Chapter 27
WILLOW
“You sure about this?” Bobby asks me. His hand is in mine, his eyes locked on me as if we’re the only two people at the table. Actually, with the intense way he’s scanning me, it’s more like we’re the only two people in the room.
I nod, biting my lip to keep the smile from beaming too broadly. He’s going to get his dream, after all. And I don’t have to lose him for him to get it.
“We can stay right here, work the farm and Hank’s, play music and take pictures, and live a good life. I can give you a good life, Willow. Full of love and happy days, with the occasional fist fight with my brothers or a Bennett.” His lips quirk. “Just keeping it real.”
I cup his cheek, the stubble scratching my palm as he tilts into my touch.
“We could do that. And it would be a wonderful life. But you have this gift and a fire in your belly. I know you need to see if this could go somewhere. I’m good with that.
Let’s do it together, you and me. There will be time enough to come home and work the farm and Hank’s. And I can take pictures anywhere.”
We’ve talked this through several times already. I had picked that contract up out of the dirt, set it right on the kitchen table, and started reading while Bobby had made our cups of coffee. The deal was good, better than good. It’s an amazing offer.
Bobby had still said no, justifying it by claiming that Brutal needs him and Unc needs me.
I didn’t tell Unc’s secret. It’d seemed needless considering he’s on the road back to health, but I had shared that Unc might not need me quite as desperately in the coming days other than prime fishing days with Doc.
I’d smiled in relief that I meant actually fishing and not fishing.
“Fuck, you’re amazing,” Bobby growls as if it’s still just the two of us. He kisses my palm, searches my eyes once more, and then holds my hand tightly as he tells Mr. Wheatley, “Okay, run it down again. Every detail.”
Dinner that night is different. There’s no special meal with Bobby’s favorites, there’s no sign in the doorway, and we don’t turn off the lights and shout ‘congratulations’. It’s low-key, more like Bobby and his family. Down to Earth, hard-working cowboys and their women.
Like me.
Somehow, I do fit right in with this motley group of people.
I’ve spent so much time alone, introverted and keeping to the perimeter, an observer to any action.
I get lost in the shadows, both literally and figuratively, sticking to my photography as a way to keep the camera between me and others.
But here? Around this dinner table with these people, I’m simply one of them.
We can talk about cattle and crops, the resort, legal cases, school, rodeo, animals, town gossip, cars, drag racing, and so much more. And everyone listens and cares, regardless of interests.
But tonight, the floor is all Bobby’s.
“I did it. Signed right on that dotted line. Well, it was a solid line, but I signed it!” His smile is almost blinding, his dark eyes alight with joy, and his tone still one of disbelief. “I got a record deal.”
“Oh, my cheesus and crackers!”
“Woohoo!”
“Bobby Tannen!”
“What the fuck, man?”
That one was Brody, and he gets an instant, sharp look and reminder from Mama Louise. “Language.”
“Pretty sure it’s justified in this case, Mama Louise,” Brody argues back.
She doesn’t agree, but she lets him off the hook with a lift of her brow.
“Tell us all about it!” Shayanne screams, her hands beneath her chin like a kid on Christmas morning.
Bobby goes through every detail of the deal with Outlaw Records.
Mr. Wheatley was telling the truth. They really do want Bobby just as he is.
The contract allows him to have full control over his music, his songwriting, his albums, his concerts, and his merchandise.
They get a much larger percentage of the profits for the first two years, but then the contract allows for renegotiation.
Even the percentages had seemed fair when Mr. Wheatley explained what they were going to invest in Bobby’s career—producers, advertising, musicians, and radio play.
Those were all things Bobby has no idea how to do, so letting Outlaw do the hard work and sticking to the music he loves had seemed like an equitable split.
“You sure it’s not another slicker-than-snot deal like Marshall’s?” Brutal asks quietly.
Bobby looks at Allyson, who’s sitting between Brutal and Cooper.
“Yeah, I’m sure. I had someone with a fair amount of legal knowledge look over the contract first.” Bobby’s grin says loudly and clearly, ‘I hear your concerns, man, and I’m good’. They do have an odd shorthand, gruff and sometimes violent but filled with love all the same.
Brutal looks at Allyson, his brows lifted high on his forehead. “You couldn’t have told me that?”
She shakes her head, pleasantly smug to get one over on the big man.
