Good Time Bad Boy (9 page)

He picked up his guitar, awed as always by its beauty. He ran his fingers over the painted hummingbirds before touching the strings.

Somebody in the audience hollered his name. Whistles and claps followed. Randy had wanted to introduce him but Wade asked him not to. He could no longer remember why, but he’d had to introduce himself that first night, too.

He took a deep breath and stepped up to the mic. “Good evening.”

The crowd answered him with applause. His heart thudded in his chest, so hard he could feel it all over. Find that one person and focus on them, that’s what he needed to do. He wiped his clammy hands quickly on his jeans and scanned the audience.

“My name’s Wade Sheppard, some of y’all might know me.”

More applause, and it hit his nerves like nails on a blackboard. It had been a damn long time since he’d been this nervous about performing. He sought friendly faces in the audience, pleasantly surprised to find more than a few. His mother beamed, proud as always to see him on stage. Focus on your mother, Daisy had advised. Start with some of her favorite songs.

There was no question what was his mother’s favorite song. The fact that it wasn’t one of his songs made him smile. “I got my start right here in Rocky Top years ago, singing other people’s songs and sometimes helping to bus the tables. I’d like to start tonight with one of those songs that always went over well when I sang it.” His smile melted into a self-deprecating grimace and back. “I hope it still will. This is my momma’s favorite song.”

A chorus of
awws
rippled through the bar. Wade nodded at his mother, who smiled and waved. With a shake of his head, he launched into the opening notes of George Strait’s
Amarillo By Morning
. From there he went right into
I Can Still Make Cheyenne
and then a few others he remembered playing a lot in those early days. No patter between numbers, no band behind him, very little distance between him and the front tables. Nothing to rely on but his guitar and the nearly endless catalog of songs he knew how to play.

Music bubbled up from the recesses of his memory. Songs he hadn’t played or even heard in years sent their first notes to fingers that danced over the strings. Turning on the radio first thing in the morning, listening to the country countdown on the weekends with his fingers poised to record his favorite songs on a blank cassette tape. His first guitar, a Christmas gift from his grandparents. Oh God, how his fingers had ached as he struggled to learn the chords. He’d bled on the strings until he finally formed callouses. That guitar went everywhere with him for years, just like his beloved Gibson Hummingbird did now. The instrument was a part of him, an extension not just of his body but of his very soul.

Somewhere in the middle of an Eddie Rabbitt song he remembered his parents dancing to in the kitchen, Wade forgot to be nervous. Something opened up inside and he threw himself into the music wholeheartedly, trusting the words and the chords to come back to him. And they did, song after song. For better or worse, this was the music that made him. The first music that spoke to him, that made him fall in love first with the radio and then with his guitar. The music that allowed him to express himself, even when it was through someone else’s song. Wade didn’t consider himself a very nostalgic person but tonight he let himself bask in his musical history, the songs that helped raise him and teach him and gave him a foundation for the future he created for himself with his guitar. Both the good and the bad, because though he’d be damned if he sang
Empty Rooms
tonight, he looked out over the sea of familiar faces and saw people who knew the meaning of pain and grief as well as they did the sway and the sweetness of a love song. So he sang Garth Brooks’
The Dance
for them and didn’t once stumble over the chords or the words.

A head full of long blond waves passing between tables caught his eye. Daisy looked up and smiled, and his heart stuttered. Damn, that girl was beautiful. He liked her sharp tongue, too, and the way she stood up for herself. The songwriter in him wanted to know her story, but the man in him knew getting close enough to get it would be dangerous.

He didn’t know how long he’d been on stage. He could have kept going for hours, but a performer always leaves his audience wanting more. And he knew in his bones that this audience would walk away wanting more. He’d put on a damn good show tonight despite his nerves. Pride glowed hot inside, an inner spotlight shining bright on places that had been dark for too long.

Another look at Daisy – the way her smile curved into a slight smirk, her long legs under that short black uniform skirt, and her eyes so full of life and mischief – and he knew exactly how to end the set. He’d started the night with George Strait so it felt right to come full circle, with the song
She’ll Leave You With A Smile
.

