Riverstar

  RIVERSTAR

  TESS THOMPSON

  Booktrope Editions

  Seattle WA 2013

  Copyright 2013 Tess Thompson

  This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License.

  Attribution — You must attribute the work in the manner specified by the author or licensor (but not in any way that suggests that they endorse you or your use of the work).

  Noncommercial — You may not use this work for commercial purposes.

  No Derivative Works — You may not alter, transform, or build upon this work.

  Inquiries about additional permissions should be directed to: info@booktrope.com

  Cover Design by Greg Simanson

  Edited by Jennifer D. Munro

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to similarly named places or to persons living or deceased is unintentional.

  PRINT ISBN 978-1-62015-146-4

  EPUB ISBN 978-1-62015-242-3

  For further information regarding permissions, please contact info@booktrope.com.

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2013914983

  For my beautiful and talented

  star in the making, Ella Caroline.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  First and foremost, thank you to my editor Jennifer D. Munro for her careful and insightful guidance. Greg Simanson for the beautiful cover; it is perfect, as they always are. My daughters, Ella and Emerson, for being more mature than you should have to be, for all the times you entertain yourselves while I work, and for your tenacity and resilience during this painful year. To Jesse James Freeman, Marni Mann, Steven Luna, and Tracey Frazier for helping me fight this war of words. To Katherine Sears for making sure my stories make it out of the drawer. And to Heather Ludviksson for your unflappable belief in me. To Ronald and Alex Gallacher for spreading love despite your unimaginable loss—Ella is forever changed by your extraordinary gesture on an ordinary day. Finally, to my readers, thank you for the letters and notes and requests for more books. You are beacons of light on dark and lonely days. I write for you, always.

  Table of Contents

  COVER

  TITLE PAGE

  COPYRIGHT PAGE

  DEDICATION

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  PREVIEW OF

  CARAMEL AND MAGNOLIAS

  ALSO BY TESS THOMPSON

  MORE GREAT READS

  FROM BOOKTROPE

  PROLOGUE

  IT WAS THE GIRL’S AGE that crawled under Bella Webber’s skin like an unseen but insufferable rash. Not the fact that the girl was attached to Ben Fleck in a python grip. No, it was that she was a girl, barely legal, and had no right to even be here. The wedding of her brother Drake and Annie was a small affair, intimate, not for strangers. One had only to look at the white chairs, rented for this simple outdoor wedding on the lawn of Drake’s house, to know this. There were only a dozen, three on each side, arranged in two rows for the bride’s close circle of friends—Annie’s gang of misfits. Ben should have had the common decency, at least, to know this. He was an insensitive womanizer. That was all there was to it. What had Bella seen in him, anyway? Lust. That was all. It was nothing real, despite the fact that two months ago he’d so expertly made love to her for sixteen hours that she’d temporarily forgotten everything about her real life, including her married lover lingering in California with empty promises that he would someday leave his wife.

  Stop, she told herself, hearing the voice of her therapist in her mind. Just stop trying to mask your pain by telling yourself lies or making excuses. This condemnation of Ben Fleck was not the truth. Surely she’d learned enough in her copious visits to the therapist to admit this to herself. Her feelings for Ben were more than lust. He was a good man, a man to be trusted and to trust. It was her fault he was not sitting next to her now, with his strong arm draped around her shoulders, sheltering her from any storm that might come her way and from the thoughts of the past that haunted her.

  She’d created this chasm between them. This was the undeniable truth.

  And why? Graham Rouse: movie producer, power broker, dealmaker in the inexplicable world of Hollywood. They’d met on the set of one of his movies three years ago; Bella was the makeup artist for two of the main actresses in the film, and Graham was the head producer. With his polished looks and smooth tongue, he’d made it his mission to get Bella to fall for him. Unfortunately, she had, despite his situation: married with two little boys. I just need a little more time, he said, time and time again. Or, I can’t leave now because of my boys. Soon. Next month. After the holidays. Just one more birthday. There were three years of lies she’d clung to during endless dark nights, asking God why and how and please, all the while knowing this was not the life He wanted for her or envisioned for her when He created her from nothing. Finally, she said, enough. One afternoon last spring, during a walk through her Westwood neighborhood in Los Angeles, she’d stumbled into an empty Catholic church that smelled of incense and candle wax and roses. She’d gone down on her knees to pray. I’m on my knees, Lord. I need help. And the answer had come, swift and clear, like a voice in her head. Go north.

  So she did. North to Oregon. North to her older brother. North to Drake’s enormous, chalet-like home perched on the side of a mountain, with the river below that curved and flowed in its natural cycles until it emptied, finally, into the sea. Yes, it was the river that had reminded her of her name, forgotten for three years in the embrace of a liar. I must start a new life, was her daily mantra, as she hiked the mountain and swam in the current and watched the stars from Drake’s deck. And slowly, she thought less and less of Graham, in a way she couldn’t have if she’d stayed in Los Angeles. Indeed, all through June and July she’d grown and healed, basking in the Oregon sun and submerging all the pain and heartbreak in the water of the river until she was ready to let go of the past and move forward into the life she dreamt of—one she was just learning to believe she deserved.