“Attorney-client privilege. Well, paralegal-client privilege, but Bobby came in to see Rick and me. You know those meetings are confidential.” Her shrug says it’s no big deal, but Bobby told me she was overjoyed for him and he wasn’t sure she’d be able to keep her mouth shut for long.
Good thing she didn’t have to because Bobby signed today and he’s spilling the good news to everyone mere hours later.
“Okay, then,” Brutal gives his blessing.
“Congratulations. Always knew you had it in you.” Bobby has looked up to Brody for years as his big brother and as a man to strive to be, so the compliment from him is heavy with importance. “Glad you’re getting the chance to let it out,” Brody jokes, his permission given.
“Like a fart,” Cooper whispers, but it’s not quiet enough and everyone cracks up.
“Cooper!” Allyson scolds him, but she’s fighting a smile too.
Shayanne recovers first. “I’d like it included in that contract that I get front-row seats to every show, a signed copy of every album, and the whole line of Bobby Tannen T-shirts.
My boobs will be your billboard!” She blinks.
“Wait, that’s not what I meant. Well, kinda, but you know what I’m saying.
” She shakes her head like she’s trying to get that image out of her mind.
We all laugh again, and somehow, despite this life-changing news, we end up talking about the goats again. Apparently, Trollie has learned a new trick and it’s the cutest thing.
“If he sees you’ve got food, he’ll run laps around your legs, faster and faster like it’s the Daytona 500, until you fall on your butt.
Then he gobbles up all the treats before you’ve even checked to see if your tailbone is in one piece.
Awful monster!” Shay describes him like ‘monster’ means the cutest thing ever.
We finish dinner, and Rix and Brody clear the table, taking dishes to the sink. Mama Louise leans my way. “Come here, dear. I want to show you something.”
I get up, letting go of Bobby’s hand under the table, curious about what she could possibly want me to see.
In the front room, I freeze when I see them.
My pictures. All of the ones I printed are precisely and perfectly hung on the wall in a large arrangement.
Mama Louise has added some older pictures of the boys when they were little, a black and white wedding picture of her and John, and there are even some old shots of the Bennetts and Tannens from decades ago.
I think my favorite is one of both families, the kids all sprawled out in the grass and dirt with Mama Louise, John, Martha, and Paul looking over them with big smiles on their faces.
I didn’t even know they were friendly back then, but the closeness is clear in the shot.
“Oh my gosh, it’s beautiful!” I whisper, tears popping to my eyes.
“They are,” Mama Louise agrees with me. “I love my life, but you captured my family in a way I don’t think anyone else could have. Because you’re part of it. Just one thing’s missing.”
I look to her in confusion.
Her smile is sweet, but her tone leaves no room for arguing. “I need that picture of you and me making fried chicken. Got a spot for it right here.” She pats an empty space on the wall. “Gotta have the whole family up here.”
A crash sounds out from the kitchen and she clucks her tongue. “How they can manage a whole herd of cattle, gently break a horse, and plant and harvest acres of land . . . but not load the dishwasher without breaking something? I’ll simply never understand it.”
Mama Louise darts around the corner, calling out, “You break it, you buy me a new one.”
Allyson, Katelyn, Sophie, and I giggle quietly. They followed Mama Louise and me into the front room to see the pictures too.
“These are so good,” Katelyn sighs. “If you ever want to do wedding photography, let me know. To be clear, I highly suggest you don’t because brides are .
. .” She rolls her eyes, and I wonder if she’s working with a bridezilla these days.
She plasters her professional work smile back on her face and continues.
“Most are lovely and would be appreciative of work like this if you want it.”
“Thanks,” I tell her. “That’s not really my thing, though. The blog’s going well and is supporting me, so I’m good. Thank you, though.”
She nods, and Allyson leans over to whisper, “Thank you for the other pictures too. We had to hang ours in our walk-in closet. Cooper knows not to go in there because that’s where I hide the birthday and Christmas presents, so he’ll never see me naked except for a sheer curtain, lying in the grass like a goddess.
” She smiles, obviously pleased with how her picture turned out.
“Uh, Allyson?” Sophie interrupts, her brows dropped together, “that’s probably the first place he goes then. No kid can resist peeking at presents.”
“Oh, he wouldn’t . . .” Allyson stops at the looks on our faces because Sophie is right. “Shit,” she spits out and then beelines around the corner toward Brutal.
We giggle, shaking our heads.
“Guess I’m glad Cindy Lou doesn’t care about her mom in a bra yet.”