Wishing On A Star (A Shooting Stars Novel Book 3) Read online

  Wishing On A Star

  A Shooting Stars Novel

  Terri Osburn

  Macie Rae Publishing

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Other books by Terri Osburn:

  Ask Me To Stay Chapter 1

  About the Author

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any means without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2019 by Terri Osburn

  Published by Macie Rae Publishing, Nashville, TN

  Cover Design Copyright © 2019 Fantasia Frog Designs

  ISBN: 978-0998524603

  Created with Vellum

  Dedication

  To Kimberly, for coming through in the clutch

  One

  After five years in Nashville, one lost deal, and one lost duet partner, Jesse Gold’s life boiled down to finding a set of dentures.

  “Seriously, Silas. This is no time to lose your teeth.”

  Checking his pockets as if giving himself a pat-down, Jesse Gold’s geriatric manager searched for his misplaced mouth-wear and found them tucked in his inside coat pocket. A coat that was likely older than she was. At twenty-eight, Jesse was Silas Fillmore’s youngest client by at least three decades.

  “I told you I had ′em.” He popped them in without bothering to check for lint and Jesse cringed.

  “Just don’t take them out again before the meeting, okay?”

  The manager nodded in agreement as he straightened his crooked tie. “Relax, girlie. This ain’t nothing but routine procedure. We’ll get this out of the way, and you’ll be in the studio in no time.”

  Since she couldn’t enter the studio until they’d found a producer, Jesse had her doubts about the in no time part. Two potential producers had passed, stalling the project for a month already. If she didn’t hit the studio soon, there was no way Jesse would release her first single before her former duet partner launched her own.

  From what she’d heard, Taylor Roper, the other half of what was once the Honkytonk Daisies, already had two songs in the can. If she managed to hit country radio first, Jesse’s chances of getting an add went from long shot to keep dreaming.

  A frustrating state of affairs but normal practice in the world she occupied. Country radio happily played ten male artists an hour, but heaven forbid they play more than one or two women in that same block.

  Too anxious to sit still, Jesse retrieved a bottle of water from the mini-fridge beneath the coffee station on the far side of the Shooting Stars Records reception area. Breathing in the aroma of freshly-ground beans, she watched an orange leaf blow past the window and remembered that Honkytonk Daisies had been booked on a fall tour that would have kicked off tomorrow.

  One more dream Taylor had selfishly snatched from Jesse’s grasp with her abrupt departure from the duo.

  This meeting had to go well. If someone would just tell her why the other producers passed, Jesse might have a clue what she was doing wrong. Silas claimed that the first had been a scheduling issue, but after the second pass came, her sweet old manager hadn’t volunteered any details. Instead, he’d declared that she wouldn’t have liked working with that particular producer anyway.

  Of course, the only producer with whom she’d actually worked was off cutting an album with Taylor. Jaw tight, she returned to her seat beside Silas and checked the time on her cell. Five more minutes. Dropping the phone and water bottle into her lap, she tightened her ponytail as one knee bounced double-time.

  Silas tapped her leg. “Calm down, child. This is the one. I can feel it.”

  “Do you know who it is?” Jesse asked.

  “He’s a new producer, but I’ve heard good things.”

  Not an encouraging response. “I wish you’d have told me who it is so I could have done some research.”

  “There was no time, my dear. I only got the name yesterday, and since nothing he’s produced is available yet, the name wouldn’t have done you any good.”

  How new were they talking? This album had to be good enough to launch her solo career. That meant working with a producer who had at least a project or two on their resume. Were they going to saddle her with a newbie who couldn’t tell the difference between a banjo and a banana?

  As Jesse tried not to panic, the glass doors swung open and in walked a ghost from the past. Her heart stopped at the sight of him, and her mouth went dry.

  “I told you,” Chance Colburn was saying, “Naomi didn’t give me any details.”

  “You’re sure Clay wanted me?” his cohort asked.

  “I don’t know any other Ash Shepherds, do you?”

  The men continued past the reception desk, oblivious to the pair waiting by the window. She hadn’t laid eyes on Ash Shepherd in nearly a decade. Not since the day he’d left her hospital bedside and never returned.

  In the five years she’d lived in Nashville, Jesse had miraculously never run into her high school sweetheart. In the beginning, she’d looked for him everywhere. In the corner of every bar, grocery store, and 7-Eleven. When she finally started booking gigs, she’d been certain that he’d come see her, but he never did.

  Ash had taught her how to play guitar when they were just kids, and he’d instilled in Jesse the love of music that had driven her to chase this crazy dream in the first place. In essence, this silly notion, as her mother called it, was largely his doing.

