too.”
Cat arched an eyebrow. “So, I have to ask, do you switch the station when one of my songs comes on?”
“No,” he answered a bit too quickly. “Why would I do that?”
“Oh, if I might be so bold to ask, do you have a favorite song of mine? Just curious.” She gave him an innocent look and waited.
His mouth worked but nothing came out. “Um, ‘Sail’ . . . um . . . ‘Moonlight,’ um . . .”
“‘It’s a Sail-Away Summer’?” Just because she wanted to go in another direction now didn’t mean she wasn’t proud of her beach-themed songs, many of which she had written. Cat just didn’t want to do them exclusively.
Jeff rocked back on his heels and nodded a bit too hard. “Yes, uh, that one.”
“Or did you mean ‘Moonlight Dance’?”
“Oh, I like them both.”
Cat suspected he liked neither. “Thank you.”
Jeff nodded but appeared a bit uncomfortable.
Cat gave him a smile that felt rather stiff. She’d certainly felt the backlash of having her star rise swiftly, making some artists feel as if she hadn’t paid her dues. And because her music bridged the gap between pop and country, she had a wide following, much like Sheryl Crow, Kelly Clarkson, Taylor Swift, and Carrie Underwood. When she’d won female vocalist of the year at the Country Music Awards two years earlier, Cat had felt the heat in more ways than one. That’s when she’d started to reexamine where her life and her career were headed and found the need to make changes.
“You have a huge fan base,” Jeff added, as if that would make up for his obvious lack of interest or knowledge of her music.
“I’m lucky to have such loyal listeners.” Cat adored her fans and loved her songs, but she was tired of doing the same themes, which were starting to blend together and feel stale. “I don’t want to disappoint them, but I’m going to explore more traditional country with a splash of bluegrass,” she explained, thinking that admission might change the expression that he was politely trying to hide. Although she’d moved to Nashville three years before, most people thought she was a city girl from Chicago, where her parents still lived. In fact, she’d spent her early childhood in South Carolina. “And get back to my Southern roots,” she finished.
He only nodded.
“Let me guess—” Cat gripped the arms of the chair. “You don’t take me seriously.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“Wow.” Jeff tilted his head to the side. “So you can read minds?”
“No, I read faces and it’s written all over yours.”
“Really?” Jeff leaned back against the railing. “And maybe you are making assumptions that you shouldn’t.”
And maybe she was suddenly tired and sore and grumpy. “Right. Listen, I can get my things from here.”
“Don’t be stu—silly. I’ll get your suitcase. You’ll have a tough time getting it up the steps.”
“Watch me,” Cat boasted, knowing she sounded stubborn and childish. “Thanks for your help,” she added, but didn’t sound all that thankful. What was wrong with her?
“No way. I won’t allow it,” Jeff insisted and turned on his heel.
“Won’t allow it? Are you kidding me? Did you really just say that?” Cat stood up, but when the blood rushed down her legs she sucked in a sharp breath. She was going to be so sore tomorrow. She knew she was overreacting, but she’d been pushed around enough for the past year and she wasn’t about to be told what she couldn’t do any longer.
Jeff turned around and gave her a concerned frown. Well, she was standing now, so she was invested. Gritting her teeth, she took a tentative step forward. Not too bad. Apparently she was just going to have massive bruising—not that bruises were anything new. Cat had a knack for getting distracted and running into things. With a bracing intake of breath, she moved forward, brushing past Jeff, but had to grab on to the handrail for dear life.
“What exactly are you trying to prove?”
More things than she could begin to count. “That I don’t need your help.” Petulance wasn’t in her nature, but she just couldn’t stop.
“This sudden burst of anger is all because I don’t know your songs?”
Are you that vain? remained unspoken, but Cat felt it when Jeff glanced over at her. She was used to having people make assumptions, but in reality her daily life was nothing remotely close to the rumors or gossip that showed up in the tabloids. Cat also tended to be outspoken about issues that she believed in and that also sometimes landed her in hot water. She usually had a fairly thick skin, but for some reason Jeff’s apparent judgment put her on the defensive.
When he folded his arms across his chest and looked at her expectantly, she refused to dignify his question with an answer.
“Thanks again for your help, but you can leave now. I’ve got this.” Cat felt his eyes on her as she walked stiffly across the lawn to the suitcase. Her legs did hurt in an achy kind of way, but she did her best to ignore the discomfort. Carly Simon’s song “Haven’t Got Time for the Pain” filtered into her head, and Cat had to smile. Her mind continuously revolved around lyrics, sometimes making her feel as if she were living in her own personal musical. Her brain was a Wikipedia of songs and she could give anybody a run for their money with music trivia. There was so much more to her than catchy beach tunes, and she longed to prove that she had more depth and talent than people were giving her credit for.
Grabbing the handle, she raised it upward and rolled the heavy thing awkwardly across the lawn, hoping Jeff would get bored with the embarrassing situation and decide to leave her to her own devices.
Of course she was wrong. With his arms still folded across his chest, he leaned against the railing looking all smug. And hot. No! Scratch the hot part. Cat paused at the first step, gathering her waning strength. This was silly. She should allow him to help and yet she couldn’t bring herself to give in and ask for it.
Cat took a deep breath and muttered a silent prayer, but before she could even begin to try to lift the suitcase Jeff swiftly descended the steps and grabbed the handle from her.
“Hey!” Cat protested, but secretly she was very glad for his help. “I could have managed,” she added, trying not to admire his nice butt in his Wrangler jeans.
“I have no doubt.” Jeff positioned the suitcase close to the front door and then turned around to face her. “But my mother taught me to be a gentleman. Put some ice on those bruises.” He waited until she nodded. “My number is listed on the contacts in the packet. If you need ice packs or anything, please don’t hesitate to call. Okay?”
“Sure.” Cat nodded, but she wasn’t about to call him.
Jeff hesitated and then said, “It wasn’t my intention to insult you. I’m really not like that.”
“And it isn’t in my nature to be so stubborn.”
“Really?”
“Maybe a teensy bit . . .” She held up her finger and thumb to demonstrate.
His slight grin and the appearance of the damned dimples got to her in ways she couldn’t begin to understand. Cat pressed her lips together, suddenly feeling oddly vulnerable, needing a hug so badly that she took a quick step backward and knocked the suitcase over. When it landed with a loud thud, she yelped and then felt super silly yet again. Cat closed her eyes and sighed. “Look, it’s all good,” she assured him, but when she attempted a smile, to her horror it wobbled a bit. She hoped he didn’t notice. “It’s just been a long day.” She faked a yawn. And a long year.
Jeff’s expression softened even more and when he stepped forward Cat thought for a heart-pounding second that he was going to give her the hug she so sorely needed. But he moved past her and righted the suitcase.
Cat swallowed hard and tamped down her disappointment. “Can I help you get the suitcase or anything else inside?”
“No, I can manage. Well, from here, anyway. My clumsiness knows no bounds.”
“You don’t look clumsy.”
“Trust me—I can trip over my own shadow. Walking forward while looking sideways often ends in disaster. But I’ve got this from here.”
He looked as if he were about to protest but then nodded. “Welcome to Cricket Creek, Cat.”
“Thank you, Jeff,” Cat said, and watched him walk away. She inhaled a deep breath. “Well, that was an interesting little Welcome Wagon,” she whispered. Then she reached inside the packet to retrieve her keys and open the door to her new life.
2
ON THE WAY BACK TO HIS CABIN JEFF RELIVED HIS conversation with Cat Carson and then scrubbed his hand down his face. As first impressions go, he knew that one pretty much sucked. But seriously, why in the hell hadn’t someone given him a heads-up that she was moving to his little neck of the woods? Granted, over the past few years some pretty extraordinary people had landed in Cricket Creek, but it was still big news that Cat Carson was moving here. Jeff understood why she would want to keep her residence quiet. Maybe it wasn’t permanent. He certainly couldn’t imagine someone of her stature living in the little cabin for very long.
