When the Storm Breaks (Lost Stars) Read online

  “Keep your eyes on the road, Cowboy.”

  I returned my eyes to the road. “What makes you think I’m a cowboy?”

  “Your truck smells like leather and horses, I’m guessing you live on the ranch and you have that cowboy swagger.”

  “Cowboy swagger, huh?”

  “You look, act and talk like a cowboy. I know trouble when I see it.”

  “Funny. I was thinking the same about you.”

  “I’m not looking to cause any trouble.”

  “People never are. But sometimes it just finds you.”

  “Sounds like you know something about that. Do you attract a lot of trouble?”

  “More than my fair share. You’re in my passenger seat, aren’t you?”

  She laughed. “Kate said she’d be happy to send a car to pick me up. In fact, she insisted on it.”

  That sounded like Kate so it didn’t surprise me. Kate was the contact person on the website. She didn’t mind using her own name and photo whereas I had balked at the idea. I liked my privacy and guarded it fiercely.

  “Do you work on the ranch?” she asked.

  “Yeah, I work there.” It was the truth. I worked my ass off. “How about you? What’s your line of work? Drug dealer? Assassin?”

  “Those are my side gigs. They fund my music addiction.”

  “As far as addictions go, that’s a good one.”

  “I guess it is,” she said thoughtfully, her voice tinged with sadness. “Music is my life. My salvation. The one thing that’s always there for me in good times and bad.”

  I wanted to hear about her bad times and what she’d needed to find salvation from. That’s what told you what a person was truly made of. Anyone could get by in the good times when life was easy and ran smoothly. But all the bad shit that went along with being human? That’s where you found your strength. That’s what made you who you are. But she was a total stranger, and I wasn’t in the habit of digging too deep. If you got too personal, people expected you to reciprocate.

  “How long have you been playing the guitar?” Not sure why but I wanted to keep her talking. More for the sound of her voice than the actual words coming out of her mouth.

  “Since I was old enough to hold my first one. Guess I was around five or six.” I heard the smile in her voice. “I used to play until my fingers were raw and bleeding. Until I built up so many calluses it didn’t hurt to play anymore.” I glanced at her hands as her tattooed fingers spun the chunky silver ring around her thumb.

  “Do you have something like that in your life, Brody? Do you have something that’s your salvation?”

  “What makes you think I’m in need of saving?”

  “We’re all in need of saving. But some of us more than others. What’s your thing? What’s your salvation?”

  Strange questions from a strange girl. “Working with horses, I guess.”

  “I’m glad you have that. Everyone needs something.”

  After that, she was quiet. When I looked over at her, her eyes were closed.

  We lapsed into silence and I drove like I did when I had my son in the car. I took it slow and easy, keeping my eyes on the road, hyper-vigilant for threats to her safety. Like I was transporting precious cargo and I’d sooner die before letting anything happen to her. I couldn’t say what it was about her that made me feel like she needed my protection, but I thought she did.

  It was only when I was two miles from home that I realized what a dumb shit I’d been. I laughed under my breath. How could I not have figured it out sooner? I glanced at her again to confirm my suspicions. Her cheek was pressed against the leather seat, her body tucked underneath her, eyes closed, the hat discarded.

  What were the fucking chances Shiloh Leroux would end up in my truck, staying at the guesthouse on my horse ranch? One in a million. Yet here she was, curled up in the passenger seat, sound asleep.

  I’d been right about her. She was trouble with a capital T. I never went looking for it, but it always managed to find me.

  This was the second time we’d met, although I doubt she remembered the first.

  Chapter Three

  Brody

  Headlights illuminating the way, my tires crunched over the gravel as I followed the dirt lane that led to the timber-framed cottage nestled in a grove of trees.

  I parked and cut the engine, plunging us into silence. Someone had left the porch light on. Probably Kate. She’d always been big on giving everyone a warm welcome, whether they deserved it or not.

  Shiloh was still sound asleep. Something stopped me from waking her. Instead, I sat back in my seat, folded my arms over my chest, and waited for her to wake up. Like I had all the time in the world and this was no inconvenience.

