A Carol for Christmas by Robin Lee Hatcher Read Free Book Online Page A

She’d been afraid Jonathan would say he couldn’t get off work early, the same way he hadn’t taken time off the day after Thanksgiving.
    She walked into the living room, and her gaze went first to the sad little tree next to the television. Only it didn’t look so sad today. The lights, tinsel, and ornaments had transformed it more than she expected. And hadn’t she and Jonathan enjoyed themselves just as much, decorating it
    together on a Sunday afternoon instead of the Friday after Thanksgiving? Of course they had.
    Taking the borrowed guitar in hand, she sank onto the sofa and strummed a few chords.
    This morning, after Jonathan left for work, a melody had started running through her mind. At first she thought it must be something she’d heard on the radio, but now she knew it wasn’t. It was something new. It was hers. It was a song waiting for lyrics.
    She hummed a few bars, then searched for the right combination of chords. Tried. Failed. Tried. Failed. Tried. Succeeded. With the melody, but no lyrics came to mind.
    Again, she smiled, but this one was self-deprecating. Songwriting never came easy to her, as much as she loved to do it. Maybe when she saw Travis, she could ask him for pointers.

    T

    he church fellowship hall buzzed with conversation on that Saturday morning, reminding Carol of the
    night of the tryouts. Only this time, there were fewer people making the same amount of noise: the two women who’d been selected to sing with Carol in the backup group, one alternate singer in case someone got sick, and three mem- bers of the Travis Thompson band, who’d arrived late last night in their bus.
    Carol had tried on numerous outfits this morning before leaving the apartment. She wanted Travis to look at her and think, Country singer. Silly, she supposed, to want anyone to think that when it wasn’t true.
    “Here he is now.” The drummer played a ba-bum-bum
    to emphasize his announcement.
    Travis grinned as he strode across the hall, looking every bit the star that he was. “Hey, fellas,” he greeted the band. “Glad to see you made it. How were the roads?”
    The bass guitarist answered, “Pretty clear most of the way.”
    “Good.” Travis turned toward Carol. “Howdy.” He gave the brim of his hat a tug.
    “Hello.”
    “Mrs. Burke’s not with us this morning?” he asked after a quick glance around the fellowship hall.
    “No. She’s at home getting ready for tonight’s reception.” “I’m looking forward to that.” He turned toward the members of his band. “Let’s get started. Fellas, in case you didn’t introduce yourselves, this is Carol Burke. Carol, meet Hank, Friday, and Gart. We’ve been playing together since we were kids. Went to the same schools. If they cause you any trouble, you tell me and I’ll knock some sense into them.” He turned toward the three other women in the
    room, a look of expectation on his face.
    Carol made quick introductions. Maddy Gladstone was a thirty-five-year-old wife and mother of three who sang in the church choir. Catalin Ibarran was perhaps five years older than Carol, unmarried. She worked as a secretary in the state attorney general’s office. The alternate singer was Sara Chandler — thirtyish, divorced, and extraordinarily pretty.
    “Glad to meet all of you,” Travis said, wearing his trade- mark grin.
    Over the next fifteen minutes, while Travis explained his expectations, Carol imagined herself as a permanent part of his band. What must it be like to be on the road, driving from event to event, performing before thousands of fans? She wondered about the backup singers who regu- larly traveled with him. Were any of those women a love interest? Would any of them eventually make it in Nash- ville and record their own albums?
    Carol had loved country music long before Hee Haw , Glen Campbell, and Johnny Cash made the style more popular to television viewers. She enjoyed rock ’n’ roll, but country owned her musical heart. How