“Damn.” Jeff hadn’t meant to be rude, and, even though he’d tried to smooth things over he still felt as if he somehow owed her an apology. Could he help that he didn’t listen to her pop music, which in his opinion shouldn’t get airplay on country music stations? It wasn’t as if he hated Cat’s trendy beach-themed songs. And she did have an amazing voice. When she sang “From This Moment” at Reid and Addison’s unexpected wedding, he’d been blown away just like the rest of the audience. He remembered feeling disappointed when he found out she wasn’t staying for the reception. He also recalled now that when she’d signed with My Way Records, Sweetside had fought her tooth and nail, so it really must have been a tough year for her.
Plenty of big-name country stars had similar-styled hits. They were fluffy and fun, he supposed, but were songs to be played at parties and not to be performed at the Grand Ole Opry. Jeff just didn’t want that kind of music to be considered classic country, because it wasn’t.
Like many traditional country artists, Jeff worried that country music was becoming a vanilla genre, casting too wide a net, causing his beloved genre to lose its identity. But unfortunately, record labels were in it to make money, which was the reason Jeff had signed with My Way Records. Owner Rick Ruleman had assured him that his career would go in the direction he wanted and that it would be all about the love of the music. Rick had told him that he wanted to create legends, not the flavor of the moment.
Jeff had to wonder what Rick had in mind for Cat Carson. While he applauded her decision to embrace a more traditional sound and write her own songs, what did she know about the hardships of everyday life, the backbone of great country lyrics?
Jeff entered his A-frame cabin, headed to the galley kitchen, and opened the fridge. He suddenly had the need for a cold beer. After popping the top he glanced at his guitar, but felt too restless to try to work on the song lyrics that had been giving him trouble. Instead, he slid open the door to his back deck and walked outside.
Sunset brought with it a chill, but Jeff inhaled a deep breath of earth-scented air before sitting down on a lounge chair. He took a long drink of his beer and then looked above to where Cat’s cabin sat up on the ridge, just to the right of his cabin. When he saw the soft glow of lights, Jeff suddenly wondered what she was doing. But then his curiosity shifted to concern. That heavy-ass suitcase must have left some serious bruising, and Jeff considered taking her ice, just to make sure she had enough. Maybe she needed dinner. Or perhaps a shot of bourbon to dull the pain? No, she was probably a wine kind of girl. He had several bottles in his wine rack. Would she prefer red or white?
Just what the hell was he thinking? He inhaled a deep breath and tried to get Cat Carson off his mind.
Jeff leaned back in the chaise longue and gazed up at the darkening sky. There were a few streaks of deep pink and red lingering from the sunset and in just a little while the stars would pop out, glittering against the inky blue backdrop. The lack of city light out here in the woods made for amazing night skies, so much so that Jeff had downloaded an app on his smartphone that showed the constellations.
“I need music,” Jeff murmured, but just when he was about to head inside to turn on his outdoor speakers, his cell phone rang. Jeff looked at the screen and grinned when he read the caller ID. “Hey, Snake. What’s up, man?”
“Nothin’ much. Just thought I’d give ya a holler.” Snake’s real name was Wes Tucker, but his snake armband tattoo earned him the nickname. Snake’s mother was about the only person who still called him Wes. “We still jammin’ at Big Red tomorrow night?”
“Far as I know,” Jeff answered. Big Red was the former barn down by the river that they’d converted into a practice studio way back in high school when they’d first formed the band South Street Riot.
“Sweet. Man, it feels good to have the band back together again. It still seems a little bit surreal . . .”
“I feel ya.” They’d broken up not long after graduation, when they’d gone separate ways. Guitarists Jackson Pike and Sammy Slader went off to college. Snake, the drummer, left Cricket Creek to backpack across the country. Keyboardist Colin Walker had remained in Cricket Creek to work on his family farm but played solo gigs at places around town. But here they were, all of them nearly thirty years old and finally closing in on a dream none of them thought would happen. “But you gotta admit it’s pretty damned cool.”
“Dude, no doubt.”
“Jammin’ at Big Red brings back old times.” Rather than have strangers assembled for his road band, Jeff knew he wanted South Street Riot with him if he could get his friends on board. Colin was already doing some sessions work over at My Way Records. Most people didn’t realize that road bands weren’t always the same musicians who recorded in the studio. In this case Jeff had lobbied for South Street Riot to do both. “There’s nobody I’d rather go on the road with.”
Snake chuckled. “You sure about that? Remember that trip to Panama City Beach after graduation?”
“Um . . . some of it,” Jeff answered with a laugh. “We’ve matured, though, Snake.”
“Speak for yourself.”
Jeff laughed harder. “Yeah, well, I don’t think you’ll ever grow the hell up.”
“Part of my charm,” Snake answered. In truth, Jeff had been envious when Snake took off for parts unknown. Guilt had kept Jeff working on the struggling Greenfield farm before finally heading to Nashville, much to the sorrow of his parents and especially his older brother, Reid, who thought he was being irresponsible. All of them were convinced he was chasing a pie-in-the-sky impossible dream.
When Jeff found some success and then signed as a solo artist with My Way Records, he convinced South Street Riot to join him as his backing band in the quest for stardom. Although Jeff recorded his first single with hired session musicians at My Way Records, his friends really were the guys he wanted with him both on tour and in the studio.
“So everybody’s down with jammin’ tomorrow?”
“Colin’s got a singing gig at Wine and Diner for the happy hour crowd but he said he can make it by eight o’clock.”
“Cool, well, I was just checkin’ in. Anything else goin’ on?”
Jeff glanced up at Cat’s cabin. “Can you keep something under your hat?” While Jeff knew that Cat’s presence in Cricket Creek wouldn’t stay under wraps for long, he wanted to respect her wish to remain on the down low. But he knew he could trust Snake.
“Yeah,” Snake replied. When Jeff hesitated, Snake urged him on. “Damn, do you need a drumroll? I can provide one but only on my legs at the moment.”
“Cat Carson just moved into the cabin on the ridge.”
“Seriously?” he asked with a low whistle.
“I kid you not.”
“Aren’t you the lucky one.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Have you seen Cat in the music video for ‘Sail-Away Summer’?” Snake asked.
“No,” Jeff answered in what he hoped was a bored voice. But he just might have to look the video up.
“Well, Cat is smokin’ hot in it. She’s in a bikini on this sailboat . . . Dude, she has a bangin’ body. Forever legs and a real nice—”
“That’s enough, Snake. I get it.”
“Whoa, now. That sounded pretty damned protective. You got a thing for her?”
“No!” Jeff scoffed, but then glanced up at Cat’s cabin again. “First of all, I don’t even know her. And secondly, she’s not my type.”
“Type?” Snake gave Jeff a short laugh. “I never did get that whole type thing.”
“Not everybody loves all women like you, my friend.”
“Why limit yourself to a certain . . . type? To me that’s kinda like sayin’ you like candy but only peanut butter cups. Sorry, but I just don’t get it.”
“We all have preferences,” Jeff insisted.
“Really? Then what’s yours?”
Jeff was momentarily startled when a vision of Cat slid into his brain. “I don’t know,” he sputtered. “How’d we get on this sorry-ass subject anyway?”
“Um, I think we were talking about your hot new neighbor. The one you have no interest in. You didn’t say what it was like meeting her.”
“I think I kind of insulted her.”
“What? But you’re always the picture of perfect politeness. I didn’t think you knew how to be rude.”
Jeff blew out a sigh. “Well, I kinda insulted her music.”
“Well, damn, it’s like one and the same, bro. I mean, what the hell?”
