Sweet Harmony (3 page)

Jeff drained the rest of his beer and crushed the can. In order to keep the momentum going, he needed another hit single fast, or would risk being on the long list of one-hit wonders.

Pushing away from the railing, Jeff thought about grabbing his guitar and starting work on the song that had been giving him fits. Songwriting usually came to him pretty effortlessly, but Jeff guessed the pressure to write something fantastic was getting to him and screwing around with his creativity. He just needed a spark of inspiration and knew the melody would slide into his brain like magic. The question was . . . where could he find the elusive spark?

Let It Be

C
AT INHALED THE RICH AROMA OF COFFEE BREWING AND smiled. “Bless you, Mia, for hooking me up with all of the essentials,” Cat said and then reached past wimpy cups, searching for the largest mug in the cabinet. “Aha,” Cat announced when she found a giant thermal mug decorated with the Cricket Creek Cougars logo on it. “I designate you as my official coffee container.” Cat poured the steaming brew into the mug, leaving enough room for vanilla-flavored creamer.

Sunshine streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows at the back of the great room, drawing Cat over to take in the lovely view of the river. She cradled the mug in her hands and smiled at the sunshine sparkling off the water. She moved a bit gingerly on her sore legs, but ice and ibuprofen helped dull the ache a little bit. Although the cabin wasn’t huge, the layout made the space seem bigger; in truth, she liked the cozy feeling much better than her big house in Brentwood. Later, Cat had a lunch meeting with songwriter Maria Sully at Wine and Diner
up in town, but right now all she wanted to do was sip her coffee and lounge in sweatpants and a hoodie.

After a year of turmoil Cat finally felt as if her life was back on the right path. She inhaled a deep coffee-scented breath and blew it out. Okay, well, at least she was heading in the right direction. Switching gears and taking time off from touring to get back to the basics of music put a smile on her face and joy in her heart. She hadn’t felt this sense of freedom in a long time.

Cat’s smile faltered a little bit when she thought of the staff who no longer worked for her. While Cat hadn’t fired any of them, her move to small-town Cricket Creek, coupled with taking her career in a new direction, had her crew staying in Nashville. And honestly, Cat thought there likely was some pressure from her former record company for her staff not to follow her. This meant that her manager, personal assistant, and road manager were no longer working with her. Cat took a sip of coffee while feeling a little stab of guilt. She wasn’t just Cat Carson, country singer, but a franchise. A lot of people’s livelihoods had depended upon her success—probably the reason that Cat had taken one album too many to seriously consider making some life and career changes. She cared about all of them, which had made her final decision a difficult one.

Cat stared down at her coffee and swallowed some emotion. She missed them, especially Amy Peterson, her personal assistant. Not only was Amy a sweet person, but she helped Cat keep her scatterbrained ways under control. Cat took solace in that she’d given them all glowing referrals, and the last she’d heard they had all found employment. In the meantime, the front desk secretary at My Way Records, Teresa Bennett, had taken on the task of keeping track of Cat’s mail, appointments, and personal appearances. She would have to eventually hire a new staff, but for now all she wanted to do was
concentrate on her songs and get the opportunity to do more charity work, perhaps with Mia and her Heels for Meals in Cricket Creek. She also felt huge satisfaction from visiting fans going through a tough time. Just the month before she’d been a prom date for Colby Hughes, a high school football star diagnosed with leukemia. Putting a smile on Colby’s face made her legal troubles seem trivial.

Cat knew that she was being portrayed as a stubborn star by Matt Stanford, president of Sweetside Records. He claimed she was difficult to work with and the tabloids were having a field day. His unfounded words hurt. Cat trusted in Matt as a father figure with her best interest at heart, but in the end all he cared about was money, not her as a person or artist.

Although his unfair portrayal of her still stung, it only reiterated that she was doing the right thing by stepping back and reevaluating where her career was going. Being in the limelight came with the territory, but losing control of her creativity had made her feel as if the life was being sucked right out of her. Rick Ruleman of My Way Records understood. After a hit record, he’d been pigeonholed into hard-core rock and roll when his real love was ballads and bluegrass. Rick had lived a life pretending to be something he wasn’t, and Cat didn’t want the same scenario to happen to her. All she wanted was control of her destiny, and Rick had promised he’d hand the creative reins over to her.

