When the Storm Breaks (Lost Stars) Page 4

  Ridge was more like me. Took more convincing to believe that people’s intentions were good, and they’d have your back if you should ever need them. No doubt he’d been looking after himself for a long time, never trusting that our mother would be there when he needed her. Because she never fucking was.

  You would think that finding out my mother was dead would have made me feel something. But I hadn’t felt a damn thing. She’d been dead to me for a long time. But Ridge was a different story. He’d spent seventeen years of his life with her.

  Now he stared at the blank sheet of paper in front of him, his shoulders slumped. “What the fuck am I supposed to write?”

  “Write your own truth.”

  He looked at me like I was crazy but a few seconds later he started writing.

  I didn’t give a shit if he got an A or a D. What mattered was that he didn’t take the easy way out and have someone do his work for him. Because guess what? That ain’t how life works. Nobody can carry your load except for you. And sometimes that shit got heavy.

  While he wrote his essay, I Googled Shiloh Leroux and justified the intrusion on her privacy by telling myself it was because she was staying on my property. Bullshit.

  I read about the Louisiana girl’s meteoric rise to fame with the indie rock band, Acadian Storm. It was your typical rock and roll story—sex, drugs, stints in rehab, lawsuits settled out of court. One year ago, Shiloh left Acadian Storm to pursue a solo career. She won a Grammy for “Damage”, the lead track on her self-titled debut album featuring Bastian Cox, the British rock star.

  My eye caught on a photo of Shiloh with Dean Bouchon, her ex-boyfriend and lead guitarist for Acadian Storm, coming out of a club in L.A. Her hair was silver, eyes smoky, lips red. She was wearing a black leather mini dress and ankle boots with sky-high heels and looked nothing like the girl who had fallen asleep in my truck. Dean Bouchon looked like a douche, wearing sunglasses at night.

  The headline read: The TRUTH About Dean & Shiloh’s Breakup

  I didn’t read the story. I didn’t read the one about how Shiloh broke up the band or the rumors that she left Dean for Bastian Cox either.

  Shiloh was currently in the midst of a world tour. It had started in Singapore at the end of January, with dates still being added well into next year, the tickets selling out as soon as they were released.

  All of which begged the question: Why are you here, Shiloh? And why should I even care?

  I pocketed my phone. Never should have looked her up in the first place. None of my damn business.

  “Done,” Ridge said, closing his notebook, a satisfied smile on his face. “Turns out I had a lot to say.”

  In retrospect, I should have questioned that or at the very least, read the damn thing. Instead, I took the easy way out and went to bed.

  Chapter Four

  Shiloh

  A knock on the front door woke me. I pushed the black cashmere eye mask on top of my head and squinted at the bright sunlight streaming through the windows. Where was I? Not in a hotel. The sheets were soft and smelled like lavender. Outside my open windows, the sky was glaringly blue, and the air smelled fresh and sweet.

  I was in Cypress Springs, Texas and someone was still banging on the door. Dragging myself out of bed, I ran my fingers through my tangled hair as I walked down the stairs. Padding across the braided rug covering the hardwood floor, I stopped in front of the locked door.

  “Who is it?” I’d had too many groupies and creepers showing up outside my door to open it to just anyone and there was no peephole to tell me who my caller was.

  “Brody.”

  Brody. My lips curved into a small smile as I opened the door. He wore faded denim, dusty work boots, and a sweat-stained gray T-shirt tight enough to show the ripples and dips of his chiseled abs. I was mesmerized by his broad shoulders, bulging biceps and the sheen of sweat on his suntanned skin. He was so deliciously masculine.

  “Hey Cowboy.”

  “Viv.”

  Viv. He’d already shortened my alias.

  His gaze roamed from my face and down, slow as you like, taking in my silky pearl-gray camisole and matching short set trimmed in black lace. When his whiskey browns finally returned to my face, it felt like he’d branded every inch of my skin and left a trail of heat in its wake.

  “Enjoying the view?”

