Seven Years Ago
I was nervous.
As much as, if not more than, the last time I played in a small backwoods redneck bar, just a couple of months earlier. At eighteen, barely six months out of high school, it wasn’t easy to get onto the stage, something I’d learned through a lot of hard work and repeated rejection at an early age. In fact, it was usually downright impossible. But the rather unruly owner of this little hole in the wall had been willing to give me a chance, and here I was.
“Hey, y’all. My name’s … uh … Cheyenne. Cheyenne Montgomery. Thanks for … um … thanks for havin’ me.”
“Come on, sweetcheeks. Get on with it!” someone hollered from the crowd.
Nodding, I swallowed hard. After making my introduction to the crowd, albeit timidly, I launched right into my first song. I’d taken to playing covers of incredible artists like Faith Hill, Miranda Lambert, and even Reba McEntire. Not because people had told me that I sounded like them, but because they were my favorites. The band accompanying me—the only people who’d been half-ass nice to me since I arrived—was brilliant and I was grateful to them for agreeing to back me up tonight. I was doing this for free, which meant they were, too. Well, technically, I guessed we were all doing it for our love of music.
When I finished my first song, I glanced out at the scattered faces in front of me, forcing my smile to stay on my lips. My hands were shaking and I was sure if anyone in the threadbare crowd looked close enough, they’d notice. Not that I had to worry about that. No one seemed to be paying me much attention, which wasn’t all that surprising. At the little dives like this one, I didn’t generally see much interest in what I did. Well, except for one drunk old guy…
“Hey, honey! When you’re done up there, why don’t you come sit on my lap?”
I ignored the man. He’d been yelling obscene suggestions at me since the second I came up onstage. During one of my songs, he’d even been taunting me. It didn’t look as though he intended to stop any time in the near future, either.
Jumping right into the next song in my set, I gave my all, blocking out everyone and everything around me, falling right into the music. The two spotlights, awkwardly aimed at my head, made it nearly impossible to see the faces of the people in the bar, which allowed me more opportunity to get lost in my own little world for a while. So, that was exactly what I did.
After the fifth song, the band and I took a quick break. I wasn’t allowed to go to the bar, so I graciously accepted a bottle of water when the drummer—I wasn’t sure what his name was and I was too nervous to ask—brought it to me. After downing it all, I waited for the band to return.
Ten minutes passed while I endured the intoxicated man—the one I’d dubbed Loud Mouth—who continued to holler at me. I noticed that he was getting louder as the minutes ticked by, probably due to the alcohol he was consuming. His words didn’t bother me, and he certainly wasn’t trying to be polite, but I was pretty sure he was beginning to irritate those around him.
“You ready to go, girl?” the drummer asked when he returned.
“Absolutely,” I lied.
For a minute, I considered running out the back door and hopping into my little piece of shit car and going home. Only, home was an empty apartment that had little to no furniture in it. I was the epitome of a starving artist, just like so many musicians when they first started out. My tiny apartment consisted of a bed—where I slept—and a ratty, secondhand couch—where I did everything else, including eat. Not that I needed much more than that. I wasn’t home much as it was.
“What’re you gonna play?” the guitarist—I remembered he’d said his name was Joe—questioned, and I turned back to him and smiled.
With the help of a friend of mine, I’d written a song and hadn’t yet sung it in public, but tonight seemed as good as any to give it a go, so I whispered my intentions to Joe. I’d provided them with a copy of the music when I arrived, so they were familiar with my request. When he informed the others and they gave me a thumbs-up, I swallowed hard.
Turning back to the crowd, I introduced my song. “This is just somethin’ I came up with one night. I hope you like it.”
Although the lights were still pointed at me, I could tell that when I launched into my own song, heads started to turn. I knew it was good, but most importantly, the song was written specifically for me. It reflected the heartbreak that had been my life, and I knew there were others who could relate. Three minutes later, I brought the song to a close and grinned when a few people even applauded.
“Good job, little girl. Now come on down here and show me what you’re really good at,” Loud Mouth yelled.
“That’s enough!”
The dark, rich tone that rang out caused the entire bar to go silent, all eyes turning to the tall guy approaching Loud Mouth. I couldn’t see much of the mystery man’s face, but I could tell he was big. No, maybe gigantic would be a better word. He towered over everyone around him by several inches. Perhaps a foot.
“What’re you gonna do about it? Huh? Does her pussy belong to you? If not, I suggest you stay out of it,” the drunk guy snarled.
