Run Rose Run(35)

“I hope you called him up and gave him the what for,” AnnieLee said, angrily weeding now. It wasn’t as if she couldn’t believe a man would think that—men had all kinds of dumb and crazy ideas—but to say it out loud seemed like another thing entirely.

“Program directors have been telling their DJs not to play two women back to back for as long as there’s been radio,” Ruthanna said. “Labels didn’t think women could headline on the road or even make hit records. As far as they were concerned, we could sing our pretty little hearts out and just be happy opening for George Jones.”

AnnieLee yanked out a dandelion and threw it over her shoulder. “But that’s BS,” she said. “I mean, look at you. You’re a superstar.”

“But I had to work ten times as hard to get half the attention.”

AnnieLee was letting that fact sink in when she heard the rumble of a car coming up the driveway. She turned to see Ethan Blake pulling up in his battered truck, and her heart gave a tiny little hop. Did he know about all this? she wondered. Did it make him mad, too?

“And all the while,” Ruthanna went on, “a good-looking guy with a big hat, tight jeans, and a thimbleful of talent could get a record deal.”

AnnieLee watched Ethan swing his long legs out of the cab. He was wearing broken-in Levi’s, a faded chambray shirt, and lace-up work boots, and his hair was still wet from a shower. “Ethan’s got more than a thimbleful, though,” she said. “I’ve seen him play.”

“I wouldn’t give him the time of day if he didn’t,” Ruthanna said. “He’s one of the good ones—as a musician and a man.” Then she nudged AnnieLee with a perfectly polished toe. “You two getting along better now that I’ve asked him to look out for you?”

AnnieLee felt her cheeks get warm. “We get along fine,” she said.

She hadn’t wanted a bodyguard, or whatever he was calling himself. An escort? That was a laugh.

But as much as she hated to admit it, she liked being around Ethan Blake. And she felt better knowing that he was looking out for her. After she played a showcase, he’d drive her home. Then he’d follow her into her hideous pink motel room so he could check in the bathroom and under the bed. “No bogeymen, no alligators,” he’d say, because she’d told him that when she was little, she was afraid that an alligator lived under her bed.

She didn’t talk about what she was afraid of now, but it certainly wasn’t alligators.

When he’d assured them both that the room was empty and AnnieLee was safe, he’d remind her to lock and bolt the door behind him. He’d tip his cap to her and say good night. But then he’d linger a little while in the doorway, as if he wanted to stay.

Goodbyes got awkward when it seemed like neither party wanted to say them.

Ruthanna’s expression was smug as she watched AnnieLee work. “I thought you two might take a liking to each other,” she said, “being young and cute and all that. But you don’t have to tell me anything.”

Don’t worry. I won’t, thought AnnieLee.

Then Ruthanna looked up from beneath her giant hat and called out to Ethan. “Go see if there’s an extra shovel in the shed, why don’t you? These beans won’t plant themselves.”

AnnieLee quickly wiped at her face with the hem of her T-shirt. She must look a mess—sweaty and dirt-smudged.

Ruthanna laughed. “You look gorgeous,” she said, as if reading AnnieLee’s thoughts. “You could put on a potato sack and go roll around in a hog pit and you’d still be the prettiest thing for miles.”

AnnieLee flushed as she coaxed a squash start from its container. As she gently placed it in its row, she marveled at the turns her life had recently taken. She’d come to Nashville with nothing but desire and a backpack, and here she was, planting an icon’s garden as a handsome guitar player walked over to help her do it. For most of her life, she hadn’t felt lucky at all. But maybe, finally, she was.





Chapter

33



The important thing is not to be nervous,” Ethan said, patting the stickered side of his guitar case. “We’re all friends here.”

That was easy for him to say, AnnieLee thought as she followed him down the steps to Ruthanna’s basement recording studio. He’d been playing with her band for six months, whereas she’d never even met them before. And though she’d spent the last few nights singing and playing in the studio—“No pressure: we’re just messing around,” Ruthanna had assured her—today was the day she was supposed to teach the other musicians one of her songs, and AnnieLee felt as though she’d been having a low-grade panic attack ever since the sun shone its first light into her motel room window.

Ethan led her along the hallway lined with gold records and then stopped in front of the heavy metal door. “Ready?” he said, grinning at her with those damn dimples of his. “No alligators in here, either. I promise.”

“No, I’m not ready,” she said, in a sudden fit of honesty, but he opened the door anyway, ushering her into the large, carpeted room full of microphones, instruments, and Ruthanna’s studio band.

“This is Elrodd, Donna, Melissa, and Stan,” Ethan said, pointing to each one in turn. “Guys, this is AnnieLee.”