Among The Stars
A Shooting Stars Novella
Terri Osburn
All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2019 by Terri Osburn
Published by Macie Rae Publishing, Nashville, TN
Cover Design Copyright © 2019 Fantasia Frog Designs
Created with Vellum
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Epilogue
Other books by Terri Osburn:
About the Author
Chapter One
Veronica Shepherd was drunk. But then, what was a pity party without a hefty dose of alcohol? If she was a sassy little redhead like her ex-husband’s new bride, guys would be flocking to buy her drinks.
This was her fourth bar of the night. Or maybe her fifth. After the phone call from her ex—who also happened to be her best friend—announcing his impending nuptials, Veronica faced a choice. Spend Christmas Eve drinking herself into oblivion alone on her couch, or recruit another friend for a night out on the town. Neither option was the norm for her. Though she loved to throw elaborate and rowdy shindigs throughout the year, Veronica rarely drank and almost never visited the loud, tourist-ridden bars of Nashville’s Lower Broadway.
Tonight had been an exception in many ways.
After struggling to catch the bartender’s attention on the main floor of this particular establishment—the name of which she didn’t know—Veronica had ascended a level to experience the same issue on the second floor. She kept climbing and found exactly what she was looking for on the third—a more reasonable volume and several empty seats at the bar. Now she needed a libation to go with her comfy barstool.
The friend she’d recruited for the night, a minor acquaintance named Melanie Turnbull, had met a guy at their previous destination and refused to continue Veronica’s quest to visit every venue with an open door. Which, for anyone who’d never visited Nashville, was every single bar for four blocks.
Undeterred, Veronica had moved on alone. She always seemed to be alone these days.
“Who’s a girl gotta flash to get a drink in this place?”
“No flashing necessary. What can I get you?”
Glancing into the brownest eyes she’d ever seen, Veronica’s world spun. A possible side effect of her level of intoxication, but something told her this paragon of manly beauty could make even a sober girl dizzy. Dark brows arched in expectation, and a twinkle danced in his steady gaze. Or maybe that was the neon reflecting off his eyeball. Perfect male specimens of this nature never twinkled, after all. And perfect was the only way to describe him.
Strong jaw shadowed by a day’s growth of scruff. Cheekbones that would make a Victoria’s Secret model weep with envy. And the hair. Veronica sighed as she propped her chin in her hand. One onyx lock dangled over his forehead, tempting her to touch it. She didn’t, of course. She wasn’t that drunk.
“You’re pretty,” she sighed instead.
“Thanks,” the bartender replied. “You aren’t so bad yourself.”
A cheesy and cliched response, but Veronica didn’t care. The timbre of his voice lit a long-dormant fire, and she wanted to keep him talking.
Leaning forward, hoping she appeared more sexy than desperate, she said, “What do you recommend for a girl looking to forget someone?”
Tilting his chin as if truly pondering the question, he said, “That depends. Are you the dumper or the dumpee?”
The divorce had been mutual, but Veronica felt like the one left behind tonight.
“Dumpee.”
Dark eyes narrowed. “Then the dumper is a fool.”
She was the fool for letting Ash go, but she didn’t correct him.
“Fool or not, he’s getting his happily ever after, and I want a drink.” The last was uttered with a slur so Veronica tried again. “A drink,” she said more clearly, emphasizing the k sound.
The bartender leaned on the bar, drawing attention to the strong forearms revealed beneath the rolled-up sleeves of his starched white button-down. Licking her lips, she pulled her gaze upward and spotted a wisp of dark hair through the open collar at his throat. Veronica’s mouth went dry.
“You’ve had enough to drink,” he said, the purr of his voice too distracting for the words to sink in. “Is someone waiting downstairs to take you home?”
Watching his lips move, she imagined pressing her own against them. “I’m alone,” she replied. “You could take me home.”
“Do you go home with strangers often?”
Veronica shook her head slowly, her eyes still on his mouth. “Never.”
“But for me you’d make an exception?”
The judgmental tone made her sit up straighter. “Would that be so bad? To make love to me all night?”
The chiseled jaw twitched as he watched her with a heated look that did funny things to her neglected girl parts. Veronica shivered.
“No, that wouldn’t be bad for either of us,” he drawled. “But I’d rather a woman ask me to make love to her because she wants me, not because she wants to forget someone else.”
Well, damn. He had a point. What the hell was she doing? Drinking Ash away wasn’t working so she’d screw him away instead?
Gathering what little dignity she had left, Veronica tucked her tiny clutch beneath her arm and slid from the stool, but the spinning from earlier intensified, and she swayed. The bartender caught her hand, a lifeline in the storm.
“Get back on the stool until I come around,” he ordered. “Trina, announce last call. I’ll be back in a few.”
