 
JUST BEYOND THE CURVE

LARRY E. HUDDLESTON
JUST BEYOND THE CURVE

Copyright © 2009 by LARRY E. HUDDLESTON

Smashwords Edition

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Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All characters are totally from the imagination of the author and depict no persons, living or dead; any similarity is totally coincidental.

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Berryville AR 72616

CHAPTER ONE

In reality there are very few people in the world who do not long for fame and fortune. Many believe that given a chance they could make a difference. Most would fail miserably for any number of reasons. But there are exceptions, too.

John Edward Travis was twenty-five, tall, dark and handsome and had a personality that made everyone he met love him. He was outgoing and generous. He was married to a beautiful girl name Donna Sue and he had a son named after himself that he adored.

John was on his way to the top of the country music charts for the third time and his name was becoming a household word that ranked up there with Johnny Cash, Merle Haggard, Conway Twitty, Bill Monroe, and the list went on. His concerts were always sold out and he always stayed to mingle with the crowd and sign autographs. He never allowed himself to become estranged from those who had put him at the top. And for that reason his untimely death jerked the heart from his millions of fans. In fact, the whole nation, and many foreign countries, was in mourning for John Edward Travis, dead at the young age of twenty-five, leaving a wife, son and legend, much like the great Hank Williams, Sr.

In January 1985 Austin, Texas was well on its way to becoming the new Nashville of country western music. Many famous musicians, from Towns Van Zant to Willie Nelson, Waylon Jennings to Chris Christopherson had recorded their music there and helped to put Austin on the map as a booming music mecca, much like Branson, Missouri.

On that fateful night in August 1985 John Travis and the Travelers were in the recording studio putting the finishing touches on the last song of their third album. They were looking forward to a few weeks off before beginning the tour to promote the album and the chance to mingle with their millions of fans across the nation and around the world.

The band had arrived early and were in the process of tuning and warming up when John arrived from his home in Wimberley, Texas, thirty, or so, miles to the southwest of Austin, and perhaps twenty miles northwest of San Marcos. John and Donna had been raised around Wimberley and considered it their home, regardless of the money they were making. They liked the rural living the desert-like country offered.

When John entered the recording studio with his guitar case that housed a 1964 Fender Stratocaster which he had inherited from his father, he was met with cheers, whistles and catcalls from the band.

Cotton Stubbs, the rhythm guitarist, stepped to the microphone and sang mournfully, "Hurry up John, it just ain't the same, without your singin' and a' pickin them straaaaangs!" His comment was met with good cheer and laughter from everyone, including John, who laughed and bowed to the band. He then got on his knees in supplication to them.

"I wanna thank you boys," he said prayerfully, barely containing his laughter, "for makin' me the most famous and richest of this bunch! And, I might add, by far, the most talented and handsomest, and sought after, and chased, by wicked women, and..." Unable to contain his humor any longer he burst out laughing. He was joined by the rest of the band and the fiddle player, Ernie Bottoms, who had begun playing a sad, dreary accompaniment to John's recital of all his superior endowments.

When the laughter died down the band broke into a fast, happy tune that changed the whole mood of the studio. John leaned over and unbuckled his guitar case. He was just opening the lid when the phone began to ring in the mixing room. The mixing engineer, Tom Franklin, reached forward and flipped a switch on the console and then spoke into the microphone.

"John, there's a problem at home. You're needed there, now!" the elderly man said seriously.

John gently laid the Strat back into the case and closed the lid, buckled it, picked the case up and headed for the door. "I'm goin' to Wimberley, boys," he said, opening the door. "Tom, did they say if it was Momma, Donna, or John Junior?"

"It's your momma, John," Tom replied, sadly. "You drive safe and hurry back, now. And watch those curves out there; you never know what's waiting just around 'em."

"I will," John replied with a smile. "I ain't tryin' to die young," he added waving over his shoulder and closing the door behind him.

By the time he reached his pickup and swung the case up and over into the bed, he could faintly hear the band resuming their practice. He got in and drove carefully from the parking lot.

*****

Jesse Cameron had driven the big rigs since before John Travis had been born. He had driven them all, from Diamond Rios to Mac, to Harmon. He had even driven Citroen and Mercedes when he was in the military. He was intimately familiar with the brand new Peterbilt he was now piloting coast to coast. He had stopped in Austin to refuel and eat his supper. He was hauling a load of gasoline for Texaco to Twin Sisters and Kerville. He had decided to drive down 1-35 then cut across through San Marcos and over to Twin Sisters, then on to Kerville. He foresaw no problems. He had driven the route before, at least once a month for the past several years. He knew all the curves and highways.

As he rolled slightly under the speed limit for big rigs at night he listened to his favorite country singer ever, John Travis. Boy, he thought, that ol' boy can lay it down! Make a grown man cry for all his lost loves and heartbreaks. Jesse sang along with the song and tapped his fingers on the big steering wheel.

Twenty miles or so behind him his favorite singer in all the world sped up the on-ramp and onto 1-35 South. John sped up to near sixty-five, the legal speed limit: and settled in for the long, but fast ride. He had decided to take the expressway down to San Marcos, then cut over on Ranch Road 12 to Wimberley. That would take him right past his house once he got through Wimberley.

Jesse Cameron exited the freeway in San Marcos and made his way over to Ranch Road 12. He made the light and began going through the gears, building speed and making time, listening to John Travis sing.

Ten minutes later Jesse began to slow down for the Wimberley turn off. In San Marcos John flipped his right hand turn signal on and eased down the exit ramp. He made the light and sped up to the speed limit.

As the trailer swung around the Wimberley turnoff and Jesse began to build speed a seal ruptured at the side of the tanker and gasoline began to spray from the tank and back onto the left rear tires. Jesse was singing along with another of John Travis' songs and didn't notice the seal had blown, or that he was losing his lode.

On Ranch Road 12 John Travis slowed for the Wimberley turnoff. His right hand turn signal came on flashing brightly and he swung around the curve and headed for Wimberley. He reminded himself of the dangerous right hand curve up ahead. To the left was a wide deep valley. In the bottom were two mounds of dirt like extinct volcanoes. John had always figured it was a couple of hundred feet to the bottom and he didn't figure the guard rail would stop a car going the speed limit if one should happened to hit it. He had no idea he was about to find out.

Up ahead as Jesse began to turn into the curve, the fuel in the tanker began to bulge to the left with the centrifugal force as it leaned farther into the curve. Halfway through the curve where the total weight of the trailer and cargo was at its greatest, the fuel slick rear tires lost their grip and the tanker began to slide around toward the railing and the deep valley below.

Jesse immediately felt the trailer slip and began to make efforts to regain control. Then he knew it was a losing battle and just tried to keep the trailer from overturning and rolling into the valley and taking him with it.

John came around into the curve and instantly saw the big tanker sliding broadside across the highway. He hit his brakes. He began to slide sideways and he made the correct maneuver to regain control. However, all four of his tires were coated with the spilled fuel and the pickup actually began to pick up speed and spin in a complete 360° turn, as it neared the guard rail and the back of the sliding tanker.

Then, as if in slow motion, the right front fender of John's pickup slammed into the right rear corner of the broadside trailer. The impact with the trailer and the speed, nearly 80 miles per hour, lifted the pickup up and launched it into the air and over the rail. The pickup made another 360°, plus another 180° roll, dropping the guitar case from the bed. It landed hard and slid down the steep hillside. The nose down pickup slammed into the ground, spun around several times on its nose, slammed onto the earth and rolled six more times before exploding in a ball of flame.

Jesse sat in the cab of his Peterbilt and watched every move the pickup made. Then he opened the door and puked his guts up, knowing he had just caused the death of another human being. When he regained his composure he began to cry. Finally, he turned to the CB radio and called for assistance, through his agony.

Jesse would never know but John had felt nothing after the impact against the trailer. His head had slammed into the door post and knocked him unconscious. Jesse would also never know that a light ball of mist had flown from the crashed and burning pickup and drifted against the wind and to the northwest; the direction of John's wife and son. Some may speculate that it was John's spirit, others that it was just an illusion, a play of the fire light on the night. Maybe even just an anomaly, a playful zephyr of wind that carried a light mist of smoke up the hill, across the guitar case, where a tendril slipped inside and the rest moved on to the northwest and John's house.

In the master bedroom of John's house a light mist gathered over the baby's crib. John Jr. greedily sucked his thumb and slept the sleep of the truly innocent.

In the big bed Donna also slept soundly, unaware of the mist that floated above her. She smiled and whispered John's name sadly, questioningly.

The mist moved back to baby John's crib and as it neared him, his eyes opened and he smiled and laughed. The faint blue mist entered into his mouth and nose and he breathed it in and then drifted back to sleep. Suddenly, Donna sat up in bed and screamed, "John!"

The truly sad part of the whole affair was that with his death his music began to quickly fade. For the most part because when his fans thought of him they also recalled the horrendous accident that had taken him from them. Donna, after learning of John's death the following morning was never the same mentally. John had been her entire reason for living up until baby John had been born. It was only then she discovered she only had enough love for one of them; that turned out to be her first love, John Sr. She became a mysterious recluse who managed to eek out a living on the royalties from John's music. In time, as baby John grew and began to greatly resemble his father Donna began to slowly transfer her love to him. However, even then he was never allowed in her bedroom. For that was where the treasure was kept. All of John Sr.'s memorabilia was kept there, safe and sound and only for her pleasure.

John Jr. however, was never all that bright and Donna kept him from the public schools as much as possible. But even that didn't keep him from learning. Somehow he managed to read, write and do his sums. Then, nearly twenty years to the day, later, Donna Sue Jacobs-Travis joined the love of her life and left her only child alone and for the most part, broke.

Luckily, by then, John had managed to graduate from San Marcos High School, a C average student, and had taken employment with a man named Paul Holmstead at his small grocery store on the outskirts of western San Marcos.

Nearly a month after John buried his mother beside his father; Paul called him into his office and gave him the bad news. He was going to have to let John go. Business was slow and he just couldn't afford to keep John on the payroll any longer. John never questioned it. He thanked Paul for the job he had had, then pulled his ball cap down low on his ears, stuffed his wages in his pocket, then turned and walked from the store and onto the street. He stood silently and looked left and right. With his fingers stuffed in his pockets, he walked across town to highway 80 east, then walked another five miles to the cemetery and stood over his mother's and father's grave. He read the headstones over and over, not knowing what else to do or say.

JOHN EDWARD TRAVIS

1-23-1965 10-23-1985

He Just Missed Being a Star

DONNA SUE TRAVIS

5-24-1965 10-21-2005

She Loved John 'Til Death

Rejoined Them

After reading the headstone until tears slid down his cheeks, he knelt between them and laid a hand on each of them. His father's grave was long level, whereas his mother's was still mounded with red soil and plastic flowers and wilted wreaths that someone had sent.

"Momma, Daddy," John said sadly with his chin on his chest and his blue HOLMSTED'S GROCERY ball cap wadded in his fists, "I lost my job today. Paul said business was slow. Seemed the same as always to me. But I guess he would know better than me. So, I don't know what I'm gonna' do. You know I ain't too smart. But somehow I'm gonna make ya proud o' me. I promise. I gotta go home now. I gotta figure out what I'm gonna do. I love ya and miss ya. Daddy, I wish I could have knowed ya some. I'm sure ya was a good man; for momma to have love ya so. I wish I could have."

John sat there on his knees and heels for a few long seconds, as if listening to an answer. Then he stood, pulled his cap down on his head snugly and walked away from the graves. As he walked hesitantly away, he looked back over his shoulder periodically, wiped his eyes and nose on his hand, then on his pants leg. He shoved his fingers into his pockets to the last knuckles and hunched his shoulders as he walked. Finally, he turned and waved, then walked on to the highway.

At the highway he stuck his thumb in the air and walked backwards so people could see him and know he wasn't a threat to them. He was just a young man, going home from visiting his folk's graves.
CHAPTER TWO

A few hours after John left the cemetery a late model pickup slowed to a stop on a secondary road in the desert like emptiness southwest of Wimberley. The passenger door opened and John climbed out of the cab. He waved and thanked the man for the ride. As the pickup sped off John, stuck his fingers in the tops of his pockets and started walking down an all but abandoned strip of weed-grown asphalt.

John walked silently, his eyes on the ground. As he came around a slight turn that dipped down into a shallow valley his house came into view. It was nothing special, just a native stone house with a front porch and a shake shingle roof. Near the center was the chimney for the fireplace. Off to one side was a small storage shed that was all but overgrown by weeds, prickly pear and vines. John knew the little shack was bone empty and wondered how long it would take for it to finally give up and cave in.

He stepped up on the porch and pushed the front door open. He went through the sparsely furnished living room and into the kitchen. He looked in the refrigerator. It was, for the most part, bare. He removed a carton of milk, opened it, smelled it, then drained it. He threw the carton in the trash and walked back through the house, down the hallway and stopped outside a closed door.

He stood with his hand resting on it and his head lowered. His other hand rested on the imitation cut glass knob. As far as he knew, in his twenty years of life, he had never set foot in this room. It was his mother's room and private. She had spent nearly ninety percent of her time in this room and had never, that he could remember, invited him inside. Now, he had to know what was so special about it. It was now his. The house, the land and everything on it was now his. The Will had been very clear, John Travis Jr. inherited everything.

"Forgive me Momma," he whispered, turning the knob. "I have to know," he added, pushing the door open slowly.

As it opened fully it squeaked on its hinges, sending shivers up his spine.

He stepped slowly into what amounted to a shrine to his father. Publicity pictures, concert announcements, three gold records on the wall, an acoustic guitar stood in a stand at the foot of the bed and against the wall. In another stand was the Fender Stratocaster. A microphone was in a mic stand and on a small upright piano was a file folder of music.

John looked around, touching things slowly, tenderly. He kept glancing at the photographs. He was nearly an identical twin to his late father. He brushed his fingers across one of the life-size cutouts of the famous star and realized tears slid from his face and dripped to the floor.

"Why didn't she ever tell me?" he moaned miserably. "Maybe she thought I knew all along; that someone told me all about him. No one ever did. They must have thought she told me. She never did." He shook his head slightly, then picked the acoustic guitar up from the stand and sat on the edge of the bed. He held the guitar awkwardly and strummed the far out of tune strings. He grimaced and looked down at the guitar. It was a Martin D-10. Whatever that is, he thought.

"I can learn," he whispered, looking up at the photographs of his father. "I will learn! Someone will teach me!"

He sat the guitar back on the stand and looked around slowly once again. He touched things gently, reverently, inspecting everything, memorizing every nook and cranny of the shrine-like room.

"I'll do it for you, Momma," he promised seriously. "And you too, daddy. I'll become a star, just like you were. But, not for me. Just you. I'll bring you back to life through your music."

John opened a closet door and looked inside. He found the two guitar cases and lay them open on the bed. He laid both guitars in their respective case reverently, then closed the tops and latched them. He got a backpack from his own room and put the file folders of music and songs in it. He took his money from his pocket and counted it carefully, then stuffed it back deep.

The next morning as the sun was coming up he walked back to the highway. He had a guitar case in each hand and his back pack on.

He was walking determinedly down the road when an old pickup pulled up beside him and stopped. He looked at the white haired man and smiled. He laid the cases in the bed of the pickup with his backpack and climbed in the cab.

Cotton Stubbs thought he might be seeing a ghost as he looked at this young man. He knew it was John Travis Jr. "Come on John," he said with a friendly smile. "Get in here boy. Yore lettin alla my air-conditionin' out!"

John laughed as he closed the door, noting that both the driver's window and the passenger window were wide open.

"Boy, sure is hot already, huh?" John said tipping his hat to the old man. "How'd you know my name?" he added as an afterthought.

"Hell son, yore tha spittin image of your pa!" Cotton exclaimed seriously. "I'd be a damn fool not ta re-cog-nize you! Didn't know you was a guitar man, though."

"Guitar man?" John asked, then realized what the old man meant. "Oh, no sir," he said. "I just got two of 'em. They were my daddy's."

"That a fact?" Cotton asked suspiciously. "You play 'em? Or sing?"

"No sir," John replied. "I'm gonna find someone to show me. I promised Momma and Daddy I'd get famous and make them proud of me. They're both together in Heaven now. My daddy died when I was a baby. Momma passed last month."

"I knowed your folks," Cotton said. "Tended both of their funerals. Knowed 'em way back when. Your pa was a hell of a guitar player. Sing too! Never seen, nor heard nothin like 'im before, or since. Sounded like five guitars being played at once. Used all his fingers at once! Musta had ten on each hand!"

"He musta been good, then!" John said.

"I quit playing before I ever found anyone as good," Cotton said. "Damn hard row to hoe, son. Takes years of practice to play one of them damned things. Flusteratin all ta be damned, too! But, yore young yet."

John stared out the window at the highway and scenery as they came into San Marcos. He realized they had fallen into silence, lost in their own thoughts.

"I'll carry ya over ta I-thirty five. You'll be needin' ta go ta Austin. Lot of fine understandin folks in Austin."

"Well, sir," John said, "I appreciate the ride and the advice."

"Good luck son," Cotton said, pulling to a stop near the service road. "You'll need it. It's rough out there."

John nodded his head and opened the door. He slipped into his back pack, then grabbed the handles of the two guitar cases and lifted them out of the bed. As the pickup drove off he walked across the service road, under the highway, then up the on-ramp on the other side.

He stood on 1-35 north with his thumb in the air and watched the traffic zoom past him as if he had leprosy. The sun was blistering hot and soon he was drenched in sweat. Finally, exasperated, as the sun was dropping into the west, he picked up the guitar cases and started walking north toward Austin; thirty miles away.

As he walked he thought about what he was going to do. He only had about two hundred dollars cash and no immediate prospects for getting more. He knew absolutely no one in Austin and really didn't have a clue what he was going to do. It was a mad mission with little chance of actually working. But he would give it his best shot and if he failed, well, no one could say he hadn't even tried.

He knew it was silly to depend on blind faith, the luck of the draw, chance! But, what else did he have? Nothing. Two guitars he couldn't play and a stack of music he couldn't read.

Well, he finally decided, as he walked along the highway in the dark, his only light from the passing cars that swooshed past as if being chased by demons, I have nothing to lose. Plus, I promised Momma and Daddy that I would make then proud of me! I at least gotta try, or hang my head in defeat. I will never do that, without trying first!

The highway seemed to stretch on forever into the night and the traffic zipped past him endlessly. He was soon exhausted and walking in a trance like state. He hadn't slept well and had gotten up early and set out on this, what he now considered, _foolhardy_ , mission. But, he had given his word, made his promises, and now he would live by them, regardless of his chances of success or own personal comfort. Some little something inside him seemed to whisper in his ear that he was _going_ to make it. Somehow.

He realized he was staring into the dawn and seeing the fading street lights of Austin in the distance. He was exhausted, no doubt, but still he seemed to step a little lighter and his store of youthful energy seemed to return. He felt a slight rush of excitement in his chest and his heart seemed to beat a little harder and a little faster as his destiny neared from out of the early morning mist. But still even with that his arms ached miserably, an ache as he had never felt before. He hadn't realized how heavy the two guitars would become over a period of hours.

He walked down an exit and at the traffic light turned to the left and downtown Austin. The traffic grew steadily heavier and faster. But still it seemed to not move quite as fast as it had the night before. He figured people were not quite as anxious to get to work as they were to _leave_ work. He smiled, knowing he had often felt that way. He had also learned that once he got to work he forgot about not wanting to be there and enjoyed his time there.

He walked down the sidewalk several blocks, passing several storefronts before seeing a large sign that read HALL'S MUSIC EMPORIUM, in bright red letters on a white background. Then he saw a smaller sign that read INSTRUMENTS and ALL YOUR MUSICAL NEEDS. He crossed the street and as he neared the door he saw a wide collection of musical instruments in the showroom. He figured if anyone could teach him how to play the guitar it would be the man who owned this wide array of instruments. Wouldn't he have to know how to play them all? Wouldn't he have to be able to in order to demonstrate each instrument to potential customers?

He was about to sit the Strat case down and pull the door open when he saw the black lettered "CLOSED" sign. Underneath was a store hours schedule. It would not open until 9:00 A.M. He sat down to wait.

He had a guitar case on each side of him and his arms crossed on his knees. He rested his head on his crossed arms and was soon drifting into sleep. He was exhausted.

The rattling of the keys in the door lock woke him up. He startled and looked at the door, seeing no one. He stood and stepped over to it, pulled it and it opened. He realized it had been unlocked from the inside. He picked his cases up, struggled to open the door, then stepped inside the coolness and dimness of the big clean smelling store.

"Mornin' son," a man's pleasant voice said off to one side. "You're almighty anxious for something. Maybe I can help you?"

"Maybe," John replied sitting the cases down. "Can you show me how to play these?"

"Fraid not," the kindly man said. "I'm a brass and piano man myself."

John studied the tall, elderly, white haired man as if he had heard his answer wrong. Deciding he had heard right, he took the backpack off and removed one of the files of music from it. "Can you read this?" he asked, handing the man the thick folder.

The man took the file and walked over to a Steinway, grand piano and took several sheets of the music out. He studied them for a few seconds, then looked up at John. "Did you write this?" he asked.

"No, Sir. My daddy wrote 'em before he died."

"I'll be damned," the man exclaimed half under his breath. "I thought the name was familiar. Well, let's see if they work. Unusual arrangement," he mumbled, placing the sheets in front of him. After a second of concentration he began playing them flawlessly.

John stood big eyed watching every move the man's hands and feet made. To him, every move the man made made perfect sense. It was like a roadmap in his mind and for some reason he knew he could replicate what the man had done.

"Beautiful!" the man said with a big smile, beginning to rock with the beat of the music flowing from his fingers across the ivory keys. "Your daddy was a genius!" he said when he finished the piece.

"It didn't look that hard," John said. "Mind if I try it?"

"Sure, help yourself," Hall replied looking smug as John took a seat on the bench.

After three false starts John smiled up at the man and said, "Ain't as easy as it looked. Is it?"

The man laughed. "No, nothing ever is..." He began to stammer as John's fingers began to find the keys in the proper sequence and the music began to flow from the Steinway.

"I'll be damned," the man whispered. "A real idiot savant! Right here in Hall's Music Emporium!"

John continued to play the song until he reached the end. He looked up with a smile. "Pretty simple, really. Once I got the hang of it. Thought it would be harder."

"Let me show you another," Hall said. "It's a little harder. See if you can play it."

The man chose a sonnet from _Midsummer's Night Dream_. When he finished and stood, John sat and as if replaying the man's performance in his head, he played the sonnet flawlessly from beginning to end.

"Amazing!" Hall said breathlessly.

"Do you know anyone who can show me how to play the guitar?"

"Can you sing?" the man asked ignoring John's question.

"Don't know," John shrugged his shoulders. "I've never tried."

"Can you read?"

"Of course!" John sounded insulted.

"I'll play your daddy's song and you sing the words in tune with what I play, okay?"

"Okay, I'll try," John replied, figuring he was about to make a complete fool of himself. But he had made his promises to his folks and he would do what he had to do to keep those promises. Better to learn early on if he had what it took, or not, he figured.

Hall began replaying the music and to his complete surprise John came in perfectly in time and tune. His voice was clear, crisp and came from the very bottom of his diaphragm. He was as surprised as the merchant.

At the end of the song both of them were surprised by the enthusiastic clapping from behind them. They both turned to see a very pretty young woman standing behind them clapping excitedly. She appeared to be in her late teens or early twenties. She had long tawny colored hair and deep blue eyes. John thought she maybe stood five six or seven and maybe weighed a hundred and ten pounds or so. She wore casual clothing and filled them out nicely. John stood speechless, his mouth open, staring at the beautiful girl in front of him.

"You sure have a beautiful voice," she said, realizing the discomfort her interruption had caused John. "I thought it was Angels when I came in."

"Thank you," John replied shyly. "I'm John Travis. I promised my Momma and Daddy that I'd become famous, just for them. Can you show me how to play the guitar?"

"I'm Judy Rivers," she said offering him her hand. He took it gently and held it maybe a little too long. "No, I can't. I just came in for a set of drumsticks for my little brother. Nice to meet you though, Mister Travis."

John's expectant smile dropped. He realized this was going to be a lot harder that he had first believed. He felt tenseness in his stomach that he had never felt before.

Hall stepped forward from the piano bench, "Drumsticks? We have quite a collection to choose from. If you will follow me, Miss." Hall walked off through the store eager to make his first sell of the day.

Judy stood staring at John with obvious attraction. "Good luck, Mister Travis," she said, not really wanting to leave this handsome young man.

"Thank you," John said with a trace of disappointment in his voice. Would you call me John? I don't want to put on airs an' all."

"Sure," Judy smiled, nearly laughing. "If you like. Maybe you could go to a bar where they have live music. Maybe someone in a band could show you some things."

"Shoot, I wouldn't know how to act in a bar," John said seriously. "Never been in one before."

"If you intend to make it in the music business, you'd better get used to it," Judy stated seriously. "That's where everyone gets started."

"Are the drum sticks for you?" John asked curiously.

"No," Judy replied, looking for the salesman. "They're for my little brother. He's taking band this year. He wants to be a drummer."

John nodded his understanding, then looked back longingly at the piano. He put the sheet music back in the folder and the folder back into his backpack, then slipped into it. He picked the guitar cases up and started for the front door of the store.

"I'll see you," Judy said to his back, thinking he was a little strange. "Good luck, again."

John stopped and turned back around. "Would you go with me," he said. "To a bar? My treat. Where they have live music. I would never harm you, Judy."

"Do you have a car," she replied after a few seconds, realizing she would be perfectly safe with this innocent young man.

"No," he replied, shaking his head sadly, then glanced back at the piano.

"Driver's license?"

"No," he replied, shaking his head again.

"Where do you live?" she asked.

"Wimberley."

"Where are you staying here in Austin?"

"No place, yet," he confessed. "I just got here."

"We have a garage apartment at our house. You can rent it, if you want," she said.

"Don't have much money," he confessed.

"We'll work something out." She smiled largely. "Come on."
CHAPTER THREE

Judy drove overly cautious it seemed to John. She was a very feminine and animated speaker. Once she warmed to him a little she talked non-stop about her family, brother, dreams and what she was studying in her junior year in college. She was attending the University of Texas at Austin and she was majoring in business with an elective in accounting.

She drove from Hall's Music Emporium, which was actually a long ways from down town, to a nice middle income residential neighborhood. John rode in silence, listening to Judy talk. He found he loved listening to her and watching her while she talked. He had been a little surprised when she had taken a pair of small rectangular eye glasses from her purse and put them on in the car. His heart melted.

Her car was an oxidized, faded, light blue Monte Carlo Sport. The interior was worn and torn. The fenders were dented and one of the back windows was a piece of cardboard cut to fit, duct-taped in place. The passenger door hung on worn hinge pins and had to be lifted slightly before it would close properly. Despite all its faults it seemed to run perfectly and had plenty of get-up and go.

Their house was a one story half-brick from the sixties. In the middle of the roof was a chimney for a fireplace. Around it, the shingles were bare in places and in obvious need of replacement. It was pretty much the same design as the rest of the houses in the tract. The grass in the yard was pretty much like the shingles on the roof; bare in places and a dried out tannish-brown. There was an abandoned bicycle leaned up against the three steps up front porch. Two four-inch square posts held up the small roof over the porch. John figured it was only there to protect the rusting black mail box on the left-hand side of the plain wood door with a diamond shaped window high up.

In the driveway two cars and a pickup sat. The pickup was up on blocks and had been for quite a while from what John could see.

"Looks like the girls are here," Judy stated a hint of disappointment in her voice. "Avon girls," she clarified.

