Country Music Darling, Ruby Lynn Hayes, has officially ended her contract with C&L Entertainment at the conclusion of their five-year signing period, citing creative differences. Label executives have declined to comment, and representatives from Ruby’s camp are tight-lipped about the ordeal. Meanwhile, Ruby is rumored to have been spotted in her hometown earlier today. Could the country darling be returning to her roots, or is she running away with her tail tucked between her legs? Only time will tell. This story is still developing. Follow along for the latest updates.
Something about the article sets my teeth on edge, even though it shouldn’t. I shouldn’t think about my brother’s ex-girlfriend this way. That’s the thing about me and Ruby. Maybe I once thought of her as just my brother’s ex-girlfriend, but we toed the line too many times to count. Our relationship slipped into something else entirely.
Ruby dated my brother back in high school, and for a while, people thought they were endgame. They didn’t see how she caved in on herself as the relationship faded. They don’t know about Connor’s indifference and his callous disregard for her feelings. Connor was a selfishprick, and he was holding onto the one girl I wanted but could never have. My resentment drove a wedge between us.
The best decision Ruby ever made for herself was leaving Connor—and, by extension, Oak Ridge—in her rearview, even if that meant severing whatever paper-thin thread connected us. Ruby was always made for the spotlight, and I was meant to stand in the shadows watching her shine.
I know next to nothing about Ruby’s contract, but she was young when she signed, and there has to be a good reason for her decision not to renew. It’s none of my business. I can’t afford to set my sights somewhere they don’t belong.
At noon on the dot, I unlock the doors and wait for jack shit to happen. Things won’t pick up around here until later in the day. Much to my surprise, Miles Barlow, one of my closest friends, comes strolling in about half an hour later looking like someone shit in his shoes.
“Married life treating you well?” I deadpan.
“Ha. Ha. Hilarious, dude. Married life is fucking fantastic. The book tour is the problem. Mags leaves tomorrow for another week-long trip, and I can’t go with her this time.” Miles runs his hands through his hair and rests his elbows on the bar top.
“So, you’re pouting?”
“Quit being a dick and get me a beer, yeah? I can’t wait until you find a woman you can’t live without.”
I snag a longneck from the cooler and set it on a coaster. “Been there fucking done that, dude. Look where that got me.”
“Aiden’s pretty great, though. At least there’s that.”
“Yeah. Wouldn’t trade that kid for the world.”
I figured Miles would incorrectly assume I was talking about Breanna, and I don’t intend to correct him. My history with Aiden’s mom is well-known around this town; a story that fucked up could never stay a secret for long.
When I approached Breanna’s family for help with Aiden, they hightailed it out of Oak Ridge without sparing their grandson a second glance. It’s not Bree I’m thinking of now, though. If I’m being honest, I didn’t think much of her then, either. She was a failed distraction to get my mind off someone else—someone completely off-limits.
Miles takes a long pull of his beer and sets it back down, picking at the label. I’m about to strike up a conversation to fill the awkward silence when a strange man walks into the bar. He appears to be in his fifties with a receding hairline and a pair of outdated, thick wire-frame glasses perched on his bulbous nose. He has the look of someone I’d throw out of this bar on a Saturday night for getting too handsy with the women—real serial killer vibes. I don’t like to make assumptions, but after working in a bar for so long, you learn to spot the predators.
“Afternoon, gentlemen. You wouldn’t happen to be able to point me in the direction of Whispering Oaks Ranch, would you?” His accent is distinctly midwestern, lacking any hint of the drawl that’s common around here. It immediately sets me on edge.
Miles and I exchange a look,.
“Mr… uh…” Miles’s eyes narrow. “I didn’t catch your name. Can I ask what business you have with the Hayes family?”
He slides onto the stool next to Miles and holds out his hand in greeting. “Richard Newman. You can call me Ricky. I’m a reporter out of Chicago.”
I cross my arms over my chest. I’m an imposing figure on a good day, and I know how to play it up when I need to. “What does a reporter out of Chicago want with ranchers in Kentucky?”
Ricky’s eyes flit around the empty bar, a bead of sweat dripping down his forehead. Welcome to Kentucky, where thesummers are hotter than hell. If you ask around, they’ll tell you it’s not the heat that gets you, it’s the humidity.
Ricky’s skittish, and I don’t think the sweat has a damn thing to do with the climate difference between here and Chicago.
“Don’t play dumb. As you well know, the ranch is owned by the family of Ruby Lynn Hayes, and I’d like to have a chat with her about her record label.”
And there it is—the truth.
“Not going to happen. We don’t appreciate outsiders sticking their noses where they don’t belong. If Ruby wanted to speak to the press, she would, but I doubt she’d be open to an interview. It’s probably best if you drive yourself back to Chicago.”
“We’ll see about that.” He slips off the stool, muttering something about this ‘shithole town.’
Before he can make it to the door, Miles stops him.
“Ah, hell. He looks like a kicked puppy. Maybe we should throw him a bone.” There’s an upward tilt to Miles’s lips.
I’ll play along, see where he’s going with this. “Fine. But if the Hayes’ bring this down on me, I won’t hesitate to throw your ass under the bus, Barlow.”
