CHAPTER 22
Kate sat on the porch of her little cabin, feet perched on the rail, strumming her guitar, letting the breeze dance across her cheeks. Spring had arrived on the Flint Hills with a joyous burst of sensuality, mirroring the joy that grew in her heart with each day she passed in Cash’s bed. The aroma of freshly cut cedar mixed with the scent of warm dirt and wildflowers, sent words tumbling through her head as her fingers flitted across the frets.
You saw me through my brokenness, reached through like sun after rain…
She’d never had a creative streak like this. And it was all due to Cash. There was no other explanation. The deeper she let herself fall for Cash, the faster the words came. Being with him gave her a whole new understanding of lyrics she’d previously penned. And a whole new perspective on what it meant to fall in love.
The whine of a power saw cut through the air. Cash and Sterling worked a stick’s throw away, madly constructing another cabin with a day crew. They were halfway to their goal of constructing ten cabins, enough to house the first class of veterans who would be showing up mid-May to work with a fresh crew of mustangs and then make the six-hundred-fifty-mile trek along the Santa Fe trail to Santa Fe.
Her heart clenched at the thought. By the time the trek rolled around, she’d be gone. She slid a guilty glance over at her cell phone. She owed her mother a call. She’d been putting it off for weeks, clinging to every scrap of enjoyment she could while she thought long and hard about what she wanted next for her life.
What she wanted was Cash. But she didn’t see how that could happen. They both knew she couldn’t hide out on the ranch forever. It had been hard enough missing out on the charity baseball tournament a week ago. How much worse would it be in three weeks when they opened Resolution Ranch to visitors?
With a sigh, she struck a minor chord. They didn’t talk about it, but she and Cash both knew she needed to be gone by May 1st. On the rail, her phone buzzed.
Cheyenne: Are you ready to stop avoiding your mother???!?
Kate huffed out a laugh, and typed back.
K: That bad, huh?
Cheyenne: You have no idea.
K: I do. Believe me. She inserted a flat-faced emoji.
C: Just remember, I’m your best friend.
Kate laughed at the next entry which was nothing but crying smiley faces.
K: I was thinking of calling her anyway.
C: Subject change. How is Cash?
This was followed by nothing but googley-eyed emojis. Kate laughed again, feeling the blush creep up her face as she quickly typed back.
K: I don’t kiss and tell :)
C: I know what that means…
Kate returned the googley-eyed emojis.
K: Leaving is going to suck *sob*
C: Who says you have to leave? Why not open a studio in Prairie? Make the artists come to you… like a retreat
That was a thought. Kate dropped her head back onto her chair, shutting her eyes and listening to the voices and hammers ringing across the yard. A studio in Prairie. She had enough money she could buy a place, refurbish it even, and develop her own studio. In her mind, she’d been toying with getting into producing, but figured she’d rent time at The Hut, or even RCA Studio B. It had never occurred to her to take it a step further. Although if Reba McEntire could do it, why couldn’t she?
K: I’ll think about it.
Her thumb hovered over her contacts list. Should she call her lawyer first? Or her mom? Best to get the worst over quick. She could always talk to her lawyer another time. She scrolled to her mother’s name and pushed the green call icon.
Her mother answered on the first ring. “Kate?” Her mother’s voice sounded genuinely worried. But not for long. “Tell me you’re through with this immature little stunt.”
“Nice to talk to you too, momma,” she answered, pushing away the disappointment and trying to keep her voice even.
“Well? What have you to say for yourself? I’ve been out of my mind with worry.”
Hardly. Kate rolled her eyes. “I’ve been recovering, momma. Trying to figure out what’s next. And I needed to do that away from everyone.”
“Your next tour is next.” Helene’s voice grew terse. “We’ve delayed the singles’ release schedule long enough.”
Kate shook her head, irritation simmering. Why hadn’t she taken control of things sooner? If she’d taken charge of her career like other young musicians, things wouldn’t be so uncomfortable now. “Momma, you don’t understand. There won’t be another tour. It’s over.” Her heart squeezed painfully at the admission she’d been avoiding for far too long. But at the same time, a weight lifted off her shoulders.
“Nonsense. You just need a rest. And some voice lessons. I wish you’d let me give you voice lessons. How many times have I told you that belting is bad for the voice? You should have listened to me.”
“Momma, it wasn’t my technique.” She clung to what the doctor had told her. “It was a fluke. Fatigue and illness. I was just, I was just,” her voice caught. “I was just unlucky,” she finished quietly. She could hear her mother glowering into the phone. “Momma? Are you there?”
“This never would have happened if–”
“I know, I know,” she interrupted. “If I’d listened to you and studied classical music. But you were the one who put me on the stage at the Grand Ole Opry.”
“That was supposed to be a trial balloon. A chance to give you stage experience. I never expected–” her voice trailed off.
Kate sighed. This always came up when they were at odds with each other. “You never expected me to get offered a recording contract on the spot, I know. Look, Momma. What’s done is done. It’s over. And I have a new dream. One that I want to pursue for myself. Not for anyone else.”
“I don’t know why you’re telling this to me. You fired me, remember?”
“Momma, please.”
“Fine.”
Kate could see her mother’s expression, frowning into the phone and studying her manicure. In spite of that, she still hoped for her mother’s approval. “I’ve been thinking about going into producing,” she said excitedly. “And I want to scout new talent.” She hadn’t even mentioned this to Cheyenne, but she’d love to mentor up and coming young singers. Help them in all the areas where she’d stumbled.
Silence.
“Momma? Say something.” Please say you’re excited, and you think this is a great idea.
“You don’t know the first thing about producing. When have you been on the other side of the microphone? You need to let the professionals do that. If you’re going to insist on retiring, you should try and get a spot on one of those singer shows.”
Kate cringed. She was done with high profile anything. “You mean like The Voice?”
“One of them. I’m sure Franco knows people. I’ll see what I can get done. Now, when are you coming home?”
Kate seethed. But not so much at her mother as herself. She’d let her mother take over everything, again. But not anymore. “Momma, I have to run, but I’ll be in touch. Talk soon.” She hung up and threw the phone over the rail into the dirt. She never should have confided in her mother. How many times did it take for her to learn? Her mother would never be emotionally available to her. That realization became all the clearer as she spent time with Cash. He got her. He listened. And offered words of encouragement and support at every turn.
Kate returned to strumming, running a scale and letting the music settle her. Her phone rang from the ground. Let it ring. It was probably her mother calling back to lecture her. She continued to noodle around, getting up the courage to hum a little when the phone rang again. She forced her attention to her fingers.
The fourth time the phone rang, she set down her guitar and hopped off the porch, picking up the phone. “This better be good, Chey, because I just got off the phone with Momma, and I–”
“Are you crazy, Kate? Did you even think about the ranch? That video already has half a million views.”
“What do you mean?” she said slowly, mind spinning. “What video?”
“You sound good, by the way. Better than I expected. But are you ready for the onslaught? Why didn’t you tell me you were doing this?”
“Cheyenne. STOP.” Pain stabbed through her throat as she raised her voice. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Hey Kaycee,” a voice Kate didn’t recognize called out.
A man rounded the corner of her cabin, camera in hand, chewing on a toothpick.
Kate went cold, dread flooding her. Oh God, she was going to be sick. How had she been tracked down? Worse, who had betrayed her? “Who are you,” she asked hoarsely.
“C’mon, sweetheart,” he said taking a step closer and raising his camera. “Can’t you smile pretty for one pic?”