  I’d seen Shiloh once before. About nine years ago. Back when I was on the rodeo circuit and living in an Airstream on Austin Armacost’s ranch. Years before she’d hit the big time. She and her band were playing on a makeshift stage in a dive bar in Lafayette, Louisiana. I usually tried to steer clear of Louisiana, especially Lafayette. Too many bad memories associated with the place. But that time, I’d agreed to ride in Lafayette and was well on my way to getting drunk before she showed up.

  Shiloh couldn’t have been older than fifteen or sixteen at the time. When she stepped up to the mic, cradling her guitar, nobody had been expecting much. The crowd had been rowdy, talking and laughing over the music blasting from the speakers.

  But when the music had cut out and she’d started playing and singing, I stopped whatever I was doing to listen. She sang a cover version of “Iris” by The Goo Goo Dolls that made me feel like I’d never heard the song before.

  I don’t remember the girl I was with that night, barely glanced at the guys in her band, but I remember Shiloh Leroux and the sound of her voice that would go on to make her one of the hottest stars in the music industry. I remember the look on her face that night when she played and sang. Like she was in another world far away from that dive bar with sawdust on the floor and the scent of sweat and stale beer in the air.

  I had no idea what had brought her to Cypress Springs. Maybe it was just peace and quiet she was after, but I had a feeling it was something more.

  I’d been sitting in silence for an hour, my thoughts wandering from the night I met Shiloh to the endless list of jobs that needed to be done on the ranch, when I heard her stir. I turned my head to look at her as she sat up and tried to get her bearings. Except for the glow of the porch light, the night was pitch black.

  “Hey,” she said, her voice sleep-groggy as she pulled the hat down over her head again. “You should have woken me up.”

  “You’re awake now.”

  I grabbed her bag and the guitar case from the back. She followed me to the porch and waited while I entered the code in the keypad then pushed open the door.

  Once inside, I flicked on the lights and was almost surprised to find the cabin was empty. Even though Walt was gone, I still expected to see his craggy face peering back at me from the leather sofa, sharing words of wisdom he’d gathered during his eighty-odd years on earth. But he wasn’t here, and the place had been renovated after he died so it no longer smelled like Camel cigarettes and the medicinal plants and herbs he used to brew into teas.

  Kate had left a peach pie on the kitchen counter and wildflowers in mason jars sat on the windowsill, compliments of Lila. According to Kate’s write-up on the website, the cottage was charming and rustic with a spectacular view of the spring-fed lake and rolling green hills. A home away from home, she’d called it.

  I didn’t think Shiloh Leroux really gave a shit what the place looked like or the view, so I saved the speech and carried her bags up the wooden staircase to the bigger of the two bedrooms. It was a nice enough room—light and airy with rustic wood walls, furnished with a bed, dresser and bedside tables, a patchwork quilt on the bed—but probably not the glitz and glamor she’d become accustomed to. I set her suitcase on the long stool at the bottom of the bed and turned
around to find her right in front of me.

  “Thanks for the lift, Brody.”

  “Yeah, sure.” I raked my hand through my hair, trying to shake off the strange feeling I got whenever I was near her. Edging out of the bedroom, I took the stairs down to the main level with her following on my heels.

  “You’ve got my number if you need anything.” I was halfway out the door when she called my name. I looked over my shoulder, my brow cocked in question.

  “I’m going to need a car. I can pay cash. Nothing fancy. Just something to get me around town while I’m here. A pickup would be good,” she added. “Do you know of anyone who might be looking to sell?”

  She could walk onto a lot and drive away in any damn car she wanted. Which confirmed my suspicion. She was looking to lay low and fly under the radar. Couldn’t blame her. Who in their right mind would want to be hounded by the paparazzi and crazed fans? “I’ll see what I can do.”

  She tipped her chin in thanks and I closed the door behind me, her secret safe for now.

