Small Town Girl

too, feeling the emptiness of the house without Casey in it? Was he missing Tess McPhail, and wondering what she thought of his bold admission of love? Was he waiting for her response?

At eleven-fifteen she could resist no longer. She picked up the phone and called him. He answered on the first ring, in a clear, unsleepy voice. The mere sound of his hello raised a clamor within her, which she schooled her voice to hide.

'Hi. Did I wake you?'

'No. I was lying here awake.'

'Me, too.'

'Casey in bed now?'

'Yes. We swam, and talked, and listened to CDs, and she had a thousand questions about what it's going to be like in the studio tomorrow. Did you go to Momma's and play cribbage?'

'Yes. She whupped me three games out of four, then fed me rhubarb pie and ice cream and sent me home.'

'Did you feel better after getting out of the house for a while?'

'Temporarily. It's awfully quiet here.'

A lull fell while she pictured him in his old-fashioned upstairs bedroom with the window overlooking the backyard and alley.

'Kenny, about what you said earlier…'

She hadn't planned exactly what she was going to say, and stumbled into silence.

'It just sort of slipped out,' he said.

'Is it true?'

'Yes.'

'Are you sure it's not just that you're lonesome tonight?'

'Some, maybe, but the groundwork was laid down long before Casey left.'

'Then maybe it's because I'm different from Faith, and because I'm helping your daughter, and because I'm rich and famous and supposedly unattainable, and-'

'Of course it is!' he interrupted, his anger flaring. 'It's all those things! If you expect me to deny it, I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I can't divorce myself from the knowl-edge of your fame and success any more than you can undo all that for your sister Judy. But if you're suggesting that's all I'm in love with-Mac, the public persona-you're wrong! And by the way, if you think it's easy being an ordinary guy falling in love with a multimillionaire recording star, guess again. It's pretty damned terrifying because of everything you just accused me of. But I've been doing a little sorting out of my own, and examining my motives, and what I come back to time and again is this great big lump of emptiness that's lodged in my gut since I said good-bye to you in my office. Tess, it's like… it's like… hell, I don't know.' His anger was gone, and in its place borderline misery. 'I have to push myself to go to work in the morning, and there doesn't seem to be any point to my day. Every day's the same-no highs, no lows, no laughing, no anticipation. I miss you. And every day I think about driving down to Nashville and ringing your doorbell, and then I think, that's dumb, because what would happen then?'

'Then we'd probably go to bed together, and that wouldn't solve anything, would it?'

'No, but it would sure feel good.'

The line hummed while both of them realized they were laying their wishes bare for the other to see.

'I never told you,' Tess confessed, 'that I went out with that guy I'd been dating, Burt Sheer, and I tried kissing him, hoping it would chase you from my mind, but it didn't work. Kissing him was just awful compared to you, and I don't know what to do about it any more than you do.'

She heard him draw a deep, unsteady breath, then he asked, 'Do you love me, Tess?' He paused, and added, 'I'd like to hear you say it if you do.'

She lay in the dark, staring at the black ceiling, afraid to say it, knowing it was unfair not to, feeling as if her heartbeat were punching the stuffing out of the mattress beneath her. Saying it was inviting all that turmoil into her life.

'I do… I must, because I'm feeling the same as you, like my life is this chord with one note missing that wasn't missing before. I always thought… I thought my career was enough, that it would satisfy me in so many ways, and bring so many fascinating and talented people into my life that I wouldn't need one specific one. But since I came back to Nashville… it's…' Her throat got thick and she had to stop talking.

'Since you came back to Nashville…' he prompted.

'I miss you, Kenny.'

'But you still didn't say it.'

No, she hadn't. She was deathly afraid to let the words out of her heart, because once she had she might begin those insufferable daydreams again, and what if they didn't turn out the way she imagined? How could they turn out the way she imagined?

'All right,' he said, sighing, sounding tired, 'I'll let you off the hook. It doesn't mean anything anyway if it's forced. Well, listen… it's late. We'd better say good night.'

She rested the back of her hand across her eyes and felt tears gathering in her throat, disliking herself for withholding the words. The minute he hung up it would get worse, and she'd probably roll over and bawl when she had her Hie just the way she wanted it. Just the way she'd dreamed it when she was clear back in high school! Mac! Superstar! Millionaire! In absolute control of her career and her future! Mac, who didn't want to be derailed by a husband, or marriage, or a family, or any of the baggage that went along with them!

'Kenny, I don't mean to hurt you.'

'It's okay, I said.'

'But I feel like such a shit.'

'Hey, are you crying again? You are, aren't you?' She heard a sad smile come into his words. 'Well, that's something anyway.'

'Kenny…' There was appeal in her voice, but she didn't know what she was pleading for, so how could he answer? 'You were right before. It's time we said good night.'

'Good night, Tess,' he said, 'I love you.'

Then the line clicked and she rolled over and did exactly what she'd feared she'd do. Mac… superstar… millionaire… with her prized life mapped out before her, bawled into her pillow.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

It was quarter to two the next afternoon when they arrived at Sixteenth Avenue Sound, a converted bungalow not far from Music Row. Tess led Casey inside through a small, unimpressive reception area to a room with sofas, tables and chairs, but no windows. A Pepsi machine threw red light over the L that served as a canteen, and the coffee warmer sent out the smell of burned coffee. Country music played softly from some unseen speakers. A huge man with a receding hairline, flowing gray beard and streaked gray ponytail sat on one of the sofas extracting an electric bass from its case, whistling to the music.

'Hey, Leland! How ya doin'?' Tess greeted. 'You've got to meet this pretty young thang who's gonna be doing harmony vocals for me today.' Her intentional drawl made Leland smile. 'This's Casey Kronek. Leland Smith.'

While they were shaking hands a redheaded guy about thirty, with hair as trim as Johnny Carson's, dressed in neat blue jeans and a polo shirt, came out of the lavatory. He was the keyboardist, Dan Fontaineau, and he shook hands with Casey, too.

'Come on,' Tess said, 'I'll introduce you to Jack.'

Jack Greaves was already in the control room at the con-sole, a fifteen-by-four-foot wedge of electronic wizardry with so many buttons, knobs and zinging orange lights it looked like the flight deck of a space shuttle. Beside him the sound engineer was deciding which of the fifty-six tracks he'd use, while the engineer's assistant sat nearby loading a tape machine. Through an immense window the recording studio was visible, a gray cube of subdued lighting where some studio musicians were warming up playing riffs, which came through the wall-