John didn't have a clue what she was talking about. He followed her to the door and inside feeling conspicuous and just a bit out of place.

In the living room there were eight women sitting on every available place. The whole house smelled like a perfume factory. John was nearly overwhelmed by the cloying stench of the many different scents. It was thick and he could taste it on his tongue. He rubbed his nose, as Judy closed the door behind them.

"Now, that's what I call a handsome man!" Misty Rivers stated in a knowing tone, when she looked up at the sound of the closing door. Misty was tall, blond and in her late thirties or early forties. She was still very attractive and not bashful about checking John out from head to foot.

"Behave Mom!" Judy said, turning slightly red in the face, turning from the door and surveying the women. "This is John Travis. He wants to look at the apartment."

"I hope he does more than just look!" Misty laughed suggestively. The other women laughed and commented, nodding their heads in total agreement with Misty. They all nine looked at John lustfully, as if any one of them would, and could, eat him in one bite if given the chance.

"Come on John," Judy said embarrassed at the wantonness of her mother and her friends. "I'll show you the apartment." She took him by the arm, held it possessively tight and led him through the house and out the back door to the garage apartment.

"Lucky girl!" she heard one of the women say as they went through the kitchen.

"Sometimes they are very embarrassing!" she said disapprovingly.

"I'm mostly honored. They don't mean no harm," John defended them. "They're just teasin' me an' playin' a little."

"Hah!" Judy barked.

In the living room Misty looked around like the cat that ate the canary. She defended herself by saying, "Well, you know I've been single for five years now. I'm gotta take it where I can get it!"

"Yeah me too!" several of her friends agreed at once. Then they all laughed when one of them said "Any place! Any way, too!"

John gave Misty a hundred of his two hundred dollars and carried his guitar cases to his new three room apartment. There was a bedroom and a bathroom and living room. He laid the cases on the bed and opened them. He sat looking at the guitars for a long time. Not having a clue what he was doing, he began to try and tune the Martin acoustic.

He had been at it for over an hour when a knock sounded on his door. He lay the guitar aside and opened it. A young boy stood looking up at him. He was maybe twelve, John guessed, with brown hair and blue eyes. It was easy to tell he was Judy's brother. He stood beside a taller and older boy. The boy, John guessed, was maybe eighteen. He was tall, with red hair, freckles across his nose, and green eyes.

"Hi John, I'm Billy, Judy's brother and this is my friend Danny." the boy said with a large friendly smile. "Can we come in?"

"Hi," Danny said a little shyly.

"Sure, come on in," John said, holding the door and stepping back out of the way.

"Danny plays the guitar," Billy said, leading the way into the room.

"Just a little," Danny confessed. "I'm not very good. But, I brought these. They may help, some," he said showing John the books and videos he had brought.

"What are these?" John asked, looking at them and the tapes, then handing them back.

"Training books, man. To study. You won't learn to play the guitar over night!" Danny stated incredulously.

"Will you show me?" John asked, seeing his potential salvation.

"That's why I'm here, my man," Danny replied smugly. "So, let's get started," he added stepping to the bed and looking into the guitar cases. He stood as if frozen in place. He dragged a deep breath into his chest and sighed a breathless, "Holy Shit!" as if in disbelief. "You know what you got here?"

"Two guitars in cases," John replied, not having a clue what Danny was talking about.

"Man, you got maybe the two _best_ guitars _ever_ made! May I?" he asked, indicating his desire to pick up the Martin D-10.

"Guess you'll have too if you are going to show me."

Danny picked the Martin up out of the case reverently as if afraid he would damage it. He sat carefully on the edge of the bed, made a G cord on the neck and strummed the strings. "Aaaahhh! No wonder you can't play these," he grimaced painfully. "I guess you don't know how to tune them."

"I don't know anything," John confessed truthfully, shaking his head sadly.

"We got a long way to go, then," Danny grinned knowingly. He began to tune the guitar until it was close to perfect.

"Mess it all up again and let me try," John said when Danny had pronounced it in tune.

Danny smiled and began turning the tuning pegs until the tuning was devastated. When he was satisfied he handed the guitar to John and watched him, smiling with doubt.

"I'm usually pretty good about being able to do things after I see them done once or twice," John said tuning the low E string, then moving to the A string, one string down. He then went through D, G, B, and finally the high E. He then made a G cord and strummed the strings. It was pretty close to dead in tune.

"Awesome!" Billy declared.

"Don't bull-crap me, Man!" Danny said, slightly angry. He felt John was playing him; that he could really play the guitar and was just trying to embarrass him in front of Billy. He knew he needed a drink, or a smoke! Hell, even a toke! It was unbelievable that this guy could pick tuning a guitar up on the first go around. "Do you know how to play or not?"

"I don't," John answered sincerely. "Like I said, I can usually pick something up after seeing it once or twice."

"Yeah, right," Danny said with a knowing grin. "Wait 'till you see these!" He held the discs up knowing there was no way John could pick up Kurt Hammitt's licks the first time around. Not even on the tenth time around he was betting. "I've been studying these for months, now, and still can't do 'em right every time."

"Let's see 'em and see, then," John said. "Maybe I won't be able to do 'em at all."

"We'll have to go to the TV in the living room," Billy said, getting up and going for the door.

John laid the guitar in the case, then he and Danny followed Billy. Danny noticed and said, wonderingly, "You're not bringing it?"

"What for," John asked ignorantly.

"Well, to practice on. What else?"

"Either I'll remember it or I won't, right?" John asked seriously.

Danny smiled sensing John's total failure. Inside he was pleased beyond belief. It would do his heart good to see this strange guy fail. "Yeah, right!" he said, following Billy.

In the living room Billy turned the TV on and inserted one of the video discs into the DVD player and started it. They sat in silence watching the world class guitar player run through his licks, explaining as he went.

"I never knew a guitar could be played like that," John said breathlessly, his eyes bulging in disbelief.

"He's a _master_ , that's for sure!" Danny agreed. "Think you can do it like that, John?" he asked facetiously.

"Maybe," John smiled back. "Ain't but one way to find out. Right?"

Danny and Billy laughed, then hurried to follow John back to his apartment to see if he could do all the licks they had just seen.

"Did you _really_ get _all_ that?" Billy asked, disbelievingly.

"I think so," John confessed confidently. "It's like I have a guitar fret board in my mind and my fingers just know where to go and what to do. Maybe not _exactly_ , but I think with time I'll get it down exact."

"Yeah, maybe in about twenty years!" Danny said sarcastically.

As they passed through the kitchen Judy said, "John, you don't have to prove _anything_ to these two yo-yos!"

"Go away, Judy-pooty!" Billy said meanly, as younger brothers will often do.

"Be nice to your sister, Billy," John said. "She is the only one you have. If something bad were to happen to her, how would you live with how you were mean to her?"

"Ain't nothing gonna happen to her," he replied confidently.

"So, you can predict the future, now?" John asked, opening the door of his apartment and stepping inside.

When they were out of hearing of the kitchen, Misty said, "He'll have to prove himself sooner or later. He's a big boy, he can handle himself."

"He's so kind and innocent, I don't like them trying to embarrass him, that's all," Judy replied, looking at the door the boys had just gone through.

"He's certainly not the smartest man I've ever met," Misty said thoughtfully. "He'll have to face harsher critics if he's ever to make something of himself. So, he may as well get used to it now. It's a tough profession for anyone. Can he sing?"

"You would not believe how he can sing, Momma," Judy replied dreamily. "His voice is _so_ beautiful," she added.

"It'll have to be," Misty said. "Just think of all the singers in the world. Shoot, in Austin for that matter. And consider how many have made it big in the music business. That will give you an idea of his chances, before you get your heart all set on him being famous."

"But he'll make it, Momma," Judy assured her.

In the apartment over the garage, Danny went into the bedroom and grabbed the D-10 from the case. He carried it back into the living room and handed it to John, who had taken a seat on the sofa.

John took a few seconds to look at the fret board, as if memorizing it. He held the guitar and gripped the neck up toward the headstock, then closed his eyes and began to visualize what Kurt Hammitt had done on the DVD.

"Show us what you know, _Superstar_ ," Danny said facetiously, then laughed enjoying John's uncertainty.

"I think he did this," John said without opening his eyes or looking at the fret board. "But, I never heard it in a country song before..."

"It's not," Danny interrupted. "That's Kurt Hammitt of Metallica fame. Awesome guitarist! You'll never be that good, so don't get your hopes up..." he continued, then his voice faded off as he began to hear the same music licks he had heard on the DVD.

Danny stood up, his face turning red in anger. He glared at Billy, then at John. He began to tremble, believing he had been played for a fool. "Why?" he demanded, glaring at Billy. "I've never done anything to you! But be your friend! Why do you shame me?" His voice held a note of very deep hurt and disappointment.

John looked up innocently. "I've never played a guitar before, Danny. I promise," he said honestly, bewildered at Danny's anger. "We never..."

"It's all _your_ fault, Billy!" Danny yelled, his reasoning evading him. "You brought him to show me up! Embarrass me! I thought we were friends!"

"Somes got it and some ain't, Danny," Billy replied, not realizing how insanely upset Danny really was. "You ain't! Not like John. Besides, Danny, Judy brought John here, not me!"

Danny glared at the two, turned, and stomped to and out the door, slamming it hard behind him.

"What's wrong with him?" John asked innocently, his eyes indicating his absolute confusion.

"He don't seem to be real stable, huh?" Billy grinned, failing to realize the seriousness of the incident.

"Guess not," John agreed, not knowing what else to say, then went back to running through the riffs.

Billy watched in awe as John's fingers began to move faster and faster. He stared at the concentration and intensity of John's expression. "I gotta go tell Judy!" Billy declared, jumping up and running from the apartment. He didn't notice that John hadn't even looked up from his practicing.

Billy came through the kitchen door like a tornado. "He is so awesome!" he said overly loud and excited.

"Why?" Judy asked, completely at a loss for Billy's excitement.

"John didn't miss a note!" he declared, gripping his fist in front of his face excitedly. "He played everything on the video like a pro! Danny said he was a fake! Just trying to embarrass him. Said it was all my fault! I said _you_ brought 'im! He still got mad and left. Probably won't be back, either..."

"Slow down and breathe, Billy," Misty laughed, enjoying seeing her baby so excited. "You'll pass out!"

Judy jumped up from the chair where she had been sitting talking to her mother. She ran from the kitchen excitedly, wiping tears of joy from her eyes. She thought her tears were for her gratitude that John had not been embarrassed.

John was still sitting on the sofa when Judy came through the door without knocking. She stood crying, staring at John without speaking. He lay the guitar aside and stood up. Whoa," he said softly. "What's wrong, Judy?"

"I'm so proud of you!" she cried, moving closer to him.

"You are? Why?" he asked innocently.

"Cause you showed 'em you're a genius!" she said looking lovingly up into his eyes. It was only then she realized she could love him quite easily and that he was quite a bit taller than her. And actually a lot bigger than he looked.

"But, I'm not, Judy," he said calmly. "Truth is, I'm not real smart. I just remember _some_ things better than most other folks. I got it from my Daddy, I guess. That's what Momma always said, anyway."

"You're gonna be famous, John Travis!" she said seriously. "Just you wait and see!" she added kissing him quickly on the lips. Then kissed him again, longer this time.

John stood like a statue, feeling the warmth and softness of her lips on his and feeling his heart swell and go out to this innocent girl who had trusted him from the moment they met. She was unlike any girl he had ever known. Not that he had ever known that many girls. He had certainly never had sex with one. They didn't seem to like him; considered him _strange_. And here was this girl he hardly knew kissing him right on the lips! He was stunned beyond words. He felt a swelling in his groin and stepped back, embarrassed.

"What?" Judy asked seeing John was deep in thought.

"Only my Momma ever kissed me before. And that was on the cheek!" he replied.

"I'm not your momma."

"When I'm famous, I won't forget you, Judy Rivers."

"I sure hope not, John Travis." She stepped back and dropped her arms to her side. She looked at him a little embarrassed at her forwardness. She had never acted so compulsively before. In fact she had never been alone with a boy in his apartment before. She turned away and walked out the door without looking back. She closed the door behind her gently, feeling as if she were floating.

John sat down on the sofa and picked up the guitar. He began running through the riffs again. As he did he added his own ideas and improvisations. His full concentration was on the neck of the guitar and the sounds coming from it. He had already forgotten Danny, _and_ Judy.
CHAPTER FOUR

Misty stood in the kitchen with her back against the sink. Her arms were crossed angrily across her waist. In one hand she held a cigarette and in the other was a steaming cup of black coffee. She glared at Judy, who sat at the table staring blankly at its surface. Tears slid down her cheeks and her eyes were red rimmed from her crying.

"So," Misty demanded her anger momentarily in check, "What's he going to do, Judy. And when's he going to do it? He's been here long enough! Over three months! He needs to make a move one way or the other!"

"I don't know, Momma," Judy replied, wiping her eyes. "All he does is practice his songs and read his music books."

"And eat like a damn horse!" Misty added sarcastically. "Well, you need to say something to him. You brought him here."

"I don't want him to go," she replied seriously. "I like having him around."

"You haven't been sleepin' with him, have you?" Misty asked in a concerned tone.

"I'm twenty-one! So, if I was, it would be my business, Momma!" Judy retorted.

"You're under my roof, Judy," Misty said seriously. "Everything here is my business! Now, answer me!"

"I haven't been sleeping with him, Mom! Okay?"

"Well, see what he's gonna do, then. It's still business 'till it gets personal."

John stopped in the doorway, hearing the last part of Misty's statement. He automatically assumed she wanted him to leave. He had become used to being rejected and took it all in stride. The only people who hadn't turned their back on him so far, was Billy and Judy, and Misty; up until now, that is.

"You want me to go, Misty?" John asked, innocently.

"No," Misty replied, before Judy could. "I just want to know what you're going to do, John, besides sit and practice, day in day out."

"Do about what?" John asked, completely missing her meaning.

"Money," Judy said angrily. "She doesn't think you're pulling your weight. You've been here three months already and all you do is practice playing the guitar. And eat, according to her!" She shot an accusing glare at Misty.

"I'm sorry," John said, not knowing what else to say. "How do I get started? Where do I go?"

"Ever hear of a recording studio?" Misty asked arrogantly.

John seemed to think hard, staring at the floor, before he looked directly at Misty and said, "I don't think so, Misty?"

Misty rolled her eyes heavenward, took a deep drag from her cigarette and sucked the smoke deep into her lungs, blew the smoke half out of her mouth, half out her nose, flipped the ashes in the sink, sipped her coffee. "You're worse than Billy!" she stated angrily.

"Billy's a good kid, Misty," John said with an honest smile. "I like Billy fine!"

Misty looked over at John with eyes of fire. She found it nearly impossible to believe a grown man John's age was so ignorant about life. Either he was the most ignorant man she had ever met, or he was a profound actor and should be in Hollywood instead of Austin!

"Judy, do something with him!" she said seriously. "Get him out of here! Take him to a recording studio or something! We need some money or Brant's Finance is going to foreclose on the loan and take this house from under us!"

John looked over and down at Judy. He wondered what Misty was talking about; take the house? Where would they take it? He thought it was firmly anchored to the ground, somehow. "What does she mean, Judy?" he asked innocently.

"I'll explain in the car. Now come on," she replied, jumping up, taking his arm and rushing him out the door. "Go get the acoustic guitar!"

*****

An hour later John stood on the sidewalk looking at the sign in the window. He pushed through the door and stepped inside. The studio was cool and clean looking. At a front desk a young woman sat. John figured the twenty something, brown haired girl had to be just a secretary or something. He stepped up to the desk and looked down at her, not really knowing what to say.

"Yes, can I help you?"

"I'd like to record a song and get famous for my Momma and Daddy," he replied honestly.

"Wouldn't we all," the girl mused. "Time is a hundred dollars an hour and there is a three week waiting list. Are you with a label?"

"No, I'm with Judy Rivers," John said with a smile.

The girl behind the desk thought hard, then shook her head negatively, "Doesn't ring a bell," she said. "So, should I book you for three weeks from now?"

"No," John said seriously. "I need to make the recording today. Or Misty's gonna lose her house."

"Well, that ain't happening in this town, mister," the girl stated knowingly.

"According to Misty it is!"

The girl looked at him blankly, then shook her head in disbelief. "She may lose her house, but you won't be recording a record in this town today. It just doesn't happen that way."

"Well, I can't wait three weeks either, miss." John turned and without a backward glance went back out the door.

He walked down the sidewalk to the car, opened the door and slid inside, closing it after him. He looked defeated.

"Well?" Judy asked.

"She said a hundred dollars an hour and the waiting list is three weeks long!"

"Well, let's try another one," Judy said, pulling out of the parking place and entering the flow of traffic.

"There's more than one?" John asked doubtfully.

"Hundreds, maybe," she said, then smiled over at him. God, she loved this guy more every minute. She wondered if he had been raised in a cave, in the middle of the wilderness of the northwest. He had absolutely no idea of life and the many things he was missing. What she didn't know was that John had never been anywhere but Wimberley, San Marcos, Euling and he had gone to San Antonio once to see George Straight in concert.

"Without a lot of money," he said defeated, "what's the use?"

"Someone will recognize a good thing when they see it. In this case, _hear_ it; _you_. I'll talk to them, okay?"

"Okay," he agreed readily. "I don't like talking to people. I'm not very smart, you know?"

"You'll do, John Travis," she said glancing over at him with love in her eyes and heart. John completely missed her meaning.

"I love you Judy," he said earnestly. She felt her heart leap in her chest, then plummet when he continued. "You're like a big sister, looking out for me."

He failed to see her smile sag and her eyes turn misty. She wanted to be more than a big sister to him. And she had just realized it. She was in love with this big lug she had only known for three months. And he looked at her as a big sister! Well, she decided, she'd have to change that!

She smiled inwardly, pulled to the curb and parked in front of a Pawn Shop. "Wait here," she said. "I'll be right back."

"Hope you're not gonna buy a gun and shoot me," he said seriously, pointing at the pawn shop sign.

Judy pointed to a sign that said **JACKSON RECORDING STUDIO** in large black letters. "Nothing that serious, yet," she laughed pointing at the other sign. "I feel lucky," she said confidently, climbing out of the Monte Carlo and striding straight to the door and inside without pause or hesitation.

She stepped into the clean, air-conditioned lobby and her confidence faltered on the way to the desk where a very pretty mid-twenties, black haired receptionist sat looking serious. The nameplate on the desk identified her as Sandra Jackson. She wondered if the woman was the owner, or the daughter, or wife, of the owner.

Sandra Jackson watched the serious young woman come through the door and saw her resolve falter slightly, then return. She hoped the woman had a pocket full of money she was wanting to spend on a recording session. Truth was Jackson Recording was heading for the rocks under full sail and rudderless. This woman could very possibly be their salvation. "May I help you?" she asked hopefully.

"You wanna make a million dollars before the end of the year?" Judy asked seriously, realizing she had nothing to lose by being bold.

"We all want that, Sugar," Sandra replied with a smile.

"You donate some recording time and I'll share my secret with you."

"Nothing's free, Sugar," Sandra replied, her heart faltering, realizing this woman was wanting a freebee. "If I don't like what I hear, who pays?"

"With my secret weapon you'll think your investment was a God-send. Deal or no?"

Sandra started to say no. Then she saw the fire burning in this young girl's eyes. She realized this girl was much too serious and confident. After all she would know within seconds if this girl could sing or not. She could always erase the tape and go back to sitting at her desk like a trap door spider, hoping, waiting for her next meal to come by. She had nothing to lose!

"How much time do you need and when will you be ready?" Sandra asked, deciding to give this girl a chance.

"You'll know within the first few minutes or so. You've got nothing to lose, really," Judy said, biting her lip nervously, afraid this woman was going to say no.

"True," Sandra said thoughtfully, knowing there was no one in any of the three recording studios. "I won't even run the tape until I'm convinced it'll be worth it. So, let's hear it, Sugar," she smiled sweetly up at Judy.

"I'll be right back," Judy said, turning to the door in a rush.

When she was gone Sandra picked up the phone and punched three numbers. She shrugged her shoulders and smiled. She loved this business. Who knew, at any moment another Elvis Presley, or Hank Williams could walk in off the street and make her a wealthy woman. "Toby, prepare studio three for a demo, please."

"You got a payer?"

"Maybe," she replied, not liking to admit she is giving away recording time and tape when they were in such disparate need of money. She replaced the phone and sat waiting.

When the door opened she thought she was seeing a ghost. She had seen this man on an album cover before. Well, maybe not. This guy wasn't near old enough to be on an album cover. He didn't look to be more than twenty or so.

"This is John Travis, Junior and I'm Judy Rivers, his manager. He's going to make us rich!"

"Quite a weapon," Sandra said with a friendly smile, recognizing the name of the country star from long ago.

"And Momma and Daddy proud!" John said with a large serious smile.

When he spoke Sandra had her doubts. He sounded far too _simple_ ; maybe a little retarded. Well, she thought, we'll know in a minute whether he's pulling my leg or not. She knew Judy seemed convinced.

"Follow me, please," Sandra said, leading the way to the studio door. "Let's see what ya got, big boy," she added with a hopeful laugh, then gasped silently when he opened the guitar case and she saw the antique Martin D-10.

At least he knew quality guitars when he chose one.

Sandra left the recording room and went into the sound booth. She and Toby watched as Judy and John prepared.

"No tape," Sandra said. "We'll just listen for a minute."

"Another freebee, Sis?" Toby grinned. "Either he has it or he don't," he added, crossing his fingers. "Our pockets pray he does! We're down to the bone here, Sis!"

"You ain't gotta tell me!" she replied sadly, reaching forward and flipping a switch on the console. "When you're ready, John," she said.

"I'm nervous as a blind cat in a dog kennel!"

"Just relax," Judy said. "Think about your momma and daddy up there listening to you down here. Sing for them, John. No one else." Judy stepped to one side and lowered the microphone so that John had to look up at it slightly.

John played the intro to his chosen song and got through the first line before he was interrupted by Sandra. "Hold it! Hold it!" she screamed excitedly.

John looked up nervously. Scared, starting to protest at not really being given a chance.

"Put this man on tape, Toby!" she said. "He's a miracle! We're talking contract before somebody else beats us to him! Pipe it through to me. I want to hear it all. We'll dub the band over him!" she continued going out the door and back toward her desk out front. "I'm callin' Allen!"

Toby laughed. He had never seen Sandra this excited before. Even when the _real_ Allen Jackson had chosen their studio to record one of his albums. He wondered what the real Allen Jackson thought of their Uncle having his name.

"Do it again, John," Toby said through the microphone, smiling. "Tape's rolling. We'll need ten or twelve of your songs."

Judy began to bounce excitedly. She hugged and kissed John on the cheek and lips.

"I only have my daddy's songs," John said honestly, smiling at Judy's excitement.

"We'll record the ones you want to record," Toby assured him.

"I want to record them all!"

"We don't have time for that, now. Just ten or twelve of them for now."

John shrugged his shoulders and began again. As the music flowed from the D-10 Toby began to rock from side to side with the beat of the beautiful country song he was hearing. And he didn't even like country music.

In the lobby Sandra was talking excitedly on the phone. She was inviting musicians to come and work with a new singer they had discovered. When the last of the five had agreed she hung up and dialed one more number. A look of worry crossed her face as she listened to the phone ring on the other end.

"Allen, I need some help," she said nervously when her uncle Allen answered his phone. "I've got a miracle in my studio. I need some money. Cash! To seal the deal and get him under contract! Will you help me?"

"Not another miracle, Sandra," he replied skeptically. "I don't know how many more I can stand."

"Just listen to this," she said, turning the volume up on her desk speaker and holding the phone close to it.

"Sandy! Sandy! Sandy!" Allen screamed into his phone, hearing all he needed to hear and knowing instantly that she had finally found a winner!

Sandra heard his tinny voice over John's singing, but decided to let him get a little more hooked before she brought the phone back to her ear and lowered the volume on the speaker. "Well, what'd you think?"

"I'll be there in half an hour with some money and a contract. Hold that boy tight, girl!" Allen said, then started to hang up.

"He ain't going anywhere, Uncle Allen!" she promised.

"Oh yes he is, too!" Allen disagreed, then hung up.

CHAPTER FIVE

When Allen and Adam Trevor, his entertainment attorney, came through the door Judy stood from behind her desk and greeted them nervously. She couldn't believe her Uncle Allen was smiling. A sense of foreboding came over her and she felt like she was about to get screwed.

"Where's your singer?" Allen asked seriously, extending his hand and smiling like a hungry cat.

"He's around," she replied evasively, dropping Allen's hand and taking Trevor's. It was warm and dry, as always. She smiled at him and he smiled back. She thought he was maybe one of the handsomest men she had ever met. She didn't know what he thought of her, though. He had never made even the slightest pass at her. She was nearly convinced that he was gay.

She was one hundred percent wrong. Adam was instantly aroused when his hand touched Sandra's. It was all he could do to keep from taking her into his arms and kissing her roughly, then raping her after he bound and gagged her. However, he knew she wouldn't go for that. She was not ready for the ' _rough trade_ '. And that was all he was interested in. If it wasn't rough, it wasn't right as far as he was concerned. He was a solid member of Fantasy's, in Kansas City, and proud of it!

"Well, let's get somewhere and sit down," Allen said impatiently. "I've got other things to do besides this."

Sandra knew Allen had his fingers in a lot of pies around Austin and San Antonio; even in New Braunfels! Everything from oil to cattle, real estate to insurance, he was a wealthy man and he loved his only niece beyond measure. He had given her the money to build her recording studio and keep it going for the past year. He had even paid Allen Jackson to record one of his albums there, without letting Sandra know, hoping to give her new business a boost. It hadn't worked out quite as well as he had hoped. For the most part all the big name stars were building their own recording studios in their multimillion dollar mansions and putting the independents, like Sandra, out of business. But, he would not be the one to tell her that. Now, he hoped this young singer would be her salvation. If she could make him a star, there is no way he would ever forget what she had done for him.

John and Judy shook hands with Allen, Adam and Toby when they entered the office from the recording studio where they had just finished the sixth song.

"Son," Allen stated knowingly. "You're gonna be a star. If you got the grit to handle it. Bein' on the road ten months out of the year ain't an easy job. You'll earn every penny you make. Believe me!"

"I promised my Momma and Daddy," John said simply, then took a chair beside Judy.

They sat across the long table from Allen, Sandra, Adam and Toby. John was straight across from Adam and Judy sat in front of Allen. The two groups looked at each other expectantly, hoping the other would make them rich. With the exception of Allen. He was already a multimillionaire. But, he was also from the old school that believed he could never have enough. Money was for the making and he fully intended to get all he could before he died, even knowing he couldn't take it with him. He had kids he would leave it to and a couple of charities he fully believed in.

"Mister Travis," Adam said, sliding a packet of papers over in front of him, "this is a recording contract. It will authorize Jackson Recording to promote you, sign you to tours with known names in the industry and book you in clubs and other venues across the world. It is a standard industry contract, one that all new names sign first and then if they become a _big name_ a new contract is negotiated. You'll want to read over that and then sign it."

John began reading the pages, flipping them over slowly, absorbing everything and missing nothing. Allen began to think John was slow. He would have been surprised to know that John was missing nothing contained in the agreement.

As he finished the last page and flipped the packet over he looked over at Judy, then at Sandra, Allen, Toby and finally Adam. "For all you want, you folks ain't offerin' much!" he said grimly.

"It's a _standard_ contract, Mister Travis," Adam assured him.