Just when Cat had decided to go out onto the deck to drink her coffee, she heard a knock at her front door. Her stomach did a funny little lurch when she wondered whether her visitor might be Jeff, since there weren’t too many other people it could be this early in the day. She glanced down at her attire and winced, but then squared her shoulders and headed toward the door. What did she care how she looked? She wasn’t about to let her judgmental neighbor get to her the way he did last night.

Lifting her chin, Cat swung open the door so hard that she sloshed hot coffee onto her bare feet. “Oh . . . damn!” she blurted, and then felt heat in her cheeks when she glanced up at . . . Jeff. Of course he had the nerve to appear calm, cool, collected and oh so sexy in worn jeans and another faded flannel shirt.

“Not the reception I was hoping for, but I guess I sort of deserve it,” Jeff admitted with a slight grin. He held up a tinfoil-covered plate. “I brought a peace offering in the form of homemade coffee cake.”

“You baked a cake for me?”

“Of course!”

“Seriously?” She suddenly pictured him in a
Kiss the Cook
apron, stirring batter with a wooden spoon. Kinda sexy . . .

“No.” He laughed, and Cat found herself liking the rich sound of his deep chuckle. “No, actually, my mother brought it over very early this morning. Warm from the oven, I might add.”

“Earlier?”

“We’re farmers. We get up when the rooster crows.”

“Does that really happen?”

“Getting up early or the rooster crowing?”

“The rooster crowing.”

“Yes.” Jeff inched the cake forward. “And there’s no snooze button. The best you can do is put the pillow over your head and groan.”

“So you’re giving your mom’s cake to me?”

“Yes, and it’s a cinnamon cake. My favorite.” Jeff held the plate up higher. “I’m not as big a jerk as you think.”

“Let’s hope not,” Cat mumbled, and he laughed. She caught a whiff of cinnamon and then stood back for him to enter. “It smells divine. I accept.”

“The apology?” He put the plate onto the breakfast bar and turned to face her.

“The cake.” Cat lifted the tinfoil and took a pinch of cinnamon crumble and popped it into her mouth. “Oh,
now that’s delicious. Okay, I guess I will have to accept your apology too,” she tried to joke, but he frowned. “What?”

“How are your legs? Not bruised too badly, I hope?”

Cat shrugged. “Like I said, I bruise easily and run into random things. Not a good combination, but let’s just say I’m used to it by now. Most of the pictures of me as a kid growing up show bruises on my shins. It didn’t help that I liked climbing trees,” Cat added, and then wondered why she’d felt the need to share this information with him. “But the attack-of-the-suitcase thing was over the top even for me.” She’d blame her runaway chatter on nervousness, but Jeff didn’t make her feel nervous exactly . . . just
aware
in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time.

Jeff nodded. “Hey, I get it. I told you I was a daredevil, remember? I’ve suffered many a broken bone.”

Cat grinned. “Right. If I dare you to do something, you will do it.”

“And I’ll tell you to watch me. Typical country boy behavior, I’m afraid.” His grin was a little shy, and yet had a hint of something in it that made her pulse flutter. He cleared his throat. “Well, I hope you enjoy the cinnamon cake.”

“Would you like a cup of coffee?” Cat found herself asking. “And I’ll be happy to share the cake with you. You should at least have a slice.”

“I would, but I’m running late. My sister, Sara, runs an educational program for grade schoolkids on the Greenfield farm. It’s a hands-on thing teaching them about farming, called Old MacDonald’s.”

“
E-I-E-I-O
.”

Jeff groaned. “And the kids sing it nonstop. My dad usually drives them around the farm on a hayride, but he’s fishing with his buddies so I’m Farmer Jeff for the day.”

“So, Farmer Jeff, shouldn’t you be wearing overalls or something?”

“My dad does, but I have to draw the line somewhere.”

“Well, you’re no fun.”

“You might be surprised.”

“Well, now . . .” Cat arched an eyebrow. “I dare you.”

“To do what?”

“Wear the overalls.”

