Yes to Everything

Yes to Everything

Life at the top isn’t all glitz and glamour.

Shayne McClendon

Copyright © 2012 Shayne McClendon

Cover Photo by iStockPhoto

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without written permission from the author and publisher. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Also by Shayne McClendon

The Barter System

In the Service of Women

Damaged

The Hermit

Woman’s Best Friend

Revenge is Best Served Hot

Ready to Rumble

Somebody

Makeup and Blowjobs

Makeup and Blowjobs – The Naughty Trio

Coming Soon:

Obsession

The Playground

I have two best girlfriends in the “real world” and without them I might have lost my mind over the last two years.

Sarah listens to me when I need it desperately, laughs at me when I take myself too seriously, and cemented her place in my heart many, many years ago. We’ve been through so much together and I love her more every year. There is no one on the planet that makes me laugh like she does.

I was lucky enough to meet Rina many years ago when we worked for the same company that tried to work us to death with very little upside. I knew in moments we’d be friends because she was being bitingly sarcastic with another employee…and they didn’t even notice. She has one of the most brilliant and creative minds I know and is the one who pushed me – five years ago – to get off my ass with my writing when I showed her my blog.

I love you both…and I owe you so much. You know I’m good for it and I know you find me absolutely wonderful as well so that works out.
wink
Jeanette and Sidney are a combination of the things I love most about you.

The two founders of Broken Bronco had no idea why they’d been called to a meeting at the satellite studio for their record label. Sales were climbing and they were due to finish the last tracks on the new album in the next month. The tour would kick off in the summer. Life was good. The money was rolling in, the women were willing, and they were still young enough to enjoy it.

Their first couple of years on the road had been tough as hell; barely eating and praying to make enough for a motel room each night and gas for the panel truck. Then they played a gig with a bunch of other up-and-coming acts, playing as hard as they ever did. Theirs was a blend of rocking country and blues the fans seemed to love.

None of the acts had known Toby Keith was watching from the DJ booth. Life had sure been sweeter since then. Opening for him on his next tour, they developed a following and a reputation for working hard and fucking harder.

Logan Bradshaw was older than his twin brother Decklan by three minutes. After high school, they’d worked at the paper mill until they saved enough cash to strike out on their own. They loaded up Logan’s Chevy and hit the road for Nashville.

Good looking identical twins, they were a lean six-three, unruly dark brown hair, tanned, with green eyes. The world was rarely able to tell them apart until they were onstage and even then it was guesswork. Comfortable in their southern charm and good looks, they both played guitar. Decklan preferred electric, Logan acoustic.

Sitting in the conference room, kicked back and relaxed as they usually were now that they no longer lived hand-to-mouth, they waited. Their manager, Travis Cash – no relation to Johnny - ducked his head in after twenty minutes, a big grin on his weathered face. “Boys, y’all come on down to the booth. I need you to hear somethin’.”

Glancing at one another, they stood and ambled down the hall.

Her voice hit them first as Travis opened the door to the control room. Stepping up behind the techs, they listened to a young woman cover Strawberry Wine while playing an acoustic guitar. Her voice was full and husky, sensual. She had her eyes closed.

She was fucking beautiful. She had long blond hair with a slight curl to it, plump pink lips, golden skin, and a nice figure that was curved in all the right places. She wore jeans and a t-shirt with worn cowboy boots that weren’t for show. Her nails were short and she wore no makeup. Her hair was pulled back from her face with a cheap clip.

“Damn…,” Logan whispered.

“I agree,” Decklan said beside him.

Travis smiled, “You like?” The twins nodded with glazed looks on their faces and Logan licked his lips. “Not like that you damn reprobates! Jesus, do y’all ever think of anythin’ besides gettin’ laid?”

Both of them shrugged, unashamed. “Well, look at her. Hot as hell and that voice. Damn,” Logan said again. He hadn’t taken his eyes off her.

Decklan realized he was hard as a rock. “How old is she?”

“She’ll be eighteen in a few months. Glad you like her voice. I’d like you to take her on tour with you.” Both men stared at Travis like he’d lost his mind. “Don’t look at me like that, boys. Toby did it for you and you’re hittin’ number ones with every song now. She needs it. She’s good. She’ll work her ass off and you’re in a position to make it happen for her.”

“Do you know her personally?” Decklan was suspicious of their manager’s motives. Travis never pushed stuff on them. He usually made suggestions and let them stew over things for a while. “You seem set on this happening. What’s the story?”

Travis stared at the woman behind the glass for a long moment, running his hand through his coarse red hair. He cleared his throat. “I don’t know her personally, no. Ain’t my story to say, to tell you the truth. That young woman has a lot on her plate and she needs a good break, a big break. I’d like you to sit with her. See if y’all can do some combined stuff on the road. And no, I’m not forcin’ her on you. You don’t like her, you don’t click, I’ll find another group to take her. But she’s goin’ on tour with somebody, I can tell you that right damn now. She’s gonna make a fortune and I’ll be happy to take my fee.”

The young woman finished the song and gave a little half smile to the technicians. She seemed shy for someone carrying her looks and talent. How could she be shy? The brothers wanted to know more about her.

They also wanted to fuck her but they rarely thought about anything else when it came to women these days.

Leaning forward, Travis told the man on the sound board, “Have her do Sin Wagon again.” Looking at the Bradshaws, he said, “I already heard her do this one. I think you’ll like it.”

The techs spoke into the intercom that fed into the booth. She nodded and stood up, Logan and Decklan both took a step forward. Decklan whispered, “Jesus H. Christ. Not even eighteen? I’m going to die. Right fucking now. Oh lord.”

