He sighed. In three years, none of the women he’d dated had stirred any real emotion in him, any desire to settle down. No kiss had affected him the way this one had. And there was nothing he could do about it, besides accept that it would never happen again.
He watched her front door close and the hall light turn on. Then something else caught his eye.
“Hey, can you pull into this cul-de-sac?” he asked the driver, keeping his eye on Melody’s house as the driver did a U-turn. As they drew closer, Brad’s suspicions were confirmed. There was someone standing in the bushes outside the house.
Before the cab came to a full stop, Brad had opened the door and jumped out. Then he ran toward the house and grabbed the stranger’s shoulder. “Who are you?”
“Hey, let go!” the stranger said, shaking his shoulder free of Brad’s hold.
Brad cornered him against the railing of the porch. “Let me ask you again—who are you?” He glared at the man. After the evening he’d just had, he would love an excuse to hit the guy.
“Look, I’m nobody, okay? Just a photographer from Newark,” the man said quickly, pulling his camera from the pocket of his coat.
“What were you doing taking pictures of this house?” Brad asked.
“I wasn’t,” the man said.
Brad shook the man’s jacket, adrenaline coursing through him.
“Look, I swear I wasn’t taking pictures of the house.”
Brad grabbed the camera and turned it on. He scrolled back through the digital images. Photos of Lee Brice and Eric Church...Julia Roberts. Paparazzi had followed him to Brookhollow? Roxanne had said no one knew about him being there, and certainly no one in his hometown would have set the press on him. Would they have? He remembered telling Bridget Marilyn about his history with Melody. Surely the Heartland Country Television host wouldn’t have done something like this. “Who tipped you off?”
“I can’t say, man.” The guy’s shifty eyes looked anxious as he scanned the area for an escape.
Brad tightened his grip on the man’s shoulder. “You have less than a second to tell me.” This guy had chosen the wrong night to mess with him.
“Roxanne Klein,” the guy said finally. “Now let go. I may be a paparazzo, but I can still charge you with assault.”
Brad released the fabric and took a step back in the deep snow. “What? My publicist?” Roxanne had told the press he was here after claiming no one would know? Why? It didn’t make any sense. And how would this guy know about the Myerses? He’d never told Roxanne about Melody and the boys.
“I don’t know who she is, man. I just got a call yesterday. The woman said I’d find you here.”
Clearly Bridget must have told her. Nashville was a different world from Brookhollow. He’d learned early on that there were few people he could really trust. This incident had just confirmed that lesson. “What shot were you trying to get just now? Why the Myers family?”
“Come on, man. Just let me go.”
“What photo were you paid to get?” Brad asked again, a menacing scowl on his face.
“A picture of you with the woman who lives here—as many as possible.” The man moved around Brad. “Can I have my camera back?”
He thought so. “No. Get out of here. You’re lucky I’m not calling the police. There’s a young girl and children in this house—you could have terrified them.” The idea that this guy could have frightened the boys or their babysitter made his blood boil again. Thank God this piece of scum hadn’t gotten a shot of any of them.
“I was just doing my job. I need those photos,” the guy insisted.
Brad dropped the camera into the snowbank and covered it with the snow at his feet. “Oops. Now get out of here.”
“Thanks a lot,” the man grumbled as he snatched up his camera and took off.
Moments later, Brad trudged through the slush on Main Street’s patterned brick sidewalk, his hands in the gloves Melody had been wearing earlier that evening. They were still warm and smelled faintly of her. It was the only thing calming his frazzled nerves. He couldn’t believe Roxanne had stooped so low as to hire paparazzi to harass her own clients. Snow collected on his hair and coat, but he kept walking. It was almost eleven o’clock...ten in Nashville. He took his phone from his coat pocket, and without hesitating, dialed Roxanne’s number. This time of year, this time of night, he didn’t expect her to answer, but she did on the third ring.
“Hello?”
At least he thought it was her. “Roxanne?”
“Brad?” she sniffed.
He frowned, the unexpected sound causing him to lose his angry momentum. “Are you crying?”
“Of course not!” she snapped.
Ah, there she was. “Okay...” He hesitated when he heard a small sob. Great. Five seconds ago, he was ready to tear into this success-at-any-cost woman and fire her, and now he was at a loss for words. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked with a sigh.
“I just got dumped, okay? Two days before Christmas.”
Crap. Couldn’t her boyfriend have waited until January? Brad could certainly understand his decision, but if he’d made it this far, what was another few days? “Sorry to hear it,” he mumbled.
“Do you want to know why?”
Not really. “That’s your business...”
“He said I was pushy and overbearing,” she said, and he could hear the sound of ice clinking against a glass as she took a sip of something. No doubt her usual, whiskey on the rocks.
The boyfriend’s assessment sounded about right. In fact, those were exactly the words Brad had been planning to use. How was he supposed to say them now? In all the time he’d worked with Roxanne, she’d never once shown any sign of vulnerability or weakness—hadn’t shown much emotion at all, really. Now she was falling apart and perhaps slightly drunk, exactly when he needed her to be her feisty self.
