Mo slammed the second drink down so hard it sloshed all over Johnnys cigarette. Mo was big. A lot bigger than Johnny. He had a bad temper, too. His face had darkened the way it did when he had an impossible customer and had to play bouncer. Stella was afraid hed pound Johnny.
Easy, Mo, she whispered, wondering why she was bothering to defend Johnny, whod brought her so much bad luck.
Mo whirled and went to tend to his other customer.
Johnny lit another cigarette. Thanks, babe. Wheeze. Gulp. I need money fast.
I dont get paid till Monday. She clamped a hand over her mouth. Its none of your business when I get paid.
I got you this great new gig. Your ships about to come in. You gotta help me, baby.
Thats what you said when you stole my royalties to buy those stolen tires and to pay your
How was I No-o-o. Baby! Puff. Wheeze. I borrowed a little cash to pay a few gambling debts. Thats all! Honest! Now a couple of unreasonable guys are making insane demands on a poor guy trying to make his top girl a star
Im not your girl anymore!
Are you going to help me or not? He was so charged with fear, his eyes stuck out on stems.
When would she ever learn? She hated herself for being such a softie.
How much?
Youve gotta big heart. You cant say that about many girls in Vegas.
Just as she slid her fingers into her bra and pulled out what little money she had, the front door banged open and two men in black, who instantly made her think of snakesand she hated snakesoozed inside.
Youd better pay me back this time, she said.
Sure, baby.
When the snakes yelled Johnnys name, he grabbed the money and ran out the back way, screaming, She has it.
The two men raced past her after him. There was some sort of scuffle. Bodies thudded against a wall. The men shouted. Johnny squealed in pain. Then his super-charged, fancy black Corvette drove away fast, tires spinning gravel.
She was asking Mo for more water when the two snakes slithered quietly up behind her, grabbed her arms and shoved her against the bar.
Hey, take your hands off me!
Both of them had black, beady eyes. When their gazes drifted up and down her body, her heart raced.
Johnny says you and he. He says youve got our money. The man who held her had olive skin, a big nose and lots of pimples.
I dont know what youre talking about. She began to shake. Everybody in Vegas knew guys like this didnt play around.
Nero has methods to freshen a girls memory, the taller snake said. Were in the collection business. We specialize in gambling debts. Our customers lose. They borrow. If they dont want to pay, we motivate them. End of story.
The taller man was potato-pale. Gold-rimmed glasses pinched his nose as he stared at her breasts. Names The Pope. Youre cute. You could work some of Johnnys debt offif you get my drift.
How much money does he owe you? she whispered. Her heart was really knocking now.
The Pope named a preposterous sum that made her gasp.
Johnny says you rolled the dice for him, The Pope said. He says he gave you our money. Pay us, and were out of here.
I dont have it.
Then get it. If you dont, we hurt you. Understand, sexy girl? Nero said, pinching her arms.
She shivered. Oh, dear. They werent kidding. Her eyes flew to the front door and to the back. She had to run. But before she took even one step, they read her mind.
Oh, no you dont Nero grabbed her by the hair, intending to haul her out the door with him, when she bit his hand and then screamed for help.
On a howl of pain, he let her go. Since The Pope was blocking the exit, she ran toward the ladies room. Nero would have chased her, but the wide-shouldered customer who reminded her of Phillip had sprung from the bar, stuck out a booted foot and tripped him.
The lady said to let her go, said a hard voice as the short, dark thug went sprawling into chairs and tables that toppled on top of him.
Stay out of this. The witch owes us money.
It was an exciting conversation. She would have loved to have stayed and listened, but it didnt seem smart to stick around. There was a window in the ladies room just big enough for her to squeeze out of.
Once she made it to the ladies room, the shouts from the bar got louder. Mo must have tackled the other guy.
You a cop? The Pope yelled.
Hes got cops eyes. He moves like a cop, too
We gotta blow this joint.
What about her?
Later
As Stella stood on the toilet and opened the window, she heard gunshots pop in the bar. In a panic, she shoved her guitar through the window. Then she scrambled out of it herself, only to lose her hold on the window frame and fall so hard, she nearly broke her ankle.