Jeff looked up at the night sky. “Yeah, I know. She asked what song of hers was my favorite and I was stuck for an answer.”
“Awk-ward. Hey, but you gotta hand it to her. Cat does have an amazing voice. Pure, but with a little bit of a sultry edge here and there. Remember when she sang ‘The Star-Spangled Banner’ for the Cougars on opening day?”
“Oh, wow. I’d forgotten about that.”
“Dude, she killed it.”
“Yeah . . .” Jeff felt himself nodding in agreement.
“And didn’t she sing at Reid and Addison’s wedding?”
“Yeah, I think Cat and Mia Monroe go way back and Addison is Mia’s cousin. So there you have it.”
“Cat wasn’t nearly as well known back then, but, man oh man, she shot to the top of the charts fast not long after that. In just a couple of years Cat Carson went from opening concerts to headlining.”
“Too fast, in my opinion.”
“You’re not the only one with that opinion. When she won vocalist of the year two years ago, some people were royally pissed. You gotta admit that it must be tough to win an honor like that and then have to take some serious heat from your peers.”
Jeff stood up and leaned against the railing. “Blame the record companies who create artists rather than artists creating themselves,” Jeff responded tightly.
“And you’re throwing Cat into that category?” Snake asked. “Part of the criteria for the honor is sheer numbers and she has them.”
“Well, yeah, I get that.” Jeff gave Cat’s cabin a guilty glance. “I don’t know, Snake. I guess she just seems one-dimensional. I mean, yeah, she has a great voice with some serious range, but no depth or emotion to her music.”
“I don’t know if that’s a fair statement.”
“Come on . . . ‘Sail-Away Summer’? Are you kidding me? Snake, there was, like, a dance remix. And now she claims she wants to do more traditional country? Give me a break.”
“But sounds like she’s trying to take control of her career mold. You gotta give her credit for that.”
“Why? Because she’s tired of singing about her toes in the sand? And suddenly she’s a serious country artist?”
“Rick Ruleman must see something more in her than just a great voice. I mean, I read where she had a pretty big disagreement with Sweetside, so I guess that’s why she ended up here. So she’s not just about fame or the money.”
“Maybe she just likes getting her way,” Jeff answered, knowing he was being unfair. “It’s no secret that she comes from money, so she doesn’t need it.”
Snake laughed. “Sounds to me like you’re trying really hard to talk yourself out of liking her.”
“I don’t even know her.”
“Well, you might try not to like her, but she’s your neighbor and will be at the studio on a regular basis. So odds are that you’re going to get to know Cat Carson a lot better in no time. If not, I’ll be glad to do the honors. She is my type.”
“Stay the hell away from her, Snake,” Jeff growled, and then felt a little bit stupid.
“Okay . . . so, what are you trying to tell me?”
“I’m not trying to do anything more than drink a damned beer. As a matter of fact, I think I need another one,” Jeff added, even though he hadn’t finished half of the one he held in his hand. Meeting Cat still had him feeling a little bit off-kilter and he didn’t even know why. And seriously, why the hell did he just jump all over his best friend? “See ya at practice tomorrow.”
“I might get there early.”
“I’ll meet you there. Just give me a call when you’re on your way.” After Jeff ended the call, he took another swallow of beer and then set the can down on the railing. Usually an even-keel kind of guy, Jeff didn’t understand why his reaction to Cat Carson was so strong in more ways than one. Despite butting heads, his instant attraction to her caught him off guard. Maybe it was because he’d been concentrating on his career for so long that he’d put even the thought of a relationship on the back burner and Cat had suddenly lit that fire. Or maybe it was because his brother Reid and sister, Sara, were both happily married with a baby. His other brother, Braden, had a girl in his life, which made his mother concentrate on his lack of a love life during their Sunday dinners at the farmhouse. She was always trying to fix him up with someone, and now that she had grandchildren she wanted to fill the farmhouse with them.
“Whatever,” Jeff mumbled. He did need to concentrate on his music. Although he’d signed with My Way Records and had a top-twenty hit single, his career continued to move more slowly than he’d hoped. Everyone thought that once you had a hit single you became an instant millionaire, but that was so far from the truth it wasn’t even funny. Opening for a big name was an honor, but mostly on the artist’s own dime. Jeff knew he still had a lot of dues to pay before making the big time.
Jeff sighed. He could take the easy route and put out something with a catchy hook that was part of the popular new country sound but that felt like a sellout, and he refused to go in that direction. But now that Jeff had brought his band on board, he felt the pressure for continued success at a faster pace. They’d all taken a leap of faith and put their regular lives on hold to try to make this happen. Still, Jeff wanted to give this his best shot, but in his own way and on his own terms. If not, he’d just as soon go back to farming. But if things didn’t take off, he just might have to do that pretty damned soon.
Jeff drained the rest of his beer and crushed the can. In order to keep the momentum going, he needed another hit single fast, or would risk being on the long list of one-hit wonders.
Pushing away from the railing, Jeff thought about grabbing his guitar and starting work on the song that had been giving him fits. Songwriting usually came to him pretty effortlessly, but Jeff guessed the pressure to write something fantastic was getting to him and screwing around with his creativity. He just needed a spark of inspiration and knew the melody would slide into his brain like magic. The question was . . . where could he find the elusive spark?
3
CAT INHALED THE RICH AROMA OF COFFEE BREWING AND smiled. “Bless you, Mia, for hooking me up with all of the essentials,” Cat said and then reached past wimpy cups, searching for the largest mug in the cabinet. “Aha,” Cat announced when she found a giant thermal mug decorated with the Cricket Creek Cougars logo on it. “I designate you as my official coffee container.” Cat poured the steaming brew into the mug, leaving enough room for vanilla-flavored creamer.
Sunshine streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows at the back of the great room, drawing Cat over to take in the lovely view of the river. She cradled the mug in her hands and smiled at the sunshine sparkling off the water. She moved a bit gingerly on her sore legs, but ice and ibuprofen helped dull the ache a little bit. Although the cabin wasn’t huge, the layout made the space seem bigger; in truth, she liked the cozy feeling much better than her big house in Brentwood. Later, Cat had a lunch meeting with songwriter Maria Sully at Wine and Diner up in town, but right now all she wanted to do was sip her coffee and lounge in sweatpants and a hoodie.
After a year of turmoil Cat finally felt as if her life was back on the right path. She inhaled a deep coffee-scented breath and blew it out. Okay, well, at least she was heading in the right direction. Switching gears and taking time off from touring to get back to the basics of music put a smile on her face and joy in her heart. She hadn’t felt this sense of freedom in a long time.
Cat’s smile faltered a little bit when she thought of the staff who no longer worked for her. While Cat hadn’t fired any of them, her move to small-town Cricket Creek, coupled with taking her career in a new direction, had her crew staying in Nashville. And honestly, Cat thought there likely was some pressure from her former record company for her staff not to follow her. This meant that her manager, personal assistant, and road manager were no longer working with her. Cat took a sip of coffee while feeling a little stab of guilt. She wasn’t just Cat Carson, country singer, but a franchise. A lot of people’s livelihoods had depended upon her success—probably the reason that Cat had taken one album too many to seriously consider making some life and career changes. She cared about all of them, which had made her final decision a difficult one.
“RIGHT TURN IN FIVE-POINT-TWO MILES,” THE FEMALE voice of Cat’s GPS said with staccato precision. Although she was tired to the bone, Cat had to grin. “Is it my imagination or do you sound as road-weary as me?” Cat glanced at the screen on her dashboard, half expecting Rita, the name she’d given the voice, to answer. Earlier Cat had accused Rita of being a bit tipsy when she sounded as if she were slurring her words.
