Page 117 of Risking it for the Cowboy

Charlie’s eyes connected with T.R.’s. as through the cell, they all said, “Mitchell.”

“Mitchell had an affair … Jason’s right in the middle of the ages of his other children,” Charlie realized.

“And when Daddy couldn’t get him out of criminal charges in Travis County, Jason sold the house to pay the debt,” Tyler said.

“And Mitchell doesn’t want voters to know,” T.R. growled wryly. “Does this mean you can make that misconduct complaint to the commission now and get him off Jason’s cases?”

Hope burgeoned in T.R.’s heart and sparkled in Charlie’s jades.

“Or better yet, off the bench completely,” Tyler growled satisfactorily. “We found our smoking gun. Oh, and Charlie?” She paused to listen. “Cyberbullying falls under harassment. Hard to prove but we’re gonna inundate Jason from every angle. Bury his lawyer in a legal nightmare and Mitchell under a mountain of pressure till they crack. File a complaint with the police, got it? Get it on record and make the accusation that he doxed you online. File another restraining order. Be relentless and beat ’em at their own game. No holds barred with this fucker, got it?”

She nodded resolutely, emboldened. Atta girl. T.R. had promised his cousin was cutthroat.

“I’ll drive her to the station once we’re done packing,” T.R. said.

“Good man. Now, finish getting dressed. Y’all are about as subtle as a train wreck. We got the girl.” Ty ended the call with a smirk in his voice.

T.R. chuckled at being called out but his eyes met hers and he cupped her cheek. “And I got you.”

Chapter Thirty-Six

Friday night

Charlie stood in the wing, stage left, as Thad, Bo, and Jack strode out into the lights. A roar of approval thundered as they waved guitar picks and drumsticks.

Nerves chewed through her stomach as Thad scooped up his guitar from the stand and dropped the strap over his shoulder, his fitted black tee, his tats snaking out of his sleeve, his wrists belted in leather and his Stetson shielding his brow, as Jack did the same. Try as she might to ignore the lurking reminder, that that social media page existed, that her name and photo had been dragged through the mud, the worry that these folks tonight would boo her instead of cheer wouldn’t abate.

She felt her brow bead with sweat behind the velvet curtain, as Thad called into the microphone, “How we doin’ tonight, Angelina County?”

Her skin grew clammy in her denim, her black sleeveless blouse, lace, showing off her daisy tattoo. Her dangly earrings tingled softly amid the freight train of blood roaring in her ears.

She wasn’t playing every song tonight, but she’d be in three of them and would harmonize a couple of others. They’d had another band practice last night to prepare. Another night of cooking out. Of kids playing until the crickets and frogs stopped chorusing. Of s’mores around the firepit. Of kids’ shoes kicked off randomly on the cabin floor and BBQ sauce sticky on the picnic table as the smell of meat on the grill sizzled in the air.

This was an official coming out of a first run to see how they clicked on stage, to prepare for the Homegrown Awards competition tomorrow. This was her officially putting her name out there again, to be critiqued or raked over the coals.

Jack started his bass thumping, a low anticipatory pulse. Bo began a simmering cadence as Thad began to tap his old shitkicker to the rhythm.

“We got a real treat for you tonight!” Cheering. “But before that … let’s put our hands together! Clap with me now…” He pinched his pick in his teeth and began clapping over his head to Jack’s rhythm, clap … clap … clap … inciting his adoring army to participate with him. “That’s it, y’all!”

The clapping, sporadic at first, took on a tempo, until the whole venue pumped with the throb of a unified heartbeat.

He snagged the mic and tipped the stand to his lips. “Hit it, boys!”

The stage lights blinded as the drums led-in, riding the momentum, and Thad whipped his guitar around and began strumming and singing an old favorite of his. The audience jumped to the rhythm.

The ladies in the crowd screamed their approval. She didn’t miss a woman in the front row flashing her chest. Thad’s gaze flitted to her in the wing as she took a step back. It shouldn’t bother her. It wasn’t as if he’d asked her to do it. But how easily they laid themselves out to him. How they made it clear from the beginning exactly what they’d do for him. How he’d always seemed to adore the attention before—

He strummed hard, kicked out his boot, and closed the song, then held his hand out to her. She furrowed her eyes.

He crooked it at her, cupping the mic to his mouth with his other hand. “Folks, some of y’all know Hunter’s takin’ a break, movin’ on to take care of himself. We love him and want the best for him; he’ll always be a part of the group.” Silence descended, brimming with anticipation. “Which leads me to my surprise for y’all…” He flashed a look at Bo and Jack, the men exchanging nods. “Got someone to introduce tonight. Name’s Charlie. Wanna meet Charlie, y’all?”

The women cheered their approval. Her eyes widened on him. This was out of order! She wasn’t supposed to join until the fourth song! He only grinned that megawatt grin and jutted up his chin.

“Come on out!” He crooked his fingers at her, even if something sheepish came over his demeanor. “Don’t be shy,” he cajoled. “Say it with me! Char-lie! Char-lie!”

Her mouth dropped as the crowd began to roar. He pumped his fist in the air to the rhythm, amping up their chant, his bass and drums maintaining that repeating heartbeat, like a lifeblood connecting one song to the next.

“Char-lie! Char-lie!”