’Tis the season of forgiveness…but can she ever forget?

Brad Monroe was truly unbelievable. Blowing back into Brookhollow for three days to film a Christmas special—three years after the accident that killed his best friend…her husband—and expecting Melody to be civil? Please. He’d been the only one who’d survived the tragedy, hightailing it to Nashville and hijacking her dream…Patrick’s dream. She’d spent that time grieving, working three jobs, struggling to raise her boys and keep a roof over their heads. Now she was losing ground on all fronts, and not about to forgive and forget. Or give him the one thing that could save them all…

“I’m fine. We’re fine.”

Melody swung the scraper and Brad had to duck to avoid getting it in the side of the head. “Everything was fine,” she added, “until you showed up here as if you owned the town.”

“Fine? Really? That’s not exactly the word that comes to mind when I think about your situation, Mel.” If it took cold hard truth to wake her up, then so be it. He had nothing to lose at this point.

“What do you know about it? You’re back in Brookhollow for all of three days and all of a sudden you know something about my life? You know nothing.” Opening the back sliding door, she tossed the snow scraper inside and shoved the door shut.

“I know you’re losing the house.”

Dear Reader,

The holiday season can mean so many things to different people. For some, it is a season of love, laughter and making memories with family and friends. For others, it is a time of reflection and forgiveness. For single mom Melody Myers, the holidays are a struggle both financially and emotionally and, when Brad Monroe appears three weeks before Christmas, things get even harder.

Learning to confront past mistakes and learning to forgive are two of life’s greatest challenges, and Melody and Brad are forced to decide whether they can move forward or if some things simply cannot be forgiven…not even for love.

Brad and Melody’s story is one that is very close to my heart and one that I hope you will enjoy. Happy Holidays from my family to yours. Wishing you a season of love, laughter, hope and forgiveness.

xo

Jennifer

The Mistletoe

Melody

Jennifer Snow

www.millsandboon.co.uk

JENNIFER SNOW

lives in Edmonton, Alberta, with her husband and four-year-old son. She is a member of the Writers Guild of Alberta, the Romance Writers of America, the Canadian Author Association and shewrites.org. She is also a regular blogger on the Mills & Boon Heartwarming Authors site and is a contributing writer for Mslexia magazine and RWR. She has offered online courses on writing sweet romance through several RWA local chapters and has written articles for Avenue magazine. An active volunteer with Frontier College, she is an advocate for literacy programs worldwide. More information can be found on her website, www.jennifersnowauthor.com.

For Jacob—you’re the coolest kid I know,

but you’ll never win the “I love you more” game.

Mommies always win that one.

Acknowledgments

Thank you to Stephany Evans, the best agent in New York—xo. Thank you to my wonderful editor, Victoria Curran, for ignoring my pouting and helping to create the best version of this book possible—as always, you were right :). Thank you so much to Doug Organ for the music industry insights—amazingly cool guy and recording studio. I could have stayed there all day! Special thanks to recording artist Joal Kamps and his wonderful manager Laurie Brown for their help and support with this book. And thank you to Reagan for never giving up on my dream, even when I do.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

MELODY SNEEZED AND reached for a tissue from the magazine table of the walk-in medical clinic’s crowded waiting room. Then she promptly pumped her hand sanitizer.

Lindsay Harper, the clinic’s head nurse, looked over at her from where she was plugging in the artificial Christmas tree in the corner. “Not you, too, Mel,” she said. The white, five-foot-tall decoration began to rotate, its multicolored LED lights twinkling in time to the sound of “Jingle Bells,” which suddenly filled the air.

Melody could do without the reminder of the upcoming season. Christmas used to be her favorite time of year, but since Patrick’s death, it only caused her stress—emotionally and financially.

“’Tis the season,” she mumbled, sitting back in the plastic waiting-room chair she was sharing with her eight-year-old son, Josh. Every year around this time, they both seemed to get sick. She could mark her calendar by it. December first—first day of the flu.

Josh’s head fell against her shoulder, and with a scratchy voice he asked, “How much longer, Mom?” The fit of coughing that followed gained him sympathetic looks from some of the other waiting patients.

Melody wiped the boy’s dark hair off his hot forehead and checked her watch. “Soon, sweetheart.” She hoped. Her evening shift started in less than an hour. Thursday was one of the busiest nights at the bowling alley.

Josh’s twin brother, David, who had been sleeping curled up in the chair next to them, stirred and opened his eyes slowly. “Mom, I don’t feel so great.”

“I know, sweetheart. We’ll see the doctor soon.”

Lindsay reappeared with their file and a sympathetic smile. She leaned close to Melody as she whispered, “I know you have to get to work, so I’m bumping you guys ahead.”

“Thanks,” Melody said, grateful for the gesture. Despite Lindsay’s reputation as a party girl, she took her job seriously, and her affection for her patients, especially the young children, was obvious. Helping Josh to his feet and taking the hands of both her sons, Melody followed Lindsay down the hallway to an empty examination room. “Dr. McCarthy will be just a moment.”

“Okay,” Melody said, helping Josh onto the examination table, as David sat in the chair near the door. She buried a throaty cough in the crook of her arm and cringed. Each time she coughed, her chest hurt and her throat felt rawer than ever. If she was feeling this awful, she hated to think how Josh was feeling.

She yawned, shaking off a wave of exhaustion. She’d spent the night before sitting on the edge of Josh’s bottom bunk, one hand propping up his pillow while he slept and the other continuously checking his forehead for a fever.

“Where are our pictures, Mom?” David asked, slumping against the back of his chair and studying the wall of photos of newborns. Dr. McCarthy was one of two pediatricians in Brookhollow and was essentially always on call. She’d delivered almost every baby born in the small New Jersey town in the past decade, including Melody’s boys.

“Just look for the cutest ones,” Melody whispered with a wink at the older twin, who had been born six minutes before his brother on November 2, in the middle of a hail-and-sleet storm. Patrick, a guitar player in a country band, had been performing in Beach Haven that night, two hours away, and had almost missed the delivery, rushing in just minutes before David’s arrival. But he’d been there...

“There we are,” David said.

Melody’s heart swelled as it always did at the sight of the boys’ baby photos. They’d looked so much like her husband in that first year, with their light hair and bright, crystal-blue eyes. Over time, their hair had darkened to the same chestnut-brown color as hers, minus the ever increasing gray ones that seemed to have arrived in the three years since Patrick’s death. Despite the passing of time and the deepening lines on her face, it still felt as if he’d died yesterday. Seemingly overnight, she’d transformed from a stay-at-home mom with virtually no professional skills, to a working woman holding down several jobs and supporting a family on her own.

Dr. McCarthy knocked once on the door before walking in. “Hello, Myers family,” she greeted, setting their files on the tiny desk in the room. “Let me guess—coughing, sneezing, fever and muscle aches?”

“Been seeing that a lot today?” Melody asked.

“When one person in Brookhollow gets sick, we all get sick,” Dr. McCarthy said, placing a hand on Josh’s forehead. “Part of small-town charm, I guess. Has he taken anything for his fever?” she asked as she reached for a tongue depressor. “Say ‘aaah’ for me, okay, buddy?”

“Children’s Tylenol about two hours ago,” Melody said.

Dr. McCarthy nodded as she looked at Josh’s throat. “Strep is my guess, but we’ll send a swab to the lab just to be sure.” She swabbed his throat and placed the pad in a tube, which she then sealed and labeled. She turned to David. “Him, too?” she asked, sympathetically.

“I think so... Not as bad, yet,” Melody said, before another sneeze escaped her.

“You don’t sound too good yourself,” the doctor said. She checked David’s throat.

“I’m fine... I’m too busy to be sick.” It was true. Three jobs didn’t afford her the luxury of giving in to sickness, even if it meant she was spreading the contagion.

“I think it’s strep over here, as well.” Lifting the back of David’s shirt, Dr. McCarthy listened to his breathing. “I’ll give you a prescription for antibiotics for both of them.” She scribbled a prescription. “And just continue the Tylenol every four to six hours for the fever... Do you want me to take a look at you, as well? I’ve heard you cough.”

Melody shook her head as she accepted the prescription slip and helped Josh climb down from the table. “Thank you, Dr. McCarthy.” Antibiotics for the boys would be expensive enough, and they needed the drug more than she did. If only her pending promotion with Play Hard Sports, the big sporting-goods store in town, could happen a little sooner. Medical coverage was a benefit enjoyed by a full-time management employee, which she hoped to become in a few days, after she’d completed the training course and written the final exam. She hoped the three months of study would pay off. With the raise in pay, she could quit her two evening jobs bartending—as long as she passed this one last exam.

She began to collect their belongings. She had half an hour to pick up their babysitter, Lauralee—a high school girl who’d been babysitting the boys for years—drop them all off at home, put their dinner in the oven and then get to the bowling alley. She’d be lucky if she had time to change out of her Play Hard Sports uniform. She prayed the predicted snow hadn’t started yet. Her old minivan still had its summer tires and it would be at least a few weeks before there was money in her tight budget to take the vehicle into Bailey’s Place to have new winter tires put on. She knew the mechanic, her future sister-in-law Bailey, would do the work without charging her, but she couldn’t accept charity.