  But they never did cross paths. He didn’t call or email, even once the Honkytonk Daisies took off, and she’d been so sure that his voice would be on the other end of every call that came from an unknown number. Despite hating him for abandoning her, her gut reaction whenever something good happened was to share the news with Ash, her brother’s closest friend and the boy who’d stolen her heart long before she was old enough to know what that meant.

  Eventually, Jesse stopped looking for him. The ache in her chest eased, and she’d vowed not to waste her time longing for someone who’d clearly forgotten she’d ever existed. When Taylor had announced that she was going solo, Jesse had steeled herself in the same way. If someone didn’t want her, then she didn’t want them. And most of the time, she believed it.

  “I can’t do this,” she muttered.

  “What’s that, honey?” Silas said, leaning closer. “You need to speak up. That’s my bad ear.”

  Jesse closed her eyes. “Who is the producer we’re here to meet?” Maybe this was just a coincidence. Maybe this wasn’t what she feared.

  “You’ll find out soon enough.” He patted her arm like a doting gran
dfather, and she fought the urge to leave while she had the chance. “Don’t let the lack of experience worry you,” Silas went on. “He’s written some of the biggest hit songs of the last few years. You’ll be in excellent hands.”

  The answer only confirmed her suspicions. Jesse took a deep breath, struggling to talk herself out of bolting for the exit. Did she really have a choice? Flat out refusing to work with the first producer willing to take her on could jeopardize the project even more. That was assuming Ash agreed. Based on the exchange with Chance as they entered the building, he didn’t even know why he was here.

  If he passed, they never had to see each other. If he agreed, Jesse had a decision to make. Would Clay Benedict, the owner and president of Shooting Stars Records—and the only executive in town willing to give her a chance—consider a refusal her third strike and drop Jesse from the label?

  The receptionist finally called them back, and Jesse could barely feel her feet as she followed Silas into the bowels of the building. She’d spent years thinking about what she would say if she and Ash ever came face to face, but she had never settled on a definite strategy. Go to hell had been on the list, but the current circumstances swept that opening off the table.

  Considering how her heart was attempting to beat out of her chest, her only hope was not to pass out before learning her fate.

  Ash didn’t like surprises, and this mysterious meeting had surprise written all over it. Chance had been vague at best, only saying that the head of his label had asked that Ash attend a meeting at the Shooting Stars office. The purpose of the meeting had not been given.

  Instead of heading straight for a conference room, Chance had gone to his wife’s office. As the PR manager, Naomi had accomplished what many in the industry had considered impossible—she’d redeemed Chance Colburn, whose long list of sins included addiction, highly publicized run-ins with the law, and a lengthy stay in rehab.

  Lucky for Chance, country music fans had a long history of forgiving the trespasses of their favorite artists. The recent success of his first new single in two years stood as proof that forgiveness had been granted in his case as well.

  An affectionate greeting between the newlyweds, during which Ash had discreetly glanced away, was followed by a personal escort to the conference room. Ash had asked Naomi why he was there, but she’d dodged the question, offering a vague “Clay will fill you in.”

  That had been five minutes ago, and Ash’s patience grew thin as he tapped out a melody on the large Mahogany table. About the time his patience ran out, Clay Benedict stepped through the door.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting. That last call took longer than expected.” Unbuttoning his suit jacket, the label head settled his broad frame into the opposite chair. “I’m sure you’re wondering why you’re here, so I’ll get right to the point. I’m impressed with your production work on Chance’s album.”

  Ash appreciated the compliment. “Good to hear.”

  “Have you considered producing an entire album?”

  Not a question Ash expected. “For Chance? I thought the rest of the album was finished?”

  Clay’s expression revealed nothing. “Not for Chance. Are you interested? We’ll offer triple the compensation we paid for Chance’s three songs.”

  A nice offer but Ash hadn’t gotten into this business for the money. He’d been tooling around Nashville for more than a decade, enjoying moderate successes until his songwriting career took off in the last five years. Now that he’d established a reputation for writing hits, Ash was more than ready to carry that success into producing. But whatever project he signed on for had to be worth his time.

  “I’m on board.” Shooting Stars had launched with Dylan Monroe the year before with incredible success, and he could only assume this was the chance to helm his sophomore effort. The perfect project to establish Ash’s reputation in the studio. “When is Dylan set to record?”

  The record exec shook his head. “We have other plans for Dylan. I’m looking for a producer for Jesse Gold. You mentioned at Chance’s wedding that you two are from the same hometown, and I’m hoping that connection can work in our favor.”

  Ash’s enthusiasm waned. Jesse was the one artist he couldn’t work with.

