Watty sat at a back table at the Bluebird, watching each of the acts on stage with a practiced ear. He was there to hear Rayna, but he never stopped listening for new talent. Ever since he'd met Rayna, he'd kept an eye on her, both musically and personally. He hadn't told her he'd sent other music minds to listen to her, just to be sure he wasn't judging her because of who she was. What he'd learned was that, if anything, he'd underestimated her talent. Getting her out from behind a guitar had been key.

He'd been very impressed with Deacon Claybourne as well, although more as a guitar player and songwriter than as an artist. His songs had a nuance to them that was unexpected in someone so young. He thought Rayna could not only benefit from him as her guitar player, but he could pass on some songwriting wisdom to her as well.

When she came out on the stage, he focused his attention on her. But, as always, he couldn't help but think about Virginia. She would have been so proud of her little girl, he knew. And he wanted to protect her, help her, guide her, as she achieved her dreams. He had promised himself he would never tell her he knew her mother, would never tell her Virginia Jaymes Wyatt had been the one true love of his life.

She had died so young, before they'd had a chance to build a real life together. She had called him that fateful night, crying, telling him she and Lamar had had a raging fight and that she'd made the decision to leave him. Come to me, my little butterfly, he'd told her, and then he'd waited. But the night wore on and she never arrived. It wasn't until the next day that he heard the news.

He still didn't know why she'd been on River Road that night, going in the opposite direction from Nashville. He didn't understand why she'd been driving so fast, although he guessed she just wanted to put as much distance between herself and Lamar as she could. He thought maybe she would have called him later, letting him know where she'd gone. He imagined she would tell him she didn't want to lead her husband to him. Not until she'd figured things out. But he would never know. And now, he was watching her daughter stand on the stage of the Bluebird Café, starting on the path to stardom.

When she finished, he stood and clapped, then waved them over. The two of them were gold together, that he knew for sure. This was lightning in a bottle and he intended to capture it, nurture it, and then send it out to soar.

He wound his way around the narrow roads inside the old cemetery. He could have made his way with his eyes closed. He slowed down and then parked his car. He got out and stood for a moment, squinting up at the sun. It was a hot, sticky day, as July days often were, but there was the hint of a breeze as he walked slowly across the grass. He stopped in front of a low, unassuming granite marker. It had always surprised him that it wasn't grander, something more befitting the business scion Lamar saw himself as. He took a deep breath, then sat on the stone bench in front of the marker. Virginia Jaymes Wyatt. He still couldn't believe she was truly gone.

A smile crept across his face. "You'd be proud of her, Virginia. She's like you, a spitfire, full of life. Beautiful young woman with great talent. She'll be a star." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together. "I'll make sure she's taken care of. She'll have the best, get a chance to showcase her talent. I'll take care of her, I promise you that."

He felt tears filling his eyes and he reached up to rub them away. It had been just four years, but it felt like a lifetime since she'd been gone. He still couldn't quite believe he'd never see her again. Sometimes he thought he felt her presence, smelled her light, floral perfume, heard her beautiful laugh. But when he'd turn, it was never her, and he'd miss her all over again.

####

He smiled a little at her comment. He had hoped she might be okay with him not shaving. He also felt like it gave him a little of that outlaw country look, which he liked, even if he didn't want that label. He pulled out onto Hillsboro Pike and headed towards Belle Meade. He thought again about how she said she'd written her song for him. It made him feel warm inside. He glanced over at her. She was looking out the side window and he wondered what she was thinking. "You know, you do a pretty good job writing," he said.

She turned towards him, a shy smile on her face. "Really? You think so?"

He nodded. "I do. That song you did tonight, it was really good. You should do more of that."

She made a face. "It's so hard though. It takes me so long to get it right. I can't just knock out a song in an hour like you."

He laughed. "You think that's all it takes? An hour?"

"But you said you had a whole bunch of songs."

He smiled. "I do. But it takes more'n an hour to write 'em. Sometimes it takes days."

She looked surprised. "Really?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Really. Just 'cause maybe I got a lot of stuff in my life, don't mean it's easy to write about. And then you gotta think about verses, chorus, bridge, tag, whatever."

She frowned. "What's a tag?"

