After recording her second album, Patterson Records, a fast-growing label in the country music scene thanks to her help, started crossing her songs over to the pop music stations, and week after week her singles landed in the top ten of both the country and pop charts. Her third release hit number one in record time — "number one with a bullet" as they said in the industry — and after that, there seemed to be no stopping her.
Flying into the parking lot at the warehouse that served as the on location set for her latest video, she screeched to a stop in front of the door. She recognized the vehicles of the members of her band, knowing they had been here for a few hours already shooting scenes that didn't involve her.
She grabbed her bag out of the car and walked in, hearing "Our Love Song" playing over the speakers. It was her favorite song she had ever written. She wrote it with one man on her mind. The same man who was always on her mind, who made her heart ache even after four years. She told herself it was ridiculous to squeeze so much emotion out of a coffee, a breakfast, and a lunch with a man whose last name she didn't even know, but she woke up almost every morning with him on her mind, and went to bed every night with him in her heart.
She'd written a fun, comedic song for him that very quickly became her fourth number one hit titled, "Dating an International Super Spy." This new song, though, had nothing funny about it. It was nothing more than her baring her soul, and she prayed he'd get the message and find a way to contact her.
Her manager, Hal Coleman, met her at the back door. "Melody! Girl, we were about to send out a search party." He stood a full head taller than her. His ebony face usually looked at her with a gentleness that defied his professional wrestler size, but today his forehead wrinkled into a frown.
"What do you mean?" she asked all innocence and cheekiness.
"After your jaunt to Cancun last week, when you're five minutes late I don't trust that you're actually gonna show anymore." He folded his arms over his massive chest and tried to look stern.
"I needed that jaunt to Cancun." She stopped in front of him, only because he blocked the door.
"Maybe, but we needed to get this video shot. And one cannot shoot a video with a crew and extras scheduled if the star is in another country sunning her skinny white behind on a Mexican beach."
Melody sighed, admitting defeat. "You're right. And I know it cost us a lot of money. I've already offered to pay it."
"That's hardly the point."
"Isn't it? Isn't that why everyone is here today? The almighty dollar? If I've offered to pay the added expenses for the rescheduling of this video, then why does everyone still care and why are we still discussing it? Move, Hal. You're blocking me and it's rude."
Irritated, she pushed by him and entered the warehouse. The stage manager, a short woman with frizzy black hair and crooked glasses, rushed toward her, directing her to the space they'd designated as her dressing room. While the stage manager talked to someone on her bluetooth, she gave Melody the printed outline of the filming schedule and directed her as to which outfit to wear first.
Melody finished dressing then looked through the boxes of boots for the pair that matched the outfit. Keeping in line with her trademark, she always wore brightly colored, flashy boots, and owned hundreds of pairs of them in every color and style imaginable. More than a few times she had to get a pair custom made because the color combination she wanted had never been made before.
This Christmas season she had launched her own line of boots, and they'd found out this morning that the demand was much greater than the supply. People were buying up Melody Mason Brand Signature Cowgirl Boots in greater numbers than they had ever purchased Cabbage Patch Kids or Tickle Me Elmos.
Success.
What the people in her crew used to tease her about was now a huge fashion craze. Teenage girls all over the country begged their mamas to buy them overpriced brightly colored glittery boots for Christmas, and those very mamas often begged their husbands for the same.
When she opened the box that contained the turquoise boots studded with silver, she spotted the single yellow rose lying inside. Her heart skipped a slow beat while her hands started to shake. She picked it up and read the note attached to it.
I'M WATCHING YOU
Always the same message. With a sob, she flung the rose into the wastebasket, and sat down in the chair.
The yellow roses had shown up off and on for the last year, just at her concerts in the beginning, with the notes always identical. At first she thought an obsessed fan had placed them, but then they started to appear almost everywhere she went. So far, she had told no one about them, but she knew she needed to soon. They terrified her, which made her angry.
She shook off the feeling of dread, slipped her boots on, and went to find Lisa, her makeup artist. She had work to do. She wanted to get this video wrapped up today, then she had to perform tonight at an awards show, then it was off to Atlanta to help her sister with the final preparations for her wedding.
It had taken Kurt three and a half years to convince Morgan to get married again, and Melody wanted to be there to make sure Morgan didn't change her mind and bolt at the last minute.
¯¯¯¯
JAMES bustled into the pub and brushed the wet snow out of his hair. His glasses immediately fogged up in the warm interior, so he slipped them off and pulled a handkerchief out of his suit pocket to wipe them off while he worked his way through the crowded room. He reached his usual table and saw the figure of a man already seated there. He smiled before he even slipped his glasses back onto his face. "Mark, my friend. It's good to see you."
Mark Knight, the vicar of the church James attended while in London, offered his hand in greeting. The two men shook hands as James sat. "I thought you were leaving tonight. Don't you have Kurt's wedding?"
"I do, but this weather has us stalled. I'm going to give it a go again in a few hours."
"The fowl is good today. Not at all dry," Mark said, sliding an empty plate toward the waitress.
