Cowboy Sing Me Home (2 page)

“Yeah, that was my opinion, too.” 

Stevie was all of twenty-two years old.  Probably at least five years
Dusty’s junior.  Probably she wouldn’t be interested in someone like him. 

“Don’t you have a girlfriend?” Luke frowned at Stevie.

“She dumped me.  Just in time.  Don’t
you
have a girlfriend?”

“She dumped me.”  Just in time, he added silently.

Stevie whipped his head around.  “You’re kidding.  Melinda dumped you? 
People were taking bets she would finally be the one to tie you down.”

A mental image flashed through Luke’s head of himself tied to the ground
with dozens of thread-like ropes, Gulliver-style, with a miniature Melinda
running around checking knots and tamping down stakes with a tiny hammer,
laughing maniacally.

The image didn’t feel too far from the truth.  Things with Melinda had
gotten too serious too quick, and that was not how he operated, not at all. 
Before he’d even known what hit him, she’d had a toothbrush at his house and
that cat of hers had been around his place more than its own.  Getting Melinda
mad enough to dump him had taken some work, and now that he was out of that
particular situation, he was more relieved than anything.  She’d run off to her
sister’s house in Dallas, threatening to look for a job and an apartment while
she was there.  He wished her luck.

Luke wondered if he should get Toby to say something to Dusty about
Melinda dumping him.  Sometimes women got real sympathetic to a guy who’d been
recently dumped.  One of the reasons he always made sure he was the dumpee.
  

“Let me guess,” Dusty said after Toby
had introduced himself. “You’re the friend who’s supposed to talk him up.”

            “He said you were sharp.  Those were
his exact words.  This is kind of like junior high, huh?”

            She gave him a
bland look.  “I wouldn’t know.  I was home schooled.”

            “Well, it is kind of like junior high
for us, at any rate.  He’s a great guy, lots of fun, and he’s a hero.  Arrested
a very bad criminal type just yesterday.”  Toby smiled and rubbed his hands
together.  “Okay, now that that’s out of the way, let’s get down to business
and talk about this Rain Fest. We talked about the whole point behind it over
the phone.”

            “You’re trying to drum up some rain.”

            “Yeah.”  He leaned a hip against the
table.  “Well, yes and no.  As you could probably tell on your way into town,
we’re in a pretty bad drought.”

            “The river on the west side of town
is almost dry.”

            “Lowest level it’s been since the big
drought in the 50s.  This is the third year in a row we’ve been hurting for
rain.  We didn’t get any snow over the winter, and the spring’s already
starting out below average.  One or two years, we can handle.  But this is the
third year, and nerves are on edge.  Everybody in the county is at each other’s
throats.  I can’t even tell you the calls we’ve been getting lately.  People
fighting over the craziest things.  Fist fights over price gouging at the
grocery store.  Two sisters, who’ve lived next door to each other for twenty
years, got into an argument over their vegetable garden and they haven’t spoken
to each other in three weeks.  It’s like that all over the county.  And I
just...” He rubbed the back of his neck and gave her a half-hearted smile.  “We
need something.  Luke and I were talking, and he came up with this idea. 
Because we have to have something to get everybody back on the right track. 
Something to give everybody a reason to keep trying, to keep hanging in there. 
It’s hard, Miss Rhodes, to keep kids here, to keep them from moving off to a
bigger place as soon as they graduate high school.  The nearest mall is an hour
away.  Everything’s an hour away, concerts, museums, decent restaurants...
don’t tell Irene at the Dairy Queen that I said that.  But my point is, this is
a good place to raise a family.  And we’re losing that.  Maybe we don’t have a
lot of money, and maybe there’s not a lot in the way of entertainment, but this
has always been a place with a strong sense of community.  If we lose that...
well, there’s nothing to keep anybody here.  So you see...”

            “And you think a
little country music is going to rekindle some community spirit?”

            Toby grinned.  “Not just country
music.  We have a street carnival, a revival, some contests for the kids… it’s
a big to-do.  But yeah, if you could work in a bunch of songs about family, and
small town life, and stuff like that, it would help.  Maybe a few songs about
overcoming hard times.  And the evils of the big city, too, if you have any.  I
know I’d appreciate it.  Oh, and if you
do
know a way to drum up some
rain…”

            “You expect a lot.”