He thought about how to explain it. It had always seemed like something he just knew, but no one had ever asked him about it. "I guess it's kinda like a punctuation mark, usually at the end of a chorus or the end of a song. Kind of something extra. I don't always use one, 'cause a song don't always need it." He looked at her. "You just know, I guess, if you need it."

She bit down on her bottom lip. "Maybe you could help me some time," she said. "Like when I get stuck, or something."

They were turning down the street she lived on. He nodded at her. "Sure. I'd be glad to." He concentrated then on pulling into her driveway and up to the house. He put the car in park and looked over at her.

She looked at him a little shyly. "When will I see you again?"

"Well, Watty said you need to be singing more. I could take you to someplace on lower Broad, if you want. Tomorrow?"

She smiled. "I would love that." She took a deep breath. "Could you maybe come a little early and we could talk some about writing?"

He was pretty sure he'd do most anything she asked, and spending more time with her was an easy one to agree to. "Yeah, I can do that. What time you want me to come?"

She shrugged. "Anytime. Two? Three?"

"Maybe three? I got my job at the diner tomorrow, so two would be hard."

"Okay." She put her hand on the door handle, but didn't take her eyes off him. "Will you walk me to the door?" she asked.

He smiled at her. "'Course I will." He turned the truck off and got out, jogging around to the passenger side. He opened the door for her and helped her out. He shut the door and then, holding her hand, walked her up the steps.

She looked up at him. "Thanks for going with me," she said. "I really appreciate you helping me out."

"I'm glad to do it, Ray," he said.

She smiled. "I like it when you call me Ray," she said, with a little laugh. Then she rose up on her toes and brushed her lips against his. He didn't let her go though, putting his arms around her waist and pulling her close, feeling her mouth open to his. He kissed her deeply, loving the feel of her lips on his and her tongue battling his. She felt soft and warm against his body and he knew, yet again, that he had fallen seriously in love with her. When he let her go, she looked breathless. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow," she said, her voice soft and gentle.

He nodded. "Yeah, you will," he said. He took her hand and leaned in for one more quick kiss, then turned and headed back to his truck. When he got in, he looked back and saw her still standing on the porch, watching him. He raised his hand in a wave and she did the same. Then he started his truck and headed back out the way he had come.

When he got to his apartment, he set his guitar back on its stand, then took his boots off. He walked into the kitchen and poured two fingers of whiskey into a glass. He downed it in one swallow, wincing at the burn in his throat and taking in a deep breath. Then he poured another and walked back to the living room, setting the bottle on the coffee table and sitting down on the couch. He knocked back the second shot and poured another. This one he sipped at, as he considered his next steps.

He was giving up a lot of his time to help Rayna with her career and, while he loved being with her and loved her excitement, it was time he wasn't spending on his own music and his own dreams. When he'd left Natchez, it was to make his own way. Sure, Beverly had come with him, and he'd been fine with that. It had been an escape from a hard, painful life, one he didn't like to dwell on, but one that had fueled some of his music.

He thought about what it had been like growing up in that world. He rubbed his face as he thought back on how quickly his world could change. There were times when it felt like they were really a family – his father, mother, Beverly, and him – but there was always a heightened sense of anxiety, because it could all change in seconds. Something would happen, at work or just a chance encounter somewhere, and his father would come home in a rage, usually fueled by whiskey. His mother had tried, in the beginning, to protect him and Beverly, but she was no match for an angry Gideon Claybourne.

He felt his heart pound, just thinking about his father. He still remembered one terrifying night, when Gideon had beaten up his mother, slammed Beverly against a wall for defying him, and then turned on him, when he tried to reach for a gun. He put his hand on his throat, still feeling his father's powerful hand there, holding him against the door jamb. He could still smell the scent of sour whiskey and sweat, as his father breathed in his face. You're gonna grow up to be just like me. It was a threat and a promise, one he'd been determined not to let come to fruition. He'd mostly been successful at it, but he'd acquired his own taste for whiskey and he knew, sometimes, he used it to hide from the memories.

