Boone crosses his arms and his expression turns determined. "You're not gettin' out of this truck until you tell me you're not giving up on us. I saw the video of you and Frisco. I know the song. If that was supposed to be some kind of message to me, I'm saying no fucking way. I told you we're not done. We've barely gotten started. Now I need to know that you get me."
"It was just a song."
"Bullshit." The word comes out with a sharp edge. "You want to feed that line to someone else, go right ahead, but I perform for a living and I know when an artist feels the lyrics they're singing."
"It wasn't just about you. It was about me too."
Boone's blue eyes drill into mine. "And I have an even bigger problem with that. You're not giving up on yourself either. I won't let you."
"That's not a choice you get to make."
Boone grips the steering wheel with one hand, his frustration evident as his knuckles turn white.
"Give me a chance, Ripley. Just one goddamned chance to prove that this can work, that it can be the most beautiful thing you've ever had in your life."
The conviction behind his words knocks a few bricks from the wall I've built around my heart.
I want that. I want something beautiful. But I'm scared to believe him, and feel the sting of life ripping it away from me.
"I need to go to work. I can't afford to lose this job, Boone."
His lips compress into a thin, flat line and his nostrils flare. "I'll pick you up at closing. You're not walking home."
"I'll get a ride. It's no big-"
"I'll be here to pick you up."
His tone leaves no room for argument, and the clock on the dash says I don't have any more time for it either. And, dammit, I didn't get to ask him about the charges being dropped.
"Fine."
Boone unlocks the door, and I open it and slide out.
Before I can shut it behind me, he asks, "You gettin' onstage again tonight?"
I shake my head. "It's not open-mic night. Why?"
"Because I want to hear that incredible voice of yours in person."
14
Boone
I can do incognito. It's a skill you hone in this business, and tonight I'm putting it to work and walking into the White Horse unnoticed.
I'm not taking the chance that Ripley will get it into her head to be stubborn and walk home. I just found her, and there's no way I'm going to risk losing her.
Sitting at the bar, I glance at the stage, wishing I'd been here last night when the videos I saw on YouTube were recorded. Am I insanely proud that she can bring a crowd to its feet and hold them enthralled? Absolutely, even if it does complicate things.
Ripley isn't prepared in the least for what she'd be stepping into if she decides to take this opportunity and run with it. Shit, Nick even called me when he saw the video and said he'd think about signing her, because right now it would be so easy to get her a deal.
Nick's exact words? "You can't make up a better backstory. Former bartender with a tragic past, discovered at open mic-night after capturing the attention of one of country music's biggest stars. Who wouldn't sign her?"
But to me, Ripley can't be summed up that easily. She's so much more than they realize. Definitely more than she realizes.
I'm at the end of the bar Hope is working, but with my thicker beard, cowboy hat, and pearl-snap shirt, I look like another wannabe cowboy. It sucks to ditch my T-shirt and ball cap, but I'm willing to suck it up for one night of anonymity.
I keep my tattoos hidden in the shadows as I nurse a beer and watch Ripley hustle. Do I feel like a stalker? A little. But I choose to think of it as keeping an eye out to make sure she gets home safe.
More than one person has approached her, and I can tell when it's about last night's performances because her body language changes completely. She goes from customer-service mode to totally uncomfortable in a heartbeat.
She doesn't even realize she could probably have a record deal by next weekend if she wanted. Likely with a crap label who's going to give her a shit deal.
Unless . . . There's one label in town that's starting to make a reputation for itself as an artist's label-Homegrown Records. Holly Wix Karas wouldn't let it be anything less. If Ripley wants to do this right, Homegrown is the way to go.
I need to make a call. Just in case.
Now that Holly's back to work part-time after having the baby, I bet she'd be interested in picking up some new talent for her label, especially someone as down to earth as Ripley.
The more I think about it, there's no one else I'd feel as comfortable having her sign with, not even my own label.