Chapter One

Country music wasn’t punishment enough, so they sent in cymbals. And a parade. As Catherine Des Lauriers elbowed her way through pushy vendors, curious cowboys, and despicable enthusiasts who had laid claim to what used to be a sleepy little town, she could hardly think of anything other than, I hate Jesse Morgan.

Dying alone—that peaceful, inevitable future she counted on only a few days ago—suddenly seemed like the loveliest dream. All these individuals couldn’t have been out purely to make her life even more miserable, but they were damn good at it.

Maple Springs Country Music Fest, also known as Jesse Morgan’s homecoming, was part festival, part very successful nightmare. A picture-perfect main street had been flooded with people for three days straight. With only one singer performing, it was debatable if the event could even qualify as a festival, so the residents quickly threw in chili cook-offs, a Parade of Smiles, and an antique car show—which was just that: a display of a single antique car.

Stuck as a group of her beaming old neighbors marched down the street, Catherine couldn’t avoid an overwhelming question. What kind of loon leaves Paris for an out-there town with a median age of about one hundred?

Resigned to the nasty, high-pitched ringing of the cymbals, she set eyes on a route behind the kettle corn booth, where ladies in pink hats and glitter boots performed line dances. If only she were into terrible music and riding invisible horses, she might have enjoyed this. Yet, all she wanted was that predictable old town where she could be far from people, far from her mistakes. Not that she would ever forget, hell no.

Catherine clenched her fists and pushed her way through the crowd, thinking about all the times that Chloe must have brought someone to their apartment, imagining all the women who drank from her mugs, went through her dresser drawers, came on her sheets.

It didn’t kill me and it certainly didn’t make me stronger, she observed dryly, enduring the hits of flying candy. The next time they say life is blessed by the chances you take and the love you share, Catherine, please know they’re lying.

She hissed as she cleared her way through the joyous crowd until at last she found relief, spotting her grandfather’s shop tucked away just off Main Street. When she grabbed the doorknob and finally left all the frenzy behind, her grandfather waited with his arms spread out.

“Finally! There you are.” He let out a loud sigh. “I don’t want to be late for the festival and I have to go pick up glazes.”

So much for being worried she’d be trampled to death. God forbid someone missed the festival.

“All this for some ridiculous singer no one’s ever heard of,” she grumbled.

“You shouldn’t be talking about Jesse like that.”

Watching the man swooning over some washed-up country singer, Catherine longed for the moment when that pottery shop would again be the place where she could get away from the world and immerse herself in something that didn’t include women and endless, agonizing pain.

“Jesse is the cutest creature in the whole wide world,” Fletcher continued, his shoulders curling forward. “She is like ten little puppies, one on top of the other. Simply adorable.”

“Hey!” Catherine glared at him, feebly attempting an irresistible smile. “Over here.”

The old man grinned good-humoredly.

“You are adorable, just a slightly different type of adorable.”

As if it wasn’t enough that the whole town seemed possessed, her own grandfather couldn’t get over Jesse Morgan.

“She put us on the map. The whole country heard of Maple Springs, Colorado, because of her. Imagine, one of the greatest stars of country music used to run these streets and climb these trees. The least we can do is throw her a party once in a while.”

Catherine doubted anyone outside Maple Springs had ever heard of Jesse Morgan but decided not to break the old man’s heart. She couldn’t care less about the so-called hometown hero and the imagined attention she brought to her grandfather’s tiny hamlet. If only all these people would leave while she was still somewhat sane. It was way too early for a parade.

Seeing her silent, Fletcher drew a deep breath and fidgeted, his gaze intently dwelling on Catherine like he sought encouragement.

“Catherine, have you thought about what we discussed yesterday?”

Oh, not again. He knew she was incapable of saying no to him, but of all the things, why did he need her to go with him to the meaningless festival?

“Marjorie will be there, and I need help starting a conversation. Please, just for a little while. You can slip out then.”

“You’ve known the woman for twenty-five years. How can you still need help?” Catherine couldn’t believe how coy and lost a seventy-five-year-old could be until she saw her grandfather around a quirky redhead and her ringing laugh. “Besides, if you’re going to rely on my advice on women, you’re not gonna get far.”

