Blake narrowed his gaze at the reporter. This would be interesting. “Go on.”
“I’ve got to stay in town through the concert. Most of the town has figured out who I am, and I’m persona non grata nearly everywhere. Miss Twila booted me out of the B and B, so I’ve been sleeping in my car. I’ve been blacklisted from every restaurant. Hell, I can’t even get ice cream since the dance. What I’d really love is a hot meal that didn’t involve someone scowling at me.”
“And that’s it? You just want me to put in a good word with folks?”
“And Ivy. I think she’s still torqued about those prom pictures. It would help if you put in a good word for me with her, too.”
“Torqued is one way to put it. Ready to string you up is another. How the hell did you get Cheryl to go with you to that dance? And how is it that her daddy hasn’t killed you yet?”
Nash smiled. “It might be hard to believe, but I do have a way with the ladies, especially the lonely kind. What’s this about her daddy?”
“Let’s just say he’s a good shot.”
Nash swallowed hard. “Well then, can you put in a good word with him, too?”
Blake handed the pictures back to Nash and put his hands on his hips. “I’m not sure that would help. But I’ll see what I can do about the rest. You planning to take any more prying pictures while you’re here?”
At that Nash shrugged, proving he wasn’t entirely reformed. “I’m just an observer. If nothing happens, I won’t take pictures. If something does, I will. Don’t wave red in front of a bull, you know? But generally, I’m going to cover the concert and get the hell out of Alabama.”
Blake knew he couldn’t trust Nash, but he noted a ring of sincerity in his words. He wanted out of Rosewood. They finally had something in common. Blake wanted Nash out of Rosewood, too.
“Okay, how about this,” Blake said. “I’ll take you over to Ellen’s Diner. I’ll make sure Ruth treats you nice and gets you set up with a hot meal and a friendly crowd. If anyone gives you trouble, you send them to me.”
Nash nodded. “That sounds great.” He slipped the pictures back into the envelope and handed them over to Blake. “And even better if you make that Whittaker bitch choke on these.”
Blake chuckled and walked around him to his side of the truck. “I don’t know about that, but I’ll put them to good use. Hop in,” he said. “I’ll give you a ride over to Ellen’s now, if you’re hungry.”
“I sure am. I’ve been eating nothing but ham sandwiches and granola bars from the Piggly Wiggly since your brother ran me off.”
They both climbed into the truck and Blake started the engine. “Which brother? The fireman or the cop?”
“The fireman. I haven’t met the cop yet. How many Chamberlain boys are there?”
“Four, but one’s out of state.”
They pulled to a stop outside Ellen’s. Blake walked Nash inside and had a chat with Ruth. That was all it took. Reporter or no, once he had the endorsement of a Chamberlain, he was golden. He gave Nash a stern warning not to abuse what he’d been given and headed back to his truck. He was tempted to confront Lydia immediately, but he decided to wait. She’d been quiet since the prom. He hoped she had finally gotten the hint and backed off.
But if not . . . now he had the leverage to shut her down for good.
“This song is amazing, Ivy.”
Ivy was surprised to hear Kevin’s lush praise when she answered the phone. Thursday morning, she had emailed him the arsenal of songs she’d written while she was down here, including her latest, inspired by her recent revelations about her feelings for Blake. The moment she was able to, she’d put her pen to paper and written some new songs. She had to admit that Blake was a powerful muse.
Perhaps she’d been going about inspiring songs the wrong way. She’d thought that her bad breakup with Blake had made for good songs, but the truth was that her connection to him was more important. This new song was one of the best she’d written. At least she thought so.
She’d sent the songs figuring Kevin would listen to them on his flight to Alabama on Friday, but apparently he’d gotten to them sooner.
“Which song?”
“Which song?” he said, his voice sharp with incredulity. “The one that’s like nothing else you’ve ever written before—‘I’ve Never Stopped Loving You.’ ”
That’s what she had hoped, but she was never sure what he’d like. Kevin wasn’t one to mess around, so if he said it was amazing, he meant it. But even so, she had to ask. “Really?”
“Absolutely. I daresay this might be the best song you’ve ever written. The lyrics are poignant and relatable; the chorus is beautiful and hard to forget. It’s different from your usual stuff, and yet I know when I hear it I’ll still be able to say with certainty that this is an Ivy Hudson song. This will be the first single on your new album, no question.”
He hadn’t even heard it set to music yet, just her rough computer recording of the melody. “Are you sure it should be the first single?”
“Yes. I’ve got the boys working on the accompaniment right now. We’ll work out the kinks before we get there, but I think you need to perform this at the concert on Saturday.”