CHAPTER 4

For Jackson, dinner was a reminder of some of his first shows in Nashville, where nobody had any idea who this Jackson Carver guy was. Little enthusiasm from the small crowd, no matter how well the band played. Tonight, it was so quiet he could literally hear the sounds of Lincoln’s chewing. But they’d all eaten together, like his grandmother wanted, because she was a good woman and Jackson was trying like hell to be a good grandson.

But Eve hammered on his last nerve.

“Let’s head over to the Shady Grind, yeah?” Jackson suggested to Lincoln after dinner.

How many more nights like this would there be, after all, before Lincoln was tethered to the ball and chain? There was the fishing trip/bachelor party coming that Jackson planned. It would be a day filled with worms, fish guts, and beer and then it would be all over for Lincoln. Tied to Sadie. Forever.

Jackson wished him good luck with that.

“I’m in,” Lincoln said, grabbing his keys. “You need to cool off.”

Cooling off was a damn good idea. He’d been in town an hour. How was he going to get through two weeks of this fresh hell?

He didn’t want to get married? Who the hell showed up at the church? Even though a week before their wedding, the band he’d played with on and off for years was suddenly headed to Nashville that summer. Jackson would stay behind. Get hitched. His twenty-one-year-old self didn’t know any better. And yeah, he’d loved Eve, like he imagined everyone did their first love.

She’d looked different tonight. Her coffee-colored hair was still wavy and long. But her hazel eyes…he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. They were different somehow. No shimmer. They were almost…hollow. Empty.

When he’d tried to fire her, it shocked him to the marrow that she’d backed off. Definitely not the girl he’d fallen for. That woman would have fought back immediately. Giving him hell. True, he didn’t know Eve anymore. Over the years he’d been sent a family photo or two with her in it. Always with either Sadie, or Lincoln and Sadie. Mostly his family knew better than to bring her up. She was still a sore subject.

Lincoln pulled into the bar and grill’s parking lot. Jackson knew even before stepping inside that the large dance floor would be empty and there would be mostly men in here, nursing away their sorrows over a cold beer. Far too many love stories in this town gone south.

He tipped his Stetson low as he entered behind Lincoln. Priscilla Longmire, the owner and part-time bartender was still behind the bar. She’d owned this place for decades and given Jackson his first chance at performing before an audience. She’d be around sixty now and still wore her dyed platinum blond hair teased out nearly two feet on either side of her head.

“Hey ya, ’Cilla,” Jackson called out.

“Oh my gawd, it’s you. Our hometown boy returns.”

Jackson accepted her hug across the bar and took in the strong smell of aerosol mixed with the scent of stale beer. He was fond of Priscilla, who’d allowed him to play every other Friday night when he was starting out.

“Missed you around here, Mr. Nashville. We lost the best man of all when you left town.”

“Still the best man,” Lincoln joked. “This time the best man in my weddin’.”

“I didn’t think anything would bring you back to our neck of the woods, after…” She blinked quickly, as if she’d accidentally stumbled upon a sticky spider web. “Uh, well, you know. Tell ya, some girls don’t got themselves a lick of sense.”

“Maybe she had the only sense out of any of us,” Jackson said, realizing he was being generous. “I realize now there’s a whole world out there, with plenty of you beauties around.”

“Aw, now, ain’t you sweet. And slick.” She threw a towel over her shoulder and eyed him from under obviously false eyelashes. “When’d you get so slick?”

“Two drafts,” Jackson ordered, not willing to indulge any further conversation into his slickness.

Hard-won, that’s what. He’d been considered a country bumpkin his first years in Nashville. Not anymore.

Priscilla poured, then nudged her chin to the direction of the far wall nearest to the dance floor and mock-stage area. “See there. Still got your first ax.”

Jackson’s first guitar still hung from the wall in a place of honor on ’Cilla’s Wall of Fame. It was a cheap secondhand he’d found at a thrift store when he was sixteen. He’d long since upgraded. Still, Jezebel was special. Gratification pulsed through him to see she hung just above framed and signed photos of Johnny Cash, who Priscilla claimed crawled in one night many years ago and performed for a small crowd.

