by Duncan Leigh
“You don’t remember coming here after church on Sundays when we were kids?” Sarah slowly cranked the handle on her spinning rod.
Bradley ducked his head. “There’s a lot about those years I’ve blocked out.” Losing his parents, having everything he’d ever known ripped away from him…it all hurt too much to think about.
“Some wounds just don’t heal.” On his left, Adam spouted wisdom from beneath a straw hat.
Bradley slipped one finger over the line, prepared to make another cast. “You know, this feels like Mindful Awareness.”
“What?” Sarah’s eyes narrowed.
“Ah, it’s something Catherine and I do back in L.A.” He put some muscle behind the cast this time and congratulated himself when the lure splashed the water near the opposite bank. “We pay to go to this place that does yoga and meditation. They teach you how to be aware of what’s in front of you. Let go of the past and the future. Stay quiet. In the moment.”
“You’re paying money for that?”
When Adam laughed out loud at Sarah’s pointed snicker, Bradley looked from one friend to another. Okay, to be honest, the class had been Catherine’s idea, but he’d gotten something out of it. At least, he thought he had. “What’s so funny?” he demanded.
“You’re paying money to sit still and be quiet?” Disbelief raised not one, but both of Sarah’s eyebrows.
“You hear that?” Adam scanned the rippling brook.
Bradley tightened his grip on the cork handle of his fishing rod. What was there to hear besides the water rushing past their boots or the occasional cry of a bird on the hunt? “What?”
“That’s silence,” Sarah pointed out. “It’s not yesterday’s silence. It’s not tomorrow’s silence. You’re in it right now.” She shook her head for emphasis. “And it is free. Of. Charge.”
Taking in the blue skies overhead, the soft rustle of the breeze through the trees, the peaceful whisper of the river, Bradley sighed. “I get it.” His friends were lucky enough to live in Mill Town, where three cars at the only stop light on Main Street qualified as a rush hour. Of course, they considered a class or two in Mindful Awareness a waste of money. But babbling brooks and quiet moments were far and few between in places like L.A. or Nashville, where so many trucks and cars crowded the roadways that a simple run to the grocery store often involved an hour-long slog through heavy traffic. Determined to enjoy this opportunity as long as it lasted, he reeled in for another cast.
Sarah shot Bradley a side-eyed look as she parked her truck beneath the trees near the barn. He hadn’t said a word all the way back from the fishing hole. She guessed she’d been pretty hard on him today: offering him a picnic lunch from her cooler instead of the fancy restaurant he’d probably expected, and then giving him the business about all that yoga and meditation stuff. But that was what friends did. They spoke their minds around one another, didn’t they?
She tugged on the edge of her denim jacket. From the little Bradley had opened up about his life, it didn’t sound like he had many friends. Oh, he had people—acquaintances and fans who toted and fetched for him, who agreed with everything he said. The poor guy probably never knew whether someone actually liked him for himself, or if they just wanted to be around him because he was rich and famous. That had to be tough.
She swept a glance over fences that needed repair, a house that could use a fresh coat of paint, the aged and broken-down horses grazing in the pasture. As desperate as her situation was right now—and she wasn’t kidding herself, things couldn’t get much worse—she wouldn’t trade her life for his.
But at least he had Catherine. He could rely on her to tell him the truth.
She spared Bradley a second look. Though she’d never invade his privacy, she’d love to hear all about her favorite actress. Most weeks, the tabloids featured a picture of the movie star dressed to the nines at one high-brow event or another. She always looked so poised, so confident, both on screen and off. Did Catherine have the same doubts and fears that mere mortals like herself faced?
Would Bradley talk to her about his fiancée? Scrambling out of the truck, she threw caution to the wind.
“So, tell me about Catherine,” she said, lifting the cooler from the truck bed.
Bradley came around from the passenger side, his hands tucked inside the pockets of his jeans. “She’s beautiful. Smart. And she’s very talented.”
