Sweet Harmony (2 page)

Mia must have known that Cat would find this guy attractive, and she wondered whether the location of her cabin near his was more than a coincidence. Cat nibbled the inside of her lip. Surely her friend wasn’t trying to do any matchmaking. Well, if so, Mia’s efforts weren’t going to work. Although Cat did have an unfortunate knack for ending up with jerks for boyfriends. Maybe a matchmaker wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

Cat watched his long, lazy stride and realized she was staring. She cleared her throat and squared her shoulders, trying to act nonchalant as he approached.

“Here you go.” He handed her the packet. “By the way, in all the commotion I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Jeff Greenfield.”

“Really?” Cat raised her eyebrows. So
that’s
why he seemed so familiar. “‘Outta My Mind with Lovin’ You’? I was singing along just a little while ago when it came on the radio. I love the lyrics. Did you write it?”

“I did.” Jeff smiled. “Thanks.”

“You’re with My Way Records.”

“Yes . . .” Jeff said, then tilted his head sideways. “Oh boy—wait. You’re Cat Carson.” He shoved his fingers through his hair. “You sang at my brother’s wedding.”

“Right. A couple of years ago! Gosh, that slipped my mind.”

“Wow, I’m sorry. I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you. I guess I was so concerned with you being hurt . . .”

Cat waved him off. “If you don’t mind, I’d like my residence here to be kept under wraps. I’m planning on doing some songwriting and I’d like some peace and quiet.”

“Aren’t you with Sweetside Records?”

“Not anymore,” Cat answered darkly.

“Wait. Did
you
sign with My Way Records?”

Cat paused. “Yes, but keep it quiet, please? It was a year from hell with legal issues. Plus, Rick wants to make an official announcement after I get some songs written and a single ready to release. He’s going to team me up with Maria Sully!” She looked at Jeff to get his reaction.

“She’s one of the best songwriters in the business,” Jeff agreed. “I’ve always been so proud that Maria’s from Cricket Creek.”

“You should be, but I have to admit that I was surprised. I thought she lived in Nashville.”

Jeff nodded. “Maria moved to Nashville years ago when she and Pete Sully split up. He owns Sully’s Tavern, not far from here.”

“So when did Maria come back to Cricket Creek?”

“Maria returned last Christmas when Clint came home from California because Pete was having health problems.”

“Clint?”

“He’s their son. Clint let Maria know what was up when he came here to check up on his dad. Of course, everybody’s hoping they get back together.”

Cat raised her eyebrows. “You know all of this?”

“Of course.” Jeff chuckled. “Oh, the story gets better than that. When Clint came home to look after his dad, he reunited with his high school sweetheart, Ava Whimsy.” Jeff’s grin remained. “To be fair, Ava’s family farm butts up to the Greenfield farm, so we know her family well.”

“But still . . .”

“It’s a small town, Cat. That’s how we roll. You’d best get used to it.”

Nibbling on her lip, Cat mulled his statement over for a moment.

“Hey, it’s not idle gossip. We care about each other,” Jeff said with a hint of defensiveness.

Jeff looked so sincere that Cat couldn’t help but smile. She had the odd urge to put her hand over his, but
refrained. “I believe you, and—trust me—I am so thrilled. I can’t wait to meet Maria and get started at My Way Records.”

“But you just came off a big year. I don’t get why you’d want to switch to a small label when you were with the big dogs.”

Cat shrugged. “It’s simple. Rick Ruleman will let me take my music in the direction I want it to go.”

“Which would be?”

“Less pop-sounding and more traditional,” Cat answered, and watched for his reaction. He tried to hide it, but she could feel Jeff’s slight but sudden withdrawal. She understood. Jeff’s music was traditional country, much like legendary George Strait, and she bet he wasn’t a fan of her songs. Old-school country artists often felt as if singers like her were simply jumping on the country bandwagon. Although popular with fans, they weren’t taken seriously by the icons in the industry.

“That’s . . . um, good,” Jeff said, but shoved his hands in his pockets and his gaze flicked away. “I mean, I do get it. I wanted complete control over my career too.”