When Patrick was alive, he’d taken care of such things as the upkeep of the vehicles, or repairs to their old bungalow, which they’d bought as a fixer-upper ten years ago. As much as she loved the character-rich home, in recent years the maintenance had drained her limited funds. Still, the idea of selling the home where her family had made a lot of happy memories wasn’t one she liked to entertain.

“Come on, guys,” she said, taking Josh’s hand.

“Mel, hang on a sec.” Dr. McCarthy opened a locked mini fridge in the hallway near the file cabinets. Removing a white plastic bottle, she checked the label before handing it to Melody. “Here. This is essentially the same antibiotic I gave the boys—just a stronger dose. It’s FDA-approved, but it’s still in the clinical-trial stage, so it isn’t being offered in pharmacies yet. It’ll help with your cough.”

Melody hesitated.

Dr. McCarthy reached for her hand and forced the medicine into it. “Take it. It’s really not a big deal—I’ve been handing it out all week. Unfortunately, the dosage is too strong for the boys,” she said, stopping in front of the door of the next examining room and turning her attention to a file.

“Thank you again, Dr. McCarthy,” Melody said. Exchanges like this were so awkward. She longed for the day when her financial struggles weren’t obvious to everyone in Brookhollow. But today wasn’t that day. She was sick and she was expected to be behind the bowling alley bar in twenty-five minutes.

* * *

“THE KEY STEPS in performance-based management are...defining missions and goals,” Melody muttered as she stacked clean beer mugs on the glass shelves behind the bar. The Thursday-night crowd at the bowling alley was full of the usual suspects. To her right, the over-thirty men’s bowling league occupied eight of the twelve lanes, and to her left, several off-duty firemen played pool at the corner table. The front wooden doors opened and a group of twentysomethings entered. “Be with you guys in just a moment,” she told them, turning to grab menus.

She noticed her brother approaching the bar. “Hey, Ethan, another round?”

“Just for those guys,” he said, pulling out his wallet and nodding toward his fellow firefighters. “Bailey’s off in ten minutes and I’m picking her up from the shop. I finally talked her into storing her motorcycle a few weeks ago.”

Melody nodded her understanding. Ethan’s fiancée, Bailey Sheppard, loved her motorcycle, and since Brookhollow had been blessed this year with a mild fall season, she had been able to ride the bike longer. “Have I mentioned how happy I am that you two finally got together?” Melody said, drawing the beer.

After years of friendship, Bailey and Ethan had finally realized what the whole town had known for years—they were perfect for each other. They’d gotten engaged three months before during a trip to Venice.

Ethan tossed enough cash on the bar to cover the group’s tab, and added several additional bills to Melody’s tip jar. “You and me both. I can’t believe it took me so long to see how amazing she is.” Then, noticing the textbook on the bar, he asked, “How’s the studying?”

“A lot tougher than I’d expected.” It was true. The three-month management-trainee program had included ten different instruction manuals, four exams and weeks of on-the-job training, in which she’d had to shadow a Play Hard trainer in his management role. “But it’s worth it,” she was quick to add. “I just wish I had more time to study. A lot is riding on this last exam.”

“Well, you know Bailey and I would be happy to babysit the boys if you need some extra time.”

“Thanks. I appreciate the offer. I wish it was just the boys keeping me busy, but honestly, I’ve been working such long hours lately, I barely have enough time with them as it is. I really hope I’ll be able to give up these evening shifts soon.”

The strong early December wind caught the front double doors as Heather, the part-time bartender, walked in, her long, dark hair blowing wildly around her pink cheeks. Tugging the doors closed behind her, she mumbled something unintelligible. “Sorry I’m late, Mel,” she said, panting.

“Don’t worry. It’s just starting to pick up.” She watched as Heather struggled to catch her breath. “Did you run here?” She shot a glance at Heather’s feet. She was wearing five-inch-heeled, red leather, pointy-toed boots. Still, if anyone could run in them, the tall, slender, feisty brunette probably could. A New York City girl, she’d come to Brookhollow for the wedding of her friend Victoria Mason, the owner of the B and B in town, to Luke Dawson, and had decided to stay. She said she’d taken a liking to small-town life. Melody was grateful to have someone to train to take over the bar once she left.

Heather took off her coat and hung it on the hook behind the kitchen door. “Practically. That piece-of-crap car I bought broke down again yesterday—it’s still at the shop.” She wrapped the black apron around her thin waist and smiled at Ethan. “Thank God for your fiancée. She rescued me from the side of the highway again last night.”

“Bailey picked you up in the tow truck?” Ethan’s annoyance was pretty obvious.

Heather hesitated and Melody waved her arms, shaking her head behind Ethan’s back. Heather shot her a puzzled look as Ethan swung around to face her. “I saw that. She was supposed to have Nick doing the evening highway tows.”

“Oops,” Heather said sheepishly. “Didn’t mean to get her in trouble.”

Ethan grabbed the tray of drinks from the bar. “Don’t worry. I suspected she was still doing the towing herself. Bye, ladies. Mel, good luck on the exam. Tell the boys I need them next week at hockey practice, so they should take it easy this weekend and get better.”

In addition to working as a firefighter, her younger brother coached the junior boys’ soccer, hockey and football teams. “Thanks. I will, but you know the boys—they’d play even if their limbs were falling off.” Her twins had been born with athletic genes, and they rarely missed a practice.

She hoped they’d feel better once the antibiotics kicked in. Already her own symptoms appeared to be easing, for which she was grateful. Customers rarely appreciated being served by someone at death’s door...

Heather saved Melody’s textbook page with her finger as she closed the book to see the cover. “Essentials of Management...yuck.” She wrinkled her nose. “How’s that going?”

“It was going terribly. But it’s much better now that I took your advice about writing my notes on index cards and leaving them all over the house. Now as I’m cooking or getting the boys ready for bed, I’m memorizing information.” She covered a cough as she opened the dishwasher and loaded in the empty beer mugs. She’d never been great at academics, barely getting by in school, but this management course was important to her. The past three months, she’d pushed herself harder than she ever had before. She’d passed the three previous exams with a B average.

Heather collected more empty cups from around the bowling alley and set them on the bar before reaching for the television remote control. “Well, take a break. It’s eight o’clock. Our show is on.” She flipped through the stations on the flat-screen television above the bar. She passed the hockey game, ignoring the cries of protest from the men playing pool, and stopped on American Voices, the reality television competition they’d watched every Thursday night together since she’d started training at the bar.

A young woman wearing a black leather jumpsuit, was crooning a Sheryl Crow song. Heather folded her arms and leaned against the bar as she watched. “I still think you should have tried out when they were holding auditions in New Jersey, Melody. You can sing circles around these contestants.” She winced as the redhead struggled to hit a high note.

Melody took several shot glasses down from the shelf and refilled them with tequila as Mark Adams, a local firefighter and the biggest flirt in town, approached the bar. He asked for another round of shots. “Good luck, Heather. We’ve been trying to convince Mel to try out every season for three years.”

“I’m too old, guys,” Melody said, sliding the shot glasses toward him. She tossed her long, wavy chestnut hair over one shoulder as she added, “Besides, I gave up on that dream a long time ago.”

At twenty-one, all she’d wanted to do was leave Brookhollow and move to Nashville to pursue a career in country music. But then she and Patrick had gotten married and the boys had arrived...and the dream had turned into more of a quiet longing.

She held up her textbook. “I have a new dream now.” One that made sense. One she could depend on. One that would provide a secure future for her children. Nothing kept her more firmly planted in reality than two boys who needed new clothes, school supplies, sporting equipment and medicine.

Heather scoffed. “You’d be an instant star in Nashville and you know it. And you’re always writing your own songs.”

Melody’s shoulders tensed. She wished Heather would drop the subject. She hadn’t written a new song in a long time. Sure, she often hummed original tunes that popped into her head, or made up random lyrics, none of which she could ever remember afterward, but she hadn’t actually put pen to paper in more than three years. Not since the last song she’d cowritten with Patrick.

After Patrick’s death, a record label had approached her, offering to buy any original material Patrick may have had, but she’d been unable to sell the music they’d written together. She only had a few mementoes left of him—his lyrics and musical scores were vital to her.

“Oh, I love this guy,” Heather said, her attention captured by the screen. “Victoria and I saw him in New York last summer when he opened for Toby Keith.”

“Who?” Melody asked, turning to look at the television.

She lost her grip on the wet beer mug in her hand and it crashed to the floor, shattering in a million pieces at her feet.

Brad Monroe, her husband’s former bandmate and friend, sat in the guest judge’s seat on the critique panel, commenting on the girl’s performance.

Her mouth went dry. She held on to the edge of the bar as the deep, husky voice she hadn’t heard in years filled the heavy air around her.

“Mel, you okay?” Heather asked. She reached for the broom behind the kitchen door.

“I got it,” Melody insisted, taking the broom from Heather with a shaky hand. “Um...do you mind if we turn that program off?” She knew her request would sound odd and would require an explanation, but she wasn’t sure she could handle seeing Brad’s carefree, handsome face at that moment—or ever. She’d been successful in avoiding that face for the three years since Patrick’s funeral. She was sure she’d done the right thing by keeping Brad completely out of her and her sons’ lives. The man had been responsible for her husband’s death, and she felt unnerved enough just by the sight of him on television.

