Page 14 of She's My Kind Of Rain

I reach into the shower and adjust the temperature, ready to rid myself of the sweat and grime covering my skin.God, it’s been a long day. I take off my clothes and toss them into the hamper and step inside. The water streams down my body, taking any remaining stress of the day with it. I let the water cascade over me a few moments longer, humming to the very song in Pop’s letter, then wash up and turn off the water. Reaching for a towel, I wrap it around myself and head toward my closet to get some clothes.

Opening my closet, I step inside to grab a clean pair of Wranglers and a plain white crew neck t-shirt. I snag my favorite tobacco-colored leather work boots and a leather belt to match, then walk over to my bed and sit down. I sigh, not from nerves, but because of how good it feels to take a moment to relax.Lacing my boots, I head down the hall to wait for Rhett, noticing a note on the counter once I reach the kitchen.

Hey Bud,

Got an errand to run and didn’t feel like waitin’ up. Don’t forget your slot’s at 8:30. You’re gonna do great. Don’t forget to point all the ladies my way when they ask who your manager is. See ya there, and good luck.

-Rhett

I read the note another time, expecting nothing less from Rhett. He gets antsy waiting around, especially when he’s excited about something. He reminds me of the Energizer Bunny, always going, but nowhere in particular. I wouldn’t have even been surprised if he’d said he was running all the way to the bar just to burn off his excitement that I was going to play a scheduled slot. I gather my keys and my guitar and walk out the door.

I put my guitar inside my trunk and head toward the barn to check that everything is done for the night. Once inside, I see that Wrangler and Angel are both in their stalls, with clean water and bedding. A soft smirk peaks at the edge of my lips. Even when Rhett’s going a million miles a minute, he never once goes back on his word.

Wrangler swings his head out of his stall and I amble toward him. Man, Rhett’s done well with the barn. It had been decent before he moved in, but I swear, you can probably eat off the damn ground, it’s so clean. Not that I would. Wrangler nuzzles my chest with his nose and I press a hand to his cheek. Comingout here always helps make me feel a bit lighter when I’m stressed and tonight is no different.

His warm brown coat shines just as much as the day I got him. Billy’s dad had brought him down here to the ranch and asked if I wanted him back when I moved in with Pops. I didn’t hesitate the moment I saw him cantering around like he had something to show off. His personality shined from the very moment he had stepped off the trailer, and ever since that day, he’s been just as wild and free-spirited.

“Wish me luck, buddy,” I say, giving him one final pat, turning to leave.

The drive from the ranch to Broadway is about twenty minutes after you get past the gate, yet today it feels like five steps from my front door. I pull into the parking lot of The Red Fern, pleased to see that there are reserved spots for performers, but also slightly anxious about the excessive amount of cars parked here already.

Blowing out a deep breath, I try to force my breathing to remain even and remind myself that there’s no pressure.It’s just one song. One night.I need to let loose, maybe even havefunlike Rhett insists I need more of. And whatever I do, Idefinitelydon’t want to choke.

8

DAISY - JUNE 18, 2004

I can’t believethat part of my job is literally to go out on the town and enjoy all that Nashville has to offer. Telluride is everything I hoped it would be, and the last few weeks have been amazing, but my heart aches knowing I can’t call my dad and tell him all the exciting news lately, or have him here to show me his favorite spots.

I survey my reflection in the glass of a storefront we pass on our way to one of my favorite places, wondering if it would be his too.

“You know that little tag around your neck might as well sayfamous,” Kaylee jokes, while I share my work badge with a guard standing at the bar’s front door.

“It only works on Broadway though. If I flashed this tag anywhere else it probably would do us no good, but if you want to stand in the line, be my guest,” I tease, lightly elbowing her side as we head through the entrance.

To most, Broadway Street is home to some of Nashville’s best restaurants, bars, and live entertainment, but to me it’s home to the infamous Westmore. Settled at the heart of all Country Music’s “bests”, The Westmore is warm and welcoming, but also extravagant. Every wall is filled with photos of some of CountryMusic’s most memorable artists. Each photo signed and hung as yet another trophy to this bar’s notorious success for discovering some of the biggest country stars there ever was.

The bar itself is tucked off to the right of the door, and the stage reminds me of the Grand Ole Opry, possessing all of the attention from anyone who is lucky enough to pass through the front doors. Every time I enter this building, it’s hard not to get caught up in the potential these walls bring in, and even more the potential that I, too, might find Country Music’s next big star while sitting here.

“So, what exactly are we looking for? The hottest guy to hit the stage? Someone who needs a little work, but has potential? Or, for once, are we just here for a good time?” She eyes the crowd around us.

“We aren’t dating them, Kaylee.” I jokingly roll my eyes, but she and I both know it doesn’t matter what the singer looks like or if we canfixthem. “I’m hoping someone stands out enough to make an impact. I’m looking towowMr. Montgomery with my first official signed artist as head of A&R. Nashville is a lot different than back in Tansy. Here, you can see a good singer just about anywhere you go. Talent is practically oozing from this town.” I let out a huff, trying to ignore the nerves coiled tight in my stomach.

I haven’t gotten anyone signed yet, and the idea that I might consistently go home empty-handed doesn’t sit well with me. Ineedto sign someone or, at least, find someone worth signing. I need to prove to myself that I can actually do this just as much as I need to prove it to Mr. Montgomery.

“Listen, I don’t know a whole lot about the man, besides his coffee order, but Idoknow that he’s going to be amazed by the person you finally find. The right artist will come, and so will the respect he has for you. So let’s find someone who has that wowfactor you like to talk about so much.” She offers me a reassuring expression as she glances around the room.

I know she’s right, however, now that I have the job, I have this pressure on my shoulders to prove why I was the one chosen over everyone else who was sitting in that waiting room.

“Yeah, you’re right. See, this is why you’re my best friend. Without you, I’d be over analyzing every single person in Nashville. I want to find someone that gives me goosebumps and stops my heart when they play.”

“Hah, I thought you said we weren’t trying to date them.” She shoulder bumps me as she returns my earlier jest. “Also, analyzing every single person? Good luck doing that. This place has so many people coming and going, I doubt you’d ever even see the same person twice.” She flips her hair behind her shoulder and approaches the bar to get a drink.

I look around the room, noting she’s not entirely wrong. Besides the barmaid, Nancy, I don’t recognize a single face, and we’ve been coming here every single Friday since I got the job and fell in love with the place. And just like every Friday, Kaylee grabs one drink, whatever Nancy recommends, though it’s clear Nancy feels very strongly about her ability to make a Bushwacker—almost to the point that I think she might make a commission off its sales. I snicker at the idea. It’s honestly really good, nevertheless I often settle for a glass of water or something simple because I’m here more for business than pleasure. Kaylee, on the other hand, will use any excuse to go out. I guess when you spend ninety percent of your time at a coffee shop, it makes sense that you’d want to do something exciting for a change.

Turning back to the bar, I see that Nancy has talked Kaylee into a drink she refers to as Some Beach. It’s one I’ve had previously, a dangerously good combination of liqueurs and tropical fruit juices. Like the Bushwhacker, you can easily getin a few drinks prior to realizing you’ve made a grave mistake. Hoping to avoid such a fate tonight, I request water.

“I’ve heard people discuss liquid courage before I was even old enough to drink. I was unaware they were talking about it always coming from you, Miss Nancy.” Kaylee giggles in anticipation.

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