Champagne and Cowboys

by Donna Michaels

  “Turn right at the next exit. Stay on Route 772 for fifty-three miles,” the GPS voice said.

  Storm grimaced. He’d entered the quickest route into the system, but he wasn’t sure leaving the highway was the best choice. At least on the stretch of road he didn’t have to worry about curves. Hell, he hadn’t even seen another vehicle since fifty miles back. He scrubbed his jaw and tugged at his goatee. If the faster route knocked off some driving time, he was all for taking a different way. He was starting to feel the effects of lack of sleep and weak coffee he’d purchased from the last gas station.

  After turning onto the exit, the big tires on the rental truck slushed through the snow, steady on, the engine purring as he slowly stepped on the gas pedal. It had been a long time since he’d been behind the wheel of anything, but the high-end truck with its soft-as-a-baby’s-skin leather seats and modern interior features made Storm want one of his own. When would he have a chance to drive it? Probably never.

  When will I have the opportunity to be normal? Probably never.

  The customer service rep at the shop guaranteed the four-wheel drive would get through anything and everything. Storm was relying on that promise since he had commitments—ever-present responsibilities.

  The snow storm had shut down all flights up and down the Midwest for the evening, which had thrown him for a loop. He would have been in a hotel in Columbus, Ohio by now, enjoying a steak and taters, maybe a beer or two, resting up for the country music gala if Mother Nature hadn’t decided a white Christmas was in order. He guessed he was the only one complaining. When he’d left Stoutsville late that afternoon, kids were out on sleds, families were building snowmen. Everyone was acting as if they had no place to be but smack-dab in the middle of winter fun. Maybe he was the only one who had somewhere to be. If he didn’t make it on time his manager was likely to keel over in anger. Storm didn’t want to deal with Max—especially didn’t want to let the other man know that the flight had been canceled. He’d warned Storm that it was too risky to take off during a busy time of year for a funeral. Pfft!

  He turned the radio on and switched through stations until he came to a hit country song. The fresh out of high school star’s angelic voice flowed from the speakers. She sung about college parties and first kisses, reminding Storm that he wasn’t a spring chicken anymore. He could count at least ten new bright and upcoming stars blazing their way onto the country music scene, all as hopeful and naïve as he was when he sold his first album. They could handle long tours with no sleep and saw everything in rainbows and sprinkles.

  Hell, he wasn’t old, not at thirty-eight, but he could hear the hands of time ticking in the back of his skull. He’d lost something lately though—not in his music, but in his heart. Never been married, no kids, and a track record of short and meaningless relationships, he didn’t have many memories that didn’t include the stage.

  Pinching the bridge of his nose, he gave his head a quick shake. Things were looking murky—plain and simple. Maybe it was high time he started thinking of the legacy he wanted to leave behind when the good Lord came calling. The death of his Uncle Ned had Storm thinking…pondering.

  Last week, his uncle was found in his favorite chair in front of the TV. He’d left this world peacefully, just how he’d lived his life. He had attended church every Sunday and believed death was a natural progression until the reward of heaven. He often spoke of how he looked forward to seeing his wife, Judith, again. Fifty years of marriage had only strengthened their love for each other. Storm smiled at the thought. Here lately he’d been wondering if true love was out there for him. He wanted to believe anything was possible—to think someone would want him for something outside of the glitz and the glamour of his guitar.

  Three loud beeps interrupted the song. Another weather update.

  “Six to seven inches of snow expected in the following counties…”

  Storm searched his brain. What county was he in?

  “A level three snow alert is in place for these counties. All public roadways are closed to the general public. Only police, medical, and emergency vehicles should be on roadways. Motorists can be fined or arrested if found driving on public roads in a non-emergency situation.”