Cat glanced at the map showing her SUV driving down the two-lane road and sighed with relief. “Yes! I’m almost there.” After driving all day from her parents’ home in Chicago, she was anxious to reach her destination near the city limits of Cricket Creek, Kentucky. Because Cat wanted solitude for songwriting, her friend Mia had handpicked the location of the log cabin nestled in the woods and with a river view from the back deck. Cat knew the cabin was nicely decorated with rustic yet stylish furnishings because Mia had sent dozens of pictures. Cat was also aware that the fridge was fully stocked, including a chilled bottle of Cupcake Chardonnay, because Mia sent even more pictures of the contents of the fridge. To say that Mia was excited about Cat’s move to Cricket Creek was a vast understatement.
“It sure is pretty here, Rita.” The sun was dipping lower in the sky, casting a soft golden glow over cornfields in the early-spring stages of growth. In the distance, tender green leaves made the woods appear fresh, and redbud trees added a splash of bright reddish purple to the landscape. When she passed cows lazily grazing in the grass, Cat waved and offered a tired “Moo.”
Although Cat knew she would miss living in Nashville, her switch to small-town life already felt like the right choice. So did leaving Sweetside, her big corporate record label, for independent My Way Records in Cricket Creek. But changes, even ones for the better, still held an element of fear that Cat couldn’t completely shake.
“In one mile turn right on Riverview Lane,” Rita reminded her.
“It’s not soon enough.” When the sign appeared, Cat smiled, having been worried that the road out here in the countryside wouldn’t be marked. She turned down the dusty gravel lane and, even as weary as she felt, her pulse kicked up a notch. This was going to be her home.
Cat had sold her sprawling home in Brentwood, Tennessee, completely furnished except for the music industry awards and personal items she’d taken with her. She’d donated most of her designer clothes to charity and sent dozens of shoes to Mia’s Cricket Creek–based foundation, called Heels for Meals. Cat wanted a fresh start, a new beginning, to go back to performing and writing songs for the love of music and not worry as much about record sales and concert attendance.
A sudden stiff breeze caused dust to kick up, and the field of wildflowers on either side of her started dancing in the wind. I’m going to like living here, Cat thought, and she felt a sense of peace chase away her lingering fear. During the past year of legal entanglements with her record label, selling her home, and ending a toxic relationship, Cat had vowed to keep negativity out of her life. She longed for less chaos and more simplicity. Through it all, her charity work had kept Cat grounded, bringing her some joy along with the constant reminder that there were those in dire need which made her own problems seem somehow trivial.
Luckily, Mia had done the legwork with the local real estate agent and found the location on Riverview Lane. Not only did Cat trust her best friend’s judgment, but the never-ending pictures already had her in love with the quaint cabin.
The fields of flowers gave way to woods with only fingers of lingering sunlight able to reach down through the trees. Cat knew that there were a few other cabins nestled in the woods, but they were mostly for weekend use by tourists or fishermen putting their boats in Cricket Creek, which led to the Ohio River. So for the most part Cat should have the solitude she’d been craving for the past year.
“Five Riverview Lane is located on the left. You have arrived.”
“Thank goodness,” Cat nearly shouted as she pulled up in front of the cabin. After killing the engine she inhaled a deep breath and then blew out a sigh. Staying up late with her mother and father the night before was catching up with her, but her parents were heading out of the country to do some charity work, so she knew it would be a few weeks before she’d see them again, making her fatigue worth it.
“Oh . . . wow,” Cat said when she spotted a doe walking up from the edge of the trees on the opposite side of the lane. Knowing she would frighten it away, Cat sat there for a moment and drank in the deer’s quiet, gentle beauty. As she’d suspected, as soon as she opened her door the deer bolted, doing a graceful jump back over the gulley and then disappearing into the woods.
Cat walked around and opened the tailgate of her white SUV, now covered with a light sheen of golden brown dust. She leaned in to drag out her overstuffed suitcase, but the doggone thing barely budged. Thinking of the hearty snacks and chilled wine waiting inside, Cat tugged harder, grunting with the effort. “Apparently I need to do some lifting at the gym,” she grumbled, but then remembered it had taken both Cat and her father to heft the suitcase up into the SUV. With a quick intake of pine-scented air, she braced the heels of her boots into the gravel, grabbed the handle with both hands, and gave the suitcase her best tug.
It worked.
The suitcase slid across the slick tailgate much quicker than Cat had anticipated, making her backpedal, but not nearly fast enough. The painful impact of the heavy luggage smacking into Cat’s legs sent her stumbling backward. Cat’s butt hit the gravel with a bone-jarring thud. After a stunned grunt she uttered a string of words that didn’t even fit together, but she was so spitting mad that she continued saying them, adding a random curse word here and there. “Stupid, ye-ouch, oversized damn piece of luggage. Dear God, that hurt. Oh, my shins . . . Sent from holy hell.” She sat there breathing as if she’d just run a marathon and then glared at the suitcase as if it were somehow to blame. “Wow, ohhh, that hurt like . . . ohhh. I hope your blasted wheels are broken, you lousy piece of ugly . . .” she whimpered and then added weakly, “leather . . . crap.”
Cat desperately wanted to dislodge the luggage from her legs, but all her brain could deal with was the pain shooting up her shins. Rocks bit into her denim-clad butt and both elbows stung. “Don’t you know I bruise easily?” She intensified her glare but then sudden tears welled up in her eyes and with a little groan she shoved hair that had escaped from her ponytail off her forehead. Cat considered herself a tough cookie, but this past year had tested her mettle in more ways than one, and in that moment she threatened to fall to pieces. “This is your new beginning! No negativity,” she reminded herself and swallowed hard. “Get a damned grip!”
Cat gritted her teeth, determined to shove the suitcase aside. “Get off me.” But just as she leaned forward she heard the crunch of gravel and her heart rate increased. Could it be another wild animal from the woods? But this time, instead of a doe, could it be the kind with claws and big teeth?
Before she could turn around to face her fear, the suitcase was suddenly lifted from her legs as if it didn’t contain piles of clothing that had the lid bulging like a muffin top. From her sitting position Cat looked at scuffed brown cowboy boots and jean-clad legs.
“Hey, are you okay?” His deep Southern drawl oozed with charm and a hint of concern.
Cat leaned back on her palms and tilted her head up. Wow, he was tall. And even through the pain throbbing in several places she noted that he filled out his flannel shirt quite nicely. “Define okay.” She meant it as a joke but her voice had a slight hitch in it.
“Okay as in, are you hurt?” The tall cowboy flashed Cat a slight grin that caused two very cute dimples in his cheeks, which were covered in dark stubble that matched the dark hair clipped close to his head. He had a strong jaw and straight nose but a full mouth that suddenly captured her attention. “No, really—are you okay?”
“Sorry, but I was distracted by . . . ah, your sudden appearance.” She blinked at him, thinking he looked familiar. She wondered whether he’d recognize her, but with her hair pulled back and not a trace of makeup hopefully he wouldn’t. Cat wanted to remain on the down low while she got her life together. “To answer your question, um, yes.”
“Yes as in okay?”
“Yes as in hurt. Everywhere. In fact, I think I’m one giant bruise. Where did you come from, anyway?”
He jammed his thumb over his head. “I heard your . . . um, rather colorful shouts of distress and decided I needed to jog up here and investigate. So just bruises?”
“And maybe broken bones.” She frowned at her legs.
His grin disappeared, and his green eyes suddenly appeared concerned. “Are you serious?”
“Yes . . . well, kinda. Oddly enough, I’ve never had a broken bone, so I don’t know, but it sure feels like my legs are crushed.” Okay, she might be a teensy bit overly dramatic, but she was a singer, an entertainer, and an only child diagnosed with ADD. Drama was in her blood.
“Well, I’ve had a few broken bones, and, believe me, you’d have a pretty good inkling.”
“Come on, it was the attack of the killer suitcase. That thing is a monster on wheels. Do you really think I’m overreacting?” she asked with an arch of one eyebrow.