"Maybe," John replied. "I wouldn't know about such things. But I do know this; five percent ain't gonna get it. I want ten, or I walk. Plain and simple."

Allen smiled, liking John Travis Jr. even better. He also realized this young man was no dummy!

"We're providing _everything_ ," Sandra exclaimed. She couldn't believe this arrogant young fool was not going to jump at the chance to get a recording contract. "Ten percent is too much!"

"You provide everything except my voice, music and presence, Miss Jackson. Without that you have nothing."

"Point taken," Allen agreed with a chuckle. "Rewrite the contract, Adam. Give him fifteen percent on two albums and a hundred grand against royalties. I feel John is a winner and I'm willing to gamble on him."

"That's robbery, Uncle Allen!" Sandra said angrily. "Besides, I don't have a hundred grand!"

Allen smiled, not saying he knew down to the dollar how much Sandra had in her bank accounts. "Adam," he said, "write John a check for the hundred grand. I'll take him to the bank and open him an account, then we're going to have dinner and a drink. When we get back he'll sign the contract. _Then_ , we can get down to the business of making him rich and famous!"

Adam opened his briefcase and withdrew a large check book. He wrote it out and slid it over to John. John looked at it and grinned, then paled slightly. He showed it to Judy. She read it and became teary eyed. She kissed John. He turned red, being embarrassed at being kissed in front of these strangers.

"Sandy, start booking John in some clubs and book him to some tour or other. We'll be back shortly. Come on John," he said pushing back from the table and standing up. "You're gonna be a busy man from here on out."

"I want Judy to come, too." John said, as he pushed back and stood up.

"By all means, John," Allen agreed with a smile. "I wouldn't leave such a beautiful lady behind, either! No sirreee! You like steak, Little Lady?" he asked in a fatherly tone, placing his broad hand in the small of her back and following her from the office.

*****

After dinner with Allen, John and Judy went back to the studio and John signed the new contract with a smile. While they had been at the bank he had arranged for Allen to pay off Misty's house before Brant's Finance could foreclose on it. It was John's gift to her for her kindness, patience and firm hand to make him make a move. At the studio he learned he had been booked in three country western clubs in Austin and two in San Antonio. The following week he was booked in Houston, Dallas and Ft. Worth.

He hadn't had time so far to be nervous about appearing on stage in front of a large group of people. Now, he stood in the wings waiting to be introduced by the house band at Sloan's, a country western club in Austin. From where he stood he could see out across the dimly lit club; couples were shooting pool off to one side, the bar was packed with cowboys and girls, hostesses were carrying trays of beers and mixed drinks to tables and couples were dancing on the dance floor to the house band.

When the band finished their first set the lead singer, who John knew as Rusty, stepped to the microphone and said, his eyes moving across the roisterous club, "Folks, we have what we hope will be a special treat for you tonight. All the way from Wimberley, southwest of here, a young man by the name of John Travis, Junior has come here for his debut performance. Won't you give him a big, warm, country, rock-solid, Austin welcome? Now, Mister John Travis, Junior!"

John came out on stage. He looked out across the many people who, for the most part, ignored him. Still, he became nervous because very few acknowledged his presence on the stage. He was disappointed at their lack of attention.

"Come on John," Rusty said with a laugh. "They won't bite. Might throw a beer bottle at you, though," he added, laughing.

Several of the patrons laughed and acknowledged John's presence, mainly because of Rusty's humorous comment.

"I'm real nervous," John commented, loud enough to be heard by many more of the patrons in the club. They stopped and turned to see who this guy was up on the stage.

"I hear ya John!" a drunk patron called loudly from the audience. "Just sang one fer us, son!"

John smiled nervously, then stepped closer to the microphone. "These songs were written by my Daddy before he died in nineteen eighty-five. I hope I make him proud and you happy."

The crowd cheered, clapped, whistled excitedly and yelled encouragement to John. He relaxed a little more, feeling their friendliness.

"But, this one's for my Momma," he was nearly drowned out by the cheering crowd. "I'm sure Daddy wrote it just for her. But maybe for Mommas everywhere. They're sure special, right?"

The crowd grew louder.

"Sang fer us John!" the good natured drunk yelled again. "The night's gettin' old, son!"

John strummed the Martin acoustic and realized he couldn't hear it. He knew if he couldn't hear it, the crowd certainly couldn't.

"Maybe I'd better go electric tonight?" he said smiling wryly.

The crowd cheered good naturedly as Rusty carried the Fender Stratocaster out to John.

"That's right Johnny, ol' Son, play 'er loud," the drunk yelled, as Rusty plugged the Strat into an amplifier.

"Don't worry John," Rusty said with a smile. "It's happened to me more than once. You handled it well, though," he added encouragingly, slapping John on the back in a friendly manner. "Do it for those you love the most. Forget everyone else. They're just listeners amusing themselves. Your loved ones are _watching_ you."

Rusty turned and walked off stage. John strummed a G cord. It thundered over the noise of the crowd. "Now we're cookin'!" he yelled excitedly and drove straight into the intro to the song.

The crowd cheered him on wildly as he made the Fender Stratocaster stand up and sing. When he began to sing the crowd slowly fell completely silent and turned to look up on stage at him. They began to move closer to the stage and stare up in awe at him. He sang with his eyes closed, putting his pain and misery, love and anguish into the song to his momma.

Several of the women in the crowd began to cry at the earnestness of John's voice, when his own tears broke loose and slid down his face. Even some of the young men were seen to wipe their eyes on their long sleeves.

When the song finished and the last echoes of the strings fell silent across the silent, stunned, spellbound club, John opened his eyes and looked out across the silent assembly. He felt his heart sink, knowing he had failed. "I didn't mean to embarrass you kind folks. I'm sorry for ruining your evening. Please forgive me," he said, then started to turn from the microphone, feeling rejected. His eyes became misty, seeing Judy crying in the wings beside Rusty.

Before he could take his first step away from the microphone pandemonium erupted deafeningly throughout the large nightclub. He froze in his tracks, looking out over the crowd, his emotions nearing overload. He looked heavenward and offered a prayer of thanks, to God, his father and his mother. Then he looked across at Judy and mouthed the words, "I love you!"

She lowered her crying face into her hands and he turned back to the microphone. As he did, the crowd fell silent once again. "Sang fer us, John!" the drunk cowboy yelled emotionally, all choked up over the song.

"You wanna hear another of my daddy's songs?" John asked, as curiously as he was doubtful.

Again bedlam broke out with cheering, yelling, jumping, clapping and eagerness to hear him sing and play again.

"I think I just lost my job," Rusty told Judy offstage, placing his arm around her shoulders. "That boy's gonna be famous!"

"Yes, he is," Judy agreed, looking up Rusty's chest and nodding her head. "I love him so much!" she added.

"He's a lucky man, Judy."

"Thank you," she replied, turning to watch John perform on stage.

CHAPTER SIX

John slept alone in his bed as if it had been made up over him. There was not a wrinkle in the blankets or sheets, as if he hadn't moved since getting into it at six o'clock in the morning. He had come in from Ft. Worth that morning, took a shower, got in bed and died to the world. He was beyond exhausted. He had been going night after night for over two months. He had now been asleep for over eighteen hours.

Judy, Misty and Billy entered the room one behind the other, each carrying a tray. Judy's tray held a full blown breakfast, Misty's held a pot of coffee and a cup, Billy's was a tray of jellies and jams and a stack of toast.

"Okay, Superstar," Misty said importantly. "Up and at it. We have better things to do than wait on you hand and foot. Not that it's a bad job mind you, but the pay is below minimum wage and there are no fringe benefits!" She laughed with Judy when John opened one eye and peered at them suspiciously.

"What time is it?" he asked, sleepily.

"Nearly six," Judy replied, setting the bed tray across his lap, as he slid up and leaned back against the headboard. "Pay no attention to Mom. We have plenty of time. Relax and enjoy your breakfast. Feast, oh Great One!" she finished, bowing from the waist, her arms up over her head, swooping horizontal as she worshiped her god; like an Egyptian slave to her pharaoh.

"They're playing your records all over the radio," Billy exclaimed excitedly. "Danny is so mad he could spit!"

"He's just jealous," Misty said seriously.

"Like I told 'im, some got it and some don't. And he don't!" He laughed.

"Allen called, said tell you you're booked solid for the next year. So get your travelin britches on," Judy said, pouring John a cup a coffee, then stirring in cream and sugar.

"He can forget it, then," John said seriously. "I ain't goin without you! They can just forget it. I can make a living around here, just fine!"

"Well, I can't go on the road with you, John Travis," Judy said seriously. "We're not married."

"We can fix that," John said looking up from his plate. "If you'll have me, that is."

Judy caught her breath and began to cry.

"Are you proposin' to my only daughter, John Travis?" Misty asked seriously.

"Long as she don't reject me," John said thoughtfully. "If she does, then I take it back and we'll just be friends."

"Do you love her?" Misty asked.

"More than anyone I can think of, right off," he responded.

"Yes John," Judy cried, kissing him seriously. "I'll marry you."

"Judy, you embarrass me in front of your Momma," John said, his face scarlet. "Them kindsa things' supposed to be done in private!"

"Momma, Billy! Leave!"

"Not 'til you're married proper!" Misty stated seriously, crying into her hands.

"Now, that sounded final!" Billy declared happily.

For the rest of the day Misty and Judy were busy making wedding plans and calling people to invite. They learned quickly that there were not that many people they could invite. Finally they decided on a small service for just family and the few music industry friends they had. They chose a local neighborhood church and by the time their blood tests came back and the license bought, they were standing in front of the alter and the preacher who in short order pronounced them husband and wife.

By the time Judy had kissed all the available men the young single girls were out front waiting on the bouquet to be tossed; each hoping to be the lucky recipient.

When the double front doors of the small church burst open shouts of joy rose up from all the gathered guests. John and Judy came out, John looking cherry red with embarrassment while Judy turned her back on the gaggle of excited young girls and tossed her bouquet over her shoulder to them. The catcher screamed and hopped with joyous excitement while the other girls eagerly congratulated her, excited for her.

When this part of the ceremony was over, John and Judy ran down the steps of the church hand in hand and to the waiting baby blue stretch limousine provided by Jackson Records, the label John was now recording under and making rich beyond belief.

Unnoticed by almost everyone, Danny stood off to one side. His expression was of demented loss and anger. He slowly shredded his invitation, program and the pink carnation he had been given at the door of the church by one of the music business people. He stared after the retreating limousine as the shreds fell to the ground and were strewn by the light breeze. His eyes held a look of intense emptiness, sadness and longing. When the limo was out of sight he turned and walked down the street, headed for home, his bottle, pills and most of all, the .45 caliber pistol that had been a gift from his father for his twenty-first birthday.

At the wedding reception the cake was cut and shared by the bride and groom, then the guests. Champagne flowed, cigars smoked, gifts exchanged and congratulations expressed, hugs and kisses exchanged.

John shook so many hands that his own hand ached. He stood talking to Allen, Toby and Sandra while Judy consoled her mother. Misty was overcome with happiness for her daughter. Billy stood to one side beaming proudly that he had gained an older brother who was becoming famous and rich.

"Predictions are coming in that _ENDLESS_ is going gold this week," Allen told them. "Congratulations, John."

"Congratulate Daddy," John said seriously. "He wrote it. I just sang it for him and Momma."

"But you did it, John," Toby said. "You made it what it is."

"No," John disagreed. "Daddy gave me everything I have. Judy showed me how to make it come true. I owe her my life."

"Son, you are love-struck!" Allen said laughing good naturedly, slapping him on the back.

"Daddy wrote a song called _LOVE STRUCK_ ," John said thoughtfully. "Maybe I'll record it for Judy. I want to record them all before I stop," he added.

"Stick with us and you'll get the chance," Sandra promised.

"Wouldn't consider ever going anywhere else, Sandy," John promised. "You believed in me when no one else did. Except Judy," he amended. "I'll not be going anywhere."

"You're going on tour tomorrow," Allen said winking. "So you'd better get your new wife home and get some rest. You're gonna need it."

"He won't be getting any rest tonight," Sandra said with a knowing laugh and a lewd wink.

"I wouldn't, that's for sure," Toby admitted with an evil smile.

John looked momentarily confused at first. Then his face turned a bright red when he realized they were talking about him and Judy, ' _gettin' it on_ '! They all three laughed at his discomfort.

*****

John carried Judy down the long hallway to the bridal suite with seemingly no effort or strain at all. He opened the door and carried her across the threshold, then kicked the door closed behind them and set her on her feet. She immediately moved into his arms and kissed him soundly, passionately, taking him by surprise.

"Let's get busy," she said seriously, anxiously. "I wanna know what it's like!"

"What what's like?" he asked nervously.

"Sex," Judy stated simply, starting to get out of her wedding dress.

"The S-word sex?" John asked, his face turning slightly pink. "I don't know Judy. We just got married today. Don't you think we oughta wait some, first?"

"You're right, John," she said, then smiled, stepping out of her dress. "We'll wait," John breathed a sigh of relief. "Exactly two minutes. If you ain't ready by then, I'm raping you! Now, get naked stud; you got a job to do!" Judy dropped her bra, then started peeling her panties off.

John gasped, caught his breath, and slowly began to undress. He fumbled clumsily with his buttons while staring lustfully at Judy's nakedness.

"I'm nervous as a-a-a- dog in a cat...No, that ain't right," he stammered nervously. "Oh, Lord! Momma, close your eyes your boy's fixin to sin!"

"It ain't no sin, John!" Judy stated, moving over to help him. "We're legally married in the sight of God and the church! Now, get outa them duds, cowboy! You got a rodeo to attend!"

John became even more nervous until Judy pushed him back to the bed and he fell backwards. Judy got on her knees and began removing his shoes and socks. When they were on the floor, she moved up and unbuckled his belt and slacks, grabbed the cuffs and dragged them off of him. He immediately covered his groin with his hands. "Oh, Momma!" he moaned miserably.

"Oh, _Daddy_ ," Judy gasped, seeing the rising erection under John's hands. "Move your hands!" she demanded, grabbing the waistband of his jockeys and dragging them off over his feet and dropping them to the floor. She crawled up beside him making full body contact all the way. She sat up on his thighs and unbuttoned his shirt and shucked him out of it and the jacket he was wearing, then she lay fully on top of him.

"Don't you think it's too hot in here for this, Judy?" he whispered.

"Naw, it's about right!" she panted sexily.

"Oh, Momma!" he replied with not quite so much hesitation in his tone. He loved how Judy smelled and felt and how she made him feel as she broke down each and every one of his many defenses effortlessly.

Ten minutes later there was a horrendous tussle taking place under the blankets and sheets of the bridal bed. Chaotic whispering, gasping, moaning, laughing, sighing and heavy, eager breathing were the only sounds in the room.

"Oh, John!" Judy moaned lustily.

"Oh, Judy!" John replied, all inhibitions removed, as the night continued and they lost track of time.

They came out from under the tangle of sheets and leaned back against the heart shaped headboard. They both, in a hot tangled mess, wore an expression of wondrous disbelief.

"Judy?" John said in amazement, unaware that his hair was a tangled mess.

"Yes, John?" she replied, as if in shock, her hair also a ravaged mess, her makeup smeared sexily.

"I sure do like being married!" he said seriously.

"Me, too!" she agreed. "Wanna do it again?"

"Shoot yeah!" he said, diving under the covers and dragging her with him.

They fell into an immediate tangle of panting, kissing, moaning, soaring youthful passion, and again lost track of time.

Then the phone on the nightstand was ringing, interrupting their private world of heavenly bliss. And it just kept ringing urgently and importantly.

"Maybe you'd better answer that," Judy sighed blissfully. "It could be important."

"The phone?" John said seriously. "I thought it was in my head! Like a fire alarm or something!"

"We were gettin' pretty hot," Judy agreed, surprised at her own unharnessed passion. "Answer the phone, John."

"Yeah, at least a three alarm!" he agreed, rolling away from her and reaching for the phone. He snatched it up then leaned back against the padded headboard with the phone to his ear and mouth. "Yeah?" he asked.

"John?" Allen asked with a hint of laughter in his voice. "Allen, here. Hard night?"

"Just gettin started good," John confessed.

"I don't know where you been, Son, but I know where you're supposed to be in a half an hour from now!"

"Where?" John asked suspiciously.

"On the tour bus headed for Houston!" Allen said laughing. "So, I suggest you get your butt in gear and be on it in half an hour. You got ninety stops to make before Christmas."

"Half an hour?" John asked confused, wondering where the time had gone. "We're not supposed to leave until one o'clock!"

"That's right," Allen agreed. "It's twelve thirty now. Since we hadn't heard from you by lunch, we figured I'd better call and make sure you was still alive. Since you are I want you on that bus, John! Get moving!"

"We're on our way," John said, then rolled over quickly and hung up the phone. "Come on, Judy, we gotta go! We leave in half an hour!"

"To where?" she asked looking at him disbelievingly.

"Houston!" he replied seriously, swinging his legs off the bed and standing up.

"Time sure flies when you're havin' fun, huh?" she asked musingly.

"Yeah!" he agreed, reaching over and taking her hand. "Come on, girl," he laughed helping her from the bed and leading her toward the shower. "And just think, we're only just getting started!"

"Yeah," Judy giggled childishly.
CHAPTER SEVEN

When John and Judy came through the front door of the hotel the tour bus was waiting at the curb. Every window was filled with one or two smiling, knowing faces.

As they neared, the front door of the bus swished open with a sound of released, compressed air. When John assisted Judy up the steps and onto the bus, they were both met with good natured laughter, catcalls, wolf whistles and suggestions that all knew what the newlyweds had been up to all night long.

With their faces as red as they had ever been, the two newlyweds found their reserved seats and sat down, grateful that the bus was pulling away from the curb and into the flow of traffic.

"They all know what we been doin'," John whispered softly to Judy. "How'd they find out?"

"All newlyweds and married people do it," Judy assured him. "Even people who aren't married."

"I know that, but how'd they find out that we was doin it?"

"Because we're newlyweds," Judy assured him, patting his hand gently.

"They're a lot smarter than me," John replied. "I'd never think that about someone I didn't know very good, even if they was newlyweds!"

"You're smart where it counts, John," Judy assured him.

"I guess," he answered doubtfully, watching Allen coming down the center aisle toward them.

"You two look like hell run over!" he grinned knowingly, causing them both to flush scarlet once again.

"I sure feel good to look that bad," John assured him.

"I'll bet you do," Allen said with a smile, glancing at Judy. She quickly looked out the window to hide her embarrassment. "Surprises me you're still walkin," he added.

"We're not," John said seriously. "We're sitting, ridin' on the bus, Allen."

Allen looked at John with a blank expression. He wondered if John was being facetious or just plain ignorant. "Never mind," he said. "Your gear's on board. You'll need to warm up. The D-10s in the back."

"Warm up?" John asked with a confused look on his face. "I'm quite comfortable, Allen."

"Practice," Allen said wondering if John was just messing with him. "To get your fingers and voice warmed up some."

"I'm okay, honest," John replied looking Allen straight in the eyes.

"It's your future, Son. You decide what's best for it," Allen said, then stood and went back down the aisle to his seat. John watched him go. He turned to Judy and took her hand in his. When he glanced over at her she was sound asleep. He smiled and closed his eyes.

When he opened them again they were driving through downtown Houston. John watched the reflection of the bus waver along the plate glass windows. He saw people on the street look at the bus and wave excitedly. He waved back, not thinking about the fact that he could see out, but they couldn't see in. Still it was in his nature to be friendly, so he waved.

When they arrived at the Oiler's Stadium he was surprised to see all the other busses and eighteen wheelers already there. He was even more surprised when they walked inside and the stage was already set up and the sound check was being perfected for the night's performance. Around the stadium were several big screens with his picture on them, then the pictures changed to the other performers, then eventually back to John's. He found it hard to believe this was really happening for him. Or that it was happening so fast.

"Maybe we'd better go back to the bus until it's time to go on stage," Allen suggested.

"I think I want to go say hi to some of the fans who are already here, Allen," John said, pointing to a group of fans up in the stands.

"Well, just be careful, John," he cautioned. "There are nuts out there, too."

"I'll be alright," John answered seriously. "Who'd want to hurt me or Judy?"

"You never know, John," Allen replied. "That's why they're called nuts!"

For the next few hours John and Judy toured the stands introducing themselves to the fans who were already there. John signed autographs, accepted kisses and hugs and handshakes from adoring women and children and handshakes from men. He accepted compliments graciously and returned them when he could, concerning the women's dresses, their children, their hair and anything else he could compliment without offending them.

After he had moved on the people he had left behind talked about his down to earthiness, his simplicity, courtesy and seemingly lack of ego. To them, he was just one of them. Not one of the hotsey-totsey, famous singers who were far too good, and far too far above the average person to come and say hi and just visit for a few minutes.

As usual for John he was engrossed with his visiting and had lost track of time. However, Judy was right behind him, having the time of her life visiting with strangers who were making her husband rich and famous. They both looked up suddenly when over the intercom the announcer was asking John good-naturedly, to come join his band on stage and sing for the crowd.

John laughed, shrugged his shoulders, then took Judy's hand and together they ran down the long flight of stairs, out across the field to the stage. He waved his free hand all the way to the roar of the crowd. He left Judy at the foot of the stage in her seat and then went up on stage.

His face was projected on all the screens around the stadium. His name was written in bright neon lights across the back of the stage. Bright explosions like deafening cannonades exploded around him as he slipped the Fender strap over his head and across his shoulder, then started across the stage to the front. His theme music was thundering and the roar of the crowd nearly drowned it out as he took his place behind the microphone and began to sing _ENDLESS_ , the song that had landed him his recording contract.

When the song was finished, John said into the microphone, "That one was for my Momma. The rest are for you..." the rest of what he said was drowned out by the roar of the crowd.

Unseen by John, Judy, or any of the other people who would possibly know him was Danny Floyd. He stood sullen and angry, staring at the stage and John Travis, his sworn enemy. The reason for his own failure! The very reason for his own failure as a musician. Other than the fact that he had no talent. Or not enough to support a career as an entertainer. Still, he followed the same sullen pattern in Birmingham, Alabama, Jackson, Mississippi, Raleigh, North Carolina, Memphis, St. Louis, Kansas City, Tulsa, Dallas, and back to Austin. With every concert his hate and jealousy for John Travis escalated to the point of near insanity.

When the tour bus pulled up in front of Misty Rivers' Austin home, Danny Floyd was watching from his pickup down the street. His hatred soared, when Judy stepped off the bus. He could tell she was several months pregnant with John's child.

Misty stood in the doorway of her house and watched the members of the band unload John and Judy's gear and carry it into the house and Judy's bedroom. She tried unsuccessfully to contain her tears of happiness for her daughter. When she saw she was going to be a grandma the dam broke and her tears flowed. She ran to the bus and grabbed her swollen daughter in her arms, kissed her, then turned to her son-in-law and kissed him full on the mouth. John stood shocked speechless, watching the two women in his life walk back to the house whispering conspiratorially.

"Thanks for your help, boys," John said when the last of his gear was taken inside the house and the band members returned.

They shook John's hand then got back on the bus. They, like John and Judy, were exhausted and ready for a break.

When the bus was out of sight John turned and went into the house. He found Misty and Judy in Judy's bedroom turning the bed back and talking. He turned from the doorway hearing Misty ask Judy, "So, have you chosen a name yet?"

He looked in on Billy and smiled. Billy was sleeping the sleep of exhausted youth. He seemed to have not grown an inch in the six months John and Judy had been gone. Well, John thought, enjoy your childhood while you can, little man. It'll be gone before you know it.

When John went down the hall from Judy's bedroom, Judy told Misty, "Misty if it's a girl and Billy if it's a boy."

"Hopefully," Misty said facetiously, "it'll be smarter than it's daddy."

"Momma, behave!" Judy scolded. "John is smart enough. He's made us rich. He paid your house off and put money in the bank for you. I don't understand why you don't like him."

"I like John just fine," Misty said honestly. "He's just not real smart, that's all."

"He loves me and I love him," Judy stated firmly. "That's all that matters to me. He's so sweet and thoughtful. You wouldn't believe how his momma treated him. He was raised in virtual isolation from the world. He was home taught until he started high school."

"That explains a lot," Misty said.

"His momma loved him as much as you love me and Billy, Momma," Judy said.

"I don't doubt that," Misty replied tiredly. "Maybe she wasn't so smart either. Well, I'm going back to bed, now. We'll talk tomorrow."

"Her whole world was John's daddy," Judy told Misty. "When he was killed something inside her died, too. And she pined for him until she died. That is true love and devotion, don't you think?"

"Obsession, more like it," Misty replied.

"We're going to Wimberley tomorrow," Judy said changing the subject. "John wants to check on his house."

"Would you mind if me and Billy tag along?" Misty asked, stopping in the doorway. "Billy worships John, you know. He'd be disappointed not to get to spend some time with him."

"That'll be fine, Momma," Judy said seriously, then smiled sweetly. "We'll see you in the morning," she promised.

Misty smiled and went out the door.

Judy sat on the edge of the bed, then lay back rubbing her bulging stomach. She closed her eyes and smiled dreamily. "You'll be perfect Little One," she whispered. "Just like your daddy!"

"You sure make it hard on me," John said, sitting on the bed beside her, then laid his hand on her stomach. "Now I have to be perfect, too!"

"You're close enough to perfect for me," Judy said with a smile. "Come to bed, there's a storm brewin' down south."

"I just love a good storm!" John said, quickly undressing and climbing into bed beside her. He gathered her into his arms and held her tightly, kissing her passionately as his desire soared.

Just outside the window Danny sat listening, crying softly and rubbing the side of his head with the .45 automatic. "But, I loved you Judy! I loved you first!" he moaned miserably.

*****

The following morning John sat alone at the kitchen table. In front of him were eight glasses with different beverages for each one; from milk to Kool-Aid, water to coffee, soda to tea. He sipped each one slowly then seemed to consider if it was the one he really wanted to drink. Unable to decide he reached for another glass and sipped it slowly while watching a local news station on the small TV on the counter.

"Thirsty?" Misty asked him with an aggravated look, from the doorway.

John looked up with an undecided expression. "I have this driving thirst for something," he answered. "I don't know what, though. Ever been like that?"

Misty poured herself a cup of coffee and took a seat across from John. She studied him seriously, then said, "Occasionally. More often than I care for."

"Ever considered living in the country?" he asked, seeming to change the subject like changing drinks.

"For what?" she asked, then sipped her coffee.

"Freedom. Openness. Clean air?" he said. "A number of reasons. Billy could have a dog. A horse...Something to be responsible for."

"So I'm not doin' good enough to suit you, Mister Superstar?" Misty asked angrily, reaching for a cigarette.

"It's not that, Misty," John replied, failing to see her building anger. "You're doing fine with Billy..."

"Glad you approve!" she said sarcastically.

"I'm just sayin', a boy needs a pet and freedom from the bad influences in a town like Austin. A boy needs responsibility and a place to have it."

"I was raised here in Austin," she said defensively. "I turned out all right."

"Have you listened closely to the news lately, Misty?" he asked, indicating the little TV "Times are changin'. From what I've seen this morning, everything in a big city is a bad influence! Crime, drugs, gangs, police abuse..."

"What would I do in the country, John?" she demanded, knowing what he was saying was true.

"Relax, raise Billy. Help raise the baby. Be there for Judy. Be there for me. I'm not real smart, you know," he said, the last with a smile.

"I hadn't noticed," she smirked sarcastically.

"It's true," John said, completely missing Misty's sarcasm. "The only really smart thing I ever done was marry Judy. I love her more every time I see her. She's my obsession like my father was my mom's!"

"So, you're over trying to make your folks proud?" she asked.

