by Terri Osburn
“I haven’t not taken your calls, Mother. You sent one text demanding that I call you. One text.”
Dawn cast an embarrassed peek at the strangers behind her. “Can we please talk about this somewhere else?”
Naomi dragged Chance out of the elevator. “You’re the one who showed up out of nowhere in a public place.”
Realizing she was about to storm out of the building, he put on the brakes. “Hold on, darling. Hear her out.” Proud recognized proud, and Chance knew what this unexpected visit meant. The woman missed her daughter.
“Are you serious?” she growled through a clenched jaw. “Do you remember what she did to us?”
Looking her in the eye, Chance said, “Take it from me. You don’t want to lose your mom. Just listen to her.”
Several emotions played across her face, from stubborn resentment to crippling uncertainty. “Fine,” she said. “But we need a place Chance won’t be bombarded. My office is a few blocks away. Meet us there.”
Without waiting for agreement, Naomi marched off toward the parking garage. Dawn watched her go. “Thank you.”
He’d only bought her an audience. “You’re welcome. Don’t make me regret the assist.”
Taking long strides, he caught up with his ride beneath the brown awning outside the exit.
“If she insults either of us, I’m shutting her down.”
“Fair enough.”
Her mother was lucky that Chance was there or Naomi never would have agreed to do this. The nerve of her showing up like that. She had better be ready to apologize, or this little sit-down was a waste of everyone’s time.
Belinda rose from her chair when they entered the building, surprised to see them. “Hey. I didn’t know you were coming in.” She checked the calendar for the conference room. “Did I miss an email? Clay is in a meeting with Dylan and Samantha Walters right now, and I don’t have Mr. Colburn down at all.”
“You didn’t miss anything. I’m only using my office to meet with my mother. She should be here any minute.”
The receptionist visibly cringed. “Your mother is coming here?”
On one previous visit—which didn’t happen often, thank goodness—Naomi’s mother had criticized the coffee available in the lobby and then Belinda’s choice of outfit. Music Row wasn’t a typical work environment. Dress was typically casual except in the higher ranks, and often times even more casual at the top. Clay was an exception, wearing a full suit on most days.
“Don’t worry,” Naomi assured her. “She won’t be here long.”
The she of that sentence breezed through the entrance, lips pursed. “Hello, Belinda.”
The younger woman offered a strained smile. “Good morning, Mrs. Mallard. Welcome to Shooting Stars Records.”
“Thank you. You’re looking lovely, as always.”
Blue eyes went wide. “Thank you?” Belinda said, sending Naomi a did I hear her right look.
Naomi stopped beside the reception desk. “We can do this in my office.” Gesturing for her mother to go first, she waited for Chance to join them.
“I’ll wait out here with Belinda.”
“You will?” squeaked her still-stunned coworker.
Chance shot the receptionist one of his aw-shucks grins. “If it’s okay with you.”
“Yeah. Sure. Anytime.”
“Are you really going to make me do this alone?” Naomi asked.
“This was never about me, Nay. Go talk.”
Go talk was the last thing she wanted to do. “Wish me luck.”
“You’ve got this.”
Shoulders back, Naomi marched into battle, finding her mother already seated in front of her desk. Closing the door, she said, “Are you here to apologize?”
“Yes.”
Naomi froze midsit. “What?”
“I’m here to apologize for my behavior. You took me by surprise, and I reacted inappropriately.”
Dropping slowly into the chair, Naomi prepared for the but. “Okay.”
“Your father has been very angry with me.”
Now this was making sense. “So Daddy forced you to come. I should have known you wouldn’t do this on your own.”
Her mother leaned forward. “Your father doesn’t know I’m here. Yes, he told me that I was wrong, but I’m here by my own choice.”
Naomi was close to losing her temper. “You shouldn’t have to be told that when you embarrass your daughter and insult the man she brings home to meet you, you’ve done something wrong.”
“Don’t raise your voice to me.”
“I’ll raise my voice if I want to. I’m not a child, Mother. I’m a grown woman, and it’s time you started treating me like one.”
Coral nails tapped the front of the desk. “Then act like one, and stop flitting from one meaningless relationship to another. Don’t you know that I worry about you? Never settling down. No husband. No children. I won’t be here forever, Naomi Marie. What will you do when your father and I are gone? You’ll be all alone.”
This is what the constant meddling was about? A fear of her daughter dying alone?
“Has it ever occurred to you that I can be happy alone? That I’d rather be alone than married off to a man of your choosing, just to make you happy?”
Dawn hugged her Michael Kors handbag against her chest. “I don’t want you to marry just anyone. You think I find you these men to make myself happy? I have interests, Naomi. There are lots of other things I could be doing besides scouring this city for your husband.”
Naomi threw her hands in the air. “Then do them. Good God, Mother, do anything besides find me a husband. Please. If it happens, it happens. I’m good with that, and you need to be, too.”
Crossing her legs, she fiddled with her scarf. “What about you and Chance?”
“What about us?”
“Are you thinking about marrying him?”
She couldn’t be serious. “Chance and I are still getting to know each other. We aren’t rushing into anything like that.”
