Wishing On A Star (A Shooting Stars Novel Book 3)

by Terri Osburn

  “I can live with that.”

  Leaning his bottom on the counter edge, he noticed Brutus waiting patiently at the end of the island. “I’ll let you go then. Brutus is sitting here waiting for a treat.”

  “I thought he wasn’t your dog.”

  “He isn’t, but I’m a sucker so he has a treat jar on my counter.”

  Her husky laugh brought back old memories. “Why don’t you just admit that he’s your dog?”

  Ash closed the dishwasher and reached for the clear jar in the far corner of the counter. He’d moved it there after Brutus figured out how to reach it in its previous location. “Because Nancy would argue differently since she’s the one who rescued him two years ago and pays all his vet bills.”

  “Sounds like shared custody to me.” Ash heard a beep, and Jesse said, “I need to take this other call. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  He resisted asking if the call was from Dimitri. No more crossing that line. “I’ll be ready.”

  “And, Ash? Thank you.”

  A sigh left his lungs as the tension eased from his shoulders. “No problem.”

  She bid him good night, and Ash did the same before ending the call and setting the phone on the counter. Reaching into the jar for one of Brutus’s treats, he said, “That was a close one, big guy. Too close.”

  The canine swiped the treat from his fingers, and Ash watched him prance off down the hall. A second later, he heard the swoosh of the dog door and smiled. Shared custody. The phrase could make an interesting song title.

  Filing through melodies in his mind, Ash strolled back to the studio to play with the idea.

  Usually a night owl, Jesse found her eyelids drooping well before midnight. The emotional roller coaster of the day had left her feeling as if she’d run a marathon. With a yawn, she dropped her toothbrush into the cup and headed for bed, too tired to be upset that Ryan hadn’t called after the show. She’d hoped the call that beeped in on her chat with Ash was him, but no such luck. Instead she’d gotten a robocall for a survey and hung up at the start of the pitch.

  Jesse wasn’t sure how she felt about her boyfriend in that moment. Crawling into bed, she hugged his pillow against her chest and felt guilty for second-guessing him. Throughout the drive home from meeting Silas, she’d considered their relationship and why she was still in it. Was she fooling herself? Or was she letting Ash’s opinion cloud her judgment?

  Yes, Ryan had a bad reputation, but wasn’t that the same thing Jesse was fighting against? People believing what they heard about her when they didn’t even know her? Granted, parts of Ryan’s reputation had been earned, but people could change. When they found the right person, everything changed.

  That’s how life had been for Jesse. Throughout her nearly three decades, everyone who was supposed to care about her either ignored her or walked away. Her parents had reminded her often enough that she’d been an oops they never wanted, and even Ash had left her behind. Knowing now why he’d done it didn’t change the hurt she’d lived with for all those years.

  A year after Tommy’s death, Jesse had been convinced that no one would ever love her. Not until Ryan had she even considered the possibility.

  He’d been there before the Daisies took off, stuck with her through the good and the bad times that followed, and had never wavered in supporting her dreams. That was the real Ryan. The one no one else got to see.

  With a sigh, Jesse made sure the alarm was set on her phone before switching off the bedside lamp and tugging the blankets up close around her neck. She drifted off to sleep, but what could have been minutes or hours later, awoke when a loud thud sounded from somewhere in the house.

  Eyes half open, she stayed still, waiting for the sound to come again. When there was nothing but silence, she assumed she’d been dreaming and closed her eyes once more, but a crash from the kitchen made her bolt upright.

  Wide awake now, she debated what to do. Lying there waiting to be murdered in her bed didn’t hold much appeal. Jesse’s mind raced as she considered what she could use as a weapon against an intruder. No doubt the idiot would best her in size, but she had the element of surprise on her side and that gave her an edge.

  Remembering the baseball bat in the closet, she slowly left the bed and crawled across the floor, careful not to make a sound. Sliding the door on the track, she felt around until cold aluminum brushed her fingers. Armed and annoyed enough to be dangerous, she hovered near the bedroom door, listening. The house wasn’t huge, and she needed to figure out where the interloper was in order to sneak up on him.