            “Miracles
happen every day.”

            “I’ll
see what I can do.”

            “Great. 
There’s a barbecue for all the volunteers working the Rain Fest, day after
tomorrow on the courthouse square.  I’d like you to come with my wife and me. 
It starts at 6:30.  It’ll be fun, and my wife is making potato salad.  That’s
worth the trip in itself.”

            “We
have rehearsal every night from 6:30 to nine.”

            “Can
you skip it for one night?”

            “Do
you want the band to sound worth anything at your festival?”

            “Sure
I do.”

            “Then
we can’t skip it for one night.”

            “Tell
you what.  How about if you come to the barbecue at 6:30, and move rehearsal to
7:30?  I’ll make sure the boys don’t leave here one second before 9:30.  Would
that work?”

            Dusty
sighed.  She never moved rehearsal.  Never.  The way she worked with one new
band after another, it was important for them to get all the rehearsals they
could before they played together in public.   And if she started making allowances
for one thing, it would snowball and she would lose her leadership control. 
She didn’t like that.

            But
something about the Sheriff’s plea, and his obviously heartfelt concern for his
town, had touched her.  Naïve and kind of corny, yes, but touching.

            “Okay,”
she said, against her better judgement.  “We can postpone rehearsal for half an
hour.  But we’ll go till ten.”

            “Good.” 
He shook her hand again and studied her.  “I’m really glad you’re here.  I’ve
heard a lot of good things about you.  And I have a good feeling about this
week.”

            Dusty shrugged.  “I always do my best.”

            “That’s
all I ask.  So I’ll see you Wednesday night on the courthouse square.  Do you
need a ride?”

            “No thanks.”

            “Then
we’ll see you there at 6:30.  And Miss Rhodes?”

            “It’s
Dusty.”

            “Okay,
Dusty.  Tanner really is a great guy.  Kind of a goof, and a terrible poker
player, but he’s a great guy.”

            Toby
moved to a table and, when Luke tossed a questioning glare at him, he gave him
the thumbs up sign. He mouthed the words, “you’re in.” and grinned.

The rest of the band trickled in, laughing and joking the way they
normally did.  Luke checked his cords and chatted with some of the guys as they
wandered in.  When Rodney brought over their customary pitcher of beer and
stack of cups, Luke reached for one.

For nothing.  Dusty picked up the pitcher and handed it back to Rodney. 
“The band’s not drinking during rehearsals.”

There was a stunned silence, until Stevie said, “We’re not?”

“No drinking during rehearsals.  You did get the instructions I sent two
weeks ago.”  She didn’t bother to phrase it as a question.

“Mmmm, well…”

“Rodney always gives us a free pitcher during rehearsals,” Tommy, the
drummer, said.

“If you want to be in this band, you’re going to go by the rules.  No
drinking during rehearsals, and no drinking during a performance.”

Luke cleared his throat and gave her a conciliatory smile.  “We only have
the one pitcher.  It works out to one mug apiece, maybe two for a couple of
us.  It’s not enough to hurt any.”

Dusty blinked, stared at him, then silently and slowly turned her head to
take in the rest of the band.

Luke swallowed and took a step back.  “Okay then.  No drinking during
rehearsals.”

Stevie sat back at his guitar and watched Rodney take the pitcher back to
the bar.  Toby snatched it out of his hands on the way and helped himself to a
cold mug.  He held it up to the band in salute.  Luke mouthed something not
particularly complimentary to him.  Stevie looked like he wanted to cry.

“Okay, everyone warmed up?” Dusty asked.

No one was warmed up.  They were too disturbed by the thought of coming
into Tumbleweeds and not getting a beer to think of anything else.