She got to her feet, straightened her ripped gown and then fluffed her hair. When she reached down to get her guitar, it wasnt there.
A large hand curved out of the darkness, and she jumped about a mile and then moaned in pain because shed landed with all her weight on her bad ankle.
Easy. I wont hurt you.
The big, handsome guy from the other end of the bar, the one whod tripped Nero, held out her guitar.
She grabbed it and hugged it to her chest.
Need a ride? he asked in a hard, precise voice.
As a matter of fact She blurted out her address.
You cant go home. Cant stay in Vegas, either. Not with those guys after you. Theyll kill youor worse.
She gulped in a breath and then followed him to a sedan that was parked in the shadows. But
Do you think those guys are going to quit if you cant give them what they want?
She swallowed.
Honey, they know where you live.
Youre scaring me.
After he helped her into the front seat of the vehicle, he said, Didnt your mama ever teach you never to ride with strangers?
I didnt have a mama.
He shut her door. Everybody has a mama.
When he slid behind the wheel, she said, I was five when she died.
Too bad. He started the engine and revved it.
You dont know the half of it. Foster homes. Cinderella. The whole bit. Only without the prince. But when I was little, I used to sing with my mama on stage. She told me I was going to be a star. Andand I believed her. But she died. Her voice shook. On a cheerier note, if youre a bad stranger, I can always beat you up with my guitar.
He didnt laugh as they sped away. Thatd be a waste of a good guitar.
Thanks for saving me.
So, where to?
The bus station.
And then? he persisted.
Texas. She was surprised by her answer. Texas?
Is that home?
Not exactly. But I have an old boyfriend with a hero complex. Philliphe was the only man she knew tough enough to save her if those guys ever caught up with her. Oh, dear. Phillip
The poor sucker your songs about. You left him, didnt you?
Hell still help me. He would. She knew he would.
What if hes married?
What if hes married?
Hes not.
And you know this how?
She stared out her window at the bright glitter of Vegas. She wasnt about to admit shed kept tabs by reading the Mission Creek newspaper online, so she bit her lip and said nothing.
When they got to the bus station, he got out with her and carried her guitar to the ticket window for her. Pulling out his wallet, he said, You gave your sleazy manager all your money, didnt you
No, but I left my purse in my, er, dressing room.
He counted out five one-hundred-dollar bills.
I dont need nearly that much.
Its a loan. He handed her his card.
Ill pay it back. All of it. I really will.
His face was grim as she read his card. A.T.F. Youre A.T.F. Her voice softened when she read his name. Cole Yardley.
Good luck, was all he said before he strode away.
Thank you, Mr. Yardley, she whispered after him. Thank you. Although hed refused to open up, something about him made her long for Phillip.
She broke the first hundred and bought a one-way ticket to Mission Creek, Texas, where Phillip now lived. Phillips uncle had died, and hed inherited the ranch and made it his home.
Oh, Phillip
Two
Mission Creek, Texas
It was 10:00 a.m. when the bus driver roared to a stop in front of the café in a swirl of dust under wide, hot, Texas skies. Not that the slim little girl behind him in what looked to be her mamas sophisticated black evening dress noticed. She was curled into a tight ball, her pretty face squashed against the back of her seat cushion.
Stella jumped when the driver shook her gently and said, Mission Creek.
Not Stella anymore, she reminded herself drowsily. Not in Mission Creek. Here, she was Celeste Cavanaugh, a nobody.
Didnt mean to scare you, the driver said as she rubbed her eyes and blinked into the white glare.
Thanks. Give me a minute, okay?
Take your time. Its hot out there, he warned.
July. In Texas. Of course it was hot.
No hotter than Vegas, she replied.
From the frying pan into the fire, she thought as she got up, gathered her guitar and stumbled out of the bus in her low-cut black dress and strappy high heels. For a long moment she just stood there in the dust and the baking heat. Then lifting her torn skirt up so it wouldnt drag in the dirt, she slung her guitar over her bare shoulder. Cocking her head at a saucy angle, she fought to pretend she was a star even though all she was doing was limping across an empty parking lot toward the café that was Mission Creeks answer for a bus station.
