Chapter 17

17

T ucker had never been more nervous playing in front of someone than at this moment. He wanted Reagan to like his work. He needed her approval. Her respect. Without it, he doubted he would continue to pursue music. That’s how much her opinion mattered to him.

He would never tell her this, however. Already, he feared he was putting too much pressure on her. She didn’t need to be informed of how important these next few minutes were. Doing his best to relax, he retrieved his guitar and sat, facing her, handing the notebook to her.

“What’s this?” she asked, opening the cover.

“It’s the music and lyrics to my songs,” he replied, watching her eyes skim over the first page. “I thought you might want to follow along as I sing. That way, you’ll be sure you understand all the words I’m singing.”

She laughed. “Oh, I’m sure I’ll be able to decipher them.” She glanced at the page. “But I think it would be nice to follow along.” Reagan paused a moment. “Do you want us to talk about each song after you play it, or should we wait until the end?”

“It’s up to you.”

Leaning down, she reached into her purse and pulled out a pen. A small notebook followed. “I may jot a few things down as you sing.”

“Be my guest.” He strummed the strings a few times. “The first number is called Drawn to Your Light .”

Tucker began playing, closing his eyes as he sang.

Driving down a dusty road,

Heart beating like a radio,

There you were, straight and tall

Like warm sunshine in the fall.

Something about your ways

Caught my attention— couldn’t look away

Like a magnet pulling, I can’t resist,

I’m drawn to you; just can’t resist.

He opened his eyes and found Reagan’s lips slightly parted, a smile on her face. She looked up as he began to play the chorus.

I’m like a moth to your flame

You’re the fire and I’m the same

You have a smile, that lights up the night

Damn it, babe— I’m drawn to your light.

Tucker continued to sing and play, their gazes connected. He finished the song, seeing the color had risen in her cheeks. The last guitar chord faded away.

“What do you think?”

She bit her lip, causing desire to roar through him. Tucker remained motionless, though. Waiting. Wondering.

“The tune is really catchy,” she told him. “This second verse— your voice, a melody in my ear, whispering words, sweet and clear — that’s beautiful. And this little bit before you went back into the chorus.”

“The bridge?”

“Yes. You’re the spark in my darkest night, That line. It really speaks to me,” she said quietly. “Tucker, is this song about us?”

He knew the question had been coming. “Inevitably, every songwriter puts a little piece of himself into his lyrics. It’s a combination of things.” Looking at her steadily, he added, “Yes, you are a spark to me, Reagan. I’m attracted to you. That idea was the crux of the song, but it’s not totally about you— or us. It’s based in a grain of truth, and then I run with it.”

Nodding to herself, she asked, “Did you ever write a song strictly about Josie?”

“I did. When you love someone and you’re an artist, it’s only natural to put a piece of them into your painting or song. The group of songs I’ve written since I arrived in Lost Creek still has a little of her in them. And a whole lot of you.” Tucker shrugged. “I can’t help it. You’ve inspired me. A lot of country songs are about expressing your feelings. Mine for you are really strong, Reagan. Country songs are about relationships. Falling in and out of love.”

“Would you play another one for me?”

“I’d be happy to.”

Strumming his guitar again, he told her, “This is Just One More Chance .”

Tucker watched her as he sang the first verse. Reagan’s gaze was fixed on the notebook. He reached the chorus.

Give me a second chance to make it right

To change my ways; to see the light

I promise not to let you down again,

Please believe in me— just give me a second chance.

I’ve learned my lessons, I’m ready to show

That I’m worthy of love, I can try to grow

Please just give me a second chance

To prove our love is one that will last.

When Reagan looked up, tears misted her eyes. Concern filled him.

“Are you all right?”

Slowly, she nodded. “That tore at my heart, Tucker. We’ve never fought, so I know this wasn’t about the two of us.”

“No. Actually, what started the idea for this song was the idea of a second chance. We’ve both shared how we shut off our feelings and ignored the world around us for the past two years. The idea that both of us are ready to live again and seek that second chance in life started my wheels turning. What came out, though, was far different from a second chance for us. I got to thinking of a man who’d wronged the woman he loved. How he was sorry and would do anything to get her back. So yes, in a way you did inspire the idea. The song, however, came out way different.”

