“She’s usually not in this big of a hurry,” Raylen said.
“I’m finished. I’m going on out there with her,” Liz said.
Dewar shifted his eyes over toward Jasmine. “Speakin’ of Thanksgiving, where are you going for the holiday?”
“Mama would tack my scalp to the garage door if I didn’t go home for the holidays. I’ll close up the Chicken Fried for the day and go have dinner with the family,” Jasmine answered.
“You’re welcome here if the weather gets bad,” Dewar said.
“Maddie already said I was part of the family and didn’t need any invitations to anything going on here, but thank you anyway. Where is Ace today?” Jasmine looked around the room.
Dewar chuckled. “He’s over at Wil and Pearl’s. Is that old ugly cowboy going to beat my time with you?”
Liz was already standing, plate in hand, but she stopped.
“You, darlin’, ain’t got no time to beat, and neither does Ace. He’s just my friend, like you.” Jasmine accentuated her words by stabbing her fork at him.
Dewar threw a hand over his chest. “You break my heart, Jasmine.”
“Yeah, right! With all the women lining up for your attention, I’m not so sure you are interested in me. Finish your dinner so y’all can make Grandma happy,” Jasmine said.
Raylen looked at Liz and explained, “Ace, Wil, and Rye were best friends. Rye and Austin got married last summer, and Wil and Pearl were married in February.”
“And Ace?” she asked.
“Oh, that cowboy is too pretty to settle down with one woman the rest of his life.” Jasmine shook her head. “And besides, the woman that got him would have to train him. He’s not even housebroke.”
Liz smiled. That reminded her of what Aunt Tressa had said about Blaze.
He’s too handsome to ever settle down. And your temper is too volatile to put up with women hanging on him and his flirting, so don’t be thinking that because you two aren’t blood related there could ever be a relationship there.
Raylen pushed back his chair, picked up his plate, and led the way to the kitchen. “I’m finished too. I’ll go with you, Liz.”
When they reached the back yard, Grandma was warming up with “Bill Bailey.” Liz sat down on one of the two quilts that had been tossed out on the ground, her skirt fluffed out around her, and Raylen joined her.
“You’re supposed to be playing, not sitting,” Grandma called out.
Raylen started to get up, but his boot got tangled in the edge of the quilt. When he fell, he took Liz down with him. They landed with her snuggled up beside him as if they’d been napping on the quilt.
“That was on purpose,” Dewar yelled from the back porch.
Raylen moved to a sitting position. “I’m so sorry. I’m usually not clumsy.”
Liz moved away from him and sat up. “Forgiven. Accidents happen. What are you playing today?”
Raylen raised his broad shoulders in a shrug. “Whatever they want me to play, I guess. I was just going to sit down here and visit with you until they all get here.”
Grandma stopped playing the dulcimer and guffawed. “Don’t be judgin’ him too quick. He might be a little clumsy today, but he can make a fiddle do everything but tell you a bedtime story, and honey, he’s mighty smooth on his feet when it comes to dancin’.”
Liz raised a dark eyebrow. “Oh, really. Care for a contest?”
Raylen cocked his head to one side—just like he did that summer when she was fourteen and she’d thought it was so cute. “Are we talking about fiddlin’ or dancin’? Want to show me what you’ve got? You can play my fiddle and I’ll go in the house and get an old one.”
She stood up. “Mine’s in the truck. You told me if I play an instrument to bring it. You were serious, weren’t you?”
“Yes, I was, and yes, I’ll take you up on that contest. Want to bet on it?” he asked.
“Not until I see what you’ve got,” she teased.
“Then you show me yours and I’ll show you mine.” Raylen grinned.
Jasmine piped up from the edge of the quilt where she was settling down to listen. “Raylen is the one that can play all of our instruments. I swear he could string up a stick with balin’ wire and make it spit out a beautiful song. You might want to rethink challenging him to a contest!”
“I’ll try to hold my own.” Liz stood up and went to her truck for her fiddle. When she returned, Rye had handed Rachel off to Austin and picked up the guitar. Raylen had tuned a fine-looking fiddle. Colleen had a banjo strapped around her neck. Gemma picked at the Dobro. Dewar had a mandolin in his arms, and Maddie had a harmonica up to her mouth.
Liz tightened the strings on her fiddle, positioned it on her shoulder, and ran the bow down across them. She shook her head, made a few adjustments, and tried again. That time she was ready to play. Grandma raised an eyebrow at her, and Liz nodded that she was ready.
Rye struck up a chord, and they all fell in to begin the backyard concert with “Red River Valley,” and followed that with “Bill Bailey.”
Grandma stood up when they finished “Bill Bailey” and kissed Grandpa on the forehead. “Okay, honey. I’m goin’ to sit this one out and we’re goin’ to have a fiddlin’ contest. Liz, you know ‘The Devil Went Down to Georgia’?”
Raylen dragged the bow across his fiddle, and the first chords of the song raised the hair on Liz’s arms. She might have just met her match.
Raylen moved closer to Liz and their eyes met as the contest began. Gemma picked up the microphone and sang the words to the song as Liz and Raylen fought it out without blinking. Time seemed to stand still until the song was finished and then the applause began.
Liz had forgotten that there was anyone on the face of the earth but her and Raylen. She’d gotten lost in his blue eyes as they played facing each other. For a minute, she wondered where the audience came from and why they were clapping, then she remembered and bowed gracefully as if she’d just finished a set on the Grand Ole Opry stage.
“You goin’ to lay that fiddle on the ground because I’m better than you?” Raylen asked.
“I beat the devil out of you, cowboy,” Liz said.
Raylen’s blue eyes twinkled. “Oh, no, you didn’t. Ain’t no one ever beat me on the fiddle.”
She poked her bow at him. “Suck it up, cowboy. I beat you fair and square.”
“I want a rematch,” he said.