  Five minutes later, I walked through the front door of my house and called Ridge’s name. No response. The TV was blaring in the living room and I stopped in the doorway. Muttering a curse, I scrubbed my hand over my face, wishing I could unsee the sight before me. Ridge’s gaze was focused on the TV, remote in hand as he flicked channels just as if some chick didn’t have his dick in her mouth.

  Jesus Christ.

  “Ridge. Put your dick back in your pants. And you can go.” I pointed to the blonde who released him with a pop and scrambled to her feet while he tucked himself back into his jeans and zipped them up, propping his feet on the coffee table. So far, I hadn’t managed to find anything that Ridge truly cared about and he sure as hell didn’t give a shit about this girl who was giving him the eye and waiting for him to defend her. He kept flicking through the channels, not even sparing her a glance.

  Had I been this much of an asshole at seventeen? I’d turned thirty-three a few weeks ago and depending who you asked, I was still an asshole. So there you go.

  “Have you got a ride home?” I asked the girl when Ridge made no move to get his lazy ass off the sofa.

  “Um yeah, I’m good,” she mumbled, keeping her eyes down, unable to look at me as she gathered her books and stuffed them in her backpack. “So... I’ll just... I’ll go now. See you at school, I guess,” she told Ridge, her smile hopeful.

  I wanted to shake some sense into her, tell her not to waste her time or her smile on guys like Ridge. It never ceased to amaze me that there were girls out there who fell for the bad boys. The worse you treated them, the more they knocked themselves out. I knew this because there had been a time I’d been just like Ridge.

  He winked at her. “See you around, babe.”

  “Walk her to the door, Ridge,” I said through clenched teeth.

  His feet hit the ground and he stood up slowly, yawning and stretching, taking his sweet time before he walked the girl to the front door. Their voices were low, and I had no interest in eavesdropping but I waited for him to return which took at least five more minutes.

  “Catch you in the morning, bro.” He swaggered to the doorway, ready to make his exit.

  “Hold up.”

  He turned, a bored look on his face, and roughed a hand through his hair. It was a few shades darker than mine and reached the collar of his T-shirt. We were a similar height and build and according to my cousin Jesse, Ridge looked like a male stripper. He relied on his looks to get him whatever he wanted. Which meant he’d been intent on seducing every woman in a ten-mile radius, including his female teachers. In the past four months, I’d been called in to the principal’s and guidance counselor’s office almost as many times as I had been in my four years of high school.

  “Did you finish your English essay?”

  He smirked. “Sure did.” He grabbed a notebook from the coffee table. “Pretty sure it’s gonna get me an A.”

  “Let’s see it.”

  “I need to re-copy it. It’s still messy.”

  I stifled the laughter that threatened to burst free. This shit wasn’t funny. I was looking at my worst nightmare. Brody McCallister 2.0.

  I jerked my chin at the notebook. “Let me read it.”

  “Nah. You don’t wanna do that. This shit’s boring.”

  I grabbed the notebook out of his hand and flicked through the loose-leaf pages until I got to an essay about Of Mice and Men. The handwriting was neat, the cursive loopy and decidedly feminine. Not his chicken scratch. Color me surprised.

  “Let me get this straight. You got the girl to write your essay and to thank her, you let her give you a blowjob?”

  He snickered. So fucking proud of himself and too stupid to hide it. “Good deal, right?”

  I ripped the pages out of the notebook, crumpled them into a ball and stuffed it in my pocket before I slapped the notebook against his chest. “Sit down and write your own goddamn essay.”

  “Fuck that. I’m outta here.” He headed for the front door. Ridge was always on the verge of running away but considering he had nowhere to go, he never got far. He might be failing school, but the kid wasn’t stupid. He was street smart. A survivor who knew that staying with me meant he’d have food, clothes and shelter. As long as he was under my roof, he was mine to protect and to fight for. Which was exactly what I intended to do.

  I grabbed the collar of his T-shirt and hauled him back then shoved him onto the sofa. “You’re not going anywhere until this essay is done.”

  His eyes narrowed. I crossed my arms over my chest and stared him down. He rolled his eyes, a reminder that he was only seventeen. Still a kid. A fucked-up kid who needed guidance and love and the reassurance that I wasn’t going to quit on him no matter what he did or said or how hard he pushed me. This was what Kate had told me and she was the best fucking mother on the planet, so I took her advice on board.

