by Jill Sanders
Saving Trace
Jill Sanders
Contents
Summary
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Also by Jill Sanders
About the Author
Summary
Music has always provided a welcomed escape from the dysfunctional reality Trace has become accustomed to. Fresh back from a tour overseas in the marines, he sets out to mend his wounds by strumming his way across the States. Stranded in what must be the smallest town in Texas, he must rely on the mercy and kindness of the people of Fairplay to right his way.
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Emma has a knack for spotting damaged souls and quickly pegs her next project in the hunky musician whose misfortune has landed him in Fairplay. Had it been anyone else, she would have patched his wounds and sent him on his way, but there’s just something about this one.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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SAVING TRACE
DIGITAL ISBN: 978-1-945100-12-3
PRINT ISBN:9798610763729
Copyright © 2020 Jill Sanders – Grayton Press
All rights reserved.
Copyeditor: InkDeepEditing.com
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No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
Chapter One
There is a point in everyone’s life when you think you can’t go any lower. This moment was one of a thousand Trace had felt in his twenty-four years.
He stood on the curb at the bus station, still in his cammies, his duffle bag sitting next to his worn combat boots. He glanced around the station and wondered what the hell he was going to do now. It wasn’t as if he could go home. Hell, at this point, he didn’t even know where home was.
His dad had taken off on them shortly after Trace had turned five. The man was currently living in Dallas with his new wife and kids.
When Trace had left to go into the marines six years ago with Rod, his best friend since grade school, Trace’s mother had been in rehab again.
She’d lost her apartment less than a month later and had bounced around for a while, staying with family or friends. But he’d lost track of her, and then things had happened with Rod and well… he’d lost the ability to care for anything.
His chest still hurt when he thought about the last time he’d talked to his best friend. Swallowing the bile that rose in his throat, he bent down and picked up his duffle bag.
“Thank you for your service,” someone said as he passed by. It felt good, but it also felt hollow to hear those words. No one could understand the pain he’d gone through. There was no possibility of really connecting with anyone ever again. Giving the person a nod, he continued to walk out of the station. He was no longer bothered by physical pain. Even the slight limp he had was almost imperceptible.
The huge snowflakes that fell outside only deepened the depression he felt. Fuck. He had a couple hundred dollars in his wallet and that was it for now. Until he set up an account Stateside, he would have to make the money last.
He shifted the duffle bag over his shoulder and started walking to where he remembered there had been an old hotel. Seeing the lights through the heavy snowfall, he relaxed slightly. Tulsa hadn’t changed that much since he’d been gone. Silently hoping there would be a room available, he almost passed by the pawn shop window without stopping.
The black guitar hanging behind the thick glass instantly had his heart kicking in his chest. How long had it been since he’d played? A year? Two?
Something caused him to walk into the store and toss his bag down on the ground without care. Gently taking the Gibson Les Paul Custom guitar down from the window display, he sat on a drum stool and started to strum the strings.
Just striking the first chord caused a pounding in his chest that he hadn’t felt for a long time. His fingers began to dance over the strings as if it hadn’t been years since he’d played, but mere hours.
Everything he’d been feeling escaped down his fingertips and extended outward as the notes rang in his ears.
As the woman behind the counter approached him, a tear slipped down his cheek. Wiping it away quickly, he had to blink several times before the woman’s face came into view.
“Sorry,” he said in a hoarse voice. He was embarrassed, but he’d started to shake the dark mood.
“No, son.” She smiled down at him. “Please, keep playing.”
“I…” He cleared his throat. “I don’t know if I can.” He stood up and set the guitar down with shaky hands.
“You’re the first one to walk through those doors and do that guitar justice.” She moved closer and finally his eyes were dry enough to see her clearly.
Her silver-and-red streaked hair was cut at odd angles that accented the woman’s narrow face and features. She wore black and red and looked as if, at one point, in days before he’d been born, she’d belonged to the original punk movement.
The smile on her face was genuine, and there was nothing but kindness in her eyes. He’d gotten used to seeing fake smiles over the past few years and had become an expert in weeding out the counterfeits.
“Please.” She handed him the guitar again. “Feel free to play some more.”
He looked down at the slick black axe and ran his fingertips over the smooth body. For the first time in over a year, he ached with something other than pain. A wave of desire rushed over him quickly. Desire to own and play the guitar.
“I can’t.” He shook his head and tried to hand it back to the woman.