"I done all I could, Misty," he said. "Now, it's about my family and fans. We have a child coming soon."

"I think you've made them proud as peacocks, John," she admitted, her eyes growing glassy with emotion. She was realizing that she really did love this young man who loved her daughter to distraction.

"You didn't wake me up when you got here last night!" Billy accused, coming through the kitchen door with youthful exuberance. He crossed to John quickly for a hug.

"I looked in on you," John said squeezing him hard. "You were sleeping so peacefully I didn't want to disturb you. A young man needs his rest, you know."

"Billy, what do you think about living in the country?" Misty asked seriously.

"Aaaawesome!" Billy exclaimed. "When do we move? Can I have a horse? Can I have a dog?"

"You two been talkin' behind my back?"

"No." John said at the same time Billy said, "No. Will we have some cows and a barn I can play in? You are so awesome," he continued looking over at John. "Danny is so jealous. He's been gone a lot though. They say Endless went Platnum! And Love Struck went gold! You're a mega-superstar! They say you're even being considered for Entertainer Of The Year! I'm so proud of you I could bust! So's Momma and Judy! You're our hero!"

John quickly covered his tearing eyes with his hands. Billy looked up guiltily, "I'm sorry, John," he apologized. "I didn't mean nothin', honest!" He began to look worried. Then Judy entered the room and crossed to John. She glared at Misty and Billy, "You two leave him alone! He's having a hard enough time without ya'll bothering him constantly! He's under a lot of pressure! Just leave him alone and let him relax!"

Billy stood and hugged John and kissed him on the cheek. John hugged him back with his free arm and kissed his cheek gently. "No, I'm fine," he said. "I'm just happier than I ever remember being; that I've made you all proud of me, too. Now I know Momma and Daddy are too."

"You're a wonder, that's for sure," Misty said with a smile.

"You're not mad at me no more?" Billy asked.

"I'd never be mad at you, Billy," John said seriously, awestruck that Billy thought he was mad at him. "You're my hero!"

"Really?" Billy asked surprised.

"Really," John assured him with another hug.

"Anyone considered breakfast," Judy asked seriously, looking from glass to glass on the table. "I'm caving in!"

"You're gettin fat!" Billy accused with a grin. "How can you be cavin' in? Looks like you're cavin' out, if anything! What'd you do to her John?"

Everyone laughed except Billy. He looked from face to face wondering what he said that was so funny. Finally, he began to grin innocently because they were laughing.

"Let's go to a restaurant," John suggested. "We can go to Wimberley from there."

"Sounds good," Misty and Judy agreed at the same time.

Out front, Danny Floyd walked past the house. He glared at the door, then the windows as he walked along planning his revenge.
CHAPTER EIGHT

Danny had been watching from down the street. He saw the Rivers and Travis families leave. When they were out of sight around the corner and had been gone for ten minutes he came out of hiding and walked down the sidewalk to their driveway. He walked up the driveway and around the side of the house to the back door.

At the back door he used silver duct tape to tape up a window pane, then broke it out with a handy brick; it made hardly any noise. He slipped latex gloves on, then reached through the opening and unlocked the door, pushed it open and entered with a large smile of satisfaction.

As he went through the kitchen he laughed maniacally. He stopped and looked at a picture of the Rivers family hanging on the wall. He lifted it off gently, then slammed it hard on the floor, shattering the glass front. He lifted the picture and tore it to shreds. He knew Judy was smirking at _him_!

He returned to the kitchen and looked through the drawers and cabinets. Under the sink he found a hammer and smiled with satisfaction. He returned through the house and broke everything he could strike with the hammer. He broke lamps, the stereo, the television, pictures; the coffee table then went down the hall knocking holes in the walls and ripping the sheetrock to shreds between the studs.

He entered Billy's bedroom and demolished it. Then he took his vengeance out on Misty's room. He stripped naked, lay on her bed and masturbated with a pair of her dirty panties. After a while he knew Misty's scent was not what he really lusted after. He wanted Judy's!

He lunged off the bed and went down the hallway. In one hand he carried Misty's panties and the hammer, in the other he held his erection. In the bedroom he searched through the dresser drawers looking for the object of his desire. He found nothing!

He went into the bathroom and searched through the dirty clothes hamper. He struck gold! He found a pair she had worn the night before. They were _fresh_ and the scent was _strong_. He held them to his nose and inhaled deeply. He ran to the bed and lying across it he inhaled deeply and stroked himself until his mind and body exploded at the same time. He screamed with the pleasure of the release, then moaned miserably with the loneliness of his lost love.

Then his anger overcame him once again and he scrambled off the bed and began destroying everything he could with the hammer. If it could be broken, he broke it with glee.

In the closet he found the two guitars in their cases and the folders of music. As badly as he wanted to he could not bring himself to damage the beautiful guitars or the music. He stroked them lovingly, strummed them gently, affectionately.

With the music he made on the beautiful Martin D-10 the beast of anger calmed and receded into submission. He laid the guitar back in its case, took the folders of music and left the room. As he went through the house he surveyed the destruction he had caused and felt no remorse; they owed him much more than this simple two hours of destructive pleasure! And he planned to collect every gram they owed him. He returned to Misty's room and got dressed, then spent a few minutes looking at the folders of music.

"Glory be, Danny Wayne Floyd!" he whispered softly looking through the sheets of music. "Look what you done went and found! A gold mine for sure! Today's your lucky day for sure, boy!"

*****

The drive to Wimberley was slow and pleasurable. John drove, since he had made an effort and gotten his driver's license before starting the tour.

He drove slowly through San Marcos and went west on Ranch Road 12.

At the Wimberley turn off he made the right and as if following in his father's tracks he rounded the curve that had claimed his life some twenty years earlier.

"Awesome!" Billy gasped, staring out the window and down into the valley below. "Looks like twin volcanoes down there!"

John didn't mention that this was the curve where his father had lost his life; he didn't want to take away from Billy's pleasure by tainting it with his pain and misery. Instead he drove on through Wimberley and out to his house. He made the left off the highway and rolled slowly down the driveway to the forlorn house where he had lived his entire life up until a year ago. He parked in front and turned the engine off, then opened the door and got out. He stood looking around letting memories wash over him as they would.

"It's beautiful out here," Judy said, looking around.

"Home at last!" Misty whispered softly to herself, then smiled and took a deep breath.

"Not much for a horse to eat," Billy stated as if his dream had just been denied.

"They eat grain and hay," John said, restoring the possibility of the dream coming true. "We'll have to remodel a little, if we decide to move out here."

"You might as well hire a remodeling company, Mister Travis," Judy said seriously. "This is home and I plan on moving in as soon as possible!"

"On a grand scale looks like to me," Misty commented watching Billy disappear around the side of the house. "Billy, watch for snakes!" she yelled.

John and Judy walked toward the front porch, then went up the steps. John pushed the door open and led the way inside.

"It wasn't even locked!" Judy gasped in disbelief.

"Locks only keep honest people out," John said with a smile. "I'd just as soon not have to replace the door facing. Besides, there isn't much worth stealing here."

"There are a lot of valuable antiques in here," Misty said, overhearing what John said. "They'd be worth a fortune to someone."

"Some loony, maybe," John said with a laugh.

"Plenty of them around," Judy said.

"Come see the shrine Momma built for Daddy," John invited, leading the way down the hall to his mother's room.

Misty and Judy stood in awe at the resemblance between father and son. "It's like looking in a mirror," Judy said.

"You sure that's not you, John?" Misty teased.

"Naw, that's my daddy," John assured her, taking her seriously.

Misty glanced at Judy and smiled. Judy smiled back knowing that Misty was still tickled at John's propensity for taking everything literally when it was meant as a joke, or a jibe.

*****

Back in Austin Danny stood nude in front of a publicity photograph of John. It was taped to the wall in his bedroom at home and he was in the process of stabbing it repeatedly with a large hunting knife. With every stab of the knife he sobbed even harder, then dragged the knife blade across his forearm drawing blood that he smeared across the photograph, then went back to stabbing the picture of John Travis.

"It's all your fault!" he sobbed. "You came from nowhere! A tall dark stranger and you took her away! Now, you'll pay! You'll pay dearly! I gave you everything! Now, I'll take it all away! You made a fool of me. Now I'll make a corpse of you!" He slammed the knife into the photograph and left it there, then turned away and stepped to the dresser.

On the dresser was a half full bottle of whiskey, a small bottle of pills and the .45 automatic. He shook a pill out of the bottle and tossed it into his mouth, then chased it with a swallow of the whiskey. He grabbed the pistol and jacked the slide, then cocked the hammer back and placed the barrel against the side of his head. He gritted his teeth and squeezed the trigger.

The hammer slammed onto an empty chamber and Danny collapsed in a fit of crying and sobbing. He held the .45 to the side of his face and slowly, passionately kissed and licked the side of the barrel, then inserted it into his mouth.

"It's a sign, John," he said, pulling it from his mouth and licking up the side of the weapon. "Now, _you'll_ die and _I'll_ be famous! The man who killed John Travis, Junior!"

*****

A short ways down the street John steered Misty's car into the driveway and they all got out. They all stood inside the door staring in disbelief at the destruction before them.

"Who in the world would do such a thing?" Judy asked, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Who'd you make mad?" John asked innocently.

"Everyone in the world, looks like," Misty said nearly in tears.

"It had to be Danny Floyd!" Billy stated matter of factly. "He hates John with a purple passion!"

"I never done anything to him," John said innocently. "Not to make him do this to your mother's home. He knows I don't live here. Not me and Judy, anyway."

"He don't care," Billy said. "He knows you're staying here. That's reason enough for him. He ain't real stable, you know."

"I'm calling the police," Misty said, beginning to sob.

"That'll do a lot of good, knowing the Austin police," Judy said, then began to cry with her mother.

John gathered her into his arms and held her tight, comforting her. "Well, I guess the insurance will pay for everything, right?"

"Maybe," Judy sobbed. "But what about the emotional damage. This is Momma's home, John! This is where we were raised after Daddy was killed! How can we ever repair, or replace the pictures and the things he bought us?"

"I don't know, Judy," John replied, patting her back gently and smoothing her hair. "I don't know."

CHAPTER NINE

John was standing in the front yard with several of Austin's finest. They had made like they had every right to enter and leave the house as they pleased. John was a little put out that they took such liberty. Not only that but he was offended by some of the questions he was asked by the detectives. They had made it sound as if he and his family had perpetrated the offense just so they could collect the insurance money. When John pointed out who he was and that he hardly _needed_ the money, they switched to a different tact and began to listen to his answers and suspicions about who the culprit had been. Even then it took them nearly another hour to decide they had enough circumstantial evidence to question Danny Wayne Floyd about the burglary and wanton destruction of the Rivers' residence. Then Danny drove by with a smirk of guilty satisfaction on his face and the police then decided he may have the answers to some of their questions.

Ten minutes after deciding they needed to talk to Mr. Floyd, a police car passed with Danny Floyd setting in the back seat with, what appeared to John, his hands cuffed behind his back and an angry fire burning in his eyes.

As the car passed, Danny glared at John as if, if looks alone could kill, John would be writhing on the ground in his death throes. John was not a coward, but he felt a chill crawl up his back. For some reason he knew this was far from over.

That night after the cops were gone, John talked Misty into spending the night in a hotel. She was reluctant at first but finally agreed to start the clean up and repairs the following day.

The following morning when she walked back into the house her tears began anew, and she was unable to get started with the clean up until her tears had run their course. Only then was she able to finally start putting all the broken pieces of their life back together.

John hired a remodeling company to come and make all the necessary repairs to the walls. While they picked up the debris the company patched and painted the walls.

A week later the house was, for the most part, back to the way it was before Hurricane Danny swept through. John was not there to see the final paint rolled over the final repair, or the check written for thirty thousand dollars for the repairs. He was in concert in Phoenix, playing to a sold out auditorium audience of twenty thousand roaring, screaming fans. From there he went to Denver and packed Mile High Stadium to bursting.

Three months from the day Misty's house was ransacked by Danny Floyd, John drove his new Dodge Ram Turbo down the driveway to his house. He pulled to a stop and admired the changes that had taken place with his old homestead. He parked beside a construction pickup with the name Tom Holmstrom Construction painted on the doors. His was a company out of San Marcos and he was a big man with a full red beard that covered part of his bulging stomach.

John climbed out of his pickup, turned to assist Judy, then met Holmstrom halfway to the front door. Holmstrom scratched his beard, shoved his ball cap back on his bald head and said, "Mister Travis, we're almost finished with the house. A week more maybe. Barn's done."

"Good," John said, taking his proffered hand. It was like shaking hands with a baseball glove. Holmstrom's hand was large and callused and John could tell the man was as strong as a bull. "We want to be living in the house when the baby's born."

"Due anytime, I guess?" Holmstrom asked.

"Three more weeks," Judy smiled, patting her stomach.

Tom nodded his head, then smiled, turned and led the way to the house. "We'll be ready," Holmstrom promised over his shoulder.

"I hope so," John said. Then, taking Judy's hand, he started walking through the house looking at the changes that had taken place. They walked out into the new addition that John had built for Misty and Billy to live in. It was beautiful, as was the rest of the house. From there they went into the nursery and looked at it. It was exactly how Judy wanted it. She had been out several times to see the progress and to answer Holmstrom's questions when they came up. So, none of it was really new to her.

"What's the latest on Danny Floyd?" he asked walking with Judy out to the barn to have a look around.

"Still in jail as far as I know," she replied. "His folks are really p.o.ed at him for what he done."

"No need to leave him there," John said. "He's learned his lesson by now. I'll call 'em and see if I can get him released."

"He don't deserve it, John!" Judy said angrily. "Have you forgotten what he did to us?"

"No, but sending him away forever ain't gonna help anyone. He'll just be mad when he gets out instead of reformed."

"If he never gets out, then it don't matter if he's reformed or not! Maybe they'll kill him in there!"

"Judy, there has to be forgiveness," John said. "We are Christians, after all."

"I think you'll live to regret it, John," she said prophetically. "But, do what you want. If it was me, I'd let him rot in there! He really hurt my momma!"

John pulled her into his arms and comforted her the best he could. He knew Danny had caused a lot of mental anguish in the Rivers' family. But, he felt Danny had paid a price steep enough to teach him a lesson. Now, it was time to give him a second chance; if he could swing it for the younger man.

*****

For the first week of his incarceration Danny had paced like a caged tiger; the stench of the jail nauseating. He had had three fist fights, lost two and a half of them. Then, settled down to this strange new world of young gladiators he had fallen into. He had never dreamt there were people on earth like these men. These men were vicious animals! Barely human! Three of the ten in the tank he was in were confessed homosexuals and the reason for his first two fights. Although he hadn't been raped, it was only because he made it clear that if that happened no one in the tank would get any sleep; he would kill the first man who did. After that he was left mostly alone and allowed to settle in to this new lifestyle.

The second week of his incarceration his third fight came along with an African American new-boot. He had given as good as he had received and finally neither of them could go any more so called it quits and a draw.

Now he was an accepted member of the tank and thanks to his parents he could pay his gambling debt; if he lost. He seldom did. He was good at poker and choosing the winning sports teams when he chose to bet on one.

His unreasonable hate toward John Travis and the Rivers family hadn't diminished at all. In fact it had grown only stronger and his every free moment was filled with planning his revenge. After all, he reasoned, he had taught John everything he knew about the guitar; therefore it was only right that he be the famous one, not the 'dummy' John!

Out in the hallway an elevator door slid open and a big bellied jailor stepped out. He made a left and walked importantly down the hall. His keys jangled loudly in the silence of the steel hallway. They swung on the end of a heavy chain just long enough to reach the heavy steel lock in the steel doors. He came to 12-S-10 and slid the big brass key into the lock. He felt a thrill of power as he turned the heavy lock and jerked the heavy steel door open. He stepped inside wearing his 'mean face' and yelled, "Floyd! Roll it up! You're outta here! I won't be waitin' long, either! So, get a move on!" Damn he loved talking rough to these criminals! He had convinced himself long ago that he was one 'mean' s.o.b.!

Danny looked around at his friends and said with a superior smile, "Looks like I'm all in here!" then threw his cards onto the table along with his stack of vending tickets. "Ya'll split up my money evenly. I won't be needing it where I'm going."

The other prisoners laughed, joked and said their goodbyes to their new friend. Everyone was glad he was getting out. It was a joyous occasion when _anyone_ was released from jail or prison.

Danny walked to the door and pulled the iron bar gate open and stepped inside a small cage.

"Slam it behind ya!" the jailer said gruffly.

Danny slammed it with an earsplitting clang that echoed resoundingly throughout the hallway. A furious roar rose all up and down the hall; everyone knew someone was being released. Or admitted! Either way their joy, or sympathy, was with the man.

"I make bond?" Danny asked the tall, sloppy fat, bald, unshaven, droopy pants wearing jailer.

"What difference does it make?" the slob asked smartly, arrogantly. "You're being released back into society. But, don't worry. We'll save a place for ya. You'll be back. Fools like you, always come back for more."

"Point taken," Danny said, looking coldly at the piece of walking shit, as the jailers were known as, throughout the world, Danny supposed. He knew the cops and jailers, prison guards, State or Federal, were the lowest form of life on the planet! Three steps below child molesters!

Danny gritted his teeth. It was all he could do not to hit the fat faced cocksucker in his cocksucker just to wipe the smirk off his face.

"Cuff up!" the jailer said, holding out a pair of handcuffs, motioning for Danny to turn around.

Danny turned around and offered his wrists behind him. "Thought I was being released?" he asked.

"Ya are," the jailer replied. "Jail policy that ya be cuffed, Mister Floyd. Until ya get downstairs, anyway."

They walked down the hallway side by side. The jailer stopped in front of a stainless steel elevator door, inserted a small key and turned it. The door opened and they stepped inside.

"Ever worry about someone taking offense at your attitude and coming back for a little revenge?"

"Not fer a minute," the jailer smirked. "People like you don't have the balls to come after a cop!"

"I find it hard to believe you qualify," Danny smirked back.

The jailer swung his heavy set of keys. They slammed into Danny's groin and he folded over with pain. He nearly puked, but was able to control the impulse. The impulse he couldn't control though was the impulse to kill this piece of shit. He decided he would, but for now he had to play it cool, get out, and take care of Travis first! Then he could come for this dead man. He smiled a secret smile and stood up. "Good move," he said breathlessly. "Sure wasn't expecting that!"

"My favorite one," the jailer replied with a grin. "You guys can't control your mouth! You forget you're cuffed until you get out. But you run your jibs anyway. So, take the good with the bad, wiseass!"

"I plan to, Officer Short!" Danny smiled looking at the name tag for the first time.

"That little move of mine is a good one for teaching respect, ain't it?"

"We'll see, Officer Short!" Danny said icily.

Short humphed. As he did the doors slid open and he urged Danny out and over to a cage where another cop stood waiting for them. Short dug in his pocket and handed the other cop Danny's 'book in' card.

"You ever consider opening a wrecking service, Floyd?" the cop in the cage asked, looking over the police report. "Seems you did a hell of a job, from what I see here."

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Danny replied seriously. "I haven't done anything to anyone!"

The jailer smirked, as did Short.

"Like I told him upstairs, Lucas, his kind don't have the balls to get _serious_!"

Lucas smiled, looked at Danny as if judging his potential. "Don't let 'im fool ya, Short. They're full of surprises." Lucas turned away when he saw a smirk on Short's face. He knew the man had been living on borrowed time for a long time. One day he would get his, and wouldn't have time to wonder why.

"Old men worry too much," Short stated, grabbing Danny's wrist and removing the cuffs roughly. "I ain't scared of none of you young punks!"

By the time he finished Lucas placed a brown paper bag on the counter. The name Floyd was written across it in black magic marker. "Check your property and sign this card if it's all there," Lucas said respectfully.

Danny quickly went through his property and finding it all there, signed the card, then climbed out of the orange jumpsuit and into his own clothes. He began putting his stuff in its proper place on his body. He felt like a human being again, as he buckled his belt and slid his feet into his _Tony Lamas_.

Short stepped to a door and when the lock popped he pushed it open and held it for Danny. "See ya soon, Sugar," he said smugly with a knowing grin.

"Wouldn't surprise me a bit, Short!" Danny smiled and winked. The iciness of it caused Short's smile to drop into a look of worry. Danny laughed.

Danny wasn't met by anyone. He walked over to the elevators, pushed a down button and waited. He rode the elevator down and went out on the street. He looked up and down the street, hoping to see someone waiting for him. There was no one. He was surprised to see the bright sunlight. Still the temperature was kind of cool. He hunched his shoulders, stuffed his fingers down inside his Levis pockets and started walking toward home.

Two blocks from the jail he was still planning his revenge on Short. He saw a taxi speed by and remembered he had thirty-five dollars. A taxi would be better than a five mile walk in the cold, he decided. He turned around and started walking backwards waiting for a taxi. Several passed without stopping, despite his efforts to wave one down. He took a twenty from his wallet and when he saw another cab coming he waved it. The cab pulled over and stopped for him.

After giving the address he leaned back and sighed with relief. It was then the pressure began to rise once again and his anger rose with it. From the car radio a John Travis song was playing. It was a very good song, he decided. But, it should have been his!

CHAPTER TEN

In the studio John Travis and his Travelers were driving through one of their latest songs. Everyone in the studio was into the pounding music, melody and story of good love gone bad but rescued at the last instant and promises to live happily ever after for everyone involved; even the loser!

Sandra was in the sound booth with Toby. He was rocking to the music, in his own world, and working the mixing board with the precision of an orchestra conductor. He didn't miss a beat when the phone near his left hand began to ring. Sandra picked it up and brought it to her ear. She listened, spoke, grinned, then returned the phone to the receiver. She reached forward and flipped a switch. "Break guys. Sorry to interrupt."

John and the Travelers stumbled to an ending, each looking over at Sandra accusingly.

She smiled, fanned her face with her hand and pointed a long skinny finger at John. "John," she said seriously, but with a smile, "you'd better get on your way. Your baby is," she laughed. "Judy went into labor fifteen minutes ago!"

John looked confused, but stripped the Fender strap off over his head. "It's three days early!" he argued.

"It's not an exact science, yet," Sandra laughed, as John headed for the door.

"It should be," he argued. "We keep to our schedule! Least Mother Nature could do is keep to hers!"

Fifteen minutes later John was rolling into the hospital parking lot. He raced up to the entrance and inside, jerked the doors back and rushed through. He raced up to the information desk and said, "I'm having a baby! Err, my wife's is! She's having a baby," he stammered.

"That would be the Maternity ward," the young pretty pinstriper replied, laughing at John's excitement. "Tenth floor. Elevators are just down the hall, there," she added, pointing around the corner in the semi-direction of the elevators.

John went hurriedly down the hall to the elevators. He arrived just in time to catch one with the doors opening. He stepped in and pushed the button for the tenth floor. It seemed forever before the doors closed and he was on his way up to Judy.

Half an hour after John arrived in the maternity ward, Judy was rolled into 'delivery'. John followed clad in a green sterile gown and mask. He was a nervous wreck. He held her hand and breathed with her as she huffed and puffed like a locomotive, her face red, swollen and sweat soaked. She moaned and groaned, then huffed some more, glaring at John accusingly.

"This is _all_ your fault, John Travis!" she accused.

"I told you we should'na done it!" he replied seriously, his face twisted in anguish behind his mask. He was miserable and it showed!

Judy caught her breath, raised up and pushed hard, huffing and puffing harder, until she screamed, clamped down on John's hand and glared even harder at him. He moaned in sympathetic misery for the girl he loved.

"Come on Judy," the pediatrician coaxed, "one more push should do the trick! It's crowning!"

"I didn't trick'er, Doc!" John said solemnly, looking from Judy's sweaty, red, pain filled face, to the doctor, then back to Judy. "I tried to tell'er, but she wouldn't listen! I don't like it here in this hospital. Momma died here! Hurry Judy!"

"John, hush!" Judy cried angrily. "I need to concentrate!"

"Okay, but we don't do this again! It hurts you too much."

"Liar! We need two more!" she accused. "Now let me concentrate and pppuuUSSSHHHH, AAAHHHHH!" she screamed, her voice pain filled.

"Doc, just pull it out like a calf!" John urged impatiently.

John nearly panicked, seeing the doctor didn't respond, but instead started laughing at John's nervousness and near blind panic. "Doc just grab its hind legs and pull as hard as you can! It'll come out!" He started for the doctor. Judy grabbed his hand and squeezed hard, holding him in place.

"Push Judy," the doctor coaxed again, barely controlling his laughter. "It's coming!"

Judy pushed again for all she was worth. Then she started crying. John looked around helplessly, then began crying and comforting Judy. He was in far more pain than Judy. But his was for the one person he loved above all others. "I'm sorry Sweetie," he cried miserably. "I won't do it again! I don't like this hospital! Can you please hurry a little?"

She took him into her arms and comforted him as best she could under the circumstances. "Yes you will," she said. "But, I can't hurry, Love. This takes time," she consoled him.

Then the baby popped out and its crying filled the delivery room.

"A fine son, Judy, Mister Travis," the doctor beamed, holding the slimy, bloody, wrinkled morsel that was supposed to be another human being, but looked more like a raisin.

After the delivery nurse had cleaned and bundled the infant into a swaddling blanket, she laid the bundle into Judy's arms. Judy directed his mouth to her nipple and he began to feed as if starving to death.

John smiled down at the mother and infant and said, "Shoot, there ain't much to this, is there?"

Judy smiled up at him, not wanting to say what a wuss he had been during the entire ordeal. She was glad none of their friends had been there to witness John's absurd near panic. She knew she would never forget it. Nor would she allow him to, either, but she would only remind him in private.

Later, in her room, Judy was holding John when the nurse brought the baby in and laid him in her arms. She folded the corner of the blanket back and looked down at the small, wrinkled, sleeping face. "Isn't he beautiful?" she asked softly.

"Looks kinda old, don't he?"John observed wisely.

"Boy, you ain't very smart," Misty said from her chair in the corner. "He's a newborn! They're supposed to look old and wise. Unlike their daddy!" she added, then laughed good-naturedly. At the same time, she lunged up, grabbed John and kissed him full on the mouth, "I love you, Buster!" she declared. "You make me proud!"

"Oh," John replied, wondering at Misty's sudden admission.

"He's just beautiful!" Judy said. "He has your eyes, Daddy! And your nose, too!" She finished in baby-talk. John unconsciously felt for his eyes and nose.

"Huh uh!" he said, feeling his nose. "Did he understand what you just said?" he asked wonderingly.

"Well, of course!" Judy replied with a laugh.

"He don't take after me, then," John replied. "I didn't understand any of what you said. I don't like this place," he added looking around the room as if seeing ghosts.

"Big surprise!" Misty harrumphed, shaking her head in disbelief at John's ignorance, or innocence, or superstitions, whatever.

"Momma, be nice!" Judy said calmingly.

Misty looked at her daughter and grandson. Her heart melted and tears formed in her eyes. She took them both gently into her arms and kissed them lovingly.

John smiled with satisfaction, then backed up and sat down in a chair. He stared at Judy, Misty and Lil'Billy, as the baby had come to be known, until he drifted into a restful sleep.

*****

While John and his family celebrated the birth of their newest family member, Danny Floyd lay in a drug and alcohol induced stupor. His parents, on the other hand, lay in their marital bed dead and beginning to smell. Danny had killed them within minutes of his arrival home from jail. He had then proceeded to get drunk and plan his next move. He'd teach them all that he deserved a little respect! Even an animal deserved to be met at the door after he'd gotten released from jail!