“Oh, sure.” Heather quickly changed to the channel showing the hockey game and held the dustpan for Melody as she swept the broken glass onto it.

Heather’s lack of protest spoke volumes. “Who told you?” Melody asked.

“Told me what?”

“About my late husband and Brad Monroe...uh...Jackson.” The smug jerk had changed his last name to Jackson to sound more “country” when he’d left Brookhollow to pursue a record deal with Propel Records, a record deal that had launched his career. A career that should also have been Patrick’s.

“I remember Victoria mentioning something about it after the concert when we bought his CD from the merchandise table. He’d mentioned your family in his acknowledgment section, and Vic recognized the connection.”

Melody hadn’t known. She’d refused to even look at his CD cover in the music store at the mall or talk about him with family and friends over the three years. So he’d acknowledged them—big deal. It didn’t soften her feelings toward him, not one little bit. As she often told the boys, saying sorry might be the right thing to do, but it didn’t erase the deed.

She emptied the broken glass into the trash can and leaned the broom against the bar. “What did Victoria tell you, exactly?”

“Not much,” Heather replied. “Just that the three of you had a history.”

History was an understatement. “We went to high school together, but Patrick was four years older than Brad, so they were never really friends. Brad and I were in the same classes, but I never knew much about him. I certainly wouldn’t have expected him to be interested in music—he was always hanging around with the jocks and cheerleaders. Anyway, after one of Patrick’s gigs about nine years ago in Beach Haven, where Brad happened to be vacationing with his girlfriend of the week, they caught up on old times and somehow the discussion turned to Brad’s interest in music. Next thing I knew, Brad was joining the band.” She couldn’t keep the disdain from her voice.

She’d liked Brad just fine, but she’d always worried about his playboy influence on her husband when they were on the road—groupies were a simple reality. Her trust in Patrick had been unwavering, but his being with Brad had caused her concern. She wasn’t thrilled about her husband playing wingman for the free-spirited bachelor, no matter how innocent the situation.

“Were you okay with that? Taking a step back?”

Not exactly, but she wasn’t about to tell Heather about all of the arguments she and Pat had had over the decision. The decision that meant walking away from music. “I was pregnant with the boys at the time, so we’d decided it was best for me to step away from performing. Patrick was amazing on the guitar, but even he recognized they needed a new singer. Brad took over the microphone and we all became close friends as well as musical collaborators. Brad is even the boys’ godfather.” She paused. That had been Patrick’s choice, not hers.

“Wow,” Heather said. “But then the accident happened?”

Melody nodded. “The accident report revealed they’d both been drinking—they’d been celebrating the signing of their contract with Propel Records in New York.” She paused, the words still hard to say, “Brad survived. Patrick didn’t.”

In truth, Brad had barely escaped the same fate. He’d suffered critical injuries and a severe concussion that had left him in the hospital for weeks. At Patrick’s funeral, he’d been in a wheelchair.

“Brad was driving?” Heather guessed.

Melody nodded, clenching her hands into fists at her sides. How many times had she told Patrick that Brad couldn’t be trusted when he was drinking? His judgment when sober had been questionable enough.

“And then he left town and that was it? You haven’t heard from him since?” Heather frowned, her expression a mix of anger and sympathy.

“Yeah,” Melody answered, avoiding Heather’s gaze. It wasn’t exactly the truth. Brad had attempted to contact them over the past three years, offering to help in any way he could—emotionally, financially—but Melody had put an end to the contact by changing the family’s phone number and blocking any incoming emails from him.

She didn’t want anything to do with Brad Monroe or Jackson or whatever he called himself.

All she wanted were the things he’d taken away and couldn’t give back—her husband and their dreams for the future.

* * *

“HOW DID YOU get in here?”

“Oh, honey, please. I’m a publicist. I can talk my way into anywhere.”

From the hot tub in the men-only section of BodyWorks, a therapeutic spa and chiropractic clinic in downtown Nashville, Brad watched as Roxanne Klein kicked off her designer shoes. Grabbing a towel to sit on, she lowered herself to the edge of the tub, sinking her tiny feet into the water. He rolled his eyes and then lowered his head back against the towel he had positioned behind him.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Roxanne said. “I asked the last guy I saw coming out if there was anyone else in here before going in.”

And that made it okay? The woman was terrible. She had no sense of boundaries, although in truth, it was no doubt the reason she was so fantastic at her job. As one of Nashville’s most sought-after publicists, she could turn acts no one had ever heard of into overnight successes. As much as he hated to admit it, she was worth the astronomical fee she charged—a fee he really couldn’t afford. That’s why he had put the fate of his career in her hands a year before.

So far she’d changed his hair color from light brown to blond and had forced him to buy colored, non-prescription contacts to hide the fact that his eyes were different colors—one a deep blue, the other a sea-foam green. She’d also changed his stage name from Monroe to Jackson and had ordered the name switch on his first CD cover before it had hit store shelves. He’d found out a week later when he’d seen it advertised in a flyer.

“Besides, I wouldn’t have to resort to these measures if you’d stop avoiding my calls,” she said, a chill in her Southern accent.

He felt it, despite the heat of the water. “I got your voice mails and I left you one of my own.” He stood and pushed himself out of the hot tub. There was no relaxing around Roxanne.

Already, he felt his muscles tightening again after the two-hour session with his physical therapist. In the three years since the car accident, he had been going to therapy twice a week to build up the strength in his legs and back. Besides the countless broken bones, he’d had torn muscles and five dislocated disks in his spine.

Yet he’d been the lucky one.

“But you didn’t give me the answer I wanted to hear.” Roxanne kept her eyes on him as he made his way to the towels and wrapped one around his waist. Luckily, he always wore his swim trunks.

“Well, it’s the only answer you’re going to get.” Brad raked a hand through his highlighted hair and watched her as she swung her legs over the side of the tub and stood up. With her shoulder-length blond hair and big blue eyes, he might have found her attractive if she weren’t always trying to convince him to do things he didn’t want to do—such as her latest request.

Even in bare feet, Roxanne was almost as tall as the five-foot-eleven Brad. “Think about this rationally—it’s television. So far, we’ve done the magazine articles, the talk radio, that one-time appearance on that music reality show, but we haven’t been able to secure a prime-time spot focused on you as an artist. This is the opportunity we’ve been waiting for.”

“Heartland Country Television is the opportunity we’ve been waiting for?” He raised an eyebrow. Roxanne could talk, and he suspected 99 percent of the time people bought everything she said. But even she had to know that calling Nashville’s local country television station prime time was a stretch.

“Okay, so it’s not Oprah—and don’t think I haven’t tried calling her—but it’s a start. And their ‘Home for the Holidays’ episode is one of the most watched Christmas Eve programs. Apparently, people love seeing how stars spend their holidays,” she insisted, following him to the men’s change-room door.

“You can’t come in here,” Brad said, pausing with his hand on the door.

“Try to stop me.”

He let out an exasperated sigh. “Roxanne, I won’t do it. ‘Home for the Holidays’... Do you even know what that means for me?” He shuddered at the thought of returning to his family home in Brookhollow, a place he hadn’t dared visit in three years. He’d tried the year before when he’d been performing an hour from his hometown, but as the town-limits sign had come into view, he’d pulled a U-turn and hightailed it out of there. Facing his past, especially this time of year, would have destroyed him.

“Let me guess—your family’s crazy? So? Whose isn’t? Country music is about crazy mothers, alcoholic fathers, hillbilly farm life and broken-down trucks. Be the stereotype. Embrace it. Trust me, it will surprise you how fans love humble beginnings. It makes you more relatable—”

“Forget it, Roxanne. I don’t think my family would go for it.”

That was a lie. His mother and five older sisters would have eaten it up. Brookhollow did Christmas in a big way, with the colorfully decorated storefronts on Main Street, the twenty-foot evergreen erected in the town center, the parade and the horse-drawn sleigh rides through the park. He didn’t even want to think about his own family’s extreme holiday traditions. At Christmas, not an inch of wall space inside the home was visible beneath the garlands and wall hangings. Outside, the twelve thousand multicolored lights stapled to the roof lit up the entire neighborhood, and the large evergreen trees around the family farm were decorated with hundreds of baubles and bows. Overdone was an understatement. Tacky was more the word.

“Let me talk to them.” She offered him a confident smile.

“No. And besides, you’ve changed my last name, remember?” How did she expect to pull that off?

“So, we’ll change the name on your family’s mailbox. I’m not seeing an issue here, Brad.”

She was unbelievable. He didn’t doubt for a second she would force his entire family to assume the surname Jackson for this publicity stunt. “Can we talk about this later? I’d like to get dressed now.” He had no intention of resuming this conversation, but goose bumps were covering his bare skin now that he was out of the hot tub. Or maybe it was the icy chill he always felt around his publicist.

“Go ahead,” she said with a shrug, daring him to force her to follow him into the change room.

“You’re unreal, you know that?”

“It’s called being persistent. It’s why you hired me. I’m going to take your wavering resolve and lack of a snappy retort as agreement.” She opened her shoulder bag and pulled out the contract for the television spot.

He accepted it with reluctance and scanned the pages. “You forged my signature?” Why her behavior still shocked him, he didn’t know. By now, he knew there was no point in putting up a fight. Roxanne Klein didn’t know the meaning of failure.

