A Nashville Collection Read Online Free

a girl needs an RC Cola and a Moon Pie, maybe some fried chicken, and a little guitar picking outside under the tree. Though I’ve missed most of the early May day, what remains is still lovely and perfumed with the sweet scent of budding corn and freshly mown grass.
    The trailer’s front door sticks again, so I hip-butt it open and step inside. My foot squishes into the worn shag carpet, and water floods my shoe.
    â€œWhat in the world—”
    Glistening water covers the trailer floor, and I can hear a gushing noise coming from the kitchen.
    Splash. Squish. Splash. Squish . I make my way across the small pond on my trailer floor. What the Sam Hill happened? Then, “My songs!”
    Splish-splashing down the hall to my room, I pray for dry carpet. Oh, relief. The flood waters haven’t spread this far . . . yet. Dropping to my knees, I fish around for my cardboard box of song notebooks. Finding it tucked up against the wall, I pull it out and toss it on my bed, then splish-splash back to the kitchen and snatch up the portable phone.
    â€œCrawford Realty.”
    â€œI’m flooded, Boon.”
    â€œWhat happened?”
    â€œThe washer, I think.” I shove the washer-dryer stack aside. Sure enough, a broken hose spurts water in my face. “Hurry.”
    â€œI’m on my way, Robin.”
    I cut off the valve and dial Daddy next. “Help.”
    When Boon walks in with his toolbox a few minutes later, he splashes through the puddles, grinning like a kid after a good thunderstorm. Meanwhile, I’m on my hands and knees mopping up the mess with towels.
    â€œRobin, I didn’t know you could sing like that.” He drops his toolbox on the kitchen counter. “That song about Rosalie was something. I haven’t thought of her in a long time.”
    â€œWell, we all have our little hidden talents.”
    Boon laughs. “Not me. What you see is what you get.”
    Wringing the towels out in the sink, I glance over my shoulder at him. “Something to be said for ‘what you see is what you get.’”
    â€œDo you like what you see, Robin?”
    â€œWhat?” I drop the towel to the floor.
    â€œDo you like what you see?” Boon props himself against the counter, crossing his arms.
    Is he teasing or fishing? Lean and wiry, Boon’s a decent-looking fellow, though his backside can’t hold up his breeches. His dark hair is always clean and trimmed, his round brown eyes always laughing, and his smile reflects the sweetness in his heart. But he’s more like a brother than a lover.
    â€œYeah, I like what I see, Boon. You’re going to make some girl very happy.”
    His cheeks glow. “Can’t blame a guy for trying, Robin.” He fusses with the toolbox latches.
    â€œNo, guess not.”
    I go back to mopping with towels while Boon assesses the damage to the trailer with a hammer in his right hand. Yeah, a hammer. I don’t know why.
    â€œI don’t think this place is worth fixing up,” he says.
    â€œWhat?” I wring out another water-soaked towel in the sink. “Boon, you got to be kidding.”
    He shakes his head and props his hands on his narrow hips. “The water damage is too much, Robin. Look at this.” He hops up and down, and the old floor sways underneath him. A musty odor rises from the carpet.
    â€œWell, stop jumping. I don’t go around jumping.”
    He waves the hammer at me. “Look here, girl, you can’t spray perfume on a skunk and call it a kitty.” He lifts his nose, sniffing. “Yep, Dad will want to junk the place, count on it.”
    â€œJunk the place? Boon, where am I suppose to live?”
    â€œHome, I guess.”
    â€œI can’t move home.” He’s plumb off his rocker. “Don’t y’all have another trailer I can rent?” After all, Boon is partly responsible for this problem. He sold me that no-good washer-dryer combo. I