by Jae Dawson
Moonlight and Belladonna
A Hartwood Holiday Romance
Jae Dawson
Moonlight and Belladonna
Copyright © 2020 by Jae Dawson
Published by MoonTree Books
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eBook ISBN: 978-1-948947-14-5
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All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without the prior written permission of the author.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
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Cover Design: MoorBooks Design
Contents
1. Chapter One
2. Chapter Two
3. Chapter Three
4. Chapter Four
5. Chapter Five
6. Chapter Six
7. Chapter Seven
8. Chapter Eight
9. Chapter Nine
10. Chapter Ten
11. Chapter Eleven
12. Chapter Twelve
13. Chapter Thirteen
14. Chapter Fourteen
15. Chapter Fifteen
16. Chapter Sixteen
17. Chapter Seventeen
18. Chapter Eighteen
19. Chapter Nineteen
20. Chapter Twenty
21. Chapter Twenty-one
22. Chapter Twenty-two
23. Chapter Twenty-three
24. Chapter Twenty-four
25. Chapter Twenty-five
26. Chapter Twenty-six
27. Chapter Twenty-seven
28. Chapter Twenty-eight
29. Epilogue
Sneak Peek of Heartbeats & Roses…
Songs by Burning Umbrage
About the Author
Moonlight & Belladonna
Will a high school music teacher and an indie rock star find their harmony in this small town holiday romance?
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Belladonna Pagano is far too busy for love—she has until Halloween to wow the school board with Hartwood High’s Fall production of Little Shop of Horrors, or she’ll be out of a job. Besides, after her former fiancé traded their future for his burgeoning music career, she’s vowed never to give a man that kind of power over her again. Least of all a rock star.
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On the outside, Cade Owens, sexy frontman for indie rock chart topper, Burning Umbrage, has it all. But he can’t outrun the ghosts from his past. When he’s forced to return to the small town holding his darkest memories to bury someone he loves, Cade makes a desperate, rock bottom choice.
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A rash decision that leads him crashing headlong into a fiery woman in the woods.
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And a choice that ultimately results in court-ordered community service . . . with her.
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Bella and Cade risk their careers and their hearts in this musical, bewitching tale of love and redemption.
To Halloween
Cheers, you spooky bitch.
Chapter One
Bella
The coffee had grown cold, but I downed the cup anyway. Oh gawd. A few loose grounds had slipped past my line of defense and I grimaced down the final sip with a shudder. Ugh. How had I not noticed that I grabbed the last cup of coffee from the Hartwood High staffroom’s Ancient of Days coffee maker? Pretty sure that machine had been around since women earned the right to vote. Nobody drank the final cup. Nobody. Unless one was bracing themselves for a worse kind of blow.
Brushing a black, fly-away strand from my eyes, I strode out of the staff room toward Principal Kelley's weathered door. I straightened my polka dot pencil skirt and red cardigan, then lifted my hand to knock—and paused. He wasn’t alone.
Jeremy Lincoln was back in the principal's office. The thirteenth—or thirtieth?—time since last school year. The English department gossips were abuzz with the news: he was caught drinking on school grounds three nights ago and while driving donuts at high speed in the empty parking lot. With his girlfriend. And his girlfriend's boyfriend. Who was also dating her best friend's cousin twice removed, or something complicated like that. I was convinced teenagers of the twenty-first century were an entirely new breed of human. But drinking and driving on school grounds was as old as the combustion engine itself.
I understood why Jeremy was in the principal’s office, but not why I’d been summoned. The senior considered himself far too cool to visit my domain—the hallowed but nerdy halls of choir, dance, and drama. I had assumed Principal Kelley wanted to discuss the school’s pitiful arts budget, which was hanging on by a thin, precarious thread. But we wouldn’t be discussing funding with a student present.
Well, only one way to find out. Whatever came, I was ready. I had just downed the bitter grounds of the Final Cup, the dark, soulless dregs roasted in staff room hell.
I knocked.
“Come in,” Principal Kelley's baritone voice beckoned.
The door opened with a quiet snick and I slipped in. A silver septum ring dangled from Jeremy’s nose, black faux plugs decorated both ears, one ear boasting another silver hoop and a few silver studs. His hair was a wild blend of dark and light blues reaching mid-cheek. Beside him sat a girl in her early twenties, wearing an old ratty t-shirt, flannel pajama pants, and slippers. Her brown hair didn't look much better either, as if it too had just rolled out of the wrong side of the bed. A sister, perhaps?
Principal Kelley sat behind his desk, which was overflowing with photos of his lovely wife, four kids, nine grandkids, and two Irish Setters. He was a decent enough boss and seemed to actually care about the students. Though, he tended to rub his bald head when he was nervous . . . which he was doing right now.
“This is Ms. Pagano,” he began. “I asked her to join us today to discuss Jeremy’s disciplinary course.”
I did a barely restrained double take. Come again?