  On high alert, she heard a click that sounded like the refrigerator door. Who broke into a house to raid the refrigerator? That was all she needed. Some dude high out of his mind looking for snacks and not realizing he’d wandered into the wrong house.

  If that was the case, she had no intention of bashing the guy’s head in, but that didn’t mean she’d put the bat down either. Tiptoeing down the hall, a voice in her head said this is how the too-stupid-to-live chicks died in horror movies. Somehow, the absence of eerie music made the situation less scary. If only real life came with a soundtrack, then she’d know what lingered in the darkness.

  Another noise came from the kitchen, this one followed by a muffled curse. Maybe the jackass had cut himself. Good. He deserved whatever he got for invading someone else’s space.

  When Jesse was halfway down the hall, heavy footsteps echoed through the living room, and she realized the intruder was coming her way. Adrenaline kept the panic at bay, and she raised the bat high to defend herself, prepared to do as much damage as necessary to save her own ass.

  The steps grew louder, and a dark figure appeared, silhouetted by the light from the microwave clock behind him. Jesse’s grip tightened on the bat as she reared back, ready to let fly. Heart racing, she waited until the man was close enough for her not to miss and as she started to swing, the prowler flipped on the hall light.

  Momentum carried her forward, and a leather clad arm shot up to catch the bat before it connected with his skull. Chest heaving, Jesse froze as her mind struggled to process what she was seeing.

  “Ryan?” she breathed, fear quickly transforming into anger. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Thirteen

  “You nearly killed me!” Ryan slurred, and the scent of liquor hit Jesse in the face.

  Blood boiling, she tugged the bat from his grasp and waved it in the air between them. “You scared the shit out of me sneaking around like that. How was I supposed to know that was you making all that noise in the kitchen?”

  He took a step back and leaned against the wall. “Well, who else would it be?”

  His inability to stand without assistance sent her over the edge. “You’re supposed to be in Charlotte right now, remember?” Jesse stormed past him to see the clock in the kitchen. “It’s nearly two in the damn morning. What are you doing here, and why are you freaking drunk?”

  “I couldn’t stop thinking about you and Shepherd. The minute the show ended, I left for the airport and caught the last flight out.” Pressing his shoulders to the wall, he swiped a hand across his nose. “I had a couple drinks on the plane to take the edge off.”

  Jesse fought the temptation to use the weapon in her hand. To think, she’d considered his reaction on the phone as a positive sign of how much he cared about her. This ridiculous encounter eliminated any romantic notions she had about jealous men.

  “You need a shower and some coffee.” When he’d said he left right after the show, he wasn’t exaggerating. She could smell the sweat from halfway down the hall and felt sorry for whoever had had to sit next to him on the flight.

  “Come on, baby. Aren’t you happy to see me?” He attempted to saunter toward her and failed miserably.

  She caught him before he could take a nosedive and swung him into the hall bath. Dropping him onto the toilet, Jesse propped the bat behind the commode and reached over him to turn on the water. Ryan wrapped his arms
around her waist.

  “I missed you, baby. Why don’t you get in the shower with me.”

  Disengaging his arms, she adjusted the water temperature to be cool enough to begin the sobering process. “You’re on your own, lover boy. I’ll throw some clothes in and have the coffee ready when you get out. Try not to drown yourself.”

  She didn’t truly wish him harm, but Jesse wasn’t feeling all that charitable either. He’d shaved a good five years off of her life and had yet to offer a better explanation for his unexpected return.

  “I told you I’d come home so we could celebrate. Why aren’t you happier to see me?”

  Jesse helped him out of the leather jacket and tossed it over her arm before retrieving a towel from the shelves behind the door. “Maybe I’ll be happier when my heart rate returns to normal and you don’t smell like a drunk sweat sock.”

