“Yeah, the kids are both sick,” John said with a tired sigh. “Lily’s been cleaning up vomit all day, so I’m taking the night shift.”
“Shit, I’m sorry. That sounds awful.” Bubba hated to think of Carter and Peyton suffering, even with some passing bug. “I hope they feel better soon. I’m planning to bring them back a truckload of candy from my trip. There’s a giant candy store a few blocks from my hotel.”
Bubba had told his family he was taking a week off of work to go visit old friends in Dallas. They had no idea he was in Austin playing gigs, making demos, and meeting with country music stars. If they did, the entire Lawson clan would have a collective meltdown. Bubba would be raked over the coals—and possibly cast out of the family for life—and he preferred to avoid telling them what was really going on until he knew the music career was going to work out. He felt bad lying, but there was no sense alienating the people he loved if he wasn’t going to be able to make this thing fly.
“That’s kind of why I’m calling,” John said, with another weary sigh. “I know this is the first time you’ve taken off work in years, and I hate to ask, but half our hands are down with this bug. It’s nasty. They’re going to be laid up at least a week, and we’ve got the male calves that need to be taken care of. We’ve already let them go as long as we can. If we don’t get them fixed this week, we’re going to run into trouble down the road.”
Bubba took a deep breath, mentally checking off what he would need to cancel to make it back to Lonesome Point to help out. Everything except the meeting tomorrow could be rescheduled, and that was first thing in the morning, so it wouldn’t make much of a difference.
“I’ll be home by late afternoon tomorrow,” he said, snapping off the television. “You’ll have me for the week.”
“Thanks, Bubba. I appreciate it,” John said, the relief in his voice banishing the flash of disappointment Bubba felt over missing the chance to finish his demo reel. It would probably be good for him to get some distance from Marisol, anyway. Give him a chance to build up some resistance to temptation before they finished that love song they’d been working on for the past few days.
“No worries. I’m happy to help. See you tomorrow.” He hung up and called Marisol right away. It was late, but she insisted she be informed of any schedule changes the moment they occurred, and she would need to get the ball rolling on rescheduling their time in the studio if they were going to avoid being charged for the time they’d booked in advance.
Bubba hoped she would be awake, and in an understanding mood, but he could tell by the clip in her voice when she answered the phone that their conversation wasn’t going to be a pleasant one.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said when he explained his reason for canceling their plans for the rest of the week. “Robert, this is not the time to screw around. You’re poised to make the jump into the big leagues. Not many people get the breaks you’re getting. You need to focus, and keep your head in the game, not drop everything to go play cowboy.”
“I’m not playing anything,” Bubba said. “This is my family’s livelihood, and they need my help.”
“Yourlivelihood depends on getting the rest of your songs written and recorded,” Marisol said. “Timing is everything in this business, and we don’t know how long—”
“I’m leaving tomorrow after the meeting, and that’s the end of it,” he said, cutting her off. It didn’t matter how crucial it was for him to get his ducks in a row on the off chance he was offered the gig with Wendy Dann. Family was what mattered most. Everything else was just gravy.
Marisol huffed in irritation. “You’re going to be stubborn about this, aren’t you?”
“Yes ma’am,” Bubba said. “Family comes first.”
She sighed, a long exhale that ended in what sounded like a growl. “Fine. But I’m coming with you. There are still things we can get done in Lonesome Dove—”
“Lonesome Point,” Bubba corrected automatically, so surprised that Marisol wanted to come home with him he couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“Whatever. There are still things we can accomplish there, and maybe we can adjust your attitude while we’re at it,” she said, voice gentling as she continued. “Family coming first can mean sending money after you make it big, too, you know. And to make it big, sometimes we have to say no, even to people we’ve always said yes to. I know it’s hard, but if they love you, they’ll understand.”
Bubba let her words sink in, but they left a sour feeling in his stomach. He never said no to family. He wouldn’t even know how to start. But thankfully, he did know how to say no to Marisol, or at least how to establish boundaries, now that they’d decided things were all business between them.
“All right, you can come with me,” Bubba said. “But you come as a friend, and the music stuff stays between us. I want to keep this quiet for a while.”
“But your family will be so proud when they realize everything you’ve accomplished in such a short amount of time,” Marisol said. “You’re such a talent, Robert, if you’d just—”
“If you say anything to my family, I’ll have to invoke our six-month out clause,” he said, the threat silencing Marisol with an immediacy that was surprising. He didn’t want to play hardball with her, but he wasn’t going to be bullied into having the music career talk with his family before he was ready.
“Fine,” Marisol said in a stiff voice. “See you in the morning. I’m off to pack my ranch gear.”
Bubba doubted the always stylish Marisol had clothes appropriate for castrating calves, but he didn’t mention the exact nature of the work he was headed home to help out with before they hung up. She could always borrow some clothes from John’s wife, Lily, if she decided to get her hands dirty. Though, honestly, Bubba couldn’t imagine Marisol with her hands dirty any more than he could imagine himself saying no to a family member in trouble.
He’d always put his family’s collective needs before his own individual dreams, but he’d pay for that this time if he got the gig with Wendy Dann and had to scramble to pull everything together to go on tour at the last minute. Marisol might be right. It might be impossible to balance family obligations and a singing career.
If so, he should probably pack up his big dreams before they had a chance to get all the way out of his suitcase. He couldn’t say no to family, but he was finding it harder and harder to say no to a certain brunette, a woman with the same hunger for success that coursed through his veins, and lips he knew would haunt his dreams tonight.
CHAPTERTHREE
Marisol stoodon the corner of Guadalupe and 8th Street waiting for Robert’s big black truck to pull up to the curb, clutching her skinny caramel latte in one hand and her blue hard shell suitcase in the other, fighting the urge to make a break for it.
If she left now, she could be back in her apartment and snuggled in her bed in ten minutes. Her roommates were both bartenders and usually slept well into the afternoon on Sundays. If luck were on her side, Marisol would have hours of peace and quiet to listen to demo tapes, return email, and plot a new course to country music world domination that had nothing to do with Robert Lawson.
Logically, of course, she knew she and Robert had a contract that required six months’ notice for either party to terminate the agreement. But even if there weren’t a binding legal document involved, only a crazy woman would consider dumping her most promising client.