Catch a Falling Star (11 page)

A car door slammed outside. Hopefully that was Justine, arriving. She’d wanted to meet the family and return their scrapbook to them personally.

“Boys, who left the door open?” Tremonte scolded. “Running the air costs money, and we’re Sergeant Tucker’s guests.”

“Honey, it was just for a second.”

“Hello?” Justine stood outside the screen door.

“You made it.” Billy opened the door for her. He wanted to pull her into a hug but thought better of it. Especially after the other day’s fiasco.

“Oh, wow.” Holly Tremonte covered her mouth with her hands then lowered them. “Justine Campbell. Honey. Justine Campbell.” She tugged on Tremonte’s arm.

Tremonte bobbed his head. His ears bloomed a shade of dark pink. “Yeah, yeah, I can see that.”

“Justine’s the reason I was able to find you,” said Billy. He could hardly tear his focus from her as she stood just inside the cottage doorway, clutching the family’s scrapbook.

Holly stared at the book. “My. . .our family scrapbook. How. . .?”

“I found it inside your storage unit, when I was helping another lady in town clear it out.”

Tremonte lowered his head. “Can’t believe they were getting rid of our stuff like that. I was going to get the money. Somehow.”

“Don’t worry about that.” Justine held out the scrapbook to Holly. “Your bill is taken care of, and we managed to rescue most of your other things. Like your wedding gown.” She held up a key. “You can go get them anytime.”

The woman opened the scrapbook. “Honey, it’s all here. I thought we’d lost this forever.”

The Tremonte boys dashed to the armoire across from the couch and looked through the board games.

“I’m glad I found your book.” Justine glanced at the Tremontes then at Billy. “I told Billy I wanted to give it to you myself. Thanks, for all you’ve done for our country. Both of you.”

“You’re welcome,” said Tremonte. “I just try to get the job done that I’m sent to do. And thanks, Tucker, for inviting us here.”

“You all feel free to kick back, relax. If you need anything, I’m a text or phone call away. Plus, I’ll be happy to give the boys a lesson or two in leather working to give you two some time alone together. You boys want to make wallets?”

“Cool!” The older one said. His mother blushed.

Tremonte shook Billy’s hand. “Thanks again. Really. I don’t owe you anything?”

“Not at all,” Billy said. “Consider it a thank-you for serving our country.”

Billy and Justine left the cottage. She was practically skipping beside him.

“That felt wonderful. I didn’t do much, but I wanted to see their faces when I gave them their book.” Justine tugged on his arm. “And, if you have a few minutes, I was hoping I could work some more on those boots.”

“I’m glad you came,” he said. “Sure, I think I can spare a few minutes.” Part of him had wanted to call ever since their trip to the lake and the tabloid photos that came out. The other part of him wanted to back off, way off, from Justine Campbell and keep his life and his heart safe.

He opened the door to his workshop. “I forgot to turn the AC on in here earlier, so it’ll take a few minutes to cool off.”

Justine took a seat on the nearest stool. “About the other day. . . I’m sorry. About the photos.”

“You didn’t know. It’s not your fault.”

“I know. But I should have prepared you for that. I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner. But after seeing the stuff about Tyler Drake in the news. . .”

Ah, yes. Tyler Drake. The now ex-boyfriend. Billy always thought the guy looked like a weasel, with his narrow-set eyes. What was the deal with women swooning over him, and wishing they were Justine?

She raised her hands and shrugged. “I’m used to this kind of thing. Not that I like it, but I got used to living in a fishbowl. I didn’t think you would join me there.”

“You’re right. I’m not used to it. I hate the idea of it. I’m glad you didn’t see me when someone showed me the paper. I don’t like people sticking their nose in my business, especially people I don’t know.” Although the room was stuffy, the heat on his neck wasn’t caused by the temperature.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“So how do I know I’m not being followed around? What’s next? Someone digging through my trash?” He pulled out the leather for Justine’s boots.

“You never know,” Justine replied. “If you don’t use a shredder, I’d get one. Either that or start burning your trash. Can you do that out here?”

“I was joking about the trash.”

“And I’m completely serious. It comes with the territory, so they say. Like it or not, you’re linked with me for the moment. Because not only is that photo in print, but it’s online too.”

Like it or not
. Billy paced the room. If he worked on boots right now, he’d probably mess something up. Sure, him linked with Justine. He liked the idea. He wasn’t sure about her spiritual condition, even though she’d been attending his church regularly. They didn’t sit together there, nor was there any other reason to lump them together.

“When does this ever die down?” he asked.

“When the next big story breaks. The media’s like a pond of piranhas. They need feeding, regularly, and won’t stop until the next juicy morsel gets served up.” Justine smiled, but then her expression grew serious. “We need to do a little damage control. If you hide, that only makes them look for you more. I know I’ve hidden for a few days, but I’m ready to get out now. There’s really no other option.”