“What’s your name?” the woman asked suddenly. She didn’t reach out to take the guitar from him, and he frowned slightly.
“Trace,” he answered automatically.
“I’m Dorothy.” She smiled. “Did you just come back from…” She waited.
Instead of answering her, he nodded.
“Home for the holidays?” she asked.
He shook his head.
“Finished your tour?”
He nodded again, swallowing the lump he always got in his throat when he thought about having no place to go. No home to return to. No one waiting for him with open arms or even a warm bed or a meal to look forward to.
“Does your family live close by?” she asked, shifting slightly as her eyes ran over him. He shook his head, and she smiled. “Not a big talker, are you?” When he shrugged, she smiled even more. “I was just going to have some dinner. My son, Harry, is currently serving overseas. I’d be honored if you joined me for dinner.” She motioned towards the back of the store. He could smell the food now, which caused his stomach to growl loudly in response. He’d only had a cold sandwich on the bus earlier that day and suddenly felt hungrier than he could ever remember being in the past.
“I…” He thought of a million reasons to turn the woman down, but she took the
guitar from him and started walking towards the back of the store. So he followed her through the pawn shop, making his way through the packed shelves carefully.
She held open a small cage door that was used to protect the cash register area, then he walked behind her through a narrow hallway. The space opened to a large living area with nice furniture. There was a small kitchen off the back of the space that held a dining table. A turkey and side dishes filled the table.
Seeing the huge meal laid out, he realized he’d completely forgotten that it was Thanksgiving. He’d been stuck on the bus for two days and hadn’t showered or slept in a bed since he’d left base.
The food looked and smelled amazing. Still, he didn’t want to take advantage of the woman and opened his mouth to decline the meal. But she tilted her head slightly and gave him a look that anyone in the military would recognize. He shut his mouth quickly.
“Don’t hurt my feelings now.” She motioned to the empty chair and then took a plate down from the cupboard. “Sit, help yourself. I can’t seem to make enough for just one person anymore.” She shook her head as she set the plate down in front of him, then sat across from him.
He didn’t need any more encouragement as his stomach took control of his body. He piled the food high on his plate without qualms. The first bite tasted like heaven.
He’d couldn’t remember ever having had a meal as good as what Dorothy had made.
“Where are you staying?” she asked when he reached for another roll.
“I was going to check in next door,” he answered through a full mouth of food.
“How long are you staying?” she asked as she started eating.
He shrugged. “Until my money runs out, I suppose.”
She twisted her mouth as she thought. Then she glanced over at the guitar. “Tell you what. I need some extra help through the holiday season. This is the first year my Harry isn’t here to help me out. If you want, I have a room and a job. I can’t promise you much past the New Year, but that gives you a whole month to make up your mind on what to do next.” She leaned forward. “As a bonus, I’ll throw in the guitar.”
He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Setting down his fork, he took a deep breath as he looked over at the guitar and remembered how it had felt playing again.
“That’s got to be worth a few thousand.” He nodded towards the guitar.
She smiled. “I got a deal on it. I can afford to give it away, if I want.” Her chin rose slightly. “Do we have a deal?”
“I could be an axe murderer.” He narrowed his eyes.
“Are you?” she asked with a chuckle.
“No, but you don’t know me. Why open your home, your business, to a stranger?” He was unsure why he was pushing his luck. If she turned him out, he had enough money for a week at the hotel. Then… he didn’t know what he would do if he could find a job during the holidays or a cheaper place to stay.
“It’s my home and my business to do what I want with.” She held out her hand. “Do we have a deal?”
Without hesitation he reached across the table and took her hand in his.
Five months later, Trace stood on the small stage with his black Gibson, the one that Dorothy had given him, as the crowd clapped for the last song he’d played. The next request would be one of his last for the show.
He called out to the crowd that had gathered around the stage to dance along to his music.
“I hear there’s a birthday girl out there tonight?” he asked, shielding his eyes from the bright stage lights.
“Here,” someone called out, followed by more cheerful shouts. Suddenly, he could see the dark crowd hoist up a body and pass her forward.
When he’d taken the gig, he’d been desperate for work. Gassing up the old van that Dorothy had sold him for an extra weeks’ worth of back-breaking work hadn’t come cheap.
He’d been making his way across the south, heading to god only knows where since leaving Dorothy’s place in mid-January. He would have stayed longer, but she’d decided to sell the pawn shop to a local developer who was going to turn the entire block into a high-rise business center.
