July 14th, 1988

Rayna approached Watty's sprawling house with butterflies in her stomach. She usually got butterflies before she went on stage, before she played someone a new song; if she were honest with herself, though, she would admit that these butterflies were entirely different. These butterflies, she knew, were because she was about to see Deacon Claybourne again.

He'd captivated her last night, completely taken her by surprise, which didn't happen very often when it came to people, and even less often when it came to men. She was still getting used to calling men 'men' instead of boys, but she very much had the sense that Deacon Claybourne was a man, despite being 19. There was something about him that told her he hadn't been a boy for very long, if he ever had been.

She'd felt that way herself, forced to grow entirely up at a very early age, and so she often felt older than her sixteen years told the rest of the world she was.

She smoothed her hair and rubbed her palms on her jean cut-off shorts before she took a steadying breath and opened the door Watty always left open for her. The door opened right in to his living room, and she was happy to see Watty seated on his couch, guitar on his knee, his almost completely white hair slicked back. Next to him was Deacon, his guitar balanced on his lap, his head bent down looking at the music on the page, perched on the coffee table in front of him. His dark brown hair fell over his eyes, and Rayna felt the butterflies pick up their pace as they danced around in her stomach. He was clad in dark blue jeans and a white t-shirt, brown boots on his feet.

She closed the door softly behind her, and Watty looked up—when he saw her, a wide smile spread across his face.

"Hey, Rayna," He said, taking his guitar from his knee and resting it against the couch. He stood, walked over to her, and embraced her, then led her into the living room.

Deacon looked up from the music, and ran his eyes over her, "Hey." He nodded slightly, and gave her a small smile.

"Hey." She smiled, and gave a little awkward wave.

"Deacon and I were just going over No Way Out," Watty explained, motioning for her to sit. She sat on the couch, making sure to keep a considerable distance between herself and Deacon. Watty sat in a chair directly across from the couch, "Why don't you two run through this so we can see if the music part of this is even going to work?"

Rayna felt the flush rise in her face; singing in front of an audience was one thing, but singing in front of one or two people had always made her feel more self-conscious. She knew it wasn't logical, but that didn't stop her brain from drawing a difference. "Um, okay." She said, resting her palms on her knees.

No Way Out was a song Watty had written for her, and it was one of her favorites. Watty gave a little nod, and she looked at Deacon; staring straight at her, he began strumming the guitar. She was shocked he had been able to pick it up so quickly—she'd spent a solid month and a half trying to learn it, and she still couldn't get her fingers to make the changes. And yet, here he was, staring at her, playing it by memory already.

As their eyes locked, she felt her nerves tighten, and then dissipate; by the time it was her turn to sing, she felt the nerves replaced with something else she couldn't quite name.

She opened her mouth, and the words flowed out—she never broke eye contact with him, knew she couldn't even if she had wanted to. When the chorus came, he joined her, and the sound of their voices mingling left her momentarily stunned.

By the time Deacon strummed the last chord and stilled his hand, they'd been making eye contact for a solid three minutes, but even with the song over, it seemed neither of them could look away. In the silence that followed, Rayna found the word for what had displaced her nerves, and she felt her stomach leap at the revelation: desire.

Watty cleared his throat, and she suddenly remembered there was another person in the room besides her and Deacon. "Well," Watty said, staring hard at Deacon, who was still looking at Rayna. "I think that made it clear that the music part of this is," He cleared his throat again, and Deacon finally turned his head to look at Watty, "Going to work."

Deacon smiled, and Rayna laughed, "That's good." She said, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ears.

Watty nodded, "Why don't you two go and take a little walk to make sure everything else is going to work, too." When Deacon and Rayna just stared at them, he stood, "Make sure you like each other alright." He said, pointing at the sliding glass door that led to the acres behind his house.

Rayna and Deacon stood, and made their way to the sliding glass door; as Deacon pried it open, Rayna saw Watty point two fingers at his eyes, and then jut his index finger at Deacon. When they were outside, the sliding door safely shut behind him, Rayna looked at him.

"What was that about?" She asked, looking at the acreage in front of them.

Deacon shook his head, "Nothin'."

Watty's backyard was expansive. He'd bought ranch property with the intention of someday having a ranch, but he'd never gotten around to getting the animals, or doing anything even remotely ranch-like. Dirt trails that would have made nice horse trails had the animals ever been purchased weaved around the property. Deacon and Rayna started down one, following the way it curved through the green pastures.

"You play guitar real well." She said, her boot skidding along the dirt as they walked.

He shrugged, "Thanks."

"Have you been playing long?" She turned to look at him.

"Pretty much my whole life." He replied, looking directly ahead of him. "Thought maybe my guitar would give me a way out," He glanced at her, "Guess maybe I was right."

"A way out of where?" She kicked a small pebble.

He was quiet for a while, until they were under a big Scarlet Oak tree. He stopped and leaned up against a fence, enjoying the respite from the heat the shade provided. She leaned up against the fence, too, propping one foot up on the bottom plank of the white fence, using the heel of her boot to keep her leg in place.

He pressed his back into the top slat of the fence. "Natchez, Mississippi." He replied, looking at her.

Rayna watched something pass over his eyes, and she could tell that he wasn't just trying to get out of Natchez, Mississippi with his guitar.

Deacon cleared his throat, "What about you?" He asked, before hoisting himself up to sit on the fence.

She looked out at the pasture in front of her, and then shifted her gaze down to her boots. She dropped her leg, and traced a pattern in the dirt with her boot before she spoke. She always hated telling people where she was from.

"Belle Meade." She said, keeping her head down, but lifting her eyes to watch his reaction. When he didn't have much of one, just quirked his mouth up a little on one side, and stared straight ahead, she figured he already knew.