“What do we do?” He wasn’t sure he liked the idea of putting himself out there, like a decoy in a duck pond.

“For one thing, I’m going to serve as a judge at the Miss Starlight pageant in a couple of weeks. I think it’s a positive way to give back to the community that’s taken me back in.” She reached for her boot leather, held it up, and inhaled the scent. “I love that smell.”

He smiled at her childlike enjoyment. “So Tamarind reached you about the pageant? Good.”

“I used to make fun of the pageant, but now I don’t think it’s such a bad thing.”

“Ha. Your younger sister isn’t entering.” Billy sighed. “Jake said it was a good idea because the winner gets a scholarship, and they don’t just focus on looks. They also judge on community service and grades and local involvement.”

Justine nodded then frowned at the leather. “Which tool do I use again on these flowers?”

“The beveller. Hold it like this.” He guided her hand. “Make just enough of an impression so that when we use the dye, the flowers will stand out.”

She nodded and kept working, occasionally flexing her fingers. “Um, about Tamarind. . . I feel partly responsible for what happened that one Sunday.”

“Don’t,” he said. He wanted to chuckle. Some things had nothing to do with Justine, nothing at all. “I needed to have that talk with her a long time ago. But it was one of those things I never could find the time to do.”

She nodded. “She’s really nice. Funny, too.” Then she paused, as if she wanted to say something more. “About the day at the lake. . .”

Nope, he wasn’t going there. Not if he’d been thrust into a fishbowl without his consent. “I understand what you mean about damage control. I have another idea that you might like, if you’re wanting to have a careful local profile. Tremonte told me about a flight that’s arriving at Fort Hood. These troops are returning at the end of their deployment. How about you come with me and welcome them home? I think the flight is due around lunchtime tomorrow.”

Her smile lit her face. “What a great idea. You catch on quick to damage control. Trust me, the more we go about life as usual, the sooner you’ll leave that fishbowl you hate so much.”

Giggles and the chatter of voices rose up from the parade grounds at Fort Hood. The air hummed with expectancy. Children played while mothers tried to rein them in. Justine smiled at the sight as she and Billy walked onto the lawn.

“You can do this,” she whispered to him. “We’re controlling our image, and if there’s publicity from this, it’ll be good publicity. We’re welcoming home the troops.”

It wasn't long before the usual murmurs of recognition began.

“Hey, aren’t you Justine Campbell?” a red-haired mother of two asked. She looked ready for a night on the town, with her hair carefully styled and her makeup flawless. One of her kids held a hand-lettered sign:
Welcome Home, Daddy!

“Yes, yes, I am.” Glad she had been able to leave the cane home, Justine leaned over slightly to talk to the small boy with the sign. “That’s a terrific sign. I know your dad will be thrilled to see you.”

“It’s been so long,” his mother said. “I’m so excited to see him, I could just pop. Hey, could I have your autograph?
Jagged Edge
is one of my favorite movies. When that guy with the knife dragged you into the storm drain, I about lost it.” She rummaged in her purse.

“I’ll be glad to sign something for you,” Justine said as the woman handed her a pen and a note pad. “Yes, that was probably one of the hardest scenes in the movie to do.”

“Are you doing any movies now? Why are you here?”

“No movies right now.” Justine signed her name to the paper. “I’m here in the area temporarily. Tonight, I’m here to help welcome some of the troops. They’re the real stars, in my book.”

“Thank you, thank you so much,” the woman said, retrieving her pen and note pad back from Justine.

“Please, thank your husband for serving our country. I admire your strength in keeping life going on the home front.” She smiled at the woman, meaning every word. She was nowhere near that heroic, keeping herself at the beck and call of directors and producers, working eighteen-hour days on set for the sake of entertainment.

“You’re good,” Billy said as they walked away. “You’re a natural with people. Look how she just opened up and started talking.”

“It’s lots of practice. And it’s not me.” The realization reared up and hissed at her like a snake. People weren’t so much interested in her as they were about the
idea
of Justine Campbell. “If I weren’t in the movies, I wouldn’t get this reception.”

They found an open spot on the lawn where they could watch the crowd and stay out of the way until the call came that the troops had arrived.

“Don’t say that, because it’s not true.” He nudged her arm gently. “Even if you weren’t famous, you still light up a room.”

“Thanks.” Justine swallowed. Not how she’d wanted things to go this evening. This wasn’t supposed to be about her. So far, no one else had noticed her, or if they had, they hadn’t approached her. “Because today’s not about me. I was thinking about Azalea and Herb, and other Vietnam era vets. For many of them, their welcome home was shameful. I don’t want to take what these people do for granted.”