“A little.” He gave her a slight grin. “Although that overstuffed monster does weigh a ton.” He tilted his head in the direction of the suitcase. When he knelt down beside her she got a subtle whiff of spicy aftershave that made her want to lean closer. “So do you think you can move?”
She made a show of wiggling her toes. “That’s a good sign, right?”
He nodded. “Think you can stand up?”
“I’m sort of afraid to try,” Cat admitted with a wince. “I think I’ll just chill here for a few minutes. Or maybe overnight.”
“Out here with coyotes and raccoons?”
Cat glanced toward the woods. “Okay, scratch that idea.”
“Do you want me to carry you inside?”
His question made her eyes widen. “No!” Cat replied, but in truth his offer held more than a little bit of appeal.
He held up both hands in surrender. “Gotcha.”
Although Cat could be a bit dramatic, she also thrived on being independent, so her unexpected, rather needy reaction to this perfect stranger felt confusing. She blamed it on fatigue. Or maybe low blood sugar. Or maybe she was damned tired of being strong and wanted a shoulder to lean on other than her parents, who didn’t fully understand what was going on in her life and career. No, it wasn’t that last one! Fatigue and hunger were the culprits. She glanced at those wide shoulders. Maybe.
“Well, then at least let me help you up.”
Cat gave him a quick nod conveying more conviction that she felt and then accepted his outstretched hands. His grip was warm and strong as he effortlessly tugged her to her feet. Cat was tall and had a solid build, but he suddenly made her feel feminine. He held on after Cat stood up, presumably to make sure she remained steady on her feet, which she wasn’t. To her dismay her legs hurt and her knees felt wobbly.
“The offer remains,” he said with a hint of concern.
Cat inhaled a deep breath. “I’ll be okay, really.” She stiffened her spine. “I’ve just had a long day of driving and I pushed too hard to get here. Low blood sugar,” she added. She swayed slightly as she pulled her hands from his, and he immediately put an arm lightly about her waist.
“Are you sure about that?” His question still held concern but a slight hint of amusement.
“I’m fine,” Cat insisted. In the cool air, his body felt warm, and she fought the urge to snuggle closer.
“Hey, just let me help you inside. Look, I know we’re strangers, but not for long. I live in the cabin just around the bend in the road. My family owns this property and it butts up to our farm. The local real estate company handles the rentals for us. I didn’t realize you’d be moving in or I would have come over to help earlier. That’s the way we do things around here.”
“Oh.” Cat wondered why Mia hadn’t mentioned that she would have a cute country-boy neighbor, but then maybe she didn’t know.
“I’m just being a neighbor and a gentleman. I’ll bring your suitcase to you once you’re inside.”
“Okay, thanks. But now that I’m standing, I’m feeling better,” she lied. “It was just the initial shock of pain that threw me for a loop. I can make it on my own.”
“My mother always told me to err on the side of caution.”
“And do you?” She tilted her head up to get a better look at his face. Again, Cat felt as if she somehow knew this guy, but she met so many people, and it was embarrassing when she failed to remember names. Having ADD certainly didn’t help matters. “Well?” she prompted, still racking her brain for his name.
“No.” Oh, there were those dimples again. “Dare me and I’ll do it. It’s kind of a country boy thing.”
He helped her up the three steps to the front porch that Cat knew wrapped around to the back to overlook the river in the distance. She knew there was a grill, a swing, and a hot tub, all visible in Mia’s pictures. Unfortunately, her friend had had to head out of town to watch her husband play baseball, or she would have been there to greet Cat. “Oh, I forgot. There is supposed to be a packet with keys and instructions in the mailbox.”
“Sit down here in the chair and I’ll go get it for you.”
“Thank you.” Cat eased into the big wooden rocking chair and watched her neighbor walk across the lawn. While she wanted the cabin in the woods for solitude, it was comforting to know she’d have what seemed to be a nice guy nearby to rely upon if an emergency occurred. He certainly oozed small-town charm, and she suddenly wondered whether he had a girlfriend, but then quickly squashed that thought. She was on a mission to switch gears in her music career and didn’t need any complications to get in the way.
And yet Cat looked at the flannel stretching across his shoulders and suppressed a sigh. Because she stood at five foot nine, Cat was always attracted to big, tall men. Throw a sexy Southern drawl into the mix, add arresting blue eyes, and he was quite a pleasant package. The dimples and crooked smile were just an added bonus.
Mia must have known that Cat would find this guy attractive, and she wondered whether the location of her cabin near his was more than a coincidence. Cat nibbled the inside of her lip. Surely her friend wasn’t trying to do any matchmaking. Well, if so, Mia’s efforts weren’t going to work. Although Cat did have an unfortunate knack for ending up with jerks for boyfriends. Maybe a matchmaker wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
Cat watched his long, lazy stride and realized she was staring. She cleared her throat and squared her shoulders, trying to act nonchalant as he approached.
“Here you go.” He handed her the packet. “By the way, in all the commotion I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Jeff Greenfield.”
“Really?” Cat raised her eyebrows. So that’s why he seemed so familiar. “‘Outta My Mind with Lovin’ You’? I was singing along just a little while ago when it came on the radio. I love the lyrics. Did you write it?”
“I did.” Jeff smiled. “Thanks.”
“You’re with My Way Records.”
“Yes . . .” Jeff said, then tilted his head sideways. “Oh boy—wait. You’re Cat Carson.” He shoved his fingers through his hair. “You sang at my brother’s wedding.”
“Right. A couple of years ago! Gosh, that slipped my mind.”
“Wow, I’m sorry. I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you. I guess I was so concerned with you being hurt . . .”
Cat waved him off. “If you don’t mind, I’d like my residence here to be kept under wraps. I’m planning on doing some songwriting and I’d like some peace and quiet.”
“Aren’t you with Sweetside Records?”
“Not anymore,” Cat answered darkly.
“Wait. Did you sign with My Way Records?”
Cat paused. “Yes, but keep it quiet, please? It was a year from hell with legal issues. Plus, Rick wants to make an official announcement after I get some songs written and a single ready to release. He’s going to team me up with Maria Sully!” She looked at Jeff to get his reaction.
“She’s one of the best songwriters in the business,” Jeff agreed. “I’ve always been so proud that Maria’s from Cricket Creek.”
“You should be, but I have to admit that I was surprised. I thought she lived in Nashville.”
Jeff nodded. “Maria moved to Nashville years ago when she and Pete Sully split up. He owns Sully’s Tavern, not far from here.”
“So when did Maria come back to Cricket Creek?”
“Maria returned last Christmas when Clint came home from California because Pete was having health problems.”
“Clint?”
“He’s their son. Clint let Maria know what was up when he came here to check up on his dad. Of course, everybody’s hoping they get back together.”
Cat raised her eyebrows. “You know all of this?”
“Of course.” Jeff chuckled. “Oh, the story gets better than that. When Clint came home to look after his dad, he reunited with his high school sweetheart, Ava Whimsy.” Jeff’s grin remained. “To be fair, Ava’s family farm butts up to the Greenfield farm, so we know her family well.”
“But still . . .”
“It’s a small town, Cat. That’s how we roll. You’d best get used to it.”
Nibbling on her lip, Cat mulled his statement over for a moment.
“Hey, it’s not idle gossip. We care about each other,” Jeff said with a hint of defensiveness.
Jeff looked so sincere that Cat couldn’t help but smile. She had the odd urge to put her hand over his, but refrained. “I believe you, and—trust me—I am so thrilled. I can’t wait to meet Maria and get started at My Way Records.”
“But you just came off a big year. I don’t get why you’d want to switch to a small label when you were with the big dogs.”
Cat shrugged. “It’s simple. Rick Ruleman will let me take my music in the direction I want it to go.”
