A/N: From this point on, each chapter will also have some of Deacon's perspective.

When the server brought her drink, she had reached into her purse for money to pay. When she looked back at the stage, the young man was gone and she felt disappointed. She opened the straw and put it in her drink, then lifted the glass and took a sip.

"Mind if I join you?"

She turned back toward the voice and nearly choked when she saw the young man from the stage. She set her glass down hard. "Um, okay," she said, feeling herself blush. She was glad the lighting was dim.

He sat down across from her and smiled. "You singing tonight?" he asked. Even though he'd made the move to come up to her, he had a shyness about him, almost like he was a little unsure of himself with her.

She shook her head. "Not tonight. I just wanted to hear some others." Her stomach was filled with butterflies and she could feel an unfamiliar, but pleasant, heat rise up inside her.

"I heard you, when you was here before," he said.

She was surprised. She didn't remember him. Of course she really didn't remember anyone from that night. "You did?"

He nodded. "I was doing the same thing. Checking out the competition." She smiled. "You was really good." He smiled again. "I mean really good."

She blushed again. "Thanks. I'm pretty new at this." She took a sip of her drink, trying to gather herself. "You and your…partner are good too."

He shrugged. "My sister."

She felt a surge of happiness when he said that, despite the fact she didn't even know him. "Y'all been doing this a while?" she asked.

He nodded. "About a year." She noticed then his clear blue eyes. His clothes looked worn but clean. He had large hands and she bet they were all callused from his guitar. She wondered what they would feel like on her skin and felt herself blush again. Her heart was beating so hard she could hear it in her ears and she wouldn't have been surprised if he'd been able to hear it too.

"Hey. Let's go." Rayna looked up to see the woman who'd been on stage with him. Her eyes were icy cold as she looked at Rayna and her lips were pinched together. Rayna shivered, not understanding the palpable dislike emanating from the woman. "Don't you have a date? She won't like it if you're late."

He frowned. "Just wait for me, Beverly." He kept his eyes on his sister until she turned and walked out. Then he turned back to Rayna, with an apologetic look on his face, and sighed. "Sorry. I do got a date." She thought he almost sounded disappointed about that. He stood and she looked up at him. "Hope I see you here again." Then he walked in the same direction his sister had.

Rayna watched as he picked up his guitar case and followed his sister out. She inexplicably felt like her heart had just been broken. And then she realized she didn't even know his name.

As she drove home, she felt a little bit like a balloon with all the air let out. It was silly, of course, because she didn't even know the guy's name. She didn't know anything about him except that he had a sister. And a girlfriend. And that he played the sweetest guitar she thought she'd ever heard and had a smile that was both sexy and kind. And his voice was like warm caramel. She thought she could have listened to him all night. And watched him. But she'd probably never see him again. And that made her feel unbelievably sad.

When she got home she changed into her pajamas and then stood in front of her full-length mirror. She touched her hair and then her face, wondering if he thought she was pretty. She was glad she'd taken the time to dress nice, even though he looked a little worn. He has a girlfriend. She sighed. She was probably blonde and pretty and bubbly with curves in all the right places. She turned first one way, then the other. She had skinny legs and she was a little short-waisted, so not balanced. Her feet were larger than average and she was covered in freckles. There were many days she wished she weren't a redhead. Her skin burned easily, which was a pain when you lived in the south.

The one thing she did have was nice boobs. They were full and womanly, had been since she was thirteen. Sometimes she hated them, because boys gawked at them. Like the ones at the open mics who yelled out 'show me your boobs'. She rolled her eyes. But she knew boys liked boobs and it made her wonder if that boy – or man – liked them too. Or maybe his girlfriend had boobs too, so he didn't care. But he'd sought her out. She wasn't quite sure what to make of that. She hoped it wasn't just because of her boobs.

She sighed and then walked over to her bed and crawled under the covers. She sat up with her knees pulled to her chest and thought about him some more. He was very handsome, with his clear blue eyes and his dark hair that settled just around his collar, his voice like smoke and whiskey. She'd been mesmerized as she listened. And when he'd smiled at her, she'd felt kind of a warm spiral rise up inside her. He seemed sweet too, like a gentleman, although she could tell he wouldn't have been comfortable in her part of town.

She reached over and turned out the light by her bed and slid down under the covers. She smiled to herself, thinking about the handsome young man from the Bluebird, even though she didn't think she'd ever see him again, and then reminded herself he had a girlfriend. The smile on her face faded and she sighed. Maybe one day I'll meet someone who loves music like I do, someone who'll understand me and support me and be right by my side while I follow my dream. She rolled onto her side and before long, had fallen asleep.

Her dreams were filled with the handsome young man from the Bluebird, as he sat on the chair at the table, with his guitar, and sang to her. And when he was done, he took her by the hand and led her up on the stage and they stood side-by-side and sang together, only the whole room was empty, because they only had eyes for each other.

####

Deacon dropped off Beverly, then headed to his girlfriend's apartment. As he drove, he thought about the girl he'd talked to at the Bluebird and his argument with Beverly about her.