  And then one night that summer there was Ben at her brother’s dinner table—just there, out of nowhere, visiting from Seattle on business—lean and blond with green eyes that looked as if he were about to burst into laughter at any moment. She’d fallen for him, quickly and without provocation. But Graham had shown up in almost the next moment, confessing his devotion, saying her disappearance had awakened him to what he really wanted and needed—her. And although her heart had been forever changed in the moments with Ben, she was compelled to explore, at least, if Graham was telling her the truth. Or, perhaps, just to have final closure.

  Of course, as it turned out, he was still a liar. He hadn’t left his wife. It took only two days home in Los Angeles to understand it was yet another empty promise from a man who lied without apology as only a narcissist could. So she’d ended it once and for all. When she’d emptied her apartment of everything Graham had ever given her, she called Ben, apologizing, explaining that Graham had shown up unexpectedly and she’d had to figure it out without Ben’s influence, without him making her crazy in
bed. He’d listened silently, and then, finally, just this: “My dance card’s full. I’m sorry.”

  Dance card? Surely, she thought now, he hadn’t meant this child clinging to his arm? Who was she, anyway? Amanda, hostess at Riversong, the restaurant where Annie was head chef. Some trust-fund baby exploring her inner artist by moving to southern Oregon or some other equally ridiculous nonsense. Yes, she told herself again, it was the girl’s age that bothered her. Not that she herself was dateless, sitting alone across the aisle as beautiful Annie exchanged rings with Drake.

  Annie’s ten-year-old son, Alder, stood with his mother and soon-to-be stepfather, included in a union that bonded them as a new family. The sun was low in the sky, casting everything in an orange tinge. A slight breeze rustled in the firs surrounding the yard. The wooden swing tied to a thick branch of the large oak swayed slightly.

  Bella crossed and uncrossed her legs, skirting her eyes just slightly to the right, stealing a glance at Ben, who sat across from her in the other aisle. And there it was. He was looking at her legs. Indeed, her legs, not the child’s legs. That was something, at least.

  What had he said about her that night? The night? Power in a tiny package, referring to her petite but tight and muscular body. He’d splayed his fingers through her dark curls, worn short so they fell over her forehead and dangled just below her ears. He’d kissed the dimples on the sides of her mouth and traced his fingers along her heart-shaped jawline. So beautiful, he’d whispered with his mouth at her neck. So very beautiful.

  Now she shook her head, as if that would dispel the memories. The vows were done; Annie’s dear friend Linus was pronouncing them Mr. and Mrs. Drake Webber. Alder clapped his hands together and let out a shout. The rest of them all jumped to their feet and clapped and cheered as well.

  Then, as it sometimes did, out of nowhere, Bella remembered her little niece, Chloe, and Drake’s first wife, Esther, now buried side by side in the family plot. On the tombstone: Always in our hearts. Bella’s heart ached; tears came to her eyes. Esther, she said silently, he’s happy with Annie and Alder but we’ll always love you. There’s room enough in our hearts to love you all.

  The next thought was of her mother, gone since Bella was sixteen. How she would have loved to see this day. But they were all in heaven now; perhaps her mother was frolicking through a rose garden holding Chloe’s hand. She reached into the small purse wrapped around her wrist and took out a tissue, dabbing at her eyes.

  Drake and Annie were coming down the aisle, both beaming. Bella turned slightly and her eyes met Ben’s. For a split second, before he made them dull and unreadable, she’d seen sympathy, as if he knew what was on her mind. The night they’d spent together, she’d talked of her niece and sister-in-law; it had given her comfort to know he’d known them as well, because of his long relationship with Drake. She’d confessed to a deep emptiness since their deaths that she couldn’t rid herself of, despite all the ways she tried to fill the caverns of grief with friends and booze and intense sports. The only thing she hadn’t confessed to Ben? Graham Rouse. She’d tried to fill the grief with Graham, as well. But he brought further grief, time and time again. Those days were done, at least. Yes, at least there was that.

  ***

  After the ceremony, she stood with Drake and Annie on the corner of the deck. She held Annie tightly for a moment before taking her hands in her own. Annie’s skin was so fair and pink against her own olive complexion, tanned from California sunshine. “Does this mean we’re officially sisters?” asked Bella.

  “Yes, it does,” said Annie. “I’m so happy.” She lowered her voice. “Are you all right? I mean, with Ben here?”

  “I’m fine. But really? Did he have to bring a child to the wedding?”

  “Alder has to have a little friend too,” said Annie, laughing.

  Drake glanced over at where Amanda was standing with Ben, laughing at something he must have said. “She’s not that young.”

  “Spoken like a man,” said Bella.

  Annie wrapped her arm around Drake’s waist. “You stay away from her.”

  “You know I only have eyes for you,” said Drake, reaching down and kissing Annie on the mouth. He looked up at Bella. “This is my wife. Can you believe it?”

