Keeper of the Stars (5 page)

She sat back on her heels, her gaze meeting her dad's.

He leaned toward her. “Don't allow anger to take you hostage, my girl.” He kissed her forehead. Then he stood and offered a hand to draw her to her feet. “Whatever the reasons are, I think you'd better get used to seeing Trevor around. I have a feeling he will be here for a while.”

Get used to seeing him?
She couldn't believe her ears. Get used to Trevor Reynolds being in Kings Meadow? Never. Not if she lived to be a hundred.

The visit to the Cartwright ranch had gone both better and worse than Trevor had imagined. Rodney had been kind and polite. No, he'd been more than that. He'd seemed concerned for Trevor as they'd spoken of difficult things. There had been no blame on his face or in his eyes. Sadness, yes. Grief, to be certain. But no blame. Trevor had expected judgment, anger, possibly harsh words, and instead had been welcomed by Brad's father with the warmth of a long-lost friend.

However, Brad's sister was another story. Trevor had hoped her feelings toward him had mellowed over the last two months. It was obvious they hadn't. Perhaps they'd even worsened.

Back at his rental, Trevor went to work, getting the place
in order. He unpacked the remainder of his clothes. The closet was barely adequate. However, the built-in dresser had ample space in its wide drawers. He left his guitar case in the corner near the faded green-and-red plaid sofa. Although he'd never been the sentimental type, he did have a framed photo of his parents at their fortieth anniversary party and another of him and his band that had been taken a couple of months before the accident.

Look at those grins.

Life on the road hadn't been easy all the time, but they'd loved playing together, the four of them. And their youngest member had fit right in from the start.

His chest ached as his gaze fastened on Brad. He'd really liked the kid. Loved him like a little brother. Maybe because Trevor had been a lot like him at the same age. Except for two things: Brad's faith and Brad's patience. Trevor didn't have much of either. And when it came to the career he had always wanted, he hadn't been willing to wait for his chance at stardom. He'd abandoned college and headed for Nashville at the age of nineteen, certain that it wouldn't take him any time at all to make it in the music business. Like about ten thousand other kids with a little talent and a lot of hope.

Trevor gave his head a slow shake and turned from the shelf where he'd set the photographs. No point running those memories through his mind again. Not even the good ones. Because if he kept it up, eventually he would find himself remembering painful moments too. His thoughts would
churn as he considered ways he might have changed his present by doing or saying things differently in the past.

With determination, he completed his unpacking. Then, stomach growling, he took a package of hamburger out of the refrigerator and made his dinner.

Brad

2005

B
RAD WAS THIRTEEN WHEN HE BOUGHT WHAT THE
music store called a starter five-piece drum set. Nothing fancy. Just the basics. But as far as he was concerned, the toms and the snare and the rest were worth every penny he'd paid for them. He'd done extra chores around the ranch for his dad and had worked for a couple of neighbors to save up for the set of drums. Now, at last, they were his. And his dad had agreed to pay for drum lessons as long as Brad agreed to be in the junior high school band. Sure. Why not? It would just mean he could play more, even while at school.

When he and his dad got home from the music store in Boise, Brad moved his bed closer to the window and put the drums in the corner.

“Makes me glad I'm leaving for college in a few weeks,” Penny said from the doorway.

He tossed a scowl in his sister's direction, but she responded with a grin.

“Dad may be deaf by the time I get my degree. Maybe sooner than that.” She stepped into the bedroom to give the drum set a better look. “Couldn't you have bought an acoustic guitar instead?”

Taking his seat on the stool, he answered, “Don't want to play the acoustic guitar.” He took the pair of drumsticks in his hands. “Didn't you ever know there was something you just had to do? I'm supposed to play drums. I feel it in here.” He touched his chest with a drumstick before tapping out a simple rhythm on the drums.

Penny reached to ruffle his hair with one hand. “Okay, buddy.”

He wished she would stop doing that. Made him feel like a little kid, and he wasn't. Not anymore. He was already taller than her, and his voice was low enough that sometimes, when he answered the phone, the caller thought he was his dad.

“When do you start your lessons?” She took a step back, then another.

“Next week.”

“Good. That means you don't have to practice now. Let's go for a ride along the river. We won't have many more opportunities before I leave.”

I'm gonna miss you, Pen
.

Something flickered in her eyes as she watched him, as if she'd read his thoughts. Truth was she often knew what he was thinking, almost before he knew it himself. Were all
older sisters like that? He didn't think so. His friends even said he was lucky his sister was leaving for college. He didn't feel all that lucky. Penny had always been there for him, even before their mom died. Sure, she'd teased him plenty, and sometimes he thought her a royal pain in the backside. But mostly he loved her and knew she felt the same about him.

He set down the drumsticks as he rose from the stool. “Sure. Let's go.”

Before Penny could respond, Brad darted around her and raced down the stairs. “Betcha I can get my horse saddled before you can,” he shouted over his shoulder, ending with a laugh.

“Not a chance, buddy.” She was hard on his heels by the time he flew off the porch. “That day'll never come.”

Yeah, he was going to miss her plenty.