“Please!” His look was imploring. “At least think about it. It’s easier when you’re not alone. Please. Besides, she only moved here permanently last year. In twenty-five years, I would have made a move, certainly.”

Staring at his worried face, Catherine smiled without a word. At least now it was clear whom she took after in being so hopeless with women. She already knew what her answer would be.

Fletcher recognized her benevolent expression and hugged her with innocent delight.

“Thank you, Catherine! I better run to Mike’s to pick up glazes now. Wouldn’t wanna be late for the festival.” He was again enthused, humming a lively tune. “I should hurry up, then. Could you please mind the shop till I get back, dear?”

Catherine had loved Fletcher’s little store and its quiet corner at the back ever since she was a kid, never imagining that one day she would substitute Parisian lights with this little village in the middle of nowhere. Her father, an upright Frenchman, always had special plans for his only child. Piano lessons, sculpture courses, sewing classes. Her mother was even more practical. Ballet lessons, carpentry school, Chinese classes.

The tiny detail they forgot to incorporate into their plans was an arrogant, cheating photographer with a unique talent for misusing the word love.

I didn’t even know I could love until I met you.

Loving you is the only good thing that has ever happened to me.

No one’s ever gonna love you like I do.

Catherine certainly hoped not. Fuck you, fuck you, Chloe!

She’d rather stick needles in her eyes than face that despondent gaze of Chloe’s, listen to her sickening excuses, or suffer kisses stolen from her hollow body. So, Catherine had escaped without a goodbye to the only place she could, where no one knew the person she had become, where no one cared. Here, for the first time, she didn’t have to be anything except for what she felt.

Just as she picked up clay and was about to pull up a chair, imagining all the shapes and forms she could play with, the shop bell startled her. The unexpected sound caught her so unprepared that she dropped the whole bag of clay and the dust flew everywhere, mostly all over her.

“Merde!” she muttered and hastily wiped her hands on her already muddy pants.

“Fletcher?” a soft voice called from the other room.

Peeking into the shop, Catherine saw a blue-eyed woman peering curiously around the shop, long blond hair flowing from under a cap. She was so unexpectedly beautiful that Catherine forgot she was supposed to speak.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I thought Fletcher was here.” The blue eyes widened in surprise.

“You just missed him. May I help you?” Catherine’s brain finally managed to make a few words.

The silent, natural beauty of this woman caught her off guard, which could only mean one thing. God, she was about to say something dumb.

“I just wanted to say hi, never mind,” the stranger replied politely.

“Well, I can take a message if you want.”

Merde, merde, Catherine thought painfully in embarrassment, realizing only at that moment how she must have looked all dirtied with clay. Not that it mattered, but still, she didn’t want to look like a gawky kid who knocked over every single dish in the room. Why now of all times?

“No, no, thank you, I’ll just stop by later.” A bright smile reached the woman’s eyes. “I didn’t know he had someone helping him with the shop. That’s nice. You can tell the difference,” she added as she looked around with interest.

Catherine figured that, if she somehow managed to grab the column in the middle of the room and hide herself behind it, this alarmingly pretty creature might not notice her grotesque appearance. Oh, why did she have to be such an idiot? The only thing she wanted from life, the only thing she craved at that moment, was to be a bit cooler, and the person in front of her couldn’t care less. As if it mattered that she was covered in mud.

“These are amazing.” The blond beauty was eyeing the exhibits when her gaze suddenly connected with Catherine, smiling. Catherine instantly forgot all her firm decisions and instinctively wrapped her arms around the column.

“Oh, oh. I’m Fletcher’s granddaughter. I moved here from France a few months ago,” she finally replied, silently cursing at herself. No, Catherine, you’re not awkward at all, hanging onto that column for dear life. Great job!

“Oh, really? So how do you like Maple Springs?”

“Any other week I’d love it, but right now…” She waved her hand impatiently and rolled her eyes. “I can’t wait for this insufferable Jesse Morgan to leave and give me my life back. Just leeeave already!” she said sharply, which amused the woman. “Why does everything have to revolve around this precious Jesse? Really, I just got back from the bakery, and they refused to sell me their banana bread as it was apparently the last loaf and they were saving it for her. ‘They don’t make these in Nashville.’” She waved her arms like the bakery Bertha. “It was right there in front of me! Myyyy banana bread! Imagine that.”

