Catch a Falling Star (4 page)

He reached for the boot uppers and pulled them off the stretcher. “Just getting a hand on how they’re going to wrap when I get the soles on. I still have to finish this part up here around the edge. Stars, he wants, around the tops.”

“Can. . . Can I put a few on?” Justine asked. She sounded almost like Maddie did, pleading. But the governor would wear those boots. . . . She’d met the man once, when she was shooting a film near Austin and the producer had finagled a cameo role for him.

“Might as well.” Billy gestured to a stool. “Take a seat and I’ll show you what I do.”

“Wow, Ms. Campbell, Billy never lets
me
sit and work.”

“That’s because you’re a royal pain, Missy,” Billy said. But he winked at his sister. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do.” He settled onto the stool beside her, their knees touching. 

Up until now, she’d ridden next to Billy Tucker in his truck, hobbled next to him across parking lots. But this was a
lot
closer. Close enough that Tyler would turn green as a lizard if he saw them. If the dolt would ever call her back
.

Billy picked up the boot top and held it so she could see the edge. His eyes reminded her of dark chocolate. Dark chocolate was good for people. She wasn’t sure what his eyes would do for her health, though.

“So, um. . .” Billy said. A horn honked outside, and Maddie darted out the door.

“Be right back.” Maddie’s words drifted into the workshop.

#             

He was sitting so close to Justine Campbell that he could see tiny freckles on her nose, close enough to see flecks of green around her blue irises. What had he been thinking, inviting her to see his workshop?

Oh, yeah. He was thinking about getting her out of his hair as soon as possible. But short as his actual hair might be, she’d been tangled in his thoughts since that rainy night last week. He gripped the nearest mallet.

To business. He eyed the stamps he used, in their neat rows, right where he could reach them with ease. The small-medium stars would look nice around the top edge of the boots. Not tiny and girly looking, and not too large either.

“Okay.” He grabbed the star stamp then smoothed out the leather. “I hold it down steady, like this. Then take the mallet and hit the back of the stamp firmly.”

He struck the stamp then pulled it back to reveal the freshly indented of a star.

Justine glanced toward him and tugged her hair back over one shoulder. “That looks simple enough.”

He nodded. Women did that flippy thing with their hair, and it worked. It was working right now. But he didn’t know if it was the star effect on him. Tamarind was pretty enough, but Justine Campbell was more than pretty or beautiful. She was breathtaking. Even with the scar under her chin that slid up toward her jaw.

Get a grip, Tucker.
He dragged his attention away from Justine. The governor’s boots would be ready in plenty of time for the Fourth of July celebration in Austin. There was a big patriotic bash on Lady Bird Lake, and the governor was the honorary emcee for the event. And he’d be wearing these boots. Tucker Boots.

“I want to try.” Justine reached for the leather stamp and mallet. Her fingertips brushed his. The sensation made him jerk his fingers back as if she’d touched him with a hot pan.

“All—all right.” He watched her put the beveller next to the star he’d just created. “Careful. You need to hold it straight up, not at an angle.”

The governor’s boots would be flawless. Billy wouldn’t let reluctance to touch Justine’s hands cause a mistake in the work. Unacceptable. He was creating a piece of Texas history. Or at least maintaining his reputation as a craftsman.

Justine struck the stamp with the mallet. The stamp held firm. “I did it. . . . Ow.” She placed the stamp on the table and wiggled her fingers. “So I want to start working on mine, soon.”

He tried not to sigh. “I can do ostrich, unless you want cowhide.”

“Hmm. . . .” She glanced his way. “Cowhide.”

“Really? I figured you’d want ostrich or something like that.”

“Why?”

“They’re higher end.”

“Ha. Expensive isn’t always better. Sometimes it’s just expensive.”

A phone buzzed. Billy touched the phone on his hip. It wasn’t his.

Justine looked at her phone and frowned. “Excuse me, Billy. I need to take this. It’s my lawyer.”

She grabbed her cane and hobbled toward the workshop door. “Mr. Gilberti?”

Billy put the tools back. Good. Pretty and glamorous, and definitely in need of rescuing. But he wasn’t about to take up the role of knight in shining armor.

