Run Rose Run(46)

“They’ve gotten into my vegetable garden,” AnnieLee added. Not that she cared one lick about the lettuce or the tomatoes. She was going to write a song with Ruthanna Ryder!

Ruthanna gazed thoughtfully at the little creatures. “When she was little, Sophia used to call this the Bunny Hour,” she said.

AnnieLee got up and went to stand beside her. “It’s nice to hear you talk about her,” she said.

“It’s been a long time,” Ruthanna said. “I’m out of practice.”

“You’ll get better,” AnnieLee said.

Ruthanna flashed a wicked grin. “Like Ethan did on the solo—but Lord, what torture along the way.”

Ethan genially raised his bottle of beer to them. “It’s okay to use me as the brunt of your jokes,” he said.

“Wouldn’t matter if it weren’t,” Ruthanna said.

And AnnieLee laughed, feeling tired in body and soul, and happier than she’d ever thought was possible.





Chapter

40



Billy gave AnnieLee and Ethan a look of genuine surprise when they walked into the Cat’s Paw on Saturday night. They’d been so busy in the recording studio that it’d been a couple of weeks since they’d sidled up to the bar or climbed onto the stage. But since Ethan was scheduled to play that night, AnnieLee assumed Billy was just surprised to see them coming in together.

Billy was topping off a pint of Budweiser for Ethan when he turned around and said, “Well, I’ll be damned.”

“What?” AnnieLee said, plucking a cherry from the garnish station and popping it into her mouth.

Billy snapped his bar towel at her in annoyance. “Normally I’d eighty-six you for that—but listen!” He bent down and turned up the volume on the stereo, and AnnieLee heard the sound of Ethan’s wailing guitar, and then her own sweet, fierce voice doing melodic somersaults over it. “Your single’s playing right now on WATC,” Billy said, looking as proud as if he’d written “Driven” himself.

AnnieLee grabbed the lip of the bar. “Oh, wow,” she whispered. “Honestly, Billy, that’s the first time I’ve heard it.”

“You mean besides the five thousand times Ruthanna made us sing it, and then the ten thousand times we listened while Warren mixed it,” Ethan corrected her.

She shot a light punch at his well-muscled biceps. “I meant on the radio, dummy.” It was amazing—and so strange—to hear her own voice coming through the speakers. She couldn’t imagine ever getting used to it.

“Nice work, kid,” Billy said to her. “Reckon that’s about the fastest I ever saw someone go from begging for a set to getting herself on the radio.”

AnnieLee tossed her hair back. “I told you so when I walked into this place, didn’t I?”

“I guess you did,” he said. “The vast majority of Homo sapiens are full of BS, though, so forgive me for assuming you belonged in their ranks.”

AnnieLee laughed. “I don’t know what I’m full of.”

“Piss and vinegar,” Ethan said, scooting his stool closer to hers and slinging his arm ever so casually over her shoulders.

She thrilled to the warmth and weight of it, though she didn’t know what he meant by the gesture. Friendship? Flirtation? All she knew was that he’d showed up at her motel half an hour earlier and demanded that she come watch his set. “And you’re not allowed to just stand in the wayback and bug out the second I’m done,” he’d clarified. She hadn’t even pretended that she didn’t want to go. She’d loosed her hair from its braid, swiped on a hint of red lipstick, and jumped into his truck.

“You be nice,” she said to Ethan now. “I had big plans I had to cancel for this.” She waggled her fingers at him. “I was going to paint my nails something fabulous: Cosmic Glitter was the name of it.”

Ethan laughed, a low, thrilling rumble in his chest, and his arm tightened around her.

She was thinking about slipping her own arm around his waist—in a similarly casual way, of course, easy to laugh off if she needed to—when Billy said, “Well, Blake, you better get yourself ready. The mic’s looking lonely up there.”

Ethan released AnnieLee and swung off his stool. The bar was still quiet, especially for a Saturday night, but he’d asked to play early: his KJ shift at the Rusty Spur started at nine. As he grabbed his guitar case, he looked back at AnnieLee as if he wanted to say something. But then he frowned almost imperceptibly and walked toward the stage.

She watched as he took his place and adjusted the leather strap over his shoulder, the spotlight shining on his dark hair, his long, tanned fingers tenderly holding the neck of the guitar.

“Evening, everybody,” he said, and there was a smattering of claps from the room. He began to fingerpick the intro to a song AnnieLee didn’t recognize.

“What’s your name?” she shouted.

Ethan laughed and leaned into the mic. “I always forget that part. I’m Ethan Blake, and I’m looking forward to playing a few songs for you guys tonight.”

He started the song over again, and AnnieLee closed her eyes to listen. He sang about a person asking to be trusted and fearing that he wouldn’t be. The song was slow and sad and gorgeous.