Cat arched an eyebrow. “So, I have to ask, do you switch the station when one of my songs comes on?”

“No,” he answered a bit too quickly. “Why would I do that?”

“Oh, if I might be so bold to ask, do you have a favorite song of mine? Just curious.” She gave him an innocent look and waited.

His mouth worked but nothing came out. “Um, ‘Sail’ . . . um . . . ‘Moonlight,’ um . . .”

“‘It’s a Sail-Away Summer’?” Just because she wanted to go in another direction now didn’t mean she wasn’t proud of her beach-themed songs, many of which she had written. Cat just didn’t want to do them exclusively.

Jeff rocked back on his heels and nodded a bit too hard. “Yes, uh, that one.”

“Or did you mean ‘Moonlight Dance’?”

“Oh, I like them both.”

Cat suspected he liked neither. “Thank you.”

Jeff nodded but appeared a bit uncomfortable.

Cat gave him a smile that felt rather stiff. She’d certainly felt the backlash of having her star rise swiftly, making some artists feel as if she hadn’t paid her dues. And because her music bridged the gap between pop and country, she had a wide following, much like Sheryl Crow, Kelly Clarkson, Taylor Swift, and Carrie Underwood. When she’d won female vocalist of the year at the Country Music Awards two years earlier, Cat had felt the heat in more ways than one. That’s when she’d started to reexamine where her life and her career were headed and found the need to make changes.

“You have a huge fan base,” Jeff added, as if that would make up for his obvious lack of interest or knowledge of her music.

“I’m lucky to have such loyal listeners.” Cat adored her fans and loved her songs, but she was tired of doing the same themes, which were starting to blend together and feel stale. “I don’t want to disappoint them, but I’m going to explore more traditional country with a splash of bluegrass,” she explained, thinking that admission might change the expression that he was politely trying to hide. Although she’d moved to Nashville three years before, most people thought she was a city girl from Chicago, where her parents still lived. In fact, she’d spent her early childhood in South Carolina. “And get back to my Southern roots,” she finished.

He only nodded.

“Let me guess—” Cat gripped the arms of the chair. “You don’t take me seriously.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“Wow.” Jeff tilted his head to the side. “So you can read minds?”

“No, I read faces and it’s written all over yours.”

“Really?” Jeff leaned back against the railing. “And maybe you are making assumptions that you shouldn’t.”

And maybe she was suddenly tired and sore and grumpy. “Right. Listen, I can get my things from here.”

“Don’t be stu—silly. I’ll get your suitcase. You’ll have a tough time getting it up the steps.”

“Watch me,” Cat boasted, knowing she sounded stubborn and childish. “Thanks for your help,” she added, but didn’t sound all that thankful. What was wrong with her?

“No way. I won’t allow it,” Jeff insisted and turned on his heel.

“
Won’t allow it?
Are you kidding me? Did you really just say that?” Cat stood up, but when the blood rushed down her legs she sucked in a sharp breath. She was going to be so sore tomorrow. She knew she was overreacting, but she’d been pushed around enough for the past year and she wasn’t about to be told what she couldn’t do any longer.

Jeff turned around and gave her a concerned frown. Well, she was standing now, so she was invested. Gritting her teeth, she took a tentative step forward. Not too bad. Apparently she was just going to have massive bruising—not that bruises were anything new. Cat had a knack for getting distracted and running into things. With a bracing intake of breath, she moved forward, brushing past Jeff, but had to grab on to the handrail for dear life.

“What exactly are you trying to prove?”

More things than she could begin to count. “That I don’t need your help.” Petulance wasn’t in her nature, but she just couldn’t stop.

“This sudden burst of anger is all because I don’t know your songs?”

Are you that vain?
remained unspoken, but Cat felt it when Jeff glanced over at her. She was used to having people make assumptions, but in reality her daily life was nothing remotely close to the rumors or gossip that showed up in the tabloids. Cat also tended to be
outspoken about issues that she believed in and that also sometimes landed her in hot water. She usually had a fairly thick skin, but for some reason Jeff’s apparent judgment put her on the defensive.

When he folded his arms across his chest and looked at her expectantly, she refused to dignify his question with an answer.

