Page 97 of Nashville Cowboy
“Well, now, let’s slow down just a tad. These things take time.”
“Right. Sure. Just let me know if you need anything from me, like a signature. I don’t have great cell phone service out here, but I can get faxes.”
“A fax machine? How quaint. Yeah, no worries on that. But I have some pretty incredible news.”
“Yeah? What’s going on?”
“Are you sitting down?”
Jackson rolled his eyes at no one. “No. I don’t have to sit down.”
“Mick ‘da bomb’ Mason has agreed to produce you! First, we think we’ve lost this deal. Now, we have the best in the business bar none.”
Jackson was speechless. He wasn’t even aware Troy had been looking for a new producer. He’d thought the whole production was dead in the water. Having told Troy that he wasn’t coming back for some time, he figured that was the end of that particular deal.
“Are you there?”
“Yeah,” Jackson said. “Whathappened? I mean, how did— When did—”
“Turns out, Mick is a fan. When he learned that almost half of the songs on the country charts were written by you, he wanted to know why you don’t have your own record out. I explained what we’ve been through for the past couple of years. He gets it and he’s agreed to give you creative control. I don’t have to tell you that Mick has created superstars. Taylor Swift, Sam Hunt, Brad Paisley. The list is long. He has the magic touch.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Everyone in Nashville had heard of Mick Mason, and everyone had him on their wish list as a producer.
This meant that after eight years of selling his songs, playing in bars and dives, it might actually be Jackson’s turn. Just when he’d decided to forget it all and go back to ranching. Timing had never been his strong suit.
“I’m assuming this is what you want?” Troy continued. “Can I start the process? Draw up a contract, schedule some meetings. I figured if anything would get you to come back, this might be it.”
Jackson’s stomach roiled and pitched. All the twists, turns, and ups and downs of this business were enough to get anyone sick. He’d finally reached a place where he felt good being back home, and now the opportunity of a lifetime had been presented.
But there was so much to consider. He’d worked it out in his mind that music was something he’d always love but he didn’t have to be famous to be a success. Stone Ridge was home and he didn’t want to leave again. And Eve. After getting through all the crap they had and working it out, he couldn’t possibly leave her again.
She’d just have to come with him. End of story.
“Jackson? Hello?”
“Yeah,” Jackson said. “I’m here. How soon do you need me back? I need to stay until my brother comes back in a few days.”
“That would be fine. I’ll start working things on this end.” He paused. “And guess I shouldn’t sell the house?”
“No.” Jackson shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.
He hung up, a little stunned. A moment later, he did sit down. And shouldn’t have been surprised when Mima came in the room, having heard his end of the conversion.
“You’re leavin’ us.” She held a dish towel in her hands.
“You heard.”
“Of course, I heard. Jackson, how can you consider going back to that lifestyle? It hasn’t made you happy. It isn’t what you need.”
“Listen. You don’t understand.”
“I do understand. You want to go back to a rough business that has let you down time and again. You’re the only one who still can’t see that the only people who love and want the best for you are your own family.”
“I wish that were true, Mima, but it’s not. My own mother left me, and my father hasn’t exactly been my greatest supporter. He always preferred Lincoln to me.”
“Hank has his own problems, bless his heart. Don’t let him determine your self-worth.”
“I’m not doing that,” Jackson protested. “But I’ve been working the music business for eight long years.”
