CHAPTER 23
JAMIE
For the time being Poppy was staying with Nolan, as the puppies were only six weeks old.
The spacious ranch offered plenty of room for the pups to play, and they were nearly as fast as their mom.
Jamie’s day was filled with studying, followed by a few hours with Clayton and his band at their rehearsal space before heading to Franklin.
Since she didn’t need Ruth during the day, her assistant drove to the ranch in the morning to help care for the dogs and returned to Shorty’s penthouse at night.
Almost every evening Birdie cooked dinner, and the family gathered around the table while the twins monopolized the conversation.
The girls were hilarious, sharing stories about school and discussing which teachers they thought were mean.
It took Jamie some time to get used to the constant chatter, but soon she began to look forward to it, genuinely invested in the twins’ lives.
They’d even text her unflattering pictures of their dad while she was studying, and she’d forward them to Clayton along with laughing emojis.
Tonight was the last time she would see Clayton’s family before they left in the morning.
She’d miss them more than she expected. Their warmth, their effortless way of making her feel at home—it was a stark contrast to the uncertainty waiting for her on tour.
The thought of playing in larger stadiums should have been thrilling, but doubt lingered.
What if country audiences didn’t accept her? What if she didn’t belong?
“You’ve been quiet all day,” Clayton remarked as he drove to the ranch after rehearsal. “Cat got your tongue?”
Jamie fixed her gaze on the passing countryside, her thoughts adrift in the rhythm of the road. “That’s a really weird saying.”
“It’s an idiom.”
“A what?”
“An idiom,” he repeated. “An expression or saying that has a non-literal meaning.”
She pulled out her phone and typed notes, murmuring, “That question might be on my exam.” Slumping in her seat with her head bowed, she sighed. “Jesus, I’m never going to pass the language section—I don’t even understand what an idiom is.”
“Sure you do. I just told you.” Clayton kept his eyes on the road and laughed.
“This isn’t funny, Clayton.” She crossed her arms and stared straight ahead.
“What’s wrong now?”
She sighed, unsure of what was wrong with her. “I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I feel kind of down.”
“Ah, the homesick blues.”
“This is very unlike the Bob Dylan song.”
“‘Subterranean Homesick Blues’ is about the civil rights movement,” he said. “I was thinking more of the poem by Langston Hughes. I get the same feeling when I’m about to go on tour.”
“Finally,” she said, “an artist we can both appreciate, though I’ve never really known homesickness.” She met his eyes and continued, “After all, how can I miss a home I’ve never had?”
They pulled up in front of his parents’ house and he nodded toward the window. “At least for now, consider this your de facto home.”
“I’m just a guest, Clayton,” she replied as she stepped out of the truck and climbed the steps.
He joined her from behind, softening his tone, “You’re family, now.”
The atmosphere was subdued at dinner, reminding her of families bidding farewell before a war. Yet they weren’t heading into battle, they were setting off on a two-month tour that was meant to be fun.
“Are you all packed, sugar?” Birdie asked softly as she settled beside Jamie, idly picking at her food. Clayton’s mom had prepared her famous roast beef dinner for the send-off, yet no one was eating.
“Yes, ma’am.” Jamie had learned the proper way to address Clayton’s parents when they asked her a question. “All packed.”
Birdie nodded. “You too, Ruth? ”
“Yes, ma’am,” Ruth replied before tears began to fall. “I’m going to miss you all so much. These next two months are going to feel so long.”
“They sure will,” Nolan said, fighting back tears himself. “We’ll talk every day, more than once.”
“It ain’t got to be that way,” Birdie piped up, fixing her gaze on her husband, who gave a slow, knowing nod. “Doc and I been chewing the fat about something, and we got ourselves a little proposition.”
“What’s that?” Clayton asked.
She went on, “Well now, the girls will be done with school by the end of the month, and they’ll be turning ten come June. Reckon that makes them just old enough to hit the road.”
Charlotte and Emily looked at each other, stunned.
“Can we, Daddy?” Emily pleaded.
“Pretty please?” Charlotte made prayer hands. “We won’t be any trouble.”
Clayton looked at Jamie and she nodded. “Well, it’s not just my decision, girls. It’s Miss Jamie’s tour too, and she’s staying on my bus.”
After a lengthy negotiation Jamie had eventually agreed to ride on Clayton’s bus.
He proposed she use his bedroom as a study, assuring her he wouldn’t mind sleeping in a bunk.