"What the hell was that about?" she said, giving him a side-eye.

"What the hell was what about?" he countered, glancing at her.

"Sitting down with that girl" – she practically snarled the word – "and chatting her up? You've got a girlfriend."

He laughed. "Since when are you Samantha's biggest fan, Bev? Ain't like you care much for her." He looked at his sister again and she scowled, turning her face away to look out the side window.

"She looked like a rich girl, Deacon. Why would she be interested in someone like you?"

He frowned. "I just wanted to say hey. She was watching us, Bev. She looked like she liked us."

She let out a laugh that was almost a bark. "She was a pretty girl and you just can't walk away from a pretty girl."

"You don't remember her, do you?" he asked then.

She made a face. "What are you talking about?"

"She was at that open mic a few weeks ago, when we didn't make it."

She looked skeptical. "You sure?"

"Yep."

"Well, you'll never see her again."

"You don't know that."

She poked his arm. "She's too uppity for the likes of you, baby brother. When she finds out you're a nobody from Natchez, Mississippi, she'll be on her way."

He clenched his jaw. "Shut up, Beverly."

He frowned as he thought about it. He didn't understand why she cared. He pushed thoughts of his sister away and refocused on the pretty girl. He wished he'd gotten her name, but maybe he would the next time. If there was a next time.

He'd been surprised to see her there. The night she'd performed at the open mic, he'd been mesmerized by her. Everything about her. Her look, her smile, her hair, her long legs. The sweetness of her voice and the innocence of her songs.

He couldn't help himself when he walked over to where she sat. This was the girl who'd inspired the words to a song he'd written down on a napkin, right there at the table in the Bluebird the night he'd watched her on stage. Even Samantha Beasley hadn't done that. In fact, he was pretty sure he'd fallen in love with the girl from the Bluebird, right then and there.

Samantha was asleep, facing away from him, snoring softly. He was still awake, laying on his back with his hands behind his head. He wasn't sure why he actually called what he and Samantha did 'dating', because they never really went out on a date, except very occasionally to a movie. She worked as a waitress at one of the jazz bars in Printer's Alley, so he usually saw her after her shift. He worked at a diner as a bus boy and kitchen prep during breakfast and lunch three days a week and worked the sound board at Robert's Western World three afternoons a week. In between he wrote songs and hit as many open mics and spotlights as he and Beverly could get to.

He'd met Samantha on one of her off days when she'd stopped by Robert's. She was a pretty girl – blonde, petite, and friendly – but she was sort of flighty and, while she liked music, she wasn't into music. She was also older than him, which meant she could get him whiskey when he wanted, one of her 'charms'. They didn't have a lot in common, which was probably okay, because they spent most of their time in bed. She was very good in bed and he definitely enjoyed it, but afterwards it felt a little empty. She was fun, though, and she made him laugh and he'd just never had a good reason to not see her. Until now.

He really did want to get to know that girl from the Bluebird, he decided. He'd just have to figure out a way to do that.

####

Rayna was tapping her pen on her notebook, not really paying attention to her English teacher. It was her last class of the day and she was anxious to get out. It was the sixth Monday since she'd seen the handsome man/boy at the Bluebird and she had yet to see him again. Her father had not been out of town as much over the past few weeks, which had been frustrating. The one time she had gotten to the Bluebird, she wasn't picked for the open mic. She had stayed, but her crush wasn't there. She was actually starting to feel her interest wane.

But finally her father was on the road again and she was going to try again to get an open mic spot, no matter who else was there. She had her clothes in her locker so she could change in the bathroom before she left school. She had tried drying her hair straight that morning, but it was a warm, muggy May day and, despite her best efforts, her hair had developed its usual waves. Her guitar was in her trunk and she would drive straight to the music venue from school. She wasn't far and, although she knew how early she got there didn't really matter, she kept thinking it didn't hurt.

Finally the final bell rang and she tossed all her school stuff into her book bag and started for the door. "Miss Wyatt?" her teacher called out. She tried to act like she hadn't heard, but she called out again, a little louder. "Miss Wyatt?"

Damn. She stopped and sighed, then turned towards the front of the room, as the rest of her classmates headed out the door, some of them looking at her and snickering just a little. She waited until everyone was gone and just stood there, tapping her foot. "Yes, ma'am?" she said, hoping she conveyed just a little of the irritation she felt at being kept after the final bell.

Her teacher came out from behind her desk, a sheet of paper in her hand. "I just wanted to talk to you about this," she said, holding the paper towards Rayna. She stopped far enough that Rayna had to walk towards her to take it. When she took it, she saw that it was poem she'd written as homework, one she'd called 'A Cumberland Girl'. She looked at her teacher quizzically. "I was really struck by this," her teacher said. "You have a really lovely way with words."

Rayna couldn't help but smile. "Thank you," she said.

Her teacher peered at her closely. "I know you sing in the school choir, and this" – she pointed at the paper in Rayna's hand – "really reads like lyrics to a song. Are you thinking about a musical career? Maybe studying music in college?"

