Run, Rose, Run(16)

You should see her, he’d texted.

Not kidding

Voice like a celestial being

Bar sink’s overflowing



She sighed and tucked her phone back into her bag. Billy could obviously handle the plumbing issue, if there even was one. She wouldn’t put it past Ethan to use any weapon in his persuasive arsenal, including outright invention.

She was tired, but the champagne she’d drunk still fizzed pleasantly in her head. How awful would going to the bar really be? Billy made a mean martini, and she could treat herself to one.

She leaned forward. “Actually, Lucas, take me to the Cat’s Paw, please.”

“You got it, Ms. Ryder,” he said. After so many years, he still insisted on calling her that.

When Billy saw Ruthanna come in, his eyes went wide, and his mouth fell open like a trapdoor. She held her finger to her lips and quickly slid over to a small empty table that was almost hidden behind the bar. She didn’t want to make a scene if she could help it.

The smell of the Cat’s Paw—the funk of old beer, fryer grease, and Bar Keepers Friend—worked like a time machine, and for an instant Ruthanna was her younger self again, cocky and scared at the same time, aching to take Nashville by storm. The Cat’s Paw was the first place she’d ever sung. Five years later, when she hit number one with the gut-punching “Don’t Lay the Blame on My Pillow,” she’d bought the place in celebration. She’d kept it exactly the same.

But she couldn’t even remember the last time she’d been here. Like her other properties, the Cat’s Paw seemed to run itself—which meant, in fact, that she had responsible people taking care of it for her. Ruthanna simply signed the checks and deposited whatever meager profits there were. Though she well knew the value of a dollar, money was far from her primary concern. She had more than she could ever spend.

Billy hurried over to her table, still looking like he thought he might be hallucinating. “Are you gonna sing?” he whispered. “You look like it.”

She kicked her shoes off for the second time that night, thinking she just might leave them there under the table for good. “They asked me that at the last place. The answer is a most emphatic no.” She paused. “Is the bar sink working okay?”

“Huh?” Billy said. Then, “Um, yeah. Far as I know.”

“I figured.”

“Can I get you anything?” he asked.

“Tanqueray martini,” she said. “You can glance at the vermouth if you need to, but don’t bother touching it. Lemon twist. Please.”

“You got it,” he said, and practically sprinted away.

The bar was crowded, but the stage was empty and ready for its next act. Maybe it’d be Ethan’s angel, or maybe it’d be some other hopeful—it really didn’t matter to Ruthanna. She wasn’t here for the music; she was here, however reluctantly, for Ethan Blake.

She couldn’t see him from where she sat, which was just as well. He’d sniff her out eventually, but she wasn’t ready to admit he’d won this round.

Not yet.





Chapter

15



As Ruthanna waited for her drink, a middle-aged cowboy climbed onstage, tipped his hat, and proceeded to entertain the crowd with a solid Keith Urban imitation. By the time her martini arrived, with its bright slice of lemon floating in ice-cold gin, he’d been replaced by redheaded twins on guitar and mandolin. They played a couple of old-timey numbers that sounded almost but not quite familiar, like the phantom B side to one of the famous Bristol Sessions records.

It was obviously open-mic night at the Cat’s Paw, which meant that everyone and her in-laws had come out to get their six minutes in the spotlight. And if Ruthanna had known this in advance, she’d have thought twice about showing up.

“Boo!” said a voice right near her ear.

Ruthanna socked Ethan in the arm without even looking. “Blake, don’t scare a lady,” she said. “Sit down and have a drink.” She gave him a sidelong glance. “Where’s your crush? Don’t tell me she’s immune to your charms.”

He started to jokingly protest, but suddenly his face got serious. “Shh,” he said. “She’s on.”

Ruthanna turned and saw a small, slender young woman standing alone in the center of the stage. Her head was bowed, and the lights shone on her dark, tousled hair. Her posture was tense, wary, as if one loud noise would make her bolt like a rabbit.

Oh, Lordy, Ruthanna thought. This is going to be painful.

But then the young woman straightened up, and the hair fell away from her face, and Ruthanna saw that she was beautiful, with big eyes and high cheekbones and a rosebud mouth. She looked as perfect and innocent as one of those Madame Alexander dolls Ruthanna’s mother had collected.

Ruthanna started laughing deep in her throat. “Good Lord, Blake, that girl’s so gorgeous she could sing like a barn cat in heat and folks’ll be calling her the next Maria Callas,” she said.

“Shh,” Ethan said. “Just you wait.”

“Don’t shh me, soldier boy,” Ruthanna warned. Half a dozen choice insults were right on the tip of her tongue, but another glance at Ethan told her that they’d be wasted. Ethan Blake had neither eyes nor ears for anyone but that dark-haired woman on the stage.