Jeff laughed. “You’re not playing fair.”

Cat shrugged. “I want a picture.”

“Okay.” He reached in his pocket for his cell phone. “Then I need your number.”

“That was smooth.”

He grinned. “I have my moments.” Jeff extended the phone toward her. “Type it in, please.”

“Sure.” When Cat reached for the phone, his fingers grazed hers and she felt a nice little tingle. This exchange suddenly felt like flirting, which was a luxury that Cat hadn’t allowed herself in a long time. “I fully expect a picture, and you need to have a piece of straw hanging out of your mouth or something,” she added as she handed his phone back to him.

“You’re pushing it.”

“I usually do,” she admitted lightly.

Jeff grinned and slipped his phone in his pocket. He paused, and she wondered whether he was reluctant to go or maybe wanted to ask her something. Maybe dinner later? “Well, I should get going. My schoolteacher sister doesn’t like tardiness. If there’s anything you need, let me know.”

“Just the picture,” Cat said, trying not to feel a little bit disappointed.

“I have a feeling I shouldn’t have divulged the whole dare thing to you.”

“You would be one hundred percent correct.”

He grinned and there was that slight pause again. “Hope you have a good day,” he said.

“You too, Farmer Jeff. And thanks again for the coffee cake. Tell your mom I said thanks too.”

“You’re welcome.” He walked over to the door and then turned around. “Am I going to be Farmer Jeff from here on in?”

Cat grinned. “Count on it.”

“Thought so.” Jeff nodded and then headed out the door.

Cat watched him walk away and then realized she was standing there in the kitchen still smiling. The lighthearted teasing or flirting made Cat feel a little bit giddy. But then she shook her head. The banter was most likely part of the country boy charm and meant nothing more. Not that she wanted her relationship with Jeff Greenfield to be anything more than friendly.

But then Cat remembered the warm tingle she’d experienced from a mere brush of his fingers and had to wonder whether he’d felt the connection too. She shrugged, trying to dismiss the feeling. As a songwriter Cat tried to remain in tune with her senses and emotions. “Stay focused,” she whispered, but then walked over to the window in time to see Jeff drive down the road in his red pickup truck. She wondered whether he would send a selfie of himself wearing overalls; then she smiled at the thought.

After locating a small plate, Cat cut a generous slice of the cake and then refilled her coffee mug. She moaned as the cinnamon crumble melted in her mouth. Even though Cat refused to obsess over her weight, she didn’t often eat something as decadent as cake, and the indulgence was a party in her mouth. She worked out and tried to eat a healthy diet, but she had lots of younger fans and didn’t want to portray the too thin image that girls thought they had to live up to. Although her lyrics were flirty and fun, she was well aware of the influence she had on her audience and made a pact with herself to always remain a positive role model. When she was asked to do increasingly sexy music videos, Cat protested, causing even more friction with her label.
Wearing a bikini on a boat was as far as she wanted to go, and for Cat that was even pushing it. When the last video was supposed to be her rolling around in bed wearing little more than a sheet, she’d flatly refused. If Matt Stanford wanted to label her refusal as being difficult to work with, well, then so be it.

“So be it . . .” Cat whispered and was hit with sudden inspiration. “Kinda like ‘Let It Be’ but with an edge.” She scooted back from the table and went in search of paper and pen. For the first time in a long while, words started flowing from her brain onto the page.

While My Guitar Gently Weeps

A
S SOON AS SHE ENTERED WINE AND DINER, MARIA’S empty stomach reacted to the tantalizing aroma of food being served. She hadn’t meant to skip breakfast, but she’d been so engrossed with listening to demo tapes with Rick Ruleman that she’d nearly been late for her meeting with Cat Carson.

The clinking of glasses and silverware, along with chatter and laughter, brought a smile to Maria’s face. Originally called Myra’s Diner, the renovated restaurant still served classic favorites, but the expanded menu included several gourmet offerings, which drew in both locals and tourists. And while the décor remained true to an old-school diner, with the servers wearing retro uniforms, the atmosphere felt fresh and full of fun. Fifties and sixties music pulsed in the background and when songs like “The Twist” came on it wasn’t unusual for servers to encourage dancing. Wine and Diner put a smile on Maria’s face, even as she walked in the door.

