Nashville 1 - Ready to Reach Read Online Free Page B

at me and grins but knows better than to say anything. Wheeling the truck to a stop in front of her, Thomas gets out and walks around back. I force myself not to look in the side mirror. I crank the radio, lean against the seat and close my eyes.
    A couple of minutes pass before the two of them walk to the driver’s side and climb in.
    Hank Junior licks my face and I jerk forward, glaring at him. “You have to write her an invitation?” I ask. “We’re supposed to be in Nashville in an hour and a half.”
    “Ain’t no problem,” Thomas says. “We’ll be there with warm-up time to spare.”
    Thomas grabs his Starbucks bag from the dash where he’d flung it earlier. He pulls out a plain mini-donut and offers it to Hank Junior. “Believe I promised you that.”
    The dog takes it as if he’s royalty sitting down to tea. He chews it delicately and licks his lips. “Good, ain’t it?” Thomas says, pleased. “Got you one, too, CeCe.”
    “That’s okay,” she says.
    “Go on, now. Hank Junior and I can’t eat alone.”
    She takes the donut from him and bites into it with a sigh of pure pleasure. “Um, that’s good. Thank you.”
    “You’re welcome.”
    CeCe sits straight as an arrow, Hank Junior curled on top of her again. She’s yet to look at me, and I can imagine her pride has taken a few more pokes in agreeing to get back in here with us.
    “I’m real sorry about your guitar,” she says in a low voice. “I mean it about you taking mine. My uncle used to play with a group called The Rounders. He gave it to me before he died.”
    “The Rounders?” I say, recognizing the name. “They wrote ‘Wish It Was True’ and ‘Long Time Comin’?”
    “Yeah, those were their biggest songs,” she says, still not looking at me.
    “That’s some good music,” Thomas says. “I’ve had both those tunes in my sets.”
    “Me, too,” CeCe says.
    I stay quiet for a moment. “Which one was your uncle?”
    “Dobie. Dobie Crawford.”
    “Good writer,” I say, not sure why it’s so hard for me to release the compliment since I really do mean it. “I didn’t realize he’d died.”
    “Two years ago,” she says.
    “What happened to him?” Thomas asks.
    “Liver failure.”
    “That’s a shame,” he says.
    “Yeah,” I add. “It is. I’m sorry.”
    “Thanks,” she says, looking at me now with surprise in her voice. “He was a good man. Aside from the drinking, I mean.”
    “He teach you how to play?” Thomas asks.
    “He did,” she says. “I was five when he started giving me lessons.”
    “You any good?” I ask, unable to stop myself.
    She shrugs. “He thought I was.”
    We’re looking at each other now, and all of a sudden it’s like I’m seeing her for the first time. I realize how unfair I’ve been to her, that I deliberately set out not to see her as anything more than a noose around our necks.
    “What do you think?”
    “I think I’m pretty good. Not nearly as good as he was.”
    “Not many people have a teacher with that kind of talent.”
    “I was lucky,” she says. “Who taught you?”
    “I mostly taught myself,” I say.
    “Don’t let him fool you,” Thomas says. “He’s got the gift. Plays like God Himself is directing his fingers.”
    “Wow.” She looks at me full on, as if she’s letting herself take me in for the first time, too, without the conclusions she’s already made about me getting in the way. I’m uncomfortable under her gaze, and I don’t know that I can say why. An hour ago, I didn’t care what she thought of me.
    “Thomas just likes the fact that he doesn’t have to pay me to play for him,” I say, throwing off the compliment.
    “That’s a plus for sure,” Thomas says, and then to CeCe, “but I still ain’t overselling him.”
    “I’d like to hear you play,” she says, glancing at me again.
    “Good,” Thomas says. “’Cause he’s gonna have to take you up on that guitar of yours. We’re onstage in less than an