“I can get that, Mama.” I took the basket of eggs from her in the chicken shed. We’d just washed them all.
“I know.” Mama ignored me and continued out of the shed. A mix of speckled and reddish-brown chickens scattered from our path.
Side by side, we walked the dirt trail up the hill to the house. Once we hit the flatter part of our yard, the grass thickened. A light breeze ruffled my ponytail.
I’d gone to bed every night since Sunday letting some of the strands slip through my fingers, imagining it was Rhys’s hand and that his other one was?—
“You’ve been quiet today.” Mama’s chin was lifted in herI’m not going to pry but I’ll just ask a simple questionway.
“I have a call with my lawyer later.” The last call I’d had was promising. The contract I had with Lucy wasn’t ironclad. Her deception was enough to extract me without penalties.
“Oh, she’s good, right?”
“She’s why I can still work freely for Copper Summit.”
Mom gave an approving grunt as we entered the house. The warmth of the kitchen surrounded me. Pure comfort. “What about hiring a new manager?”
Stress burned down my throat. “I haven’t started looking yet.” My inbox was filling up. News of the breakup with my manager had reached my professional circle. Soon it’d be public knowledge. Then I’d have managers knocking on my door, promising me the world.
And I’d have to decide who to trust.
Someday, I’d be that person for people. I mentored who I could, but I wasn’t yet in a position to offer more than advice and a few scholarships. For all of Lucy’s faults, I wouldn’t have gotten as far as I was without her network and influence. Once my name made enough money and promised so much more to come, I could open those doors myself for others.
“Want a drink?” Mama asked. I arched a brow and she rolled her eyes. “Coffee. It’s only ten in the morning.”
“Since when has that stopped us?” I started putting eggs into the empty cartons Mama had stocked behind the door.
She smirked and washed her hands. “You sound just like your father.”
“I miss him.”
“Me too.” She gave me another discreet look. “If he were here, what would you talk to him about?”
I knew what she was getting at. I was scheduled to tutor the girls every week. Tomorrow, I’d be over thereagain. Each day clicked by, slow as molasses, as I watched the calendar for Sunday to appear. And each day, I picked at my guitar, different melodies coming and going.
But I’d written a song. “Senseless.”
I’d gone to the bar last Wednesday. Autumn had looked deliriously happy, and Gideon had been on a stool, rocking worn jeans like he’d been born in them, which was true. The smoldering looks between the two of them had driven me home early. And I’d written another song about a rugged country man oblivious of his appeal. A single dad who doted on his daughters and put hearts in the eyes of single moms everywhere. I’d titled it “Call Me Daddy.” I’d probably have to change it, but it made me giggle to think of Rhys hearing it and knowing it was him.
I couldn’t ride the wave of euphoria from having two whole songs done after months of languishing. I had at least eight more album-worthy songs to write.
If Daddy were alive, I’d talk to him. I’d definitely open up to my sisters. As it was, Wynter had gone to Denver early with Myles and Elsa. Summer and Jonah were on some road trip to find new wood for him to make gorgeous furniture with. The guys would know something was eating at me if I asked to hang out with them, but I didn’t want to open up to them. My brothers wanted to solve problems. They were a different dynamic from Daddy but just as perceptive.
When I’d stopped in at the distillery yesterday, Teller had taken one look at me and said, “You’re lingering. What’s wrong?”
Then I’d asked Tate when Scarlett would be home and he’d said, “Why? What’s wrong?”
I didn’t want to talk to him about kissing exes. I still hadn’t told any of them about my Nashville issues.
Mama always had an ear and she was more ironclad than an NDA. Usually. I’d risk it this time.
When I wasn’t penning a song around Rhys, I was thinking about what we’d talked about in the shop. “Do you think I did the right thing? When I moved to Tennessee?”
She paused pouring water into the coffee machine. Then she finished and stuffed the pot under the spout. She wouldn’t look at me.
A band around my chest tightened. Back then, if she had thought I was making a mistake, she’d have still supported my ambitions. Seemed to be a theme with the people I loved.
Finally, she turned. “There aren’t a lot of mistakes in life. There’re mostly should-haves and doubts. You made the decision you made for a reason. To doubt that now is useless. To think about what you should’ve done is disingenuous. You aren’t the same person. You didn’t have the luxury of knowing the future and how it’d all turn out.”