  “Ah, shit!” He pounded his palm against the steering wheel. He could see the headlines in the paper now, “Storm Rich arrested for traveling on unsafe roads.” Better than the headlines three years ago, “Storm Rich arrested for disorderly conduct after finding girlfriend with fellow country star, Reef Weathers.” He loved how the media distorted his life at their pleasure. Sure, he’d been arrested, charges later dropped, but what was written in print couldn’t be unseen. What the media didn’t entertain the public with was how he’d walked into his apartment and found Cecilia, his on-again off-again girlfriend, in his bed with Weathers. Storm had simply helped the other man out of the door and into the hall.

  Sure, Storm guessed he’d gone over the line when he followed Weathers into the lobby and punched him in the jaw. Sometimes a man couldn’t back down.

  Now Storm understood why Cecilia always wanted him to call or text first if he was coming home early.

  He’d always been a patient man, never one to resort to violence, but that particular day, he’d forgotten his ethics and let loose. Fans had been torn between their love for the two stars, Storm and Weathers. While he had talked to newspaper, magazine, anything in black and white, Storm had taken a different approach. He’d stayed silent. Max had predicted that it would leave fans cold, thinking Storm was the bad guy, but he’d never found a use in trash-talk.

  Good riddance to the past.

  How did he get himself into these unfortunate predicaments?

  As if to prove how stupid it was for him to be out on the roads, the snow came down harder. The road was completely covered and slick. He slowed the truck and wiped the inside of the window, worrying his bottom lip in frustration. He needed a place to pull off until the weather passed, but he couldn’t see anything but white. Damn country road!

  “Damn you, GPS!” He punched the power button with his middle finger.

  His cell phone vibrated from the holder on the dashboard and the screen lit up. He sighed and shook his head. Max. Now was not the time to talk to him. Hell, would there ever be a good time? The vibration finally stopped, but three seconds later, it started again. Storm realized the man would keep calling until he got an answer. Pushing talk, Storm prepared himself for an unleashing of curse words.

  “Shit! Where the hell are you?” Max’s tone rattled the line.

  “Nice to hear your voice, buddy. You sound jubilant this evening.” Storm smiled. Max left himself wide open for egging.

  “Tracking your ass. You didn’t think it was important to tell me that your flight was canceled?”

  Storm thrummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “What could you do, Max? Your magical reach doesn’t quite extend to Mother Nature. It wasn’t just my flight, but all flights.”

  “I told you not to go! I warned you this would happen, but did you listen? Of course not. No one ever listens to a voice of reason.”

  “Relax, man. I’ve got this covered,” Storm said. A loud groan tickled his ear.

  “Just tell me you’re at the airport waiting for the airlines to open again.”

  “We have a slight problem.” Storm shifted in the leather seat and tugged on the seatbelt that suddenly felt like it constructed his lungs.

  There was a long pause. “A problem?”

  “I rented a vehicle and I’m driving to Ohio. It’s snowing like a son-of-a-gun.”

  “What?” The word was a cross between a growl and a groan. “Where the hell are you?” he said it with more conviction this time.

  “No clue. Hang on a sec.” He pushed the button on the GPS and the screen came alive. “Not good. The GPS has no signal.”

  “You have media interviews first thing in the morning.”

  “Who cares about the media? I don’t feel like pretendin
g that I give a shit what the parasites write about me.”

  “These ‘parasites’ help sell your albums. Even more importantly, the gala event is tomorrow, Storm. Freaking tomorrow! Then onto Nashville for the ceremony. You’re up for an award. Imagine what people will think if you’re not there to accept it? Another pounding of rumors is the last thing you need. What about the sold-out show in two weeks?”

  “Relax and have a cigar. I’ve got this covered.” Storm resisted the urge to laugh at his manager’s uptight attitude. Over the years, Storm had gotten used to Max’s bark. His goal was always on target, but his delivery needed work. “I’ve been told this truck will get me through anything.” Why did those words suddenly sound senseless? Nothing was safe on ice. But he had to keep it together for his manager’s sake.

  “You know what’s hilarious? You’re driving yourself. If you’d called me, I could have had a car pick you up and bring you here.”

  “Maybe I wanted to drive myself. Why is that so shocking?” Storm didn’t like the doubt in the man’s words.