  “It’s wonderful,” she answered. “Truly.”

  Annie leaned closer to her, whispering, “Just tell him you miss him. I can see the way he still looks at you.”

  “I don’t know. I already did that when I called him on the phone a couple of months ago. I blew it, Annie. He’s not going to give me another chance.”

  “Put yourself out there. What can it hurt?”

  Bella shrugged and glanced over at Ben, his dark blond hair shining in the last rays of September sun. She was flooded with it then—the wanting of him. Why had she ever let him slip through her hands? Because you’re an idiot, she told herself. Always have been.

  “It could hurt my pride,” said Bella in answer to Annie’s question.

  “Who cares?” said Annie.

  “You know, you’re right. It deserves at least another try. Men are so cowardly when it comes to this kind of thing. Right?”

  “Just don’t get all sassy and mean,” said her brother. “And maybe you’ll have a chance to make amends.”

  “I’m not mean,” said Bella, instantly annoyed. Why did her brother always have to point out all her flaws?

  “Drake, that wasn’t helpful.” Annie poked him in the stomach. “You two aren’t allowed to fight on my wedding day.”

  “Sorry, sweetheart,” said Drake.

  “Yeah, sorry, Annie. We’ll be good. Can we have cake now?”

  “As soon as we get the photos taken” Annie laughed. “Billy made an extra large cake so you can have as many pieces as you want.”

  She did love cake. Not exactly a substitute for the hot sex she had with Ben two months ago but it would have to do. For now.

  ***

  Later, Bella sat on the wooden swing under the oak with a piece of cake. It was handmade by Billy, Annie’s assistant chef at Riversong, and was white with raspberry filling and butter cream frosting, the bride’s favorite. Bella ate it slowly, savoring the creamy frosting, especially. She was finishing the last crumb when she looked up to see Ben striding across the yard toward her, carrying two flutes of champagne. He’d taken off his suit jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his button-down shirt, revealing his ropy forearms. She stood, her high-heeled sandals sinking slightly in the soft lawn, holding onto the rope handles of the swing in one hand, her empty plate in the other.

  “Annie said you might want this.” He handed her a glass.

  “Thanks.” She met his gaze for a moment before taking a sip. His eyes were the same color as the pale tufts of new grass at her feet. When she’d met him two months ago, he’d seemed always on the verge of laughing. Now, his face was set, guarded, unreadable. She’d done this to him, she thought, filling with regret. Why hadn’t she handled their parting better?

  “Only you could wear a tight red dress to a wedding and get away with it.” He gestured toward her body with his champagne glass.

  She smiled, letting her eyes twinkle at him. “Is that a compliment, Benjamin Fleck?”

  He shrugged, his eyes cold. “Sure. I guess.”

  How different he was than their first meeting, when he’d flirted with her without hesitation, teasing her about wearing her bikini on the deck of Drake’s house.

  “How you been?” he asked. Uncharacteristically nonchalant, she thought.

  She matched his tone. “Fine. Busy with work.”

  “Yeah. Me too. The building’s almost done. They put it up in record time.” Ben’s company, Hylink, had sent him to River Valley to open a new call center. According to Drake, it would bring hundreds of new jobs to the town.

  “Just finished a shoot in Los Angeles. High budget thriller with Stefan Spencer.”

  “Big fan of his.”

  “I remember.”

&n
bsp; “You between gigs, then?” He took a sip of his champagne, his gaze constant on her face, unflinching, but there was something else, too. Distrust?

  “For a few days. I have a film starting next week back in Los Angeles. And then I’m coming up here in October. I don’t know if Annie told you but Graham chose River Valley for the film’s location.”

  “She told me. Yes.” His expression was dark. He shoved his free hand into the pocket of his slacks.

  “It’s a love triangle set in a logging town, so this place is perfect.” It sounded cheesy to Bella but what did she know? She just painted the actors’ and actresses’ faces to be as pretty as possible despite the harshness of HD film. “Gennie’s starring in it so I couldn’t say no.”

  “Genevieve Banks. Movie star by day. Bella Webber’s best friend by night.”

  She smiled. “You remember?”

  “I remember everything.” His eyes pierced into her.

  “Me too.” She said this softly, peering into her champagne glass. “Stefan Spencer’s the male lead in it. He and Gennie have never worked together so I’m excited.”

  “It’s still weird you know these people.”

  “That’s what Annie says too.” She shifted her weight to one leg, lifting the toes of her left foot out of her sandal and letting it dangle for a second or two, before turning her gaze to his face, wanting nothing more than to look upon him for the remainder of the evening as she slipped her foot back into place. “How are your nieces?”

  His eyes lit up for a moment. “They’re good. Both just had their birthdays. Seven and ten now. Hard to believe.”

  “Did your older brother find a new job yet?”

  “Yeah. Like a month ago.”

  “Oh, good. So they’re fine?”

  “Is Gennie the only reason you couldn’t say no?” asked Ben, his voice sounding pinched and as if he hadn’t heard her last question.