With one butt cheek on the seat, Veronica leaned on the bar and tried to remember when she’d last eaten, but nothing came to mind. There’d been a bagel for breakfast. A small Cobb salad right before Ash’s call. His voice played back in her mind. Full of excitement and love. For someone else.
“I’m pathetic,” she mumbled as a warm body drew up behind her.
“You aren’t pathetic. Just drunk.” Lifting her chin, the bartender searched her eyes. “Think you can make it outside?”
Veronica nodded slowly, careful not to intensify the vertigo, and rose to her feet once again. Two steps later, she staggered, and strong arms kept her upright. Embarrassed that she’d let herself get this bad, she caved to the inevitable and leaned into his solid frame. In her heels, Veronica stood at an even six foot, but the bartender was still half a head taller. Instead of leading her to the stairs, he headed for a black door in the corner.
In a moment of clarity, she understood that allowing a stranger to lead her into an unknown room in her current condition wasn’t the most prudent decision. He’d already turned her down for sex, so the odds of him assaulting her seemed low. If not a rapist, he could be a killer masquerading as a bartender waiting for a drunk woman to fall helplessly into his clutches.
As the scent of his crisp, woodsy cologne filled her senses, Veronica accepted her fate. If this was how she died, so be it. They slipped through the door into a bright hallway, and she raised an arm to shield her eyes.
“
Sorry,” he muttered. “I should have prepared you for that.”
Halfway down the hall, her eyes adjusted in time to see him press a button beside elevator doors. Still drunk enough for filters to be disengaged, she said, “Are you going to kill me?”
“Wasn’t planning on it.” The doors glided open, and he helped her inside before pressing another button.
“If this place has an elevator, why did I walk up three flights of stairs in these heels?” Veronica teetered as she stepped out of the shoes and bent to pick them up. “God, that feels better.”
“I wouldn’t go barefoot on Broadway.”
“Of all the poor decisions I’ve made tonight, going barefoot won’t even make the top ten.”
“I’ve kept you from making one more.”
Veronica eyed him suspiciously. “What? From falling down the stairs?”
He sighed. “Two then.” Before she could get clarification, the doors opened. “Do you have a ticket for coat check?” he asked.
Opening her clutch, she drew out a small green ticket. “Is this it?”
“Ours are red.”
Well, damn. “I don’t have a red one.”
Seeming put out now, the bartender leaned her against the wall and said, “Stay here.”
Since Veronica had no idea where she was or how to get out, she obeyed. While her annoyed escort disappeared down the hall, the sounds of pots and pans knocking together traveled through the wall behind her, and the smell of something deep-fried, made her stomach churn. Feeling queasy, she slid down the wall to land inelegantly on her bottom, literally and figuratively hitting a new low.
“No napping,” admonished the bartender, returning with a black coat thrown over his arm. “Back on your feet.”
Taking her hands, he hefted Veronica off the floor. Her stomach protested the sudden change in altitude. “I don’t feel good,” she murmured.
Brushing the hair from her eyes, he examined her face. When her body convulsed, he muttered, “Damn it,” and whisked her through a narrow door she hadn’t noticed before.
Veronica didn’t have time to worry about where he was taking her as the moment they reached the toilet, she heaved into the bowl. The bartender held her hair out of the way while keeping her upright with an arm around her waist. By the time the horrifying incident ended, tears were streaming down her face. She’d never been so mortified in her life.
Without a word, he handed her a paper towel. Shivering, Veronica tried to put space between them.
“Relax,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”
The words did little to ease her embarrassment. Veronica took two deep breaths and used the towel to dry her cheeks.
“Can you walk?” he asked.
She nodded, and together they returned to the hall, but they’d barely made it back to the elevator doors when the edges of her vision began to fade. A second later, the world went black.
* * *
This was not how Cameron Rhodes saw his night going.
Lowering the mystery woman gingerly to the floor, he propped her against the wall and gave her cheek a light tap.
“Wake up. Come on. Wake up.” Cam waited but nothing changed. She was out, and by the smell of her breath, mostly likely for the rest of the night.
Now what?
First, a name. Next to his coat that he’d dropped in their rush to the bathroom, he found her purse and searched for an ID. The tiny clutch held the coat check ticket she’d flashed earlier, and a dead cell phone.
Great. Unless he wanted to run every patron through this hall hoping someone could identify her, Cam had only one option.
“I’m taking you home after all.”
This wouldn’t be the first time he’d taken a beautiful woman home, but his previous guests had all been conscious, willing visitors. Tonight would be a new experience for at least one of them. She might need this type of assistance on a regular basis for all Cam knew. Drawing the cell from his back pocket, he placed a call that was answered on the first ring.
“Yeah, boss?”
“Kyle, please bring my car to the rear entrance.”
“Yes, sir. Be there shortly.”
Phone in hand, Cam stared at his current dilemma and shook his head. What woman went out alone, got herself blackout drunk, and didn’t even carry ID? Every club along Broadway—including his—carded at the door. She had to have lost hers on the premises.
