She held her breath. Watty White was a big deal in Nashville. He'd started out as a singer, a songwriter, a musician. He was also a top producer in town and one of the top A&R men on Music Row. She knew that people like Watty White could change people's lives. "Let's go back there," he said, motioning towards the back hallway. She walked back, then turned to face him. He looked at her curiously. "You have any more songs besides the ones you did tonight?"

She shook her head. "No, sir. I'm working on some more though." She wasn't really, but she didn't want that to stand in her way. Songwriting was hard, though, but she'd work on it, if that's what she needed to do. It reminded her of what her teacher had said to her, that her poems sounded like lyrics to a song. But it was the music part that really caused her fits.

He nodded. "And where are you performing?"

"Open mics, like this."

"I see." He seemed to be thinking. "Are you taking guitar lessons?"

She shook her head. It was starting to feel like she didn't have the right answers. "No, sir. I bought a book in a music store and have kind of been trying to teach myself." She didn't want to tell him her father would never have allowed her to take lessons. "I can play the piano though. Really well."

He crossed his arms and looked at her. "Here's the thing, Rayna. You're very talented. Vocally anyway. You could use more songs, but that's not critical. But what you've written needs some work. Your lyrics are better than your melodies, so you might need to think about writing with a partner, if you plan to keep trying to write your own songs. Your guitar work needs a lot of improvement. I'd recommend either taking some lessons or finding someone to play guitar for you. Probably the latter. And you need to stop playing open mics. You need to find places where you can perform and build up your reputation. There are plenty of places that will let you play for free."

She frowned. "I don't want to play for free, Mr. White," she said. "I'm going to have a career in country music and I need someone to believe in me and help me, not someone who tells me all the things that are wrong with me. I know I can sing, I just need to be heard."

He looked at her with an amused look on his face. "I tell you what, if confidence gets you where you want to go, I'd put money on you. But I'm telling you what you need to do to make it in this business. It's not just standing up on the Bluebird stage and having somebody sign you to a record label. You've got a ways to go before you're even close to being ready for that. Maybe that's not what you want to hear, but it's the truth."

She had to at least consider he might be right. She had really hoped someone like him would hear her and want to sign her to a record deal, but she knew at least some of what he said was probably true. "Well, where else would I go to sing?"

"Any of the honky tonks on Broadway. Plenty of restaurants and bars will give you a slot. You'll play for tips, so not nothing, but it'll help you gain some confidence. And a following." He looked at her intently. "Do you plan to keep writing your own songs?"

"I'd like to. At least some. Isn't that what the really big name artists do?"

He smiled at her. "Some. Not all. There are plenty of great songwriters in town. But you need to have a good repertoire to perform with. I'd advise that you do a few popular covers and add in some deep album cuts that show your range. And keep working at the writing. It won't happen overnight. If you check the histories of some of the big stars, you'll see that it took years for them to finally make it. You'll need to really put in a lot of hard work, but I think you have what it takes." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card, handing it to her. "I'll keep an eye on you, Miss Rayna Jaymes. I have a feeling you could do some good things out there, with some time and experience." He turned then and walked back out the way they came, leaving her to gape after him.

She couldn't decide if she felt good about what he'd told her or not. There was a part of her that wanted to put her head down and cry. He didn't give her a lot of encouragement on her writing. Her guitar playing wasn't good. And she needed to stop doing open mics. That last part confused her. How would she get noticed if she was playing at some honky tonk?

As she walked back out into the main room, she noticed that Deacon and his sister were on stage. She stopped and focused on them, wondering what their story was. She thought about what Mr. White had said, about her guitar playing, and wondered if Deacon might be willing to give her some lessons. She could tell he was really good, so he might be able to teach her some of what she needed to know.

####

When he and Beverly had gotten up on stage, he'd looked for Rayna, but didn't see her. He'd felt deflated, thinking she had left. But then she came out from the back of the Bluebird and it had lifted his spirits. She stood at the bar and watched and he felt like he was singing directly to her. He hoped he got a chance to talk to her after he and Beverly were through.

As he and Beverly walked out of the Bluebird, he saw Rayna standing next to what he presumed was her car. He slowed down and looked over at his sister. "I'm gonna go talk to her for a minute," he said.

"Why?"

He frowned. "'Cause I want to," he said.

"I don't want to hang around here, Deacon."