  Ryan reached for her again. “Come on, now, baby. Don’t be so grouchy. I came all this way to be with my girl.”

  Ruffling his hair, she stared into his earnest, bloodshot eyes. “Your girl is going to make coffee while you clean yourself up.” She dropped a kiss on his forehead. “Then we can talk about this sudden jealous streak of yours.”

  Strong arms pulled her close, and he pressed his forehead against her sternum. “I kept picturing you with someone else, and I hated it.” Ryan looked up, and the distress in his gaze tugged at her heart. “Promise you won’t leave me.”

  This. This was the Ryan that others never saw.

  “I’m not going anywhere except to the kitchen. Take your shower and maybe I’ll have more than a cup of coffee waiting when you get out.”

  A sexy grin curled his lips, and he squeezed her bottom. “I’ll be out in five.”

  Jesse pulled away. “Don’t forget to brush your teeth. You know I can’t stand the taste of rum.”

  “Anything for you, baby.”

  He was pulling his shirt over his head as she left the room and shuffled toward the kitchen. As she draped the leather jacket over a chair, a ding sounded from the pocket, and Jesse dug for his phone. Checking the screen, she found a notification from someone identified only as Boston. She entered his password and touched the messages icon to read the text.

  I can’t wait to see you tomorrow night. It’s been too long, baby. I’ve bought some new toys and the nightstand is stocked with Magnums for my big boy.

  Jesse stared at the phone as the words penetrated her brain. Attempts to decipher the message as something innocent and easily explained were pointless. She’d unconsciously asked the universe for absolute proof and here it was.

  It didn’t get more absolute than this.

  As if wanting to torture herself, Jesse exited the text to search for others and found an assortment of similar sentiments, all from individuals identified solely by city names. In addition to Boston, there was Buffalo, Tallahassee, Denver, and Albuquerque. All anticipating an impending visit, and a few expressing their appreciation for services rendered.

  Still holding the phone, Jesse dropped into a kitchen chair and kept scrolling. Seconds later, the phone buzzed in her hand and the name Charlotte popped up on the screen. With a white heat spreading through her chest, she checked the message.

  Where did you go? I waited by the bus for an hour, but the guys said you left. What the hell, Ryan? I thought we had a date.

  Jesse threw the phone across the room, furious with herself as much as with Ryan. Storming into the bedroom, she ripped off her nightgown to pull on a pair of jeans and a Georgia Bulldogs sweatshirt. Slamming her bare feet into her boots, she grabbed a tote from the closet and stuffed it with a couple of days’ worth of clothes. Tossing in her hairbrush and some ponytail holders, she grabbed her phone from the nightstand before rushing back down the hall. Without shedding a tear, she snagged her keys off the hook on the wall and left the house.

  Unable to sleep, Ash threw his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. He checked the time on his phone. Two thirty in the morning. An hour he didn’t see often. Most musicians tended to be the stereotypical night owls, but not Ash. He’d hated playing bars because his body clock rarely let him sleep past 7 am no matter what time his head hit the pillow.

  Playing in front of crowds had been another issue. His move to town had not been about finding stardom or fame. He’d simply wanted to write music. Finding success as a songwriter had allowed him to do what he loved on a regular schedule without spending his nights in crowded honkytonks.

  Thirsty, he plodded to the kitchen, filled a glass from the dispenser on the fridge door, and made his way back to bed. But instead of turning left, he turned right and stepped into the studio. If he wasn’t going to sleep, he could do something more productive than stare at the walls. Leaving the water on a table by the door, he crossed to the desk and turned on a monitor. The song he’d been working on—Jesse’s song—was still on the screen, but a notification along the bottom bar caught his attention.

  A couple clicks and an email from Millie Hopewell popped up with the subject line Meeting scheduled. Ash steeled himself as he scrolled down to the message.

  Dear Ash,

  The producers of A Nashville Country Christmas called today and have requested a meeting on Friday morning. As I’m sure you’ll agree, it’s important that we work out the details quickly so that the children have plenty of time to rehearse.