  “You haven’t driven yourself since you hit number one. The perks of being a star, my friend. And with that in mind, you can’t miss the New Year’s Eve show, buddy. Tickets are sold out and we have a star line-up. You cancel your act and your career won’t bounce back.”

  Storm clenched his jaw. He wished he had a nickel for every time he heard that threat. “That warning doesn’t work like it used to, Max. At least come up with something better, more creative.”

  Max’s humorless chuckle spun through Storm as cold as the winter outside. “Looks like we’re both lacking in creativity these days.”

  “Creativity or inspiration?” Storm didn’t need to deny the obvious. “We’re both getting worn down.”

  “I warned you not to leave this close to an event.”

  Storm scrubbed his jaw. “I guess I should have told my uncle this wasn’t the right time to kick the bucket because it conflicted with my schedule.” He squeezed the steering wheel tighter until his knuckles ached. A sour taste filled his throat.

  “You know what I mean, Storm. Once upon a time you understood how these things worked.”

  “Ned helped raise me and I wouldn’t have missed it. That’s how families work, Max. Have you forgotten that concept? You have a brother and sister. When was the last time you paid them a visit? Even called to say hello?”

  “I’ve called. Back when you did that concert in Texas. The one that sold out in twenty minutes.”

  Storm sniffed loudly. “That was five years ago.”

  “Has it really been that long? Time flies. Just get here, Storm.”

  The line crackled and went dead. He looked at the phone. ‘No signal’. Probably best anyway. He placed it back in the holder, blowing a long breath through his tight lips. He wouldn’t worry over something he couldn’t change—mainly Max’s anger. It was hard to believe that once upon a time, Storm would have agreed with the man. Work always ranked top on the priority list and, because of that, he’d missed out on many holidays with his uncle, the man who raised him after his parents were killed in a car accident. Unfortunately, there was no going back. Hell, Storm barely wanted to go forward, back to a life in the public eye where he was scrutinized for everything and anything.

  Everyone knew him, yet no one knew him at all.

  The last time he visited the doc for strained vocal chords, he was given a warning that if he didn’t get more rest, he might cause permanent damage. The idea used to scare the shit out of him, but not so much now. At this point, it’d be an excuse to change his life.

  The night was unusually dark. The headlights glinted off the huge snowflakes. The truck was moving at a crawl and still the tires were sliding. He tapped on the brake and the back shimmied, but he maintained control of the front, steady and straight.

  He was in the middle of nowhere, snow covered roads, but somehow everything seemed at peace. There was a calmness about the darkness, the falling snow, alone. He hoped he would pass a road sign soon, otherwise he might end up driving far from where he was headed.

  “How about a song to warm you up on this cold evening?” the female radio host announced in a sultry voice. “A hot number by the hottie himself, Storm Rich. Even with his bad-boy reputation, I’d still go out on a date with him.”

  Storm smirked. He wasn’t sure if he should be entertained by the comment or floored. Sure, maybe he’d earned his bad-boy stripes back in his twenties, but for the majority of his thirties, he’d come across women, fans, and dating potentials that made him appear as sweet and innocent as a newborn. What was the use in arguing or defending himself? The media loved portraying him as the womanizer who sifted through women like sand.

  Turning the wipers on high, the swish-swashing sound grew louder, rubber blades crunching and scraping against the ice forming on the glass. His latest hit song was interrupted by the beeps of another weather alert. He barely registered the computerized voice. Icy conditions…heavy snowfall…stay inside.

  The road vanished completely before him. Nothing but a bed of snow. No tire tracks in sight. Was he even still on pavement? He had no choice but to find a gas station, a pull off, anything for respite from the worsening weather conditions. He wouldn’t be making his scheduled promotions tomorrow morning.

  Hitting a bump, his phone popped out of the holder and dropped to the floorboard at his feet. “Shit!”

  He managed to reach the cell, but as he lifted his gaze back on the road something flashed in the headlights. He caught a glimpse of shiny, reflective eyes and fluffy tail.

  “What the hell?”