“Which would be?”
“Less pop-sounding and more traditional,” Cat answered, and watched for his reaction. He tried to hide it, but she could feel Jeff’s slight but sudden withdrawal. She understood. Jeff’s music was traditional country, much like legendary George Strait, and she bet he wasn’t a fan of her songs. Old-school country artists often felt as if singers like her were simply jumping on the country bandwagon. Although popular with fans, they weren’t taken seriously by the icons in the industry.
“That’s . . . um, good,” Jeff said, but shoved his hands in his pockets and his gaze flicked away. “I mean, I do get it. I wanted complete control over my career too.”
Cat arched an eyebrow. “So, I have to ask, do you switch the station when one of my songs comes on?”
“No,” he answered a bit too quickly. “Why would I do that?”
“Oh, if I might be so bold to ask, do you have a favorite song of mine? Just curious.” She gave him an innocent look and waited.
His mouth worked but nothing came out. “Um, ‘Sail’ . . . um . . . ‘Moonlight,’ um . . .”
“‘It’s a Sail-Away Summer’?” Just because she wanted to go in another direction now didn’t mean she wasn’t proud of her beach-themed songs, many of which she had written. Cat just didn’t want to do them exclusively.
Jeff rocked back on his heels and nodded a bit too hard. “Yes, uh, that one.”
“Or did you mean ‘Moonlight Dance’?”
“Oh, I like them both.”
Cat suspected he liked neither. “Thank you.”
Jeff nodded but appeared a bit uncomfortable.
Cat gave him a smile that felt rather stiff. She’d certainly felt the backlash of having her star rise swiftly, making some artists feel as if she hadn’t paid her dues. And because her music bridged the gap between pop and country, she had a wide following, much like Sheryl Crow, Kelly Clarkson, Taylor Swift, and Carrie Underwood. When she’d won female vocalist of the year at the Country Music Awards two years earlier, Cat had felt the heat in more ways than one. That’s when she’d started to reexamine where her life and her career were headed and found the need to make changes.
“You have a huge fan base,” Jeff added, as if that would make up for his obvious lack of interest or knowledge of her music.
“I’m lucky to have such loyal listeners.” Cat adored her fans and loved her songs, but she was tired of doing the same themes, which were starting to blend together and feel stale. “I don’t want to disappoint them, but I’m going to explore more traditional country with a splash of bluegrass,” she explained, thinking that admission might change the expression that he was politely trying to hide. Although she’d moved to Nashville three years before, most people thought she was a city girl from Chicago, where her parents still lived. In fact, she’d spent her early childhood in South Carolina. “And get back to my Southern roots,” she finished.
He only nodded.
“Let me guess—” Cat gripped the arms of the chair. “You don’t take me seriously.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“Wow.” Jeff tilted his head to the side. “So you can read minds?”
“No, I read faces and it’s written all over yours.”
“Really?” Jeff leaned back against the railing. “And maybe you are making assumptions that you shouldn’t.”
And maybe she was suddenly tired and sore and grumpy. “Right. Listen, I can get my things from here.”
“Don’t be stu—silly. I’ll get your suitcase. You’ll have a tough time getting it up the steps.”
“Watch me,” Cat boasted, knowing she sounded stubborn and childish. “Thanks for your help,” she added, but didn’t sound all that thankful. What was wrong with her?
“No way. I won’t allow it,” Jeff insisted and turned on his heel.
“Won’t allow it? Are you kidding me? Did you really just say that?” Cat stood up, but when the blood rushed down her legs she sucked in a sharp breath. She was going to be so sore tomorrow. She knew she was overreacting, but she’d been pushed around enough for the past year and she wasn’t about to be told what she couldn’t do any longer.
Jeff turned around and gave her a concerned frown. Well, she was standing now, so she was invested. Gritting her teeth, she took a tentative step forward. Not too bad. Apparently she was just going to have massive bruising—not that bruises were anything new. Cat had a knack for getting distracted and running into things. With a bracing intake of breath, she moved forward, brushing past Jeff, but had to grab on to the handrail for dear life.
“What exactly are you trying to prove?”
More things than she could begin to count. “That I don’t need your help.” Petulance wasn’t in her nature, but she just couldn’t stop.
“This sudden burst of anger is all because I don’t know your songs?”
Are you that vain? remained unspoken, but Cat felt it when Jeff glanced over at her. She was used to having people make assumptions, but in reality her daily life was nothing remotely close to the rumors or gossip that showed up in the tabloids. Cat also tended to be outspoken about issues that she believed in and that also sometimes landed her in hot water. She usually had a fairly thick skin, but for some reason Jeff’s apparent judgment put her on the defensive.
When he folded his arms across his chest and looked at her expectantly, she refused to dignify his question with an answer.
“Thanks again for your help, but you can leave now. I’ve got this.” Cat felt his eyes on her as she walked stiffly across the lawn to the suitcase. Her legs did hurt in an achy kind of way, but she did her best to ignore the discomfort. Carly Simon’s song “Haven’t Got Time for the Pain” filtered into her head, and Cat had to smile. Her mind continuously revolved around lyrics, sometimes making her feel as if she were living in her own personal musical. Her brain was a Wikipedia of songs and she could give anybody a run for their money with music trivia. There was so much more to her than catchy beach tunes, and she longed to prove that she had more depth and talent than people were giving her credit for.
Grabbing the handle, she raised it upward and rolled the heavy thing awkwardly across the lawn, hoping Jeff would get bored with the embarrassing situation and decide to leave her to her own devices.
Of course she was wrong. With his arms still folded across his chest, he leaned against the railing looking all smug. And hot. No! Scratch the hot part. Cat paused at the first step, gathering her waning strength. This was silly. She should allow him to help and yet she couldn’t bring herself to give in and ask for it.
Cat took a deep breath and muttered a silent prayer, but before she could even begin to try to lift the suitcase Jeff swiftly descended the steps and grabbed the handle from her.
“Hey!” Cat protested, but secretly she was very glad for his help. “I could have managed,” she added, trying not to admire his nice butt in his Wrangler jeans.
“I have no doubt.” Jeff positioned the suitcase close to the front door and then turned around to face her. “But my mother taught me to be a gentleman. Put some ice on those bruises.” He waited until she nodded. “My number is listed on the contacts in the packet. If you need ice packs or anything, please don’t hesitate to call. Okay?”
“Sure.” Cat nodded, but she wasn’t about to call him.
Jeff hesitated and then said, “It wasn’t my intention to insult you. I’m really not like that.”
“And it isn’t in my nature to be so stubborn.”
“Really?”
“Maybe a teensy bit . . .” She held up her finger and thumb to demonstrate.
His slight grin and the appearance of the damned dimples got to her in ways she couldn’t begin to understand. Cat pressed her lips together, suddenly feeling oddly vulnerable, needing a hug so badly that she took a quick step backward and knocked the suitcase over. When it landed with a loud thud, she yelped and then felt super silly yet again. Cat closed her eyes and sighed. “Look, it’s all good,” she assured him, but when she attempted a smile, to her horror it wobbled a bit. She hoped he didn’t notice. “It’s just been a long day.” She faked a yawn. And a long year.
Jeff’s expression softened even more and when he stepped forward Cat thought for a heart-pounding second that he was going to give her the hug she so sorely needed. But he moved past her and righted the suitcase.
Cat swallowed hard and tamped down her disappointment. “Can I help you get the suitcase or anything else inside?”
“No, I can manage. Well, from here, anyway. My clumsiness knows no bounds.”
“You don’t look clumsy.”
“Trust me—I can trip over my own shadow. Walking forward while looking sideways often ends in disaster. But I’ve got this from here.”
He looked as if he were about to protest but then nodded. “Welcome to Cricket Creek, Cat.”