“Don’t get caught up on morality,” she said. “We needed to secure the last-minute spot before they gave it to some adorable seventeen-year-old kid who writes all his own songs and plays like eighteen instruments. I did what I had to do. I’ve also confirmed your travel arrangements to Brookville...”

“Brookhollow.”

“Whatever. Middle of nowhere, New Jersey...” She positioned her aqua-blue heels on the concrete floor and held his shoulder for balance as she slid her feet into them.

“Are you going with me?”

“It’s the holidays. Are you kidding? No.” Her eyes fell to his torso and she frowned. “Have we talked about getting a plastic surgeon to look at those?” she asked, pointing to the scar tissue on his chest and upper abdomen.

“No, and we won’t.” He hoped his voice held enough conviction to make her drop the point.

“Fine. I’ll take my victories where I can get them—we’ll discuss it another time. You fly out on Monday morning. Bye, Brad.”

Brad watched her saunter away. He ran a hand over his damaged skin.

He didn’t doubt she would bring it up again, but removing the scars was something he would never consider. They were a permanent souvenir from a bad decision that had cost him so much, as well as a constant reminder that life was short.

Besides, unless the surgeon could remove the scars he carried on the inside, what would be the point?

CHAPTER TWO

“DAVID, COME ON. You’re going to be late for school,” Melody called down the hallway of her two-bedroom bungalow to the room the boys shared. Opening their matching superhero backpacks, she tucked their lunch tins inside before adding juice boxes and sandwich meat to the grocery list on the fridge. She hated running out of things on a Monday, which called for a between-jobs run to the grocery store. But with the three of them recovering from illness all weekend and her shifts at the bowling alley, there really hadn’t been time.

“Worry about Josh!” David called back. “He’s out in the shed again.”

Melody moved to the kitchen window and looked across her backyard. The light in the shed was on, and through the open door she could see Josh sitting on the tiny sofa in what had once been the family’s makeshift recording studio, his father’s electric guitar on his lap. She sighed. He spent so much time out there trying to learn to play. She wished she knew how, but she’d never bothered to learn. Patrick had been playing since he was four years old, and he could play anything simply by hearing it. He’d taught Josh a few simple chords.

If only music lessons weren’t so expensive, she would have signed both boys up for them. She was struggling just to keep the equipment. She hated the idea of selling Patrick’s things, a few times in the past couple of years the idea had tempted her. She didn’t go out to the shed anymore. The sight evoked memories that were too much to take, longings that were too hard to face. But she couldn’t sell the equipment if Josh wanted to use it.

Leaning forward, she opened the window. She shivered in the blast of cold air. “Come on, Josh. Time for school,” she called.

A minute later, the kitchen door opened and Josh entered, leaving a trail of wet snow on the floor. “Here’s the mail, Mom.”

She chose to ignore the mess and thank him for the gesture. Eight-year-old boys were oblivious to things like tracking mud or snow through the house. “Thanks, honey,” she said, accepting the stack and tossing it into a bin on the counter. She unrolled a sheet of paper towel and bent to wipe up the clumps of snow.

“Aren’t you going to check the mail?” Josh asked.

“I will later. We’re in a bit of a hurry now.” She didn’t need to look through the stack to know it held an overwhelming number of overdue notices. Besides, this was exam day, and she was trying her best not to let anything frazzle her.

“But there might be something important in there,” Josh persisted.

He was up to something. “You’re right. I should probably check it now.” Picking up the stack, she noticed a piece of blue construction paper sticking out of one corner. She pretended to flip through the rest. “Bills, bills...ah, what is this?” She shot a glance toward him, then pulled out the construction paper, which was folded like a greeting card. She read aloud, “‘Good luck, Mom.’” On the front was a drawing of a bouquet of flowers and on the inside the boys had signed their names.

Josh’s smile reached from ear to ear. “David and I made it with Lauralee last week. We didn’t actually mail it,” he confessed.

“Thank you, Josh. I love it.” She gave him a hug. She didn’t doubt the card had been his idea. Her boys may have been identical in appearance, but they had different personalities. Josh was more thoughtful than David, whose hardheadedness she knew he’d inherited from her. David kept his emotions to himself most of the time, while Josh was more like his father—open and kind. Tucking the card into her purse, she said, “Can you please go get that brother of yours? We’re going to be late.”

She checked her watch, noticing the slight trembling of her hand. She didn’t feel nervous about the exam, though she suspected she must be, subconsciously. A lot was riding on this opportunity. She would feel much better about things once it was over. She was the only employee at the Brookhollow store who had completed the course, so she was confident the position would be hers if things went well today.

Flipping through the rest of the mail only reinforced how much she needed this promotion. The envelope for her power bill was stamped with a huge red Final Notice. The overdue stamp on the cable-bill envelope was smaller—it would have to wait. The boys would lose their minds if the cable was shut off, but sleeping in a cold, dark house would have been far worse. Hopefully, she’d be able to catch up on the outstanding debt in the first half of the new year.

As she placed a stack of flyers on the edge of the counter for recycling, another envelope fell to the floor. When she picked it up, her heart rate soared—it was from the Brookhollow Trust, her bank. It wasn’t her usual bank statement, which always came in a white envelope, or the mortgage bill, which came in a small tan one. This was a thick, heavy legal-size manila envelope.

“Ready, Mom!” David announced, appearing in the doorway of the kitchen. He grabbed his backpack and tossed Josh’s to him.

“Okay, take the keys and go get in the van. I’ll be right out. Don’t forget your hat and gloves.” She returned her attention to the envelope as the boys disappeared down the hall. She waited until she heard the front door close before she opened the mailing. She paused. Did she really need to read this now? Maybe she should wait until the evening. But if she didn’t, it would be on her mind all day, anyway.

Inside was a copy of the mortgage and a statement summary showing the current balance and payment history. She swallowed hard. Six missed payments that year. Had it been that many? She’d expected two, maybe three, but six? She scanned the missed months. Yeah, six was correct. Money had been tight that year, especially with David needing glasses for school and the front window of the house needing replacing after Josh had thrown a baseball through it that summer.

She turned to the last page, which was a letter from Jeff Thompson, the bank’s branch manager and a guy she’d gone to school with. Now their boys played together on the same hockey team. Her knees all but gave way beneath her as she read.

Dear Ms. Myers,

We regret to inform you that due to the arrears owing on your mortgage, we are obligated to ask for payment to bring your account up-to-date. If you are unable to settle the debt, we will be forced to foreclose on the property as of January 1...

The letter continued, but that was all she needed to read. They were going to take her house? The room around her began to spin, and the little blue flowers on the outdated wallpaper she’d loved when they first moved in danced around her. She closed her eyes in a desperate attempt to stop the spinning. January 1 was less than a month away. Even with the promotion, she wasn’t sure if she could settle the debt that quickly. Thirty-two-hundred dollars just to bring the payments up-to-date. She folded the letter and slid everything back into the envelope, then hid it under the stack on the counter. She forced herself to take several deep breaths as the van’s horn sounded outside. The exam needed to be her only focus. She would figure this out. She always did. There was no way she was losing her family’s home.

* * *

THE STAFF LUNCHROOM in the back of the Play Hard Sports store served as the exam room. Melody and two other management trainees competing for the same position at the Newark store sat in the overheated room waiting to begin. Again, she was relieved there had been no one else interested in the position in the Brookhollow store. The whole process had been stressful enough, and she’d have hated to compete for the promotion. Staring at the closed booklet, she replayed over and over the things she’d studied. Heather had taught her to visualize charts and definitions in order to recall them more easily during the test, but today whenever she closed her eyes, all she saw was the notice from the bank. She forced all thoughts of that morning’s disturbing news away. The exam facilitator, a woman from head office, checked her watch and told them to begin.

Melody opened the exam booklet and scanned the first section. She felt the tension in her shoulders begin to melt. Product knowledge—her strongest subject. Not only had she worked in the store for eight months, but she also had the advantage of growing up with two athletic brothers. Now her boys were playing on every sports team in town. Sports equipment was something she knew. She flew through the hundred multiple-choice questions quickly, never second-guessing her answers.

The next section was tougher—questions about the principles of management—but as she skimmed them, images of the cue cards around her house popped into her mind. Thank you, Heather. Furiously, she scribbled detailed responses and even provided examples that weren’t required. Better to give too much in the way of an answer than not enough.

As she turned to the last section an hour later, she felt her cell phone vibrate. She’d put the cell in her purse, which was sitting on the floor against the chair leg. Who was trying to reach her at twelve-thirty on a Monday afternoon? Everyone knew she was writing an exam at that time. She contemplated not reaching for it...but what if it was an emergency? When the boys weren’t with her, she liked to be available. Lowering her right hand, she slid the zipper open on the purse and glanced down to see the caller ID. Brookhollow Elementary. The boys’ school never called unless they were sick or injured.

“Um, excuse me,” she said to the exam moderator.

“Yes?” The woman looked up from the home-and-garden magazine she was reading.

The other two employees glanced up from their exams.

“Sorry,” Melody said. “It’s my son’s school. Can I take it outside?” She held the vibrating phone.

The woman shook her head. “I’m sorry, but if you leave the testing area, you can’t reenter.”

