Hometown Star - By Joleen James Page 0,21

me. I’d like that.”

Holy cow, the man had sex on the brain.

“Okay.” She jotted his request down in her notebook. “The crew will arrive two weeks from Monday. They’ll be here for one week.”

“Are you part of the crew?” He winked at her.

“Nope. I’ll be back in the office then. I’m preproduction.” Star shut her notebook, and then put her digital camera back in the case.

“That’s too bad,” he drawled. “You busy tonight?”

“I have a date with a sixteen–year–old. We’re packing up my aunt’s place.”

“He’s kind of young for you, isn’t he?” Evan said with a grin meant to disarm.

Her mouth twisted into a wry smile. “Not when it comes to manual labor. Brad will do just fine.”

“Marissa’s kid?” Evan said suddenly sober.

“Do you know him?”

“Only in passing, but I knew Marissa. She had a screw loose.”

“What do you mean?” Star’s fingers tightened on her pen.

Evan tapped his head. “She was cuckoo. Nuts. She drove her car into the lake on purpose, you know.”

“What?” Star asked, struggling to wrap her mind around his words.

“She had the two little ones with her. Could have killed them. The older one was in school. Guess he was lucky.”

Lucky? Star’s stomach rolled. Poor Brad.

“Yeah,” Evan said. “Marissa kept running away to the city, and Cade’d go and drag her back. She hated it here. But to try and take your kids with you when you’re trying to off yourself?” He shook his head. “She was one messed up chick.”

Star packed up her notebook, shoving it into the pocket of her computer case. She didn’t want to hear any more. Just thinking about Finn and Emma in the car with their distraught mother tugged on her heartstrings. Dear Lord, what had Cade and those kids been through? No wonder Brad was such a mess.

“I think we’re done.” She stood.

Evan rose, hooking his thumbs in his belt loops. “Are you sure I can’t change your mind about dinner?” The hungry way he looked at her made Star wonder if she’d be the main course.

“No, thank you.” She started for the door. “Call me if you have any questions.”

She practically ran Evan down in her haste to get out of his house. She got in her car but she didn’t start the engine right away.

Cade’s wife had killed herself. It was all so sad, so senseless. How had Cade survived such a tragedy? In an instant, she knew—the kids. He’d gone on for them.

Star started the car. Cade was getting under her skin, no doubt about it. She needed to keep her distance from him. Between them they had enough baggage to keep a psychiatrist in business for years. Not a good thing. Definitely not a good thing.

* * *

Later that afternoon, after a visit with Brandi and baby Will, Star watched Brad as he packed the last of the kitchen utensils into a box. The tiny kitchen had been stripped of everything Patsy. Gone was the tin sign that had hung over the stove that read Cooking On Low Is For Sissies, gone was the cookie jar shaped like a big apple, and the macramé owl that hung in the kitchen window. Patsy’s trademark ashtrays were packed up. The Coke glasses, free at the local gas station with a fill–up during the sixties, were stored away, bound for the local thrift shop. The old, worn avocado green countertops looked even sadder minus the usual clutter.

They’d been hard at it for a couple of hours now, working like dogs.

“Where do you want this box, Star?” Brad asked.

“Put it by the front door.” Star tossed the dishrag she held onto the kitchen counter. “Does it look like we’re going to have enough boxes to pack up the rest of the clothes?”

Brad set the box down. “Yeah. What about all the stuff in the other room?”

“You mean the paintings?” Star picked up the roll of packing tape.

“Yeah.” Brad tossed his head to get his hair out of his eyes. He needed a haircut, but she wasn’t going to tell him. That was Cade’s job.

“I want to go through them,” she said.

“What if there’s one I want?” Brad’s eyes met hers. He was ready to do battle, everything from the stubborn set of his jaw to the way he held his body said so.

“Is there one you want, Brad?”

He nodded.

“Okay, come on.” Star passed him, going to the spare bedroom. The room was stuffed with easels and canvases, large and small. Patsy’s paints and brushes were stacked helter–skelter on a