The crowd fell away and Wade sang directly to Daisy, only to Daisy. It pleased him to see that it stopped her in her tracks, empty beer bottles balanced precariously on her tray. She brought a hand to her throat and bit her lip. He smiled to her as he sang and he told himself that the heat he knew must have shone in his eyes was just part of the performance. If it affected her, well, that was just an unfair advantage singers sometimes had.

The spell broke as the song ended and the bar erupted in applause. Randy Tucker hauled himself up and made his way to the tiny stage, laying claim to the microphone. “Brittain’s own Wade Sheppard, back home in Rocky Top!”

Whistles and hoots and hollers continued. How could such a small place hold enough people to make that much noise? Wade took a bow and waved.

He was home. To his great surprise, it felt good to be there, too.

D
aisy clutched her dish of broccoli casserole and paused at the front door of the Travers home. This wasn’t the first gathering she’d been to at their house since befriending Jillian, but they always made her nervous. No matter what Jillian said, no matter how nice she and Jeff were to her, Daisy never felt like she fit in. But she came anyway, because she didn’t know anymore where she did belong.

She controlled her breathing and did her best to shove her fears back into a dark corner. Through Megan and the variety of jobs Daisy had held over the past few years, she knew a lot of different people. A few of them even had good jobs and a little money, like Jeff and Jillian. They were nice people who judged others on their actions, not their income, so they didn’t care that Daisy was a waitress. As for school, Daisy still had a hard time figuring out why her mother and brother had a problem with that. Weren’t you supposed to better yourself? But then, he never tried and Alice couldn’t seem to stand the idea of her least favorite child possibly having a better life than she herself had. It was still a hard thought to get used to, even felt a little forbidden at times, but Daisy was determined to belong where
she
wanted to be, not where people thought she should be.

Thankfully Megan would be here too. That always helped. Daisy raised her hand to knock and the door flung open before she made contact.

Jeff Travers filled the doorway with his outsized personality. He pointed at the glass dish in her hands. “Homemade mac and cheese or that broccoli stuff?”

“Broccoli casserole. I brought mac and cheese last time, I thought I should mix it up.”

He made a pained face. “Ah. Jilly likes the stuff so I guess I better let you in.” He grinned broadly. “Glad you could make it, hon.”

“Me too.” She stepped across the threshold. “Thank you for inviting me.” She started to head toward the kitchen but he stopped her.

“I haven’t had a chance to apologize for what happened Monday night,” Jeff said. “I’m sorry about that.”

“That wasn’t your fault.”

“Maybe not entirely, but I’m the one who kept ordering more drinks. I never meant for things to go so far that you lost your job. Wade didn’t either, I hope you know that.”

“Don’t worry about it. Besides, Randy didn’t agree with his grandson firing me and I’ve got my job back. It’s all good.”

“Yeah, it’s a good thing Randy always had a soft spot for Wade. If he hadn’t agreed to play the bar all summer, I don’t think Randy would have had the stomach to fight with his wife and daughter about Josh making bad decisions. But like you said, it’s all good now.”

“Eh.” Daisy stared at the casserole. “I’m gonna take this to the kitchen.”

“Okay,” Jeff said. “Get yourself a beer while you’re there. I gotta get back out to the grill.”

Daisy made her way through the house, intent on finding Jillian. She left the casserole on a kitchen counter with several other dishes and opened the door to the spacious back yard. It was full of people talking and laughing and mingling. Her breath hitched and she chided herself for bringing that bottomless pit of insecurity with her. She spotted Jillian’s red head in a group of women and decided to wait about questioning her. That was not a conversation she wanted to have in front of witnesses.

Megan appeared at her side and handed her a beer. “This should help. If you need anything stronger, we’ll have to call your brother.”

Daisy laughed and took a sip. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

“That top does not make you look fat, but I hate you for wearing it because it does things for your boobs that should be illegal.”

Daisy made a show of checking out her cleavage. “Really? Why thank you, that’s so sweet.”

“What are besties for if not to make you feel good about your boobs?”