“Hey, I’m somehow above Cash. Can’t complain.”

One of the Henderson brothers wandered over on their way out and clapped Jackson’s shoulder, welcoming him back to town. Jolette Marie Truehart seemed to be one of two women in here tonight.

Jackson paid for their drinks and he and Lincoln settled in at two of the stools. A few down from them, two men sat talking. Jackson didn’t recognize either one of them.

“I don’t know what I did wrong,” one of them said. “Treated her right, never cheated.”

The other man clapped him on the back. “We need to move out of this town.”

Seemed nothing much changed around here, which should not surprise him. The only work was ranching work, and hobbies included hunting and fishing. Didn’t bring a lot of women into town.

“I’ll tell ya. I promised I wouldn’t come back until I’d made a name for myself.” Jackson waved the beer in Linc’s direction. “Only came back for you.”

“I thought things were going good for you in Nashville.”

That was pretty much the party line he’d sent home because no one wanted to hear him whine about his problems when there was a cattle ranch to be run. But truthfully, he’d been writing songs for other musicians because that was the most lucrative. Fans loved his songs. Eventually, he’d get another recording deal but so far, he managed a living writing songs for much bigger artists and playing honky-tonks and some larger halls as an opening act.

“I’m only as good as my last performance.”

“You’re pretty special around here. Every now and again we see you in the ‘out and about’ section of the tabloids with some beautiful lady. You’re practically a legend at the General Store.”

“I’m no one special. Just a hard-working musician.”

“Whoowee.” Lincoln whistled. “Don’t say that around Pops.”

When compared to the back-breaking work of a rancher, yeah, not so much. Traveling from city to city, losing his voice because of singing all night in often smoky clubs, and enduring sleepless nights wasn’t hard work. Never would be to their father, or Linc, though he was kind enough not to say so. Were Jackson being honest, it wasn’t his definition of work, either. Punishing work was mucking a horse stall. Mending fences till your hands bled. Getting kicked in the ass by a pissed off bull. He was no stranger to any of it.

“I’m a songwriter and performer. That’s all.”

“Gotcha. But hey, you don’t mind me saying, you didn’t do such a great performance tonight of a man who’s over a woman.”

Anger flashed through him. “I am over her. She just happened to piss me off because she’s talented that way. She’s got a hell of a nerve saying I didn’t want to marry her. Like she did me a favor.”

Lincoln’s eyes widened. “She said that?”

He cocked his head. “Guess I should be grateful.”

“Gotta say, I’m a little confused.” Lincoln scratched his chin. “You just explained how you never want to be tied to one woman again, but you don’t agree Eve did you a favor. Both of those statements seem to be at odds.”

“They’re not. It’s got nothing to do with her. I just wised up, is all.” He chugged the rest of his draft and set it down. “And if she didn’t want to get married, she could have told me the day before. Hell, the night before.”

“Amen, brother. Amen. I agree.” Linc raised his mug. “But would you have listened to her?”

“It wasn’t as if I wasn’t nervous about it, too. Our wedding was the only thing keeping me from Nashville. But I showed up. More than she can say.”

“Alright. Just saying. If Sadie doesn’t show up at the church, I’ll go find her and drag her there. One way or another she’s marrying me. It’s a done deal.”

Just the idea made Jackson’s stomach pitch and roil. “She better show up, or I’ll be the one come lookin’ for her.”

“Guess we both would.” Lincoln laughed.

Jackson didn’t think this was funny. If he’d been embarrassed to be left at the altar by someone who was arguably the most beautiful woman in town, he’d be outraged to see it happen to his brother. It terrified him to see the gobsmacked look on Lincoln’s face when he spoke about Sadie. He was deeply in love with her.

Jackson cleared his throat. “But you two are fine, right? Solid.”

“Solid as a boulder.” Lincoln set his draft down. “I’ve dated plenty as you know, if you can even call it that. I know what we have is real, and not just due to convenience’s sake.”

Just then Becca Smith threw open the door and waltzed inside, a baby on her hip. “Homer, you get on home right now. You have a family waitin’ for you.”

“Be right there, baby,” Homer said.