Chapter 3

P
ENNY HAD ALWAYS LOVED THE
C
HRISTMAS SEASON
, particularly here in Kings Meadow. The commercialization of the holiday hadn't reached her hometown. Not like it had in most places. And she was grateful for it. Most folks hereabouts knew how to keep Christ in Christmas. Even those who didn't share the Christian faith. The town's decorations had gone up along Main Street the weekend before Thanksgiving. With the blanket of snow covering everything in sight, Kings Meadow was the twinkling, sparkling, picturesque winter wonderland people sang about in the month of December.

But this year would be different for Penny and her dad. The joy had gone out of the season before it had even begun. She didn't care if they had a Christmas tree, but she was determined to put one up anyway because her dad had made mention of it. She would force herself to string lights and
hang familiar ornaments on the branches. To please her father, she would even bake the traditional sugar cookies and decorate them, the way she'd done every December since she was a little girl.

The Cartwrights had received several invitations to join other families on Christmas Day for dinner. Again, Penny didn't want to but would go wherever her dad wanted. She'd left it up to him whose invitation to accept.

On her lunch break Penny bundled up in her down coat and knit cap and gloves and walked to the bookstore in town. The owner, Heather Kilmer, usually teased Penny, the librarian, for shopping in her bookstore. But not today. Today she simply smiled a greeting and asked if she could help.

“No. I'm just looking. I thought Dad might like a book for Christmas.”

“Well, holler if you need me.”

“I will.”

Penny spent a good portion of time at work looking through catalogs of books she might buy for the library. There were way more books released every month than the Kings Meadow Library District could afford to acquire. And yet despite the hours she spent making those difficult decisions, Penny still found pleasure in strolling the aisles of a bookstore, touching books, holding books, reading the back covers or the inside flaps. Her dad's favorite books—when he wasn't reading something new about beef cattle husbandry—were World War II histories and murder mysteries. Perhaps she would get him one of each.

She rounded an end display, expecting to see the shelves of the history section, only another shopper was in her way. She nearly collided with the man's back. “Oh.” The word came out on a breath.

He turned, and when she saw his face, her heart sank.

Him again.

Trevor touched the brim of his hat. “Miss Cartwright.”

“Mr. Reynolds,” she answered stiffly.

“Call me Trevor. Please.”

I don't want to call you anything.
She turned to leave.

“You must be shopping for your dad,” he said, stopping her planned escape.

She pressed her lips together as she faced him a second time. How could he not realize that she didn't want to be near him? That she didn't want to speak his name? How could he not see her feelings in her eyes or hear it in her voice?

His brief smile held a hint of sorrow. “Brad liked to haunt the bookstores in every town where we did a show, looking for history books that he knew your dad didn't have.”

Fresh hurt stung her heart. She hated that this man knew something about her brother that she hadn't known. It felt as if Brad had betrayed their father.

And me.

Trevor glanced toward the nearest books. “I was hoping to find something on the history of Kings Meadow and the area.”

Despite her wish to remain silent, she said, “Heather keeps those books up toward the front of the store.”

“Thanks. I'll look there.” He touched his hat brim a second time. “Appreciate your help.” Then he walked away.

Letting out a rush of air, Penny leaned a shoulder against the bookshelves.

“Get used to seeing Trevor Reynolds around,”
her dad's voice whispered in her memory.

How could she get used to it when seeing him made her feel this way? Angry and sad and weak and speechless, all at the same time. This was
her
hometown. What right had he to come into it and ruin whatever semblance of peace she might manage?

Trevor stared at several shelves containing the local interest books, but his thoughts were in the back of the store and on the pretty blonde woman with the beautiful, pain-filled blue eyes. Penny Cartwright looked so much like Brad. The siblings could have been twins, if not for the years that had separated them.

Penny blamed Trevor for her brother's death. She'd made that clear. And he could even understand why. He should have insisted that he and Brad stop for the night at a motel rather than pushing on to their final destination. A gallon of coffee couldn't have overcome the depth of exhaustion both men had felt that night.

For a moment, he relived the terror he'd felt as his shoulder slammed into the front seats, jarring him awake. Before
he could understand what was happening, he'd been tossed up, then down, then up again. Grinding, screeching, breaking sounds had deafened him. And then everything had stopped with an abruptness that stole the air from his lungs. Silence, followed by pain.

With iron resolve, Trevor forced the memories back into a deep, dark corner of his mind. He ignored the aches in his body that still plagued him and drew in a deep breath through his nostrils. He let it out slowly through parted lips.

Better. That was better.

He reached for a book on the shelf at eye level and thumbed through the pages, scanning chapters and old black-and-white photographs without actually seeing them. Finally, he carried several books to the counter, paid for them, and left the bookstore.

He paused on the sidewalk and checked his watch. Almost one o'clock. He had an appointment at one thirty to interview for a part-time job as a town maintenance man. From what little he'd been told about the position, it sounded perfect for him. One day he might be cleaning up at the high school after a tournament and the next blowing snow off the sidewalks along Main Street. And since it was part time, it would leave him free to do what he could to fulfill his promise to Brad.