He reached for the glass and threw back the rest of the drink. He started to feel the tiniest buzz and he knew he should stop. He had to get up early the next morning for work and then he was supposed to meet Rayna. His eyes watered just a little as he thought about her. He could see her, as if she were standing in front of him, all pretty and sweet-smelling and perfect, and he knew, deep down inside, that he should tell her to run away from him, as far as she could go.

He downed one more glass of whiskey, thinking about her innocence and how she had the whole world in front of her. He didn't want to hold her back, didn't want to lose her in the end. He wasn't at all sure what he was doing with her, except that he loved her and she represented something beautiful and magical all at once. She was like the light he was searching for, that goodness that might save him.

He would do anything for her. Even if it meant giving up his own dreams. That he knew for sure.

####

She'd been standing at the window next to the door, watching for Deacon's truck, since just before three. It was twenty minutes past now and she was feeling anxious. As grateful as she'd been to have him be on stage with her and be willing to help her out, she realized it was taking time away from his own music, and she wondered if he would grow to resent that. Or maybe he already has. Maybe that was why he wasn't at her house – he had decided maybe it wasn't worth it after all. She felt an ache in her chest and she felt disappointment and that maybe she'd pushed him too hard.

Just as she was ready to turn away, she saw his truck pull up to the front of the house. She saw him jump out of the truck and around the front to the steps. She couldn't stop the smile from breaking across her face as she opened the front door. He stopped just short. "You came," she said.

He looked confused. "'Course I did," he said. "I was just running late. I'm sorry."

She shook her head, still smiling. "It's okay. Do you want to come in?"

"Sure." He nodded. "Um, I got us an hour spot at a little place on 2nd Avenue. At five."

She widened her eyes. "An hour? I don't know if I know that many songs." She bit her lip. "You could do some of yours."

He shrugged. "Maybe."

She realized he was still on the porch, so she stepped back. "Come on in." He walked in past her and stood just inside the door, looking up and around, like he had before. She tried to look at it through his eyes, based on what little she knew about his experience, and she realized it probably did seem grand and intimidating and maybe even a little stuffy. "Let's go outside."

He turned and looked at her, giving her a shy smile. "Okay." She led the way, through the den and out onto the patio. She sat at the patio table and he followed suit.

"I looked up Natchez in the encyclopedia," she said. He didn't say anything, so she went on. "I didn't know the Natchez Trace went from here to Natchez. Have you ever been on it?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Not much along the way though."

"Do you ever want to go back there?"

He breathed in, just looking at her. He put his hand on the table, palm down. "It's not a place I wanna go back to, Rayna. Or talk about, really. If that's okay."

She felt a little embarrassed then. "Oh. Okay." She remembered what he'd said about his parents, his sister, and the life they'd led there. She supposed it wouldn't be a place he remembered fondly, even if his father was gone. Just then the kitchen door opened and Vernice bustled out with a tray.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, Miss Rayna, but I saw you had a young man out here and thought y'all might like some iced tea," she said, setting the tray down. Without waiting for a response, she busied herself pouring tea into tall glasses filled with ice and a sprig of mint. She set one in front of Deacon and one in front of Rayna, then stood back and beamed.

Rayna looked up at the older woman and smiled. "Thank you, Vernice. This is perfect," she said.

Vernice clasped her hands in front of her. "I'll let y'all talk then." She tapped Deacon on the shoulder. "So nice to see you again. Then she scurried back into the house.

Deacon watched until she was gone, then turned back to Rayna. "She wait on y'all all the time?" he asked.

She shook her head. "She's really just the housekeeper. But she always loves to be nice to visitors." She smiled. "And I think she likes you." She noticed that Deacon blushed just a little. She took a sip of her tea. "So, will you tell me about writing songs? How I can make mine better?"

He looked thoughtful. "I been thinking about that," he said. "Maybe we could try writing together, that way you'll see."

She wasn't sure how she felt about that. She'd always thought she'd write her own songs. Not that she was especially good at it and it certainly took a long time to finish them. She bit her lip. "Maybe." She sighed. "I think, though, I'm more worried about being on stage an hour. That's a lot of songs, Deacon." She felt butterflies in her stomach. She'd done forty-five minutes at Robert's, of course, but an hour seemed so much longer somehow. "You really should do some of yours."

