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the
    scent of alcohol, sawdust, smoke, and the sound of Tim
    McGraw singing “Live Like You Were Dying.”
    Jean laid a hand on his arm and whispered his
    name.
    Startled, Ian said, “Yeah?”
    “You seemed to be a milion miles away, honey.
    Are you okay?”
    “I was just thinking about the first time I walked
    through these doors. You and Jules were my first real
    friends in Nashvile, and I owe you so much. You gave
    me a roof over my head and a job—not just a job, but
    in the end, a career that I love. A great many wonderful
    things have happened to me since that first night, and
    every time I walk through your front doors, I’m
    reminded of how lucky I am to have you both in my life.
    It seemed, at the time, that I had lost everything, but in
    reality, I’d found everything.”
    “You are a good, honest man, a hard worker,
    and a hel of a son,” Jean said.
    Although Jean and Jules had always treated him
    like a son, they had never realy referred to him that
    way. Ian suddenly filed up with emotion, took Jean by
    the hand, and squeezed it tight. “I love you.”
    Jean squeezed back and said, “I love you too,
    Ian. Now, enough trips down memory lane. I’ve got a
    man for you to turn into a star.”
    “So tel me about this kid’s first three nights.”
    “I haven’t seen the entire package in a long time,
    honey. In my humble opinion, this type of talent doesn’t
    come along very often.”
    “I’ve never known your opinion to ever be
    humble,” Ian said with a chuckle.
    “It’s so different now,” Jean replied. “The music
    business is not about the talent anymore, it’s mostly
    about the marketability. The labels want to make money
    and make it fast. With al the studio capabilities these
    days, you can make a pig sound like Patsy Cline. I feel
    terrible for the young people who sound great in the
    studio and on records but sound terrible in a live
    concert. Just for kickers, when was the last time you
    heard an entertainer sound great at the CMAs? It just
    breaks my heart. But I digress. Back to Bily.”
    “I know what you mean about the talent,” Ian
    said, “but we’re here to change that. So when do I get
    to see this guy?”
    Ian and Jean were so into their conversation that
    they didn’t notice the place had filed to capacity and
    the crowd seemed electrified. The dance floor was
    packed, and it was standing room only. So Jean stood
    and said, “Let’s get this show on the road.” Ian
    watched as Jean stuck her head behind the stage to
    make sure that Bily and the band were ready. At a nod
    from Jean, the house lights went down, the spotlight hit
    Jean, and she began, “Welcome to Jean’s Magnolia
    Saloon. Tonight we have a very special night for you. In
    addition to Jed Strong and the Renegades—” The
    crowd went wild, and Jean waited for them to quiet
    before she continued, “we have a newcomer. For those
    of you who weren’t here for open mic night this week,
    you’l be blown away by this Cajun boy right out of
    New Orleans. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome
    Mr. Bily Eagan.”
    Ian wasn’t sure what he expected, but his heart
    skipped a beat when he saw Bily take the stage. Bily
    was tal, inches taler than Ian’s own five-foot-ten-inch
    frame, and his close-cut coal-black hair, accented by
    the stage lights, shone like velvet. Ian took note of the
    long black eyelashes that shaded his deep-set crystal-
    blue eyes. Below his baby blues was a nose that looked
    like it was perfectly designed for his masculine face. His
    lips were ful, his jaw was firm and slightly squared, and
    he was sporting just a hint of a five o’clock shadow. He
    was carrying a black felt Stetson hat with a rhinestone
    and black onyx band, wearing a hip-length black leather
    jacket, revealing a shiny silk shirt tucked into place by a
    tasteful sterling silver belt buckle big enough to bring
    attention to his slim yet muscular frame. Black
    Wranglers and beautifuly polished black Justin