“Well, can I answer it quickly here?”

“No.”

Melody stared at the vibrating phone. She was almost done the exam. Another hour at most. Could the call wait? The exam was too important to mess up, especially now, but family always came first. What was she supposed to do? If she left the exam, she wouldn’t get the promotion and the kids would suffer...but what if one of them were hurt? Damn it. “I’m sorry, I have to take this.” She grabbed her purse and rushed from the room, dropping the unfinished exam on the facilitator’s desk as she passed. “Hello?” she said as the room door closed behind her.

“Melody?”

She recognized the school secretary’s voice. “Yes, Amy. Are the boys okay?” She pushed her purse strap up her arm as she rushed down the hockey stick aisle in the showroom toward the front doors.

“It’s David.” The woman paused.

If only I could reach through the phone and strangle this woman. “Is he hurt?”

“No. He’s suspended.”

Melody struggled to catch the phone as it slipped from her fingers. David was suspended? How was that possible? He was a good kid. Sure, he’d been going through a bit of a rebellious phase lately, but that was normal for a boy his age, wasn’t it? Brookhollow Elementary never suspended anyone. At least this was the first suspension she’d ever heard of. “Why?”

“I’d rather tell you in person. Can you come to the school?”

Did she have a choice? “Yes, of course. I’ll be there soon,” she said. She disconnected the call.

Outside in the parking lot, she struggled with the stubborn handle on the minivan, her anxiety making her oblivious to the bitter cold whipping through her long-sleeved, ribbed shirt. She’d forgotten her winter coat in her haste to leave the exam room and answer her vibrating phone. “Come on,” she muttered, yanking the handle and steadying herself as the door flew open. Inside, her hand shook as she shoved the key in the ignition and reached for her seat belt. The strap wouldn’t budge, and glancing down, she saw it was trapped in the door. “Seriously?” Swinging the door open again, she freed the seat belt and slammed the door shut.

She tore out of the parking lot. The tires spun on a snowy patch and she cringed. She really couldn’t put off getting those winter tires any longer. Maybe she needed to allow Bailey to do them for free. If the boys got hurt because of the useless vehicle, she would be devastated.

As she drove, her mind reeled. Her son was suspended. Of all things. Of all days. What possibly could have happened that would have warranted a suspension. Lost in thought, she almost didn’t hear the wail of a police siren behind her. That couldn’t be for her...but a glance at the speedometer confirmed it was. She checked the rearview mirror, hit the brake slowly and pulled the van to the side of the road. She rolled down the window and waited, rubbing her arms for warmth. The van’s heater was useless.

“In a rush?” her father asked, coming up to the open window a minute later.

As the town police chief, her father took his job seriously. She just hoped he’d give her a break this time. A speeding ticket was the last thing she needed. “Hi, Dad. I’m sorry. I wasn’t really paying attention to the speed.”

“A tip? That’s not the best response to offer a police officer who pulls you over for dangerous driving, Melody.”

“Sorry,” she mumbled, shivering.

“Where’s your coat?” He frowned.

“I forgot it at work—I’m on my way to Brookhollow Elementary,” she said reluctantly. Her family members were always offering unsolicited advice on her life choices and the way she was raising the boys. They criticized her independence, claiming she should ask for help more often.

Her father’s face changed in an instant from annoyed cop to worried grandfather. “The boys okay?”

She hesitated. She hated to tell anyone, including her family, if one of the boys had done something that appeared to be less than perfect. In their eyes, it was a reflection of her lack of parenting skills. “David has been suspended.”

“What did he do?”

She stiffened. Without the details, she refused to judge her son’s actions as being right or wrong. “I don’t know, but I’m on my way there now, Dad.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

She shook her head. She didn’t want her son to feel ganged up on. The boys were close to their Grandpa Bishop, and she knew they would hate to disappoint him. Besides, having the town’s squad car parked in front of the school would just cause panic. “No, thank you. I’ve got it under control.”

“Okay,” he said, “but please slow down. You’re lucky it was me on patrol.”

Who else would it have been? Her father’s partner had retired two years before, and he’d been the only law enforcer in the town since. Finding a new sheriff was proving to be difficult. “You’re the only one in town.”

“For now,” he said, sounding noncommittal. “Anyway, slow down. I will give you a ticket next time.”

He didn’t make idle threats. “Okay. Oh, and, Dad, don’t say anything about David...”

“You know I won’t. If you need anything...” He shrugged and shook his head. “You still won’t call,” he finished. “Bye, darling.”

“Bye, Dad.” Melody rolled up the window and waited until he was back in the squad car before pulling the van onto the road. She wished her family could understand her need to do things on her own. It was against their advice that she’d started dating Patrick...and then married him. They’d claimed that as a musician, he didn’t have a steady income. When she’d gotten pregnant with the boys, they’d questioned his commitment to his family, what with him being on the road almost every weekend. But she’d believed in him. In them.

Pushing the thoughts away, she parked the van in the parents’-pickup-only parking near the front of the school. She jogged through the slushy puddles of melted snow and ice in her running shoes, toward the entrance. Inside, she stomped her feet on the mat before making her way to the principal’s office. Michael Thompson sat on the bench outside the door, an ice pack pressed to his eye. Oh, no, she thought as realization dawned on her. The two boys had been on the outs lately. She’d noticed the looks between them at hockey practice, and David hadn’t invited Michael to their house since the first week of school. Come to think of it, Michael hadn’t attended the boys’ birthday party last month, either. “Hi, Michael,” she said.

He ignored her, simply turning his tear-stained cheeks away.

Entering the principal’s office, she saw David, head in his hands, slumped over in a chair across from the secretary. His eyes met Melody’s and a look of sadness flickered in them momentarily before it was replaced with stubbornness and anger. She was taken aback—she’d never seen such a look on his young face before. But she was relieved to see he wasn’t hurt. Michael was much taller and heavier than David.

Melody directed her gaze at the secretary, Amy. “So what’s going on?” She resolved to give David the benefit of the doubt. Let him explain what had happened between Michael and him. Her own parents had always treated their children fairly in disciplinary situations, and it was a practice she’d adopted with her own children.

“Principal Andrews has ordered a two-day suspension for David,” Amy said as she stood and slid the paperwork toward Melody.

Melody stared at her. “Why?” She could guess, but she wanted to know for sure.

“Physical violence against a classmate. The school has a zero-tolerance policy.” Amy pointed to that section of the report.

That was all it said. No explanation of what had transpired between the boys to cause the fight. “Do we know what happened?”

Amy shook her head. “It was during lunchtime, and the teacher on duty arrived after it occurred. Principal Andrews questioned David a few minutes ago, but David refused to say what had provoked him.”

Well, something clearly had. Neither of her children had ever demonstrated violent tendencies before. Not even in sports. “Is Principal Andrews available?” Melody refused to sign the suspension form without first receiving more information. A suspension stayed on the child’s permanent school record—it wasn’t something to be taken lightly.

“He’s with the Thompsons now. I can schedule you for tomorrow sometime,” she said, glancing at her calendar.

Melody had to work the following day at Play Hard Sports, and after running out on the exam, she couldn’t ask for more time off. “That won’t work. I’ll have to call in the morning to set up a meeting later in the week.” Inwardly, she winced. Because of her busy work schedule, things like this were always being put off—important things, things that should be top of her priority list. But then where would eating and having a roof over their heads fall?

“Okay. I’ll still need your signature on the suspension form, though.”

“I’ll sign it once I speak to Principal Andrews.” She turned to David. “Let’s go.”

David stood, pushing the chair roughly against the wall behind him.

“You’re on thin ice,” Melody warned.

He scowled as he left the office and glared at Michael as he passed him.

Melody waited until he’d climbed into the van beside her before she spoke. “What happened?”

David only stared outside, his lips locked.

“I can’t talk to Principal Andrews about lifting the suspension if I don’t know what happened.”

Still nothing.

“Did Michael hit you?” David didn’t appear to have any marks, but maybe...

Nothing.

“Did he say something to upset you?”

Silence.

Melody fought to keep her exasperation at bay. Today was not the day for her son to be stubborn. She couldn’t help him if he refused to talk. “David, talk to me.”

“He deserved it” was all David said.

“No one deserves a black eye. Not for any reason. You know that. I thought Michael was your friend. What’s been going on with you two?”

“None of your business.”

Melody gaped. Who was this kid in her van? Not the child she’d raised to have manners and be respectful. “Excuse me? It is my business when my son gets suspended for violence.” She took a deep breath. Stay calm, she reminded herself. She’d get nowhere by yelling. “I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me.”

“You never have time to listen, anyway.”

The hurtful words tore a hole through her heart. She knew he missed having her around, the way she had been when Patrick was alive, but what choice did she have? She had been so close to changing things. Hadn’t she explained that to him? With the promotion from Play Hard would have come the opportunity to make things better with her children. To spend more time with them. “I’m listening now.”

His defiant stare met hers and sent a shiver through her. “I’ve got nothing to say now.”