Danny mumbled in his sleep and then his eyes opened. His first thought was that he had to go and pay a visit to John Travis, the very reason behind all his current problems. Besides, it just wasn't fair that Travis was getting worldwide recognition and his mentor, Danny Floyd, was getting zilch! Well, he decided, I'll sit that aright, alright! I'll show the world that even the greatest sometimes goes unrecognized until they put themselves on the front page.

He searched around until he found his bottle and took a long strong drink. He next searched for and found his baggy of crack rocks and his glass pipe. He placed a ten dollar rock in the bowl and held his lighter under the end, the flame crackling the rock as he sucked the thick blue white smoke deep into his lungs, instantly feeling the comforting, quietening, incredible sense of well-being sweep over him. Not once did he think of his parents in their bedroom; he only thought of John Travis and success.

When he finished the rock he lay back on his bed and rode the waves of wonder that the drug had brought him. After a few minutes he sat up, stepped over to his guitar stand and picked up his Ovation Yarri acoustic and after sitting back in the edge of the bed he began to play. The music that flowed from the soundboard was mind-bogglingly beautiful; his fingers danced along the fret board effortlessly bringing forth a sound that would make _Eric Clapton, Kurt Hammitt,_ and _Eddie van Halen_ gasp with awestruck wonder.

In fact the notes were slurred, fretted out and the timing was so bad off that only Danny Floyd could hear, understand and appreciate the complication that he heard in his mind, but couldn't bring forth from the neck of the Ovation.

When he wound to a stop, his fingers buzzed as if with magic, he smiled with satisfaction. He stood and placed the guitar back onto the stand, not realizing that it was slightly out of tune and any professional would have heard it instantly and cringed.

Danny didn't have to get dressed. He was still wearing the clothes he had been wearing when he had been released from jail. He didn't bother brushing his teeth or combing his hair. His main concern was that he had his bag of crack rocks, his pipe and his lighter. And of course his trusty Colt .45 automatic. He shoved the pistol down in his waist band and the dope, pipe and lighter into his pocket, then headed for the door.

He stepped out into the garage and looked at his father's red and white '65 Corvette Stingray, and his mother's brand new Acura Legend. He smiled, guess they're mine now. They won't be needing them where they are. Hell has no highways! He laughed loudly, went to his pickup and got in.

He looked in the mirror at himself and smiled largely. He punched a button on the remote garage door opener and waited for the door to open. He backed out and closed the door, then drove off down the street, his mind set on his mission.

He turned the volume up on the radio and listened to his favorite recording, himself singing ' _Friends In Low Places'_ , a song made famous by _Garth Brooks_ in the early '90s. Danny's version wouldn't have been played on the radio if it were the last recording on earth. Unless the show was a comedy benefit. If that were the case Danny would have been in the running for first place. He sang along perfectly with the rendition.

At a red light a cop turned in behind him. He tensed and drove extra carefully. After six blocks the cop turned off and Danny breathed a sigh of relief. His heart beat heavily in his temples and he breathed shallowly, his mouth dry and hungry for more of the mellowing smoke. He drove into a shopping center parking lot and fed the dragon.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

When Danny had been out of jail for a week, John brought Judy and lil Billy home from the hospital in Austin. The house in Wimberley had been finished the week before and they were moved in and settled comfortably. John drove his Dodge Ram Turbo slowly down the driveway and stopped in front of the house. He got out, seeing Billy slam out the front door of the house like a tornado. He was screaming and yelling excitedly in his eagerness to see the baby.

"Let me see 'im! Let me see 'im!" he demanded, nearly jumping up and down in his eagerness, as John helped Judy out of the truck.

"Let's get him and his momma inside first, Billy," John suggested, closing the door of the pickup and starting slowly for the house.

"Momma told me I was his uncle!" Billy informed them.

"Don't see how you could be his aunt," John teased playfully.

"That's mean, John!" Billy laughed, knowing John was teasing him.

"Even if he was a she you'd still be her uncle," John laughed, helping Judy up the steps and onto the wide porch.

"That's right uncle Billy," Judy agreed. "Meet your nephew, Billy John Travis."

"I know his name, Judy," Billy said opening the front door. "I ain't no moron, ya know!"

Judy laughed over her shoulder. She sat on the sofa and when Billy was kneeling in front of her she folded the blanket off lil Billy's face and Billy stared at his nephew's tiny sleeping face.

"He's so tiny," Billy whispered, awed by the miracle of the infant. "I can't wait 'till he's big enough to play with!" he added, thoughtfully.

"That'll be a while, yet," John said thoughtfully. "I'm sure glad to be away from that hospital. Lot of sick folks there!"

Billy looked at John and then back at his name sake. He stared silently still in wonder at the child with a face the size of a softball.

"John you may as well go back to the studio, there isn't much you can do around here. If I need anything I can get Billy or Momma to get it for me," Judy said, realizing John was anxious to get back to the studio and the recording of his latest song.

"If you're sure," John replied.

"I am." she smiled.

"Well, I'll be back later, then," he said.

The drive to Austin was slow and easy. He arrived at the studio and found the band practicing as they seemed to always be doing. He had no idea that at that very time Danny Floyd was leaving his house bent on his mission of destruction.

Once the music started and John got captivated by it he forgot about everything else except the music and the practice of perfecting it. In the mixing room Sandra and Toby worked the mixing board making it perfect.

*****

When Danny came out of his drug induced stupor he looked around at the darkened parking lot. It was then he realized he may have missed his chance to complete his mission. He started the engine and turned on the headlights. The dash board clock informed him digitally that it was ten minutes until eight o'clock. He backed out of the parking place and left the parking lot.

Half an hour later he eased over to the curb and parked. He killed the headlights and engine, then sat waiting. Across the street he saw lights in the front window and knew that he was not too late. He fingered the .45 at his waist and smiled.

*****

In the studio John laid the Fender in its red velvet lined case and closed the lid. He listened to his musicians as they stowed their instruments and prepared to leave for the night. They planned to be back by noon the following day to wrap up the recording session, then they'd be off for two weeks before they were scheduled to start promoting their latest attempt to charm the nation and the world.

"Well, boys," John said walking toward the door of the sound room, "I'm going to Wimberley. I'll see ya'll tomorrow."

"Hold up, Hoss," Jake Strum, a tall, slim, black-haired and slightly cross-eyed, thirty year old drummer said. "We'll walk with ya."

John laughed and waited for them to catch up. They walked across the reception area and began filing out the door onto the sidewalk. They were surprised to see it was already dark.

"We gotta quit working so many hours, John," Dempsy Monk, the bass player said, glancing across the street and seeing a pickup door open and a young man step out.

"I hear ya," John laughed, following him out and onto the sidewalk.

Across the street Danny stood beside the front fender of his pickup with the .45 in his sweaty hand. Tears slid down his cheek. Still, he remained angry and serious as he started across the street to the group of emerging musicians.

"John Travis," he said, stepping up on the sidewalk and coming up behind the group. "Meet your maker!" he added, raising the .45.

When John turned around to see who had called him, he saw Danny's face and smiled. He was just getting ready to say he was glad Danny was out of jail when an awesomely, unbelievable force slammed into his upper chest and sent him stumbling back.

The .45 roared again in Danny's hand. He grinned when the slug slammed ' _the great John Travis_ ' back a step. Then, he squeezed the trigger again, then again. He was tackled by several of the band members and wrestled none too gently to the sidewalk.

When Danny was on the ground and under his own gun, Jake ran over and knelt beside John. He saw the blood all over John's chest and heard him gasping for breath. He heard the gurgle in John's chest and throat and knew he had been hit hard. "Hold on John," he said calmly. "I'll call an ambulance. You'll be fine. Just lay still, Old Son!" Jake was moving for the front door of the studio as he stopped speaking.

It seemed forever before the ambulance and cops arrived. They immediately took Danny into custody and began asking their hundred questions in twenty different ways before they were satisfied that Danny had been the only one involved in the shooting of the world famous singer.

Danny glared and smiled in satisfaction with his night's work as the cop car drove away down the street with him handcuffed in the back seat.

"Guess one of us ought to call Judy and tell her John's been shot," Jake said, watching the cop car drive away. In the distance he heard the warbling of the ambulance's siren fading into the night as John was rushed away to the hospital.

"I sure don't want that duty, Jake," Dempsey Monk said. "Hell, I can hardly breath as it is. My heart's still caught in my throat! That damn kid bragged about killing a cop yesterday! Can you believe it? And his parents, too. The day before! Damn, I'm just sick, Jake. I can't do it, man!"

"I'll call her, Demps," Jake assured him, gripping his friend's shoulder firmly. "You and Ross get to the hospital and wait for me there," Jake said, talking about Ross Adams, the forty year old, most amazing rhythm guitarist Jake had ever heard. Ross was big, a six foot six, two hundred and forty pound, black haired, blue eyed devil that had slapped Danny so hard he'd blacked the boy's eye, split his lip and knocked a tooth out with one slap. He had then slammed one of his mighty fists into the boy's side and they had all heard the ribs break with a loud snap. Danny had curled up into a fetal position and fought for his breath. He didn't have the strength to try and fight his way free and make an escape.

When Dempsey and Ross disappeared down the street on their way to the hospital Jake walked back into the studio and made the call he dreaded more than the call that would inform him that his wife had finally given up the fight and slipped into death. Leona was dying of cancer and had slipped into a coma over six months earlier. It was just a matter of time until the call came. He'd go up and see her at the hospital, he decided, lifting the phone from the cradle. He wondered why bad things happened to good people. Where was God?

*****

Judy was jerked out of her sleep by the insistent ringing of the phone. She reached for it, thinking John was calling to say he was going to be late.

"'lo?" she answered with a smile, then her smile dropped as she listened. Her eyes opened wide, she dropped the phone and began to cry and scream as gut retching agony filled her.

"Momma!" she screamed fighting her way out of the bed and onto her feet. "Momma!" she screamed again, fighting her way into her night coat. Then lil Billy began to scream his protest at being awakened. "Momma!" Judy shrieked, racing for the door, not hearing lil Billy.

In the hallway Misty appeared in her doorway as Judy slammed out of her bedroom, then Billy appeared in his in time to hear Misty asked, "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Danny Floyd shot John at the studio!" she yelled, her face crumbling, her whole body beginning to shake with terror. "He's hurt real bad, Momma!"

Misty seemed to collapse with the news. Billy began to cry. He ran to Judy and held her around the waist. He thought, absurdly, that she was losing weight, since having the baby. Then Misty was squeezing his head into Judy's breasts and her own.

"Why?" Misty demanded.

"Is he dead?" Billy cried miserably.

"I don't know," Judy replied to both questions. "We have to get to him!" she added, her panic beginning to overpower her reasoning.

"Let's just calm down," Misty cautioned her. "If he's gonna live, he'll be alive when we get there. Now, let's get dressed, get the baby and get to Austin without killing ourselves. Hurry now! Let's get busy!"
CHAPTER TWELVE

Janice Reeves stood five feet three inches tall. She weighed an even ninety pounds. Her hair was the color of burnished copper and hung to her waist. Her eyes were emerald green and large, and her lips were beautifully sculpted, as if by Di Vinci himself. She stood at the kitchen sink and stared out the window as her father's pickup came rolling down the dusty driveway. She rinsed the plate she had been washing and wondered where he had been so early on a Friday morning. It was unlike him.

When he came through the back door he wore a look of utter disappointment. "Is everything okay?" Janice asked, seeing the sadness in her father's face.

"Some damn lunatic shot and maybe killed John Travis in front of his studio last night!" he declared in absolute disbelief. He shook his head and sipped the steaming coffee Janice had just placed in front of him.

"Oh Lord!" she moaned, slumping into a chair beside her father and burying her face in her hands. "Why would anyone want to do such a terrible thing?" she asked incredulously. "He's such a sweet man, from what I've seen and heard, anyway."

"The world is full of crazies, 'Punkin," Jim replied. "Man up the Wagon Wheel wants ya to sing some tonight. Says he likes what he heard on the tape. Told 'im he was a wise man!"

Janice looked at the big man who had more faith in her than anyone else in the world, including herself. He had been both her mother and father since she was old enough to remember anything. He was her world and she would do anything for him that he asked.

"You're sure?" she asked looking at him as if searching for the joke on his face. She saw nothing. "You're not playing, are you? You're serious?"

"As a heart attack! I told 'im you'd be there. So, save the stage for the next superstar outta Austin!" he replied, smiling.

"You have a lot of faith in me, Daddy," she said skeptically.

"Punkin, you can do anything you set your mind on. There's currently an opening for a superstar in the country music field. You can fill it while John Travis decides whether he wants to live or die up there in that Austin hospital."

"He's in Austin?" she asked skeptically.

"Yeah," Jim replied. "He's fighting for his life from what I hear. They also say a crowd is gathered offering their prayers and support."

"Will you come watch me?" she asked, thinking about her chance to become famous at the Wagon Wheel.

"Punkin, I wouldn't miss it for the world! You'll be famous someday. I want some credit," he laughed good-naturedly, his bib overall covered, ample belly shaking with his mirth. His face turned red with joy.

"I love you, Daddy," Janice said, standing, and hugging him around his massively wide chest and kissing his cheek.

"I know Sweetie," he replied, patting her gently on the back. "You'd better get your outfit ready for tonight."

"I'd better get you some breakfast first!" she said, pushing herself up and off him.

"I'm fine Sweetie," Jim replied. "I had a bite in town when I went for feed. Guess I'd better go unload it. Them horses will appreciate it."

He pushed up from the table and went out the door without looking back. She watched him go, knowing he was fighting back tears. She knew every time he looked at her, he saw his wife back when she was Janice's age. He swore they could have been identical twins. Janice agreed. She saw pictures and at first thought they were of her, but couldn't remember when or where they had been taken. She knew they were her mother, but the similarity was eerie.

It seemed days had passed before five o'clock that afternoon came around. Jim drove her to the Wagon Wheel and walked inside with her. The place was warming up and becoming crowded. She wasn't taking the stage until seven o'clock and then again at ten.

Janice went back stage to her dressing room and changed into her outfit. Jim waited for her out front. He sat at the bar and had a beer. His heart beat fast with the excitement for his daughter; the only person in the world he would willingly die over. She was his only reason for living. He sipped his beer thinking of her future, knowing that after tonight it would be assured whether he was around or not. He had never told her about his heart. Or how bad his condition had become. She didn't need to have that worry along with all the others she imagined. He also had never told her of the half a million dollars that was waiting on her in the bank when he died, plus the other half a million in insurance when he finally croaked.

He smiled and sipped his beer slowly while he waited for his daughter to appear on stage for the first time. He knew she would be famous after tonight.

The house band took the stage at six o'clock and played for an hour. The lead singer stepped back to the microphone after the applause for his last song of the set, and said, "Tonight we have a special guest; Miss Janice Reeves. A local girl. Now, all you ol' boys and some of you ol' girls, keep your hands on your heart, 'cause this little girl is sure apt to steal 'im! Give a big welcome to Miss Janice Reeves! Come on out Janice!" he said, stepping back from the microphone and waving Janice forward.

At the sound of the introduction, Jim turned on his barstool and looked at the stage. He swung his beer mug up and toasted his beautiful daughter. She saw him and smiled bright as a flash of lightning on a dark night. He felt a twinge in his chest and the mug became instantly heavy. He set it down and turned back to the stage. He then felt the pressure release in his chest and a stabbing pain.

Janice walked out on the stage unafraid and stepped to the microphone. She threw her smiling, beaming father a kiss. She said, "This song is for my father, Jim Louis Reeves. I love you dad!" She then launched into her music and song.

During the first line of the song was when Jim grabbed his chest, dropped the mug he had just picked up, grabbed the edge of the bar and sank slowly to the floor.

Janice had her eyes on her dad as she sang. She saw the wince, the grab for his chest and the bar and him sink to the floor. Her voice faltered with fear and concern. "Daddy?" she screamed fearfully, stripping the guitar strap over her head and dropping the instrument to the floor with a crash. She baled off the stage and ran for her father, crying her fears as she fought through the crowd on the dance floor.

She fell to her knees beside her father, cradled his head and stroked his cheeks. He stared up into her eyes and whispered, "I love you sweetheart! Do it for me," then his eyes closed and he relaxed.

"I'm sorry, Miss," the man kneeling across from her said. "But, he's dead."

Janice didn't hear his words. She already knew. She felt it in her heart. "Daddy please come back!" she whispered. "You never got to hear the song. I'll never sing it again," she added, realizing her father was gone from her.

"He wouldn't want that, Miss," the man said seriously. "You sing beautifully!"

When the ambulance came and took her father away she rode in the ambulance with him. He was pronounced dead at the scene, but she wanted him as long as she could have him. She would never get to talk to him, or hear his voice or feel his gentle touch again. Her world was suddenly empty, dark and void. She sat in shock in the emergency room and cried until she could cry no more.

She stood up after a long while and walked outside. The sun was up and a crowd was gathered in the parking lot. Janice passed them by in a trance, oblivious to everything but her own pain and misery. She had to get home and alone so she could decide what she was going to do. She was twenty-one and thought her life was over. In fact it had only just begun.

She was in the middle of the parking lot when she realized her car was in the parking lot of the Wagon Wheel where she and her father had left it. She turned around and walked back toward the hospital.

When she saw the crowd still gathered in the parking lot she remembered that the singer John Travis, was somewhere inside fighting for his life.

She started crying again and a gentle, kindly man urged her into his arms and he comforted her. He smelled fresh and clean.

*****

In the fifth floor waiting room the Travis and Rivers family waited in tearful silence. Misty and Judy comforted each other and Billy. Jake, Dempsey and Adam sat along one wall and worried their faces tired and haggard. They had been up for nearly twenty-four hours and were exhausted.

"Is he dead yet?" Billy asked, his face tear streaked and drawn with worried exhaustion.

"We haven't heard," Jake replied, thinking Billy must have dozed off for a while. "He's still in surgery's all we know. They said they'd let us know soon as they could; fer us to just be patient."

"It's been hours since you called, Jake! They should know something by now!" Judy said miserably, rocking the baby with nervous energy. The baby was sound asleep from what Jake could tell.

"We can guess that he's still alive," Adam said honestly, placing a huge hand on Billy's head and neck comfortingly. "Since they ain't said nothing to us at all."

"I'm gonna kill Danny Floyd!" Billy declared seriously.

"He'll _never_ get out of jail again!" Jake stated matter of factly.

"Did he say why he did it?" Judy asked sadly.

"No," Jake replied with a slow shake of his head. "Just laughed and claimed John had got his comeuppance!"

"He was jealous!" Billy declared angrily. "That's why he did it! I'm not very smart, but I know that!"

Misty hugged Billy to her protectively when he began crying again. She couldn't remember ever seeing him so upset.

"I don't want him to die, Momma!" he declared miserably. "I love John!" he added, burying his face in her lap.

"We all do, Baby," Misty said soothingly, brushing his head with a nervous hand, then kissed the top of his tangled head. "We just have to pray. God will do what He wants with John. We'll just have to accept it, Honey," she continued comfortingly, feeling her baby's pain. She knew it was equal to her own, therefore heart and soul wrenching.

Misty looked around at the sad faces of the people she loved and knew her's looked just as haggard. She loved them all the more because they were here with her and her daughter and son lending their support. She saw Adam's huge hand on Billy's head and placed her own on top of it. She smiled pitifully, thinking what a big, handsome man he was. She figured he may be a year or so older than her, making him near forty.

Judy hugged her baby to her breast, leaned over against Misty and was soon asleep. Adam saw she was about to let the baby slip from her hands so reached over and lifted lil Billy from her arms. He cradled the infant to his massive chest and began to hum a country ballad. He had a surprisingly nice voice for such a big man.

Misty saw the gentleness in the big hands and knew she could easily love him if given the chance. She closed her eyes and prayed for that to happen, along with the survival of her son-in-law. She realized how much she loved his honest simplicity and absolute purity from guile or deceit. God, she prayed, please let my boy live! He deserves it she added, then began to cry. The last thing she felt was a large, heavy hand come to rest gently on her shoulder, then she was asleep.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Doctor Jared Black was in his late thirties. He stood an impressive six foot eight and weighed over three hundred pounds buck naked. His eyes were ebony black and set close together and deep in his face. His nose was long and narrow, his brow high and smooth, and housed an IQ off the chart. He had a photographic memory and was renowned around Austin as the best all around surgeon they had. As luck would have it John Travis had been hauled in and placed under his scalpel. Even before John had been sedated or x-rayed Doctor Black had his chest split open and his hand buried to his forearm in the famous singer's chest massaging his heart and keeping it beating until he could get some blood pumping through him.

Two minutes after being brought through the doors of the emergency room John was wheeled into surgical ward three and Doctor Black was issuing orders like a drill sergeant until his patient was stabilized enough to be repaired.

Doctor Black worked robotically, not speaking unless he wanted something. He was not one for idle chatter while he was working on a human being. If they wanted to talk they could wait until the final suture was tied, then he would talk. He had seen too many 'mistakes' made by a distracted surgeon who thought he was good enough to do twenty things at once, when in fact he could hardly manage two.

The surgery seemed to go on and on, hour after hour, until finally Jared Black said, "Let's close Mister Travis up and prepare him for his trip home. In a few weeks or so, that is." He smiled around at his assistants and winked. "Be proud, folks. You've just saved a legend and a legend's son's life. I'll go inform the family."

"You always get the easy job," Sammy Spiro, the anesthesiologist, said grimly.

"That is the rewards of being the doctor, Sammy," Jared Black said with a smile, then stripped his bloody surgical gloves off with a rubbery snap and left the surgical ward, tossing them into a biohazard trash can as he pushed the door open and went out with a brisk, long legged walk.

Black stopped in the waiting room door and looked at the miserable family. His eyes locked on Misty and almost instantly decided she was the wife, the young girl was the daughter and the boy the youngest son. Although the kids certainly didn't resemble the father.

He stopped in front of Misty and said, "Missus Travis, I'm Doctor Jared Black..."

Judy stood and rushed to the doctor. "I'm John's wife. How is he?" she added her face a miserable mask.

"I'm sorry, Missus Travis," he said seeing her face pale and begin to crumble. "My apologies" he assured her with a steady hand on her shoulder when she began to cry miserably. "Bad choice of words!" he assured her. "He's in post-op recovery, Intensive Care. He's alive. Barely. Please, let's have a seat and I'll explain as best I can his chances."

Judy sat beside Black on one side and Misty on the other; hanging on every word the giant man said. Their eyes searched the tired face, then the bloody surgical greens and finally the soft, gentle eyes.

"John suffered three gunshot wounds to the upper torso," Black explained in layman's terms. "One, we believe the first, was to the upper chest, here," he pointed to his upper left chest. The second, we believe, was lower, as John fell back, was here, to the upper stomach and the third, here, to the center stomach region. The first collapsed his left lung; the second pierced his stomach wall and lodged in his back muscle. The third passed through his large intestine, left kidney and exited his back above the hip. I expect, though it's really too early to say for sure, that given time he will recover. But that is just an early prognosis...Our greatest enemy will be infection. The stomach, intestine, and kidney are nasty places. John is currently on massive, intravenous, antibiotics. His total recovery time is unpredictable at this time. But he has youth and good health on his side. That's about all I can tell you at this time, but we, I, will keep you informed."

"Can I see him?" Judy asked immediately.

"Briefly," Black replied gently. "No more than five minutes. If you will follow me, Missus Travis."

"Can I go?" Billy asked miserably, his face utterly devastated.

"No, Billy," Misty replied sadly. "Maybe later, okay?"

"But Momma," Billy pleaded.

"No buts, Billy," Misty warned. "I said, not yet. I mean, not yet."

Billy huffed angrily, leaned back in his chair and pouted. As hard as he tried he couldn't stop his tears from sliding from his eyes. He cried, then leaned over into Misty's lap, his shoulders bouncing.

Then Misty began to cry and comfort her son at the same time, sharing his misery, feeling his pain.

Jake moved over and held her in his arms, patting her back gently. He stared at Adam, who was rocking lil Billy and watching him comfort Misty. He smiled grimly, then stood and began pacing. He carried the infant like a child's doll in his arms. The child and blanket nearly lost in his massive, gentle arms.

Black led Judy into the Intensive Care Unit and to John's bed. Seeing him so helpless and hurt broke her heart as nothing else had been able to do. It was just now that she realized she could lose this man forever. Her eyes scanned the machines and monitors that were keeping him alive, so far.

"He looks so helpless," she said softly, wiping her tears.

"He is," Black agreed. "But, he's getting the best care possible. If he wasn't such a fighter, he'd be in the morgue now instead of here. He's a strong man, Missus Travis. Have faith," he added, handing her a Kleenex.

Judy nodded her head, wiped her eyes, then blew her nose softly. She stepped over to John and kissed him gently on the forehead, then stood up straight and squared her shoulders. "He'll live," she said. "I know he will!"

She turned to leave, then turned back and whispered in John's ear, "I love you, John. Please get well. I'll be back later, I promise."

She turned away, nodded her head at Black and he escorted her from the I.C.U. and back to the waiting room.

Outside the waiting room several reporters waited in ambush for her. Several held cameras and a few more held microphones. They reminded Judy of vultures; waiting on the devastation of someone's life upon which to feed, then spew out to an uncaring and selfish public.

"Reporters!" she said indignantly stopping and turning to Black. "What happened to privacy?"

"I'll handle it, Missus Travis," he assured her. "Just stay calm and say as little as possible."

Lindsey Poe was petite but aggressive. She had been compared to a Chihuahua and was proud of the comparison. She tried to live up to her nickname, 'Chichi'. She stepped forward and thrust the hand held microphone under her chin and said, "Missus Travis, Lindsey Poe, Channel Twenty-Seven News. Would you like to comment on your husband's condition?"

Black stepped in front of Judy and said, "I'm Doctor Jared Black. I performed the emergency surgery when Mister Travis was brought in. Please direct your questions to me. Missus Travis is in no way prepared to answer your questions at this time. She needs to get back to her family and inform them of her husband's current condition."

The reporters converged on Black giving Judy a chance to slip, for the most part, away unnoticed.

"Doctor Black," Poe said, "would you confirm for all Country Music fans what Mister Travis' condition is at this time?"

"Mister Travis is alive," Black said solemnly. "He suffered three gunshot wounds to the torso. All three potentially life threatening. I expect..." was all Judy heard before she entered the waiting room and her family. They all stood when she entered, then gathered around her and listened as she told them about John.

An hour later Billy and Misty were asleep on the waiting room sofa-like seats. Judy sat staring at the small color TV mounted on the wall at the opposite end from the door. Adam and Dempsey had gone to the studio after learning that John was in intensive care and expected to recover. They had promised to be back later. The TV was tuned to CNN and at the mention of John's name; Judy began to listen to the reporter.

"...John Travis, the country western star was shot several times as he left a recording studio in Austin, Texas, last night. Sources close to the singer say he is expected to make a full recovery, but that it will be several months before he will continue recording his album, 'Just Beyond The Curve, dedicated to his late father, John Travis, Senior, who died in a fiery car crash at the peak of his career nearly twenty years ago. John Travis, Junior's assailant was restrained at the scene by band members and is currently in custody charged with attempted murder. Various other charges are pending. We at CNN send our prayers and well wishes to the Travis family for a speedy recovery."

Jake entered the room behind Judy and stopped to listen to the reporter. When she finished speaking and went on to another story Jake laid his hand gently on her shoulder and said softly, "Judy, you need to come see this."

"Come see what, Jake?" she replied, looking up at him sadly.

Jake smiled for the first time since John had been shot and said, "Sugar, I believe half of Austin is outside in the parking lot awaiting assurance from you that their Bard is alive. You should talk to them, Judy. They're your family, too. Not to mention John's fans."