“Thank you, Jeff,” Cat said, and watched him walk away. She inhaled a deep breath. “Well, that was an interesting little Welcome Wagon,” she whispered. Then she reached inside the packet to retrieve her keys and open the door to her new life.
2
ON THE WAY BACK TO HIS CABIN JEFF RELIVED HIS conversation with Cat Carson and then scrubbed his hand down his face. As first impressions go, he knew that one pretty much sucked. But seriously, why in the hell hadn’t someone given him a heads-up that she was moving to his little neck of the woods? Granted, over the past few years some pretty extraordinary people had landed in Cricket Creek, but it was still big news that Cat Carson was moving here. Jeff understood why she would want to keep her residence quiet. Maybe it wasn’t permanent. He certainly couldn’t imagine someone of her stature living in the little cabin for very long.
“Damn.” Jeff hadn’t meant to be rude, and, even though he’d tried to smooth things over he still felt as if he somehow owed her an apology. Could he help that he didn’t listen to her pop music, which in his opinion shouldn’t get airplay on country music stations? It wasn’t as if he hated Cat’s trendy beach-themed songs. And she did have an amazing voice. When she sang “From This Moment” at Reid and Addison’s unexpected wedding, he’d been blown away just like the rest of the audience. He remembered feeling disappointed when he found out she wasn’t staying for the reception. He also recalled now that when she’d signed with My Way Records, Sweetside had fought her tooth and nail, so it really must have been a tough year for her.
Plenty of big-name country stars had similar-styled hits. They were fluffy and fun, he supposed, but were songs to be played at parties and not to be performed at the Grand Ole Opry. Jeff just didn’t want that kind of music to be considered classic country, because it wasn’t.
Like many traditional country artists, Jeff worried that country music was becoming a vanilla genre, casting too wide a net, causing his beloved genre to lose its identity. But unfortunately, record labels were in it to make money, which was the reason Jeff had signed with My Way Records. Owner Rick Ruleman had assured him that his career would go in the direction he wanted and that it would be all about the love of the music. Rick had told him that he wanted to create legends, not the flavor of the moment.
Jeff had to wonder what Rick had in mind for Cat Carson. While he applauded her decision to embrace a more traditional sound and write her own songs, what did she know about the hardships of everyday life, the backbone of great country lyrics?
Jeff entered his A-frame cabin, headed to the galley kitchen, and opened the fridge. He suddenly had the need for a cold beer. After popping the top he glanced at his guitar, but felt too restless to try to work on the song lyrics that had been giving him trouble. Instead, he slid open the door to his back deck and walked outside.
Sunset brought with it a chill, but Jeff inhaled a deep breath of earth-scented air before sitting down on a lounge chair. He took a long drink of his beer and then looked above to where Cat’s cabin sat up on the ridge, just to the right of his cabin. When he saw the soft glow of lights, Jeff suddenly wondered what she was doing. But then his curiosity shifted to concern. That heavy-ass suitcase must have left some serious bruising, and Jeff considered taking her ice, just to make sure she had enough. Maybe she needed dinner. Or perhaps a shot of bourbon to dull the pain? No, she was probably a wine kind of girl. He had several bottles in his wine rack. Would she prefer red or white?
Just what the hell was he thinking? He inhaled a deep breath and tried to get Cat Carson off his mind.
Jeff leaned back in the chaise longue and gazed up at the darkening sky. There were a few streaks of deep pink and red lingering from the sunset and in just a little while the stars would pop out, glittering against the inky blue backdrop. The lack of city light out here in the woods made for amazing night skies, so much so that Jeff had downloaded an app on his smartphone that showed the constellations.
“I need music,” Jeff murmured, but just when he was about to head inside to turn on his outdoor speakers, his cell phone rang. Jeff looked at the screen and grinned when he read the caller ID. “Hey, Snake. What’s up, man?”
“Nothin’ much. Just thought I’d give ya a holler.” Snake’s real name was Wes Tucker, but his snake armband tattoo earned him the nickname. Snake’s mother was about the only person who still called him Wes. “We still jammin’ at Big Red tomorrow night?”
“Far as I know,” Jeff answered. Big Red was the former barn down by the river that they’d converted into a practice studio way back in high school when they’d first formed the band South Street Riot.
“Sweet. Man, it feels good to have the band back together again. It still seems a little bit surreal . . .”
“I feel ya.” They’d broken up not long after graduation, when they’d gone separate ways. Guitarists Jackson Pike and Sammy Slader went off to college. Snake, the drummer, left Cricket Creek to backpack across the country. Keyboardist Colin Walker had remained in Cricket Creek to work on his family farm but played solo gigs at places around town. But here they were, all of them nearly thirty years old and finally closing in on a dream none of them thought would happen. “But you gotta admit it’s pretty damned cool.”
“Dude, no doubt.”
“Jammin’ at Big Red brings back old times.” Rather than have strangers assembled for his road band, Jeff knew he wanted South Street Riot with him if he could get his friends on board. Colin was already doing some sessions work over at My Way Records. Most people didn’t realize that road bands weren’t always the same musicians who recorded in the studio. In this case Jeff had lobbied for South Street Riot to do both. “There’s nobody I’d rather go on the road with.”
Snake chuckled. “You sure about that? Remember that trip to Panama City Beach after graduation?”
“Um . . . some of it,” Jeff answered with a laugh. “We’ve matured, though, Snake.”
“Speak for yourself.”
Jeff laughed harder. “Yeah, well, I don’t think you’ll ever grow the hell up.”
“Part of my charm,” Snake answered. In truth, Jeff had been envious when Snake took off for parts unknown. Guilt had kept Jeff working on the struggling Greenfield farm before finally heading to Nashville, much to the sorrow of his parents and especially his older brother, Reid, who thought he was being irresponsible. All of them were convinced he was chasing a pie-in-the-sky impossible dream.
When Jeff found some success and then signed as a solo artist with My Way Records, he convinced South Street Riot to join him as his backing band in the quest for stardom. Although Jeff recorded his first single with hired session musicians at My Way Records, his friends really were the guys he wanted with him both on tour and in the studio.
“So everybody’s down with jammin’ tomorrow?”
“Colin’s got a singing gig at Wine and Diner for the happy hour crowd but he said he can make it by eight o’clock.”
“Cool, well, I was just checkin’ in. Anything else goin’ on?”
Jeff glanced up at Cat’s cabin. “Can you keep something under your hat?” While Jeff knew that Cat’s presence in Cricket Creek wouldn’t stay under wraps for long, he wanted to respect her wish to remain on the down low. But he knew he could trust Snake.
“Yeah,” Snake replied. When Jeff hesitated, Snake urged him on. “Damn, do you need a drumroll? I can provide one but only on my legs at the moment.”
“Cat Carson just moved into the cabin on the ridge.”
“Seriously?” he asked with a low whistle.
“I kid you not.”
“Aren’t you the lucky one.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Have you seen Cat in the music video for ‘Sail-Away Summer’?” Snake asked.
“No,” Jeff answered in what he hoped was a bored voice. But he just might have to look the video up.
“Well, Cat is smokin’ hot in it. She’s in a bikini on this sailboat . . . Dude, she has a bangin’ body. Forever legs and a real nice—”
“That’s enough, Snake. I get it.”
“Whoa, now. That sounded pretty damned protective. You got a thing for her?”
“No!” Jeff scoffed, but then glanced up at Cat’s cabin again. “First of all, I don’t even know her. And secondly, she’s not my type.”
“Type?” Snake gave Jeff a short laugh. “I never did get that whole type thing.”
“Not everybody loves all women like you, my friend.”
“Why limit yourself to a certain . . . type? To me that’s kinda like sayin’ you like candy but only peanut butter cups. Sorry, but I just don’t get it.”
“We all have preferences,” Jeff insisted.
“Really? Then what’s yours?”