Jackson immediately recognized Becca, a few years ahead of him in school, and Miss Homecoming the year she’d graduated.

“Oh, hey there, Jackson.” She waved and smiled. Still the same pretty blonde he remembered. The baby was cute, too.

“Good to see ya.”

Then she turned back to her husband, who happened to be the guy comforting his buddy. “Let’s go now.”

Homer clapped his buddy’s back, paid up, and was out the door within seconds. “Comin’, baby.”

No one laughed or snickered. If a man wanted to hold on to his woman around here, he best not make the bar his second home.

“You ready for that?” Jackson snorted.

“She’s found a way to keep me home. Then again, I don’t think I’ll hang at the Shady Grind getting drunk after we’re married. Why would I?”

“Right.”

In Stone Ridge, not only were the few women here chased, but they were also revered. There might have been a few runaway brides over the years, not sure if they should settle down with so much on the menu. But the last man to hit his woman was run out of town by her brother and his friends. They took care of their own around here. Women were protected and isolated from harm.

Because if a man didn’t protect and love his woman, there was always someone waiting in the wings to do it for him.

After cleaning the kitchen with Daisy’s help, Eve retired for the evening. In the privacy of the spare bedroom, she undressed, brushed her hair into a ponytail, and pulled her hearing aid out. The aid transmitted sounds from her bad left ear to her right good ear. She’d dealt with SSD, or single-sided deafness, for a few years now and adjusted to the fact that at times she’d miss parts of a conversation or be unable to determine the exact direction of a sound. Thankfully, she still had one hundred percent of her hearing in one ear.

She crawled under the soft cotton blanket now, tried not to think about Jackson, and instead counted her blessings. Despite what she’d been through, there was plenty to be grateful for. Though it took longer and had been far more expensive than anticipated, she’d achieved her dream. She loved being a veterinarian even if it involved long hours and was at times physically taxing. Her mother, Brenda Iglesias, tried to help Eve some with the tuition, but in the end, she’d taken on enormous student loans to get through.

She jerked as through her cracked window she felt more than heard a door slam outside and turned her right ear toward the sound. Probably the men were back. A few moments later she heard a door open and shut. Jackson. The heavy sound of boots thudded down the hallway and Eve stopped breathing when it seemed that the sound stopped just outside her bedroom door. She sat up straight and pulled the covers up to her neck.

Was Jackson back to have it out with her again? Because she couldn’t take any more tonight. They’d never talked honestly about why they couldn’t be happy when he wanted to go to Nashville with the rest of the band.

It was a talk they should have had long before their wedding day.

She’d been accepted into the Texas A&M veterinary program, and one week before their wedding, his band heard interest from Nashville. The band members were moving to Tennessee, but Jackson was getting married. He’d told Eve that he would keep playing the local bars, and, of course, there was also the family cattle business. Ranching wasn’t Jackson’s first love, but he loved horses and animals nearly as much as she did. Jackson didn’t mind staying behind. Or so he’d said.

But on her wedding day, Eve peeked through the garden trellis outside Trinity Church to spy on her handsome groom (her reasoning being the rule was he couldn’t see her before the wedding, not the other way around). Her heart nearly stopped at how gorgeous he looked in his dark tux. She’d never loved anyone or anything in her life like she loved Jackson Carver. In that single moment, all her doubts faded to black.

But he’d been on his phone, and she’d heard the tail end of his side of a conversation.

“Y’all hit me up when you get rich and famous.” There was a strained laugh from him. “Maybe I can come out and visit sometime.”

The sound of his voice seemed despondent but accepting of his fate. Resigned. Minutes before their wedding which should have been the happiest day of his life. He’d turned, jammed his hands in his pants pockets, and, shoulders hunched, walked toward the church like a cow to the slaughterhouse. Her future husband.

The knowledge she could no longer avoid slammed into her heart. Just like their town, their relationship was lopsided. She loved him more than he loved her. Maybe he thought he owed her a wedding day. He didn’t want to get married, but it was too late to back out one week before the wedding. They’d made wedding plans for a year before Nashville even came up. He was trapped like a caged animal. Sooner or later he’d eat his arm off to get away from her.

