A Nashville Collection by Rachel Hauck Read Free Book Online Page B

“I’m not rattled about the money, Daddy, and you know it.”
    Grandma leans away from Granddaddy’s shoulder. “Bit, certainly you knew this day would come. She’s gifted.”
    Momma buttons her lips. I’m not sure she’s breathing. I shove the check back at Granddaddy. “Here, I don’t need this.” Anything to get Momma to stop shaking. “I have a small savings.”
    He pushes my hand away. “Take it. Keep you in gas for a month.”
    Momma’s expression is tighter than bailing wire, then she drops the trash bag and stumbles down the porch steps and into the night.
    â€œI’ll see to her,” Daddy says.
    I grab his hand as he passes by. “Daddy, am I doing the right thing? Why is she so upset about this?”
    He smiles and covers my hand with his. “Ancient history, baby, and yes, you’re doing the right thing.”
    Leafy green spring trees line Route 72 as I head south Monday afternoon to find Ricky. Slow-moving, cottony clouds float across a clear blue sky. Nevertheless, my mood is black.
    Turning off the main road and onto a red dirt trail, my truck bounces and sways over rain-washed potholes. I spot Ricky’s F250 under a canopy of branches and hear Alan Jackson’s “Drive” blasting from the stereo.
    I cut the engine and take the footpath down to the shore. Ricky’s waded out thigh deep, casting his line.
    â€œAre they biting?” I wave, smiling as if all is well.
    He reels in his line. “No,” he says, with not so much as a glance over his shoulder or a by-your-leave.
    â€œYou got a second?”
    â€œDo I look like I got a second?”
    â€œYes.” Smart aleck. The gloves are off. No, the gloves are on. Which is it? Gloves off? Gloves on? No matter, the fight is on.
    â€œNope, don’t think I do.” Ricky zips the line through the air. The silverfish lure grabs a ray of light just before breaking the water’s surface.
    â€œI thought the fish weren’t biting.” I slip my hands into my hip pockets and cock my head to one side.
    â€œThey aren’t. Just like my girlfriend.”
    Ah, yes, the gloves are off. “Can we talk about this?”
    Before he can answer, Ricky’s rod bows to the zip of a reeling line. His arm muscles flex as he works to bring his catch in. “Well, looky here, you brought me luck.” But as quickly as it began, it’s over. The tip of the rod whips toward the heavens, and the taut line goes limp. Ricky’s shoulders droop, then he swears.
    â€œSorry,” I say, for lack of anything better.
    He wades out of the water and brushes past me. “Must not be my weekend for landing the Big One.”
    Wincing, I realize this conversation is not going to be easy. But, I’m tired of running, tired of choosing the easy road. “Missed you in church yesterday.”
    â€œSurprised you even noticed.”
    â€œI noticed.” My eyes follow him as he walks to the back of his truck, tossing his rod into the bed. He steps out of his waders and jerks his T-shirt over his head. I whirl around to face the other way.
    I don’t want to marry Ricky, but mercy me, sometimes he makes me wish I did. Just for a night or two. He’s lean and muscled, like a wrangler. His abs are well defined. The only six pack I’ve ever touched.
    Shirtless, Ricky slips up behind me, brushing my hair away from my neck, sending chills down my spine. “Marry me, Robin. Come on, it’ll be fun.”
    â€œI’m moving to Nashville.” The confession sounds soft and weak, but the words sink down and grab hold.
    â€œNashville?” He turns my shoulders to face him. “Since when? To do what?” A red tint outlines his narrowed eyes.
    â€œBe a songwriter.”
    â€œBe a songwriter?” At that he backs away from me and hooks his arms over the bed of his truck, crossing his legs at the ankles. He stares at me like