"What would I say, Jake?" she asked, her eyes tired, red rimmed and filled with misery.

"Just tell them the truth, that's all. They deserve it from you and not some reporter who is trying to make a dollar from this tragedy."

"Will you go with me? I've never spoken to a crowd before."

"Every step of the way, Sugar!" he assured her, taking her into his arms for a hug, remembering the devastated girl in the parking lot he had also held through her misery. He had assured her as well, that her life would get better in time. She had explained the death of her father during her debut performance at the Wagon Wheel.

"I love you, Jake," Judy said, looking up into his handsome, but awkward eyes.

"Must be my talent," he said with a big grin. "I'm the only man you ever met who can look down his long aristocratic nose and tell you what's going on to the north and south at the same time!"

Judy laughed for the first time. "They're not that crossed!" she exclaimed.

"The hell they ain't!" he chided her, leading her toward the door. "I'm such a good drummer cause I see four drum sticks in each hand and I only use the middle two!"

"Jake, quit joking me!" she said, slapping him playfully on the shoulder, picking the baby up and following him out the door.

"I ain't jokin' ya," he declared, leading her toward a bank of elevators.

"What am I gonna say?" she asked, as the doors opened and they stepped inside.

"You'll think of something," he said, then pushed the button that would take her to John's fans.

The ride down to the lobby was made in silence. Both she and Jake were deep in their own thoughts, then the door opened and they walked to the double door and out onto the sidewalk where a group of near fifty people stood around talking. They grew silent and turned to face Judy when she stopped and looked at them nervously.

"First off," she said seriously, in a loud calm tone, "John is alive..."

The crowd cheered and mumbled itself to silence so Judy could continue.

"He is in bad shape. But he is strong. I haven't been to see him yet this morning. However, when I do, I will inform you of his condition. John thinks of you all as his family. So do I. So, as family I will keep you informed until he can with his own voice. We appreciate your concern and your prayers. Thank you." Judy stood silent for a moment, then turned for the door.

"Missus Travis?" Janice said, her voice sad and heartbroken, her eyes shifting from Judy to the baby, then Jake and back.

"Yes?" Judy asked turning back looking at the child like woman who looked so devastated.

"Will you tell John that we love him?"

"It will be my honor, Miss..."

"Janice Reeves."

"Miss Reeves. I'll tell him." Judy started to turn away again, then looked back at Janice and said, "If you like, Miss Reeves, when John's better I'll take you up and you can tell him yourself."

"You'd really do that for me?"

"I would be honored, Janice," Judy said with a smile.

"What would I say?" Janice asked seriously. "I've never met a star before."

"You'll think of something," Judy said, remembering that Jake had told her the same thing earlier. "John doesn't really consider himself a star. Just a man who makes his living singing. You will find him one of the most down to earth men you've ever met in your life."

"Thank you, Missus Travis," Janice said, wiping her tears, thinking of her father and how down to earth he was.

Judy stepped forward and hugged Janice, then stepped back, turned and walked back into the hospital. Jake winked at Janice; she smiled shyly, then he turned and followed Judy inside.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN

During the next few weeks Judy sat vigil at John's bedside. The crowd stood vigil outside and the country held its collective breath waiting on news that John Travis was awake and ready to get back to work on his album. Janice had taken off a few days to make funeral arrangements for her father and see him properly laid to rest. She learned about the money she had been left and was surprised to learn she was nearly a millionairess. She should have known her father had provided for her, but for some reason she had never even thought about it. She figured he would always be there, to see her grown, married and raising her own family. Now he was gone and she stood in front of the hospital fretting over a man she didn't know and thinking of a man she had hardly even met. She had only seen him through tears and a veil of abject sorrow. Still, he had been gentle and kind and concerned enough to assure her everything would be alright.

She stood in the parking lot beside her pickup sipping soda through a straw and looking up at the windows, wondering which of them was to the room of John Travis. She wondered when the singer would awaken and announce to the world that a few small pieces of lead was not enough to stop him from his goal; like the death of her father had done hers.

The liquid gurgled in the bottom of the cup and she set the cup of ice in the console cup holder and closed the door. When it melted she would drink some more of it. The day was growing warmer and would be hot by lunch. She would need all the liquid she could get to make it through the hot Texas summer day.

She walked toward the small crowd to stand vigil with them. She had come to know several of the regulars and enjoyed talking to them. She was not attracted to any of them, thinking of them as star struck wannabes. But each time she saw Jake Strum, the drummer of the Travelers, her heart felt as if it were floating in her chest. She became breathless and nearly speechless at the same time. She knew him to be the kindest, warmest, man she had ever known since her late boyfriend, whom she had given her virginity to only to be kicked aside like a strumpet, a common whore, on graduation night three years ago. Since then she had lived only for herself and her father. Now, once again she was alone and her heart cried out for comfort. Jake Strum filled that void and made her feel alive and that her world was not empty. She hoped he would be able to keep their lunch date with her today. She liked being around him. He was funny and said things that made her wonder what he really believed about life and fortune. She doubted he had any real hang-ups except for his slightly crossed eyes. She didn't think they were that bad; hardly noticeable unless one was really looking for the misalignment.

Something drew her eyes to a fifth floor window. Standing there looking down at her was the man occupying her thoughts. She waved to him shyly and he turned away from the window without acknowledgement. She felt her heart sink, then thought maybe he hadn't seen her.

Less than five minutes later Jake came out the front door. He walked directly to her and smiled. He pulled her gently into his arms and hugged her tenderly. "How you holding up, Kiddo?" he asked, whispering in her ear.

"I'm okay," she replied, hugging him back. "How's John?"

"Still asleep," Jake replied. "Judy's with him now. Wanna go up and wait in the waiting room with the rest of us hangers-on?"

"Na, I don't ever feel like I can talk in a place like that," she replied.

"Come on, you can talk all you want. Billy needs someone new to talk to. He's tired of talking to me and the other fellas, and his mom. Please?" Jake pleaded with a begging smile.

"Well," she said thoughtfully. "Maybe for just a while."

Jake seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. He didn't say that they were thinking that John was going to wake up at any time. Or that Doctor Black had been suggesting that certain changes on the monitors indicated that John was pulling out of his coma. Nor did he tell her that he wanted her there with him instead of out here in the parking lot.

Jake had no way of knowing that in the ICU Judy sat beside John's bed watching him very carefully. She held his hand while brushing the hairy back of it tenderly with her fingertips. Her exhaustion showed in her face and her eyes and nose were red from crying.

After a while she leaned forward and rested her forehead on her hands, then her cheek over onto the edge of the bed. Before she knew it she was asleep with her lips pressed gently to the back of his hand and her fingers held gently in his hand. She was unaware of the first time he gently squeezed her fingers and silently whispered her name. She slept on.

She awakened when his fingers gently brushed her cheek and he called her name again. She looked up into his face, then into his staring eyes.

She felt her heart leap into her throat, then she kissed his lips and said, "Hello Stranger," then kissed him again.

John blinked, then tried to speak, but couldn't, so smiled a little.

"You didn't come home a couple of weeks ago after your practice. I came looking for you and found you here. Jake told me you forgot to duck."

John smiled and blinked his eyes, then raised his eyebrow as if asking what happened.

"You were hurt real bad. But, you're gonna be fine. Half of Austin is out front rooting for you. Don't let them down John. They love you!"

"Family," John managed to whisper weakly. "Love them. How's baby?"

Judy felt like jumping up and down and screaming to the world that her husband was going to be just fine! He remembered everything that was important to him, so the massive loss of blood he had suffered hadn't caused brain damage. She felt like she wanted to put him inside her and keep him safe from everything that could ever hurt him again.

"They know, John," she said. "I told them you loved them. The baby's fine so don't worry about anything. I need to go get Momma and Billy. They want to see you. Do you feel up to it?"

John smiled and his nod was barely perceptible, but Judy saw it. She stood up, kissed his lips again, then went for Misty and Billy. "I'll be right back," she said, then stopped and turned back around. "Want some water before I go?" she asked.

He nodded his head and she stepped back and took the cup of water from the nightstand. She directed the straw to his mouth and watched as he tried to empty the glass. "Boy, I guess you was thirsty!" she said with an unbelieving giggle and he finished half the glass, then began on the second half. When he nodded Judy took the glass away and sat it back on the nightstand. "I'll be right back," she said, then went out the door.

She was back a few minutes later with Billy and a crying Misty in tow. Billy went to the far side of the bed and stood looking with an expression of awe on his face. Misty stood on the other side with John's hand held tightly in her own, she cried tears of joy.

"I'm a wreck," she said sorrowfully. "I'm sorry John. We've been so worried. We love you terribly!" she admitted, then kissed him tenderly on the cheek, then the lips.

"Can I see your scar?" Billy asked, hopefully.

John laughed a little, then grimaced in pain, and laughed again when Billy smiled eagerly.

"Billy! You sadist!" Misty accused. "Don't make him laugh! He'll tear his stitches!"

"It's been weeks! He oughta be healed up by now! I just wanna see his scar!" he said breathlessly.

John attempted to pull the sheet and blanket down, but was too weak and couldn't quite reach it. Misty saw his attempt and assisted him. She stared unbelievingly at the trunk long incision.

"Holey moley!" Billy exclaimed breathlessly. Look at all them stitches! Boy, there must be a hundred of them! Hey, them ain't stitches! Them's staples! I'll bet that hurt like crazy!"

No one noticed when Dr. Black entered the room and stood watching and listening. He stepped up beside Judy and placed his hand across her shoulders, then looked down at her and smiled. She smiled up at him and squeezed his hand excitedly, then pulled him down and kissed his cheek. "He's awake!" she said excitedly.

"So I see," Black replied, not saying that the monitors alerted the nurses' station and they notified him. He stepped forward and looked down at John. "How, ya doin', John?"

"Been better," John said weakly.

"I 'magine so," Black said with a wry smile. "Well, let's have a look see."

Black pulled the blanket down to John's waist, then slipped on some latex gloves and started probing and gently squeezing the incision. "Hurt?" he asked, glancing up at John's face.

John shook his head no.

"Good," Black said seriously. "This may a little."

He squeezed a reddish, inflamed looking area along John's lower sternum. A small amount of yellow-green pus came to the surface. Black wiped it off with a piece of sterile gauze, brought the pad to his nose and sniffed.

"Ooh, gross!" Billy exclaimed with a sour grossed out expression.

"Pus is not always a sign of infection," Black said with a smile at Billy. "It is often a sign of healthy healing. No rancid smell, no infection. Putrid smell, potential problems. Better to catch it early. Wanna smell?" he asked offering the pad to Billy for a whiff.

"I'll pass," Billy replied, turning his head away in disgust.

"So you're not potential doctor material, huh?" Black chided.

"Heck no!" Billy replied. "I wanna be a superstar like John!"

"Be a doctor, Billy," John said softly. "It's safer."

"Danny was just jealous 'cause you learned so fast and took Judy outta his future. He was really mad about that!" Billy said flatly.

"Mad enough to try and kill him?" Black asked.

"A hunnerd times over!" Billy said seriously. "He was really in love with Judy. Since grade school, he said."

"I never knew that," Judy said with a trace of wonder in her voice.

"He was really shy and when he was sad or troubled, he took it out on animals he could catch. He's killed and tortured no telling how many!"

"That's not a good sign," Black said.

"Why didn't you tell someone, Billy?" Misty asked disbelieving that Billy would keep something like that to himself for so long.

"I ain't no rat, Mom!" Billy replied. "Danny was my friend. But not anymore! Not after this!" he indicated John. "I'd never hurt someone he loved!"

They all grew quiet, deep in thought over what Billy said. Then Black noticed that John was drifting off to sleep. "We'd better clear out and let him get some rest. He'll need a lot of it in the months to come."

That afternoon Judy led Jake and Janice in to see John for a few minutes. Janice told John it was an honor for her to meet such a superstar. He sighed and told her he was just a person, same as her. She kissed his cheek and wished him the best, then Jake led her from the room and out for dinner. During those hours Jake learned a lot about her and he later passed it on to John.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN

A week later a silver Mercedes stretch limousine rolled silently up to the front entrance to the hospital. A large crowd stood around watching, waiting for their superstar to come out and wave at them.

When he did he was surrounded by family and band members and even some of the hospital staff were on hand for him. As he came out the door in his wheelchair his fans cheered excitedly.

Janice stood in front of the crowd smiling and at the same time wiping her tears with the back of her hands, then waving at him with the free one. She approached him hesitantly. Jake told her John was expecting it.

John stood from the wheelchair and gently gathered her into his arms. He kissed her tenderly and said, "Thanks for the visit and your support and prayers."

"You're welcome, John," she replied tearfully. "I love you."

"Thank you," John replied. "Jake told me you're quite a little songbird."

"I'm not that good," she replied, thinking of her father.

"Jake says otherwise," John said smiling. "Come by the studio when you can. Let us be the judge, okay?"

"I will," Janice nodded with a tearful smile, then accepted another kiss from John. "Thank you, John," she said, stepping back so he could get into the limousine.

"My pleasure," John assured her, then slid into the car. He was quickly followed by family members. The band members, Allen, Sandy and Toby Jackson drove back to the studio in their own car and John went back to Wimberley.

In the limousine, as it was pulling away from the door, Misty and Judy stared accusingly at John. "What was that all about?" Judy asked him.

"All of what?" John asked innocently.

"With Janice Reeves?" Misty said incredulously.

John stared at Misty completely baffled by her question.

"She's a singer looking for a break," he said finally, realizing what they were suggesting. "I'm giving her one."

"As long as that's all you give her!" Judy said.

"Are you jealous?" he asked with a sly smile.

"A hint!" Misty said just as Judy said "Yes!"

"It's just business," John assured them. "She's a fan and Jake's friend. You know you're the only woman for me. I love you, Judy. And you too, Misty."

"How about me?" Billy asked seriously.

"You too Billy," John said with a smile and a rub of Billy's tangled head.

"Tell 'em John, to just leave you alone! You're the boss!"

"Doesn't work that way, Billy; wish it did," John replied with a grin.

"If I was the boss, it would!" Billy said, then crossed his arms angrily, for emphasis.

"And that's why you're not the boss, Mister," Misty said.

"A wife should trust her husband and not see every other woman as a threat." John stared out the window watching the scenery go by.

"Every other woman _is_ a threat!" Judy said knowingly.

"How about Misty," John asked. "Is she a threat?"

"I don't know. Are you mom?"

"Every step of the way!" Misty grinned wolfishly. "He's _so_ hot!" She shook her hand as if it were burning, stuck her tongue out the corner of her mouth, and laughed when Judy turned red in the face and said, " _Mom_!"

John and Billy laughed causing Misty to laugh harder, then Judy, realizing she had been had, started laughing, too.

A few minutes later John stared out the window at a passing truck stop/cafe off the service road. He had no idea at the time but he would be buying it before long.

*****

Pam Jenkins was a young woman in her early thirties whose son Josh was dying in the Children's Hospital cancer ward not far away. She was also a waitress in the cafe. She worked for her brother-in-law, who blamed her for his brother's death on a construction site in Kansas City. Still, he felt obligated to look out for her and her son. But even his generosity had its bounds. And right now he was seriously considering firing her. She was on the phone again with her weakling son. He actually doubted that Josh was really his brother's son. There had never been a case of cancer in his family before.

"Pam!" he said angrily. "He'll be there when you get off work!"

She held her finger up, mumbled something, laughed, then carefully replaced the receiver on the hook. She looked sadly at Brian, her brother-in-law, whom she knew hated her and resented her dependence on him. But, she earned everything she got from the heartless animal, who's cousin had tried to kill a famous country singer, _had_ killed a cop _and_ his own parents and was now sitting, in the county jail waiting to get the death penalty! So who was Brian to claim purity? Too bad it wasn't him and not the teenager!

Pam looked out the window just in time to see a long silver limousine streak down the interstate. She wondered what it would be like to have that kind of money; never worrying about a bill or food and choosing who, and if, you worked for someone else. She figured she'd never get the chance to learn about that. However, the wheels of fate were slowly turning and constantly dragging the present just beyond the curve to what awaited us all.

*****

In Austin, Janice sat in the recording room on a tall four legged stool. A black foam covered microphone hung slightly above her mouth, so she had to lift her head slightly, thus opening her throat, in order to sing _into_ it. On her head she wore large headphones and music played loudly through them. She listened intently, then perfectly in time and on key she began to sing the lyrics to her song.

In the sound booth Allen and Toby sat with their mouths open, spellbound at the crystal clarity of Janice's voice.

"Toby did we die and go to heaven?" Allen asked softly.

"I don't know," Toby replied as if aggravated at being distracted from Janice's singing. "But if this is what it sounds like, I won't mind going so much!"

"Hear hear," Allen agreed with a wistful look in his eyes. "The tape _is_ rollin', ain't it?"

"For my uncle, you ain't very smart!" Toby chided him. "Of course the tape's rollin'!"

"We may have another hit maker on our hands with this little girl!" Allen said.

"Yeah, but without John we're back to one, again. But one's better'n none!"

"What tha hell's John's problem?" Allen asked irritatingly. "Hell he's well ain't he?"

"Not according to him," Toby said sarcastically.

"I'll have a talk with him. See can I straighten 'im out!"

Allen turned and left the room, shaking his head as he went out the door and closing it behind him.

From the studio Janice saw him and immediately got the wrong impression. She got misty eyed as if knowing she had failed, but put her entire soul into the last verse of the song.

As the final note faded into silence. She took a deep breath, reached up and removed the headphones and laid them on the stool she had been sitting on, then wiped her eyes and started for the door.

"Janice, is everything alright?" Toby asked with a trace of concern in his voice.

"You tell me," Janice said, stopping and looking at him through the large plate glass window.

"You were beautiful, Sweetie," Toby assured her. "We need about a dozen more songs. Originals, if you have some?"

Janice turned and started for the door once again. She opened it and stepped out directly into Toby coming from the mixing room. He saw Janice was in silent tears. "What's wrong, Sweetheart?" he asked, his face a mask of concern.

"I don't have any originals," she said sadly.

"Oh," Toby said, then grinned. "Is that all? Come with me," he laid his hand at the base of her neck and guided her down a long hallway to the right of the studio mixing room.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked suspiciously.

"To the top," he replied, his hand dropping to the small of her back. "If you're willing to go, that is."

"I am," she replied, allowing him to lead her into a small file room.

"In here are hundreds of unrecorded demos," he said pointing around the room. "Pick anything you want and we'll record it. Headphones are there so you can listen in private and concentrate. When you find what you want, come get me and we'll get busy," Toby said.

"Do you really think I can make it, Toby?"

"I'm betting on you, girl. So is John Travis and Jake Strum. So, give us your best!"

"I promise I will!" she grinned, then bounced to her tiptoes and kissed his cheek quick as a snake.

Toby smiled, turned and left the room as Janice was placing the headphones over her ears and selecting her first demo.

An hour later Janice came to the mixing room with a handful of CDs. She was grinning like a Halloween pumpkin, the difference was she had all her teeth; they were snow white and perfectly aligned.

"So, you ready, girl?" Toby asked, skeptically.

"I am," she replied. "Do we have the sheets on these?"

"We have the sheets on everything in that room," he said with a big smile. "We're not a fly by night operation around here!" He laughed as he went out the door for the music sheets.

Janice followed him out and when he located the sheet music and handed it to her she went to the sound booth and he went into the mixing room. It was time to go to work.

"Janice Reeves, Superstar! Take one. Legends Never Really Die." He started the CD for the song and Janice came in perfectly, as she had done with her own song. He wondered if she was an idiot savant. He actually believed John Travis was.

Ten minutes later Janice sat on her stool and stared at Toby in the mixing room. He sat staring at her in disbelief; spellbound with awe at her natural perfection.

"Toby, you alright?" she finally asked, wondering if he was asleep with his eyes open. "Toby?" she repeated, starting to climb off the stool and go see about him.

"Un-be-lieve-able!" he exclaimed, then yelled, "Aaaaahhhhhh! That's what I'm talking about, girl! This one's going as a single!" he yelled.

"Let's do another one of these before we commit to any one of them. I just have a feel for them. That's why I chose them."

"It's sure gonna be a nice evening!" Toby said sliding another CD in and leaning back to listen.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN

When a leather tan Mercedes limousine pulled off the highway and started for the house Billy ran to meet it. He wondered who it could be this time. It seemed nearly every country star in the world had come to visit John since he'd gotten out of the hospital. Several had been on tour in Europe for the past few months and Billy was hoping one of them had come home and come to see John. He wanted to meet them all! And his brother-in-law was his ticket to fulfill his dream.

The limo parked beside John's brand new Chevy Silverado pickup and the back door was pushed open. A large white hat was what Billy saw first, then a tall, big man stood up in a light gray western cut suit. When the man looked up Billy recognized Allen Jackson and his hopes plummeted.

"Hi Allen, wanna see my new horse? He's a beaut!" Billy said, having met Allen several times at the hospital. He wasn't the famous Allen Jackson, but he was still a good guy and willing to do most anything for John and his family. Billy thought Allen might secretly be in love with Misty. He sure went out of his way to please her, Billy noticed.

"I'll bet he is," Allen said placing a large hand on Billy's back and walking toward the front porch with him. "Maybe I'll take a peek after while. Right now, though, I gotta rouse John from his supper."

"John's been actin' funny lately," Billy said in a disappointed tone. "Like he's scared or somethin'," he added.

"It's called P.T.S.D., post traumatic stress disorder," Allen explained. "A lot of people get it after they've been hurt real bad. Like in a war or something."

"He was just shot," Billy said. "He wadn't in a war!"

"Maybe he don't know that," Allen said stepping up the porch steps and crossing to the door. "He, for the most part, trusted Danny and Danny tried to kill him for selfish reasons we may never understand fully."

"Danny was mad and jealous. John took Judy from him and he tried to take everything from John. He was sick! I hope he gets the death penalty!"

"He probably will," Allen said, opening the door and stepping inside.

John sat in the darkened study listening to his father's recordings. Their voices were nearly indistinguishable from one another. He lay relaxed in a lazy-boy recliner staring at nothing.

Allen stood in the door and looked at him briefly, then came on in and sat on the sofa across from him. "You 'bout through feelin' sorry for yourself, John?" he asked in a mellow tone.

John glared at at him coldly.

"Yes, sir, your daddy'd be right proud of you 'bout now if he could see you like this."

"Don't bring my folks into this," John demanded, his anger quickly rising.

"You brought 'em into it!" Allen accused. "Now, face the music, son. You've got a million fans out there you're pissin' on. They ain't gonna put up with it for long."

"I wasn't doin' it for them, Allen!"

Allen looked at him coldly. "You like this house? Your new pickup? Billy's horse? Your wife and son? The respect and adoration of millions of people all at once? If you do, and you want to keep 'em, you'd better get off your duff and make 'em some records. And make some appearances somewhere. If you don't you'll lose 'em, Son. I can promise you that. This business is competitive. You either sing or sink. Your choice." As Allen said the last he stood up and stared honestly at John.

"Yeah and let some other nut take a crack at me? No thanks!"

"That was one in a million, John," Allen said, spreading his hands.

"Who say's there ain't two? Twenty? Five hundred?"

"Who's to say there is? You wanna throw your life away and ruin your family in the process. That's your decision. I'll send the invitation from CMA back, declining, and you can drown in your fears in the dark, listening to a 'has been' while you fear the improbable.

"What about CMA?"

"You've been nominated for Entertainer of the Year. Among other things. You'll probably not make it actin' like ya' are. Country fans don't much like weak, tremblin' cowards."

"I ain't no coward," John said seriously. "Besides," he added softly, "I don't even know if I can do it anymore."

"It's a damn cinch I can't do it for you," Allen said. "So, if it gets done, it'll be up to you. It's your reputation on the line and there ain't but one way to find out. So, are ya comin' or not?"

John stood up slowly, levering himself out of the chair, "Still a mite sore on the inside," he explained as he made his feet. He extended his right hand to Allen. "I ain't very smart, Allen. But, I damn sure ain't no coward, either!"

"Well, let's go to the top, then," Allen replied, taking John's hand and shaking it firmly while slapping him on the back.

When they came out of the house a few minutes later it was through the back door. Billy stood at the corral staring at the beautiful black Morgan gelding that John had bought him.

The stallion saw them coming and began to prance around excitedly. He stopped in front of Billy and stuck his velvety nose into the outstretched hand and licked up the sugar cube it held.

"They sure are beautiful creatures! Ain't they? You rode 'im yet," Allen asked before anyone could answer.

"Sure, lots of times," Billy replied. "He's the greatest present I ever got from anyone. Except John," Billy said, smiling up at John. "I wish John was my dad and not my brother-in-law." Billy turned and crushed John in a hug.

"I love you too, Billy and I wish you were my son instead of my brother-in-law. So, that makes us even, don't it?" John replied hugging the boy back.

"You always make me cry, John," Billy said, wiping his eyes. "But, I love you anyway!"

"I don't mean to make you cry, Billy," John replied seriously.

"They're happy tears," Billy said seriously. "Not sad ones. So, they're okay, huh?"

"All tears should be happy tears, Billy," John agreed, wiping his own eyes.

"Come on now, let's go make records, before I start blubberin' too!" Allen said, turning away and started for the limo.

"Billy run tell your mom you're goin' with us," John said, shoving him forward gently.

John and Billy followed the limo to Austin and parked around back in the parking lot. They were in the studio less than five minutes later and John stood in front of the microphone with the Martin D-10 in his hands. When the music began to play, he didn't. He stood relaxed but frozen.

"John, are you alright?" Toby asked from the mixing room.

John couldn't answer. He slowly removed the guitar from around his neck and set it in the stand, then walked from the studio without a word. In the mixing room, Allen shook his head angrily and stomped out to meet him.

"What's wrong with John?" Billy asked Toby.

Toby shrugged his shoulders and rewound the tape,

Allen caught John as he stepped from the studio. His face was red and his blood was near boiling. "If you want that boy in there to watch you fail, then keep stepping toward that door, John!" Allen said loudly.

"What's the use, Allen?" John asked calmly. "My heart's no longer in it."

"So you're sayin' you ain't got nothin left to prove, that it? You've made it as far as you want to go, huh? Well, you ain't the only one involved in this, son! What about your band? What'll they do?"

"I don't know, Allen," John replied, easing past him and taking a seat on the sofa.

"You figure it out, you let me know. But don't you drag that boy down with you, he worships you, John! You'll break his heart and I won't stand for that. I'll kill ya myself!"

Allen glared down at John, then turned and walked back into the mixing room and sat down. He stared silently at the suspended microphone and the Martin D-10 guitar.

John laid his head back on the sofa and closed his eyes. He had never really thought about singing, so not singing really didn't bother him that much. And as far as his band went, what did they do before signing on with him? They were obviously making a living. At least they weren't starving. So, if they broke up, so what? They had played with John Travis, Jr. The son of a legend and a singer on the road to becoming a legend like his father. In a sense they were famous, too. They were half of what made John Travis and the Travelers; without each other each was nothing.

John was still lost in thought when Janice came into the lobby from the song room as they had taken to calling the room where the unrecorded original demos were kept. She stopped and looked at him with wonder; there sat a _legend_ in the country music business, and she stood not ten feet away from him.

As she crossed the room for the recording studio, John reached up, rubbed his face tiredly and sighed. She had no way of knowing that his mind was racing along at ninety to nothing and he was a million miles away from Jackson Recording. She smiled and walked toward him, thinking he was awake. It was hard to tell in the semi-light he sat in.

"John, can I ask a favor of you?" she asked nervously.