He gritted his teeth. The woman had just gotten dumped two days before Christmas, and now he was going to fire her? He forced himself to shake off the feelings of sympathy. This one brief moment of humanity couldn’t erase the stunt she’d pulled. “Listen, Roxanne, I’m sorry you’re not having a great night.” His wasn’t exactly going swimmingly, either. “But I called to tell you I don’t want you as my publicist anymore.”
She was silent on the other end of the line.
He stopped walking and waited.
Nothing. “Roxanne, did you hear me? I mean it. That paparazzi exploit was the last straw.”
Still no response.
“Roxanne?”
The sound of muffled snoring was all he heard on the other end of the line.
Seriously? “Roxanne, wake up!” he tried.
The snoring continued.
Fantastic. Even when he wanted to fire her, the woman still got her own way.
* * *
“NOT A CHANCE. I refuse to take it,” the owner of the pawnshop just outside of town said. He was standing behind the counter the next morning, glaring at Melody.
“You have to, Tom. Unfortunately, I need the money.” Melody placed the U 47 microphone on the counter and took a step back. She wished the floor of the shop would open up and swallow her whole. Selling this treasured item did not feel right, and it didn’t help that her former high school classmate was refusing to buy it. Three times she’d turned the van around on the way to the shop that morning, but each time the reality of the foreclosure notice had forced her to continue on. Not to mention the fact that she’d yet to buy a single holiday present for anyone, and Christmas was two days away.
“It’s never come to this before,” he said, admiring the expensive piece of equipment.
“Well, my finances haven’t, either. Look, Tom, this isn’t easy for me, so would you just take it?” She hated the note of desperation she hear
d in her own voice. For three years she had resisted doing this, but now she had no choice.
With a sigh, Tom picked up the microphone and examined it. “It’s beautiful.”
She nodded. It took all her strength not to grab back the microphone and leave the shop. At least she’d gotten the chance to use it one last time at the party the night before. After the baby christening in January, she was going to start declining singing requests around town.
“You’re sure about this?”
Not at all. She nodded again, not trusting her voice.
“I can buy it from you and put it aside for three months—you can make payments on it.”
She appreciated his kindness, but she knew she’d never be able to afford to buy back the microphone or take a chance on a future in music again. “No. I won’t need it.”
“Okay. I’ll give you four thousand for it,” he said.
It had been worth six new, but it was used, and four thousand would keep the bank from foreclosing on the house. For now, anyway. It would give them a Christmas. And buy her some time as she fought to convince the Play Hard executive to allow her to retake the test early. This was the right thing to do. The microphone, though she cherished it, was just an object. No one could take away the important things like her memories, and that’s what mattered. “I’ll take it,” she said.
* * *
MELODY SHOVED THE last of her shopping bags into her bedroom closet just as Josh entered the room, shepherd costume on and toothbrush in hand. She quickly shut the closet door. “Wow, you look great.”
“What were you doing?” he asked suspiciously, scanning the room.
“None of your beeswax,” she said, escorting him back out into the hallway. Ethan and Bailey had agreed to babysit the boys while she completed her Christmas shopping that afternoon. The pain of having to sell the microphone had eased a bit with each new gift she’d bought the boys. She couldn’t wait to see the excitement on their little faces two days from now. In a way, Brad was right—life was forcing her to move on, whether she wanted to or not. Her stomach did a small lurch as she thought of Brad. What on earth had they been thinking? They couldn’t be together. He was a country star with a touring schedule, and she was a single mom with a life to get on with. Guilt hit her when she realized that for a few moments the night before, she’d forgotten their history. “Where’s your brother?” she asked.
“In the bedroom. He won’t come out. Says he’s not going.”
“Why not?”
“His costume,” Josh said before continuing to brush his teeth.
Melody gave him a little shove toward the bathroom. “Finish getting ready. I’ll go get him.” At the bedroom door, she paused and knocked before opening it. “David?”
“Go without me,” he called.
“It can’t be that bad,” she said as she entered, but with one look at her son in the camel costume she knew it was that bad—worse, even. The tight beige leggings clung to her son’s thick, tree-trunk legs, and the camel humps barely wrapped around his body. The costume was also too long, which caused the camel’s head to hang far too low and obstruct his view. There was no way he could wear that onstage in front of everyone. Think fast.
“See, it’s awful. I knew it.” Folding his arms, David sat on the edge of his bed. “I won’t do this.”
She glanced at her watch and saw they had twenty minutes to get to the school for a last-minute play rehearsal before the concert.
“Come on, guys,” Josh said, entering the room. When he saw his brother in the camel costume, his expression spoke volumes.
Glancing between the boys, she had an idea. “Okay, remember how I told you guys you were never ever allowed to do that twin-swap thing?”
The boys nodded.
“Well, we are throwing that rule out the window. Just for tonight,” she was quick to add.
“What do you mean?” Josh looked worried. Clearly, he knew where this was headed.
“You two switch costumes.”
“No way!” Josh said.
David eyed his brother’s shepherd costume, but he shook his head. “He has lines, and I don’t know them.”