“Well, I know that much from reading People Magazine at the dentist’s.” She prodded his shoulder. “C’mon. What’s she really like?”
“Well, she’s funny. She’s got a huge heart.”
She listened closely as Bradley talked about the generous donations Catherine made to worthy causes each year. The idea that someone with all that ethereal beauty was also kind and giving warmed her from the inside out.
“She’s been famous since she was a kid, so, she’s used to it. You know?” His booted feet stirred up tiny dust clouds as they walked toward her front gate. “She taught me a lot.”
“You are a lucky guy.” It sounded like Bradley had found the perfect woman for himself.
“I know.” His face colored slightly. “No one for you?”
Well, she should have expected him to ask about her love life. Turnabout was fair play among friends, after all. She tipped her head back. “Oh, there was someone once, but not anymore.”
“Why?”
“Well, we wanted different things. I wanted a real commitment, and he wanted…” She laughed to cover the dull ache that still bothered her whenever she thought of the relationship that had died a messy death in the middle of her senior year at veterinary school. “The opposite?” Her heart had flat-out broken when she’d discovered that the man she’d pinned all her hopes on had still been playing the field.
“Sorry.” The murmured apology sounded as if it came straight from Bradley’s heart.
She brushed a strand of hair from her face. “Yeah, well. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t the one.”
She supposed she should try again to find her real Mr. Right. The one who’d never cheat or lie. But between caring for the horses and the dogs, and keeping up with the other chores that came with running what amounted to a shelter for abused and discarded animals, dating didn’t even have a spot on her To-Do List. Besides, she had bigger issues than finding a boyfriend or going on a date.
She lifted the door to the mailbox and took a hopeful peek inside. A tiny spider busily spun a web in one corner. Otherwise, the box was as empty as it had been when she’d checked it yesterday.
Disappointment sent a cold shiver through her. What was taking the Equine Fund so long? Nearly two weeks had passed since she’d given her word to James Fargo. In two more, she’d lose the ranch, her horses, everything. She let the lid slam shut and stalked past Bradley.
“What’s wrong?” Concern roughened the voice adored by millions.
“I’m just…” Setting the ice chest on the ground, she slid her hands into her back pockets. When they were just kids playing in the old fort, Bradley had always wanted to be the knight in shining armor who rescued the princess in distress. She hadn’t known this grownup version of her childhood friend long, but she sensed he had a good heart. If Bradley ever found out about her financial woes, would he insist on helping her out? She hoped not. She had her pride, and the last thing in the world she wanted was to take advantage of their rekindled friendship. Besides, the Foundation was bound to fill her request soon. When it did, she’d have enough to pay off her mortgage, bring her bills up to date, and save the ranch. “I’m waitin’ on a letter that hasn’t arrived yet.”
The moment stretched out. She crossed her fingers and hoped he wouldn’t ask any more questions. Relief shuddered through her when Bradley finally sighed.
“Well.” He scuffed one boot on the walkway that led to her front door. “Thanks again for everything. It was really
great to see you and Adam.” He took a breath. “I’ll probably leave town soon, so I’m glad we got to catch up.”
“Yeah.” She exhaled the breath she’d been holding. It had been nice. Nicer than she’d expected, considering how famous he was and all.
“And thanks for sending that ring.”
She grinned up at him. “I’m happy you’re finally going to use it on a real bride.”
When Bradley’s laughter hit a false note, she gave herself a mental kick in the pants. He’d probably given Catherine one of those huge, sparkling diamonds that had cost as much as her house. It was just as well he was heading back to Nashville soon. The citizens of Mill Town were just simple, ordinary folks. They didn’t much go in for all that flash, or people, like Bradley, who needed it. She leaned in for a neighborly hug. “It was great to see you, Brad-Bird.”
“You, too.”
“Take care.” She hefted the cooler and headed for the house, a little sad that their time together had ended but thankful they’d had a chance to reconnect.