* * *

“SO TELL ME about your family,” Bridget Marilyn asked in her smooth Southern drawl. She had warm, chocolate-colored eyes and dark hair that curled around her shoulders, which were only partially concealed by her pink tank top. Under any other circumstance, sitting next to the beautiful woman with the sun-kissed skin and Southern manners for two hours on the plane from Nashville to New Jersey would have been Brad’s idea of the perfect way to travel. Now he just hoped the woman had packed a warm coat and wouldn’t bail on the interview the moment she arrived in cold Newark, only to learn there was still an hour’s drive to Brookhollow. “Roxanne says y’all are very close.”

Roxanne. The definition of a troublemaker. “Uh...she may have stretched the truth a little. I haven’t been home in a while, but we used to be close.” When the brunette’s perfectly arched eyebrows met in the middle, he added, “I’ve just been so busy these last few years.” As much as he’d initially been opposed to the idea of this television segment, after he’d agreed, he’d done his research. It turned out Roxanne may not have been lying about this “Home for the Holidays” Christmas Eve program having done wonders for the careers of several other up-and-coming performers. He’d found three separate lesser-known acts that had become headliners after appearing on the show. Of course, they’d also recorded breakout hits shortly afterward, something else Brad had yet to do. His first CD was good, but none of its singles had skyrocketed to the top of the country music charts.

“That’s only natural,” Bridget said, smiling once more as she crossed one long leg over the other. She wore a pencil skirt and stilettos, and Brad had a difficult time picturing her in his mother’s messy home. Of course, Beverly Monroe preferred the term “lived-in” when referring to the state in which she kept the family’s two-story farmhouse. He hoped she allowed the staging crew to make the necessary changes for filming. “And it’s yourself and five older sisters?”

“Yes, that’s right. Bobbi, Becky, Brooke, Bethany and Breanne.”

Bridget laughed. “And your parents, Beverly and Bernie. I assume the B names were on purpose?”

“Yes. You’ll fit right in.” Brad liked how at ease she made him feel. He’d expected the famous Heartland Country Television host to be standoffish, but she was anything but. “We’re all about two years apart, with Bobbi being the oldest—though she will deny having just turned forty-five until she’s blue in the face—and me being the baby.”

“Five girls and finally a boy.”

“I love to tease my sisters that my parents had been hoping each of them were a boy.” He stretched his legs out in the limited space in front of him. His right shin ached as it always did when he sat for long periods of time. The muscles in the front of that leg had taken a lot longer to heal than the others, and they still gave him trouble.

“And the family home is...”

“It’s a farm on the outskirts of Brookhollow. Three hundred acres of land. We grow crops and Christmas trees. As a kid, I worked the Christmas-tree part with my father.” It had always been one of the highlights of the season for him. Away from the house of six women, Brad and his father had bonded in those silent moments on the farm.

“I can’t say I’ve ever been to a Christmas-tree farm. Growing up, we had an artificial tree—not quite the same experience, I bet.”

Brad grinned. “Yeah, that’s a little different. My youngest sister, Breanne, and her husband, Troy, took over running the farm during the holidays four years ago when my dad got sick. Of all us kids, she’s the only one who still lives in Brookhollow. She and Troy live in the family farmhouse with my mom and their two children, Gracie and Darius.” The mention of his young nephew made him pause as a wave of guilt washed over him. The six-year-old boy suffered from what the doctors called select mutism. He refused to talk to most people, with the exceptions of his older sister, Gracie, and for some reason, Brad. It had made Brad’s absence from home over the past few years that much tougher, especially on Darius.

“I did my research on Brookhollow last night,” Bridget said, “and it seems the town has some impressive holiday traditions, as well—sleigh rides, an ice-sculpting contest...”

The small town of less than ten thousand did indeed do Christmas in a big way. As a kid, Brad had loved the festivities, and spending the holidays in Nashville the past three years just hadn’t been the same. Still, returning home hadn’t felt like an option. His past mistakes haunted him even more the closer he got to town. He let out a deep breath. Like it or not, he would have to face them now.

“Yeah, if it’s Christmas spirit you’re looking for, Brookhollow’s the place.”

* * *

ARRIVING IN HIS HOMETOWN four hours later, the television camera crew and Bridget had gone straight to the Brookhollow Inn, the local B and B, to check in. Brad had continued on in the rental car toward his family home. Now as he drove the familiar roads, the knot in his stomach grew tighter. The last time he’d gone through this area was the day after Patrick’s funeral. Despite his still being confined to a wheelchair in a disoriented state, he’d known he had to get away. Against the doctor’s recommendations and his family’s protests, he’d enlisted the help of his good friend Luke Dawson. With Dawson’s Architecture working on large projects in New York, Luke had sublet an apartment in the city for himself and his crew, and he’d let Brad stay there during his recovery, to be closer to Propel Records. It was that fragile period during which Brad had feared the record company might cancel the entire recording deal. He owed a great deal to Luke. He pulled onto the shoulder to dial his friend’s number, and then put on the headset and pulled back onto the road.

Luke answered on the third ring. “Hey, man. So, are the rumors true?”

“Depends on which ones you’re referring to,” Brad said, slowing again as the two lanes narrowed to one leading onto Main Street.

“Well, my beautiful new bride is now co-owner of the Brookhollow Inn, and their reservation system shows three rooms currently being held for Heartland Country Television—I know they’re not here to interview me.”

“That’s right, I’d heard Vic bought the old inn last year. And again, I’m so sorry I missed the wedding.” Luke’s high school sweetheart had returned to Brookhollow last Christmas after twelve years in New York City. Soon after, her and Luke had gotten married. Brad had been performing at a Labor Day Red Cross charity event in Oklahoma and hadn’t been able to make it to the September long-weekend wedding. He chose to believe he would have manned up and made it for his good friend’s wedding if his record contract hadn’t demanded otherwise.

“Believe me, your gift made up for it.” Luke laughed. “Victoria said the day at the Mandara Spa in the Bahamas was exactly the relaxation she’d needed. So, when do you arrive?”

“Just got here,” Brad said, taking in the festive sights lining both sides of Main Street. The lampposts, decorated in large, white snowflakes, were coming to life as dusk fell over the town, and the storefront windows on both sides of the street were illuminated with holiday displays. He waved as he passed Mr. O’Hanlon, owner of the horse stables in town, who was waiting near the town park’s entrance for the sleigh to arrive so he could fill it for the first ride of the evening. As Brad approached the corner of Main Street and Commerce Avenue and the bowling alley’s neon sign came into view, he couldn’t help but ask Luke, “Hey, does Melody still work at the alley?” The last he’d heard, his old friend was working several jobs, and bartending at the local hot spot was one of them. He prayed that was no longer the case, that things were getting easier for the Myers family. He’d respected Melody’s wishes and had ended his attempts to contact them, but time had yet to erase them from his thoughts.

“I think she might’ve quit last week—got a promotion with Play Hard Sports. At least that’s what Vic’s friend Heather said. Heather’s taking over Melody’s job at the bar.”

Relief flowed through Brad. Maybe Melody was doing okay. “I guess that store wasn’t such a bad idea, after all,” he teased his friend. The big-chain sporting-goods store had been the reason Victoria Mason had returned to Brookhollow the year before. She’d been working for an acquisition firm that was looking to buy out the town’s local store in order to open Play Hard. At the time, Luke had owned Legends Sporting Goods and had been reluctant to sell it—though his success rate in refusing Victoria anything she wanted had never been great.

“Yeah, yeah, like I haven’t heard that a million times in the last year. I can admit when I’m wrong. So how long are you in town?”

The million-dollar question. The recording was scheduled to be done in three days, and he’d planned to leave as soon as they finished. He knew in three days, he’d probably see a lot of old faces, but he hoped to avoid as many confrontations as possible. He doubted Patrick’s family and friends had forgiven him for the accident. Hell, he hadn’t forgiven himself. And he didn’t want his presence in town to ruin anyone’s holiday season. “Just a few days,” he answered.

“Well, I hope you weren’t planning to leave without playing a few rounds of pool.”

“Of course not.” He checked the time on the dash. It was after seven already. His niece and nephew would probably be in bed. One quick game with Luke might be just what he need before facing his family. He wasn’t sure what kind of welcome they’d give him after him being away for three years and now expecting them to go along with this publicity stunt. He swallowed yet another pang of guilt. Yep, he was definitely too chicken to go home just yet.

CHAPTER THREE

“‘NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS.’ Can you believe he said that?” Melody asked, hanging a tangled set of white Christmas lights on the mirror behind the bar. If she’d had her way, they would have been in the trash can. But the bowling alley’s owner, Mr. Ericksen, who lived just outside of Brookhollow and rarely visited the bar, had of course decided to make an appearance earlier that day and had wondered why the festive decorations had yet to be hung. With the week she was having, Melody marveled at her restraint in not telling the older man where he could put his decorations.

“Kids are getting lippier all the time,” Heather said, pouring several beers for the over-sixty men’s bowling league, their only patrons on the slow Monday night. “I’m just so disappointed you didn’t get to finish that exam. It sounds like you were doing well. And you’re sure you have to wait three months before writing it again?”

“That’s what my boss’s assistant said when I called this afternoon, but I’m not done trying to convince them otherwise,” she said. She climbed down from the bar stool, only to notice the string of lights wasn’t straight. “Seriously, these lights are going to be the death of me.”

“Here, let me do it.” Heather moved Melody aside.