"Sounds good," James said with a smile. He warmly winked at the daughter of the pub owner and said, "I'll have the chicken."
"In a tick, Mr. M." she said. She picked up Mark's empty plate. "Anything else for you, Vicar?"
"Perhaps another pot of tea," he said. "This one's gone cold, and it looks like my friend could use a hot drink."
She grabbed the half empty tea pot as well and worked her way back to the kitchen.
"You sure you want to wait until Christmas to come visit?" James asked.
"I don't want to miss the hanging of the greens. It was Laney's favorite time at the church. Helps make missing her at Christmastime a little easier. Besides, my show premiers you know."
"Oh, your time-traveler show." James nodded, only intellectually understanding that other people actually enjoyed watching silly science fiction dramas, or reality shows, or sporting events on television. He had little to no practical experience with it, personally.
The Vicar smiled, "How Laney loved that show. Can't miss it. And you Yanks won't have it available in the colonies for another half a year."
James nodded again. No one knew more than he what it was like to face holidays as a widower. Mark had guided James through that first year. Without him, he didn't know what he would have done.
But as much as he thought of Angela, despite his best intentions, he also often thought of the singing heiress, Melody. She had completely disappeared after she drove away that afternoon.
He'd sent her a text the evening they met just so she'd have his number, but he'd never heard from her again. He called her several times leading up to their planned dinner Thursday, but she never returned his call. After a few months, he felt desperate and tried one more time. The number came back disconnected.
He had never mentioned Melody to anyone, except Vicar Mark. In explaining his feelings and talking it out, James had realized that the reason he had never talked about her was because the singing heiress represented somethin
g that he couldn't confront. She represented hope.
He and Angela had so many hopes for the future. They hoped to make enough money that they could sponsor ministries and charitable foundations around the world together. They hoped to spend a lot of private time together shutting out the rest of the world. They hoped, secretly and in their own ways, for children. They hoped to be parents.
The loneliness after Angela's murder, the dashed hopes, the constant ache in his heart, crushed him. Some nights alone in his bed he would stare at the untouched pillow beside him and the gigantic hole in his life where his wife should be threatened to swallow him up.
If he admitted that he felt a new hope based on a chance meeting in an airport, that he felt a momentary relief to the constant distracting grief, that he desperately wanted — needed — to bring a new best friend and confidante into the intimacy of his vulnerable and lonesome heart, that would make the hope real. In Melody's presence he felt he could share anything, all of his deepest feelings and dreams for the future. And she had never even called him back.
No. He knew better than to hope. That kind of hope left unrealized would make him feel a thousand times worse every waking moment than he currently felt. Better to keep it to himself and simply feel anger.
Except the anger gave way to despair. Then the despair gave way to emptiness.
Needing to fill the emptiness, he gave in to Kurt and went to church with him and Morgan — the same church Angela had started attending right before her death. And that is how it happened. That is how his life changed forever.
One Sunday morning as he sat in the pew next to the haunting memory of his late wife, he felt the presence of God. It was absolutely nothing he could explain to an unbeliever. He couldn't have even explained it to his former self in any meaningful way.
James felt a very real and very tangible God — the great I AM, Creator of all things, Jehovah, A'doni — he felt Him enter his heart and, for the first time, felt real healing begin inside. It was just as real as real could be.
He wondered how he had missed God speaking to him during all that time. Had he truly been that blind? On his knees at the altar, James fully handed his life over to the Creator of the universe.
Not long after, he moved out of the hotel and into an apartment near his office. He started reading the Bible in earnest and finished it, then read it again … and again. Three times in three translations that first year. After that, he studied and studied, learning all he could about God and the life offered by following Him. He took on the task with the same passion he had once poured into learning about technologies.
During his commutes to London, he found a flat, found a church, and became very close to Vicar Mark, who happened to be his age and also a widower. The two bonded almost as closely as James had with Kurt. Vicar Mark taught him more about healing and learning to let go of the pain and opening his heart to God's plan for his life.
He had only started dating again this year. Try as he might, though, no one sparked much of an interest. He quickly tired of any woman, American or British, within a few dates, then was left dealing with bad feelings and inevitable tears.
He had decided that the cultural notion that men cannot handle rejection was nothing more than a myth. A lie. Men handle rejection routinely. He had discovered, by and large, that women were completely unequipped to cope with it, though. He had nearly decided dating just wasn't worth it.
He couldn't replace Angela, and he refused to continue to search for someone like Melody, the coffee drinking cheese grit craving singing heiress bound for seminary. He decided that jet lag and loneliness must have been the things that sparked his imaginary feelings for her at the time.
Returning to his table companion, he said, "Signed the contract renewal this afternoon."
"Ah, congratulations I suppose. Tell me. Do you think you will ever tell me what it is you actually do here?"
James frowned. "Not really, no. I can't. Not honestly, anyway. You know that."
Mark laughed and shook his head. "Jimmy, lad, you are an extremely literal person. It must be that genius mind you have in that very American noggin of yours." He glanced at his watch. "What time did they tell you to arrive back at the airport?"