"I'd heard that." He confirmed.

Rayna lifted her head and laughed, "Yeah." She nodded, "It has a way of getting out." She shook her head, "It's where I'm from, but… I don't really consider it my world. I spent a lot of time in high school not fitting in, let's put it that way."

Deacon turned to look at her then, "You're 16; ain't you still in high school?"

She shook her head, "I knew I wanted to be a singer when I was ten, but when I was 14 I really wanted to start pursuing it. Daddy told me I could pursue my music after I finished school. So, I graduated a year early. Just this spring, in fact."

"Wow, pretty determined." He said, tapping his fingers on the top slat of the fence.

Rayna grinned, "Yeah, I guess. Or stubborn as Daddy calls it. 'Course, once I did that, Daddy insisted he meant college." Rayna rolled her eyes, "No matter how many times I tell him I'm not Tandy, he just won't listen."

"Tandy?" Deacon asked, hopping down from the fence and leaning up against it again.

Rayna nodded, "She's my sister, about four years older. Belle Meade is definitely her world." She concluded, laughing a little at her own joke. "What about you?" She asked, "Any siblings?"

Deacon pushed off the fence and started to walk down the trail again, Rayna followed suit. "I got a sister. Little bit older than me."

"Oh." Rayna said, falling in stride next to him. "Are y'all close?" She asked, shielding her eyes from the sun with her hand as she looked at him.

"Sometimes," He said, "She came to Nashville with me a couple months ago, but she went back."

"To Natchez?" At Deacon's nod, Rayna continued, "But you didn't." It wasn't a question, but she looked at him for a response anyway. She watched his jaw clench.

"Nope." He edged the word out.

She dropped her hand from her eyes, "What were you runnin' from?" She asked, her voice quiet.

Deacon stopped, and turned to face her. "What are you talking about?"

"Back there," She waved her hand back where they came from, "You said your guitar gave you a way out—I could…" She trailed off, watching him carefully, "I could see you didn't just mean from Natchez. It looked like…" She debated whether or not to continue, "You were trying to get away from… pain?"

Deacon smirked, "Really? You got all that from a sentence?" When she just shrugged in response, he raised his eyebrows before he fixed her with a steady gaze, searching her eyes; he spoke when he seemed to recognize something there, "You grew up in a mansion in Belle Meade," He said, his face close to hers, quiet when he spoke. "What do you know about pain?"

Rayna stared at him, he didn't ask the question with venom, which surprised her. Usually, when people were talking about where she came from, it was to throw it back in her face. She thought back to the look in his eyes right before he asked the question, thought about how his gaze had changed, registering surprise; he could tell there was something. No one had been able to read her like that, not ever.

She crossed her arms over her chest, "My Momma died when I was 12, so I guess there's that." She said, a little defensively. She had to think about it that way, so she didn't cry.

Deacon's gaze softened, "I'm sorry." His voice was gentle, "How did she die?"

Rayna turned, and started walking back towards Watty's house, "A car wreck." She was looking at her boots, watching the gravel crunch underneath them, "She was my best friend," Her voice dropped to a whisper, so she could keep the tears out, "After she died, I really felt like I didn't have anyone; no one to talk to about my dreams, about what I wanted to do with my life. Tandy was there, but she's basically a carbon copy of Daddy, and so even before she went off to college I just felt like I had no one who could understand." She laughed a little uncomfortably, "Watty helps. But, some days I still feel like I don't." She felt the tears come, and she swiped at them with her hands.

"I'm sorry," Deacon said again, his eyes fixed on Watty's house ahead of them. "Watty's really supported you, huh?"

Rayna nodded, "Yeah." She laughed, "I don't know why he's taken such a liking to me, but I'm real grateful he has. He's like... a father figure." She shrugged.

Deacon nodded, "I could see that last night."

Rayna smiled, "What about your parents?" She asked, "Do they support you?"

Deacon's laugh was short, "Yeah," He said, but Rayna didn't believe him, "You could say that. Big supporters of mine, my parents." Deacon squinted, "So, No Way Out—pretty great song Watty wrote for you."

Many things could be said about Rayna Jaymes, but she could certainly take a hint, even at sixteen, "Yeah. Great song." They were on the back porch now, and they situated themselves into the chairs on Watty's back patio. "So, do you want to play guitar for me?" She was biting her lip.

Deacon chuckled, "Do you want me to play guitar for you?" He asked.

Just then, Watty opened the sliding door of the back porch. He looked at them, and then leaving the sliding glass door open behind him, came to stand in front of the patio table.

"Well?" He raised an eyebrow, "If this," he gestured between them, "Is gonna work, I've got you a gig for next Friday night." He smiled, "So?" He looked at Rayna.

Rayna considered the question. She felt pulled to Deacon Claybourne in a way that scared her—in a way she had never felt before. It would be so easy to dismiss it, to say it wasn't going to work; part of her thought that's what she should do. But, she knew they worked well together—the look on Watty's face after they sang together told her at least that much, if not more. Besides, Rayna had never been one to run from a challenge.

Making the decision, Rayna nodded, "Yes," she said, then glanced at Deacon who was staring straight at Watty.

"Yeah," Deacon agreed, a languid smile spreading over his face, "It's gonna work."

Watty sat down in the third patio chair and leaned in towards Deacon, "It better."

Rayna slid her sunglasses from the top of her head to cover her eyes, trying to quiet the thunderous hammering of her heart, trying to make the adrenaline stop coursing through her veins.

She was going to be working with Deacon Claybourne—the thought exhilarated her. As she watched Deacon smirk at Watty, she got the distinct impression that she was being left out of some private joke between the two of them.

And as Deacon turned toward her and winked, she got the very distinct impression that she was going to have to hold desperately on to her heart around Deacon Claybourne.

TBC