“Thanks again for your help, but you can leave now. I’ve got this.” Cat felt his eyes on her as she walked stiffly across the lawn to the suitcase. Her legs did hurt in an achy kind of way, but she did her best to ignore the discomfort. Carly Simon’s song “Haven’t Got Time for the Pain” filtered into her head, and Cat had to smile. Her mind continuously revolved around lyrics, sometimes making her feel as if she were living in her own personal musical. Her brain was a Wikipedia of songs and she could give anybody a run for their money with music trivia. There was so much more to her than catchy beach tunes, and she longed to prove that she had more depth and talent than people were giving her credit for.

Grabbing the handle, she raised it upward and rolled the heavy thing awkwardly across the lawn, hoping Jeff would get bored with the embarrassing situation and decide to leave her to her own devices.

Of course she was wrong. With his arms still folded across his chest, he leaned against the railing looking all smug. And hot.
No!
Scratch the hot part. Cat paused at the first step, gathering her waning strength. This was silly. She should allow him to help and yet she couldn’t bring herself to give in and ask for it.

Cat took a deep breath and muttered a silent prayer, but before she could even begin to try to lift the suitcase Jeff swiftly descended the steps and grabbed the handle from her.

“Hey!” Cat protested, but secretly she was very glad for his help. “I could have managed,” she added, trying not to admire his nice butt in his Wrangler jeans.

“I have no doubt.” Jeff positioned the suitcase close to the front door and then turned around to face her. “But my mother taught me to be a gentleman. Put some ice on those bruises.” He waited until she nodded. “My number is listed on the contacts in the packet. If you need ice packs or anything, please don’t hesitate to call. Okay?”

“Sure.” Cat nodded, but she wasn’t about to call him.

Jeff hesitated and then said, “It wasn’t my intention to insult you. I’m really not like that.”

“And it isn’t in my nature to be so stubborn.”

“Really?”

“Maybe a teensy bit . . .” She held up her finger and thumb to demonstrate.

His slight grin and the appearance of the damned dimples got to her in ways she couldn’t begin to understand. Cat pressed her lips together, suddenly feeling oddly vulnerable, needing a hug so badly that she took a quick step backward and knocked the suitcase over. When it landed with a loud thud, she yelped and then felt super silly yet again. Cat closed her eyes and sighed. “Look, it’s all good,” she assured him, but when she attempted a smile, to her horror it wobbled a bit. She hoped he didn’t notice. “It’s just been a long day.” She faked a yawn. And a long year.

Jeff’s expression softened even more and when he stepped forward Cat thought for a heart-pounding second that he was going to give her the hug she so sorely needed. But he moved past her and righted the suitcase.

Cat swallowed hard and tamped down her disappointment. “Can I help you get the suitcase or anything else inside?”

“No, I can manage. Well, from here, anyway. My clumsiness knows no bounds.”

“You don’t look clumsy.”

“Trust me—I can trip over my own shadow. Walking forward while looking sideways often ends in disaster. But I’ve got this from here.”

He looked as if he were about to protest but then nodded. “Welcome to Cricket Creek, Cat.”

“Thank you, Jeff,” Cat said, and watched him walk away. She inhaled a deep breath. “Well, that was an interesting little Welcome Wagon,” she whispered. Then she reached inside the packet to retrieve her keys and open the door to her new life.

Hello Good-bye

O
N THE WAY BACK TO HIS CABIN JEFF RELIVED HIS conversation with Cat Carson and then scrubbed his hand down his face. As first impressions go, he knew that one pretty much sucked. But seriously, why in the hell hadn’t someone given him a heads-up that she was moving to his little neck of the woods? Granted, over the past few years some pretty extraordinary people had landed in Cricket Creek, but it was still big news that Cat Carson was moving here. Jeff understood why she would want to keep her residence quiet. Maybe it wasn’t permanent. He certainly couldn’t imagine someone of her stature living in the little cabin for very long.