"You can wait five minutes, Beverly. That's all." She scowled at him and took off for the truck. He headed for where Rayna stood. She smiled as he approached. "Hey," he said. "You sounded good tonight."

"Thanks. So did y'all." He felt tongue-tied then and was grateful that she kept talking. "So this man came up to talk to me. Watty White. You know who he is?"

"Yeah," he said with a nod. "Everybody knows him." He smiled. "He offer you a record deal?"

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. "No. He basically told me I was a long way from being ready for that." She looked at him. "Um, you're really good with the guitar. Would you be willing to teach me?"

"Oh, I ain't no teacher." He shook his head.

"Would you just show me some chords then? Maybe I can pick 'em up from you if you just show me."

He shrugged, his chest feeling kind of tight. More than anything, he wanted to spend time with her, but he knew he wasn't her kind. "I guess I could do that."

She bit down on her lip, which made him want to kiss her. He hardly knew her, but there was something about her that made him feel like they'd just been waiting for each other. "Would your girlfriend mind?" she asked, sounding hesitant.

Samantha. He felt a pit in his stomach. Yes, she most definitely would mind. As fun and breezy as she was, she was also very territorial. He swallowed and smiled. "Nah, she'd be cool," he lied. He took a deep breath. "I could show you some stuff. Where you wanna meet?"

She smiled. "Where do you live?"

He hesitated a moment, then looked over his shoulder towards his truck. Beverly was leaning against it, her arms crossed over her chest. Even from this distance, he could feel her disapproval and irritation, and he knew he needed to get going or she'd come over. "Um, me and Beverly's staying in a studio place, across the river."

She nodded. "That sounds…small."

He smiled a little. "It is. Bev's kinda on the fence about staying though, I think. But we don't got the kinda money to get a better place. Yet."

She looked thoughtful and he was sure then she was rethinking everything. She was obviously from the nicer part of town, with her pretty clothes and her manners and her convertible and her shiny, expensive guitar. "Do you know where Shelby Bottoms is?" she asked then, surprising him a little.

He nodded. He'd done his fair share of busking down at that park, since he and Beverly had been in Nashville. She wouldn't go – playing for pennies is for losers, she said – but he'd found it to be a great place to try out songs and to write. People seemed to like what he'd written and he'd made more than pennies there. "Yeah, I do."

"Could we meet there? Like, in the afternoon? Tomorrow? I couldn't get there before about four."

He quickly thought in his head about his schedule. "Can't tomorrow. What about the day after?"

It was her turn to look thoughtful. What if she says no? She bit her lip again. "Yeah, I can do that. I won't be able to stay but about an hour or so. Is that enough time?"

He glanced back over his shoulder, in time to see Beverly push off the side of the truck and start towards him, her face dark. He looked back at Rayna and smiled. "Yeah. It's a start. I'll meet you at the picnic area." He glanced back at Beverly again. "Look, I gotta go. See you Wednesday then?"

Rayna smiled, that beautiful smile that lit up her whole face. "See you Wednesday," she said.

He lifted his hand in a wave and then turned, hustling towards Beverly so she wouldn't come any further. He was smiling to himself though, thinking about seeing Rayna on Wednesday afternoon.

####

Rayna drove to Tandy's apartment after school the next day. She envied her sister, being able to live on her own. Even though her father was often out of town, she still felt like she didn't have much freedom, that she was always being watched. She felt suffocated, at times. When she got to the apartment complex, she hurried across the parking lot and up the stairs, then knocked on Tandy's door.

When the door opened, Tandy had a huge smile on her face. "Hey there, baby sister!" she cried, reaching in for a hug. "I'm so glad to see you."

Rayna walked in and looked around. It was a typical college student apartment, although she suspected Tandy's furnishings were nicer than most college students'. Tandy's books and notebooks were scattered across the kitchen table that doubled as a desk. There was an open bag of chips and dip on the table as well. Rayna looked back at her. "Were you studying?" she asked.

Tandy nodded. "But I needed a break." She walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge. She looked back at Rayna. "You want a Diet Coke or something?"

Rayna smiled. "Diet Coke, please." Tandy plucked out two cans and handed one to Rayna, then walked into the living room and plopped down on the couch. Rayna followed and sat at the other end, popping open the can. She took a sip, then took a deep breath. "So I did another open mic at the Bluebird last night," she said.

Tandy bounced on the couch. "Oh, babe, that's fantastic! How'd it go?"

