“Folks called it the Carnegie Hall of western swing,” Jerry said.
Ethan had seen the pictures of Bob Wills, Ernest Tubb, and other departed stars on the walls, and as he looked around the big room, with its high, arched rafters and polished maple floor, he imagined he could feel their benevolent spirits in the air. Those musicians would’ve liked AnnieLee—Ethan was sure of it.
When he and Jerry had finished their beers, Ethan went to find her. She was backstage eating the potato chips that her rider did stipulate （she’d admitted to him that they were her favorite food） and scrolling through emails on her phone.
“Eileen sent me a review from Memphis the other night,” she said, looking up at him from underneath tousled bangs. “The writer said I had the eyes of a saint and the voice of an angel.”
“Did they happen to mention your heart of a hellcat and tongue of a serpent?” Ethan asked as he grabbed another beer out of the mini fridge.
AnnieLee laughed and threw her sweatshirt at him. It hit the side of his face, and in that instant, he smelled her—the scent of lilacs, pine, and sunshine. He didn’t throw the sweatshirt back.
“Can I play in my socks tonight?” she asked. “My boots are too tight.”
“I think you know the answer to that question,” Ethan said, opening the beer and taking a long, cold drink.
“How about barefoot? Hillbilly style?”
He just shook his head. AnnieLee had learned a lot from Ruthanna, but she couldn’t be convinced to care about perfect stage makeup or glamorous costumes. “If it doesn’t matter what I look like when you’re listening to me on the radio,” she’d say, “why should it matter when we’re in the same room?”
Ethan could see her point, but he felt that shoes onstage were nonnegotiable.
So AnnieLee wore her too-tight boots for her performance that night, along with a pair of loose jeans and a low-necked T-shirt that showed her delicate collarbone. He watched her stride onto the stage, gaze out at the crowd and up to the rafters, and then give the room a smile as bright as any spotlight. The crowd cheered, and she began to play.
“A rough road, we’ll walk it,” she sang.
“Never give up, we’ll talk it.”
Her voice seemed even fuller and richer than usual, and in between songs, she joked and bantered with the audience as if they were old friends. She was a born performer, Ethan thought. She fed off the crowd, and she grew more energized the longer she was onstage.
He was leaning back, relaxing and letting the music flow over him, when he heard his name coming through the PA. The front legs of his chair banged hard on the floor as he sat up, suddenly alert.
He looked over and realized that AnnieLee was staring at him from center stage. “You gonna come give me a hand or what?” she said into the microphone. Then she turned to the crowd. “Don’t you want to hear my friend help me out with a little harmony?”
The answering applause made it clear that Ethan had no choice in the matter.
Man, he thought, getting up and shaking himself out a little, the way he used to do before a boxing match. She really should’ve warned me. I would’ve done a shot.
But then he jogged out onto the stage and took the second guitar from its stand. For a second, the instrument felt as foreign to him as the first rifle he’d ever held—like something he had no idea how to use. But then AnnieLee smiled her beautiful, wild smile at him, and his nerves eased. He knew how to do this; he’d done it a hundred times before. Smaller crowds, sure, and local ones—but did that really matter? He stepped up beside her and put his mouth to the second mic. He’d even remember to introduce himself this time.
“Hello, Tulsa,” he said. “I’m Ethan Blake, and usually I’m just the chauffeur these days. But tonight I guess AnnieLee and I are gonna play a song for you.”
He looked over at her. Her eyes were shining.
“I don’t know about you,” she said to him, “but I’m feeling like we should honor the woman who brought us together.” She turned back to the crowd. “That’s Ruthanna Ryder, everybody—and I know you all love her as much as I do.”
As the crowd cheered, AnnieLee strummed a chord progression that Ethan instantly recognized. Tapping his foot to the beat, he joined her in song.
Big dreams and faded jeans
Fit together like a team
Always bustin’ at the seams
Big dreams and faded jeans
He leaned into the microphone, the spotlight bright in his eyes, the stage solid beneath his boots, and AnnieLee by his side.