  “It’ll do.” He chuckled at my raised brows. It’ll do? What a charmer. “Didn’t mean to wake you ...” There was no hint of an apology in his voice. “But it is two in the afternoon.”

  “I didn’t fall asleep until six this morning.”

  He tilted his head, studying my face like I was a riddle he wanted to solve. “Why couldn’t you sleep?”

  “Jet lag.”

  “California is only two hours behind Texas.”

  “Guess I’m sensitive to time changes.” Four days ago, I’d flown back from Australia and had gone directly into meetings with the record label followed by interviews, a feature story in Vanity Fair, and an appearance on Jimmy Kimmel Live. Before I hopped my flight from L.A., I’d made the mistake of answering my phone and had yet another argument with Landry. When I’d stopped to take a breath, the stress and exhaustion had caught up to me. I leaned my hip against the doorframe and crossed my arms over my chest. “Did you need something, Brody?”

  “No. But you did. Got you that pickup you asked for.”

  I looked over his shoulder at a faded blue Chevy. It looked like the one Maw Maw used to drive. The thought of her and that old truck put a big smile on my face.

  “There it is,” he said softly.

  My gaze swung back to his face. “There what is?”

  “Your smile. You should do it more often.”

  “Give me a reason and I just might.”

  “I thought me standing in your doorway would be enough reason.”

  I laughed at his response, but my laughter faded under the intensity of his gaze. I wanted to know what his story was. From the moment we first laid eyes on each other, I knew he had one and that parts of it were tragic. It was just a feeling I got. Maybe that was why I’d been drawn to him in the first place. But he looked as if he’d ridden out the storm and had come out on the other side of it. Or maybe he was really good at pretending.

  Maw Maw always told me I’d inherited her psychic powers. Whether it was a blessing or a curse, I was never quite sure. Either way, I’d never really believed I had her gift.

  Right now, though, something was taking hold of me. A strong vibration that told me something big was headed our way. I didn’t know if the outcome would be good or bad, but I knew one thing with absolute certainty. Neither of us would come out of it unscathed. All the more reason to keep my distance.

  I dragged my gaze away from his to the pickup truck parked right in front. “How much do you want for it?”

  “I don’t want your money. Just use it while you’re here and leave it with a full tank when you’re done.”

  “I need to pay you for it. I can’t just take your truck.”

  “It’s not mine. Friend owed me a favor. It’s a crap truck but it should get you around just fine. So take the damn truck.” He ran his hand through his longish dirty blond hair, his voice gruff. “I can’t be playing chauffeur every time you need to go somewhere.”

  With that, Brody handed me the keys and strode away.

  “I never asked you to play chauffeur,” I called after him. “I never asked you for anything.”

  “Well, that just ain’t true now, is it? You asked me to find you a ride and I did.” He patted the hood of the pickup and turned around to face me as I moved to the edge of the porch. “And if you need me to keep your secret and protect you from assholes, I’ll do that too, Shi-loh,” he said, dragging out the syllables of my real name in his smooth Texas drawl. “All you gotta do is ask nicely.”

  I didn’t bother telling him I’d never asked for his protection last night. I was too fixated on the fact that he knew my name. “Dammit
. How long did it take you to figure out who I am?”

  He chuckled and shook his head. “Longer than it should’ve. Never claimed to be all that bright. But I’ve got plenty of other attributes to make up for it.”

  As if to prove his point, he gave me a slow, lazy grin that was completely disarming. That smile of his got to me every time. But the last thing I needed was more trouble in my life.

  Damn you, Brody McCallister. Falling for you is not part of my plan.

  I needed to get close to him without getting fucked five ways from Sunday. Been there. Done that. Still had the battle wounds to show for it.

  “Do you think ...” I didn’t want anyone to recognize me. The last thing I needed was to have the media hounding me. That would ruin everything. “I don’t want anyone to know I’m here.”

  “I don’t think everyone in town will know who you are. Now, if you were Carrie Underwood you might have a problem.”