Rayna put her can down on the coffee table and fidgeted with her hands. "Well, two things really. First of all, that guy was there again."

Tandy frowned. "Guy? What guy?"

Rayna was puzzled. "I didn't tell you about the guy who sang who introduced himself to me? Deacon?"

Tandy shook her head. "No, you didn't."

"Oh. Well, he and his sister were performing one night when I just went to listen. He's so good, Tandy, you just wouldn't believe it. Anyway, he introduced himself to me afterwards and told me he'd heard me when I was there. Only I didn't remember seeing him."

"What's he like?"

Rayna screwed up her face. "He's very handsome and he is really good with the guitar and when he sings, it's just amazing."

Tandy rolled her eyes. "I mean as a person, Rayna."

"Oh, well, I don't really know him very well yet. But he seems very nice. He's going to help me learn guitar chords."

"How old is he?"

Rayna thought about that and realized she really knew very little about him, other than his name. "I don't know. Older than me, but not old old, or anything."

Tandy looked unsure. "Where is he going to teach you guitar chords?"

"At Shelby Bottoms. He lives near there."

"Oh, sweetheart, East Nashville? Really? That's not our kind of people."

Rayna scowled. "I don't care, Tandy. You and I don't have the same kind of people anyway."

"Well, that's not really true, but I still think you should care. He could be just some sort of riff raff, Rayna."

Rayna rolled her eyes. "You sound like Daddy, Tandy. Like you don't think I can take care of myself or decide things for myself."

"That's not true."

Rayna stood up then. "It is too. I thought you were on my side but it seems like you're not. I'm old enough to know what I'm doing with my life." She went and picked up her purse, standing by the door. "In fact, someone saw me last night at the Bluebird and told me I could make it in this business. That was the other thing I wanted to tell you, but you still think I'm a child apparently."

Tandy jumped up. "Rayna, you know I don't think of you as a child. I've always supported you." She smiled. "So who saw you?"

Rayna shook her head. "No. I'm doing this on my own now, without your help." She opened the door, then turned back. "But just so you know, it's someone who's very well-known and connected in Nashville. You wouldn't know him anyway. Watty White." She walked out the door, slamming it behind her.

####

You wouldn't know him anyway. Watty White. Tandy felt like she was frozen in place. Watty White. The musician who'd been involved with their mother. Rayna was wrong, of course. She did know who he was. She'd made it her business to find out who he was. She had just hoped her sister wouldn't cross paths with him. Now she didn't know what to do.

Maybe it was naïve to think that Rayna would never meet Watty White. After all, he was a powerful man in the country music world and Rayna was determined to forge a career in country music. She didn't know if she should tell her sister who this man was, that maybe he was only interested in her because she was Virginia Wyatt's daughter. She didn't want to tarnish Rayna's memories of their mom though. Rayna had worshiped her and Tandy knew it would devastate her sister to know this side of their mom. She would never purposely hurt her.

And so she decided to keep it to herself. Maybe things would all work themselves out.

####

They were just approaching the highway, when Beverly turned to look at him. "What's the deal with that girl anyway?" she asked.

He glanced at his sister, then back to the road. "No deal. I just think she's a really good singer."

"And that she's pretty and totally out of your league, baby brother."

He looked at her again, a smug smile on her face, and scowled. "Shut up, Beverly. It ain't like that."

She raised her eyebrows. "Oh, it's not? So why did you go racing after her? And why was she waiting by her car? And what about Samantha?"

"It ain't none of your business, Bev," he said, not looking at her. He huffed. "She asked me for guitar lessons."

Beverly cackled. "Seriously? And you fell for that? Baby brother, she's just using you. Slumming with the poor white trash from Natchez, Mississippi."

He grabbed her by the wrist and squeezed hard. "You shut the hell up," he snarled. "You don't know nothing about her. She ain't like that."

She scowled at him and pulled her arm away. "How would you know? You've spent, what, ten minutes with her and suddenly you know everything about her?"

He fumed. She was right, he didn't know her, not really, but he felt like he did. There had been something between them, something that had felt like they were connected somehow. But he wasn't going to tell his sister that. "Just shut up," was all he said.