The line for the hostess station was five people deep so Maria decided to look around to see whether Cat had
already arrived. Out of the corner of her eye she saw her friend Myra hurrying her way.

“Maria Sully!” Myra said before giving her a huge hug. “It’s so good to have you back in Cricket Creek, where you belong.”

“Myra Robinson!” Maria answered with a laugh. “Are you going to tell me that every time I eat here?”

“I want to remind you so you don’t ever move away again. And remember, it’s Myra Lawson now.”

“I keep forgetting that you got married to Owen Lawson!”

“Yeah, I finally found some fool crazy enough to have me.” Myra shook her head slowly and chuckled.

“I’d say Owen’s a lucky man,” Maria said with a lift of her chin.

“I happen to agree with you but I also think that might be open for lively debate,” Myra admitted with a wince. “But never a dull moment, that’s for sure.”

“I thought you’d retired when your niece came back and took over the diner. And yet you seem to be here every time I come in.”

“That was the plan,” Myra said. “But then Jessica had to go and get married and have a baby. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to retire,” she said with a roll of her eyes.

“I have a feeling you love every single minute.”

Myra tossed her long braid over her shoulder and laughed. “I do. And little Ben is such a pistol, but I love him to pieces.”

“I imagine you do. I can’t wait for Clint and Ava to make me a grandmother. And it’s so wonderful to see your restaurant doing so well.”

“Ah . . . Wine and Diner might be all fancy-pants now, but I still get requests for my apple pie and chicken-fried steak.”

“And how’s your sweet niece Madison?”

“Happily married to Jason Craig and writing her plays.”

“Right, Jason built the outdoor concert stage for Pete, didn’t he?”

“Yes, and he did the initial remodeling of the diner and builds the sets for her plays. That’s how Maddie and Jason met.” She shook her head and chuckled. “Those two sure did butt heads at first.”

Maria grinned. “If I remember, Madison is a sassy little thing. Big blue eyes and bouncing curls.”

“You remember correctly and it still holds true.” Myra pulled Maria to the side and then leaned closer. “Gets it from me, not her easygoing mama.” Myra stepped back and angled her head. “You know, the two of you should get together and write a musical someday. It could be . . . What do the kids say?”

“Epic?”

Myra snapped her fingers. “Yeah, epic!”

Maria nodded slowly. “Funny you should say that because I’ve always wanted to write the score for a play. We should discuss it sometime soon.”

“Maddie would be so thrilled. Maria, we are so proud of your songwriting success, but it’s so damned good to have you back, my friend.” Myra reached over and squeezed Maria’s hand. “And I know Pete’s happy you’re back too. I haven’t seen him smile so much since . . . well, since before you two split. And having your son move back from California last Christmas and reunite with Ava? You must be over the moon.”

“Oh, I am.” Maria pressed her lips together, suppressing sudden emotion. “Look, I know the whole town hopes Pete and I will patch things up.” She closed her eyes and swallowed hard. To this day Maria found it painful to think that her husband had cared more about saving his business than saving their marriage. “It’s just not that simple.”

Myra nodded. “Life never is.” She put a hand on Maria’s shoulder. “Love sure never is.”

Maria felt a little jolt at hearing the word
love
. “I’m just taking it a day at a time.”

Myra gave Maria’s shoulder another squeeze. “That’s a good plan. So do you need a table or do you want to sit at the counter?”

“Actually, I’m here to meet Cat Carson. Do you know if she’s here?”

Myra leaned and whispered, “At the last booth in the back on the left. Cat’s wearing a baseball cap pulled low. She made it clear that she wanted to keep her presence quiet if at all possible. I don’t think she’s comfortable with all that hoopla. Sweet girl.”

Maria frowned. “I probably should have just met her at the studio. I wasn’t thinking. In Nashville having famous artists walking around town is normal.”

“Her back is to the restaurant and so far no one has recognized her, or if they did they’re leaving her alone. Around here people tend to be respectful.”

“I’m not surprised. Thanks, Myra. I’ll find her. And tell Madison that I’d love to get together. Oh, and hey, I’m planning on starting a songwriters’ roundtable at Sully’s sometime soon. Madison should come.”