“Thanks,” Melody muttered. “I’m not exactly in a fa-la-la kind of mood.” After the events with David, she hadn’t had much time to think about the consequences of not finishing the exam that afternoon, but now she was desperate to come up with a way to save her family’s home. Christmas was the furthest thing from her mind. “I was hoping to be done working here this week.” That wouldn’t be happening now, and that meant fewer shifts for Heather, who’d mentioned her own savings were quickly depleting from her lack of steady work.

“Hey, don’t sweat it,” Heather said. “I’m not kicking you out.” She studied Melody for a long moment. “I know this may be a dumb question given the day you’ve had, but are you okay?”

Melody knew where the question was coming from. Normally, these small setbacks were things she could deal with. The challenges of raising the boys on her own or working hard and long to make ends meet were things she dealt with every day. Obviously, Heather could sense there was more she wasn’t disclosing. Melody hesitated, not sure whether to mention the foreclosure. The two women had grown close in the three months that Heather had been in Brookhollow, and Melody already counted her among her good friends. “Can I tell you something?”

“Without everyone in Brookhollow finding out by morning? Of course.”

“I got a foreclosure notice from the bank today.”

Heather’s face fell as she slid off the stool. “That’s awful, Mel. I’m so sorry... And now the promotion...”

Melody nodded. “Yeah, I’m in a tight spot.” She leaned against the bar. Exhausted and defeated, she barely had enough energy to hold herself up. “They’ve given me until January 1,” she said through a yawn. “And honestly, I have no idea what to do. I don’t think I can physically work any more hours, and with Christmas coming up...” In the past few years, when met with adversity, she’d always figured something out. But in this case, she wasn’t sure she could. Thirty-two-hundred dollars for the mortgage might as well have been a million. She could work twenty-four hours a day for the rest of December and still come up short.

“I know you may not like what I’m about to suggest, but have you considered asking your parents for a loan?”

She had considered it a hundred times that day. She’d also dismissed it a hundred times. The day she’d married a broke musician, she’d given up her right to her family’s financial support. Besides, her parents weren’t exactly rich. They just lived within their means. Going to them looking for a handout was out of the question. Hadn’t she been the one to say she could take care of herself and the boys? And after David’s suspension, the last thing she wanted was a lecture about her parenting skills. “I can’t.”

“They are your family. They are supposed to help you...to support you,” Heather insisted.

“They would if I asked, but I have my pride, you know,” Melody replied. “They didn’t approve of Patrick, or of us buying that old house. I can’t bear the thought of them saying, ‘I told you so.’ I’d have to admit to having made mistakes.”

“It wasn’t any mistake of your own that landed you in this situation, Mel,” Heather said.

No, it was Brad Monroe’s mistake that had caused her life to start spiraling out of control. “Anyway, I’m sure I’ll figure this out... I do have a few options.” A few options she’d never been in a tough enough spot to consider until now.

She saw Luke and Victoria walk in, and noticed the buttons on Victoria’s coat were undone. The pretty blonde co-owner of the Brookhollow Inn was the definition of a blushing bride—though Melody suspected her new glow was from something else entirely. “When is Vic going to tell everyone she’s pregnant?” she whispered to Heather. She waved to the couple, her troubles momentarily put aside.

Heather laughed. “She won’t even admit it to me. I think she’s terrified to say it out loud.”

“Well, she can only hide it for so long,” Melody said as Victoria approached her, a worried frown on her face.

Luke waited by the door. He opened it every few seconds to glance outside.

“Hey, Victoria. What’s up with him?” Melody nodded toward Luke.

“Oh, nothing. We just stopped in to say hi, but we’re probably not going to stay. I, uh, thought you were done here at the bar.” Victoria kept glancing nervously toward the door.

“That wasn’t a sure thing...”

“She didn’t trust me to work here alone just yet,” Heather said, coming to her rescue. “You okay, Vic?”

The front door opened again, and Victoria didn’t have time to answer, as all three women turned toward it.

Luke’s eyes widened and Heather gaped, but Melody stood frozen, calmly fighting her desire to escape the room as soon as Brad Monroe entered it, dusting snowflakes from his blond hair. He turned toward the bar, and when his gaze met hers, it looked panicked. What was Brad Monroe doing in Brookhollow? He hadn’t come home for Christmas or for anything else, much to her relief, in three years. Now here he was, on one of her worst days, standing right in front of her, bringing the day down to a whole new level of awful.

No one moved. No one spoke for a long moment.

Heather broke the silence. “He shouldn’t be here,” she hissed to Victoria.

“I know. We’re leaving.” She looked at Melody. “We didn’t expect you to be here, Mel.” Her tone was apologetic.

Tearing her gaze from Brad’s and remembering to breathe, Melody said, “No, it’s okay, really. Stay.” The words were said through clenched teeth. She picked up three menus and slapped them onto the counter in front of Victoria. The bar was a public place, after all. Brookhollow was Brad’s hometown—this had been bound to happen someday. She’d have preferred it not be today, but she refused to give Brad Monroe the satisfaction of seeing her become frazzled by his sudden appearance.

“No, Mel, we don’t want to upset you...” Victoria stammered. The men were still standing near the door.

Mel forced a cold smile. “Do I look upset? Please stay.”

Victoria hesitated before shaking her head. “Okay, I guess we will.”

Melody watched as Victoria approached the men, said something and practically dragged them to a booth in the corner. She slid her damp palms down her black apron and steadied her shaky knees as she went around the side of the bar.

“Where are you going?” Heather blocked her path.

“To take their order.”

“No way. I can’t believe you even let him stay. And that’s my table, anyway, so get back behind the bar.

“Seriously, Heather, I’ve got this. I’m fine,” she said firmly.

Heather touched her arm. “No one’s buying it, Mel.”

Why should they? She was not fine. Her life was slowly unraveling, and Brad Monroe’s appearance had just severed the last remaining tie.

* * *

“I THOUGHT YOU said the coast would be clear,” Brad said to Luke as he watched Melody and the other bartender talking across the room. Her cold, hard stare had rattled him. His worst nightmare had come true.

“I thought it would be,” Luke said. He helped Victoria remove her coat and hang it on the side of the booth. “Uh-oh, that’s Heather coming to serve us. She’s Vic’s New York friend.”

“She and Mel have grown close, but don’t worry, her bark is worse than her bite,” Victoria said quickly. She slid into the booth next to her husband just as Heather stopped in front of the table.

“Are you crazy, Luke?” were Heather’s first words.

“Hi, Heather. Nice to see you, too,” he said.

She placed her hands on her hips. “You need to leave. He isn’t welcome here.” She shot Brad a piercing glance.

Wow, Brad thought, her bark is pretty bad.

“Heather, this is my friend Brad Monroe,” Luke continued, unfazed.

“Well, we have the right to refuse service...” Heather said.

“Don’t worry about me—I don’t drink,” Brad said, leaning back in the seat. He brought his gaze to Mel across the bar, searching her face for any sign of peace or forgiveness, but couldn’t find even the smallest trace in her disapproving glare.

He’d often seen the same glare in the past, albeit for far less reason. She’d never fully trusted him or approved of his playboy lifestyle, and she’d been worried whenever he and Patrick had been on the road together. Like the day they’d met with the Propel Records executive in New York.

He’d been a mess of anxiety and excited nerves as they’d waited for the executive, Hank Miller, to finish listening to their demo. Six months of daily phone calls from Arnie, their manager, to the guy who had finally landed them an appointment in Hank’s New York office three weeks before Christmas.

Hank had sat quietly as the first three songs played from start to finish. There’d been no indication as to whether he’d liked or disliked them. Somehow Patrick had remained calm and cool, at least on the outside, but across from him, Brad was sweating. When the fourth song started and the executive reached forward to shut it off, staying quiet proved impossible for Brad.

“That’s the best one on the CD,” he’d said. The man had to listen to that one. Turning them down without hearing their best song would have been torture. Damn it. He’d told Pat to put that song first.

“I’ve heard enough,” Hank had said, his face still revealing nothing.

Brad had glanced at Patrick. Man, his friend should have played poker. His face, too, had been unreadable. How had those guys been so good at hiding their emotions? Brad had stood and started pacing behind their chairs.

“Brad, have a seat,” Hank had said. “Is he always this wound up?” he’d asked Patrick.

“He just needs a drink—he’ll be fine,” Patrick had answered.

The truth had been he’d already had two, compliments of the flask in the glove compartment of his Mustang. Brad had then sat down.

“I like what you guys are doing,” Hank had finally said. “It’s fresh and different.”

Fresh and different. That was good. So why had his heart begun racing even faster?

“Give me an hour,” Hank had said, “and I’ll send the contract paperwork to Arnie.”

Brad’s mouth had fallen open. Patrick had smiled. And then Hank had ushered them out of his office.

“Did that just happen?” Brad had asked as they’d exited the building on Fifth Avenue into blowing snow that had started while they’d been in the meeting.

“Yes, my friend, it did.” Patrick had hugged him.

“How are you still so calm? I was totally losing it up there. What if he’d said no? Were you really that confident?” Brad had asked as they’d made their way into a small pub a block away.

“No, but as they say, you fake it till you make it, man. And we made it.” Patrick had reached for his phone as they’d settled into a corner booth.

“Calling Mel?”