Sitting on the front porch of his parents’ house that evening, Bradley ripped a sheet from the yellow legal pad, crumpled it into a ball, and sent it flying. Why wouldn’t the words come to him? With no concerts to perform, no appointments to keep, no fans begging for autographs and pictures, staying in Mill Town gave him the perfect opportunity to work on a song for the new album. Yet, he still couldn’t put two lines on the paper without crossing them out and starting over.
He tapped his pencil against the wicker table. The reps from the record company had been hounding him for something upbeat and peppy, a departure from the ballads he usually sang. The change, they said, would breathe new life into his music. That was all well and good for them, but he’d been racking his brain all afternoon and hadn’t come up with a single line, much less an entire song.
Across the valley, a train whistle blew. Long and low, the melancholy note broke the silence of the quiet night. In the distance, crickets chirped. A warm breeze riffled the pages of his notepad. An owl hooted from a perch on a nearby tree branch. The sounds brought back memories of simpler days, simpler ways.
Humming the tune that had been playing in his head ever since he’d walked into the kitchen yesterday morning, he leaned over the guitar that rested on his knees. Almost by itself, his pencil moved across the page, jotting down the story-song of a cowboy faced with the decision to stay where he was or pack up and move on.
Bradley grabbed a guitar pick and ran through the music, stopping at the end of one line to correct a word, at the end of another to find a rhyme. The chorus was tricky. He lingered over it, trying out different phrases until he found the right ones. After playing through it a few times, he glanced down at the sheet of paper. The song wasn’t perfect—not yet—and it certainly didn’t have the hard-rocking beat his rep expected. But it had potential. Real potential. Better yet, his mouth wrapped around the words naturally, unforced. Over the next few days, he’d tweak a word here, a phrase there, smooth out the rough spots and polish the transitions. When he finished with it, his fans would love it. He could feel it in his bones.
He leaned back against the wicker sofa. Down the hill, the light in Sarah’s kitchen winked out. She’d probably turned in. He should, too, and he would…in a little while. For now, he was perfectly content to sit right where he was and let the night sounds drift over him.
Chapter Five
Sunlight played across Bradley’s closed eyelids. The sweet scent of flowers wafted in the warm spring air. Waking, he stretched and looked around to get his bearings. Well, I’ll be. He’d fallen asleep on the wicker sofa, one arm tucked under his head, his feet dangling off the end.
He hadn’t slept outside in… He thought back to the nights when Adam, Sarah, and he had been best buds. The three of them had spent many a night roasting hot dogs over a campfire near the old fort and feasting on s’mores. When their bellies were so full they couldn’t possibly eat another bite, they’d lain on their backs and searched the sky for shooting stars. Those had been the days.
Hauling himself upright, he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. Dew had dampened the yellow legal pad he’d been working on the night before, but the ink was still legible. He reached for it. He ran through the set of lyrics, more than a little surprised that they sounded just as good to him in the light of day as they had in the dead of night. Even better, the ghost of another song had come to him in his dreams. Or maybe in his memories of days past.
Excitement thrummed his chest. Wherever the song had come from, the log jam that had stymied him these past few months had finally broken. Flipping to a dry page, he jotted down a couple of quick notes. Reluctant to leave the porch now that his creative juices had finally started flowing again, but desperate for a cup of coffee and a bathroom, he tucked the pad under one arm, stuck the pencil behind his ear, and headed inside.
At the table in the breakfast nook a short while later, he sipped a much-improved version of the bitter brew he’d made the day before. He added a little bit of sugar and patted himself on the back. Give him another day or two, and he’d get the hang of this coffee pot. He picked at the threads of the second song while he drank his first cup. Relief swept through him when the melody didn’t unravel and the words to match it started coming together. Eager to see where the muse would lead this time, he tinkered with the first verse.
He worked for an hour, and then the words stopped flowing. He shrugged. Sometimes that happened. In the past, he’d often crumpled the paper into a ball and pitched it into the trash. But somehow, that reaction didn’t feel right this time. With silence pressing in all around him and nothing else demanding his time, he opted for a change of pace instead and unpacked a few boxes in the living room. While he worked, the song percolated inside him. Whenever a new line gelled, he stopped what he was doing and scratched the words out on the legal pad he kept nearby.
