The definition of a troublemaker. “Uh...she may have stretched the truth a little. I haven’t been home in a while, but we used to be close.” When the brunette’s perfectly arched eyebrows met in the middle, he added, “I’ve just been so busy these last few years.” As much as he’d initially been opposed to the idea of this television segment, after he’d agreed, he’d done his research. It turned out Roxanne may not have been lying about this “Home for the Holidays” Christmas Eve program having done wonders for the careers of several other up-and-coming performers. He’d found three separate lesser-known acts that had become headliners after appearing on the show. Of course, they’d also recorded breakout hits shortly afterward, something else Brad had yet to do. His first CD was good, but none of its singles had skyrocketed to the top of the country music charts.
“That’s only natural,” Bridget said, smiling once more as she crossed one long leg over the other. She wore a pencil skirt and stilettos, and Brad had a difficult time picturing her in his mother’s messy home. Of course, Beverly Monroe preferred the term “lived-in” when referring to the state in which she kept the family’s two-story farmhouse. He hoped she allowed the staging crew to make the necessary changes for filming. “And it’s yourself and five older sisters?”
“Yes, that’s right. Bobbi, Becky, Brooke, Bethany and Breanne.”
Bridget laughed. “And your parents, Beverly and Bernie. I assume the B names were on purpose?”
“Yes. You’ll fit right in.” Brad liked how at ease she made him feel. He’d expected the famous Heartland Country Television host to be standoffish, but she was anything but. “We’re all about two years apart, with Bobbi being the oldest—though she will deny having just turned forty-five until she’s blue in the face—and me being the baby.”
“Five girls and finally a boy.”
“I love to tease my sisters that my parents had been hoping each of them were a boy.” He stretched his legs out in the limited space in front of him. His right shin ached as it always did when he sat for long periods of time. The muscles in the front of that leg had taken a lot longer to heal than the others, and they still gave him trouble.
“And the family home is...”
“It’s a farm on the outskirts of Brookhollow. Three hundred acres of land. We grow crops and Christmas trees. As a kid, I worked the Christmas-tree part with my father.” It had always been one of the highlights of the season for him. Away from the house of six women, Brad and his father had bonded in those silent moments on the farm.
“I can’t say I’ve ever been to a Christmas-tree farm. Growing up, we had an artificial tree—not quite the same experience, I bet.”
Brad grinned. “Yeah, that’s a little different. My youngest sister, Breanne, and her husband, Troy, took over running the farm during the holidays four years ago when my dad got sick. Of all us kids, she’s the only one who still lives in Brookhollow. She and Troy live in the family farmhouse with my mom and their two children, Gracie and Darius.” The mention of his young nephew made him pause as a wave of guilt washed over him. The six-year-old boy suffered from what the doctors called select mutism. He refused to talk to most people, with the exceptions of his older sister, Gracie, and for some reason, Brad. It had made Brad’s absence from home over the past few years that much tougher, especially on Darius.
“I did my research on Brookhollow last night,” Bridget said, “and it seems the town has some impressive holiday traditions, as well—sleigh rides, an ice-sculpting contest...”
The small town of less than ten thousand did indeed do Christmas in a big way. As a kid, Brad had loved the festivities, and spending the holidays in Nashville the past three years just hadn’t been the same. Still, returning home hadn’t felt like an option. His past mistakes haunted him even more the closer he got to town. He let out a deep breath. Like it or not, he would have to face them now.
“Yeah, if it’s Christmas spirit you’re looking for, Brookhollow’s the place.”
* * *
ARRIVING IN HIS HOMETOWN four hours later, the television camera crew and Bridget had gone straight to the Brookhollow Inn, the local B and B, to check in. Brad had continued on in the rental car toward his family home. Now as he drove the familiar roads, the knot in his stomach grew tighter. The last time he’d gone through this area was the day after Patrick’s funeral. Despite his still being confined to a wheelchair in a disoriented state, he’d known he had to get away. Against the doctor’s recommendations and his family’s protests, he’d enlisted the help of his good friend Luke Dawson. With Dawson’s Architecture working on large projects in New York, Luke had sublet an apartment in the city for himself and his crew, and he’d let Brad stay there during his recovery, to be closer to Propel Records. It was that fragile period during which Brad had feared the record company might cancel the entire recording deal. He owed a great deal to Luke. He pulled onto the shoulder to dial his friend’s number, and then put on the headset and pulled back onto the road.
Luke answered on the third ring. “Hey, man. So, are the rumors true?”
“Depends on which ones you’re referring to,” Brad said, slowing again as the two lanes narrowed to one leading onto Main Street.
“Well, my beautiful new bride is now co-owner of the Brookhollow Inn, and their reservation system shows three rooms currently being held for Heartland Country Television—I know they’re not here to interview me.”
“That’s right, I’d heard Vic bought the old inn last year. And again, I’m so sorry I missed the wedding.” Luke’s high school sweetheart had returned to Brookhollow last Christmas after twelve years in New York City. Soon after, her and Luke had gotten married. Brad had been performing at a Labor Day Red Cross charity event in Oklahoma and hadn’t been able to make it to the September long-weekend wedding. He chose to believe he would have manned up and made it for his good friend’s wedding if his record contract hadn’t demanded otherwise.
“Believe me, your gift made up for it.” Luke laughed. “Victoria said the day at the Mandara Spa in the Bahamas was exactly the relaxation she’d needed. So, when do you arrive?”
“Just got here,” Brad said, taking in the festive sights lining both sides of Main Street. The lampposts, decorated in large, white snowflakes, were coming to life as dusk fell over the town, and the storefront windows on both sides of the street were illuminated with holiday displays. He waved as he passed Mr. O’Hanlon, owner of the horse stables in town, who was waiting near the town park’s entrance for the sleigh to arrive so he could fill it for the first ride of the evening. As Brad approached the corner of Main Street and Commerce Avenue and the bowling alley’s neon sign came into view, he couldn’t help but ask Luke, “Hey, does Melody still work at the alley?” The last he’d heard, his old friend was working several jobs, and bartending at the local hot spot was one of them. He prayed that was no longer the case, that things were getting easier for the Myers family. He’d respected Melody’s wishes and had ended his attempts to contact them, but time had yet to erase them from his thoughts.
“I think she might’ve quit last week—got a promotion with Play Hard Sports. At least that’s what Vic’s friend Heather said. Heather’s taking over Melody’s job at the bar.”
Relief flowed through Brad. Maybe Melody was doing okay. “I guess that store wasn’t such a bad idea, after all,” he teased his friend. The big-chain sporting-goods store had been the reason Victoria Mason had returned to Brookhollow the year before. She’d been working for an acquisition firm that was looking to buy out