She swallowed the golf ball in her throat. Held back the sting of tears already wetting her eyelashes. Tried to calm her racing heart. There were so many people in the church waiting.

“Hey, there you are,” Sadie said from behind Eve. “Better get in here before he accidentally sees you or it’s bad luck.”

She’d turned to Sadie, the tears finally spilling.

“What’s wrong?”

“I-I c-can’t do this.” Eve handed Sadie her bouquet of wildflowers. It was beautiful, and exactly what she’d wanted. No roses for her. No lilies. Give her the Bluebonnets of Texas.

Sadie pushed the bouquet back. “Don’t you dare. I plan to catch this. I’m getting married next, when Lincoln notices me, but this way is cheating. I want to earn it fair and square.”

“You can have it now. It’s not getting thrown because I can’t get married.”

Sadie’s eyes widened. “Oh my God! You’re serious.”

“Jackson doesn’t want to marry me. He wants to go to Nashville.”

“Is that what he said?”

“He didn’t have to say it.”

Sadie’s gaze started to take on a wild and shifty-eyed look which felt like a mirror to Eve’s.

“Eve, there are a lot of people here. You can’t just leave.”

And she couldn’t walk down that aisle, either. Marrying Jackson or jilting him. Both options made her blood pump ice-cold to her heart. She was going to hurt Jackson by not showing up. There hadn’t been a runaway bride since Tracy Presley, who’d been cheating on her groom and couldn’t go through with the marriage in the end.

Jackson might never forgive her for this. But she would also hurt him by tying him down to their small Podunk town. He might eventually thank her…someday.

“It’s either make him miserable now or make him miserable for the rest of his life by tying him to this town. And me.”

Sadie tried, oh how she’d tried to talk some sense into Eve, but she was having none of it. Sadie then sneaked Eve out and drove her home to the cabin they shared at the time. Both of them were sobbing so hard that it was a wonder Sadie could see the road in front of her.

Sadie made some calls and stayed with Eve while she fell apart. Eve’s mother showed up, tried to tell Eve this was just a bad case of cold feet. Convinced Jackson would soon be at their door, demanding to be let in, her mother prepared. She cleaned. Sadie baked cookies. Both of them were sure the wedding would go forth anyway, but simply get started a little late. Or maybe they’d have to reschedule to another day. People would be disappointed, but they’d make up some lame excuse. The wedding would go through.

She should have talked to him first. Like a coward, she’d cut and run. Or maybe, she thought later, some immature part of her wanted Jackson to come after her, reassuring her once and for all she was all he’d ever wanted.

But he’d never called.

Never shown up.

If he knew the course her life took since that moment, he’d feel sorry for her. Good thing he didn’t know because she refused to be pathetic. She hadn’t exactly been a martyr when she’d walked away from Jackson so that he could have his dream. She’d walked away because of having been raised to believe that she didn’t deserve anything less than a man who wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.

A slice of a moment later that felt more like a decade, Jackson kept walking past her bedroom door. Eve relaxed again and started going over the list of things to do in preparation for the wedding. She had a working list on paper, of course, but there was also the one in her head. This was because, as usual, some of her best ideas came when it was time to sleep.

Tomorrow, she’d get up early and finish decorating the rest of the lodge for Sadie and Lincoln’s wedding shower. Daisy said she would help and between the two of them and Mima’s constant direction, they’d get it done. The food was being catered by Caroline, and they’d already discussed the platters. Also, there was… From a distance, Eve thought she heard a faint sound and turned her good ear closer to her cracked window. The music seemed to be coming from right outside her window.

Jackson. He was playing chords, the same pattern over and over again. No singing that she could hear as she strained even closer. She’d always loved his singing voice, a deep and emotional tenor, but hadn’t heard him in years. Jackson hadn’t been on the radio, but Lincoln owned a copy of a demo tape and she’d last heard his voice a couple of years ago. She sat up and moved closer, listening with her good ear for words when they came so that she could catch every single one wafting through the clear night air.

There were no words but eventually there came the single notes of a melody picked out on the guitar. The song sounded like a ballad, one that gave off a lonely timbre.

And Eve couldn’t help wondering now whether maybe she wasn’t the only one hurting.