The day passed as he alternated between writing and getting the house in order. He kept at it after supper and worked till the moon rose against a star-filled backdrop. By the time his eyes felt gritty and his fingers cramped around the pencil, he had the bones of at least three new songs, maybe more. He carefully set the pages aside and called it a night then, certain he’d pick things up where he left off in the morning.
Fatigue and exhilaration swirled within him as he trudged up the stairs to the attic, where his mom had stored extra bedding in a sturdy chest. The tangy smell of cedar filled his nose when he opened the lid. Even after all these years, the fragrant wood had protected the pillows and blankets. He scooped them into his arms and eyed the teddy bear that lay at the bottom of the chest. A chuckle escaped his lips. He’d loved that old bear so much he’d rubbed holes in the animal’s patchy fur. Grabbing it, he frowned at the stuffing that poked out from several spots. The poor thing should have been relegated to the trash bin long ago. He dropped the tattered toy back into the trunk and closed the lid. But he made it only as far as the stairs before an urge to hang onto his childhood treasure forced him to retrace his steps. Moments later, he carried the bear downstairs with him. If nothing else, it had earned a place on a shelf. One day, maybe he’d show it to his own kids, if he and Catherine were lucky enough to have them. Who knew? He might even write a song about an old bear who spent years wishing for a much-loved owner to return home to rescue him.
Before he turned in, he gravitated to the porch where he put his heart and soul into belting out the words to the cowboy song. When he reached the final chorus and strummed the final chord, the echo of the tune reverberated in the still air, and he smiled.
Today had been a good day. He hadn’t been this productive in ages. For as far back as he could remember, he’d dreaded the time when he’d have to return to Mill Town. But he’d discovered that he’d had nothing to fear and, as long as his creative juices were flowing, he probably ought to take advantage of the break. He nodded to himself. He’d
stay put for a few more days, write some more songs, and get the house ready to put on the market. The decision made, he headed inside, where he fell into a sound sleep between sheets that smelled of cedar and home.
Muffled voices woke him out of a sound sleep. The door to the bedroom burst open.
“Not many of these older houses have two ovens.” In a voice that practically gushed with a fervent passion, a slim woman wearing office attire steered a casually dressed couple toward the closet. “And three bedrooms.”
“Hey! What’s going on?” Grabbing the covers, Bradley bolted to a sitting position. He gave the strangers who’d just barged into his room a bleary-eyed glare.
“Oh!” The woman in the suit loosed a startled gasp. She clutched a clipboard to her chest. “You’re still here! I’m sorry. I thought you left days ago.”
“Well, I didn’t,” Bradley grumbled. Someone had clearly gotten their wires crossed. He’d only been in town a couple of days. He reached to rub the sleep from his eyes and realized he’d been holding onto his old teddy bear.
The bear flopped onto the quilt. Oh, geez. Superstars didn’t sleep with stuffed animals. He grabbed the memento from his childhood and stuffed it under the sheet.
Was there a chance his early morning visitors hadn’t recognized him? Nope. The woman in jeans gawked at him like a love-struck teenager while she pawed through her purse, no doubt searching for her phone to take pictures.
“I’m Sally Hartford, the real estate broker.” Ms. Hartford’s hand found purchase at the waist of her suit skirt. A wobbly smile widened her lips. “Mr., uh, Fargo from the bank sent me.”
Bradley fought an urge to slap his head. No one knew his plans had changed. “I decided to stay awhile.”
The client at Ms. Hartford’s side aimed her phone. Bradley barely had time to throw his hand up in front of his face before she snapped the first picture. Speaking so fast she stumbled over the words, she prattled, “Would you mind if we took a little…? It would mean so much. Hon, you take it.” She shoved her purse and assorted items at the bespectacled man beside her and, without waiting for an invitation, plopped down on the mattress.