“Whiskey River, from the top, just the instruments the first few times
through.  We’ll work on vocals next.  One, two three…”

She started off alone
because no one else was ready, her fingers flying down the neck of her guitar
like tiny, beautiful machines.  Luke jerked his attention away from her hands
and back to his own. He managed to jump in at the third or fourth measure and
catch up, if somewhat clumsily.  Tommy rushed to get behind his set, tripped on
his snare stand and crashed to the floor, taking a cymbal and a tom-tom with
him. 

Luke glanced over at Stevie, sitting wide-eyed behind his steel guitar. 
His hands shook as he started to play.  Unfortunately, it wasn’t anywhere close
to what he was
supposed
to be playing.  The bass player wasn’t even
trying.  He just stood there looking around as if he’d forgotten exactly how
the thing in his hands worked.  

The whole train wreck finally became derailed about fifteen seconds into
the song.  As the rest of the band fell apart, Tommy managed to right himself,
plopped down on his stool, and gave his bass drum a loud thump.  It echoed in
the suddenly silent room.

Dusty swiveled her head
and took a long, slow look at the group.  Silence ticked off the seconds as the
men hung their heads in collective shame. Luke looked out at Toby, who was
laughing so hard he was about to beat himself half to death.

“I hope Aloma County isn’t relying on
this
band to bring any
rain.  Okay.”  Dusty talked slowly, as if to a small child.  “From the top. 
Whiskey River.  One.  Two.  Three.”

It was almost like being back in high school, sweating out football
practice with Coach Steck, Luke thought.  Next thing they knew, she’d be in
their faces, yelling that she’d never seen such a sorry excuse for a band in
all her life.

Luke found it nearly impossible to hide his grin.

They struggled through Whiskey River.  It wasn’t pretty.  It wasn’t even
close to good.  Luke had never seen the guys so rattled.  They’d been playing
together for months – some of them years – and they usually had a fairly easy
time of working tunes out together.  But then, they’d never been struck with
this combination of lust and fear before, either.

Dusty rolled her eyes and shook her head.   “That was like something from
a nightmare.  Okay, let’s give something else a shot.  Does everyone know
“Walking After Midnight”?

They knew “Walking After Midnight.”  They’d played it a hundred times
before.  It was one of their usual crowd’s favorites.

Luke wondered how badly they were going to butcher it tonight. 

Pretty badly, it turned out.  They sounded like a group of ten-year-olds
that had been playing for two weeks.  Luke looked over at Stevie, who was still
staring at the back of Dusty’s head.  Tommy sat bug-eyed behind his drum set,
every line of his body tensed.  He’d dropped his sticks three times during the
short song.  The bass player couldn’t find the beat with both hands.

As the song ended, Dusty remained silent, chewing her lower lip and
tapping her fingers against the top of her guitar.  She flipped through a song
list, and Luke could practically see her trying to figure out how she was going
to get out of this gig.  He moved quietly among the other band members and
tried to chat them up a little, get them relaxed so they could find the rhythm.

He wasn’t sure how effective he was; Stevie nodded at everything Luke
said, but his awestruck gaze remained on Dusty.  Tommy was braced for attack. 
And the bass player appeared to be one more insult away from walking off the
job.

Luke cleared his throat.  “We’re a little rough tonight because we’re
caught off guard.  We weren’t expecting to work with such an accomplished
musician, who also happens to be breathtakingly beautiful.”  A little flattery
couldn’t hurt.

It didn’t help, either.  Dusty merely rolled her eyes and thumbed through
her song list.

“Anyway,” Luke went on.  “Sometimes we start out with just the guitar and
singer, and then the rest of the band comes in as they get the beat.”  They’d
never done that before, but surely the guys would get with it sooner or later. 
Luke’s pride wouldn’t let him allow her to think they were really this bad. 

“Whatever will get this …
thing
off the ground.  Okay, let’s do
“Walking After Midnight” again, just you and me.”

Luke waggled his brows at ‘just you and me.’ 

Dusty stared back at him, blinked slowly, and waited.

Luke cleared his throat and began the song.

He’d heard her talk.  He knew what her voice sounded like.  Still, he
wasn’t prepared for the deep, husky voice that poured like warm brandy through
the room.  He wasn’t prepared for how the tone of it filled the room, or how
the fullness of it arrowed straight to his center, and quivered there.