LUCK WAS A funny thing. People could be blessed with the good kind and then cursed with a string of the bad. Good luck made people millionaires overnight. It caused paths to cross and lost valuables to be found. The not-so-good kind led to much less desirable endings...like standing umbrella-less on the side of the road with nothing but a cell phone for a flashlight in a torrential downpour that had begun at exactly the same time as the horrific thump-thump-thumping noise coming from the front passenger-side tire.
Dean Presley was fed up with the string of bad luck that had become his reality lately. Not only was he still over an hour away from Nashville but he most definitely had a flat tire.
“Seriously?” he shouted up at the heavens.
Climbing back into his car, Dean would have given just about anything for a towel. He held his phone out until it touched the windshield, desperate for a cell signal. When that didn’t work, he reached back and pointed the phone in the other direction. Still nothing. He might as well have been in the middle of the Smoky Mountains given the complete lack of cell service around here.
He tossed the useless piece of technology in the backseat and turned up the heat, hoping to fight off the chill. He never should have gotten off the highway and taken these deserted back roads, even though he knew them well. He rested his head on the steering wheel. When it rained, it poured. Literally.
The unceasing rain might be the reason there was no one on the road. Dean had gotten off the interstate because of an accident that had shut down all lanes going north. The alternate route had been a blessing at first, but not so much now that he was in need of some help. Tonight was full of shouldn’t-haves, starting with making this trip in the first place.
Driving down to Birmingham to scout a band he’d heard about from a friend had been a complete bust. Maybe the band was having a bad night, but the drummer couldn’t keep the beat and the singer kept forgetting the words. Their lead guitarist was decent but, unfortunately for him, he was doomed to playing hole-in-the-wall bars in Alabama for the rest of his life unless he found new bandmates. Basically, Dean’s time would have been better spent searching YouTube for some undiscovered talent.
Two brightly shining headlights appeared in the rearview mirror. He switched on his hazards, praying the driver would stop, but the sixteen-wheeler whizzed by, spraying the broken-down BMW with water from the flooded road. No one was going to save him.
There was only one thing to do and that was to make a run for it. The sinking feeling in his stomach kept him right where he was, though. It had been a dozen years since he had been back to the place he used to call home. Grass Lake, Tennessee, held too many painful memories. Dean had left the summer before his senior year of college and had never come back. Not even for holidays.
Holidays were the worst.
“In and out,” he said to himself. “Find a phone, call Landon and leave. No one will know you were there.”
A flash of lightning lit up the sky, making him question his sanity. He turned the car off and opened the door.
* * *
“ANY COOKIES LEFT?”
Faith gave Old Man Middleton an apologetic smile. Every Friday night the Sundown Bar and Grill featured one of her alcohol-inspired desserts. “Sorry, Hank. I made Rum and Coke Swirled Shortbread for tonight. Those went pretty fast.”
Hank snapped his fingers as he sat on the stool beside her. “I knew I should have stopped by earlier. That’s what I get for coming for a nightcap instead of an imperative.”
“I think you mean an aperitif,” Faith said, trying hard to hold back her laughter.
“That’s what I said,” Hank asserted. He leaned across the bar. “You sure your brother ain’t got a couple hidden away? I came out in the pouring rain for your cookies.”
Faith shook her head. She’d have to run a special batch of cookies over to his place in the morning to make up for it.
Hank sat back. “Guess I’ll have to settle for the liquid version.”
Faith’s younger brother had already anticipated his order and set the drink down in front of him. Sawyer had a way of meeting people’s needs before they even knew what they needed. It was a gift he had inherited from their father. Faith’s heart ached a little at the thought.
“You got here in time to catch my second set. That’s got to be worth something,” Sawyer said.
For a couple months now Sawyer had spent his weekend evenings tending bar and entertaining the customers with a few songs. Faith had made him promise this little side job wouldn’t interfere with his responsibilities at the farm, and so far, Sawyer had made it work.
“Well, your father used to brag about you playing a mean guitar.”
The Sundown had been their daddy’s favorite place to hang out after a long day on the horse farm. He loved chatting up the other regulars and telling stories that were oftentimes more fiction than fact. Nothing ever brought the guy down.
Nothing except one fatal heart attack that ended his life way too soon.
“If you ask real nice, I bet Sawyer will take a request,” Faith said.
Sawyer shot his sister a look. Faith was sure her little brother didn’t know many tunes from back in Hank’s day, but ever the quick thinker, he offered up a suggestion instead. “Are you a Johnny Cash fan?”
“What does a young man like you know about Johnny Cash?”
“Oh, I’ll show you what I know about Johnny Cash, Mr. Middleton,” Sawyer answered with his trademark grin complete with the dimples that made every woman in Grass Lake swoon. Too bad her brother had no intention of ever settling down. He had dated a few nice girls but never let anyone get too close.
Sawyer checked his hair in the mirrored backsplash and whistled for his