“Do you love him?”
Naomi hadn’t seen that question coming. “I care about him.”
Green eyes bored through her. “That isn’t what I asked. If you’re going to spend time with a man like Chance Colburn, you need to be sure he’s worth the risk.”
This woman just could not help herself. “This conversation is over. I won’t sit here and let you insult Chance like you did last weekend. He has a disease, which he’s beating.”
“I’m not talking about the drinking,” she said, waving the words away. “Naomi Marie, do you think your father is the only man I ever dated? I was nearly twenty-four years old when I met Benny. And I was no angel up to that point.”
Naomi wasn’t comfortable with the direction this was going. “What does that have to do with Chance?”
“I went through my musician phase, honey. I get it. But men like Chance aren’t cut out for the long haul. They’re as comfortable with feelings as an elephant in Spanx, and just as slippery.” She shook her head. “They’re also easily spooked. Runners. That’s how a friend of mine described them once. And if they don’t see a clear path out, they’ll do something to chase you off, instead.”
Exactly what Chance had done seven years ago. Gotten spooked and slept with Martha to chase Naomi away. But Chance was a different man now.
“You don’t know Chance like I do.”
“Famous last words of many a broken heart.” Her mother rose to her feet. “You might not believe this, but I hope you’re right about him. Still, it’s my job as your mother to warn you. Who else is going to look out for my babies if I don’t?”
Naomi pointed out the obvious. “We aren’t babies, Mom.”
“You’ll always be my babies. Are we better now?”
Not quite. “You need to apologize to Chance, too.”
Rosette lips curled. “Fine. And by the way, your sister helped me finish planning the cookout. She doesn’t have the eye for detail that you do, so we
may have missed a few things, but it’s done now. You are coming, aren’t you?”
“That depends,” she said, curious how far her mother would take this sudden turnaround. “Is Chance invited?”
“Do you think a famous country singer is going to come to a neighborhood cookout in the suburbs?”
True. Chance wasn’t just any guy off the street. “I’ll ask him.”
Her mother rounded the desk and kissed her daughter’s forehead. “Then if he’s game, bring him along.” Naomi moved to escort her to the front, but was patted back into the chair. “I know the way out, dear. Just promise me you’ll protect your heart, and don’t settle for less than you deserve.”
“I’ve got this, Mom.”
With concern in her eyes, the older woman left Naomi’s office in a whiff of expensive perfume. It was true what they said—intentions were everything. And through it all, the invasions of privacy and constant meddling, her mother had acted out of love. Naomi couldn’t fault her for that.
Clay’s meeting ended while Naomi was still with her mom, and the label head escorted his guests to the front, where Chance lingered around Belinda’s desk.
“Morning, Chance,” he said, exchanging a friendly shake. “I didn’t know you were coming in today. Have you met Dylan Monroe?”
“Haven’t had the pleasure.” The young artist wore a black cowboy hat and looked as innocent as a fresh-picked daisy. Chance wondered if he’d looked the same in his early days. Probably not, all things considered. “Nice to meet you, Dylan. I like what you’re doing out there.”
“Thank you, Mr. Colburn. It’s an honor to meet you.”
“No need to be so formal. Call me Chance.”
Clay introduced the other member of the trio. “This is Samantha Walters, Dylan’s manager.”
This one he knew. “We’ve met. How are you doing, Sam?”
“Sam?” Clay asked.
“Chance’s sister and I learned this business together,” she said. “Shelly and I go way back.”
Now the exec really looked confused. “Shelly Needham is your sister?”
“Stepsister,” Chance corrected. “I know I’m not on your schedule, but do you have a minute?”
Clay checked his watch. “I have fifteen before a business lunch. It’s all yours.” To Dylan he said, “Congrats again on the Opry. Shooting Stars will be there in full force.”
“You got an Opry gig?” Chance asked.
“First time,” Dylan replied. “I still can’t believe it.”
Playing the Opry was a big deal. No matter how many times Chance walked onto that stage, he still got butterflies in his stomach. “You’ll kill it, man. Just remember to enjoy it.”
The newbie laughed. “That won’t be a problem.”
Monroe and Sam hit the exit as Clay said, “Come on back to my office. How’s the hand? You had a checkup today, right?”
Chance followed him to the corner office. “Today was the day. It’s numb right now, but it’s going to hurt like hell when this stuff wears off.”
“They have medicine for that.” Clay stepped through the wide door and gestured toward an empty seat before taking his place behind the glass-top desk. “Or are you still a no on that?”
“Naomi told you?”
Gray eyes looked up. “She did. I understand your reasons, but I’m not sure I’d have the willpower if those fingers hurt as bad as they look.”
“Knowing how easy it is to ruin your life is a strong motivator to get through the pain.”
Clay grinned. “Good answer. What can I do for you?”
Chance leaned his elbows on his knees. “When I was in the hospital, I heard you say you weren’t canceling my session time just yet. Is that still the case?”
“We’re still set for June first. Is there any progress with the songs?”
Relieved by the news, Chance relaxed. “There is. I’m up to seven now, and they’re coming almost one a day. With ten days left, I should have plenty to choose from.”
