Keeper of the Stars (28 page)

The smell of snow was in the air, and it didn't please her to think of it. She'd welcomed those first snowfalls of the season, as she did every year. Now she dreaded the thought of more snow. She was tired of white. Even more tired of piles of dirty snow pushed to the sides of the roads and parking lots. She had a sudden and fierce longing for spring, for new life and fresh beginnings. She was tired of dark and dormant.

She got into her car and started the engine, then pressed her forehead against the cold steering wheel. “God, I feel so lost right now. I shouldn't. I know I shouldn't. But I do. And I'm afraid. I'm afraid because I let myself care for Trevor, and now . . . now . . . What if he can't love me in return?”

Trevor finished mucking out the stall and put fresh feed in the manger. A short while later, he returned Harmony to the enclosure, where she promptly plunged her muzzle into the fragrant alfalfa hay. Crunching sounds broke the silence of the barn.

“You've had something weighing on your mind these past few days,” Rodney said from near the front entrance.

Trevor turned. “I didn't know you were still out here, sir.”

The older man moved toward him, his expression thoughtful, his steps unhurried. “Is it something you don't want to talk about? You can tell me if it's none of my business.”

“No.” He shook his head. “It's not that. It's that I don't know
how
to talk about it.” He leaned his back against the stall railings.

Rodney sat on a wooden stool not far away. He crossed his arms over his chest, saying without words that he could be patient.

Trevor released a sigh as he sank onto a storage bin. “You know, I can't remember a time when my father was willing to sit, like you are now, and listen to anything I had to say. Most of the time when we were together or when we talked on the phone, he just let me know what a disappointment I was as a son.”

“I'm sorry, Trevor. Very sorry. I'm sure that wasn't easy for you.”

He didn't know why he'd brought up his dad. That wasn't
what had been weighing on his mind, as Rodney had put it. It was something else entirely. Ever since Beck's call, he'd been trying to figure out what he wanted to do with his music. What he
should
do. A few months ago, maybe even a few weeks ago, he wouldn't have wondered for a second. He would have known in a heartbeat. He'd always wanted fame and fortune. Wanted it more than anything else. He'd wanted to be one of those grinning singers who ran up onto the stage to receive an award. He'd wanted to rub shoulders as an equal with the greats of country music. All the greats. From those who'd been playing and singing for fifty years to teenagers who'd recently burst onto the scene. But now—

“Tell me more about your father,” Rodney prompted gently.

Trevor shrugged. “He didn't have much kindness in him. Not toward anybody. Including Mom.” He drew in a long, slow breath and released it. “I've tried to forgive him for the way he was, but it's been hard.”

Rodney scratched his head with an index finger. “Life is messy. And like they say, ‘Hurting people hurt people.' From the little Dot told me about your father, I'm guessing he was full of hurt.”

His dad full of hurt? Yeah, Trevor supposed that was true. His dad had been raised by a widowed father on a farm on the prairies of North Dakota. Judging by the few photographs Trevor had seen, they'd lived in extreme poverty. His father had fought hard to be allowed to complete high school, even though Trevor's grandfather wanted him working the
farm. And he'd taken on two jobs to put himself through college. Once married, he'd provided well financially for his wife and son, despite the way he wielded words to wound those nearest to him.

“I guess he did the best he could,” Trevor said, more to himself than to Rodney.

“That's how we go through life. Just doing the best we can do at the time. Perhaps tomorrow we'll be able to do better. But for today, we do the best we can. And along the way we try to get the log out of our own eye before we help someone take the speck out of theirs.”

“Something Jesus said. Right?”

“Yes.”

Trevor stared at a piece of straw, rolling it between thumb and index finger.

“Mind if I tell you a story?”

“Of course not.” He looked up. The only light in the barn came from a lantern sitting on the workbench behind Rodney, which kept the older man's face in shadows.

“When I was a little kid, maybe five years old, my mom and I went to a carnival. Or maybe it was the fair. Anyway, somebody gave me a bunch of helium-filled balloons. I about got a crick in my neck, bending my head back so I could look up at them.” He chuckled softly. “Well, it got real crowded all of a sudden. I got jostled between folks and separated from my mom. It scared me so much I let go of all of those strings.”

Trevor had played enough fairs to imagine the scene.

“That bouquet of balloons floated away. They went higher and higher. And you know what? I liked the look of them more from a distance.”

Trevor knew the older man watched him, although he couldn't see the expression in his eyes.

“It's like that with a lot of the things we hold on to, son. Good and bad. We grip those strings tight, not wanting to ever let go. They're ours and we want to hang on. We don't want to let go of the things or the people we love and we don't want to let go of the pain others cause us. Not by accident and not on purpose. Because they're familiar, I guess. But the truth is, letting go gives us freedom to see what we've released from a whole new perspective.”

Funny, the effect Rodney's words had on him. It was as if he was that kid at the fair, but instead of a bunch of balloons, his strings were tied to the hurt and resentment he felt whenever he thought of his father. He stared at those imaginary strings while pondering Rodney's words, letting them sink in. And finally, as he sat there in the dim light of the barn, he felt himself let go of those strings. Through the eyes of his new faith, he watched them float away.

I forgive you, Dad. I really do forgive you.

It was going to be okay.
He
was going to be okay.

“Thanks,” he said after a long while.

Rodney nodded. “Don't know why I even thought of that story. Just seemed like the thing to tell you.” He cleared his throat. “But I feel like there's something else troubling you. Am I wrong?”