"They said there's a 2:25 flight. I'd still be back in Atlanta by 7:00."
"Not awful, I suppose. At least it's a direct flight."
"True. I hate stopping in Newark."
Mark raised an eyebrow. "Indeed."
He enjoyed his lunch with Mark, then made his way back to the airport. The clerk at the ticket counter assured him that the flight would leave on time, so he went ahead and worked his way through the intense security at London Heathrow International Airport. No matter how often he came and went, the sight of policemen with fully automatic machine guns scrutinizing the passengers still unnerved him.
Once in the terminal, James discovered that the flight had been delayed by at least an hour. Annoyed with himself for not rescheduling his travel plans for the storm, he realized that he didn't want to sit for an hour. He had a 9-hour flight of sitting in front of him, so he wandered through the newsstand at the airport in the international section.
While looking through business magazines, he found a tabloid magazine out of place. He started to look behind it when the picture on the cover made his stomach drop.
His singing heiress seminary student with the vivid blue eyes and the curly black tresses stood there clutching the arm of a tall, black haired man wearing a white cowboy hat. The headline boldly proclaimed "Bobby Kent Marriage Maybe?"
His eyes trailed to the body of the story below the fold.
International superstar and Country Music's most eligible bachelor, Bobby Kent, was rather tellingly 'unavailable for comment' when asked about the reported budding romance with sensational phenom, Melody Mason. Will Mason have to change her name to Kent? We hope so! In fact, we think this is a Duet best sung to the sound of wedding bells …
As he snatched the tabloid, the cover of the weekly television guide caught his eye. There she was again; this time wearing blue jeans, a purple and orange western style shirt, and sporting vivid orange and spectacularly purple sequined cowboy boots. She stood surrounded by four western clad men. Below some headline about an award he had never heard of before, he read:
Who will come out on top this year? Magnetic Melody Mason spurs UK's growing interest in Country Western music. Dare we hope Miss Mason crosses the pond for an international tour soon?
He snatched the television guide as well. Then he noticed the American fashion magazine.
These boots were made for … walking to the White House! Exclusive interview! First Lady admits she secretly loves wrapping her size eights in Country Music's to-die-for designer leather.
And there she stood on the cover of the magazine, arms linked with the First Lady of the United States. They wore identical looking brightly colored boots.
He pushed his way through to the cashier and tossed a twenty pound note on the counter. With a muttered, "Keep the change," he grabbed his purchases and rushed out of the newsstand.
¯¯¯¯
CHAPTER 6
JAMES rolled his head on his shoulders and waited for Morgan to answer her door. "Hi," he greeted. He hadn't seen Morgan in six months, maybe longer. Kurt had done some traveling to England while they worked on the negotiation with the contract renewal, so James hadn't been traveling like normal.
Her eyes widened. "Hi stranger. What brings you to town?"
"Well, turns out a beautiful and talented woman is marrying this guy I know." He pulled the collar of his coat up. "May I come in? This rain is killing me."
"Of course!" She stood to the side and he stepped into her foyer. "Let me take your coat." She gestured toward the back of the house. "Kurt's here. Is everything okay?"
"I actually came to see you."
Morgan raised an eyebrow. "Okay." She looked at her watch. "But you either need to talk fast or wait until after the awards show
I'm watching. Melly is on it."
"That is exactly what I want to talk to you about." He pulled the cover of one of the magazine's he'd bought hours ago out of his pocket. "Is this your sister?"
Her eyes glanced to the page and she smiled. "Of course."
"Of course? What do you mean of course?"
"Seriously? You didn't know Melody Mason is my sister? How long have we known each other, James? Five years?"
"Four," he corrected. "Apparently, I didn't know." He released a sigh. "Your last name is Hamilton but your sister is Melody Mason, not 'Melly' Hamilton?"
"I'm a widow, James. My married name was Hamilton. I never changed it back. My sister Melody goes by our maiden name, Mason, and her nickname is Melly." Her brows came together in a frown. "What's going on with you?"
James felt like he couldn't breathe. His eyes shot from Morgan to the magazine cover and back again. Just then, Kurt strolled into the foyer.
"Hey, buddy. Welcome back to American soil. Want some sweet tea? You know, with ice and such. Served cold and all. In a glass. Not like the tea we tossed into Boston harbor a few years back."
"Yeah. Sure." James paced into the living room. As he walked, he tried to recall all of the conversations he had with Morgan concerning Melody. He had always listened with only half an ear to her comings and goings because — truth be told — he didn't really care.
He allowed himself an ironic laugh. What a hoot. He cared, all right.
What he did recall with absolute clarity were the days that followed his first ever meeting Melody. The days when Kurt came and went from the office sporadically, because his new girlfriend's sister had been in the hospital in a coma after having been battered nearly to death. While James had grown more and more frustrated with 'Melody' for not returning his calls, 'Melly' had lingered in a hospital bed fighting for her life while recovering from a brutal beating.
A Melody for James (Christian Suspense) Page 6
