Heartland (9 page)

They set their crates with the other ones on the floor of the den outside her father’s recording studio. Emily handed them each a glass of lemonade. Gabe sat in a leather captain’s chair, while she and her dad sat on the couch across from him. Gabe looked around at the wooden crates and snickered. “I’ve been in this business a lot longer than you and don’t have this many awards. I’m jealous.”

Her dad laughed. “Me, too. Where the heck are we going to put them all?” With a shake of his head, he glanced at her. “I’ll have to build onto the house to have room to display them all.”

Despite his words, the shimmer of raw pride in his gaze humbled her, and a blush burned her cheeks. “I don’t expect to display them. I haven’t for years, but didn’t want to send them to storage in Nashville either.”

Dad sipped his lemonade, then jutted his chin toward one of the lighted glass cases where some of his various honors were displayed. “I think you should put out your favorites. Those that mean the most to you. We can make room for them easily enough in the cabinets with mine.”

“That would be great.” She cleared her throat and set her glass on the coffee table. “Gabe, Dad told me why you were willing to drive out of your way to bring my stuff. Thank you for doing this for me.”

“You’re welcome. I told you I’d do anything for you and would have done it even if I hadn’t wanted to talk to your dad.” He glanced at her father. “He told you he’s being stubborn about joining me.”

“Yes. Now, I want to hear what you have planned.” She clasped her hands in front of her.

“Emily?”

At her father’s questioning tone, she looked from Gabe to her father. “I think what you told me is a fantastic idea. I want to learn more.”

Gabe shifted in his seat and leaned over his legs. “It’s simple. I want Seth to go into business with me to form our own label.” He looked around the room and at the studio behind a wall of soundproof windows. “Hell, we could record right here until we can rent studio time or set up our own in Nashville. Might actually be cheaper to fly an artist here to record than rent space in the city.” He grinned at her dad. “Your setup is better than some of the studios in Nashville.”

“That’s crazy.” Her father shook his head. “No one would come here to record. How about session musicians? What makes it possible for me to record here is that the music is produced for the most part in Nashville.”

“What about the local guys? You’ve been using them for years,” Emily said, referring to a local band called Lawman. None of the men wanted the headache of fame, which her father had offered them--more than once over the years. The band made up of mostly local law enforcement was good enough to make it in Nashville. They played and sang on most of her father’s records and no one knew they weren’t professional session musicians.

Emily didn’t understand why her dad was against the idea or his attachment to Midland Records. “And even if Lawman didn’t want the job, I bet we could find professional quality musicians right around here.”

“We?” Gabe raised a brow. “What are you hinting at?”

She took a deep breath and let it out. “I’ve been thinking about this idea since Dad told me about it, and I want in on the deal. Dad mentioned his concern about financing and startup costs. Well, I think I can definitely help with that. I’ve never spent a dime of the considerable trust funds both my grandfather and Dad set up for me. I think investing it into a promising company is the best thing I can do with the money.”

“Wow.” Gabe sat back in his chair. “I didn’t see this coming. But aren’t you in the middle of recording your next album?”

She rubbed her palms on her thighs. “I’ve asked Trish this morning to negotiate with Paul to get me out of my contract. Midland can release what I’ve done as an EP.”

Gabe whistled. “You’re giving up the whole pop scene?”

Her father looked as surprised by her announcement as Gabe did. “Are you thinking of switching back to country?”

She smiled and shrugged. “I’m thinking of retiring from performing, but I don’t want to give up music. I could never do that. It’s too much a part of me. This scheme seems to be the perfect answer.”

Dad rubbed his jaw like he did when considering something. “I
am
worried about the startup cost, but I’m also wondering where we’re going to get artists. My album released a month ago, and I know you finished up one,” he said and nodded toward Gabe. “Besides, I’m not sure breaking our contracts with Midland won’t end up costing us money in legal fees.”

Gabe finished his lemonade and set the tumbler on the glass-topped coffee table. “I agree getting away from Midland isn’t going to be easy. But I’m not concerned Paul won’t let us go. As for artists, I have two in mind. The first I met at the Bluebird Café. Jared Wafford is a college kid who comes to Nashville on the weekends to play the bars hoping to catch the eye of a record producer. I asked him for a demo and can play it for you.” He sat back in his seat. “The second singer is Cara Alexander.”

“I know her,” Emily said. “She co-wrote with me for my first pop record. Amazing talent--both as a songwriter and singer--but she’s struggled with hitting the charts and keeping a record company.”

“If she’s a diva, I don’t think we should even consider her,” Dad said.

With a shake of his head, Gabe leaned forward again. “Cara’s having trouble because she had a manager who steered her the wrong way. She’s from a small farm in Alabama and is as country as you or me. When I saw her at The Listening Room, she sang covers from some of the most famous ladies in the genre.” He grinned at Emily. “She even sang one of your early hits.”

She laughed and folded her legs under her. “Let me guess.
Leave Me a Rose
. Cara loves that song. I know she wants to break into country. I say we consider her. She has some established fan base that might follow her over, especially if we help her find songs bridging the genres. Kinda what my last country album did, except in reverse.”

When she finished talking, both men stared at her. She shifted in her seat and looked from one to the other. “What?”

Her dad laughed and patted her knee. “I think we found our producer.”

“
Me
?” she squeaked and a thrill tingled over her skin.

Dad wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her into a hug. “I think all we need now is a name for the label.”

“That will come. Let’s celebrate first.” Gabe stretched his long legs and stood. “What’s the name of that local watering hole?” He lost the grin and a blush colored his expression. “Oh, damn. I’m sorry, Emily. I didn’t mean…”

“I think Gatlin’s is perfect,” she said.

Gabe shook his head. “No, we can go out to dinner somewhere.”