“Noooo! Well, that’s one really good banana bread.” The woman laughed.

“Well, there.”

Catherine didn’t want this adorable creature to think she was some sort of small-town lunatic, but she’d had enough of this Jesse circus and no one else would listen to her frustration. So, yes, she had just made a fool of herself.

“I don’t want you to think that I hate everything. As you can see, I genuinely love that banana bread.”

The stranger flashed one of those smiles that makes you forget your name. Though, thankfully, Catherine did not forget hers, she did suddenly realize that the disarming beauty could be a Jesse fanatic and she might need to backtrack.

“How about you? Are you here for the festival?” she managed to utter.

“No, but I’ll be there. I just came here to visit my family. I live out of state.”

That was welcome news, and Catherine silently thanked God she wouldn’t have to be near this woman ever again.

“Well, you probably should have picked another date,” Catherine said with a wry smile. She couldn’t figure out what to do with her arms, so she grabbed the column again. Idiot!

“And miss that car show?” the woman said cheerfully, shaking her head. “Never.”

Catherine chuckled, then quickly attempted to school her features to a neutral expression. Knowing herself, she probably kept a stupid smile plastered all over her face the entire time. The stunning head-turner glanced around the shop once more, aware it was probably time to leave. Suddenly, those blue eyes settled on Catherine, and the corners of the woman’s lips curled up again. “You know…you should give Jesse a chance. She’s really not that bad.”

“What’s with you people and this, this so-called singer, who, honestly, no one has ever heard of? What are her songs about anyway? Selling her tractor for a bottle of gin, but then realizing she loves her little tractor and doesn’t want to live this miserable life without it?”

The woman laughed.

“I’d say the part about being miserable is very, very true but…I hope I’ll see you at the festival.”

Catherine watched her turn and leave, still chortling. A few days ago, it would never have even crossed her mind to visit that ridiculous abomination of common sense. She wanted to go camping, far from everyone, and wake up when it was all over. But if this stunning creature was going to be there…

No, no. She’d been in this predicament before. Being around a woman this attractive was the last thing she needed now. Or ever, for that matter. She pulled herself out of that game. Still, no one should have such a disarming, melting, winsome, dreamy smile.

Fuck, Catherine.

* * *

As she left the workshop, Jesse finally breathed a sigh of relief. Safe at last! That dark-eyed knockout, though not the cleanest of people, had probably left a string of hearts weeping silently all over France at that very moment. It simply wasn’t fair that someone could be that gorgeous.

Considering how hard she’d tried not to stare at her wild, long, curly hair and the well-defined muscles of her tanned arms and long legs, it was curious how she managed to recall every minute detail of her appearance. Her wrist tattoo with three little stars, all the different shades of her eyes barely crossed inward, the tiny scar on her forehead. All that after seeing her for approximately 3.2 seconds. Well done, Jesse!

She didn’t even know why she was so convinced that Fletcher’s granddaughter was into women, but every single sensation of her being came to life when she appeared from the back room. Not that it made any difference whatsoever, of course. The French potter would stay a thousand miles away, and Jesse should really find another source of inspiration for her pathetic songs other than the stubborn inclination to get infatuated with the women she couldn’t have.

Yet, there was something vulnerable and untold in the woman’s eyes, something Jesse wanted to tell. Something she could not forget. She had always loved the marks of life on human faces, each one telling a story, each one like a treasure map, each creating the raw beauty of a masterpiece. The entire world had faded into insipidity when that woman appeared. What was she doing in Maple Springs anyway? Oceans away from her home. How long was she staying? Jesse could still hear, in a tangible and profound sensation, the resounding melody of her delicate voice, her French accent incising her skin—oh, that accent! Was she lonely here? What would make her smile?

Upon realizing that she was sitting in a parked car in front of the shop, thinking about a complete stranger, Jesse lightly tapped her face.

“You should never be this happy to see someone you don’t even know.”

Before starting the car, she couldn’t help trying to steal another glance. However, the woman was already gone. Probably for the best. She had to prepare for the evening anyway, but still, it would have been nice if she hadn’t suddenly begun to worry about what she would wear.

“How did she get that little scar? Why did she leave France? Dammit, Jesse!”