“If I hear one more disrespectful word out of your nasty mouth, I’m gonna make sure you don’t speak for the rest of the night,” the other man growled.
“That so? I’d like to see you try.”
The next thing I knew, the room erupted in chaos. The drummer made his way out from behind his drum set and gripped my arm tightly, yanking me back with him. Without arguing, I managed to hide behind the instruments while the brawl went on in front of me. I couldn’t believe this was happening. They’d never let me back in here now.
I had no idea how long the fight lasted, but the cops eventually arrived to break things up, and the bar owner opted to close down early. The damage was extensive, chairs and tables broken, glass bottles shattered and strewn across the floor, alcohol in puddles throughout, glistening in the overhead lights that had been turned on.
I waited for the band to pack up their things before I ventured out with them, not wanting to run into the drunk guy if he happened to still be lurking in the parking lot.
The band members had gone their separate ways and I was beating feet to my car when someone said, “You okay?”
The voice sounded familiar, and when I lifted my gaze from the ground and looked up—way, way up—into the face of the man now standing almost directly in front of me, I realized he was the one who’d been towering over the rest of the crowd, the same one who’d addressed Loud Mouth for saying crude things.
“I’m all right,” I muttered. Good grief, how freaking tall is he? “Thank you, by the way.”
“I’m not sure why you’re thankin’ me,” he answered humbly. “You’re leavin’ because of me.”
“Yeah, well, that’s the way these things go sometimes,” I responded politely, although in all the months I’d been doing this, never had a fight broken out before tonight.
“Name’s Travis Walker.”
I shook the big guy’s hand when he extended it and watched as mine disappeared almost entirely in his palm. The man was massive. Granted, I was on the small side, topping out at a full inch over five feet, but still. He made me feel like a child.
“Nice to meet you, Travis Walker. I’m Cheyenne Montgomery.”
He nodded, but I didn’t think he was really listening to me. “I’d like you to meet someone. Don’t go anywhere.”
I glanced around, hoping the drunk old guy from inside had been carted off by the police, because now that I was standing alone in the parking lot while Travis ambled over to a group of people loitering near the door, I suddenly didn’t want to be there.
Luckily for me, Travis returned quickly, another man at his side, this one not nearly as tall or as broad.
“Cheyenne Montgomery, I’d like you to meet Clayton Crosby.”
“Nice to meet you,” I said, shaking the proffered hand. I wasn’t sure why Travis wanted me to meet this guy, but I tried to appear happy to be introduced. In actuality, I just wanted to get to my car so I could go home.
The guy laughed, glancing between Travis and me.
“What’s so funny?” I asked, confused.
“He didn’t tell you who I was, did he?”
“No, sir,” I told him quickly.
“Figures. Travis here ain’t much on talkin’,” Clayton said with a grin that made his rough features soften somewhat. “I’m a record producer.”
It took me a moment to process what he was telling me, and then all of a sudden it sank in. Not wanting to get my hopes up too quickly, I didn’t say a word as I ignored the anxious flutter in my belly. Hell, I wasn’t sure I could make my voice work if I had to.
Clayton laughed again. “We’re probably gonna have to work on gettin’ you to talk a little more.”
I nodded.
“Question for you. That song … the last one you sang. You write that?”
“Yes, sir,” I said hurriedly.
He smiled again and my chest loosened.
“Good. Looks like we’ve got more than just a beautiful face and an incredible voice to work with.”
“Work with?” I asked.
“You interested in doin’ this gig full-time? Maybe in front of some bigger audiences? Somethin’ with fewer fists bein’ thrown?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Then I think we might become good friends.”
I didn’t know exactly what that meant, but I had an idea.
Glancing over at Travis, I noticed he was watching the two of us as we talked. His expression was blank and I wondered whether that was the way he looked all the time.
“I’d like that,” I finally forced myself to say, turning my attention back to Clayton. “I’d like to be friends.”
“I think we both have this guy to thank for our new friendship, then,” Clayton said as he clapped Travis on the back. “Guy always has had a knack for bein’ in the right place at the right time.”
Travis grumbled something that sounded like, “I wouldn’t go that far.”
I wouldn’t argue with Clayton in that regard. Come to think of it, I wouldn’t argue with him, period.
A total stranger had just turned my world completely upside down. And oddly enough, that was after he’d come to my rescue.
If this happened to be my big break, I wasn’t sure whether or not I’d ever be able to repay Travis Walker, but I vowed right then and there that I’d do my damnedest. If things went the way I hoped, I would truly be indebted to him for the rest of my life.
And I didn’t mind that one single bit.