John opened his eyes at the sound of the beautiful, soft voice. He smiled seeing it was Janice Reeves. "Hi Janice. How are you?" he asked warmly.

That's what she liked about John; he was always warm, positive and friendly to a no body like her.

"Great!" she exclaimed. "This is the most fun I've ever had! Making records and hearing them played on the radio! It's all I've ever wanted to do. Now, thanks to you, I'm really _doing_ it!"

"You're a very talented lady, Janice," he said honestly. "You deserve it."

"Thank you," she said with a large smile.

"Now, about that favor," he said, looking at her openly. "I'll do it if I can. Just ask."

Janice became a little nervous. She had found a beautiful ballad that would make a perfect duo. She thought her and John's voice would go together on it perfectly. She jumped in head first, wondering how deep the water really was. "I found this really great ballad by Towns Van Zant that would make a beautiful duo if we were to do it together. Would you counter me, please?"

"Aaaahhh!" John sighed sadly. "Everyone wants me to sing! But I don't know if I can anymore," he said, then hung his head and scrubbed his face with his hands.

"And too scared to try; just in case, right?" she said, thinking of her own reluctance to try again after the death of her father. She sat easily beside him. "I was like that after the death of my father; while you were in the hospital recovering from the gunshots."

"What happened," John asked, turning halfway around on the sofa and laying his knee across the sofa between them.

By the time she had explained the whole thing she was in tears. John's eyes were watery, too, feeling her sorrow. "What changed your mind?" he asked gently, holding her hands in his.

"You did," she replied honestly, wiping her eyes and laughing shyly at her tears.

"Me?" John asked surprised. "How, why?"

"When you were shot I realized we may only get one chance to do what we love and be famous at the same time. Then, when you didn't die I knew it was because your mission here on earth wasn't finished. You have thousands, maybe millions of fans counting on you to brighten their days just a little, so they can squeeze through today and face tomorrow," Janice said breathlessly, her eyes large and seriously honest.

"You think so?" John asked, thinking he had never looked at his singing like that before.

Janice nodded her head vigorously, then said, "I know so! Me and my daddy were two of those fans. I wanted to be like you; a beacon to guide the discouraged, but undefeated and undefeatable people who just need someone to show them the way in the darkness of uncertainty."

"I guess I've never really looked at it like that, Janice. I'm not real smart anyway," he said with a goofy expression and a smile.

"You don't have to be smart to make people happy, John," she said seriously. "You just have to be there when they need you to be."

"I believe Momma and Daddy were proud of me, Janice. That's really all I set out to do, you know?"

" _America_ is proud of you John Travis!" she said, patting his hand with her own. "So why wouldn't your parents be? You're a beacon in the night; their port in the storm. You are their Bard!"

"Janice, I believe you're an angel from Heaven!" he said. "Maybe my daddy sent you to me, because he knew you could be my port in this storm I've been stuck in. Let's make your record...Hell, let's break some records, too!"

They stood, hugged, exchanged kisses on the cheek and walked side by side to the recording room.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

At that exact same time nearly three miles away Danny Floyd sat in the day room staring raptly at the television elevated seven feet off the floor. He was watching a rerun of the John Travis concert he had seen several times already. And again he was glassy eyed, believing the singer would die as did the cop Short; slowly and painfully. And as did his grubby parents. True he would die for killing the cop, like he was some deity or something! Hell, Danny thought gritting his teeth, he was just a man! A weak, crying, trembling man when he was looking down the barrel of the .45 in front of Danny.

Danny smiled through his tears remembering how Short had sank to his knees, pissed his pants, and began to cry, begging for his life; he had three little girls at home who needed him! His wife had run off with one of his best friends two years earlier and he hadn't heard from her since. His girls would be orphans!

"Even that would be better than having a piece of shit father like you, _Officer_ Short!" Danny had told him.

Danny had then made him drop his pants and take it up the ass before he'd shot him is the back of the head while Danny was unloading inside him. Danny had laughed like a maniac as Short had slid to the floor and off his still hard penis. "Now for Travis!" he'd whispered, leaving the dead man in the dark corner of the parking garage beside his car.

"I can't believe you would want to kill John Travis!" an inmate called Cool Freddie said, taking a seat beside him on the bench and dragging him back from his reverie.

"He took _everything_ from me that mattered! I didn't have nothin' to lose; I'd already killed my folks and the cop. So what was a semi-famous singer?"

"Hell, you had everything to lose!" Cool Freddie stated. "You had your life, man!"

Danny turned and looked at the tall, slim, golden skinned, black man from Dallas. He knew that Cool Freddie had already been given a life sentence in the state prison for dealing drugs. Now he was about to get another one in Austin. Hell, Danny thought, you had nothing to lose, 'crack-head!' He turned back to the TV without comment. After a moment he stood and went back to his cell.

For the next hour he lay on his bunk, staring at the bottom of the top bunk wondering what death would be like. Wouldn't be playing the guitar or singing country music he didn't imagine. Probably be _hard-rock_ , or ' _head-banging_ ', maybe even screaming rap, or just for kicks hard rock religious! That would really suck! Big time!

Since he was pending the death penalty he was housed in a cell house where the staff could walk all around the cells and stay safely out of range of any stabbing device and extended arm. So, when the Sheriff's deputy came around, inserted a large brass key into the door lock, turned it with a loud _clang_ , jerked the door open and yelled "Floyd!" at the top of his lungs, Danny was not surprised or startled. Instead he stood slowly, after all he was in no hurry, and walked calmly out of his cell and onto the catwalk between the cells and the dayroom, which was separated by bars, and yelled right: back at the top of his lungs, "What!"

"You Floyd?" the jailer asked in a smart-ass tone of voice.

"Hell no," Danny replied just as saucily, "I'm his fuckin ghost!"

"Smart-ass," the jailer stated angrily. "Come on out!"

"What for, gonna get your licks in, too?"

"You got a lawyer visit," the jailer said. "Be better to plead for life," he added.

"How would you know?" Danny asked seriously. "You been dead before?"

"Hey, life is alive death is dead. Get the picture?"

Danny looked at him stupidly and said, "Really? Damn, I musta missed that in Biology class."

"Alright, turn around and cuff up," the jailer said producing a set of wrist manacles from a black leather pouch on his belt.

"I know," Danny said. "Jailhouse rules!"

"Damn right it is!" the jailer replied with a smirk on his lips, as if he had said something incredibly profound.

Danny turned his back to the bars and stuck one wrist through. When the cuff was secured he pulled his wrist back and stuck the other through the same bars and the other was affixed to his wrist. Only then did the deputy unlock the outer door and allow him to step out.

"Face against the wall, Floyd!" he said, slamming Danny up against the wall and kicking his legs wide apart. He then did an aggressive ' _pat-down_ ' search with one hand then the other.

"Heard you went ' _up in_ ' Officer Short before you shot him in the back of the head," the deputy stated. "What'd ya use, _this_?" he added, slamming his right wrist up into Danny's groin with a grunt.

Danny gasped with the intense pain, then folded over and puked down the wall and onto floor. He sank slowly to his knees and moaned with his mouth wide open.

"Oh yeah, your lawyer, he called and said he'd be here at three o'clock so we have several hours to play, Floyd. Officer Short was my brother, in case you didn't catch the resemblance. I'm not a cop or a deputy. I own, operate and participate in a ' _rough trade_ ' night club a few miles from here. In case you don't know what that is, I really get off doing to young men, like you, what you done to my brother. But, the difference is, I'm gonna leave you alive to live with what happened to you until you die by lethal injection. So, you little _bitch_ , your life just took a turn for the worse. If you can believe that! Oh, and you can call me Big Ralph."

"Fuck you," Danny gasped breathlessly, his heart beginning to pound in his temples with fear and dread. Ralph was a big sucker, everywhere, Danny noticed.

"Well, Sweetie, let's get the show on the road. I'm anxious to see if you can take it like you can dish it out."

Ralph easily dragged Danny down the metal, windowless hall way and to a storage room that he unlocked with a large brass key. He swung the heavy steel door open, dragged Danny inside and closed the door behind them. He locked it back with the big brass key and said, "Honnneeey, we're home!" He laughed like a maniac, and began stripping out of his clothing.

Danny lay terrified on the floor staring up at the monster Ralph had become. His physique was like that of a professional body builder and every slab of muscle bulged and writhed under his golden skin.

"Damn, you look like a _creature_!" Danny said breathlessly, gauging Big Ralph's intentions carefully. He watched the man like a mongoose watches a cobra.

Ralph took his time slipping out of his uniform pants and when he was naked he was _very_ erect and ready. "Now, it's your turn little rabbit," he teased, stepping forward and reaching over for Danny's coverall clad corpse.

As Ralph stepped forward and leaned over, Danny's leg slammed upwards between the big man's legs. His ankle connected solidly and Ralph crumpled to the floor in a fetal pile. In the same move Danny stood, jumped through the cuffs and slid around fluidly, grabbed the ring of heavy keys and slammed them, with all his strength, into the side of Ralph's face. Ralph's eyeball exploded in a spray of gelatin that splattered the wall and made the brass keys glisten. Ralph screamed with the intense pain.

"Like pain, do ya?" Danny asked breathlessly. "Good, 'cause I got a _load_ for you, bad boy!"

With his words Danny began to beat Ralph with the heavy keys until Ralph was no longer moving, begging, or breathing. Danny looked down at himself and realized for the first time that he was covered with the big man's blood.

Danny quickly stripped out of the orange coveralls and into the police uniform. It was much too large for him, but, maybe it would work anyway. Cops weren't very smart, from what he had seen.

He tried the keys in the lock until he found the key that worked, then stepped out into the hall and locked the door back. He started down the hallway toward where he knew the elevators to be. He hadn't taken more than ten steps when alarms began to sound all up and down the hallway. The sound was deafening. He was quickly on the floor with his hands firmly over his ears and groaning in pain, wanting the intense piercing wail to stop.

He was so concentrated on the sound and pain that he didn't realize when it had stopped until rough hands were jerking him to his feet, cutting him out of the stolen police uniform and taking him back to his cage to await the Grim Reaper.

"We don't know where you got the uniform Floyd, but we'd better not find a dead body missing one. If we do, you won't need to worry about a lawyer, a trial, or a death sentence. We'll kill you right here, right now!" the voice in the gas mask stated coldly in a mechanical voice.

Danny was thrown back into the five man tank as naked as the day he was born. The other prisoners laughed and jeered him until he was given another one. Until then he sat on the table in the day room and watched the rest of the John Travis concert. It was within moments of going off.

In one of the darkened cells an olive drab U.S. Army blanket was being sliced into straight three inch strips six feet long with a brand new razor blade. It was then slowly, tightly and precisely braided together to form a good strong rope.

*****

John and Janice stood at the filtered microphone. John was reading the music score and memorizing it and the words in the process. He had read it ten times and believed he knew every nuance perfectly. It was about time to find out, he decided. He lay the music sheets aside and picked up the D-10. He slung the strap around his neck. When he had it hanging comfortably he turned his back to the microphone and said, "Toby, can we hear the score, please?"

"Get ready," Toby replied, then keyed the recording.

With his back to the microphone John began to play the cords and establish the rhythm. He knew it was only a reasonable facsimile and would change on the final recording, but it was a place for him to start.

When the song ended he wondered why, or even if the words of Towns Van Zant should be re-recorded. In John's opinion, Towns had done a damn fine job on his own song.

Well, he decided, maybe the late legend would understand and forgive their fumbling attempt. He hoped so.

"Let's hope. Towns will understand and forgive us," John said seriously. "Let's make this record, folks."

*****

In Wimberley Judy paced the floor with Billy Junior in her arms and cried with him. He screamed as if in unrelenting torment. As she paced, she looked up at the clock on the wall. It read 2:30 A.M. She mumbled, "Come on, John!" then continued her pacing and rocking, crying and bouncing the baby in her arms, mumbling steadily through her tears.

She thought maybe she was just aggravated because she was pregnant again and already showing. She believed she had gotten pregnant shortly after the ban was lifted after lil Billy was born. So, the next baby wouldn't even be a year older than lil' Billy!

As if on demand Big Billy slammed through the front door as if being chased by demons. He was instantly followed by John. They both stopped and stared at the emotionally shattered mother and the equally shattered six month old child in her arms.

Judy cried a squeaky scream of relief. The baby instantly went silent, as if struck mute, and reached for his daddy.

John took the baby and Judy both into his arms and kissed them. Billy laid his head angelically upon John's chest and fell, almost instantly, asleep. "Long day?" John asked Judy.

"You wouldn't believe it!" she replied. "I was beginning to wonder if history was going to repeat itself. Where've you been so late?"

"At the studio..."

"I'm starved!" Billy interrupted rudely. "They don't believe in eatin' when they're recordin'!"

"You could've ordered a pizza or somethin'," John replied in wonder.

"I didn't have any money to pay for it!" Billy replied, once again starting for the kitchen.

"You could've told someone you were hungry, Billy," John stated, as if inferring that if Billy was hungry it was his own fault.

"It'd be better if I had my own money. Then I wouldn't have to beg!"

"That's not begging!" John said. "It's letting someone who cares know that you're hungry."

"Maybe he's right, John," Judy said, walking with them toward the kitchen. "Maybe he needs some money of his own."

"Now we're talkin', Sis!" Billy said excitedly. "How much we talkin' here? Keep in mind, I'm a growin' boy! It takes a lot to keep me full! Plus, I have responsibilities now; a horse and a dog, a baby nephew..."

"Enough Billy," John said with a smile. "We got the message. How about, fifty a week, to start?"

Judy smiled and kissed John on the lips. Billy squirmed his way in against them and hugged them tightly. "You're the best brother-in-law ever, John!"

"Make you a deal," John said, looking down at Big Billy, "You show me you have some sense and can handle your money and I'll raise it to a hundred a week. Deal?"

"A hunnerd a week!" Billy yelled excitedly.

"If you prove you can be _responsible_."

"I'll make you proud, John!" Billy said seriously.

"You already do, Billy!" John responded.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Just about the time John turned to sing into the microphone, the heavy steel door of the 'tank' where Danny was being housed swung open with a loud crash and several deputies came in. They were dressed in riot gear and acting none too friendly.

"Alright!" their fearless leader screamed at the top of his lungs through the gas mask he wore, "Everybody get in your cell and slam the door! I want to hear each and every door _slam_ , too!"

"Could you repeat that, Officer Opie," Danny said grinning smartly. "We couldn't quite hear you. Or understand you, you were breaking up some!" he added, cupping his hands behind his ears.

"Floyd you stay out!" the leader said, looking directly at Danny. "We got a bone to pick with you!"

"I tremble," Danny replied with a smirk. He figured the worse they could do was kill him. He didn't care; the state was going to do that anyway, in all likelihood.

When the nine cell doors slammed the inner door of the tank was opened and the crew of riot gear clad officers came in and surrounded Danny. One handcuffed him while two others placed shackles on his ankles. He was then led from the tank. The inner door was closed and locked by the leader, the inner cells were electronically unlocked, the outer door was slammed shut and locked and finally silence once again settled inside the death row bound cell house.

"Floyd is a dead man!" one of the older men stated seriously. He had been convicted of kidnapping, raping, murdering and dismembering, then devouring, three homeless people. He was pending a sentencing hearing to determine if a mental evaluation was in order before he could be given the death penalty and sent to hell by lethal injection. To say the least, the odds were not in his favor.

"Yeah, Floyd is a dead man," Cool Freddie agreed. He had tested the rope he had braided together earlier and it was good and strong. It would hold the crazy white boy who would kill a good and innocent man like John Travis for no reason other than pure envy. Well, Cool Freddie, outta Big D didn't have his trained killer, Jason Judd, here with him to take care of the light work for him, so he would do it himself! He was a big boy and he knew that with a life sentence already, and the murder of a drug dealer, who just happened to be an undercover cop, was not going to carry a mere _life_ sentence in the normal sense of the word. It was going to carry a _life_ sentence! Cool Freddie's. He would get the death penalty. He knew that. He knew that because he was awaiting trial on a _dead man's tank_! There could be no other explanation. He smiled and sat back to wait. He knew the cops wouldn't kill Danny Floyd regardless of their threats. There were too many cameras and rats throughout the county jail to even consider getting away with something like that.

When Danny was taken from the tank he was led down the steel hallway to a heavy steel door. It was unlocked and he was shoved inside. The cell was very small; maybe four feet by three feet. There was a stool welded to a table with a steel mesh screen down the center. On the other side of the screen was an identical room. He sat on the stool to wait whatever was about to happen.

A key was shoved into the lock on the door on the other side of the screen and it was pulled open. It didn't seem to be as heavy as the one on Danny's side. That was the 'free-world' side of the jail, he figured, therefore the security wouldn't need to be as heavy.

A tall slim man in his early thirties, wearing a Brooks Brothers chalk stripe tailored light gray suit stepped into the phone booth sized side of the room and laid his briefcase on the table in front of him. He looked at Danny and smiled. Then reached into his coat pocked, produced a pack of Marlboro cigarettes and lay them on the table along with a Bic lighter.

"Help yourself," the man said.

Danny turned to the side and showed the man the cuffs behind his back. "I'll be right back," the man said, then stood and stepped out of the cell.

A few minutes later he stepped back inside and resumed his seat. Almost before he was comfortable the door behind Danny was unlocked and opened.

"Stand up Floyd," an aggressive voice said behind him, then grabbed his cuffed wrists and lifted him roughly.

"Officer Stanton do you want to be charged with police brutality?" the man across the screen asked calmly. "If not, then treat my client with a little more kindness. It will do your heart good."

Danny didn't see the glare Stanton shot at the man in the suit. But, he did see the man in the suit smile and he heard the man say, "Oh? Try me, mister!"

The cuffs were removed without a word. The door was closed and locked.

Danny reached for a cigarette and the lighter. When he had a lung full of the pungent blue smoke that he craved he looked across at the suit and said, "Thanks. Who are you?"

"My name is Jeremiah Lake," he replied. "I am the very best death penalty attorney in the fifth circuit. I have chosen to take your case free of charge. I hope to get you life instead of death. The cop is going to be the hard part..."

"I don't want life," Danny stated. "I deserve to be dead for what I done. I have nothing. I deserve nothing. I pray nightly that John Travis dies, so I will win!"

"John Travis has asked the court to drop the charges against you stemming from your assault on him," Lake said calmly.

"Why would he do that?" Danny interrupted.

"He's a far better man than you. Plus, he wants the music files back."

"The music files," Danny mused. "Let's see, what'd I do with them? I was really messed up that night; alcohol, pills, sadness, all rolled into one. What if I don't give them back," Danny asked, beginning to grin, as if he had just remembered where they were.

"You'll get the death penalty," Lake said. "The files will do you no good. I recommend that you give them back. A show of good faith, so to speak."

"If I give 'em back?"

"You'll go to the state mental hospital for ninety days observation. Then, based on the results, you'll be brought before the court and the judge will determine whether you are eligible for the death penalty or not."

"Eligible?" Danny said with a laugh. "Hell, everyone is eligible, ain't they?"

"No," Lake replied. "Can't execute the insane or the mentally handicapped."

"John Travis took everything from me, why should I give anything back to him?"

"He took nothing from you, from what I've been able to gather," Lake said. "You had nothing he wanted. You are nothing. You never would have amounted to anything. Hell, you ever heard of an idiot savant?"

"Vaguely," Danny replied.

"An idiot savant excels, for the most part in music and math. Nothing else," Lake said seriously. "John Travis excelled in music. He only needed to see it done and hear it played and he knows how to do it in his mind. He only has to train his hands to do it in time. He is like Mozart was. So, you and your books and tapes were nothing to him. He could have watched a concert on TV and would have known how to play all the music he heard..."

"Then, why didn't he know, then?" Danny asked, believing this man was lying through his perfect white teeth at him.

"He never owned a radio or a TV as a child. Never knew who his father was until after his mother had passed away and he inherited everything. Only then did he know he was the son of John Travis, the legend. So, are you beginning to see the picture, Danny?"

"I put the files in my safety deposit box at First National Bank," Danny said reluctantly, staring at the table. "I thought he was trying to dick with my head about the music. Thought he was a master!"

"He truly didn't know a thing," Lake said. "Listen Danny, I don't want you to get the death penalty. It would serve no purpose. Travis is out of the hospital. Your parents are your grief. The cop, Short. Well, he is the sticking point in all this. He's the one we have to deal with."

"And his brother," Danny confessed with a shrug of his shoulders.

"His brother?" Lake asked with a confused expression.

"Yeah," Danny replied. "He came and took me out of the tank this morning. He was going to beat me and rape me. I killed him with his set of keys. He's down the hall in a small storage room. He's dead."

" _That_ is _not_ what we _need_ at this point!" Lake said through gritted teeth. Lake leaned back and glared through the screen at his client. "Is there any other bodies we don't know about, Danny?"

"No, that's the last one," he replied.

"You need anything, Danny?" Lake asked angrily.

"I'm in jail," Danny replied. "I need everything!"

"John Travis had me put five hundred dollars on your account when I arrived."

"Why would he do that?"

"Because he's a good man, Danny. A decent human being. And he doesn't want to see your life ended because of some stupid mistakes."

Danny looked at the table and tears began to slide down his face and drip to the table. "Oh God, what have I done? Please forgive me!" he buried his face in his palms and his shoulders shook with emotion.

"Listen, I'll be back in a day or so, Danny. Maybe I'll have some good news for you."

Danny could only nod his head. He sensed the man leave the small visiting cell. A short while later the door behind him opened and the cuffs were replaced on his wrists and he was led back to the death tank.

He sat in silence on the table and stared at the TV He had been sitting for less than an hour when the door opened and he was called back out. Again he was cuffed and shackled, then led to the elevators. Thirty minutes later he was standing in front of a judge.

The courtroom was not packed, but there were a few people present. He saw John Travis almost instantly. Beside him stood Judy with the baby in her arms and it appeared another in her belly. He'd known she was a little whore! He was distracted from his rising anger by the abrupt entrance of the judge.

"All rise!" the Bailiff yelled. "The Honorable James Dewey presiding!"

When the judge was seated and comfortable, he looked out across the courtroom and said, "Be seated!" When the rustle fell to silence again Dewey continued, "I've been presiding over this bench for twenty-two years! And in all that time I don't believe, no, I know, I've never seen a case like this." He glared around the vast room. "I'm not even sure who's prosecuting and who's defending...Would someone please care to enlighten me?"

"Your Honor, if it please the court," a tall, reed-thin man with big black rimmed glasses and black hair, wearing a Sears Roebuck suit, straight off the rack, said as he came to his feet. "I would like to try and explain the State's position in this case.

"Please do, Mister Prosecutor," Dewey said with a grim smile.

"Your Honor, this is basically a plea for mercy from the victim..." the Prosecutor began in a slow solemn tone.

The courtroom fell silent, sitting spellbound as the entire story unrolled off the man's eloquent tongue. He explained the entire story, from the death of John Travis, Sr. all the way up to and including the killing of Ralph Short earlier that morning. By the time he was finished with his summation the Honorable Judge Dewey was red faced and trembling.

"In summation, Your Honor, the State believes given a second chance, under the care and guidance of a trained professional, Mr. Floyd would not pose a future threat to society. Thank you, Your Honor." The Prosecutor resumed his seat and sat staring at the table in front of him. He knew he looked like a total idiot, without the savant, in the eyes of the Court.

Judge Dewey looked down at the file in front of him and shook his head. After a moment he looked up and addressed the room. "It has long been my belief that there is a time and a place for mercy, as well as punishment. This is one such case. For here we have a young man who deliberately attempted to take the life of another young man, did take the lives of his parents, and a police officer and his brother! His motive was envy, pride, greed, lust, sloth, and malice; five, maybe six, of the deadly sins!

"On the other hand, we have the victim, who is asking this Court to overlook this multitude of sin. This Court does not have that authority. Therefore, since the defendant has chosen a trial before the Court, rather than a trial by jury, as is his right, this Court will find the victim guilty as charged in the indictments.

"The Court will further suspend sentencing until a full and thorough mental examination of Mister Floyd's stability can be determined. At that time, upon that determination, this Court will decide whether Mister Floyd should be committed to a mental hospital, a penal institution for the rest of his natural life, put to death as prescribed by the laws of the State of Texas, or released from custody. It would seem that exculpatory evidence may exist which would suggest that one or more of the killings were in self defense. As far as release from custody goes, Mister Floyd, this Court suggests that you do not get your hopes up for that!"

The judge slammed the gavel down onto the top of the bench and said, "This Court is in recess!" He then stood and in a swirl of black silk robes, fled the courtroom as if fearing for his life.

Danny looked over his shoulder at John Travis and Judy. His expression was cold and blank; like that of a snake. He then turned back and looked at Lake. "What the hell did he just say?"

"You are a very lucky young man," Lake said. "Don't blow it with your mouth!"

"So, I'm going to a looney-bin?"

"It beats the alternative," Lake assured him, knowingly.

"John's doing this for me?" Danny asked doubtfully.

"Yes," Lake replied seriously, gathering up his papers and placing them in his briefcase

"Shoot, I wouldn't do it for him!"

"Of that, I have no doubt!" Lake replied wryly, as the Sheriff's Deputies came up, lifted Danny from his chair and began handcuffing and shackling him. As he was led from the room, he saw John and Judy leaving the courtroom.

Half an hour later Danny was placed back in his cell. He took his regular position on the end of the table and against the bars separating the cells from the day room.

Behind him in a cell a small flame burned dimly. In the flame a plastic ink pen was being heated to melting, then rolled gently on the concrete floor into a very sharp point. It was allowed to cool back into its rock hard former self. It would make a formidable weapon once a strip of wool blanket was wrapped around it for a handle.

In the dimness of the tank the end of the wool blanket rope was carefully and slowly dropped through the bars and across the top rail of the steel rod barrier between the cells and dayroom. In the end of the rope a noose hung limply halfway to the floor. This noose however would not loosen easily once it was snugged down tight.

Cool Freddie walked silently through the doorway and into the day room. He stopped behind Danny, lifted the noose and after placing it around Danny's head, snugged it down tight around his neck. Danny began to choke and fight, trying to get the choking noose loosened. It was no use. Cool Freddie walked calmly back through the door, along the wall of steel bars to the secured rope and began to hoist Danny, choking, fighting and losing up off the floor. Danny's feet dangled, kicked and frantically tried to find purchase on the steel bars. It was no use, he could find no traction or ledge wide enough to lift himself and relieve the strangling rope around his throat.

Within minutes Danny's struggles began to lessen until he hung dead; his arms hung limply at his side, his face turned blue and his tongue protruded from the corner of his mouth.

Behind him the cells remained deathly silent. Only the grunting and slapping of flesh on flesh disturbed the night. When silence returned Cool Freddie walked from the cell, his hand, holding the sharpened plastic ink pen, bloody. He carefully wrapped Danny's right hand around the handle, then lay the 'shank' on the table. Cool Freddie returned to his cell and went to sleep. He knew he would be awakened when the jailers found the body hanging from the bars, or the dead cannibal in the last cell, curled into a ball with seventeen holes in his heart; the total number of victims he claimed.

Cool Freddie believed in his heart that he had done the world two favors this night and John Travis at least one. He would sleep in peace with no regrets for the killings.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

In the recording studio the following morning John and Janice were putting the finishing touches on the duet they had recorded with the Travelers Band when the phone in the mixing room began to ring. Toby reached over and picked it up. He listened for a minute then replaced the receiver. He leaned forward and flipped a switch on the console. "John, Danny Floyd committed suicide after killing another inmate in his cell last night. I just heard it from his lawyer, Jeremiah Lake! Said it was a clear cut case."