“If they’re as good as those demos you sent me, I’m looking forward to hearing them.”
The new ones were better than the first three, so Chance felt confident in his response. “They are.”
Clay’s face split in a slow grin. “Then let’s make a number-one album.”
His thoughts exactly. “That’s the plan.”
Chapter 26
Three days after Chance’s follow-up visit, Naomi felt confident enough about his recovery to return to work. Between rescheduling his appearances and the release of Dylan’s sophomore effort at the end of June, she needed to be at her desk and not having to reply to emails with Willie walking across her keyboard.
“Got a second?” Clay asked from the doorway to Naomi’s office.
She didn’t, but her boss rarely came calling unless it was important. “Sure. What do you need?”
Shoulders stiff, Clay entered the office and closed the door. “How much do you know about Chance’s childhood in Texas?”
It was an odd question that put her immediately on edge. “Some. Why?”
He tossed a folder onto her desk. “This just showed up in my email. It’s a tell-all article set to release tomorrow. An anonymous source claims that not only was Chance physically abused, his mother was an alcoholic who stayed too drunk to care for him.”
Naomi flipped open the folder. Inside, she found a three-page exposé that would reveal all of Chance’s demons to the world.
“They can’t print this.”
“They can if it’s true. Is it?”
Answering would be a betrayal. “Who is the source?”
Clay planted his hands on the edge of her messy desk. “That’s the anonymous part. Whoever they are, they know specifics. His stepfather’s name. Where he grew up. Even his time in the military and the death of some boyhood friend in Afghanistan.”
Furious, she slammed the folder shut. “Why would a tabloid send this to us? Do they want corroboration? If so, they aren’t getting it.”
“The tabloid didn’t send it. I called as soon as I read the article. They’re pissed that I have it at all.”
Naomi didn’t understand. “So not only is there an anonymous source, there’s an anonymous leak? Do you think it’s someone giving us the opportunity to kill the story?”
Clay paced to the door. “Again, I can’t kill it if it’s true. If they can back up those facts, there isn’t a damn thing we can do about it. I need to know if the article is true.”
Eyes lowered, she said, “It is.”
“Dammit.” He shoved a hand through his short hair. “Maybe this doesn’t have to be a bad thing. A story like this has sympathy written all over it. The fans will read that, and they won’t be able to buy the album fast enough.”
She couldn’t let the secrets Chance had worked so hard to keep be used as PR tools. “Do you really think Chance will see it that way? Clay, this is his life, not fodder for publicity. What do you think drove him to drink in the first place? It wasn’t landing three number-one hits on his debut album.” She waved the folder in the air. “It was this.”
“Then our only option is to let him see it before it goes public tomorrow.”
Naomi didn’t want to think about what this would do to Chance. There had to be a way to protect him.
“What if we find the source?” she said. “If the source retracts their statements, they can’t run the story.”
“It’s an idea, but how are we going to find the person behind this and convince them to back down by the end of the day? I doubt the reporter is going to give us the information.”
No. But there was one other person who knew all the same people Chance did. Whoever supplied these details had to be someone who was around when they were kids. Maybe a cousin who’d always been jealous of Chance’s success had found a reporter willing to listen. Or a neighbor down on their luck willing to talk for the right price.
“I’m not sure, but there’s an obvious place to start.” Nao
mi reached for her cell phone.
“Who are you calling?” Clay asked.
She put the phone to her ear. “Shelly. If anyone will know where to start, it’ll be her.”
“I can’t believe you wrote these songs on your phone,” Louis said as he explored Chance’s guitar app.
“I had to do something.” Chance waved his left hand. “There was no way to play the real thing.”
“This one called ‘Yet’ is the best thing you’ve ever written, man.” Calvin strummed through the first few chords of the song, adding a variation on the second. “I can’t wait to take these into the studio.”
Many road bands didn’t perform on the actual album recordings, but Chance had insisted years ago that Panhandle do all the studio work on his music. His pickers were some of the best in town, and over the years, they’d become go-to session players for other artists when between tours.
“We need another round of drinks,” declared Sticks as he tightened a drumhead. With a week to go before their first session, and Chance still recuperating at home, they’d opted to work out the songs in his living room to be ready come June 1.
“I can get one at a time,” Chance said with a laugh.
Archie set his guitar in its stand. “I’ll help you carry some.” In the kitchen, the bass player opened the fridge. “These songs have a theme to them.”
Transferring cold cans of soda to the counter, Chance said, “They’re standard country tunes. Love and loss and a pretty girl. But I think they’re good.”
“They are good,” Arch reassured him. “They’re all about her.”
Chance hesitated. “Some.”
“All. Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
Setting the last can on the counter, Chance closed the fridge door. “Do any of us know what we’re doing when it comes to women? I’m happy. Naomi’s happy. That’s good for now.”
“And what happens if you get unhappy?” his friend asked. “I want nothing more in the world than for this to work out, but it’s fast, man. Too fast. You’re in a better place than I’ve seen you in years. From the looks of these songs, this album has platinum written all over it. But we’ve been here before, and watched it crash. I don’t want to see that happen again.”
