“I’d like to bring my girls up now,” Clayton’s voice boomed through the microphone.
The twins turned to each other, eyes wide with surprise.
“Go on, girls,” Jamie said softly, giving them a gentle nudge.
Hand in hand they crossed the stage, their steps hesitant but excited. When they reached their father he draped an arm around each of them.
“This here’s Emily . . .” He gestured to the daughter on his left. “And this is Charlotte.” The girls giggled as the crowd cheered. “And this next song is called ‘Drag Racing My Heart.’”
The audience erupted, already recognizing one of his biggest hits. As the band kicked in Clayton started singing, and the crowd sang rightalong. The twins twirled and danced, their laughter ringing through the speakers.
Jamie watched from the side of the stage, her heart swelling. Seeing them up there—Clayton in his element, the girls absolutely glowing—was almost too much.
Midway through the song Clayton paused for the scheduled band introductions, then grabbed the T-shirt cannon. With each shot the girls exploded in laughter, jumping and squealing as the crowd cheered.
The song ended, and as the cheers died down Clayton tipped his hat to the crowd before leading the girls offstage.
“We got you, Daddy!” Emily beamed, her grin stretching ear to ear.
Clayton grabbed a towel from Buddy and wiped the sweat from his beard. “What are y’all talking about?”
Charlotte doubled over with laughter. “The T-shirts in the cannon? We switched them with Miss Jamie’s!”
Clayton’s eyes snapped to Jamie. “Did you put them up to this?”
She held up her hands, laughing. “Nope. Their idea.”
He stared at his daughters, then shook his head with a chuckle before pulling them into a bear hug. “Now that’s a good prank.”
At the next few shows they closed every encore with “More Bad Days Than Good.” Their duet had quickly become a crowd favorite. By now everything had clicked into place, the tour running like a well-oiled machine, their performances effortless. The energy was electric, the music tight, and, for the first time, they were simply having fun.
Clayton still hadn’t gotten her back for the prank, but Jamie wasn’t stupid—he wouldn’t just let it go. He was waiting. Watching. And no matter how easy things felt between them onstage, she knew better than to let her guard down.
Tonight they were playing Red Rocks in Colorado. Jamie had seen pictures online—the legendary open-air amphitheater was carved between towering red cliffs, with panoramic views stretching behind the stage. It was breathtaking, even in photos.
But nothing compared to seeing it in person.
When the bus pulled into the parking lot she pressed her forehead to the window, taking in the burnt-orange rock formations rising against the endless blue sky. It looked otherworldly, like something out of a dream. A venue set in nature—she’d never played anywhere like it.
Then she stepped off the bus.
The altitude hit her like a wall, stealing the air from her lungs. She tried to take a deep breath but came up short, her head going light. Had it always been like this? She’d played in Denver before, but this was different. Thinner. Drier.
Panic flickered in her chest. Could she even sing like this?
She’d imagined this as the best show of the tour, a bucket-list moment. Now she wasn’t sure she’d make it through a single song.
The twins spent the rest of the morning helping Jamie study. At first she felt awkward admitting she’d never finished high school, but they didn’t make a big deal out of it. Instead they turned it into a game, quizzing her for hours with their dad’s flashcards. Whatever confidence she’d built from rocking sold-out shows didn’t stand a chance against struggling through elementary school trivia with a pair of ten-year-olds.
Clayton wanted to take the girls to the Denver Art Museum, so Jamie took a break from studying and went along for the ride. Ruth and Nolan came too, making it a full family outing.
The museum itself was an architectural marvel—an angular, silver structure designed by Italian architect Gio Ponti. Inside, it held works by Matisse, Picasso, and O’Keeffe—Jamie’s favorite.
The girls lovedTongue, a striking painting by Richard Phillips, but weren’t impressed by Picasso. They took one look atNature Morteand declared they could paint something better.
And they weren’t wrong.
Jamie drifted her attention toClouds and Mountainsby Vance Kirkland. The colors and movement reminded her of Red Rocks, and when she glanced at the title card she saw it had been painted in Denver. Maybe her instincts weren’t so far off.