“I’m sure she’d love that. I’ll tell her.”

“Good. And you’re right—I loved Nashville but it feels right to be back in Cricket Creek. You and I really do need to get out together too. Do some two-steppin’ at Sully’s.”

“Deal,” Myra said. “It was great talking to you. Enjoy your lunch with Cat.”

Maria nodded and then headed to the back of the dining room. She slid quietly into the booth and smiled across the table at Cat. “Sorry I’m a little bit late. I was talking to an old friend.” She extended her hand. “I’m Maria Sully.”

Cat grasped her hand and gave her a bright smile. “You’ve written some of my favorite songs. It’s an honor to meet you.”

“Thank you, Cat. I’m a fan of yours too.”

“Really?”

Maria tipped her head sideways. “Why on earth would you think otherwise?”

Cat toyed with the straw poking out of her iced tea and shrugged. “I’m sure you know that I’m not always viewed very seriously. I’ve taken some heat for my pop-sounding songs.”

Maria arched an eyebrow. “You want to know what I think about that?”

“I would.” Cat nodded and leaned forward.

“Pardon me for being so frank, but that’s . . . well, bullshit.”

Cat’s eyes widened and then she sat back and chuckled. “Really?”

“Absolutely. Listen, you’re an artist and you don’t have to fit into any mold except for the one you create.” Maria pointed at her. “You. Not your label. Not what the fans want. And not what anybody says you can or can’t do. If you love singing about the beach and sailing off into the sunset, then do it. And if country calls it too pop and Top 40 radio calls you too country, then who cares? Just be true to yourself. Sing from your heart.” Maria patted her chest. “And whoever doesn’t like it can shut their mouths and listen to something else.”

Cat grinned. “In other words, kiss my Southern sass?”

“I couldn’t have said it better.” Maria wanted Cat to be completely at ease with her and not pull any punches.

“May I take your drink order?”

Maria paused to order a sweet tea from the server and then picked up the menu. “You’re never going to please everyone, so don’t even try. At My Way Records, Rick and I want to develop talent and create something that lasts, not—as he calls it—the flavor of the moment. Don’t get me wrong. We want hit records. We want to make money, but not at the expense of the integrity of the label or the artist. Quite simply, we want to develop talent with the hope of creating legends, which means music that transcends time. All of the great artists had
their critics. Look at Elvis or the Beatles or Johnny Cash. But they thumbed their noses and did as they pleased. I know it sounds cliché, but you have to think outside the box.”

“Wow. I don’t know if I can live up to all of that,” Cat admitted.

“That’s the beauty of it. You don’t have to live up to
anything
. Just dig deep into your heart and soul and the rest will come naturally.” She smiled her thanks for her drink to the server and then looked at Cat.

“You make it sound easy.”

Maria took a drink of her tea and then nodded. “Oh, it’s not one bit easy to tap into your deepest, sometimes darkest, feelings and pour them into a song.” Expressing this to Cat, Maria felt a tug of emotion and then looked down at the menu without really seeing it.

“And that’s what you’ve done?” Cat asked in a quiet tone.

Maria looked up. “Yes. Pretty much, anyway.”

“Then why don’t you consider my songs pure fluff?”

“Well, Cat, not every song can be about heartbreak. Tell me, why did you write about the sand and the sun?”

Cat shrugged. “I love it there. It’s my happy place. Many of the songs were actually written while at the beach, or at the very least I’d had the thought or wish to be sitting in the warm sunshine while enduring the blustery winters in Chicago.”

Maria tapped a fingertip on the speckled table. “Exactly. And your fans feel the same way, I’m sure. Listening to your music brings a smile and the desire to sing along with joy. And joy is a wonderful emotion to express and bring to listeners. Who doesn’t want to fantasize about being at the beach or on a sailboat? Don’t you agree?” Maria smiled when she saw the emotion play on Cat’s face.

“I’ve never thought of it that way.” Her frown suddenly turned into a bright smile and she put a hand to
her chest. “Oh my gosh. Thank you for validating me, Maria.”

“I’m just pointing out the obvious,” Maria said, then paused when the young server approached them.

