Catch a Falling Star Read Free Page B

eventually.” A grin pulled on the corners of his mouth. “I’ll remind her to stay calm.” The raindrops intensified from a sprinkle and started a staccato beat on his shoulders, but Billy was already soaked through.
    A phone chimed, and Justine looked at her purse. “I should get this. I need to make a few phone calls too. Thanks again.”
    He waved at her dismissal. “Not a problem. See you around.” Then he hurried back to the truck, trying not to limp.
     

Chapter 3
     
    Justine grabbed the cell phone from her purse and huddled under the narrow roof overhang. Wait. She could call them back after getting her luggage and waterlogged self inside. It might be June in Texas, but her body craved a hot soak in the tub after a long flight and getting caught in the deluge on the way home.
    She didn’t know Billy Tucker, didn’t know how much she could trust the man. Of course Azalea Bush thought highly enough of him to send him to the airport. That said something right there. His clean-cut cowboy look made her want to trust him, even if Azalea hadn’t sent him.
    Plus, the man was in pain. She could tell it from the way he pulled her luggage on wheels, by the way he angled himself behind the steering wheel, and his swagger just now as he’d ambled back to his truck. What he’d been through in Iraq. . . Justine knew there was more behind his simple statement.
    Justine tugged her bags into the entryway then closed the door on the rainy night outside. After she reset the password on the security system, she armed it. Starlight might be a smidge on this side of Hicksville, USA, but just reading the news told her that even small towns had dark sides.
    Like the thoughtful Christian woman she was, Azalea had turned on the lights and set the thermostat for Justine’s welcome home. The place smelled like pine cleaner. Not Justine’s favorite, but it definitely smelled better than closed-up house did.
    She kicked off her shoes and headed barefoot to the sprawling kitchen that looked over a family room, complete with fireplace and a pair of bay windows facing the backyard. The media might cast her boyfriend Tyler Drake in the public role of an empty-headed thespian with the motivation of a beach bum, but he owned more than a dozen properties in the US and Europe.
    “Justine, your career may come and go, but real estate always hangs around,” he’d told her at the end of a blissful week in the Caribbean. So she’d listened to his advice. Besides purchasing her sleek home in the Hollywood hills, she’d plunked down cash for this home in Starlight. Mom would never move into the house, even when Justine offered to give it to her.
    “I’m not going to live in a place bought with the devil’s money,” Mom had said. Only one of several reasons why Justine hadn’t tried to call the woman yet.
    Justine went to the stainless refrigerator. She should have taken up Billy Tucker’s offer to stop at the store. She’d have paid him to round up some food for her. She tugged on the door, expecting to see a box of baking soda.
    Instead she saw a plastic-covered container labeled “chicken salad—lite,” a large bottle of Dr Pepper, and all the ingredients for a tossed salad. Plus a few other things. Azalea’s sweet gestures touched her. Justine swallowed the lump in her throat. She would call the florist in the morning and send Azalea a bouquet. Or maybe a spa in town would send Azalea a gift certificate, if the woman would use it.
    People like Azalea made Justine want to believe that not everyone had ulterior motives. An odd thought, considering her line of work, where some people sacrificed friendship for the sake of networking. “Everyone’s got an angle, kid,” like Bob Wallace said in the movie White Christmas .
    Even Tyler Drake. Who still hadn’t returned her call.
    She tried calling his cell phone again and got his voice mail. Again. “Ty, it’s me. I’m here. I. . .I miss you already. I know you’re living it up