“They can’t be that hard,” Melody said, and then she approached Josh. “Honey, you’re slightly taller than David, and you’re less...” How did she say it without offending either son? “Well, you’re leaner than your brother.”
“I’m fat?” David frowned.
“No! You’re muscular.”
“And I’m not?” Now it was Josh’s turn to be offended.
“That’s not what I’m saying.” Not really. “Look, I’m just trying to help. If you switch costumes, no one will notice, and you’ll both be more comfortable onstage.”
“What’s in it for me?” Josh asked.
“Your brother will owe you one,” Melody said, pointing a finger at David to silence the protest she expected was forthcoming. “Anyway, it’s just a nice thing to do. Bonus points with Santa.”
Josh’s eyes widened.
Thank God, at eight years old, the boys still believed.
“Okay, I’ll do it,” Josh said.
“Great. Quick, let’s do this swap before I come to my senses.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE ELEMENTARY SCHOOL auditorium had standing room only. As Brad peeked around the curtain backstage, he thought the kids’ school concert had drawn almost a bigger crowd than most of his shows did. If he had to guess, he would say 80 percent of the town residents had shown up for that evening’s performances. Immediate and extended family members and their friends continued to pour in through the doors.
Gracie appeared behind him, poking her own head through the curtain. Her face paled as she dropped the red velvet fabric and turned to face him. “I can’t do this,” she wailed in full panic mode.
Brad draped an arm around her shoulders and moved her away from the stage. “Yes, you can. We’ve gone over the game plan. When you get onstage, what’s the first thing you do?” He sat her down on a small plastic chair and knelt in front of her.
“Find you.”
“That’s right. I’ll be in the sixth row, first seat from the middle aisle. And I’ll be smiling. What’s next?”
“Take a deep breath and start speaking.”
“Perfect. Simple, right?”
The little girl didn’t look convinced.
Darius came up behind them. “Gracie, Miss Lawlor is looking for you. We have to take our places now.”
Gracie’s eyes widened in fear.
Pulling her to her feet, Brad said, “You’re going to do great. Remember, sixth row.”
She nodded, her look of fear replaced by one of determination. “I’ve got this,” she said and Brad released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
Standing there a moment longer, he watched the Nativity-scene actors walk past him onto the stage and take their assigned positions.
“Hey, Brad,” a camel said as he approached.
Brad squinted in the dim lighting and lifted the edge of the camel mask. “Josh? I thought you were going to be a shepherd.”
The little boy giggled. “Josh is a shepherd. I’m David.”
The actual David appeared behind him in the shepherd’s costume. Brad glanced between the two innocent-looking faces before nodding slowly. “Right. My mistake.” He wondered if Melody knew about the switch. When the boys were young they were always trying to deceive everyone with their mixed identities, and Melody had enforced a no-switch rule after the dentist had removed one of Josh’s teeth instead of David’s. The older the boys got, the harder it had become for them to pull off switches—the differences between their bodies and personalities were so pronounced. But in the costumes and from a distance onstage, they were sure to get away with
this one.
Taking his seat next to Breanne a moment later, Brad wiped his damp palms on the legs of his jeans. He fanned himself with the evening’s performance schedule and bounced his knees.
“Hey, relax,” his sister said. “You’re not the one up there.”
“I know. This is worse. How are you staying so calm?” As the mother, he expected her to be at least a little anxious.
“Oh, Brad, just wait until you have children. You’ll learn fast that if you stress over your child’s every life experience, you will do nothing but stress. She’s a kid, she’s resilient, and no matter what happens up there tonight, she’ll be fine. Besides, I don’t have to worry, ’cause you’re doing enough worrying for the both of us.” She tapped his shoulder.
Forcing his legs to remain still, he scanned the crowded auditorium. Gracie’s performance that evening wasn’t the only thing he was stressing about. All day, his thoughts had been on Melody. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t erase the memory of their kiss in the sleigh or how great it had felt to hold her. And how stupid he’d been to allow it all to happen. Any chance of a rekindled friendship with her was now gone, as was any hope he’d had of convincing her to give music another shot.
His gaze drifted over the heads of the spectators as the curtains opened, and fell on Melody. She was sitting on the far left side in the eighth row, with Patrick’s parents and her family. Her eyes were forward and her face was lit up in a proud smile as she watched the children onstage. She was so beautiful inside and out that he wanted to stare at her forever. But damn, what gave him the right to feel that way?
As the opening music started, he turned his attention back to the performance. His niece was counting on him and he refused to let her down. As he’d instructed, she immediately located him in the sixth row, and he smiled and sat straighter in his chair. She didn’t smile back, and from where he was sitting, he could see her hands clutching the fabric of her costume at her sides.
The play started, and with Gracie’s eyes locked on his face, he kept smiling. Come on, you can do this, he silently urged her as other kids said their lines. He knew hers were coming next. Then, on cue, she opened her mouth to speak. His fists clenched in eager anticipation, and he held his breath, still smiling.
The Mistletoe Melody Page 18