A voice sounded over the loudspeakers. “All right, I’ve just been notified that the troops are on the ground, have been cleared, and boarded buses that will bring them straight to where we are.”

The announcer was drowned out by the cheers and screams of the crowd. Justine’s heart raced, as if one of her family was coming home to her. Nobody was coming home for
her
, but to see these families and friends waiting for their loved ones. . .

Billy stood with his arms crossed over his chest, watching the crowd. He wasn’t the only soldier welcoming a brother in arms. What must it have been like for him, to come home, broken, and without fanfare like today?

“I see buses!” someone shouted.

The crowd craned their necks and cheered.

“They’re going to do a short ceremony before they release the troops,” explained Billy. “The guys already stopped and checked in their weapons, and now they’re here.”

The music's volume increased, and the roar of motorcycles filled the air as a group of veterans rode up, American flags streaming from the backs of their cycles.

There were the buses, five of them, white with tinted windows. The large expanse of lawn was the only thing that lay between the buses and the crowd.

“Do you know anyone in this group coming back?” asked Justine.

“The rest of my unit. Finally here.” Billy spoke the words in a mutter, and she had to lean a little closer to hear them.

The buses pulled up to the curb, and the crowd cheered and waved. “American Soldier” by Toby Keith started playing from the loudspeakers. Then, the buses pulled away, revealing rows of soldiers in their combat uniforms, standing at attention.

The crowd roared, and Justine felt as if she were watching a movie, one that she’d remember forever. Someone barked to the troops, and they proceeded, in formation, to the center of the wide green lawn. No one seemed to mind the heat.

Justine wiped her brow, glad she’d tied her hair back and away. She tried to imagine what today meant to Billy, seeing some of his friends come home. He hadn’t volunteered the information until now.

After prayer and a few words, the troops were dismissed. There went the red-haired lady, straight into the arms of a man with a face-splitting grin. The temperature escalated at least five degrees with all the kisses being exchanged. Then came laughter, tears, and the squeals of children.

She glanced up at Billy. She couldn’t see his eyes, shaded by dark sunglasses. But his jaw looked clenched, as if he struggled to keep his composure.

“Billy.” She slid her arm around him and faced him. “Welcome home.”

He pulled her into his arms and covered her mouth with his. The only thing she heard was the crowd cheering. Her heart sang. Maybe it was months and months after his return, but she didn’t care. How could she stand here and do nothing, knowing how he’d come home, wounded, without someone special there to welcome him?

She leaned against him and said, “You told me no one special waited for you when you came home. So I figured you needed a proper welcome.”

“I would go and come back again, if you greeted me like that every time,” he said into her ear. “Do you think anyone saw us?”

“If they did, I don’t care. The crowd is huge, and they’re all focused on each other.” Justine didn’t want to move. His arms, strong from hard work and therapy, sheltered her. The mercury had shot to over one hundred degrees, and her heart burned like a furnace.

“Oh. There’s First Sergeant.” Billy nodded over her shoulder. “I’m going to say hello. C’mon.” He took her hand and pulled her along.

The cozy bubble around them popped, at least for her. What was with Billy? Something had happened just then. More than her impulse to kiss him, or vice versa. They’d
both
initiated that. But now Billy had shifted gears somehow into a swift retreat.

#             

Billy couldn’t think of the first sergeant’s name right at this moment. He’d known it, growled it out, nearly cursed it sometimes. The man had been a part of his life over in Iraq. But kissing Justine had done something to his memory.

Aunt Zalea had let it slip that Justine’s home in California was up for auction, and that she was having her personal effects put in storage.

“I don’t know what she’s going to do, Billy. She’s not homeless, but doors are slamming for her in California like a houseful of cranky teenagers,” Zalea had said.

Justine wanted to leave. She’d made that very clear over and over, even as her boots began to take shape. With every stroke of the mallet and fine handwork on her boots, her scarred hands grew stronger.

The kiss had been a mistake, just like he’d thought the other day.

“Sergeant Cromwell.” Billy saluted his superior. “Welcome back, Sir.”

“Tucker,” Cromwell said as he returned the salute then shook his hand. “You’re looking well.” He gave Justine a curious and knowing glance.

“Thank you, Sir.”

Cromwell passed by, and he and his family and continued on their way.

Billy turned to face Justine. “I guess we’re done here now. Everyone pretty much goes home until they have to sign back in from leave.”

He didn’t go on post much, except to the gym sometimes. The crowded PX didn’t have much interest for him since he wasn’t into shopping or being around large groups of people.

But maybe that could change. He ought to start spreading the word about Hopeful Acres, and he couldn’t do that staying home.

He glanced at Justine, who remained uncharacteristically quiet. The kiss had unsettled him, surprised him, and had wakened him to how he felt about her. Wide awake. He wished his feelings could lie dormant. Because when she left, it couldn’t end well for either of them.