Run Rose Run(66)
She sank to the steps and cradled the guitar in her lap, strumming G, then C, then D. The instrument had a silky, golden sound.
“I can’t believe it,” she whispered. She felt like crying.
Ethan stood watching her, and his foot began to tap as she played the opening bars to “Lost and Found,” the song they’d worked on together in New York.
“It’s probably not a stage guitar, since you’ve got Ruthanna’s Taylor,” he said. “It’s more for songwriting, alone, late at night, when only the moon knows what you’re up to.”
She blinked, pushing back grateful tears, and then beamed up at him. “I love it. Thank you, Ethan Blake. And…I’m sorry.”
He hunched his shoulders. “Me, too.”
And then he sat down next to her and started to sing along.
Lost and found, unchained, unbound
No more second guessing, I know who I am
Now I’m on solid ground
Chapter
56
They didn’t speak of their fight again, and Ethan resumed his duties as if quitting had never even occurred to him. Early in the mornings, he drove to Ruthanna’s, where he and the band played the songs she couldn’t keep from writing, retirement be damned. Depending on when they finished their studio session, he’d bring AnnieLee lunch or dinner at her cottage, where she was working on her own music day and night. ACD kept sending her songs written by professional songwriters, ones with track records of charting hits, but AnnieLee was certain that her material was better. She was a songwriter first, she said, and a performer second. “I wouldn’t be me if I sang someone else’s songs.”
Busy as she was, she got a kick out of pretending that it was ridiculous of Ethan to bring her takeout every day. “Oh, it’s the meals-on-wheels guy again,” she’d say, laughing.
But Ethan had seen AnnieLee in her kitchen, and as far as he could tell, she barely knew a colander from a cantaloupe. Left to her own devices, she’d probably survive on canned beans, Pringles, and the occasional multivitamin at best.
Her gig as an opening act was less than a month away, and Ethan knew she was feeling a tremendous amount of pressure. No matter what Ruthanna believed about the relative talents of AnnieLee Keyes and Kip Hart, the fact remained that he was a mega-selling country hotshot, and she was still the new kid on the block. She had a lot to prove, and she knew it.
Gladys coughed as Ethan pulled up and parked in front of AnnieLee’s house. Tonight he was bringing fried chicken from Arnold’s Country Kitchen as a treat for them both. He knocked on her bright-red door, waited, and then knocked again. It took a few more minutes before AnnieLee appeared and said, “God, that smells good. I knew I forgot something today.”
“Not even breakfast?” Ethan asked, stepping into her living room, the entire floor of which was covered in notebooks, pencil stubs, paper scraps, and guitar picks.
“Nope,” she said. “Totally slipped my mind. But I’ve got this killer lick, and now all I need is, like, the riff, the melody, three verses, a chorus, and the bridge. We can figure that out tonight, right? Plus a title? Something like ‘You Never Saw Me Coming.’ Or ‘It’s a Long Way to the Top.’ No, never mind: those stink.” She had a pencil tucked behind each ear and two holding her hair up in a messy bun. She was bouncing on her toes and talking a mile a minute. She probably had more coffee running through her veins than blood.
“I think AC/DC beat you to that second title anyway,” Ethan said. He set the takeout bags on the pinewood table he’d helped her assemble. “How about you take a break and have some dinner, and then you can play me what you’re working on?”
She nodded. “Okay, okay, I can do that.”
Ethan went into the kitchen to fetch plates, napkins, and utensils. As he grabbed two beers from the refrigerator, he noticed that AnnieLee had taped a photo of Kip Hart to the door. He recognized her handwriting scrawled across the bottom in Sharpie: “Don’t embarrass yourself—or me. Love, KP.”
He was chuckling when he walked back to her. “I like your motivational poster,” he said.
“What?” she said. “Oh. That. Yeah, I made it at three o’clock this morning.”
“You should be sleeping at three o’clock in the morning,” he chided.
“Couldn’t,” she said. “Too much coffee.” AnnieLee took the pencils out of her bun, and her hair fell in a shining dark cloud around her shoulders. “You know, I’ve been reading about Kip Hart. He’s got a couple of ex-wives and two dozen former writing partners, but no one seems to have anything bad to say about him.”
“Maybe he’s a nicer guy than Ruthanna thinks he is.” Ethan had his doubts, but he’d be happy to be proven wrong.
“I hope so,” AnnieLee said. “Lord knows I’ve known more than enough mean ones.”
Ethan didn’t press her for any more information. He wouldn’t get it, and anyway, it wasn’t as if AnnieLee was the only one who had secrets. He had to remind himself of that sometimes.
She dug through a takeout bag to pull out the coleslaw. “I wish you guys were coming with me.”
Kip Hart’s management had made it clear that the singer was playing a stripped-down tour, in smaller venues, and that he wanted a solo opening act. Donna, Melissa, and Stan had been disappointed, but neither Elrodd nor Ethan had much wanted to be up on that stage. Let Kip Hart take a vacation back to his humbler roots; they could stay in Nashville and play in Ruthanna’s basement—and at the Cat’s Paw, if and when they felt like it.