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He pulls out his phone and sends a text message. A reply comes back almost immediately.

“You think you can get me a set list in the next five minutes?” he asks.

Another good piece of advice they gave me was to always show up overprepared. I reach into my back pocket and pull out two note cards. I hold up the one in my left hand. “Covers and originals.” And then I hold up the one in my right hand. “Originals only. Will either of these work?”

Barry fixes me with an amused grin. “I’ll take both and we’ll see which one the producers go for.”

Granny always said, You can put boots in the oven, but it don’t make ’em biscuits.

Well, you can strap on a guitar at a concert, but that don’t make you a musician.

The time has come for me to prove I’m cut out for this.

It’s go time for my first set of the evening, the 11:05 p.m. call time on the main stage. A spike of adrenaline surges through me, and I shift my weight back and forth. I’ve played other solo sets since I was booted from Six String Justice, but this is the first time that my set list is all-original material. It’s easy to work the crowd when you’re playing familiar standards everyone already knows, but it’s a lot harder to get people to warm up to songs they don’t know the words to. It was easier with Six String Justice, knowing the group was in the same situation, that we’d sink or swim together. But stepping out onto the stage to play original songs with a band I’ve only rehearsed with once? It’s a whole other level.

I’ve got my guitar strapped on, a pick in my hand (and an extra in my pocket), and my cowboy hat pulled down low. There’s an energy buzzing through me, part nerves, part excitement. I push away all the doubts and uncertainty. I need to be one hundred percent ready when I step out on that stage.

The stage manager gives me the sign, and I walk out to my position in front of the central microphone. Already in their places are the drummer (Kenzie), bassist (Rich), acoustic guitarist (Sandy), and percussionist (Carl) for the local house band, Cumberland River Country, who were hired to support solo acts like me for the night. The members of Cumberland River Country are all seasoned session musicians, some of whom have played for the biggest stars to come out of Nashville. Of all of us, I’m the weak link.

Still, I’m betting on me, and the songs Paisley and I wrote together. If I can come out here and win over the crowd, it will build momentum for us. This could boost both our careers.

No pressure.

I flash a smile and tip my hat up to look out at the audience. The room’s filling up as it gets closer to midnight, so there’s a decent crowd. “Howdy, y’all,” I say, stepping up to the microphone. “My name’s Kash Murray, and backing me up tonight is Cumberland River Country.” I turn to the other members, one at a time. “Ready?”

They all dip their heads in acknowledgment. Kenzie nods and twirls a drumstick in the air.

Yeah, if anyone’s going to flub it up, it’s me.

“Let’s go. A-one, a-two, a-one, two, three, four.” I count off the tempo and Cumberland River Country plays the intro to “She’s a Real Country Girl” like they’ve been playing it for years.

In the monitors playing back at us from the front of the stage, the song sounds so much fuller, rounded out with drums and a bass accompanying the rhythm guitar and my electric guitar. I bet it sounds even better out on the floor.

I look out at the audience, my gaze rolling over faces, hoping to spot someone I know. Or at least one friendly face in the crowd. I hate that Paisley’s not here to hear it. My eyes continue to search the room, as if I could will her to appear, but she’s not there. Not that I expected her to be.

I swallow down my sadness and lean in to the mic to sing.

“She’s a real country girl.

Faded jeans, dusty boots, dirt under her nails.

Oooh, she’s a real country girl.”

Track 29

No Matter What I Do, I Just Can’t Get Over You

Paisley

December 31

Kash’s song for me has become an earworm I can’t shake.

Just one listen to it, and bam. It took up residence in my head and burrowed into my heart.

In the post-Christmas quiet that’s settled down over Hidden Acres, it’s been hard to ignore since that first listen. Even harder after the fiftieth. Kash’s song is all I seem to hear.

What’s worse is that everything here is haunted by my memories of Kash.