This woman led a life broadcast to the world. She probably hadn’t gotten her own groceries or put gas in her own vehicle or paid a bill in ages. Blonde hair and blue eyes wouldn’t work on him. Even blue eyes with flecks of green.

He opened the workshop door, turned off the lights, then left the shop. Who was he kidding? A woman like Justine Campbell was way out of his league. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be in hers, either.

When he did venture into a relationship someday, he wanted to go in as a whole man. The woman he loved didn’t deserve a broken-down man still healing up. God had a lot of work to do on him still. He knew of marriages that crumbled after a spouse returned from serving a 12-month or 16-month deployment. Multiply that out two or three, or even four times, and a guy's family sometimes barely held together.

Like Specialist Tremonte, one of the soldiers in his former unit. Tremonte had been sent home early and had been undergoing inpatient psychiatric treatment. When Billy finished the first cottage, he’d track the guy down to invite him and his family to the ranch for a trial weekend at Hopeful Acres.

Hopeful Acres, a sanctuary for military families. After hearing a few stories of families struggling to adjust to life with a spouse at home again, he’d gotten the nudge to renovate the cottage on the property that once served as a guest house.

Lord, help me make a difference in these families. Help me show them You. Help me give them a chance to heal.

Justine’s pulse roared in her ears as she leaned against Billy’s truck. “You’re not serious. But Neil told me he was taking care of that.” Her hand shook as she held her phone.

A blue SUV came flying into the Tuckers’ driveway area and skidded to a stop. A cloud of dust billowed up and drifted in Justine’s direction.

“Ms. Campbell, I’m not trying to cause problems between you and your manager. But I thought you should be aware of the potential gravity of your situation,” said Chuck Gilberti.

“I know, I know. Thank you. What do you suggest I do?”
Breathe. . . . Breathe.
She needed to call Neil, but right now she wanted to wring the man’s neck. After he got her some leads on possible future film roles. There were benefits to him serving as both her agent and manager.

Wasn’t there a Civil War saga in pre-production this coming winter? Justine flexed her fingers. Time to get back to normal and get out of Texas. This place greeted her with a horrific thunderstorm and reminded her of the mess she’d made out of her life.

“Mr. Gilberti, how do I get out of this?”

“I suggest you do your best to come up with eighty thousand dollars.”

“Thank you.” She saw the driver get out of the SUV. Azalea. The lady waved, her giant bag slung over one arm. “I’ll see what I can do.”

She had the Starlight house, but who knew how long that would take to sell? Plus she
liked
the place. A lot. Putting it on the market to save the multimillion-dollar California house would be foolish. Even she knew that.

“Yoohoo, Justine!” Azalea puffed as she approached, looking cool in aqua capris and a matching bedazzled tank top. “I thought I might find you here with Billy.”

With
Billy? Yes, he’d given her a ride to and from physical therapy. But the way Azalea said it. . . “He showed me his workshop.” Justine gestured to the building. Her cane slid off the truck’s fender and clunked to the ground.

.The sound of feet on gravel made Justine glance over her shoulder.

“So how’d you like it?” Billy asked. He snatched up her cane and leaned it against his truck.

“I liked it a lot. I’m really impressed. You’re a wonderfully talented craftsman, and I hope I can actually pull off making my own boots.” She grinned at him. He actually seemed to squirm at her words. What was that about? Then she remembered the look in his eyes and her sudden aversion to chocolate brown.

“I still think you’d do better starting off with a belt or something simpler.” His eyes held a challenge.

“Anyway,” Azalea said, “I need a hand, and Maddie can’t help me. You think you’re up to it?”

“That depends on what it is,” Justine said.

“I need to finish clearing out a storage unit in town. Pete says I need to have it done today, because he needs it ready to rent out on Monday.”

Justine preferred to go home, lock the door, and not come out again for a week, but the therapist encouraged her to be as active as possible, even if she wasn’t up to a strenuous workout like she once was. Her trainer would have a fit at the sight of her once tightly toned muscles and figure ready for the red carpet. Right now, she was barely ready to walk the Killeen Mall thirty minutes away. She was headed down the path to endorsement contracts from Healthy Trim Weight Loss System. She’d seen what happened to other stars’ careers because of it. Nothing except joke fodder for late-night talk shows.

“I think I’m good for a few more hours today.”