Besides, they’d be staying in hotels some nights.
Buddy and the band had their own bus—which wasn’t an option for her—and the crew’s bus was already full.
Having crunched the numbers countless times Jamie realized it wouldn’t be financially sensible to rent a bus just for Ruth and herself, so she’d accepted his offer.
“Miss Jamie, may we please?” Emily asked hopefully, fingers crossed. “Charlotte and I promise to be on our best behavior—I even crossed my heart!”
Jamie widened her eyes. “ Of course!”
The girls sprang from their chairs, screaming with delight as they enveloped her in a tight hug.
“That means you’ll miss the end of baseball season,” Clayton said, giving them pause.
“I don’t care,” Charlotte replied with a shrug.
“Me neither,” Emily added. “Our team kind of stinks this year.”
“Then it’s settled,” Birdie agreed, clearly thrilled that the girls had chosen something over baseball.
“I’ll hold down the fort and take care of Poppy and the puppies,” Nolan declared.
Jamie set her knife and fork aside and shot him a look. “Poppy’s coming with me.”
“They’re just over six weeks old,” Nolan explained. “Poppy shouldn’t be separated from her puppies until they’re at least eight weeks.”
“What about Reba?” Ruth cried. “I was planning on bringing her—”
Before Ruth could finish, Doc chimed in. “I have a proposition myself.” All eyes turned toward him as he faced Nolan. “You haven’t taken a vacation in years, son. If you want to bring the girls with you at the end of the month, I can handle things here.”
“Are you sure, Daddy?” Nolan asked. His father nodded, adding, “Is that all right with you, Clay?”
Clayton nodded. “Heck yeah. The more the merrier.”
The buses idled outside the rehearsal space the next morning as everyone gathered.
Gus drove the black bus carrying Jamie, Ruth, and Clayton; the blue bus held Buddy and the band and the white bus transported the crew.
The rest of the gear had already hit the road, making the three-hour trek to Birmingham, Alabama, where the tour would officially start.
Shorty had driven himself to the venue at dawn, determined to make sure everything ran smoothly for the first show.
He’d be popping in now and then during the tour, but he had no intention of babysitting them for two months.
That suited Jamie just fine—she was still pissed at him over what had happened in Vegas.
Not that she cared about Vegas. If Derrick wanted to marry some B-list actress that was his problem.
He’d asked her to marry him more times than she could count, and she’d never once said yes.
She’d always blamed the timing—the endless cycle of touring, filming, and award shows.
But the truth? She just didn’t want to marry him.
Maybe she’d watched too many reality dating shows, tricking herself into believing in perfect love.
Or maybe, deep down, she’d always known Derrick wasn’t husband material.
“All aboard!” Clayton called as Jamie and Ruth carried their bags onto the bus. He glanced at Jamie’s two carry-on bags and grinned. “Two bags. I’m impressed.”
She laughed and dropped her luggage on the couch. “I have five suitcases stowed in the luggage bay,” she replied, then paused as she noticed something different. Clayton’s beard was now gone.
“You shaved,” she observed.
He ran a hand over his smooth face and replied, “Always shave in the summer—it’s cooler.”
Though he looked refreshed, she couldn’t help but admit she preferred him with a beard.
Clayton opened the fridge to reveal Tupperware stacked with labels on the sides that read chicken pot pie, jambalaya, chili, shrimp & grits, and cornbread. “Momma’s been cooking for two days straight.”
“That woman’s a saint,” Jamie said. She picked up her bags and walked toward the bedroom. “I’m going to study.”
He held a stack of index cards in his hands. “Made new flashcards.”
“Okay.” She turned around and nodded. “I’m going to drop off my stuff and I’ll be right back.”
She threw her bags on the bed and noticed a picture frame on the nightstand.
Leaning over she picked it up—a snapshot of the twins laughing while holding Poppy.
She kissed the photo and placed it back.
My girls. Then she corrected herself: the twins weren’t hers.
They belonged to Tammy, whose absence had left a gap.
Stepping into the bathroom, she flicked on the light and paused.
The room was stocked with her products—full-size bottles of face cleanser, moisturizer, eye serum, and sunscreen.
“What the hell?” she murmured. Opening the shower door she found her brand of shampoo and conditioner neatly arranged on the ledge.
She hadn’t recalled giving Buddy a list—perhaps Ruth had anticipated her needs and done some pre-emptive shopping.