  “And why’s that?” I was no Carrie Underwood. Nobody would ever call me America’s sweetheart. But I bristled at his words all the same. Which was stupid. Hadn’t I just said I wanted to go unnoticed?

  “This is Texas Hill Country. Lot of folks around here listen to country music.”

  “How about you? Do you listen to a lot of country music?”

  “Nah. Not my thing.”

  “What kind of cowboy are you?” I scoffed.

  “Never claimed to be a cowboy. You said it, not me.”

  “And now you’re going to deny it?”

  He shrugged. “There’s no rulebook that says I have to listen to country music.”

  “Even if there was, you’d probably break every rule in that book.”

  “Feels like you already know everything’ about me. Or at least you think you do.”

  “Well, all you have to do is Google me and you can find out anything you want.” That wasn’t true. There was plenty that you wouldn’t find by Googling me. But he could learn more than I’d ever want him to. Had he already Googled me? “Seems like you have me at an unfair advantage.”

  “Them’s the breaks of reaching for the stars, Sugar Lips.”

  “How many girls have you called by that name?”

  He grinned. “More than I can count. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a shitload of work to do.”

  “Nobody’s keeping you.”

  “I’d beg to differ.” He tilted his chin down to prove his point. My hand was on his chest and I swear to God I had no idea how it had gotten there or when my feet had carried me this close but here I was, my hand over his heart, the hard muscles of his chest taut under my palm.

  I removed my hand and let it fall to my side, so he was free to go. Which was exactly what he did. “See you around, Shy,” he called over his shoulder and I heard him laughing as he strode away, headed into the sun. Maybe I should have offered him a ride to wherever he was going but I didn’t.

  I had a shitload of things to do too and I’d already slept half my day away.

  The first thing I had to do was shower and then I could get my stalking game on.

  It had been a stroke of luck when this cottage showed up on the website. I’d taken it as a sign that this was exactly where I was supposed to be. On this very ranch owned by none other than Brody McCallister. Former rodeo bare bronc rider. Rescuer of wild horses. Horse breeder and trainer.

  But most importantly, Noah’s daddy.

  I’d been sitting in the truck for twenty minutes, slumped down in the seat, music blasting in my ears when a silver SUV pulled into the parking lot. I cut the music and stared out the windshield, my heart hammering against my rib cage as the SUV pulled into a space further up the row and across from me. Perfect. They’d have to walk past my truck to get to the dance studio.

  Thanks to the private investigator I’d hired, I knew their daily routine.

  A slim brunette got out of the driver’s seat. Meredith Peterson. She was in her late thirties, dressed in khaki capris, a short-sleeve blouse and ballet flats. She looked nice. Approachable. Sensible. Like a soccer mom. The opposite of me in every way. I held my breath as she rounded the back of the car and opened the passenger door. Seconds later, the little girl emerged, and Meredith took her hand and led her away from the car.

  I studied the girl’s face, searching for some resemblance. Her brown hair, lighter than mine was the same shade as Dean’s and it was smoothed back into a high ponytail. She was small-boned and delicate, wearing a lilac leotard with an attached skirt that looked like petals. My little bird. She walked with a bounce in her step and passed right in front of my truck, without even noticing me.

  There goes my baby girl.

  She looked happy. And that was what I’d wanted for her. A loving family. A good life.

  Everything I couldn’t give her at eighteen when I was dirt poor and left to do it all on my own.

  I watched her through the windshield until she disappeared behind the closed door of the dance studio and then I sagged against the seat and closed my eyes.

  The last time I saw her, she was so tiny, her face all red and scrunched up, but she’d still been the most beautiful thing I’d ever laid eyes on. She was born on October seventh at two in the morning and weighed six pounds, seven ounces. Now she was six and a half years old and was walking and talking, wishing on stars and dreaming big dreams. Did she want to be a dancer? Did she sing all the time? Was she anything like me?

  My forehead dropped to the steering wheel. Tears streamed down my cheeks.