She found herself bundled into Azalea’s SUV, and off they went, bumping along the driveway. Riding home during the middle of a Texas thunderstorm with Billy Tucker was frightening—not because of Billy’s driving. However, riding shotgun with Azalea Bush made Justine feel like she was on a madman’s ride at Six Flags.

Every memory of the car accident that turned her BMW into silver, twisted metal came rushing back as the SUV reached the asphalt road. But this was Texas, a sunny summer day, and Azalea wouldn’t let anything happen to her. And no one had been drinking, either.

Her chest muscles constricted, and her throat ached. “Azalea. . .” The woman’s name came out almost like a croak.
Oh, Lord, I can’t die now. . . .
Her fingers ached from gripping her cane and the armrest.

“Why, darlin’, you’re shaking worse than a wet calf in a stock tank in January,” said Azalea. The vehicle decelerated. “It’s not my driving, is it?”

“Uh. . .a little bit.” Justine tried to remember the calming breathing techniques she’d been taught. “If you could just slow it down a tad?”

“Oh dear. I wasn’t thinking about your accident. I’m so sorry.” The barbed wire and wooden fence posts clicked by a little more slowly.

“I’ll be okay.”

“So,” Azalea continued once she’d gotten the vehicle under the speed limit, “how are you and Billy getting along?”

“Just great, great. I really appreciate him giving me a ride to my appointment.”

They reached a storage complex at the edge of town, and Azalea drove through the entrance.              

“That boy’s a good egg. He’s been through a lot.”

“Yes, it seems like he has. But look at him now. He does so well. Half the time I feel like crawling in a hole, but I’m not about to give the world that satisfaction.” No sir, life in the fishbowl had taught her to hide her vulnerabilities as much as possible.

“I must admit that I had an ulterior motive for having him pick you up at the airport the other night,” Azalea said.

“Really? I’m not surprised.” Justine suspected what was coming. She’d experienced others trying to play matchmaker before. It didn’t work then, and it wouldn’t work now.

“The night you called and asked if I could help arrange a ride for you from the airport, I started praying. And I knew Billy was the one for you.”

“What?” Justine laughed. “Azalea, I have a boyfriend.”

Azalea shook her head. “Nope, that’s not exactly what I meant. I mean you and Billy will be good for each other. He’s come a long way, but he won’t let much of anybody in. Oh, he’ll help me because I ask him to, and I’m an old lady. Refreshing, that there are still some younger people who are considerate of their elders. . .”

They pulled up in front of one of a row of orange garage doors.

“But?” Justine asked.

“Billy lights up when you’re around. I’ve never seen that in him. . . . At least not in a real long time.”

“I don’t think it’s me, really. He’s probably a fan, if only a closet fan. People fall in love with the idea of Justine Campbell, or at least they used to.” Oh boy. Yep, she’d said that out loud. “But I’m just here to put myself back together again then get back out there when I’m good and ready. If somehow I cheer Billy Tucker up, then super.” She recalled the feeling earlier, in his workshop. Those brown eyes of his. She could see a far deeper pain inside them, more than the pain she felt.

“Well, Sweetie, Starlight is just the place to do that.” Azalea turned off the vehicle and pulled the keys from the ignition. “Plus, that Tyler Drake isn’t your type anyway.”

“Ha.” Justine tried to smile at Azalea, but then snuck a look at her dormant cell phone before opening the door to the SUV.

They left Azalea’s car and went to the nearest orange metal door. It looked like a garage door with a smaller door inside. Justine opened her mouth to suggest maybe she’d be better off going home, even if she had to call a cab to get there. Starlight had at least one taxi company, or so she hoped.

“Here we go.” Azalea unlocked the smaller door. “I have a few things in here to collect before the rest gets pitched into a dumpster.”

“Dumpster?”

“Mart, who runs the storage center, needs all this stuff gone. He has customers who deploy overseas and don’t have family here, so some of them put their household items in storage while they’re gone. The people renting this unit never came back to get their things. Either that, or they stopped paying their bill. It happens. So, I bought the contents.”

Justine nodded. “I imagine that happens a lot around here.”

Azalea stepped through the open door, sunlight streaming into the room. “C’mon in. Oops. I forgot a box in the Durango. You can start looking through that box and see what you find. I can sell some of these items at flea market on Saturday. Speaking of which, I could use a hand then too. Are you up for it?”