He’d nodded and a second later a wide smile had spread across his face as he’d said, “Hey, baby, we got it.”

From across the booth, he’d heard Mel’s excited squeal and then tiny voices on the line. He’d looked away and flagged the waitress.

“What can I get you boys?” the pretty redheaded waitress had asked with a flirtatious smile.

“Four tequila shots and your phone number, please,” Brad had said with a wink.

He heard Patrick say on his phone, “Yes, we’re just grabbing a quick drink and then we will be on the road...No, just one...It’s fine...”

Brad had shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He’d known Mel liked him enough, but he’d also known she saw him as a bad influence on her husband. Maybe he had been, but she had absolutely nothing to worry about. Patrick hadn’t been able to see past his wife and kids. It would have surprised the couple to know that Brad was jealous of what they had. Their life had seemed so perfect, and their dream of a future in music had been finally happening, as well.

“I promise you, there’s nothing to worry about,” Patrick had said. “I’ll be home soon.”

Brad had been responsible for making Patrick break that promise to his family.

Seeing Melody now made it hard to breathe. She’d been right. They should have listened to her, skipped the drink and headed straight home after the meeting. Patrick would still have been there if they had. Clearing his throat, Brad said, “I think we really should leave.”

Heather looked relieved. “I think that’s a good idea.”

A few moments later they were standing outside, Luke’s arm draped around Victoria’s shoulders as the three walked to their vehicles in the parking lot. “Sorry about that, man. We thought she was done working there.”

“Yeah, it’s strange,” Victoria said. “Heather told me her promotion with Play Hard was to take effect this week if the final exam went well.” She frowned.

“It’s my fault,” Brad said. “And I wasn’t exactly expecting a warm welcome from anyone in town, anyway.” He’d reached the passenger door of Luke’s truck and opened it for Victoria.

“Thank you,” she said, hoisting herself up.

He closed the door and turned to Luke. “Well, thanks for trying, man.” He shoved his hands into his pockets.

“You’re welcome to come back to our place...”

Brad glanced to where Victoria was resting her head against the seat and closing her eyes. His friends may not have told anyone yet, but it was pretty obvious they were expecting their first child. “Maybe not tonight. She looks exhausted. I’ll stop by before I leave town,” he said.

“Okay.” Luke extended his hand. “And hey, man, I didn’t know you were sober...”

Brad gave his friend a quick hug. “Two years, eleven months and four days.” Every day brought its own challenges and rewards. Many times since the tragedy, he had been tempted to indulge the urge to drink himself stupid, to forget, to find momentary relief from the guilt. But then he’d remind himself that it was alcohol that had cost him so much. Alcohol couldn’t make anything better. “Drive safe,” he said now to Luke.

Then his friend jumped into the driver’s seat and started the truck. Brad made his way through the blowing snow to his rental car on the other side of the lot. He shouldn’t have been surprised by the less-than-pleasant greeting he’d received in the bar. He expected Heather wouldn’t be the only one with something to say...or nothing to say to him, as the case may be. He just needed to finish the filming for the TV show and get out of town before his presence hurt anyone further.

A noise at the side of the building caught his attention, and he turned. Melody was leaning against the back door of the bar, arms folded against the cold air. Something about how she was standing there filled him with a mix of anxiety and compassion. Don’t make things worse. Just get in your car and leave.

Ignoring the voice in his head, he slowly approached her. His legs felt heavy. Apprehension grew in his chest with each step across the snow-covered parking lot. Her eyes were shut, and he stopped several feet in front of her and said her name.

She opened her eyes, and the pain he saw in them mirrored his own.

The guilt he struggled with every day choked him, and he clenched his jaw as a wave of despair coursed through his body. He’d ruined her life. He’d been responsible for taking away her husband, her boys’ father. It was hard to breathe as he stared at her. What did you say at a moment like this? A moment that was long overdue, but one he knew they both wished they could have avoided forever.

“Mel, I’m sorry.” How empty the words sounded. He was sorry? Who cared? Sorry he couldn’t bring Patrick back? Sorry he’d been drinking? Sorry didn’t ease her pain.

She didn’t say anything, just lowered her head and placed her hands over her face.

Without thinking, he closed the gap between them in one quick stride. Taking her shoulders, he moved her away from the building, and then brought her fully in his arms. She didn’t fight—she sank into him, letting her weight fall against his frame. “I’m sorry, Mel,” he said again uselessly. “I’m so sorry...” He said the words over and over into her hair, holding her tight.

Time seemed to freeze in the cold evening air as they stood there, his arms around her in an embrace that should have been uncomfortable, but instead felt natural. The only sounds were her soft sobs against his chest, each one feeling like a knife through his heart. At one time, they’d been good friends. His favorite memories of making music in the small town always included her, and so much of his past revolved around her family. Now she refused to allow him to be a part of her or her sons’ lives anymore. And it was his fault—all his, no one else’s.

A long time and a tsunami of emotions later, her sobbing eased and her weight shifted. She broke away from his arms, wiping at her cheeks. Releasing her, he waited for her to break her silence, desperate to hear from her lips absolution, forgiveness, all the things he knew he didn’t deserve, to free him from his own self-loathing.

At last she spoke. Her voice strong, unfeeling, unwavering, she uttered words he knew he would never be able to forget. “I’d like to forgive you, Brad. But as hard as I’ve tried over the years, I just can’t.”

* * *

AFTER RETRIEVING THE key from under the welcome mat, Brad unlocked the back door of his family home and quietly turned the knob. It was much later that same evening. Unable to shake the feelings his encounter with Melody had left him with, he’d just driven aimlessly through whatever streets he could navigate without much attention. Trying to feel like anyone other than the worst human alive, he’d surrounded himself with landmarks that spurred memories of less complicated times—but the holiday decor on every corner only made him feel worse. This would be the Myerses’ third Christmas without Patrick. Brad didn’t imagine it ever got easier, especially on the boys.

Inside, the only light came from the living room down the hall. The house was quiet. He knew by now most everyone would be asleep, but he knew who would be waiting up for him. He removed his boots and carried them down the hall, setting them on the drying rack near the front door before heading into the living room. “Hi, Mom,” he said.

Beverly Monroe was sitting in her favorite armchair next to the woodburning fireplace, her latest cross-stitch pattern on her lap. Her warm smile of welcome did wonders for his frazzled nerves. “Hi, honey,” she said. “Everyone tried to wait up for you, but they were all too exhausted.”

“Yeah, sorry I didn’t phone. I met up with Luke and Victoria for a bit. I had planned to be here sooner.” It wasn’t a complete lie. He had seen his friends for a few minutes at least. He kissed his mother’s cheek before collapsing onto the sofa.

“Are you hungry? Do you want something? I can make you a sandwich.”

“No, I’m good, thanks.” He was starting to get a headache, and he massaged the back of his neck.

His mother studied him with keen eyes. “You’ve been in town less than a few hours and the stress is already mounting, isn’t it?”

“Nah, I’m fine—but I just saw Melody Myers.”

His mother set the cross-stitch aside. “You don’t waste any time torturing yourself, do you?”

“I didn’t mean to run into her, and I think the impromptu meeting stressed her out more than it did me.” He’d been able to dull his guilt and pain by staying away from Brookhollow, but what had given him that right to run away? Every day the people he’d hurt had to face the bitter loss of someone they had loved deeply.

“You know, son, it’s okay to acknowledge your own pain. You lost Pat, too. And you continue to suffer a lot of physical pain. It’s been three years—I think it’s time you start forgiving yourself just a little.”

He shook his head. “There’s a long list of other people who would have to forgive me before I could even start to forgive myself.”

“You made a mistake, Brad.”

“Yeah, one that cost everything.”

“Not everything. You’re still here. You were graced with another chance.”

“While my best friend died. It’s hardly a consolation that I’m still here, Mom.” How many times had he wished he’d died on the side of the highway along with his friend? Most people saw his second chance at life as a gift, but he saw it as a punishment. A lifetime to reflect on the damage he’d caused.

His mother stood and kissed the top of his head. “Well, I almost lost my son that night. I thank God every day that I still have you, even if you don’t.”

CHAPTER FOUR

THE DOOR TO Leigh Norris’s home-based day care opened just as Melody raised a hand to knock on it. “Hey, Melody. David,” Leigh’s new husband, Logan Walters, said as he moved aside to let them enter.

“Hi, Logan. You heading out already?” It was just after seven. Her shift at Play Hard started at eight, and Leigh had agreed to watch David for her that day while she worked. But Melody was surprised to see Logan, a bestselling author who’d recently moved to Brookhollow, planning to start his day so early. “I thought writers slept in and wrote into wee hours of the night.”

Logan laughed. “I’m not sure about the sleeping-in part, but the staying-up-all-night part is true enough. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve fallen asleep at the office during the day. Good thing Ginger’s furniture is still there.”

After Leigh’s grandmother had suffered a heart attack and decided it was time to move into a seniors complex, Logan had rented her apartment. “Hi, guys,” Leigh met them in the hallway, her newly adopted baby girl in her arms. She leaned forward and kissed her husband. “See you at dinner?”

“You bet.” He bent to kiss the baby’s forehead, and with another quick kiss to Leigh, he left.

Melody touched the baby’s cheek. “Look, David, how tiny she is.”

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