John backed up and took a seat on a four legged stool. He leaned forward and placed his face in his hands. He sat in silence for a few minutes, as if in prayer. In a bit he looked up and stared into the middle distance. He said, "Maybe I should have stayed in Wimberley..."

"Don't be ridiculous, John," Janice said, placing her hand in the middle of his shoulders at the base of his neck. "That wouldn't have saved him."

"Might have," John replied looking up at her. "He was a troubled young man. That's for sure," he added. "Well, I guess I'd better arrange the funeral. He has no one that I know of."

"John, I don't think that's your concern," Jake said, laying his drum sticks aside and coming over to John.

"Someone has to do it, Jake. I don't mind," he added, then walked to the door and out.

With Jeremiah Lake's assistance Danny's body was released to a funeral home. It was the same one John had used for his mother's funeral, nearly two years earlier.

John and Judy, along with the band members and Janice stood around a freshly mounded grave. All bowed their head and prayed in silence for the dead. As they prayed, waited and whispered to each other a pickup bearing the name of the cemetery pulled up and stopped. Two men got out, walked to the back, removed a polished black granite headstone and carried it to the head of the grave. Within minutes they had it erected and had left.

The mourners all gathered around the ornate headstone and stared with pleasure and surprise. In the background of the stone a man with a guitar was engraved in gold, as was

DANNY JUSTINE FLOYD

1983 - 2005

LOST JUST BEYOND THE CURVE

After studying the headstone for a few silent moments, Judy looked at her husband and asked, "Why beside your parents, John?"

"So I'll never forget his pain," John replied.

"You are a good man, John Travis," she replied seriously, taking him into her arms and kissing his lips lovingly.

John looked down at her when the kiss broke. His was a look of adoration. "You make me everything I am, Judy," he said softly. "Without you I would be nothing. You know I ain't real smart."

Judy's eyes told him the feeling was mutual. "I'm starving," she said, tugging on his arm. "Let's go get something to eat."

"I know a place I've been meaning to stop and check out," he replied remembering the truck stop restaurant along the side of the highway he had noticed several times in the past.

"Ya'll want to go eat lunch with mean' ol' Judy," John asked the rest of the band, then laughed at his joke. They all looked at each other, then shook their heads and laughed, "We'll be fine with a break from your love struck, but grouchy ol' lovebird," Janice laughed, then took Jake's arm and led him to his pickup.

An hour later over the good meal in the truck stop restaurant, they had just finished, John stood and went to the bathroom. Since being shot, when he had to go, he had to go right then!

He had just vanished at the far end of the restaurant when Pam came to the table with a large friendly smile. No trace of her personal problems showed on her face. She may have looked a little tired around the eyes, but other than that she was happy and in a good mood. Josh had been feeling better, for a change; his radiation treatment was killing him faster than the spread of the cancer in his tiny, frail body. But he was a trooper and a fighter; unlike his dead father. Josh made Pam beam with pride for his courage and strength.

"Excuse me," she said shyly, "but is that the country singer, John Travis?"

"It is," Judy replied. "I'm his wife Judy."

"Do you think he would sign an autograph for my son? He is a real big fan. I hate to impose..."

"I'd be willing to bet money he would," Judy interrupted, then smiled. "Knowing John," she went on, "I'd be willing to bet he'd like to meet your son in person. He just loves meeting people. He considers everyone his extended family. Especially kids," Judy explained.

"Really? How sweet," Pam replied.

"The man is a Saint," Judy assured her. "When you get to know him better, you'll know I speak the truth, too. Have a seat and I'll tell you anything you want to know."

"Oh no, I can't sit down and visit," Pam said, a look of fear entering her eyes. "The boss is a tyrant!" She rolled her eyes for emphasis.

"I've known a few like that," Judy empathized.

They both laughed. Pam's a little less comfortable sounding than Judy's.

"I'd better keep moving, Hon, or the Dragon'll get me!" Pam said, then moved away to her other tables.

A short while later Judy looked up and realized that several people were watching her closely. She became self-conscious and a little nervous. She was glad John was the star and not her. She didn't like being watched. John, however, seemed to thrive on it. Not because he was a showman, but because he enjoyed making and seeing people happy. She began to fiddle with her food, moving it around here and there on her plate. She just knew the people were watching her eat. She became impatient for John to return and remove the spotlight from her.

She was still looking at the table, rearranging everything on it when John returned. He stood for a moment watching her, then smiled with tenderness. "You ready, Sweetie?" he asked, then smiled and winked at her.

"Heck yeah," she replied immediately. "Where's Pam?"

"Pam?" he asked confused. "Who's Pam?"

"The waitress. She wanted an autograph for her son. I think a lot of other people do too," she added looking around at the people staring at them.

John turned and looked around the place. Seeing all the people looking at him, he spread his arms wide and took a bow. "What?" he asked, straightening and smiling large.

Everyone in the restaurant stood and began clapping. He bowed again, then looked down at Judy and smiled. He said, "My fans..."

"God love 'em," Judy replied with a smile.

Pam came to the table after seeing John's return. She stood in front of him nervously and stared at him raptly.

"What? Do I have egg on my face or something?" he asked, with a wide smile.

"Mister Travis," Pam started nervously.

"John will do, Miss?"

"Jenkins, Pam Jenkins," Pam said shyly.

"What can I do for you, Miss Jenkins?"

"Would you mind signing an autograph for my son, Josh?"

"It'd be my pleasure," John replied patting his shirt pocket for an ink pen and a piece of paper.

Pam, seeing his predicament, handed him her order pad and ink pen. She smiled as he signed his autograph and handed the pad and pen back to her. "To bad he's not here," John said. "I'd like to meet him."

"Thank you, John, I know Josh will love this," Pam said with tears in her eyes. "You see, Josh is in the children's cancer ward at Children's Mercy Hospital. He has cancer."

"Oh, no!" John sighed sadly. "Can I go see him, Pam? He'd like that better than a piece of paper with my signature on it, I think."

"I get off in about an hour," Pam said wiping her tears. "I'd be happy to take you."

"We'll be back in an hour, then," John promised. "I'll call the band, too. If that's okay."

"Well, yeah," she replied nervously, looking all around the restaurant. She saw her brother-in-law glaring at her. Then saw the line of hopeful fans waiting to meet John Travis and maybe get a signature of their own.

John shook hands, signed autographs and exchanged words and kisses with the women and children, and handshakes with the men as he and Judy made their way out of the restaurant.

He opened the driver's door of the pickup and Judy was sliding across the seat when he happened to glance up and through the front window of the restaurant. What he saw ran his blood hot instantly. Pam, in tears, stood under the pointing angry finger of a glaring, red faced man. "I'll be right back," John said. He closed the door of the pickup and went back inside the restaurant.

When John came through the door he heard the man say loudly, "This is not an autograph session, Pam! This is _my_ restaurant! We serve food here to our customers. After they pay, I don't care what they do! As long as they eat, then leave! So, are we straight on that, missy?"

John came up beside Pam and the angry owner of the truck stop restaurant. "Is there a problem here, Pam?" he asked innocently.

"No," Pam replied, beginning to cry harder.

"I don't appreciate some hot shot super star using my restaurant for an autographing session..."

"You seem to have a serious emotional problem, Mister!" John stated calmly. His words and tone made the man take a step back and glare once again at Pam.

"You are my only problem!" the man shouted angrily. "I want you to leave! This is my restaurant and I will run it the way I see fit. You have finished eating, so leave!" he added, turning red again and beginning to breath fast.

John was stunned by the man's animosity toward him. He nodded his understanding and turned to the other customers. "Is this the way _you_ want to be treated by the _owner_ of a restaurant?"

The customers began throwing their napkins, cutlery and enough money on the tables to cover the cost of their meals, then stood and began walking out the door. Before John turned and left, the restaurant was empty.

At the pickup again he was surprised to see Pam come out the door with her face in her hands. She was crying hysterically, her heart and emotions finally reaching the breaking point. Judy slammed out the passenger door and went to her. She took Pam in her arms and began comforting her. "What is it, Pam? What's wrong?" Judy asked, holding the other woman and patting her back tenderly.

"He fired me!" Pam lamented. "Now what will I do? I really need this job. How will I pay my bills?"

"John, did you hear that? That jerk in there fired her!" Judy said angrily. "We got to do something for her!"

"Pam, could you run this restaurant?" he asked thoughtfully.

"Yeah," she said, nodding her head, her eyes red rimmed and streaming.

"Good," John said. He walked to a pay phone on the wall between the restaurant and the truck stop, dropped some coins in it, then began talking for a few minutes while looking all around the area, then hung up and came back to the pickup.

"I just instructed my lawyer to get with our banker and buy this place for you. You can pay us back when you can, okay?" John said closing the door and reaching for the ignition. "Now, let's go see that sick boy of yours. The guys are on the way, too. Here in a week you'll have that restaurant to operate. You'll be responsible. Can you handle it, Pam," he asked, then smiled over at her like a big brother.

She could only nod her head, unable to speak, she was so choked up. "I don't have car," she managed to whisper.

"Don't worry," Judy said, patting Pam's thigh, "we'll take care of it."

Pam cried the rest of the way to the hospital. As they went up to the pediatric ward she managed to get her emotions under control. She was smiling as she led John and Judy onto the children's ward.

Josh lay bald and pale against the Batman pillow case under his tiny face. He appeared to be about nine years old. His eyes were a bright beautiful blue, they were large and round. He was a good looking kid. His eyes grew larger when John stepped into the room behind Judy.

"No way!" Josh exclaimed excitedly, but weakly, seeing John's face. "John Travis!" he exclaimed, then his eyes became glassy. "Maybe I already died!"

"No Sir, Josh," John said, coming over to his bed. "You ain't died yet, Little Man. I'm John Travis. This is my wife Judy and my son, Billy. Your mom told me you'd like to have an autograph from me. I convinced her, quite easily in fact, that a personal visit would mean a lot more to a boy your age, right?"

"Shoot yeah!" Josh said, wiping his eyes on the back of his wrists. "Will you sing some of your songs for me?"

"I sure will," John said patting Josh gently on his narrow, bird like chest. "In fact the boys are on the way with the guitars and drumsticks. We're going to sing all of you some songs..."

"There's a guitar over there in the closet. It's my size, but maybe you can use it," Josh said hopefully.

John looked in the closet and found the small child's guitar. It was small, but it would do. He returned to the bed and took a seat in the chair. In a few minutes he had the guitar in relatively good tune and began to play and sing. Josh beamed, as did John, seeing he was making the dying child happy.

While he sang, John wished he could take the child's illness into himself and defeat it so the child could live a full life.

Unbeknownst to John, Judy, Pam, or Josh, within half an hour news of the concert at the children's hospital was being broadcast across the nation on every news station and paper. Even by word of mouth. John Travis had become a sensation.

When the band arrived there was a huge crowd outside the hospital. Jake, Ross and Dempsey eased their way through to the door, then inside and up to the pediatric ward. They found Josh's room and entered quietly and introduced themselves. Jake immediately started teasing him about staring at his slightly crossed eyes, then emphasized the misalignment sending Josh into gales of childish laughter.

Ross was so big, Josh believed him to be a giant. Ross told him he was actually the smallest of four brothers and had gotten beat up all the time when he was little. Josh looked up at him in awe of the tales he told of his childhood.

Dempsey sat on the floor and leaned back against the wall. Seeing his intent, Jake began to tap out the drum score on various surfaces within reach. Ross began to strum the rhythm guitar, John the lead guitar and Dempsey thumped out the bass line. They were quickly into full swing of some of John's songs.

While this was going on the hospital staff was setting up a makeshift concert hall for the children. Within half an hour the children were seated, or in their bed listening to John Travis and the Travelers in a live concert, just for them. They were beyond ecstatic.

Sometime later the children were fast asleep in their beds. John sat beside Josh, who was also fast asleep. The children had been quickly exhausted by the excitement of the concert; their frail little bodies fighting desperately for life and losing.

Outside the hospital the crowd waited for John and the Travelers to come out. They wanted to thank them personally for bringing such happiness to these dying children free of charge. It seemed to the nation his humanity knew no bounds.

"John, we'd better go," Judy said softly. "It's getting late. Honey."

"I'm afraid to leave him, Judy," he replied, looking up at her. "What if it was one of our Billys laying there?"

"He'll be fine, John," Judy assured him, glancing over at Pam.

"No he won't," John argued, reminding them that these children were dying.

John shook his head and stood. He leaned over the bed and kissed Josh gently on the forehead. "I won't forget you, Josh Jenkins. I promise!" he said, then stood and turned away.

"John, you'll never know how much this has meant to Josh and the other kids. They're such strong troopers! How can I ever repay you?" Pam asked, her tears beginning to fall once again.

"You already have, Pam," John replied, taking her gently into his arms and kissing her cheek. "If there is anything more I can do. Don't hesitate to call. Maybe you will allow me and the boys to come back, sometime?"

"Oh, you're much too busy traveling all over the world with your music. You don't have time for these kinds of troubles," Pam said seriously.

"These are the kind of troubles that are everyone's concern," John said seriously. "I promise I will bring this to the attention of the country music industry and see if we can help end cancer in children."

"Can I give you a kiss, John Travis?" Pam asked, her eyes brimming.

"You'll have to ask my wife about that," John said shyly. A friendly kiss was just natural, but when it became something more serious it was a whole different story.

Judy spread her arms in invitation for Pam to hug and kiss her husband. When they parted John asked, "Can we drop you someplace?"

"I'll be fine," Pam replied. "I have no place to be in the morning."

"You have our card. Don't hesitate to use it, Pam," John said. "We'll have good news in a few more days."

Pam impulsively tiptoed and kissed John softly on the lips, then turned to Judy and hugged her tightly around her big belly, then kissed her on the cheek as well. "I will never forget you two!"

"We won't let you," Judy laughed, kissing Pam's cheek.

John was glad to be leaving the hospital. He and Judy walked down the hall to a bank of elevators. John pushed the call button and they stood and waited for the car to arrive.

"Pam sure cries a lot," he said. "But, she has a good reason, too."

"Maybe she'll be alright when we get the restaurant for her."

"What we need to do is save her child," John said staring at Judy seriously. "That would make her smile again."

"We're not Gods, John," Judy said as the doors opened. "We're just two normal people trying to get by. We have problems, too."

"I spent my life sad and mostly poor," he said, holding the door open. It nudged him several times while he waited. He kind of liked the feeling of the insistent door butting into him. "I know what it's like," he said with a grin.

"What changed?" Judy smiled, watching him play with the door like a child.

"I met you and fell in love," he said seriously. "Now that I know what love is I want to share it with the whole world."

"Well, let's invite Pam and Josh to the Awards Ceremony, then," Judy said, then tugged John from the elevator and back down the hallway toward Josh's room.

"But, I may not win, Judy!" John protested.

"So what? Not everyone gets a chance to be invited to the Country Music Awards!"

"True," John agreed, then gave up fighting Judy's insistent pull.

CHAPTER TWENTY

The weeks passed quickly for John. He and his band made their engagements to sold out crowds. His songs were topping the charts one after the other. It seemed he could record nothing that didn't go to number one. Still, he had stiff competition every step of the way. Janice was his number one contender for the coveted Entertainer of the Year Award. John secretly hoped she won. To him she had overcome nearly insurmountable obstacles to make her mark in the Country Music business.

Pam had turned the restaurant/truck stop into a sensation. Every trucker and country western fan stopped hoping for a chance to see someone, anyone, famous. It was a popular dining place for the 'stars' traveling through on their tours thanks to John's constant bragging on the quality of the food and the friendliness of the staff there. Pam was already planning an addition on the restaurant to accommodate the growing crowd.

Josh and several of his fellow patients had received engraved invitations to the Country Music Awards in Nashville, Tennessee and they were eager to accept. John, Judy, Pam and Janice made all the arrangements to make this dream come true for them.

At the Travis house bags were packed and waiting to be loaded in one of the three tour busses that transported the band and all the support staff for John's shows on the tours. They had decided to take the busses to Nashville since they were built to accommodate comfortable living for months at a time on the road.

'Old Billy,' as he had come to be known since the birth of lil' Billy was a package of released excitement and impatience. His mouth ran a mile a minute and he seemed to have an endless number of questions that had to be asked right now! The day they were scheduled to leave for Nashville was no exception. He followed John around like a puppy and fired every question that came to mind. They stood beside the bus, waiting.

"John," he asked for the tenth time, "do you think you'll win Entertainer Of The Year?"

"No," he answered for the tenth time. "I think Janice will. She deserves it. Plus, she's real talented, too!"

"Yeah, but so are you," Billy argued. "And if it wasn't for you, she wouldn't be there at all! She had given up, remember?"

"Just the same," John replied patiently. "She should win--It's really hard to tell, Old Billy. We'll just have to see which way the fans vote."

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of a new car rolling down the driveway. It stopped beside John's truck and the driver's door opened. Pam pushed the door open and climbed out of the vehicle. She waved and yelled her hellos, then walked around to the passenger side in time to meet John and Billy. She opened the door and John reached in and lifted Josh out.

"Is this where you live, Mister Travis?" Josh asked, his eyes as big as silver dollars.

"I thought we were past that Mister Travis thing, Josh," John chided him gently.

"But you're famous," Josh replied, holding to John's neck tightly.

"I'm just a person, like you, Josh. That's all. I just sing pretty good and folks want to play my recordings on the radio. It's just what I do to make money to live on."

"Them your busses?" Josh asked, looking at the tour busses, accepting what John had said as gospel.

"Yeah," John replied. "You want to have a look around inside one of them?"

"Yeah," Josh replied. "I can walk, you know. I'm not dead, yet."

"Well, from what I've been hearing it's gonna be a long time before that happens. I hear the cancer's in remission."

"Yeah, it's goin' away," Josh said, standing on his own two feet, but clinging tightly to John's hand.

"I'm glad ya'll could make it, Pam. Old Billy said he would take care of Josh during the trip."

"That'll be good, John," Pam said. "Josh is so excited he couldn't sleep. Maybe he will on the bus."

John kneeled in front of Josh and looked him in his large blue eyes, "Josh is it alright with you for Old Billy to help you along during this trip? It'll be quite a long ride to Nashville."

"Yeah," Josh said, reaching over for Billy's hand. "I'm okay, Mister Travis."

"Josh, just call me John, please. I'm no body important."

"You are to me and my mom," Josh assured him, staring him straight in the eyes.

"We're family, Josh," John said with watery eyes. "That's what family is supposed to do; help each other."

"I love you, John," Josh said, then stepped into John's arms and hugged him tightly.

A tear slid from both of John's eyes and down his cheek. He looked up at Pam and grinned wryly. "And I love you, too, Josh. More than I can explain in words," he added.

"When I die," Josh said honestly. "I'll always watch over you. I promise."

"Thank you Josh," John said seriously. "You make me very proud to know you. Not many unselfish people in the world."

"I know," Josh agreed, then stepped back and went to Billy, who was wiping tears of his own. Billy led him to the bus, then helped him up and inside it.

"Well," John said. "I'd give anything to make him well, Pam."

"I know you would, John Travis. You're the most unselfish person I've ever met."

"I appreciate that, Pam," John said. "Judy and Misty are in the house if you wanna go say hi. I'll put your suitcases in the bus."

By three o'clock that afternoon the tour busses rolled in caravan to the north on 1-35 toward Dallas. From Dallas they would take 1-30 to Little Rock, Arkansas, then 1-40 into Nashville. Ross, Dempsey and John were taking turns driving.

At present John was laying back in a captain's chair. Judy was beside him asleep. Pam and Misty were at the dining table talking softly and Billy and Josh were playing a video game on the entertainment center near the front of the bus.

John had drifted off at some point and was awakened by a gentle nudge on the shoulder. He opened his eyes, realized right off that Judy was gone. He was surprised about that. He would have thought he would have awakened by her getting out of the reclining chair. He looked up into the smiling face of Jake, "Your time to drive, Boss," he said.

John got up instantly, noticed for the first time that the bus was stopped and that Ross was outside filling the tank with diesel. They were stopped at a truck stop.

"Where are we?" he asked, walking toward the front of the bus.

"Little Rock," Jake replied. "You drive to Memphis and I'll drive the rest of the way into Nashville."

"Okay," John replied. "Maybe you'd better get some sleep. Your eyes look tired."

"Their crossed, John," Jake laughed. "They always look tired."

John laughed with him. He went to the front of the bus, adjusted the seat and mirrors for himself. When Ross came back from paying for the fuel, he started the bus, closed the door and they were off.

True to his word, Jake took over in Memphis and while he drove into Nashville, John sat in the back of the bus with the Martin D-10 and played it softly. While everyone else slept except him and Jake he thought about what all had happened to him in the past two years and wondered if he was destined to die like his father had; at the height of his career, with a son to raise and one on the way. He decided that if a person knew what lay just beyond the curve, no one would ever get on the road and try to reach a goal. He figured that was what his father was getting at when he wrote the song, 'JUST BEYOND THE CURVE'. John smiled, deciding he was right. He laid the D-10 aside, then laid his head back and was soon asleep.

When he awakened again they were parked behind the Ryman Auditorium among a large parking lot filled with other tour busses and tractor-trailer rigs that had transported other country stars to the awards ceremony.

"We're due inside in an hour, John," Judy said from beside him. "You'd better get showered and dressed. Most everyone else is inside."

John smiled up at her, took her hand and pulled her down for a kiss. "What would I do without you, Judy?" he asked seriously. "You make my life."

"I imagine you'd do just fine, John Travis, Junior. Now, get busy, you'll be late."

"Yessum," he said with a salute, then stood and went to the back of the bus.

Two hours later John and his family and friends sat several rows back from the front. Josh and Pam looked around excitedly at all the stars and celebrities in attendance. Everyone who was anyone in the business was there in all their glory.

On stage the MC announced the names of Leann Rimes and George Straight to make the next presentation, "It is a common misbelieve," the MC said, "that legends are not born overnight. That is a myth that may be broken tonight. These two superstars need no introduction; they themselves are legends in the country music field. "I'll let them tell you in their own words."

It was then that Leann and George came out on stage and walked to the MC. Leanne carried the envelope. She stood beside the tall good looking George Straight. He said, "The most coveted and prestigious award in Country Music is also the hardest to earn."

"It comes to those who serve as a beacon; a guiding light; an inspiration to the rest of us," Leanne said, looking all around the audience as she spoke.

"Only through hard work to overcome nearly impossible odds, dedication, a little luck and a battleship full of talent, can one hope to be nominated for Entertainer of The Year," George said with a large grin.

"And the nominees are," Leanne said, breaking the seal on the envelope and unfolding the paper in front of her and George. "Janice Reeves, for 'Stranded in the Dark," she said.

"John Travis for Just Beyond The Curve," George said, above the uproar of applause and cheering.

"And," Leanne said, "Steven Beyers for, I Almost Lost My Way."

"And the winner is," George said looking over at Leanne.

"John Travis, for Just Beyond The Curve!" they said together, as the crowd drowned them out in the uproar.

In the audience John stood slowly. He helped Judy to her feet, then turned and picked Josh up in his arms. The little boy hugged his neck and kissed his cheek, as they walked to the stage beside Judy. Misty, Janice and Old Billy followed two steps behind them with Jake, Ross and Dempsey behind them.

On stage John shook hands with George Straight, then kissed Leanne on the cheek. She kissed Josh on the lips gently. He blushed red, then grinned large.

John accepted the award from George and turned to the microphone. "I am honored," he said shyly. "Thank you," he added, to the applause, whistles and cheers. "Most of you know I'm not very smart..." he started, but was drowned out by more applause, clapping and whistling. "So you know I didn't get here on my one. I would'a got lost!" Again the audience applauded him. "I had a lot of help and support along the way. Judy, my wife, who I love beyond measure, gave me a hand up to get started. This young man," he indicated Billy," Billy Rivers and a friend of his named Danny Floyd, showed me a way to learn what I didn't know; which was _everything_. I ain't real smart. And this beautiful woman, Misty Rivers, well, she gave me Judy and Billy, in addition to her unyielding faith and a good hard kick out the door to get me started..." Again laughter erupted. "And this beautiful young lady," he indicated Janice Reeves. "In the midst of my darkest hour stepped in and pulled me back from the abyss..."

Applause and cheers erupted into a standing ovation that drowned out all other sounds for several minutes. When the noise level fell to near silence, John continued.

"This young man is my friend Joshua Jenkins. He's been sick, but he's been getting better. He and his friends from the Children's Cancer Ward are big fans of country music and they desperately need our financial help. Not the hospitals or the research centers, but the families who are overwhelmed by the stratospheric costs. If you can help, have the heart to help; adopt a family and help them out of a terrible situation."

When the applause died down once again, John stepped back to the microphone and said, "I also need to thank my recording team, band members, and a thousand others who were involved. Above all, after Janice pulled me from the darkness and showed me it wasn't about me, my family, my parents or friends, but all about the millions of country music fans around the world. Without them, we, as artists, are a voice crying in the wilderness. So, I thank them above all others. It's for them that we pour our souls out day after day, never knowing what lies just beyond the curve... Thank you from my heart...Goodnight," John finished, then bowed to his audience, who stood and applauded him louder that any before.

John and his family made their way back to their seats. They accepted hugs, kisses, handshakes and congratulations until they were back at their seats and watching the stage to see what would happen next.

The MC stepped back to the microphone and tapped it gently with his finger. "Might have broke with all the noise in here," he laughed when the audience laughed nervously.

"John," George asked with a large smile. "An old friend of your father's is here tonight and he insisted that I ask you to join him on stage for a salute to your late father. We know it's asking a lot of a superstar of your status, but since your band is already making their way up on stage, could we coax a song or two out of you?"

On stage John's band began picking up their instruments. John stood with a bow all around. A voice up on stage that John recognized caused him to turn around and stare in wide eyed surprise. He immediately placed the voice as that belonging to an old man who had given him a ride to 1-35 the day he set out for Austin and cautioned him that it was a long hard row to hoe.

"Hurry up John," Cotton sang loudly. "It just ain't the same without you singing and pickinnnn' them stranggggs!"

John jumped up on the stage and picked up the Fender Stratocaster, dropped the strap around his neck, reached for the old man's hand and shook it firmly. "You knew all along," John accused with a smile.

"You're your father's son, John," the old man said. "He gave you all his talent on the night he died. You've made him proud!"

John smiled and with tears in his eyes turned to the microphone and launched into Just Beyond The Curve, to a standing ovation.

THE END

About the Author

 In 1991, Larry E. Huddleston, along with a close relative, was charged and convicted of numerous counts of bank robbery, armed bank robbery and use of a dangerous weapon during the commission of a crime of violence. He was sentenced to 292 months for the bank robberies, 60 months consecutive for the weapon and 60 months supervised release. In total, he must serve 29½ years before he is eligible for release in 2017.

From January 1992 until March 2006, he served his sentence at the United States Penitentiary at Leaven-worth, Kansas. He saw it turn from a maximum security prison to a "maximum security housing medium security inmates".

After 18 months at Leavenworth as a medium security inmate, he was transferred to FCI Texarkana, a "low security" facility.

While incarcerated, Larry became interested in writing and has since written 29 completed movie 'spec-scripts' and twelve completed novels of several genres, from western to sci-fi, romance to war, comedy to horror.

You may write to Larry at:

Larry Huddleston #04147-010

FCI

POBox7000

Texarkana TX 75505

### Other books by this author available now:

### Sacred Curse

### Original Intent

The Mistri Virus Coming soon:

### The Cherokee Queen Street Sweeper

### The Devil & Jenny

 MIDNIGHT EXPRESS BOOKS

Helping Inmates

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