He sent off a quick text to the lead servers on all three floors and watched as each response came back with the same answer. No IDs found.
Accepting his fate, Cam wrapped her in his heavy overcoat and lifted her into his arms. She remained unconscious as a honey-blond curl fell over her cheek.
The eyes had been the first thing he’d noticed after she’d called out for a drink. Though half closed, Cam had caught a sadness there. When she’d shared her dumpee story, that sadness made sense, but his sudden urge to console her had thrown him off balance. In his line of work, encounters with drunk women were the norm. A compulsion to take care of them was not.
“What’s your story?” he mumbled as he carried her down the hall.
In response, she curled against him, tucking her head beneath his chin and sighing against his throat. Cam’s arms tightened, and the rest of him reacted instinctively. Not what he needed right now. Stepping out into the cold night took care of the erection, and true to his word, Kyle arrived in Cam’s black BMW seconds later.
Climbing out of the car, the lanky valet blinked in surprise. “Is she okay?”
“She’ll feel like hell in the morning, but otherwise she’s fine. There’s no ID so I’m going to let her sleep it off at my place.”
The valet stepped around to the passenger side. “Do you want me to see if Trina or Shanáe can put her up?”
Taking an unconscious woman home did open the door for complications. Especially if she woke in a panic and accused him of kidnapping or worse? He was about to suggest Kyle call Trina when slender arms snaked around his neck, and the stranger purred with contentment.
“No need.” He nodded for the valet to open the car door. “I’ve got her.”
Kyle waited as Cam buckled his passenger in. “Merry Christmas, Mr. Rhodes,” he said once his employer stepped back and closed the car door.
“Thanks, Kyle. And thanks for working tonight.”
The young man shrugged. “Only seemed right that folks with families have the night off.”
Like Cam, Kyle didn’t have family close by, and he’d never asked for time off to visit wherever it was he called home. The same went for much of the Rhodes Tavern staff. While working his way up through the restaurant ranks, from washing dishes in a dive in Chicago at age sixteen to opening Rhodes Tavern nearly twenty years later, Cam had encountered countless lost souls.
Outcasts, stragglers, and drifters all navigating life with no tether to family or home. These were his people. Cam understood them because he was one of them, and when it came time to staff his own establishment, those deemed disposable by the rest of society were welcomed into the fold.
Once established in a stable job and making steady money, circumstances often changed for several employees. Cam had lost track of how many weddings he’d attended in the years since he’d opened his first venue in Chicago, and budding families abounded. He’d even had a brief engagement of his own since opening the Nashville location, but the relationship hadn’t lasted long enough to reach the altar.
“Maybe that’ll be you next year,” Cam said. Kyle and Trina had been dating for several months. Both were hardworking and deserved a good life.
The valet crossed his arms. “I don’t like to think that far ahead.”
Cam didn’t blame him. He knew only a fraction of the young man’s story, and little about it had been positive. Maintaining any kind of hope after a lifetime of disappointment was difficult at best.
“You and Trina have a good holiday.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Kyle
gave a quick salute before trotting down the alley and disappearing around the corner of the building. Cam’s white button-down offered little protection from the cold as he hurried around to the driver’s side. After cranking the heater, he put the black sedan into motion and made a left onto 4th Avenue headed toward Korean Veterans Blvd.
Cam supposed that if there was ever a night to play good Samaritan, Christmas Eve was it. Though a glance at the clock on the dash reminded him they’d rolled into Christmas Day two hours ago. Would Janie be at his place? His much younger step-sister made occasional visits, always unannounced and never for long.
Last he’d heard, she was in Colorado working at a ski resort. Janie wouldn’t be surprised to find him bringing home a stray. Cam had done so many times over the years, though never a grown woman wearing a slinky red dress revealing legs that went on for miles.
Someone has to be missing her.
He entered the roundabout and veered off onto 8th Avenue, curious about the man his passenger was trying so hard to forget. Had he cheated on her? Then again, maybe she’d run him off. Been too needy, too bitchy, or too unfaithful in her own right.
Cutting his eyes to the sleeping beauty beside him, Cam’s instincts told him she’d done none of those things. But he’d been wrong about a woman before.
Chapter Two
She was dead. There was no way a living person could feel this awful.
Veronica’s mouth was dry, and her tongue felt as if it were covered with fur. Her head throbbed, and the light trying to penetrate her eyelids made the pounding worse. A quick shift away from the brightness caused her stomach to roil, and she held her breath, trying not to wretch.
Slowly breathing through her nose, she tried to remember the night before. First came Ash’s call and the words she’d known would come, just not so soon. Then her own call to Melanie and their jaunt up and down Broadway. Had Veronica stepped in front of a bus? Or worse, been run over by one of those obnoxious pedal beer carts.
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