“Ms. Pagano, I believe you know Jeremy Lincoln. And this is Jeremy’s sister, Jeannie.”
From Jeremy’s expression, there was no love lost between him and dear old Sis.
“Let's get this over with,” Jeannie muttered. “What's the douchebag's punishment this time?”
Douchebag? Really?
A muscle ticked along Jeremy's jaw.
Principal Kelley explained. “I've been working with Officer Jones and the district. Hartwood High is still undecided if they'll press charges. But they want to help. I want to help.”
At this, Jeremy huffed a bitter laugh. “School is a waste of time and so is this meeting.”
I couldn’t help myself. “So is juvenile detention," I offered quietly. “So is searching for a job with a criminal record. If there’s another option, I’d listen to what Principal Kelley has to say.”
His brown eyes locked onto mine. “Like I said. A waste of time."
I pursed my lips and looked at Principal Kelley. “I think that’s angry teenager for ‘go ahead.’”
“Agree to ninety hours of community service and all will be forgiven.”
“What?” Jeremy's head fell back onto the chair. “Hell no. I'd rather rot in juvie.”
“Well, that’s your other choice.” Jeannie rolled her eyes.
“Isn’t there something you’d like to do after you graduate?” I looked Jeremy up and down, trying to gauge his interests. “Go see your favorite band play at an awesome venue? Take a road trip with your friends? How are you going to do those things from juvenile detention?”
“He thinks he’s going to be a famous DJ.” Jeannie let out a harsh laugh. “You don’t even have a
laptop.”
The young man narrowed his eyes. Looking everywhere but at another human being.
“Ms. Pagano heads the drama department,” Principal Kelley continued “They’re putting on a play this fall—”
“It’s a musical,” I corrected. Wait, why was Principal Kelley looking at me like he was about to drop a bomb in my lap?
“Right. A musical. Well, she’s been hounding me for help with the sets, the lighting, all sorts of things. Jeremy, I thought you could satisfy the community service hours by helping the Drama Club out.”
Jeremy let out a choked laugh. “No way I’m going to be part of that scene.”
My mouth fell open. I closed it and cleared my throat. “I need help from the facilities staff . . .” I raised my eyebrows at Principal Kelley. “You know, professional help?”
“Well, we don’t have the budget for that. From where I see it, you need a set of strong arms. Jeremy has those. It’s a perfect solution.”
It was far from a perfect solution. I needed strong arms attached to someone who was actually invested in our Fall production. Wrangling Jeremy as a volunteer was likely to be way more trouble than it was worth. He wasn’t known as a bully, but Drama Club had always been a safe space. I couldn’t have him making fun of my kids or inserting a bad dynamic into the mix.
Jeremy still refused to make eye contact and, instead, picked at a dried piece of something on his jeans with an expression bordering on barely contained rage. I stifled a sigh. Drama Club did need help. And more importantly, so did Jeremy. He needed another chance. And who knew, maybe this would be good for him.
“Part of what we need,” I leaned forward toward Jeremy, “is someone to operate the audio-visual equipment and lighting. It could be good experience for DJing.”
Jeremy's gaze flicked my way. He lifted a dark eyebrow, giving me a look that was half boredom, half challenge. But beneath the furious veneer I could see a glimmer of interest.
“Do you think you could handle that?”
“That” being our precious, expensive equipment I had petitioned for two years to get. I felt like crossing myself and sending a prayer up to the patron saint of teachers.
Jeremy shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”
Principal Kelley clapped. “Great, then it’s settled. Jeremy, report to the auditorium today after school. What time is club practice?”
“Three,” I said wearily.
“This is your last chance—” Principal Kelley began, but Jeremy shot to his feet and, in two steps, yanked open the office door and then disappeared into the short hallway.
I deflated into my seat and closed my eyes. Then I remembered his sister Jeannie was still in the room. My eyes opened reluctantly and traveled her way. She bared her teeth at me, and I stilled. Could this family get any weirder?
“You have something right here.” Jeannie pointed to her teeth.
“I, what?”
“Right here.” Jeannie gestured to her bare teeth again. “A couple of black dots.”
Principal Kelley pretended to scribble down notes, but his shoulders did a little shake. Traitor. Pulling out my cell phone, I checked my teeth and groaned. The burnt dregs of the Final Cup haunted my front teeth. Well, that's just fantastic.
“There, you got it.” Jeannie lifted a lazy smile my way.
“Thanks.”
“Jeannie, it will be up to you to make sure that Jeremy sticks to this probationary arrangement. He’ll have to be at drama practice every Tuesday and Thursday.”
She stretched her way out of the chair with a yawn and trudged toward the open doorway. “I'll talk to him.” And then, with that, she disappeared down the short hallway after her brother.
Principal Kelley rounded his desk and shut the door. This time, I really did slump into the chair and removed my vintage-frame glasses.
