“Sorry.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
“How long are you staying?”
So much was unknown until I had a hearty talk withmy lawyer. “I don’t know. I have to return in time to record my next album.”
“When’s that release?”
I bit my lower lip. “End of July.”
He huffed out a shocked breath. “Shit. You can record that quick?”
“I’ll have to.” I’d have to write the damn thing almost as quickly.
“Wasn’t there talk of a headlining tour? Sold-out stadiums?”
My stomach twisted and the pancakes—which had been as delicious as the fluffy muffins—threatened to make a resurgence. “After the album release, Lu—my manager will finish working with the tour promoter and I’ll hit the road.”
He regarded me. Tenor was too sharp to have missed my slipup. In addition to writing a new album, I’d have to find a new manager.
“Mama’s pleased as punch, but she’s worried about you,” he said.
“She’s always worried about us.”
“She knows when to be.”
She was correct. I loved singing. I loved music. I loved playing with the melody and the lyrics and I treasured having something I was proud of at the end. But what did it matter when I was nothing but a dollar sign to everyone around me?
“Remember what Daddy used to say?” I asked.
“‘Bourbon’s making a comeback one Kerrigan at a time.’”
I laughed. “No. Well, he said that too.”
Tenor’s lopsided grin was easy on my sore eyes. “Then you’ll have to be more specific.”
Daddy had a lot of sayings. “‘It’s the story that sells.’” Daddy used to tell us that bourbon wasn’t just a drink. It had a history. We didn’t call liquorspiritsfor nothing. Alcohol had the flavor of the land from the grain. It possessed the essence of the oak barrels. The concentration was dependent on time and weather. He said people didn’t buy bourbon because they wanted bourbon. They bought the story that went with it. “I love my job, but I don’t know my story anymore.”
“Gotcha.”
He probably did. But he also didn’t.
My birth mom used to tell me that I came out of the womb singing. When my parents ended up homeless and drove us from campsite to campsite to sleep under the stars, she used to say, “Let me hear you sing, Junie.”
One day, she hadn’t been there to hear me anymore, and hitting my goals had become more important than ever. Mae and Darin Bailey’s support had made it possible for me to achieve them. Only now I was faltering.
I wanted to honor both sets of parents. Mama Starr and Daddy Bjorn. Mama and Daddy Bailey. But also... Was this what I wanted? Navigating the minefield of people and politics and money and sometimes getting burned?
“Want me to bring out the Ranger or something for you?” he asked when the cabin came into view.
“I don’t anticipate having to go anywhere.” Though I’d need some sister time soon. “I won’t hole up for too long.” My wounds were in terrible need of being licked, and after this morning, I had one more scar that had split open.
He parked and helped me haul everything in.
I let out a long breath once I was in the cabin. The floor plan wasn’t much smaller than the main floor of Rhys’s house. There was no basement or upper level. Stacked logs made up the walls, and beams crossed the ceiling. This was no rustic hunting cabin. Daddy had joked that it was his man cave, but I thought he’d built it just for me. He’d known he was giving each of his kids a tract of land. Daddy was the type who’d want his wandering daughter to have a place to hang her hat. He’d known how important having a home was to me.
“Thank you, Tenor.”