Rayna was taken a little by surprise. She had never really considered that she could actually study music in school. "I hadn't really thought about it, to be honest," she said.

"Maybe you should. I know your sister goes to Vanderbilt and I believe your father is quite a supporter, and they do have music programs, but maybe you didn't know about all the programs Belmont University has."

Rayna was intrigued. "No, ma'am, I didn't."

Her teacher smiled. "Oh, yes. There's a music performance major and musical theater." She winked. "Even music business, if that would please your father more."

Rayna rolled her eyes. "I'm not that interested in business," she said. She hesitated, then said, "I really want to be an artist, to perform on stage, but I don't think I have to go to college to do that."

"You don't. But if you get to that point, I just wanted you to think about it." She reached out then and took back the paper. "And this is really well written. Not surprisingly so, since your poetry is always quite lovely."

It had been a long time since Rayna had gotten this kind of praise and it felt good. "Thank you," she said again, with a smile.

"You're very welcome. And I know I'm holding you up." Rayna looked at her questioningly and her teacher gave her a conspiratorial look. "You seemed like you were in a hurry to escape."

Rayna laughed a little self-consciously. "Oh well, I just need to get home. Thank you again." She hurried out of the room and down to her locker, where she retrieved her clothes. As she changed in the girls' restroom, she thought again about what her teacher had said. She hoped she'd be well on her way to her dream of being a country music star by the time college rolled around, but it was interesting to hear that, if forced to, there were options.

Then, as she headed out for her car, she forgot all about the conversation as she stepped on the gas and headed for the Bluebird.

She was leaning against the wall at the strip center where the Bluebird was located. She'd put her name in and had hurriedly surveyed the other hopefuls, but didn't see the man/boy and his sister. She thought he had to be old enough to be considered a man – his sister had looked really grown up, with her pursed lips and narrow eyes. She smiled to herself a little. She didn't even know her, but she already could tell they would probably not be the type to be friends.

She kept looking at her watch, as it crept closer to 5:30, when they would announce who would get one of the lucky spots. The area around her was filling up and she kept looking. Then finally she saw them and she felt her heart skip a beat. Then she thought he might not even remember her, so she tried to keep her expectations in check. She decided to try to play it cool and looked out over the parking lot towards the street, as though she were uninterested in what was going on around her.

"Hey." She turned and caught her breath. He was standing right beside her, smiling. "You're here," he said.

She nodded, speechless at first. Then she found her voice. "Oh, yeah." She smiled. "Hey."

"I looked for you the last couple times we was here, but you weren't," he said.

She shook her head. "I've been busy," she said, sensing it wouldn't be helpful to tell him she was just sixteen and could only come when her father didn't know she was there.

"Deacon!" Rayna peered around him and saw his sister standing about twenty feet away, an annoyed look on her face. He turned to look at her, then back. So his name's Deacon.

"I guess you should go," she said.

He shrugged. "Yeah. Look, I hope you get picked."

She smiled. "You too."

"Oh, I'm Deacon, by the way," he said, holding his hand out to her. "Deacon Claybourne."

She felt that warmth roll through her, the same feeling she'd had the first time she'd seen him. She took his hand. "Hey, Deacon. I'm Rayna."

They both got picked that night, which was exciting. He and his sister sat on the other side of the room, by his sister's design, Rayna was sure, but she was really glad to get to hear him again. When it was her turn, she sang the same two songs she'd done the last time she was there, but she felt a little more confident this time, even though she knew Deacon was in the room watching her. She tried not to look in his direction, certain it would make her forget the words or go off-key, or something.

She managed to get through both songs without mishap and then she headed for the steps. She stumbled a little and a patron grabbed her arm so she didn't fall, but she was embarrassed. She hurried back to the restroom and was glad no one was there. She closed herself inside and felt hot tears roll down her cheeks. She was mad at herself for getting weepy. Her father always sternly warned her against showing signs of weakness, like crying, so she took several deep breaths as she faced the mirror.

She reached for a paper towel and dampened it, then patted her face, took another couple of deep breaths and went back out. She could hear one of the other open mic performers and so she stood near the bar. As she waited, she saw, out of the corner of her eye, an older man standing near the door. After a moment, he started to walk towards the bar. She didn't think anything of it, until he stopped next to her and leaned back against the bar. It made her nervous and she wanted to move.

"I'm glad you came back," the man said, his voice low. He sounded kind and she turned to look at him. She hadn't noticed that he had a beard and moustache, but she did realize he was even a little older than she'd thought he was. He had salt-and-pepper hair and wore a suit with a narrow tie. She couldn't have put her finger on it, but she instinctively knew he was no one to be afraid of. "You were quite good up there," he said, looking at her intently. "Rayna Jaymes?"

She thought about saying no, but if he'd been here and heard her, he knew her name, since she'd said it when she started her set. She nodded. "Yes, sir."

He held his hand out. "Rayna, I'm Watty White."