2

A compulsion to pray overcame Pyper Brock. Seated on a leather couch in the Women of Country Music dressing room back stage at the Grand Ole Opry, she attempted stillness and calm, but couldn’t quite get there. Instead, a spiritual deluge took place. Urgency. A weird and uncomfortable foreboding tightened to a coil through her chest.

She submitted, closed her eyes and drank in the sweetness of heavenly breath moving through her body.

I come to you in the light; I come to you in the darkness; I come to you always. You’re Mine, and you’re precious to Me.

The Spirit’s words worked against Pyper’s skin. The moment of assurance lent strength to a night she knew was going to be huge for her and her entire family.

What mystified her, though, was a subtle vibration of warning, a sense of being called to…to what? To battle? To some form of preparedness? Foreboding didn’t fit into the puzzle pieces of her life at the moment, but she opened her eyes and straightened against plump pillows and focused on her mom who stood near a picture covered wall not far away. The jitters quieted, yet didn’t quite go still. “Mama, can you come here a sec? Can we pray together before makeup invades and we’re not alone anymore?”

“Sure, Pyp.” They sat together, but Pyper’s head continued to swim in an ocean salted by disquiet.

Her mom’s brow puckered. “You thinking about the performance to come?”

“No. It’s…” She couldn’t figure out specifics quite yet, so she shrugged. “No. I just want to find some peace.”

That dodge didn’t lie, but it didn’t tell the whole truth, either. Pyper sensed something momentous on the horizon, but it felt like blinders obscured her vision. For now, anyway.

So, she sent her trust to God and joined hands with her mom, but didn’t begin to speak right away. Patient as ever, Amy Brock waited on Pyper in a silence that gradually worked against Pyper’s rattled nerves. “It must be the magnitude of the honor dad is about to receive, but I feel edgy…like something big is set to explode.”

Her mother stroked gentle fingertips against Pyper’s cheek. “Something big is happening, sweetheart. You’re helping to spring the surprise of a lifetime on your dad. It’s going to be great. You’re going to be great.”

Pyper squeezed her mother’s hands. “I know...and you’re right…but it’s more than that. It’s…”

Rest in Me. Call on Me. Seek Me and you shall always find Me. Trust Me with what’s to come.

An instant later, Pyper’s body relaxed. Anxiety dissipated and a supernatural surrender took place. From there, prayer came as easy as her next heartbeat. “Father,” Pyper began quietly, in a voice that bore testament to her Tennessee upbringing, “watch over us tonight. Bless Dad, and help us honor You as we use music to bring praise to Your name. Calm my restless heart; still my nerves and touch this night with the power of Your love.”

“Amen and amen.”

The response was tender, but no less emphatic. That made Pyper smile. She squeezed her mother’s hands once more. Everything would be fine. Everything. Sustained, Pyper leaned forward to deliver a tight hug. A sharp knock sounded at the dressing room door which came open a moment later, admitting the makeup and costume team.

An entire team. The idea made Pyper chuckle. When she stood to move from the couch to an empty makeup chair, she captured her mother’s gaze and delivered a sassy smirk. “Can you even believe the amount of effort that goes into making me presentable for the stage?”

Her mother laughed. “I guess I better leave them to it. I’ll be right back. I’m going to check in on your dad and your brother or they’ll wonder where I am and get suspicious. We can’t have that.”

“Give them both a hug from me.”

For the next quarter hour, Pyper sat straight and tall in the makeup chair, centered behind a wall-length, stage-lit mirror.

Her mother reentered the room followed by a production assistant.

“Fifteen minutes, Miss Brock,” he said.

“Thanks, Sam. Appreciate it.” Pyper flashed him a smile. Following the call to arms, she looked at her mother via mirrored reflection while makeup techs finished brushing a thickly waved tumble of dark blonde hair. “Mama, how am I going to get through this duet with Dad? I feel like bawling, and I’m not even on stage yet.”

Her mother fingered a curl of Pyper’s freshly styled hair. Not that it needed much work. Pyper’s trademark was a mane of hair that twirled and spun to the mid-point of her back with a life all its own.