“It’s very touching. I hope she does give him a second chance and that their love will last.”

Tucker grinned. “See? I’ve got you thinking about that couple as if they’re real people who exist. That’s when the magic happens. Someone hears this song and takes it to heart. They can either picture this estranged couple. Or maybe they’re the one who’s been wronged or the one who’s to blame. If you get a listener to relate, in whatever way possible, you can touch their hearts. Make them laugh or cry. That’s the hallmark of a great country song.”

She brushed her tears away before he could reach out and do it for her. “Play another one for me, Tucker.”

“You got it.”

He played This Ain’t Just a Friendship next and followed it with Let’s Write Our Own Love Song . Tucker finished with Love Shines Bright . After each song, Reagan told him the lines she liked best. She even had him play a few measures of the last song and shook her head.

“Something’s not right here,” she told him. “Sing these two lines again,” she added, pointing to the notebook.

He did so and waited, seeing the wheels spin in her head. Then Reagan sang the same words— but with a slight variation on the tune. Her voice was rich with emotion and yet light and airy.

“Damn, girl. You can sing!”

“No, I can’t,” she quickly protested.

Setting the guitar on the coffee table, he placed his hands on her shoulders. “You. Can. Sing. Were you in choir?”

Vigorously, she shook her head. “No. I told you I wasn’t in extracurricular activities.”

“I thought maybe church choir.”

A pained expression crossed her face. “My mom told me I couldn’t sing. We were at church. The song was Amazing Grace , one I really loved. When we got in the car after the service, she told me how off-key I had sounded. That my voice was louder than anyone else’s around us. That I had embarrassed her. She instructed me to never sing in church again. Just mouth the words and pretend I was singing.”

Instantly, he knew what had happened. “She was jealous of you, Reagan.”

A faraway look entered her eyes. She had gone to another time and place. Tucker sat patiently, waiting for her to return. When she did, tears brimmed in her eyes.

“I think you may be right,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “She was always picking at me. Tearing me down. Little by little, she wore away any confidence I possessed. Maybe that’s why I pushed myself so hard. Tried to be the best academically. I wanted her attention. Her approval. Her love. And that was something she was never willing to give to me.”

Reagan looked on the verge of a crying jag. “Come here, babe,” he said as the dam burst and tears began to flow. She leaned into him, but he scooped her up, setting her in his lap. She buried her face against his chest, and he could feel the hot tears soaking his shirt. Tucker rubbed her back. Murmured comforting words to her. Let her cry it out.

When her sobs subsided, he kissed her hair. Her temple. Raised her chin and brushed his lips softly against hers. She clung to him, her mouth fusing to his, and need poured through him.

“I want you,” she gasped, between kisses.

“I want you, too,” he told her. “But this couch has seen better days. I’m afraid to get too randy on it else the legs break and we have some explaining to do to Ivy.”

Laughter spilled from her. She looked at him through watery eyes. “I feel guilty doing anything at Aunt Jean’s.”

He shuddered. “I don’t think she misses a thing under her roof. I’d be uncomfortable making love to you at the inn.” Tucker paused. “What about this weekend? We’re going to Austin for Holden’s movie thing. What if we could manage to head up there a day early? See the town. Eat some great food. Have a hotel room where we can do whatever we’d like. To each other. With each other.”

She shivered. “Ooh, I like the sound of that, Cowboy. And I’m free to leave town whenever you can.”

“I’ll talk to Ry tomorrow before we begin serving lunch. That would mean he’d have to do the Friday lunch run by himself. Work Friday’s wedding alone, too.”

“It’s a small one,” she piped up. “Only about forty guests are coming. I know because it’s a second marriage for the couple. They wanted something intimate. Not much fuss. They’re in their seventies.”

“Whoa! Talk about second chances.”

She smoothed his hair. “There are all kinds of second chances you can write about, Mr. Young.”

“I know Ry will give me the time off.” He kissed her, long and slow. “Let’s plan on spending Friday and Saturday in Austin then.”

“Thank you,” Reagan said. “For giving me a second chance. With you.”

She kissed him.

And Tucker had a feeling their relationship had just started a new chapter.