“Damn.” Jeff hadn’t meant to be rude, and, even though he’d tried to smooth things over he still felt as if he somehow owed her an apology. Could he help that he didn’t listen to her pop music, which in his opinion shouldn’t get airplay on country music stations? It wasn’t as if he hated Cat’s trendy beach-themed songs. And she did have an amazing voice. When she sang “From This Moment” at Reid and Addison’s unexpected wedding,
he’d been blown away just like the rest of the audience. He remembered feeling disappointed when he found out she wasn’t staying for the reception. He also recalled now that when she’d signed with My Way Records, Sweetside had fought her tooth and nail, so it really must have been a tough year for her.

Plenty of big-name country stars had similar-styled hits. They were fluffy and fun, he supposed, but were songs to be played at parties and not to be performed at the Grand Ole Opry. Jeff just didn’t want that kind of music to be considered classic country, because it wasn’t.

Like many traditional country artists, Jeff worried that country music was becoming a vanilla genre, casting too wide a net, causing his beloved genre to lose its identity. But unfortunately, record labels were in it to make money, which was the reason Jeff had signed with My Way Records. Owner Rick Ruleman had assured him that his career would go in the direction he wanted and that it would be all about the love of the music. Rick had told him that he wanted to create legends, not the flavor of the moment.

Jeff had to wonder what Rick had in mind for Cat Carson. While he applauded her decision to embrace a more traditional sound and write her own songs, what did she know about the hardships of everyday life, the backbone of great country lyrics?

Jeff entered his A-frame cabin, headed to the galley kitchen, and opened the fridge. He suddenly had the need for a cold beer. After popping the top he glanced at his guitar, but felt too restless to try to work on the song lyrics that had been giving him trouble. Instead, he slid open the door to his back deck and walked outside.

Sunset brought with it a chill, but Jeff inhaled a deep breath of earth-scented air before sitting down on a lounge chair. He took a long drink of his beer and then looked above to where Cat’s cabin sat up on the ridge, just to the right of his cabin. When he saw the soft glow
of lights, Jeff suddenly wondered what she was doing. But then his curiosity shifted to concern. That heavy-ass suitcase must have left some serious bruising, and Jeff considered taking her ice, just to make sure she had enough. Maybe she needed dinner. Or perhaps a shot of bourbon to dull the pain? No, she was probably a wine kind of girl. He had several bottles in his wine rack. Would she prefer red or white?

Just what the hell was he thinking? He inhaled a deep breath and tried to get Cat Carson off his mind.

Jeff leaned back in the chaise longue and gazed up at the darkening sky. There were a few streaks of deep pink and red lingering from the sunset and in just a little while the stars would pop out, glittering against the inky blue backdrop. The lack of city light out here in the woods made for amazing night skies, so much so that Jeff had downloaded an app on his smartphone that showed the constellations.

“I need music,” Jeff murmured, but just when he was about to head inside to turn on his outdoor speakers, his cell phone rang. Jeff looked at the screen and grinned when he read the caller ID. “Hey, Snake. What’s up, man?”

“Nothin’ much. Just thought I’d give ya a holler.” Snake’s real name was Wes Tucker, but his snake armband tattoo earned him the nickname. Snake’s mother was about the only person who still called him Wes. “We still jammin’ at Big Red tomorrow night?”

“Far as I know,” Jeff answered. Big Red was the former barn down by the river that they’d converted into a practice studio way back in high school when they’d first formed the band South Street Riot.

“Sweet. Man, it feels good to have the band back together again. It still seems a little bit surreal . . .”

“I feel ya.” They’d broken up not long after graduation, when they’d gone separate ways. Guitarists Jackson Pike and Sammy Slader went off to college. Snake, the
drummer, left Cricket Creek to backpack across the country. Keyboardist Colin Walker had remained in Cricket Creek to work on his family farm but played solo gigs at places around town. But here they were, all of them nearly thirty years old and finally closing in on a dream none of them thought would happen. “But you gotta admit it’s pretty damned cool.”

“Dude, no doubt.”

“Jammin’ at Big Red brings back old times.” Rather than have strangers assembled for his road band, Jeff knew he wanted South Street Riot with him if he could get his friends on board. Colin was already doing some sessions work over at My Way Records. Most people didn’t realize that road bands weren’t always the same musicians who recorded in the studio. In this case Jeff had lobbied for South Street Riot to do both. “There’s nobody I’d rather go on the road with.”