“Are you ready to order?” the server cheerfully asked Maria.

“Oh, I’m not sure,” Maria replied and looked at the menu.

“What’s the soup of the day, Courtney?” Cat asked, and Maria thought it was sweet that Cat called her by name. She could tell that Courtney recognized Cat.

“Jessica’s stone soup.”

“Stone soup?” Cat repeated.

Courtney pointed to the menu. “It’s basically beef vegetable soup but named for the folktale about feeding the hungry. The menu explains it; Jessica recently started a charity with the same name. For every bowl of stone soup ordered today, one dollar will be given to the local soup kitchen. Jess does it every Monday, but you can make a donation as well.”

“That’s so cool,” Cat said. “Remind me to leave a donation, so I don’t forget.”

“Yes, that’s wonderful,” Maria agreed. “I’ll have the stone soup and a garden salad with ranch on the side.”

“I’ll have the stone soup as well, but I’d like an order of the hot slaw.”

“Oh, good choice! Gotcha. I’ll bring out yeast rolls in a minute.”

“Courtney recognized you, Cat.”

“I know. I’m going to leave her a note on a napkin.”

“How nice of you.”

Cat shrugged. “It’s not always fun to get hounded for autographs or pictures, but it’s part of the drill and I’m so grateful for my following. I’m just not always comfortable with the recognition.”

“You’re very genuine. I admire your attitude. Not everyone is as gracious as you.”

Cat shrugged. “Doing something like leaving a note is the least I can do.” She smiled at Courtney when she dropped off the basket of rolls. “Those smell amazing. I don’t think there’s anything better than homemade rolls.”

Maria groaned. “I’m going to have to start jogging instead of walking. I can’t pass Grammar’s Bakery down the street without stopping in. By the way, Mabel Grammar has always donated day-old bread and cookies to the soup kitchen. I thought you might like to know.”

Cat reached for a roll. “I believe it’s important to give back.” She slathered on some butter. “I’m starting to like this little town even more. No wonder Mia loves living here.”

“Good thing they’re closed today, or I’d have to get a dozen butter cookies and maybe a cinnamon cake.”

“Yes, who knew cinnamon coffee cake was so delicious?” Cat asked.

“Oh, so you’ve been to Grammar’s Bakery already?” Maria liked that Cat wasn’t reed thin and afraid of carbs. Too many artists worried way too much about weight and gave the wrong message to adoring fans.

Cat paused while Courtney delivered the slaw and salad. “Anything else I can get you?”

“I think we’re good to go,” Maria answered, and Cat nodded.

“Um, well, actually Jeff Greenfield brought one over to me this morning freshly baked by his mother.”

“So you know Jeff?” Maria stabbed a cherry tomato and lightly dipped it into the ranch dressing.

“We met last night when I was attacked by my very own suitcase,” Cat said with a nod. “I remember him being the best man in Addison and Reid’s wedding, but I’d never been formally introduced.” She then took a bite of her hot slaw as if her statement about being attacked by her suitcase was perfectly normal. “Oh, bits of bacon makes everything better, doesn’t it?” She held up a forkful of hot slaw and smiled.

“Wait . . . Attacked by a suitcase? Okay, seriously, you’ve got to elaborate,” Maria probed.

“You promise not to laugh?”

“Of course.” Maria nodded her agreement, but then starting giggling uncontrollably while Cat weaved the crazy tale. “Oh my . . .” She sniffed and then dabbed at the corners of her eyes with her napkin. “Do things like suitcase attacks happen to you often?”

“Pretty much. I have ADD and get easily distracted. For example, looking sideways and walking forward isn’t a good idea, but I can’t seem to help myself. I always have bruises in odd places.”

Maria pointed the fork tongs at Cat. “Ah, but being rescued by cutie pie Jeff might be worth a few bumps and bruises, right?”

“No!” Cat scoffed. “He’s one of those traditional country singers who look down their nose at my music. He couldn’t even name one of my songs.” She lifted one shoulder. “Not that I give a fig what Jeff Greenfield thinks,” Cat added, but judging by the sudden pink in Cat’s cheeks, Maria thought otherwise.