Not yet.
Chapter
15
As Ruthanna waited for her drink, a middle-aged cowboy climbed onstage, tipped his hat, and proceeded to entertain the crowd with a solid Keith Urban imitation. By the time her martini arrived, with its bright slice of lemon floating in ice-cold gin, he’d been replaced by redheaded twins on guitar and mandolin. They played a couple of old-timey numbers that sounded almost but not quite familiar, like the phantom B side to one of the famous Bristol Sessions records.
It was obviously open-mic night at the Cat’s Paw, which meant that everyone and her in-laws had come out to get their six minutes in the spotlight. And if Ruthanna had known this in advance, she’d have thought twice about showing up.
“Boo!” said a voice right near her ear.
Ruthanna socked Ethan in the arm without even looking. “Blake, don’t scare a lady,” she said. “Sit down and have a drink.” She gave him a sidelong glance. “Where’s your crush? Don’t tell me she’s immune to your charms.”
He started to jokingly protest, but suddenly his face got serious. “Shh,” he said. “She’s on.”
Ruthanna turned and saw a small, slender young woman standing alone in the center of the stage. Her head was bowed, and the lights shone on her dark, tousled hair. Her posture was tense, wary, as if one loud noise would make her bolt like a rabbit.
Oh, Lordy, Ruthanna thought. This is going to be painful.
But then the young woman straightened up, and the hair fell away from her face, and Ruthanna saw that she was beautiful, with big eyes and high cheekbones and a rosebud mouth. She looked as perfect and innocent as one of those Madame Alexander dolls Ruthanna’s mother had collected.
Ruthanna started laughing deep in her throat. “Good Lord, Blake, that girl’s so gorgeous she could sing like a barn cat in heat and folks’ll be calling her the next Maria Callas,” she said.
“Shh,” Ethan said. “Just you wait.”
“Don’t shh me, soldier boy,” Ruthanna warned. Half a dozen choice insults were right on the tip of her tongue, but another glance at Ethan told her that they’d be wasted. Ethan Blake had neither eyes nor ears for anyone but that dark-haired woman on the stage.
“It’s nice to be back here,” she was saying. “I’m AnnieLee Keyes, and I’m kinda new in town.” She tapped on the beat-up instrument she held in her lap. “This here is the Cat’s Paw, um, community guitar. It’s got old strings and slippery pegs, so it doesn’t always like to stay in tune. But the two of us’ll do our best for you tonight.”
People chuckled, and quite a few of them clapped enthusiastically. Either they knew her already, Ruthanna thought, or she was charming them real quick.
As AnnieLee began to strum her intro, Ruthanna could hear how dull the strings sounded, and she quickly decided to get a better instrument sent to the bar tomorrow. She was wondering whether she should get a Martin or a Gibson—or maybe a Taylor?—when the girl opened her mouth and started singing. And Ruthanna sat up and started paying attention.
Dark night, bright future
Like the phoenix from the ashes, I shall rise again
The girl’s voice was a honey-colored soprano, clear and luminous. Ruthanna forgot about her tired, aching feet—and even her excellent drink—as she listened, mesmerized. Where did this girl come from? AnnieLee Keyes looked barely older than a teenager, but she sang as though she’d lived for ninety-nine years and seen tragedy in each one of them.
And yet that voice of hers wasn’t sad. It was strong, and it was wise.
In any other instance, Ruthanna would’ve expected Ethan to nudge her in the ribs and whisper I told you so. But she didn’t have to look at him again to know that he was entranced. The whole room was under AnnieLee’s spell.
When she started a new song with a quicker tempo, her voice became a roar rather than a trill. Ruthanna tapped her bare foot on the sticky bar floor. Ethan was right. She did sing like an angel—and like a devil, too. Underneath that sweet, doll-faced exterior, there was something fierce and furious about AnnieLee Keyes. Some dark pain powered those pipes; Ruthanna was sure of it.
It wasn’t just the girl’s voice, either; it was the stories her songs told. Words and melody alike pulled the listener in, so that everyone in the room, no matter who they were, felt exactly what AnnieLee Keyes was feeling.
Ruthanna took a deep breath and beckoned to Billy for another martini. She’d seen more than a lifetime’s worth of brilliant, accomplished professional musicians, but this girl was a natural.