"But you told me you sang with your mama a lot. Don't you know a lot of songs? Maybe they ain't ones you wrote, but you can sing 'em anyway. It's an early spot, so covers are okay."

"I guess."

He smiled at her then. "Let's see how it goes." He drank the rest of his tea in one swallow, then put the glass on the table. "Let's go then." He stood up and held out his hand to her. She just took a second and then she smiled up at him, took his hand, and let him pull her up. She couldn't believe she was actually going to be on stage for a whole hour. She was already thinking about what she could sing.

####

He just drove, smiling as he listened to her. He hadn't been surprised at how well she'd done – he'd seen her many times, after all – but she seemed to be flying on a cloud. She had been amazing, had the crowd eating out of her hand. She had written up a set list on the way and she had picked out songs that highlighted her voice perfectly. He had given her a few suggestions on the order, which she had agreed with, and then she had delivered. He couldn't help but think back to the song she'd ended it on, a Dolly Parton song that hadn't gotten as much airplay as many of her others. But everyone in the place had been entranced by her, as she sang. He still felt haunted by the end of the song, as much because of how she'd performed it as about the words.

Then I felt the lonely dripping down my face
As I realized no one could take your place
I wondered where the love had gone that we had found
And then again I felt the lonely comin' down

I wondered where the love had gone that we had found
And again I felt the lonely comin' down

"Deacon." He shook his head, realizing he'd been daydreaming. He turned to her.

"What, baby?"

She frowned. "You weren't even listening."

He reached across the seat for her hand and squeezed it. "I'm sorry, baby." He smiled. "I was just thinking back on how great you were."

She smiled then. "I felt like I was just floating, you know? Like I was standing on the edge of a, I don't know, the precipice of something big."

It was his turn to frown. "A preci-what?"

She laughed, that beautiful laugh that lit up her face. "A precipice. Like a cliff or a mountain. Standing right on the edge, getting ready to take off and fly." She clasped her hands and rested her chin on them. "It just felt kind of amazing." She took a deep breath. "Am I ready? I'm just not sure if I'm ready."

He smiled back at her. "You're ready, Ray. More than ready." He looked back at the road. "So what do you think your father's gonna say?"

"You mean when he finds out I'm still doing this?" He nodded. She shrugged. "I think he'll be mad, because" – she looked over at him – "no one ever goes against Lamar Wyatt." She rolled her eyes. "But I'm not scared of him. I think he'll yell a lot, but what's he gonna do really?"

He glanced at her, but she was looking out the side window. She had a lot of bravado, that was for sure, and she had a lot of gumption, but he had to wonder what would happen if she really defied her father. Lamar Wyatt sure didn't seem like someone who would just roll over and let her do what she wanted.

####

She and Deacon played another short set the next night and then her father was home unexpectedly. They were supposed to be part of a showcase at a place in East Nashville. She didn't want to have to skip it. She knew better than to try to sneak out, so she told her father she had a date.

"Who is this date with?" he asked, narrowing his eyes just a touch.

She tried to be nonchalant about it. "You've met him, Daddy. Deacon. He's playing a set and I'm going to listen," she said, telling a little white lie and crossing her fingers behind her back.

He shook his head. "I've told you he's not your kind, Rayna. You shouldn't let yourself be sullied by someone like that."

She looked at him incredulously. "'Sullied'? What does that even mean, Daddy? He's nice to me. He cares about me."

He laughed, but it wasn't a jovial sound. The smile on his face didn't reach his eyes. "Oh, I'm sure he cares, Rayna. He cares about where you come from. He just wants to ride on your back, take advantage of you."

"That's ridiculous. He doesn't care about any of this." She waved her hands around. "We have things in common, Daddy, like music. And he's a good person."

He narrowed his eyes. "Rayna, I've done a little digging on this…Deacon person," he said.

"I don't care, Daddy." She looked away.

"I think you should care, Rayna. His father is an alcoholic, beat up his family, left them all. The son is already showing those tendencies as well. His mother, well, his mother was in and out of mental institutions and the sister has her own struggles with the same thing. He's from a poor family, Rayna, didn't finish school, got into trouble, spent a night or two in jail. He's not the kind of young man you should be involved with."