  “What are you gonna do?” He smirked. “Kick me out if I don’t write a stupid ass essay?”

  “Nah. Not looking to take the easy way out. We’re not leaving this room until it’s written.”

  He groaned. “Come on, man.” His head hit the back of the sofa and he stared at the ceiling. “I’m not good at this shit.”

  Well, that makes two of us. “Did you read the book?”

  He shrugged one shoulder. “Couldn’t get past the first page. Total snooze-fest.”

  I picked up the book and checked the page count. Just over a hundred pages. Not War and Peace, thank fuck. “Then I guess I’d better make a pot of coffee. It’s gonna be a long-ass night.” I tossed the book into his lap. “Start reading. Out loud so I can listen too.”

  “Why are you being such a hard-ass about this? It’s just a stupid English essay. I’ve got better shit to do with my time.”

  “So do I. But we’re doing this.”

  “We?”

  “Start reading,” I commanded as I strode into the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee. Like this was what I wanted to be doing on a Tuesday night. I sure as hell hadn’t been the best student. But this kid would finish high school if it fucking killed me.

  The first time I met Ridge was New Year’s Day. Before the cops called and told me he’d been found alongside the road about fourteen miles from here and was asking for me by name, I had no idea my baby brother even existed. He’d taken a bus and hitchhiked across four state lines to get to me. By the time he showed up, he was beaten and bloody. A long-haul trucker had dumped his ass on the side of the road after he was informed over the radio that someone matching Ridge’s description had stolen another trucker’s wallet at the truck stop in the next county. I was sure he’d done worse things.

  Ridge had been raised by a junkie who would go for years of being clean only to lapse again. Until finally the drugs had killed her. Instead of calling the authorities when he found her dead in their apartment, Ridge had packed his bags and hightailed it out of there. He said he’d only found out about me six months before ou
r mother died. She’d let it slip that she had another son named Brody who lived in Cypress Springs, Texas. She’d claimed I had deserted her, turned my back on her and told lies that had resulted in her losing custody of me.

  I hadn’t lied. I hadn’t told the whole truth either. If I had, she would have lost me years before that.

  Like me, Ridge had been dealt a shit hand but unlike me, he hadn’t been lucky enough to be taken in by family at the age of ten. Kate and Patrick had offered to take him in but the way I saw it, he had come here looking for me. He was my responsibility, not theirs, and I had no intention of failing him the way our mother had. I’d do whatever I could to help him move on from his past and make a good life for himself.

  More living, less dwelling. That was my motto and it had served me well. Hell knows I’d done a lot of living.

  Booted feet propped on the coffee table, mug of coffee in my hand, I pulled out my phone and texted my buddy Austin while Ridge grudgingly read Of Mice and Men.

  You still got that old pickup you use for hayrides?

  Message sent, I pocketed my phone and listened to the story. It had probably been assigned reading back when I was in high school, but hell knows I hadn’t read it either. Turns out I’d missed out on some good shit.

  “Well, damn, that was harsh,” Ridge said when he reached the end, and tossed the book on the coffee table. “That’s the trouble with having big dreams.”

  I side-eyed him. “You have to have big dreams, Ridge. It’s what gives you hope. Gives you something worth fighting for.”

  He snorted. “That was cheesy as hell.”

  “Yeah. Guess it was.” I chuckled under my breath. I’d never felt as old as I did right now, trying to straddle the line between parent and older brother. It was easier with a six-year-old. Noah still believed I walked on water whereas Ridge saw through all my bullshit and called me out on it. It wasn’t just their age difference though. It was their circumstances. Noah’s life had always been good. From the minute he was born, he never had to worry about being loved or taken care of. Had never had to question or doubt that the adults in his life would always be there for him. With no reason not to, Noah’s first instinct was to put his trust in people, believing they’d always do right by him. I don’t think I’d ever been that innocent or trusting, not even at six.