  Leaning back in his chair, he changed his previous answer. “I’m not the guy for that one.”

  “You haven’t even heard the details yet.”

  Shoving back from the table, Ash rose to his feet. “I’m sorry, but I’ll have to pass.”

  “Is the problem that she’s a woman?” Clay asked. “If so, that’s a shitty reason to pass this opportunity by.”

  “Jesse’s gender has nothing to do with it.” Ash shoved a hand into his hair. How was he going to explain this without revealing more than Jesse would want her boss to know? “Jess and I have a history. Did you tell her you were going to offer me the job?”

  The big man leaned back in his chair with a narrowed gaze. “I didn’t want to tell her until I’d talked to you. Two producers have already turned us down, and the others I’ve contacted are either booked or not returning my calls. All thanks to unfounded rumors that Jesse has strong opinions that make her difficult to work with.”

  Jesse had been a force of nature since birth, but she was no diva. Her drive for perfection was due to her passion for the things she cared about. Any producer would be lucky to work with an artist as talented and devoted to the craft as she was.

  Ash had been following Jesse’s career since he’d spotted her playing for tips at Tootsies in the Nashville airport five years ago. That’s how he’d learned she’d moved to town, and he’d kept an eye on her ever since—always from the shadows.

  Watching her and not touching her had been agonizing. She’d was eighteen the last time he’d held her hand. Bruised and battered and fighting for her life in a hospital bed. Ash had been driving the car that night. The night that his best friend was killed, and Jesse was thrown forty feet through the air.

  While Tommy was the brother Ash never had, Jesse had never felt like a sister. Despite being a year behind them, she’d taken part in every adventure they ever took—from four-wheeling to fishing to risking life and limb flying off the rope swing over Old Man Willoughby’s water hole.

  Ash had been half in love by middle school but didn’t worked up the courage to ask her out until years later, when she’d been a sophomore and him a love-sick junior. By the time he and Tommy left for college, Jesse had agreed to follow them to Kennesaw the next year, and once they’d both finished their degrees, a wedding would be the next step.

  But in one tragic night, all that changed.

  Ash was to stay away from Jesse and never contact the family again. Out of respect and suffocating guilt, he’d honored their decision, but he kept an eye on Jesse as best he could without crossing the line.

  Producing Jesse’s album would obliterate that line.

  “Who’s turned you down?” Maybe he could suggest a possible alternative.

  “Walker and Matthews,” Clay replied. “They’ve both launched careers in the past, but like I said, neither wanted the job after learning who the artist would be. To me, Jesse’s spirit is what makes her a star, but neither producer wanted the challenge.”

  Challenge was Jesse’s middle name. At ten she’d refused to wear the pretty pink dress her mom had picked for her school pictures, arguing that the color clashed with her red hair. Then, and many times after, Enid Rheingold had bowed to Jesse’s rebellious leanings if for no other reason than to gain a little peace.

  Ash debated how he could help Jesse and keep his distance, but he could see no way to do both. Teetering on the edge of rejecting the job, he heard Tommy’s voice in his head.

  Help her, buddy. Help her make this happen.

  With a sigh of resignation, Ash sat back down. “It’s up to Jesse.”

  “Excellent.” Clay extended a hand across the table. “She’s special, Ash. Play this right, and she’ll put you both on the map.” />
  She was special all right, but she also had a damn good reason not to work with Ash on anything. He only hoped Clay Benedict would keep looking after his artist turned down the only producer so far willing to take the job.

  By the time they reached the conference room, Jesse had latched onto Silas’s arm to keep her knees from buckling. Her reaction to the impending encounter annoyed her enough to let anger take the lead. After all this time, if Ash Shepherd thought he could waltz back into her life, he was sadly mistaken.

  How to make that clear without ending her solo career before it began was the question. After the Daisies breakup, a rumor spread that Jesse was difficult to work with. The source of the lie remained a mystery—though she had her suspicions—but true or not, the damage had been done.

  Not a single label head would even take a meeting with Silas to discuss his newly solo artist. The one Honkytonk Daisies song that had gotten radio airplay had been co-written by Jesse, but Taylor had been the voice, and that left Jesse with nothing on her resume except singing harmony on her own song.

  Then, when she’d been on the brink of panic, Silas had received a call from Clay Benedict. The label head had ignored the rumors, recognized her potential, and offered Jesse a deal. She wasn’t a weeper by nature, but she’d cried like a teething baby that Tuesday afternoon.

  How far could she push Clay’s patience? He’d remained supportive and optimistic when the other producers had fallen through, but would that attitude wane if Jesse shot this one down, too? Could she afford three strikes? And then, should she get another chance, what if no other producer took the job?