“I also wanted to talk to you about the budget,” he said, lowering himself into his desk chair once more.
“Haven’t I been through enough?” I started to rub at my temples. Forcing cold coffee down my system was a bad idea––on many levels. I needed a burrito and a blanket and then I needed to burrito blanket and binge watch a show on Netflix the rest of the evening. Or maybe I just needed a glass of water. My mouth felt dry and pasty. Yuck. I try, I really do. But sometimes overworked, underpaid, too-much-heart-on-my-sleeve swamp hag emerges.
I sighed and then slouched onto Principal Kelley's desk, propping my head up with my fist. “Okay, lay it on me.”
“The school board has to find a way to cut ten percent this year. The logical place is the arts budget.”
“That’s bull and you know it, Kelley. Students who take four years of arts and music classes average almost one hundred points higher on their SAT scores—”
“Easy!” He held up his hands.
I couldn’t help it; reciting stats was an almost Pavlovian response to any budget cut discussions these days.
“I have your lengthy novel on the importance of arts in education. And the sequel. And so does every member of the school board.”
“Just trying to make it easy on them.” I couldn’t keep the smile from creeping onto my face. Yeah, I had mailed a copy of my plea and my research to the personal residence of each board member. Perhaps it was too bold, still I shrugged with mock innocence.
“Nothing is decided, but I wanted to warn you. They’ll be looking closely at student and community involvement in this year’s musical. If students aren’t signing up . . . if people don’t come to the show . . . they’re going to take it as a lack of interest. And then move that money elsewhere.”
My smile faded. “So, this is all to say . . . no pressure. Don’t screw this one up, Pagano.”
“This is all to say I believe in you, and you’ll knock this one out of the park.” Principal Kelley feigned swinging a baseball bat. “Let me know how I can help. Anything you need, I’ll do my best to get it for you.”
“Like an angry juvenile delinquent to babysit?” I stood.
He gave me a guilty grin and two thumbs up. “Like I said, I believe in you.”
Chapter Two
Cade
“I need another week, Bix.” Out my old bedroom window, I focused on the clumps of moss on the neighbor’s roof. Guilt settled heavy in my gut if I let my eyes drift to the disheveled state of Gran’s garden or the rotting fence surrounding it.
Grandma.
“Cade . . .” My band manager sighed. “You’re scheduled to be in the recording studio tomorrow. Get your ass to the airport.”
An ache tightened my chest. “Get Corinth to push recording out one more week.”
“You know that’s not how it works.”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s exactly how it works. You’re paid to manage. So, manage.”
“Cade—”
“See you in a week, Bix.” I ended the call and grit my teeth. Corinth Records wouldn’t drop my contract just because I missed one scheduled recording in all my eight years under their label. One scheduled recording and one mangled show, my judging inner voice whispered. I shoved it away.
The band would understand too. More than understand, unlike that piece of shit hired to micro-manage us into living hell. Why was I constantly thinking for the moron? I had my own job to do. And right now, I just didn’t have the heart to write two B-side singles for the marketing team before the new album’s release.
Pulling out my phone, I sent a group text message to the band.
Cade: sticking around Hartwood another week
Andy: how’s gramps?
Bale: no worries, man
Cade: he needs a lot of help
Dev: u holding up?
I tried to swallow down the painful knot in my throat. I knew what Devon was really asking. He grew up with me. He was there when my parents died. He had watched me become a person neither of us recognized. That didn’t mean I had to answer. I ignored the real question and changed the topic.
Cade: dinner time
&n
bsp; Bale: Bix is calling me
Andy: asshat
Bale: should I use my nice voice?
Andy: the nicest
God, I missed those assholes. Didn’t think that was possible after six months on a tour bus together, but I did. They would be here right now, if I’d let them, probably telling Gramps exaggerated stories of our wild adventures.
But I had wanted to be here alone. I had even asked Devon—the only bandmate who had attended Gran’s funeral—not to stick around afterward. Gramps needed me right now. And I needed him. We were the only family each other had. Everything else could wait.
I was about to head into the living room when a text from Devon caught my eye.
Dev: call me later
Andy: ok beautiful
Dev: not u shithead
Andy: cold. so cold
Cade: sure, Dev.
A ghost of a smile pulled at my lips. The vice around my ribs loosened and a heavy sigh followed. I scrubbed my face with my hands, then tossed the phone onto the bed. Stretching, I took in my old room for the umpteenth time. Not for nostalgia alone, but to memorize the little touches that were all Frances Owens—the woman who had raised me since age twelve after my parents were killed by a drunk driver. The faded dark blue curtains trimmed in neat stitches from her sewing machine. The desk in the corner that was sanded and stained by her hand—a garage sale find. She had dragged that hunk of wood all the way up the street by herself—I hadn’t known she needed help until she maneuvered it through the front door, her wiry arms shaking. “Five dollars!” she had declared with a triumphant laugh.