“I. . .I dunno.”

“You can’t hide forever, you know.”

“Ha. I bet I can.” Watch Azalea Bush try to talk her into going to the flea market thing. It would be hot, uncomfortable, and crowded. Like she wanted people taking photos of her, sweating under some canopy.

“Well, I know you might as well get it over with. People can see you’re here then get on with their lives instead of speculating about yours.”

“I’m not sure—”

“Look, I can run interference for you and tell any bozos to take a hike.” Azalea squared her shoulders. “I don’t mind doin’ it one bit.”

Justine felt a giggle tickle the back of her throat. “Azalea, I don’t doubt that at all. But. . . But why are you being so nice to me? It’s been years since I’ve seen you. Yet you’ve talked to me more than my own mother has since I’ve been home.”

Azalea blushed a shade of pink to match her name. “I’m. . . Well, I’m a fan, you know. I always liked you. Even back when you were in Sunday School, I knew you were special. It just breaks my heart to see how things have turned out for you.”

Which is all my own fault.
Justine nodded, waiting for the
I told you so’s
to start, or advice on how she ought to have kept herself on the straight and narrow path instead of the broad way of destruction.

“So. . . Am I a hopeless cause?”

“Nope, not at all. God’s mercies are new every day. We just have to accept them.” Azalea grinned. “Plus, you coming here today shows me you’re not a hopeless cause. You’re not so absorbed in yourself that you can’t help someone. So, get busy with that box or I’ll change my mind.” She stomped from the storage room and into the sunlight.

Justine ignored the cardboard box that Azalea indicated and instead stepped over to a small wooden box about the size of a pair of old-fashioned milk crates.

Someone had loved this box once. Why didn’t the owner come back for it? Her own home in California was stocked with treasures she’d found around the world. A home she’d lose if she didn’t cough up eighty grand within thirty days.

She rested her cane against a stack of boxes and opened the lid. The scent of tea tree oil tickled her nose. Thankfully, no mothballs. Paper crackled, and she pulled it back. A wedding dress.

Underneath that was a cloth-covered scrapbook. Someone had glued glittery letters to the front of it. THE TREMONTE FAMILY STORY.

Justine opened the front cover and started turning pages. A young soldier and his wife on their wedding day. Pictures from a road trip. Thanksgiving. A few pages later, the two of them with an infant.

“What did you find there?” asked Azalea. She set down the box she carried.

“A wedding gown. And a scrapbook.” Justine bit her lip. She didn’t know if her mother had any family photos or even cared to preserve anything of the Campbell family.

“Sad, sad, sad.” Azalea shook her head. “This family likely got in over their heads with some sort of money trouble and the like and never thought to come back for these things—or worse, didn’t care anymore.”

“I want to try to find them. Whoever made this book cared a lot about it and probably still does. There are memories inside these pages.” Justine cleared her throat. “I know if this were mine, I’d be upset if something happened to it. Man, but it’s dusty in here.”

“I supposed Mart might have a phone number for them. Unless they've moved or changed it. Sometimes people will change their phone numbers and never bother to notify anyone.”

“Is Mart in that office we passed on the way in?”

Azalea nodded.

Justine picked up the scrapbook “I’m going to see him right now.”

She hobbled from the storage unit. By the time she reached the office, she wished she hadn’t been so enthusiastic. Her leg burned. Perspiration stung her eyes. She pulled open the office door and gasped at the sudden burst of cold air.

An older man with gray hair and glasses with thick lenses stood behind the counter. He sett the phone down and looked up at her.

“Hi, I’m looking for Mart,” Justine said.

“I’m Mart.” The older man stepped closer to the counter.

“Well, I’m working with Mrs. Bush on the storage unit 5B, and I had a question for you.”

“Is she about done with that?”

“Almost.” Justine smiled her best smile at him. “But I wanted to find out if you had any contact information for the people who last rented it. I found something that they’d probably like to have back.”

The man grunted and typed something at the computer by the counter. “They owe me almost six hundred dollars, and they’re not getting anything back until I get my money. I don’t care how much they want it back.”

“Six hundred? Is that all they owe you?” Justine fanned her face with her hand. “And they walked away from a unit full of their property?”