Jamie sighed and shrugged off her jacket, irritated that Ruth was acting like this was great news. “This is the last thing I need,” she muttered, toeing off her boots covered in dirt from that stupid ranch. “Puppies.”
“Please!” Ruth begged, bouncing on her toes.
Jamie rolled her eyes. “Fine. Whatever. The twins want one, so I’ll have to find homes for the rest.”
“I want a girl puppy if there’s one,” Ruth said, cuddling Poppy. “I’m going to name her Reba, after Reba McEntire. You know, she’s an Okie.”
Jamie sighed and headed for the kitchen, flipping on the light. “Yeah, you might’ve mentioned. Come in here—I need a drink.”
Ruth followed her. “Do you want me to make you a Blake-a-Rita?”
“Bless you, child.”
Jamie sat at the kitchen table, watching Ruth pour vodka and lemon-lime soda over ice. Ruth’s first job off her family’s farm was slinging drinks at Ole Red—Blake Shelton’s bar—and she never shut up about it.
Ruth passed her the drink and took a seat across the table. “Do you want to talk about what’s really going on?”
“What do you mean?” Jamie took a sip, closing her eyes. For someone so diminutive, Ruth had a surprisingly heavy pouring hand.
“You’ve been kind of grumpy since New York,” she said. “I mean, I’m not coming down on you or anything. I know it’s been hard.”
She sighed, unsure what to think. Ruth was right—she’d been in a foul mood since the bomb was dropped. “I feel like Derrick got the better of me. And you know he’s dating Matilda just to spite me.”
“You really think he’s with her because of you and Clayton?”
“There’s nomeand Clayton.” The thought alone made her skin crawl. “But yes, a hundred percent.”
“Okay, but what if he isn’t? And you two never get back together?”
Jamie leaned back in her chair and took a sip of her drink. It was a fair question—one she didn’t have an answer for. She wasn’t someone who believed everything happened for a reason, but maybe, just maybe, this did.
“You know, the funny thing is I don’t even miss him.” It was the truth. And she certainly didn’t miss him telling her what to do or what to eat.
“That’s great, James.”
“It is,” she said. “When I got cell service back I didn’t even think about googling him. That’s never happened before. Every other time we broke up I’d spiral—scrolling, searching, trying to figure out what he was doing, who he was with.” She set her glass down and exhaled slowly. “But not this time.”
This time she didn’t care. Or maybe she cared differently. She wasn’t interested in getting back together. She wasn’t interested in him at all—except for one thing.
“I still want to get even.”
She swirled the last sip of her drink, watching the ice melt into the liquid. Then, with quiet resolve, she downed it.
“But first I need to finish my record.”
For the next three weeks Jamie threw herself into her album. She was up at dawn, arriving at the studio before Dusty and Evan, even though she wasn’t a morning person. Coffee barely took the edge off but she powered through, fueled by sheer stubbornness and the need to prove herself.
She’d written two new songs that Shorty had already sent off to the record label. Brimming with piss and vinegar, her productivity soared—even if she still couldn’t shake the nagging doubt about having a hit single.
Meanwhile Poppy wasn’t having an easy time. She was sluggish, plagued by morning sickness, and needier than ever. Fortunately, with only a sixty-day gestation period, her discomfort wouldn’t last much longer.
Nolan had offered to drop by the studio to give Poppy a checkup. Jamie wasn’t exactly thrilled about spending time with someone named Langley, but Ruth was eager to see the doctor, and in the end Poppy’s health mattered more than her discomfort.
“Hi, ladies.” Nolan walked into the recording studio and tipped his hat. He carried a black leather doctor’s bag, the kind they used to make house calls.
“Hi, Nolan!” Ruth sprang to her feet. Her assistant hardly ever wore makeup but today was an exception, and not by coincidence. “Nice Gladstone bag.”
Nolan lifted his doctor’s bag before putting it on a stool. “Thanks! I made it from an old saddle.” The doctor picked up Poppy from a blanket on the floor. “How’s Miss Poppy?”