Snake chuckled. “You sure about that? Remember that trip to Panama City Beach after graduation?”

“Um . . . some of it,” Jeff answered with a laugh. “We’ve matured, though, Snake.”

“Speak for yourself.”

Jeff laughed harder. “Yeah, well, I don’t think you’ll ever grow the hell up.”

“Part of my charm,” Snake answered. In truth, Jeff had been envious when Snake took off for parts unknown. Guilt had kept Jeff working on the struggling Greenfield farm before finally heading to Nashville, much to the sorrow of his parents and especially his older brother, Reid, who thought he was being irresponsible. All of them were convinced he was chasing a pie-in-the-sky impossible dream.

When Jeff found some success and then signed as a solo artist with My Way Records, he convinced South Street Riot to join him as his backing band in the quest for stardom. Although Jeff recorded his first single with hired session musicians at My Way Records, his friends
really were the guys he wanted with him both on tour and in the studio.

“So everybody’s down with jammin’ tomorrow?”

“Colin’s got a singing gig at Wine and Diner for the happy hour crowd but he said he can make it by eight o’clock.”

“Cool, well, I was just checkin’ in. Anything else goin’ on?”

Jeff glanced up at Cat’s cabin. “Can you keep something under your hat?” While Jeff knew that Cat’s presence in Cricket Creek wouldn’t stay under wraps for long, he wanted to respect her wish to remain on the down low. But he knew he could trust Snake.

“Yeah,” Snake replied. When Jeff hesitated, Snake urged him on. “Damn, do you need a drumroll? I can provide one but only on my legs at the moment.”

“Cat Carson just moved into the cabin on the ridge.”

“Seriously?” he asked with a low whistle.

“I kid you not.”

“Aren’t you the lucky one.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Have you seen Cat in the music video for ‘Sail-Away Summer’?” Snake asked.

“No,” Jeff answered in what he hoped was a bored voice. But he just might have to look the video up.

“Well, Cat is smokin’ hot in it. She’s in a bikini on this sailboat . . . Dude, she has a bangin’ body. Forever legs and a real nice—”

“That’s enough, Snake. I get it.”

“Whoa, now. That sounded pretty damned protective. You got a thing for her?”

“No!” Jeff scoffed, but then glanced up at Cat’s cabin again. “First of all, I don’t even know her. And secondly, she’s not my type.”

“Type?” Snake gave Jeff a short laugh. “I never did get that whole type thing.”

“Not everybody loves all women like you, my friend.”

“Why limit yourself to a certain . . . type? To me that’s kinda like sayin’ you like candy but only peanut butter cups. Sorry, but I just don’t get it.”

“We all have preferences,” Jeff insisted.

“Really? Then what’s yours?”

Jeff was momentarily startled when a vision of Cat slid into his brain. “I don’t know,” he sputtered. “How’d we get on this sorry-ass subject anyway?”

“Um, I think we were talking about your hot new neighbor. The one you have no interest in. You didn’t say what it was like meeting her.”

“I think I kind of insulted her.”

“What? But you’re always the picture of perfect politeness. I didn’t think you knew how to be rude.”

Jeff blew out a sigh. “Well, I kinda insulted her music.”

“Well, damn, it’s like one and the same, bro. I mean, what the hell?”

Jeff looked up at the night sky. “Yeah, I know. She asked what song of hers was my favorite and I was stuck for an answer.”

“Awk-ward. Hey, but you gotta hand it to her. Cat does have an amazing voice. Pure, but with a little bit of a sultry edge here and there. Remember when she sang ‘The Star-Spangled Banner’ for the Cougars on opening day?”

“Oh, wow. I’d forgotten about that.”

“Dude, she killed it.”

“Yeah . . .” Jeff felt himself nodding in agreement.

“And didn’t she sing at Reid and Addison’s wedding?”

“Yeah, I think Cat and Mia Monroe go way back and Addison is Mia’s cousin. So there you have it.”