Trevor almost shook his head, almost confessed the confusion he'd wrestled with since Beck's second phone call, almost explained the decision he needed to make. But then he realized his confusion was gone. He was at peace with more than just the memories of his father. And it wasn't Rodney he needed to talk to about it anyway.

Chapter 22

D
ISAPPOINTMENT STUNG
P
ENNY
'
S HEART AS HER
headlights swept across the barnyard. Trevor's truck wasn't there. He hadn't waited for her, hadn't delayed his departure. She'd hoped—

Well, it didn't matter what she'd hoped.

It is what it is. I'll get over him. He won't be around forever.

She parked her car in the garage and hurried toward the entrance to the mudroom. Snowflakes landed on her nose and cheeks before she reached the door.

“Hey, Dad,” she called as she shrugged out of her coat. “I'm home.”

She walked into the kitchen, expecting to find her dad standing near the stove as he usually did on the nights when she worked until closing. But he wasn't there. In fact, there were no signs of dinner preparation.

“Dad?”

“I'm in the living room.”

Her heart fluttered in fear. Was something wrong? Was he sick? Was he hurt? But when she reached the living room, she found him in his favorite chair, a book open in his lap, the twenty-four-hour news station playing softly on the television.

“Hi, hon. Did you have a good day?”

“It was all right.” She glanced over her shoulder toward the kitchen.

“I didn't cook tonight. Trevor said he would grab burgers, fries, and milk shakes on his way back from town.”

Her heart fluttered again, but the sensation was different this time. “He's coming back tonight?”

“Hmm.” Her dad nodded. “He said he needs to talk to you about something.”

She'd wanted Trevor to talk to her. About anything. Only now she wasn't sure she was ready to hear whatever it was he had to say. Trying to sound calm, she said, “I'm going to change my clothes.”

Once out of her dad's sight, she hurried up the stairs to her bedroom, where she shed her business attire and replaced it with jeans, sweater, and her slippers. In the bathroom, she brushed her teeth before sweeping her hair into a ponytail. She paused afterward to stare at her reflection in the mirror.

“Whatever's been going on these last few days, you're about to find out.” Nerves tumbled in her stomach.

A bark from one of the dogs drew her out of the bathroom to the bedroom window. She was in time to see Trevor's
pickup roll to a halt near the front porch. The headlights went off. The engine died. The truck door opened, and Trevor, visible in the porch light, dropped to the ground. He looked up, perhaps at the falling snow, but it caused her to step back from the window, feeling as if she'd been caught spying. She heard the truck door close. Snow crunched. Footsteps fell on the porch below her window. A knock sounded. Silence, then she heard the men talking, although too softly for her to make out the words.

Drawing a breath for courage, she headed out of her room and down the stairs. When she entered the living room, she found Trevor standing in the center of the room, holding Tux in the crook of his arm and scratching the feline behind one ear.

Lucky cat
.

He saw her, seemed to hesitate, and then smiled so briefly she almost missed it. “Are you hungry? I brought burgers and fries. And your dad said to get you a strawberry shake.”

She nodded, not knowing if she answered his question or wanted to confirm the flavor of milk shake. Not that it mattered. She was too nervous to care.

Her dad rose from his chair. “I hope you young folks won't mind, but I think I'll eat here in the living room on a tray. There's a program I want to see that's about to start.” He walked out of the room.

Trevor set the cat on the floor, giving the feline's sleek coat one long stroke before straightening. “I hope you don't mind that I came back this evening.”

This time she shook her head.

He motioned toward the kitchen. “Maybe we'd better eat before everything gets cold.”

“Okay.” She turned around, and when she did, she noticed something in the entry hall. A guitar case. It had to be Trevor's, but why had he brought it here? Rather than ask the question, she led the way out of the living room, down the entry, and into the kitchen.

Her dad was setting a tall glass of water on the tray beside a tossed green salad and a baked chicken breast. When he glanced her way he said, “Your food's on the table.” Then he carried the tray from the room.

Wordlessly, Penny and Trevor sat at the table, facing one another. They ate, and Penny supposed the hamburger and shake had flavor, although she didn't taste anything. They even talked a little, about things that didn't matter to either of them. Finally, unable to bear the unspoken any longer, she pushed her half-eaten meal aside.

“Why did you come back tonight, Trevor?” It wasn't exactly the question she wanted to ask, but it was a start.

He finger-combed his hair with one hand, leaving it in the disheveled state that looked so good on him. “Remember that phone call I got on my cell when we were in Boise?”

“Of course.” Everything had been different after that call.

“It was a guy who used to be in my band years ago. He wants me to come back to Nashville. There's a chance—a good one, he says—that I could get a recording contract. It's what I've wanted and worked for all of these years.”

Trevor's music had taken her brother away. Now it was going to take Trevor away too. She wanted to hate and despise Nashville and country music and all it represented. But she couldn't. She'd heard him sing. He deserved all the success he'd worked for. What was that old adage? If you love someone, set them free.

“But, Penny, there's something I want more than fame and fortune. I realized that tonight.”

The breath caught in her lungs.

“Sure, I love to sing. I love to entertain. But these weeks in Kings Meadow, the Lord has opened my eyes to where my real treasure lies. I've got to want Him more than anything else. And if I live for Him first, if I want Him most, I just might become the kind of man you would . . . you would want to spend your life with.”