  The dog stopped and Storm reacted, slamming on the brakes. The tires locked up and slid. This time he didn’t have control as the front veered right, hitting the edge of the road, and the nose of the truck descended down the steep ditch, knocking him about in the seat. The fender struck the embankment with a loud thud. His head shot forward against the steering wheel and a dull pain shot through his forehead.

  He lifted his chin, squinting as a sharp pain undulated down his left shoulder into his arm. Smoke rolled from under the hood of the truck and the loud sizzling sound of the radiator mingled with the radio announcer’s voice. “It’s cold outside folks. Stay inside and cuddle up with egg nog and a loved one.”

  “Now you tell me.” He wanted to laugh, but nothing about this situation was funny.

  A spider web crack reached from one corner of the windshield to the other. The truck sat at an odd angle, dipped in the front and the back high in the air. The wheels still spinning.

  Assessing the situation, he realized he was still alive and the truck wasn’t going anywhere—over a cliff or onto its top. All good things considered.

  Charlie Lindon took the bowl of corn from the microwave and gave it a stir, she then spooned a good amount onto two plates. Taking them to the table, she placed one in front of her father and took her plate to the other side of the table. Sitting, she unfolded her napkin and spread it across her lap, seeing the curious expression on his face. “What? It’s corn and grilled chicken.”

  He shrugged a thin shoulder, one wiry brow lifting. “Where’s the mushroom gravy? The extra butter? Rolls?”

  “Pops, you know what the doctor said,” she reminded him. “You have to cut back on fat to keep that ticker going strong.” She wouldn’t admit it to him, but the meal looked unappealing.

  “I’m not sure why you’re so determined to keep this old man alive. I’m old and getting close to my expiration date. I should at least get to enjoy myself until that day comes.” He scooped a forkful of corn and shoved it into his mouth.

  “You’re sixty. That’s hardly old. Just seasoned perfectly.” She stabbed her fork into her chicken and cut into the juicy meat, but didn’t have much of an appetite.

  “Maybe if I wasn’t hanging around here you’d finally settle down. Have a kid or two,” he grumbled. “What young, single woman wants her father living under the same roof?”

 
“Pops, don’t do this. Don’t start the lecture about a man and family. I can’t take it tonight,” she warned with a narrowed gaze. She was tired, emotionally and physically.

  “Oh, I see. You can dish it out about my eating habits and lack of exercise, but you can’t take a little bit of helpful hints about your love life?”

  Sighing, she pushed back the chair and took her plate to the sink. She dumped the untouched food into the garbage disposal.

  “Just like that.” He pointed his fork at her. “You don’t eat enough. How do you plan on working the diner and taking care of me if you never eat?”

  “I eat.” She stared out of the window at the falling snow. “Did you let Yogi inside?” She was met with silence. Turning, she saw her father’s puzzled expression. “You didn’t?”

  “I didn’t know I was supposed to.”

  Charlie went to the back door, pushing it open. A gust of cold air swept across her face and goosebumps scattered her skin. “Yogi? Yogi, get in here.” The breeze carried her voice. He didn’t come. She tried again. “Yogi? It’s cold. Come on.” Still nothing.

  She slammed the door, marched out of the kitchen and down the hall to the front door. Her father was behind her. “Where are you going?”

  “To find Yogi.” She grabbed her snow boots, pulling one on.

  “You can’t go out into this, Charlie.”

  Looking at her father with a defiant tilt to her chin, she slipped into the other boot. She prepared herself for an argument. “I can’t leave Yogi out there in this weather. The temperature has dropped and we’re supposed to get another four inches before it’s all said and done.”

  “He’s a dog. He has fur for a reason.” Brent sighed. “You on the other hand won’t last a half hour out there if you get stuck. What if you fall? What if you lose your way?”

  Grabbing her thick coat from the rack, she dragged it on. “Yogi won’t last out in the cold all night.” She jerkily pulled the small buttons through the holes. She’d had other plans outside of venturing into the snow and cold this evening. A bubble bath and a book would have been much nicer.