“Cat wasn’t nearly as well known back then, but, man oh man, she shot to the top of the charts fast not long after that. In just a couple of years Cat Carson went from opening concerts to headlining.”

“Too fast, in my opinion.”

“You’re not the only one with that opinion. When she
won vocalist of the year two years ago, some people were royally pissed. You gotta admit that it must be tough to win an honor like that and then have to take some serious heat from your peers.”

Jeff stood up and leaned against the railing. “Blame the record companies who create artists rather than artists creating themselves,” Jeff responded tightly.

“And you’re throwing Cat into that category?” Snake asked. “Part of the criteria for the honor is sheer numbers and she has them.”

“Well, yeah, I get that.” Jeff gave Cat’s cabin a guilty glance. “I don’t know, Snake. I guess she just seems one-dimensional. I mean, yeah, she has a great voice with some serious range, but no depth or emotion to her music.”

“I don’t know if that’s a fair statement.”

“Come on . . . ‘Sail-Away Summer’? Are you kidding me? Snake, there was, like, a dance remix. And now she claims she wants to do more traditional country? Give me a break.”

“But sounds like she’s trying to take control of her career mold. You gotta give her credit for that.”

“Why? Because she’s tired of singing about her toes in the sand? And suddenly she’s a serious country artist?”

“Rick Ruleman must see something more in her than just a great voice. I mean, I read where she had a pretty big disagreement with Sweetside, so I guess that’s why she ended up here. So she’s not just about fame or the money.”

“Maybe she just likes getting her way,” Jeff answered, knowing he was being unfair. “It’s no secret that she
comes
from money, so she doesn’t need it.”

Snake laughed. “Sounds to me like you’re trying really hard to talk yourself out of liking her.”

“I don’t even know her.”

“Well, you might try not to like her, but she’s your
neighbor and will be at the studio on a regular basis. So odds are that you’re going to get to know Cat Carson a lot better in no time. If not, I’ll be glad to do the honors. She is my type.”

“Stay the hell away from her, Snake,” Jeff growled, and then felt a little bit stupid.

“Okay . . . so, what are you trying to tell me?”

“I’m not trying to do anything more than drink a damned beer. As a matter of fact, I think I need another one,” Jeff added, even though he hadn’t finished half of the one he held in his hand. Meeting Cat still had him feeling a little bit off-kilter and he didn’t even know why. And seriously, why the hell did he just jump all over his best friend? “See ya at practice tomorrow.”

“I might get there early.”

“I’ll meet you there. Just give me a call when you’re on your way.” After Jeff ended the call, he took another swallow of beer and then set the can down on the railing. Usually an even-keel kind of guy, Jeff didn’t understand why his reaction to Cat Carson was so strong in more ways than one. Despite butting heads, his instant attraction to her caught him off guard. Maybe it was because he’d been concentrating on his career for so long that he’d put even the thought of a relationship on the back burner and Cat had suddenly lit that fire. Or maybe it was because his brother Reid and sister, Sara, were both happily married with a baby. His other brother, Braden, had a girl in his life, which made his mother concentrate on
his
lack of a love life during their Sunday dinners at the farmhouse. She was always trying to fix him up with someone, and now that she had grandchildren she wanted to fill the farmhouse with them.

“Whatever,” Jeff mumbled. He did need to concentrate on his music. Although he’d signed with My Way Records and had a top-twenty hit single, his career continued to move more slowly than he’d hoped. Everyone thought that once you had a hit single you became an
instant millionaire, but that was so far from the truth it wasn’t even funny. Opening for a big name was an honor, but mostly on the artist’s own dime. Jeff knew he still had a lot of dues to pay before making the big time.

Jeff sighed. He could take the easy route and put out something with a catchy hook that was part of the popular new country sound but that felt like a sellout, and he refused to go in that direction. But now that Jeff had brought his band on board, he felt the pressure for continued success at a faster pace. They’d all taken a leap of faith and put their regular lives on hold to try to make this happen. Still, Jeff wanted to give this his best shot, but in his own way and on his own terms. If not, he’d just as soon go back to farming. But if things didn’t take off, he just might have to do that pretty damned soon.