Since her son wasn’t going to be returning from active duty for another few years, she had sold Trace his old van. The thing was perfect for hauling the music equipment that he’d picked up at the pawn shop. He’d even slept in the thing a few times, when needed.
Initially, he’d created a few band flyers and made some calls to local bars. The next thing he knew, he had gigs scheduled for the next few months.
But those gigs had run their course, and he was having a harder time making calls and setting gigs up himself since he couldn’t afford a cell phone.
For now, he was happy driving around finding local bars and asking if he could play for tips. He’d shown up here at the Rusty Rail a few nights earlier, and the manager had suggested he stick around for a few nights for a birthday party that weekend for one of the locals. So, he’d played there for the past three nights. He’d made a total of two hundred dollars, but tonight, he’d easily doubled that by playing for the birthday party.
When the birthday girl was shoved up on the stage, he had to reach out and steady her before she fell into his guitar amp.
“Easy,” he said softly, out of the reach of the microphone.
Laughing green eyes glanced up at him through long strands of dark hair and for a second time in over a year, Trace felt his heart beat again.
Chapter Two
Emma had been waiting for this day, it seemed, all her life. Standing on the edge of her property, she glanced around with a smile.
In the distance, she could see the big white main house that she’d lived in her entire life. Her parents and her brother, Rick, were probably still happily eating breakfast inside.
She glanced over at her gelding, Sugarplum, who was sniffing the tall grass beside her. Then she did a little spin and fell into the soft green grass. This land was officially hers.
She was twenty-one years old as of one o’clock that morning. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, enjoying the smells of dirt, new grass, horse, and… She sat up suddenly and groaned. Cow manure. She looked around and noticed the pile was thankfully about five feet away from her instead of under her backside.
Laughing, she jumped up and rushed to her horse. “What do you think?” she asked Sugarplum as she gave the older horse a pat. “This could be our new home in a few years.”
The horse looked at her with deep brown eyes, like he was unimpressed.
“What do you know.” She laughed when he nudged her for one of the sugar cubes she always kept in her jacket pocket. As she fed it to him, she glanced around the land again. Her land.
It was a family tradition. Upon your twenty-first birthday, you inherited part of the family’s property, Saddleback Ranch.
She’d made big plans all her life about how she would build her dream home on the land she’d chosen as a child. Of course, that would happen after attending school and falling madly in love with the sexiest man alive.
She frowned a little and looked into Sugarplum’s eyes again. “You can be my prince charming for now.” She kissed the horse and then quickly jumped back into the saddle. She could hear the breakfast bell ringing off in the distance, which meant her brother was up and complaining that she wasn’t around to help with the chores.
Ricky, or Rick as he liked to be called since he’d returned from college, was helping their dad out every day at his veterinarian clinic in town. Since graduating high school, Emma had taken a few online classes at the local college while working two jobs to save up enough money to build that dream house of hers.
She had worked at Mama’s Diner, just as her mother and aunts had done in their youth when things had been hard shortly after her grandfather’s death. Emma had enjoyed working at the diner all through high school, but after graduating, she’d filled the extra hours by working at the local coffee shop and bookstore, Holly’s Bookstore.
The place was owned by Travis and Holly Nolan, the parents of Emma’s best friend, Mallory, which had given her a foot in the door getting the job. She’d instantly fallen in love with working at the bookstore and had started cutting back her hours at Mama’s. Now, she was down at the bookstore most days, even on some of her days off.
When she walked in the back door of the house after putting Sugarplum away in his stall, she was surprised to see the kitchen empty.
“Mom?” she called out before poking her head into the fridge for something to eat. She was supposed to be down at the bookstore in less than an hour, which mean she had about half an hour to eat and shower.
“Surprise!” The shouts of joy behind her made her jump, and she banged her head against the top of the fridge.
Laughing, she spun around to see her entire family filling the kitchen.
Her aunts, uncles, cousins, brother, and parents were all smiling back at her. Then she noticed the stack of chocolate chip pancakes her mother held up for her. There were sparklers sticking out of the melted chocolate frosting on top.
“Happy birthday.” Her mother smiled at her just before the entire group started singing, “Happy Birthday.”
She had to admit, listening to her family sing was always a joy. The raw talent in her family amazed her.
She’d grown up listening to Aunt Alex and Uncle Grant singing down at the Rusty Rail bar on karaoke nights. Everyone seemed to have inherited talent, except for her brother Rick. The guy couldn’t rub two notes together if he had to.