Rayna didn't say anything at first. Deacon hadn't told her all of that, at least not about his mom or about getting into trouble. Not that it mattered. He wasn't his parents and he was a kind person, treated her respectfully. And he loved her. She knew that like she knew her own name. She also knew he'd never let her down. She didn't know why she was so sure, but she knew they'd be connected forever. She looked at her father. "I don't care about his life before he came here, Daddy. I care about him now. I care about the person he's become, in spite of all of that. He's a good man, Daddy." She saw lights cross in front of the windows and she glanced that way, then back at her father. "He's here. I'm going out." She started towards the door.

Her father walked out of his study and into the foyer. "You're doing this against my wishes, Rayna. Just understand that if you want to live in my house, you have to live by my rules."

She looked at him and shook her head, then walked out the front door.

She felt like she was floating off the stage when their set was done. Deacon put his arm around her and kissed her on the cheek. "You were amazing, Ray," he said, a big smile on his face.

She laughed out loud. "If I was, it was because of you."

He shook his head. "Nah. I just was playing guitar."

She pointed her finger at him. "And singing harmony with me. And freeing me to just sing. That's not insignificant, as you know." He laughed. She stopped then and hugged him. "Thank you, Deacon," she whispered against his chest. "I don't think I could do this without you." She looked up at him. "I'm not sure I can do music anymore without you. I can't even think about music anymore without thinking about you." He looked surprised and she smiled. "Truly. I mean it."

He kissed her. "We're good together, baby. I can see that." He let his hand trail over her hair. "So are we on for Monday night?"

She considered the fact that her father wouldn't be happy about it, but she really didn't care. She was chasing her dream and Deacon was by her side. It was all she could ever want. She smiled and nodded. "I can't wait."

####

When he picked her up, he was glad to see her. He'd worked all weekend, so they hadn't been able to see each other. So he was extra excited to see her that night. They would be doing a set at another club downtown. She got in the truck and waited for him to get in, then gave him a tiny smile. He thought she didn't seem her usual bubbly self, but he thought she was probably just a little nervous. He really wasn't much of a talker anyway, so he was glad to let her sit with her thoughts.

They were about halfway there when she turned to look at him. He glanced over at her. She had a serious look on her face. "What is it, baby?" he asked.

She fidgeted with her hands and then took a deep breath. "You know you can talk to me about anything, right?" she asked.

He frowned. "Like what?"

She shrugged. "Anything. I won't ever judge you. Or think badly of you."

He wondered what this was about. "What do you wanna ask me, Rayna?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. Nothing really. I just, well, I just wanted you to know you can trust me. And that I love you." She reached out and rubbed his arm.

He looked at her and thought about that. "This about something your father said to you?"

She shook her head but averted her eyes. "No. Of course not. I just" – she looked back at him then – "I just wanted you to know you can. Tell me anything, I mean."

He wasn't sure that was really it, but he didn't want to press her too hard. Not when she was getting ready to go on stage. He tried to smile. "I know, Rayna," he said. He reached over then and squeezed her hand. She smiled back at him and then seemed to relax. He still wondered, though, what brought that on.

When they got off the stage that night, they were both a little wired. They seemed to be finding a rhythm between the two of them and it had surprised him how much he liked it. They walked over to the bar and he ordered them both root beers.

"Hey there, you two." They both turned towards the sound of Watty's voice. "Good set tonight. Y'all are sounding really fine. Lotta good buzz, about you especially, Rayna." He pointed at her, then gestured for them to follow him over towards the bar. "I've got some news." He looked at her, a little smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye. "I got you a paying job. At a place in south Nashville. Friday night."

She looked a little stunned. "What?"

"A paying gig, baby!" he said excitedly, pulling her into a hug.

She looked back at Watty. "Are you serious? Not just tips?"

He nodded. "Tips and a percentage of the take for the night." He smiled. "This is the real deal, my little songbird."

She turned to look at him, and he grinned at her, and then back at Watty. "Oh, my God, I can't believe it. Wait." She looked back at him. "Deacon gets to be there too, right?" Watty nodded and then she threw her arms around the older man. "Thank you so much! I promise I'll do a good job."

Watty laughed gently. "I know you will. This is your break. I think the sky's the limit, from now on."