“Do you know how I got my job back?”

“Yeah, Wade Sheppard agreed to play at Rocky Top all summer if Randy rehired you.”

“God damn it,” Daisy hissed. “Am I the only person who didn’t know?”

Megan grimaced. “Now you know. Randy didn’t tell you?”

“Jeff said something about it. I can’t believe this.”

“What’s the big deal? I mean, it was pretty much the guy’s fault you got fired in the first place. What’s wrong with him doing something to make it right?”

“What’s wrong is now I feel like I owe him.”

“Well, based on what I heard about the way he was singing to you the other night, I got a pretty good idea how you can pay him back.” Megan maintained an angelic expression behind her beer bottle.

Daisy was having none of it. “He’s a performer. That’s all that was.” She’d told herself that countless times since Thursday night. The way he’d stared at her during that last song...it meant nothing. Just a combination of bedroom eyes and a deep voice and a sexy song. Although when the hell did she start thinking country songs could be sexy?

“From what I heard he’s a pretty damn good performer.” Megan winked. “On stage. That’s all I’ve heard.”

“Stop it.”

“Any time you want to fill out the picture. Evaluate his performance in other areas.”

“Megan Louise Hollister.”

“Daisy Jane McNeil.” Megan pointed discreetly in the direction of the yard’s side gate. “You have to admit, he is pretty good looking.”

Casually, Daisy shifted her stance so she could see Wade as he entered the Travers’ back yard. “I wouldn’t call him good looking.”

More like devastatingly handsome, but she’d be keeping that thought to herself. All the nerves that had been in evidence the first night he performed at Rocky Top were gone now. He was relaxed and comfortable, filling out his Wranglers and tight t-shirt very nicely. No hat today, which allowed the soft summer breeze to play with his thick, dark hair. An easy smile lit his face as he greeted people. She watched him closely as he made his way through the crowd, curious just how much of this was a performance. Finally she decided it was mostly genuine as he got close enough for her to see that his smile reached his eyes.

What was it like to know you were constantly being watched and evaluated? That you couldn’t put a toe out of place without incurring the wrath of gossips. Suddenly she felt guilty for observing him so closely and she turned her gaze to the ground.

“He drove one of the busboy’s home last night when his brother didn’t show up,” Daisy said.

Megan gave her a curious glance. “Sounds like he’s got some nice guy in him, too. Have you talked to him much?”

For some reason Daisy was reluctant to answer. “He asked me who my favorite country singer was last night.”

Megan laughed. “Did you tell him you hate country?”

Daisy shrugged. “I just told him I didn’t know any.” And then he’d left her alone, only exchanging polite pleasantries the rest of the night. She’d quietly stewed in disappointment for the rest of the evening. “I should tell him thank you.”

“I would if it were me,” Megan said. “But all jokes aside, a simple thanks is enough. If he feels differently, I think we can probably get his brother to kick his ass.”

“I don’t think he’s like that.” She handed her half-empty beer bottle to Megan. “But I guess I’m about to find out.” She didn’t wait for a reply.

Wade stood in the middle of a group of people. Daisy reconsidered briefly, then decided to get it over with. She hated feeling obligated to anyone. She marched right up to him through the group and lightly touched his elbow.

He stopped mid-sentence and smiled at her. “Hi.”

Her stomach plummeted down to her feet and she blanked for a moment. “Uh, hey. Can I talk to you for a minute?” Then she remembered there were others present. “I’m sorry to interrupt.” She looked around vaguely to include all of them in her apology without having to actually make eye contact. Her cheeks were hot and she knew she had to be blushing.

“That’s fine.” He pointed at a stretch of privacy fence with no one around. “How about we go talk over there?”

Daisy opened her mouth to speak but the words dried in her throat. One of the women in the group was giving her a look she was long familiar with. It was a look that said, you’re trash and everyone here knows it. Daisy clapped her mouth shut, seething inwardly. She let Wade lead her away, tossing her hair over her shoulder with one hand. Stuck up bitches like that didn’t hate her because they thought she was trash. They hated her because their husbands watched her ass as she walked away.