When he laid down on the fold out couch that night, he thought about what Beverly had said. What's the deal with that girl anyway? The truth was, he wasn't sure he could describe it. When he'd seen her on stage that first time, he'd felt something he'd never felt about another girl before. In spite of the fact that he had never met her, he'd felt some sort of connection to her. She was definitely pretty and she had a voice like an angel, but it was more than that. If he had believed in love at first sight, he'd have said that's what it was.

He'd never loved anyone before. He'd always kept his heart closed off, unwilling to let someone in that much. He had secrets and demons that he didn't have to share with a one and done or a casual girlfriend like Samantha Beasley. The life he'd known, the way he'd grown up, had made him wary of giving his heart away or of subjecting a girl to the pain he carried inside.

Rayna had been different. He rolled her name around in his head. Rayna. He'd never heard that name before, but he thought it suited her. It was pretty, like her. Unique, like her. A great name for a country music star. He thought about her in comparison to Samantha. Samantha was pretty too, in a more obvious way. She had curves Rayna didn't have and she exuded an animal sexiness that Rayna didn't, although Rayna was sexy in her own way.

Samantha was a country girl, the same way he was a country boy. She was fun-loving, fiery, and loud. She dressed in an overtly sexy way and knew how to use her charms. Rayna seemed more refined, sweet, and smart. He wanted to know her better.

When he closed his eyes, he could see her, and in his head he heard the words 'I love you'. He sat up, gulping in a deep breath. He didn't even know her and yet, while those words seemed crazy, they also seemed right. He got up and, in the hazy moonlight coming through the blinds, he walked over to his guitar case. He opened it and found the napkin from the Bluebird that he'd tucked into a side pocket. He walked outside the apartment and peered at the napkin in the weak glow of the streetlight in the parking lot. He'd written the words as he'd watched a pretty young girl sing on her first night at the Bluebird Café.

Sittin' here tonight / By the fire light / It reminds me I already have more than I should / I don't need fame / No one to know my name / At the end of the day, Lord I pray, I have a life that's good

Two arms around me, heaven to ground me / And a family that always calls me home / Four wheels to get there, enough love to share / And a sweet, sweet, sweet song /

At the end of the day / Lord I pray / I have a life that's good

A pretty young girl named Rayna Jaymes.

####

Rayna felt anxious all day long, waiting for the final bell to ring. The day seemed to drag. When it was finally the end of the day, she practically ran to her car in the student parking lot. She had stowed her guitar in the trunk that morning, so she was ready to go. She had hoped to be one of the first out of the parking lot, but it seemed like everyone had had the same idea and it took longer than she expected to get out onto Estes Road and head for the highway.

It was a beautiful day nonetheless and she pressed the button to let the top down on her car. She couldn't help but smile as the wind blew through her hair and the sun warmed her skin. She was both excited and nervous to be spending time with Deacon Claybourne. She rolled his name around in her head, thinking what a strong name it was. She felt a shiver run down her spine as she thought about the fact that he might touch her hands, while showing her a chord. She wondered if his fingers would feel rough and callousy. She thought probably so, but she was looking forward to finding out.

When she finally reached the park, she wound around until she got to the picnic area. She pulled into a parking spot and got out of her car. She opened her trunk and tossed in her purse and retrieved her guitar. She took a deep breath as she turned to see if Deacon was there. She finally spotted him sitting on top of one of the stone picnic tables, his guitar across his lap and his head bent down. She had butterflies in her stomach and felt rooted to the spot. She swallowed hard and made her way across the parking lot.

He looked up as she approached, putting aside his guitar. He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt, one that accentuated his sinewy arms and stretched across his chest. The butterflies were back. At first he smiled, then a look of confusion seemed to cross his face. She walked up and stood in front of him. "Hey," she said, feeling a little nervous about the change in his demeanor.

"Hey," he said. He looked a little uncertain and she started to worry he wasn't interested in helping her after all. He nodded towards her. "That a uniform?" he asked.

She looked down and suddenly understood his confusion. She'd never told him how old she was and she hoped he wasn't sorry now that he'd offered to help her. She bit down on her lip. "I'm in high school," she said.

He took a deep breath. "I, uh, didn't know that."

She lifted her chin. "Does it matter?"

He looked a little sheepish then. "Nah, I guess not." He peered at her closely. "How old are you?"

"Sixteen." She arched an eyebrow. "How old are you?" She was a little worried he'd be a lot older than she thought.

"Nineteen," he said, and she felt a sense of relief. Nineteen was still older, but not too much older.

