A Song For Rory. Cerella Sechrist

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       CHAPTER ONE

      “AND THE WINNER of this year’s Artist of the Year is...”

      Sawyer Landry tensed in his seat as the reigning country music diva, Daisy Elliot, slowly untied the red satin ribbon from the envelope. He knew the cameras would be watching him, so he tried to appear relaxed and prayed the stiffness in his shoulders wasn’t obvious. The auditorium sat hushed in anticipation of Daisy revealing American Heartland Radio’s most prestigious award.

      If he managed to win, he could just hear his manager’s reaction. Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit, sugar! I knew you had it in you! Perle Jackson peppered all her conversations with such colorful dialogue. It was part of a carefully cultivated persona that she put on to disarm others. Sawyer had quickly learned not to trust her redneck shtick. Perle was as ruthless as a Mafia crime boss when the occasion called for it, which made sense if you believed the rumors that she’d actually grown up in Brooklyn, and her Southern accent was as fake as her fingernails. It made Sawyer glad she was working for him and not against him.

      Daisy fumbled with the envelope, her bracelet catching on the satin ribbon. She laughed breathlessly, the sound a whiffle of air against the mic.

      Sawyer realized he was balling his hands into fists, so he slowly eased them open. There was a collective shifting of the audience as they grew impatient with Daisy’s delay. At long last, she tugged the gold-edged ivory card from the envelope.

      “There we go,” she announced, her voice carrying an air of relief. “As I was saying, the winner of this year’s Artist of the Year is...” She drew a breath. “Sawyer Landry!”

      The tension broke as the audience swept to their feet in a standing ovation. Sawyer was a beat behind as the announcement hit him. He’d done it. Artist of the Year.

      “Come on up here, darlin’,” Daisy exhorted.

      He received several congratulatory thumps on the back as he navigated his way up the red-carpeted runway to the stage. From his peripheral vision, he noticed a montage of his concert performances and various awards ceremonies displayed on the massive auditorium screens.

      The applause rose several octaves as he tossed a wave toward the audience. He felt himself warm to the reaction. It was heady enough to hear a crowd of two thousand fans screaming his name, but having such a strong reaction from his peers, even his idols, in the industry cheering him—that was a rush at an entirely new level. He nearly tripped over his cowboy boots—a gift from Nashville’s premier designer—as he moved toward the podium.

      The audience was still on its feet, hooting and hollering, as he accepted the bronze statue from Daisy.

      “Congratulations, Sawyer,” she murmured for his ears alone as she leaned in to press her cheek to his.

      He hefted the weight of the award in his hand. It was an elongated sculpture with a crystal sunburst radiating from the top. He glanced down to read the description: “An artist of the highest caliber, displaying showmanship and talent, Artist of the Year,” followed by the date and year.

      Sawyer swallowed hard as he read the words, making an effort to keep his emotions in check. He’d done it. After years of living out of a van, playing dive bars and community events, never knowing where his next paycheck would come from, he’d finally reached the top. He raised his СКАЧАТЬ