The historic square with its southwestern flair hadnt changed much. With a single glance she saw the quaint courthouse, the bank, the post office and the library. She was back in Mission Creek, the town shed almost chosen to be her home. She was backnot that anybody knew or cared.
Inside the café, she hobbled to the ladies room before she selected a table. It was a bad feeling to look in the mirror and hate the person she saw. The harsh fluorescent lighting combined with the white glare from the bathroom window revealed the thirty-hour bus rides damage and way more reality than Celeste could face this early. Shutting her eyes, she splashed cold water on her cheeks and throat.
What would Phillip think when he saw her? Her eye-liner was smudged. What was left of her glossy red lipstick had caked and dried in the middle of her bottom lip. Her long yellow hair was greasy and stringy. She didnt have a comb, but she licked off her lipstick.
When she was done, she had a bad taste in her mouth, so she gargled and rinsed with lukewarm tap water. Oh, how she longed for a shower and a change of underwear and clothes.
Just when shed thought she couldnt sink lower than Harrys, here she was at the Mission Creek Café in a ripped evening gown with a sprained ankle. Mission Creek Café. Phillip had brought her to lunch here once. The café was noted for its down-home country cooking. Oh, how Phillip had adored the biscuits.
Carbs. Celeste hadnt approved of him eating so many carbs.
She glanced at her reflection again. She was thirty-two. There were faint lines beneath her eyes. Faint.
Seven years later, and she was right back where she started. Still Someday
Im going to be big! A star! I am!
A girl could dream, couldnt she?
The smell of biscuits wafted in the air.
Biscuits! In between dreaming, a girl had to eat. She was starving suddenly, and she had nearly four hundred dollars tucked snugly against her heartmore than enough for breakfast. After all, this wasnt the Ritz in Paris. This was Texas where carbs, and lots of them, the greasier the better, came cheap.
Celeste found a table in the back and ordered. When her plump waitress with the mop of curly brown hair returned with platters of eggs and mountains of hash browns and biscuits slathered in butter, Celeste decided to work up her nerve to ask about Phillip.
More coffee, please, Celeste began.
Sure, honey.
As the waitress poured, Celeste bit her lip and stared out the window. Not that there was much of a view other than the highway and a mesquite bush and a prickly pear or two.
Celeste could feel the womans eyes on her. Still, she managed to get out her question in a small, shy voice.
Does Phillip Westin still hang out at the Lazy W?
The coffee pouring stopped instantly. Whos asking? The friendly, motherly voice had sharpened. The womans black eyes seared her like lasers.
Celeste cringed a little deeper into her booth. Cant a girl ask a simple question?
Not in this town, honey. Everybodys business is everybodys business.
And I had such high hopes the town would mature.
Sowhos asking about Phillip?
Just an old friend.
Westin has lots of lady friends.
He does? Celeste squeaked, and then covered her mouth.
He meets them out at those fancy dances at the club.
The Lone Star Country Club?
You been there?
A time or two.
Whats your name, honey?
Forget it.
Youre mighty secretive all of a sudden.
Last I heard that wasnt a crime, Celeste said.
The waitresss smile died and she scurried off to the kitchen in a huff. Watching the doors slam, Celeste felt morose with guilt. She was running from killers, deliberately putting Phillip in danger. Hed moved on, made friends with real ladies at that fancy club hed joined as soon as hed moved here permanently.
He was wealthy. She was the last thing from a lady, the last thing he needed in his orderly life.
Her appetite gone, she set her fork down with a clatter. What was the matter with her? Why had she argued with the waitress like that? It was just that she felt so lonely and scared and desperate, and so self-conscious about how cheap she looked. And then the woman had told her Phillip had lots of classy girlfriends.
Oh, why had she come here? Why had she ever thought If she was smart, shed catch the next bus to San Antonio. Then shed lose herself in the big city.
Celeste should have known that wouldnt be the end of her exchange with the waitress. Not in a nosy little town like Mission Creek. Before her eggs had time to congeal, the plump woman was back with a cordless telephone and a great big gottcha smile.