"Do you not want to teach me now?" she asked, feeling a little defiant.

He shook his head. "Nah, it's okay. I just didn't know you was, well, that young." She frowned. "I mean, you just sounded like you was older. And looked older. I mean, look older."

"You know, I can find someone else to teach me. Since I'm so much younger than you thought." She turned and started to head back to her car. Then he jumped off the table and grabbed her arm. She whipped her head around to glare at him.

He was frowning too. "Hey, I said it was okay. Why you all mad now?"

She pulled her arm from his grasp and turned back to face him. "It's like you think I'm a kid or something. I can see it in your face."

He looked up at the sky, then back at her, shaking his head. "I didn't say nothing like that," he said, a little mulishly.

She set down her guitar case and clenched her fists. "This is my dream, to be a country music artist. I'm a hard worker and I'm dedicated to this. If you want to help me, great. If you don't, then I can find someone else. But Mr. Watty White said I had potential and so…."

He took a step towards her. "Stop talking!" he said. That startled her and she did stop talking. He put his hands to his face, squeezing his eyes shut, then pushed his arms out in front of him, his eyes wide open. "I said I would help you, and I will. I don't care how old you are. I was just surprised." He smiled a little shyly. "I'm impressed, Rayna," he said then, his voice softening. "Ain't too many sixteen year olds would do what you are. Could do what you are."

She was a little in shock at first, but then she smiled. "Really? You're impressed?"

He nodded, smiling back at her. "Yeah." He shoved his hands in his pockets. "So you still want me to help you?"

She couldn't help but think, again, how good looking he was, especially when he smiled. The butterflies started up again. "Yeah," she said. "I think I do."

####

After he had walked her to her car, and watched her put her guitar in the trunk, he'd gotten in his truck and headed for the apartment. He couldn't stop thinking about her, as he drove home. He smiled to himself as he thought about how feisty she'd been at first. But he'd been taken by surprise when she showed up in a school uniform. He would have sworn she was closer to his age and he had wondered about the wisdom of hanging out with a high school junior. But she was passionate about her dream and he understood that passion. He had it too. They had talked first, about the things Watty had told her, and that had helped him understand her better.

"He told me I needed to stop playing open mics, that I'm not really going to get noticed that way," she said. "But I thought all the music company people came to open mics."

He nodded. "They do, but Watty's right. You need to try to get people to follow you around. Or come back and hear you play at the same place."

She screwed up her face. "But for free? I don't see how that's gonna help me." He couldn't help but smile at her, as she sat primly on the edge of the picnic table, her knees and legs together and her hands folded in her lap.

He scratched the back of his neck. "Well, free don't help if you're wanting to make money. But it helps for people to see you. And music people go to those kinds of places too."

"Is that what you do?"

He shrugged. "Some. I gotta work too though, so I can't always. But I do afternoons sometimes, if I can get into a honky tonk. I play here. Or in other parks where there's other people playing."

"In parks?"

"Sure. Me and Beverly do it sometimes." He gave her a crooked smile. "People like to listen to music. 'Specially if it's free." He rubbed his hands on his legs. "Thing is, Rayna, if you wanna do this, you just gotta do it. Don't be snobby 'bout where you play."

She frowned and clenched her fists. "I'm not snobby." Then she relaxed her hands and smoothed them out over her plaid skirt. "I'm not. I just…didn't know."

He smiled. "Now you do." He turned and reached for his guitar then. "So you ready to try some chords?"

He didn't really want to tell her she was awful on the guitar, but she was. She told him she'd used a book on how to play the guitar, but he thought surely a book wouldn't have told her to play as badly as she did. But he could see she was serious about wanting to learn and he wanted to help her. So he turned towards her and had her turn to face him and he talked her through finger placement, telling her to watch him.

She had a tough time keeping her fingers where they needed to be and so he put his fingers against hers to hold them in place. Every time he did, he felt something like a lightning bolt race through him. When she would lean forward to look at how he was placing her fingers, he found himself wanting to kiss her. She would look at him then with what seemed to him to be a mix of curiosity and apprehension and it made him wonder if she might have wanted to kiss him too.

He shook his head. She was sixteen. Too young. And he had a girlfriend. Or something like that. He could have sex with Samantha. He instinctively knew he couldn't go there with Rayna. She was too good for him, too proper.

He really couldn't stop thinking about her though. Which was why he agreed to another guitar lesson.