Jeff was momentarily startled when a vision of Cat slid into his brain. “I don’t know,” he sputtered. “How’d we get on this sorry-ass subject anyway?”
“Um, I think we were talking about your hot new neighbor. The one you have no interest in. You didn’t say what it was like meeting her.”
“I think I kind of insulted her.”
“What? But you’re always the picture of perfect politeness. I didn’t think you knew how to be rude.”
Jeff blew out a sigh. “Well, I kinda insulted her music.”
“Well, damn, it’s like one and the same, bro. I mean, what the hell?”
Jeff looked up at the night sky. “Yeah, I know. She asked what song of hers was my favorite and I was stuck for an answer.”
“Awk-ward. Hey, but you gotta hand it to her. Cat does have an amazing voice. Pure, but with a little bit of a sultry edge here and there. Remember when she sang ‘The Star-Spangled Banner’ for the Cougars on opening day?”
“Oh, wow. I’d forgotten about that.”
“Dude, she killed it.”
“Yeah . . .” Jeff felt himself nodding in agreement.
“And didn’t she sing at Reid and Addison’s wedding?”
“Yeah, I think Cat and Mia Monroe go way back and Addison is Mia’s cousin. So there you have it.”
“Cat wasn’t nearly as well known back then, but, man oh man, she shot to the top of the charts fast not long after that. In just a couple of years Cat Carson went from opening concerts to headlining.”
“Too fast, in my opinion.”
“You’re not the only one with that opinion. When she won vocalist of the year two years ago, some people were royally pissed. You gotta admit that it must be tough to win an honor like that and then have to take some serious heat from your peers.”
Jeff stood up and leaned against the railing. “Blame the record companies who create artists rather than artists creating themselves,” Jeff responded tightly.
“And you’re throwing Cat into that category?” Snake asked. “Part of the criteria for the honor is sheer numbers and she has them.”
“Well, yeah, I get that.” Jeff gave Cat’s cabin a guilty glance. “I don’t know, Snake. I guess she just seems one-dimensional. I mean, yeah, she has a great voice with some serious range, but no depth or emotion to her music.”
“I don’t know if that’s a fair statement.”
“Come on . . . ‘Sail-Away Summer’? Are you kidding me? Snake, there was, like, a dance remix. And now she claims she wants to do more traditional country? Give me a break.”
“But sounds like she’s trying to take control of her career mold. You gotta give her credit for that.”
“Why? Because she’s tired of singing about her toes in the sand? And suddenly she’s a serious country artist?”
“Rick Ruleman must see something more in her than just a great voice. I mean, I read where she had a pretty big disagreement with Sweetside, so I guess that’s why she ended up here. So she’s not just about fame or the money.”
“Maybe she just likes getting her way,” Jeff answered, knowing he was being unfair. “It’s no secret that she comes from money, so she doesn’t need it.”
Snake laughed. “Sounds to me like you’re trying really hard to talk yourself out of liking her.”
“I don’t even know her.”
“Well, you might try not to like her, but she’s your neighbor and will be at the studio on a regular basis. So odds are that you’re going to get to know Cat Carson a lot better in no time. If not, I’ll be glad to do the honors. She is my type.”
“Stay the hell away from her, Snake,” Jeff growled, and then felt a little bit stupid.
“Okay . . . so, what are you trying to tell me?”
“I’m not trying to do anything more than drink a damned beer. As a matter of fact, I think I need another one,” Jeff added, even though he hadn’t finished half of the one he held in his hand. Meeting Cat still had him feeling a little bit off-kilter and he didn’t even know why. And seriously, why the hell did he just jump all over his best friend? “See ya at practice tomorrow.”
“I might get there early.”
“I’ll meet you there. Just give me a call when you’re on your way.” After Jeff ended the call, he took another swallow of beer and then set the can down on the railing. Usually an even-keel kind of guy, Jeff didn’t understand why his reaction to Cat Carson was so strong in more ways than one. Despite butting heads, his instant attraction to her caught him off guard. Maybe it was because he’d been concentrating on his career for so long that he’d put even the thought of a relationship on the back burner and Cat had suddenly lit that fire. Or maybe it was because his brother Reid and sister, Sara, were both happily married with a baby. His other brother, Braden, had a girl in his life, which made his mother concentrate on his lack of a love life during their Sunday dinners at the farmhouse. She was always trying to fix him up with someone, and now that she had grandchildren she wanted to fill the farmhouse with them.
“Whatever,” Jeff mumbled. He did need to concentrate on his music. Although he’d signed with My Way Records and had a top-twenty hit single, his career continued to move more slowly than he’d hoped. Everyone thought that once you had a hit single you became an instant millionaire, but that was so far from the truth it wasn’t even funny. Opening for a big name was an honor, but mostly on the artist’s own dime. Jeff knew he still had a lot of dues to pay before making the big time.
Jeff sighed. He could take the easy route and put out something with a catchy hook that was part of the popular new country sound but that felt like a sellout, and he refused to go in that direction. But now that Jeff had brought his band on board, he felt the pressure for continued success at a faster pace. They’d all taken a leap of faith and put their regular lives on hold to try to make this happen. Still, Jeff wanted to give this his best shot, but in his own way and on his own terms. If not, he’d just as soon go back to farming. But if things didn’t take off, he just might have to do that pretty damned soon.
Jeff drained the rest of his beer and crushed the can. In order to keep the momentum going, he needed another hit single fast, or would risk being on the long list of one-hit wonders.
Pushing away from the railing, Jeff thought about grabbing his guitar and starting work on the song that had been giving him fits. Songwriting usually came to him pretty effortlessly, but Jeff guessed the pressure to write something fantastic was getting to him and screwing around with his creativity. He just needed a spark of inspiration and knew the melody would slide into his brain like magic. The question was . . . where could he find the elusive spark?
3
CAT INHALED THE RICH AROMA OF COFFEE BREWING AND smiled. “Bless you, Mia, for hooking me up with all of the essentials,” Cat said and then reached past wimpy cups, searching for the largest mug in the cabinet. “Aha,” Cat announced when she found a giant thermal mug decorated with the Cricket Creek Cougars logo on it. “I designate you as my official coffee container.” Cat poured the steaming brew into the mug, leaving enough room for vanilla-flavored creamer.
Sunshine streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows at the back of the great room, drawing Cat over to take in the lovely view of the river. She cradled the mug in her hands and smiled at the sunshine sparkling off the water. She moved a bit gingerly on her sore legs, but ice and ibuprofen helped dull the ache a little bit. Although the cabin wasn’t huge, the layout made the space seem bigger; in truth, she liked the cozy feeling much better than her big house in Brentwood. Later, Cat had a lunch meeting with songwriter Maria Sully at Wine and Diner up in town, but right now all she wanted to do was sip her coffee and lounge in sweatpants and a hoodie.
After a year of turmoil Cat finally felt as if her life was back on the right path. She inhaled a deep coffee-scented breath and blew it out. Okay, well, at least she was heading in the right direction. Switching gears and taking time off from touring to get back to the basics of music put a smile on her face and joy in her heart. She hadn’t felt this sense of freedom in a long time.
Cat’s smile faltered a little bit when she thought of the staff who no longer worked for her. While Cat hadn’t fired any of them, her move to small-town Cricket Creek, coupled with taking her career in a new direction, had her crew staying in Nashville. And honestly, Cat thought there likely was some pressure from her former record company for her staff not to follow her. This meant that her manager, personal assistant, and road manager were no longer working with her. Cat took a sip of coffee while feeling a little stab of guilt. She wasn’t just Cat Carson, country singer, but a franchise. A lot of people’s livelihoods had depended upon her success—probably the reason that Cat had taken one album too many to seriously consider making some life and career changes. She cared about all of them, which had made her final decision a difficult one.
/
