Small Town Strings

Contents Copyright Dedication Prologue Five Years Earlier 1. One 2. Two 3. Three 4. Four Five Years Later 5. Five 6. Six 7. Seven 8. Eight 9. Nine 10. Ten 11. Eleven 12. Twelve 13. Thirteen 14. Fourteen 15. Fifteen 16. Sixteen 17. Seventeen 18. Eighteen 19. Nineteen 20. Twenty 21. Twenty-One 22. Twenty-Two 23. Twenty-Three Epilogue About the Author Also By N.A. Jameson Stalk Me Crowns of Unity Scout Copyright Small Town Strings A Smokey Strings Novel Copyright © 2023 by Courtney Moniz, writing as N.A. Jameson Cover Copyright © Kay's Covers All Rights Reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. This is a work of fiction – all characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places, or events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author. Dedication For the kids who used to dream of being a music star, used their hairbrush as a microphone, and may or may not still host regular concerts in the shower. Prologue “Fisk!” I screamed as he ran after him into the cabin. Moments later, a shot rang out, followed by an explosion as I was pushed behind the car and covered by a warm body. As debris fell around me, I crawled from under it, ignoring the hands that tried to hold me back, and ran for the burning cabin. No! This isn’t happening. Hands seized me, holding me back before I could run inside to find Fisk. It took me a moment to realize that the ringing in my ears was my screams as I fought to get to Fisk. What have I done? One I groaned in frustration as I looked through the windshield at the smoke rising from beneath my rental car’s hood. I had been fighting with the radiator for the last hundred miles, and it finally said “fuck you” to me, or the leaking hose did. The engine was overheating, and now I was stuck. I called roadside assistance, and they promised to get a tow truck out to rescue me as soon as possible. I thanked my lucky stars that I broke down far enough from my hometown that the chances I would know the driver were slim. Smokey Hills, TN. Home of the Flying Squirrels, the best Apple Festival in the state, and home to Willow Page, the current country music sweetheart. Too bad I didn’t want to be Country’s sweetheart anymore. I got off stage two days ago and decided I’d had enough. I returned to my tour bus, packed a bag, ordered an Uber, and left without a word to anyone. My phone’s been blowing up since my manager, Todd, realized I was missing. His final text to me had been to tell me that I had until the fifth when my next show was, or I’d be in breach of contract with my label and would be fined and lose millions. It was the second, well, basically the third now, so I had two days to figure out what I would do. Singing has always been my passion. Unfortunately, what I do isn’t as simple as singing. I wasn’t prepared for the circus that being a singer truly was. I’ve lost the joy that singing used to bring to me. It got overshadowed by all of the glitz, glamour, and politics. Then there was the stalker. It started as just slightly fanatical letters. Then I began to get pictures and tabloid articles sent to me with notes expressing their anger at whatever over-the-top story was spreading. To say that they were unsettling was an understatement. Todd’s solution was to hire more security and ignore it. If I left my celebrity life behind, the stalker wouldn’t have any reason to harass me. Plus, I could come back home and be a regular person. I wouldn’t miss any more family holidays. I could get to know my niece and nephew before they were too old to care about an aunt they hardly knew. I have already missed so much in their short lives. Headlights appeared as a car crested the hill ahead of me. Please let this be the tow truck. The vehicle slowed as it got closer, and I realized it was. Thank God! It passed me, did a U-turn, and then pulled in front of me and backed up. I checked my reflection in the mirror to make sure I looked presentable. Then, finger-combing my long chocolate-colored hair, I looked into my tired blue eyes. I hadn’t bothered with makeup. This was as good as it was going to get. I got out of the car to greet the driver, and as he got out of the truck, my heart stopped. It may have been five years since I’d been back home, but I would know him anywhere. He was just a dark shape on an even darker night, but the way he carried himself and walked? Carter Maxwell. Shit. Memories swam through my head, a childhood full of them, but one, in particular, stood out. The last time I saw Carter and the other two boys who stole my heart long before I even understood what that meant. Five years ago I kicked a rock on the side of the road in frustration. Dylan was a fucking asshole, and I don’t know why I ever wasted my time on him. Well, that isn’t true. I knew why. My brother, more importantly, his three best friends, hated Dylan. So to piss them off and get their attention, I started dating him. And now I was paying for that mistake. We had gone to a movie in the next town over, and on the way back, he pulled into Smokey Bluff Overlook, a popular hook-up spot. When I spurned his advances, he kicked me out of his car and left me