She saved him from embarrassment. Being around booze was hard, but she had a good reason to stay sober, and she didn’t plan on ever going back. She stood and smiled. “I guess I should let you in on the secret since we are business partners. Even if I hadn’t turned my life around this time in rehab, I have no intention of drinking or doing anything else.” She rested both hands over her belly. “What I’m about to tell you isn’t public, and I want to keep it that way for as long as physically possible.”

Gabe furrowed his brows, then widened his eyes. “Holy shit, you’re pregnant.”

* * * *

EJ and three other deputies parked their
Tahoes as close as they could get and trudged the quarter mile to the local honky-tonk. People stood in the parking lot, screaming and making general fools of themselves. Lawman was a great band, but they never generated this much of a ruckus. Heck, even Seth Kendall no longer caused more than an excited clatter when he occasionally played Gatlin’s.

Deputy Billy Collins whistled as he came to a stop beside EJ. “Who is playing here?”

Only one person he knew of could cause this much trouble. The other day in town, he’d stood back while people swarmed Emily Kendall. He’d also attended a few of her concerts. They were wild and massive events. Surely, she wouldn’t be here. His heart sped up at the thought of seeing her again. Irritated at his reaction as much as this out-of-control crowd, he turned to the deputies. “Get these people out of here. I’ll go inside and clear some of them out of the bar. Then I’m going home.”

As his deputies acknowledged the order and fanned out, he pushed his way through a group of young women, who didn’t look old enough to step foot into the bar, and found the bouncer, Earl Murphy, guarding the door. The older man had been as much a mainstay at the joint as old man Gatlin himself.

“Hey, Earl, what the hell is going on?” From the sounds of loud music and the cheering crowd inside, a major concert was happening.

Earl had to be pushing sixty years old, but he was still as big as a grizzly bear and looked as mad as one, too. He narrowed his gaze on an obvious teenage girl trying to sneak around him to get inside. She backed away, and he glared at EJ as he bit out, “Seth and Emily Kendall and freaking Gabe McKenna showed up at the same time and decided they’d all sing. The moment every teenybopper within twenty miles heard Emily Kendall and Gabe McKenna were here all hell broke loose.”

EJ pinched his brows together. Why would a recovering alcoholic risk the temptation by going to a bar? “The bartender called us.” The deputies worked to wrangle the disgruntled mass back to their cars. Two more teenagers tried to sneak past him, and Earl stopped them with a dark scowl. Would cats would be this wily? He supposed he was about to find out and tipped his hat toward the door. “Can I get in?”

Earl turned a worried glance at the entrance. “What’s one more person? The place is already a fire hazard.”

Gatlin’s was one of the largest honky-tonks outside of Amarillo and a popular place for top-notch entertainment. If one of the local bands wasn’t playing, Jimmy Gatlin booked the latest country acts through sponsorships with two local radio stations and with help from Seth Kendall.

He shoved his way through the sea of bodies. The scents of sweat, perfume, and beer pressed in on him as much as the gyrating crowd. Ignoring the stage as the men sang a rowdy song they’d released a few years ago, EJ shoved and threatened several people crowding around at the door to leave the bar. After he cleared the area, he shifted his attention to another group standing in the space between the large oak horseshoe shaped bar and the tables. The men finished their song to shouts and wild applause from the audience. EJ forced several more bystanders to leave, until only a few people stood along the perimeters. Figuring his job complete, he headed for the door.

“How y’all doin’ tonight?”

The familiar smoky voice stopped him cold. EJ turned to find Emily at the microphone. The remaining audience cheered, and the sexiest woman he’d ever known smiled at him. She was a vision dressed in a short, high-wasted summer dress and a pair of sky-high strappy sandals that made her long legs seem to go on forever.

“I see Sheriff Cowley cleared a few folks out to give us all some extra breathing room.” She shifted the strap of the glittery lavender guitar she’d made famous onto her shoulder. “We love that y’all are as excited about us being here as we are, but Gatlin’s isn’t AT & T Stadium.” The crowd whistled and another cheer shook the walls. “Let’s give Sheriff Cowley and his deputies a round of applause for keeping us safe.”

She held up her hands and clapped, encouraging the rest of the people to do the same. A few older folks patted him on the shoulder and shook his hand, Jimmy Gatlin being one of them. His bother Tucker waved him over to a table near the packed dance floor. Vince produced an extra chair from somewhere and Tucker ordered him a beer. EJ sat between his brothers’ wives, quickly greeting the women, then looked back up at the stage as Emily spoke again to the audience.

“This first song has never been recorded. I wrote
A Soldier’s Glory
about six years ago when a friend of mine was sent to the Middle East for the first time.” When Emily winked at him, his heart stuttered over a beat.

She turned to her dad, who was acting as her lead guitarist, and the rest of the band, made up of Lawman and Gabe McKenna. After talking a few moments to the musicians and playing a few chords on her guitar as if she was instructing them, she led them in an opening of a song that couldn’t be anything but country. EJ tried to puzzle through her meaning--had he been the friend? The timing was too right for his deployment to be a coincidence. Rowdy applause jerked him back into the present.

She closed her eyes and leaned into the mic as she sang the beginning of the ballad,

“I was a girl with a beat-up guitar always tempting fate,

You were a boy in scuffed boots and a Stetson hat,

I chased my dreams of fortune and fame,

But you went away to find a soldier’s glory.”

He stared at Emily. There was no doubt who the song was about, and by the astonished stares turned in his direction, a lot of the locals figured it out as well.

“Damn, that song’s about you and her,” Vince said with a shake of his head.

“Shut it,” EJ snapped as he picked up the beer the waitress had set in front of him and drained half of it. He ignored his brothers’ smirks and listened to Emily sing of the pride she felt and of having faith in his safe return as he chased a soldier’s glory.