“Sweetheart, think of tonight as just another show. You’ve sung with your dad a thousand times before, right? Tonight is no different. Just enjoy the music. Your brother’ll be right there with you, too, playing in the band. It’s going to be great.”

Yeah, no different except for the fact that Tyler Brock, her step-dad—dad, she amended with a fierce sense of love—was about to be honored with an invitation to lifetime membership in the Grand Ole Opry performance family.

Pyper tilted her head to cuddle her cheek against her mother’s palm. “This…tonight…what’s to come for Dad, it’s so important to me. I want him to be proud. He’s done so much for me.”

Her mother leaned against the makeup counter and turned Pyper’s chair by the arm rests so they were eye-to-eye. “You already make him proud, Pyp. Always have. And that goes triple for me.”

Pyper’s chin quivered, but before sentimental emotions could gain traction, the dressing room door came open once more.

Sam, the PA, made a return. “Miss Brock, we’re ready to set up. Need you in the wings. Your dad and brother are on the move, too.”

Pyper expelled a pair of fast, steadying breaths. Anticipation’s shiver swept through.

She wore a pair of well-used, well-loved cowboy boots of deep brown. She snagged a pastel blue sequined jacket and slipped her arms into the sleeves while her mom finessed the fall of her hair and arranged the lay of curls against her shoulders. Her white lace dress swished against her ankles; jeweled fringe and sparkles captured the light and set it free with flashes of brilliance. Perfect stage attire.

“I’m out of here, Mama. See you from the stage, and I love you!”

She took stock of the one who had seen her through the worst and brought her to the best. An indomitable, petite blonde, Amy Brock was Pyper’s hero. A rise of tears threatened once again, set to spill over and do damage to the skilled workmanship of the Opry’s makeup artists.

Blast the way her emotions always lifted right to the surface.

With full understanding, her mom shot her a teasing glower. “Don’t you dare cry, Pyper Marie Brock, or I’ll be a mess, too.” That said, she yanked a few tissues free from the nearby box and handed off a couple so Pyper could dab her eyes while she did the same.

Restored, Pyper moved fast. “Thanks, Mama. You’re the best. The very best.”

“Knock ‘em dead, Pyp. I’ll be cheering—for both of you.”

She was right. This was all about Dad. Tonight belonged to Tyler Brock—the man who had changed their lives, their hearts, forever.

Pyper dashed into the hall, looking over her shoulder just long enough to give a last wave before the door closed.

And she collided hard into a tall, strong body that stopped her as solid as a wall made of bricks.

“Whoa, there…”

A smooth deep voice registered. Her breath whooshed on impact, but Pyper found herself grabbed at the forearms and carefully steadied. She looked up, way up, and took in a pair of pitch-black eyes and the olive-skinned features of a man who caught her attention, held it fast. Black hair tumbled in well-styled waves that curled against the collar of a supple, tan leather jacket worn over a plain white t-shirt. Her eyes skimmed down, then up again—he wore faded blue jeans like a dream—and she focused once more on a strong, compelling face, full of male charm and a dangerous, edgy charisma. A layer of stubble shadowed his chin and square jawline…

“So sorry.”

Her murmured apology and auto-smile died when something else registered. Chase Bradington. Oh, for the love of mercy she had nearly been upended by Chase Bradington?

All that wonderful female appreciation, the sparks and tingles, died cold against her skin. Not to be judgmental or anything, but facts were facts, and as a member of the Nashville music scene, she knew the guy’s history. He was sexy as could be, but ten-thousand shades of trouble.

“No problem.” His grin spread slow, warm as sweet melted butter, just as tempting, too. Her throat went dry and heat worked through her body in spite of every intention otherwise. She fought the sensory pull and gathered her focus until it rested on one thing alone: the performance to come. “See ya, crash.”

His close caused Pyper’s lips to curve. She stared down his insolence and propped her fist on a cocked hip. “Whatever you say, bad boy.”

She spun smooth on a booted heel and his rolling laughter followed her to the wings of the Opry stage.