  Fuck you, Dean.

  He’d always been trouble, so I should have known better. But when you fall in love with the wrong boy at seventeen, you’re not always thinking clearly. After Maw Maw died, it was just Landry and me, and I’d clung to Dean like a lifeline. As if he could save me from sinking. Ha. What a joke.

  “I’ll take care of you and the baby, Shy. I’ve got this.”

  His idea of taking care of me had landed him in prison.

  Why I’d ever believed a single word out of that liar’s mouth was a question I’d never been able to answer.

  While Dean was serving his stint in prison, Landry talked me into giving up the baby. I understood why he did it. We were barely scraping by as it was, and I wasn’t in the right place in my life to be a good mother. In my heart, I knew it was for the best, but I couldn’t help thinking that he hadn’t been thinking of me or the baby at all. He didn’t want anything to get in the way of the band.

  Music had brought us all together. It was why I’d stayed in that toxic relationship for all those years. When we sang and played together, it was like magic, and it made me forget all the shit we’d gone through.

  That magic took us all the way to L.A. Me, Dean, Landry, and Gus. Forever tied together by the secrets and lies we locked in a vault and hid from the media. We were on top of the world, all our dreams were coming true, but Dean was spiraling down and trying to drag me down with him.

  Unlike me, Dean had never mourned the loss of our baby. Had never even brought it up. Nobody in the band ever breathed a word of it. Just as if it had never happened. Now I had living proof that it had.

  Forty-five minutes later, I was still parked in the same spot when the little girl and her mom walked out of the dance studio. I pretended to be on the phone, not paying any attention, but watched from beneath the brim of my ball cap. Like a bonafide creeper.

  When they were gone, I drove aimlessly on winding roads that cut through a carpet of bluebonnets and wildflowers. I hadn’t come here with a solid plan. All I’d wanted was to see her, to be around her, spend some time getting to know her. Did I even deserve that much after the way I’d abandoned her?

  How had I thought this would play out? Would I knock on their front door and announce who I was and the reason for my visit? Somehow, I didn’t think that would go over too well.

  Brody was my best bet. I needed to earn his trust, so he’d let me hang out with him and his son. I knew better than to think it would be easy. Brody’s grin m
ight be charming, but his walls were high. I had six weeks to knock them down. Then I’d go back to my regularly scheduled life.

  Chapter Five

  Shiloh

  It had been two days since I last saw Brody. Since he wasn’t interested in seeking me out it was up to me to pursue him. Tomorrow was Saturday and I’d need an invitation or an excuse to hang out with him. There were only so many times I could sit in the school parking lot or lurk outside the Petersons’ house, hoping to catch a glimpse of my little girl before her parents noticed and slapped a restraining order on me. Her name was Hayley. I’d called her Ophelia, after my mom.

  When I was pregnant, I knew I was having a girl. Not because of a scan. I hadn’t gotten one. But in my heart, I just knew. I used to play music for her. Talk to her. Tell her my hopes and dreams and plans. When she was born, Dean was still in prison and Landry and Gus wanted nothing to do with her.

  Don’t get too attached, Landry had warned me, as if I could turn my emotions on and off like a faucet.

  I loved my brother but sometimes he could be so cold. As it turned out, I was even worse. A horrible mother and an even more horrible person. I’d traded my baby girl for those big dreams of mine but not a day went by when I didn’t think about her wrapped in that soft pink blanket, so innocent and trusting.

  I set off across the field, following the line of the stained wood fence, the trees providing shade from the morning sun. A few horses were grazing in the pasture and I stopped to watch a sleek black horse running with a chestnut horse before I set off again, my sights on the timber barn with a tin roof where I thought I might find Brody.

  About an acre of land separated the barn from a two-story wood-shingled farmhouse with dark green trim and a wraparound porch. Instead of a tire swing in the backyard, a saddle hung from two ropes tied to the thick branch of an oak tree. Guess Noah was being raised to be a cowboy too. It made me smile.