The woman had a body made for long, slow fucking. The kind of body you didn’t rush learning. Full breasts and flared hips, long damn legs leading to a high and tight ass. She had to hit six-feet in the boots which put her at about five-ten barefoot.

She turned around and crouched on the floor, removing an electric fiddle from its case and plugging it into the amp. Dropping her hair out of the way, she launched into the fast-paced Dixie Chicks number, playing fiddle like she’d been born with it in her hand. She kept time with her boot heel and tore up the strong vocals Natalie Maines was known for.

“Decklan, she plays fiddle. Dear lord.” She replaced the guitar and mandolin in the song with fiddle and left it all in ashes. “And she might be the best damn fiddle player I’ve ever fucking heard.”

A loud snort sounded from beside them. “I know she is. Why’d you think I brought your bratty asses down here?” Travis asked in an annoyed tone with his arms crossed over his chest.

When she finished the song, the techs told her to take a little break. She seemed relieved and took a seat with her fiddle beside her. Travis told them she also played piano and mandolin. For a couple of minutes the brothers just stared at her. “Let’s try this out. Come on, Deck.” They went around to the booth entrance and opened the door.

She stood from the piano and lifted stunning blue-green eyes to face them. Her mouth dropped open in surprise. Giving herself a little kick in the ass, Brooke approached the best looking men in the music industry as far as she was concerned and held out her hand with a confidence she wasn’t feeling, “Brooke Kincaid, a pleasure to meet you both.” So what if they could tell she was shaking like a leaf? “I have no idea which of you is which. I know you probably hear that all the time.”

Logan grinned, “I’m Logan. I usually wear my hair a little longer than Decklan’s. That’s a quick ‘tell’ for you.” They shook her hand, pretending not to notice the tremor of her fingers. Logan sat on a stool, picking up a guitar, “You’re very talented. Did you take lessons for everything?” She shook her head. “You haven’t had any professional lessons at all?” Shaking her head again, she watched as Decklan picked up an electric guitar and plugged in. “Do you know Boondocks?”

With a big smile, she replied, “I do.” Then she added, “Want me to take an instrument?”

Decklan just stared at her for a long moment. “You sing. We’ll play.”

“Okay.” He played the opening chords and Logan started singing the first male verse. When Brooke joined them during the chorus, both men got chills at how well the three of them blended. Hotness aside, she made them sound better than they ever did alone.

She sang the female lyrics and Decklan was barely able to concentrate with her so close. She sat on a stool between them, her boot heels hooked in the outside rungs, her hands on her thighs, fingers keeping time with the music. Inexplicably, she smelled like hay and vanilla. Up close it was clear she was even more delicious than they’d thought she was. During the last staggered verses, she held her own against them.

They went through a few songs together, her singing backup on a couple, the brothers singing backup on a couple, and another with all of them together. Any combination they tried sounded good. She moved around on instruments, from the guitar to the fiddle to the piano to the mandolin. They watched her play, listened to every note she sang and were thoroughly impressed.

As the last song faded into silence, Logan and Decklan looked at one another. Logan asked, “Do you have songs of your own? Stuff you’ve written?”

“I do.” He asked her to play one, prepared to smirk. She picked up the guitar and sang a hauntingly beautiful song about loss and redemption surprising for one so young. Taylor Swift country pop was becoming so popular now, happy little songs written by a teenager for teenage country fans.

This was not the same kind of music at all.

While she sang, Brooke stared off into the distance as if remembering every moment of her inspiration for the lyrics. At one point, Decklan swore she had tears in her pretty eyes. When it wound down, she cleared her throat and sat quietly looking at them, her posture straight.

Decklan asked her, “Do you like being on stage?”

“God, no but I can do it without making a complete ass of myself.” With a self-deprecating smile, she added, “I fight stage fright. Submerge myself in it and do what I need to do.”

“Play more of your own stuff for just a minute. We’ll be right back.” She nodded and sat at the piano. As they closed the door, they heard a slightly lighter song about harvesting and hard work being worth it at the end of the day when you went home to what you were working so hard for.

Travis was smiling from ear to ear. Sticking his hands partially in his cowboy-cut Wranglers, he struck a deceptively lazy pose. “I knew you’d like her. You’ll let her open on tour?”

“Nope, not as her own act. We’re going to pull her into our band.” Logan’s voice was firm and he knew Decklan was in complete agreement. “It will give her two or three years to season to the stage and give us time to pump up more of our male demographic. If she wants to go solo after that, we’ll help her with whatever she needs.” Looking at their business manager, Logan asked, “You think she’ll go for that?”

The grin on Travis’s face was telling. Decklan laughed. They’d been taken in so easily, “That’s what you planned all along, isn’t it? Did she know that?”

Travis shook his head, his smile all teeth, “She thinks she’s here to help lay down some fiddle riffs for a couple of tracks and maybe sell a couple of her songs.”

“She didn’t think she’d be performing?” Travis just looked at them smugly. Brooke was in the booth doing freestyle piano, jotting down lyrics or notes with her other hand. “I mean, look at her, listen to her. Goddamn. Who wouldn’t put her on stage?”

“Sweetest girl you ever met, too. I got a call from the radio station in her hometown; guy I used to work with years ago. The man has never called in a favor on our friendship but said I had to hear her. She does rodeos and talent shows for extra cash. He sent me a DVD of her last performance and I called her in. I said we were hopin’ she could do some backup for a couple of tracks, help fill out some instruments. That was yesterday mornin’, boys. She drove three hours south to get here today when I told her she’d leave with a check in her hand. And I’d give her one out of my own pocket, that’s how important I thought gettin’ her here was. I asked her what she charged for fiddle and she said the local church pays her a hundred bucks to backup their choir for special shows.”