  The meeting is scheduled for ten o’clock Friday morning, and I’ve included the address below. I apologize for the short notice, but I do hope you can attend. I don’t want to tell the children about this until everything has been finalized, so hopefully we can tell them together on Saturday morning.

  With great excitement!

  Millie Hopewell

  Ash sighed as he read the email again. Other than working with Jesse, there was no reason he couldn’t make the meeting. He doubted it would last more than an hour, and with luck, they’d be far enough along by then to be ready for Monday.

  Millie’s insistence that Ash accompany the kids on stage was his only real issue. He wasn’t bashful so much as preferred to stay behind the scenes. The choir was good enough to run without his direction. Zoe, the oldest of the group, could take the lead and handle any direction needed on stage. The musicians were a different story. They were good, but not ready to fly on their own. Another sigh escaped as Ash clicked to reply. He let Millie know he would attend the meeting and looked forward to sharing the good news on Saturday.

  Resigned to his fate, he shut down the monitor, grabbed his water on the way out, and went back to bed.

  Jesse lingered in her Jeep, staring at Ingrid’s house through a wall of rain. Waking her friends in the middle of the night wasn’t her favorite idea, but she hadn’t been sure where else to go. She could have checked into a hotel, but she didn’t want to be alone. Not tonight. She needed someone to assure her that this wasn’t all her fault for being an ignorant coward and not leaving Ryan a long time ago. Despite Dana’s feelings about Jesse’s significant other—make that former significant other—she wasn’t likely to throw an I-told-you-so around.

  Not for at least a week, Jesse hoped.

  Cursing herself for not grabbing a jacket on her way out of the house, she snatched the canvas bag from the passenger seat and made a break for the front door. Thank heaven the house had a covered porch because, in this downpour, Jesse would be soaked through by the time anyone answered the door. She rang the bell and waited, rubbing her arms against the cold. The sweatshirt was proving inadequate, and the old boots were doing little to keep her bare toes warm.

  Shivering, she listened for a sound inside but heard nothing. She rang the bell again, planning an apology speech in her mind for dragging them out of bed. Hopefully, Dana would answer, and Ingrid would sleep through the disturbance without a clue.

  The second ring went unanswered, and Jesse pondered her options. Withdrawing her phone, she opened her messages app to text her bass player and spotted the earlier message she’d forgotten about.
Dana and Ingrid had gone out of town to visit the homeowner’s ailing sister in Atlanta.

  “Shoot,” Jesse muttered. What now?

  Driving to Reggie’s house was out of the question. Waking up adults at nearly three in the morning was one thing. Waking up Reggie’s twins was another. That left Silas, who slept like the dead and lived well over an hour from Hendersonville on the south side of Nashville. Defeated, Jesse plopped down on the wooden glider and fought back tears. Despite her determination not to cry over Ryan Dimitri and his philandering ways, her cheeks remained damp from more than the rain.

  Bracing herself, she raced back to the Jeep as the wind howled around her. Forehead on the steering wheel, the last threads of control snapped, and all the anger and hurt poured out.

  “Why?!” Jesse screamed, rearing back to smack a hand against the wheel. Why had she been such an idiot? And why couldn’t Ryan be faithful for once in his daggone life?

  Then again, why had Jesse ever believed he would be faithful? She’d known his history. The better question was, why had she floated in this pathetic delusion for so long? Sobs racked her body until her sides hurt, and the harder she struggled for control, the harder she cried. Jesse forced herself to take deep breaths—in and out—until her breathing steadied.

  Watching the rain slide down the windshield, she considered her options. Sleeping in her Jeep held little appeal, and the last thing she needed was for a neighbor to call the police on the interloper trespassing in Ingrid’s driveway. The clock on the dash read three thirty. Jesse could be at Silas’s place before five, if the rain didn’t slow her down too much on the interstate. But she really didn’t want to make that drive.

  There was only one other place she could go. One other person who cared enough—or had at one time—to let her in out of the rain.