Behind the Lines

By Connie Hensley

Behind the Lines is set during the taping of The Jay Allen talk show. Country music star Jarrett Thornton is scheduled to perform not because he has the number one country single and album, not because he is country music’s hottest star, but because his wife, Maggie Hays, disappeared recently without a goodbye letter or ransom note. Is she dead? If so, who killed her? Did she leave her husband for another man? Who? Or did something more diabolical happen to her?
During his preparation for the show, Jarrett flashbacks to moments during his romance and life with Maggie, the way they met, first date, major confrontations with their pasts, their wedding, and finally her disappearance. The plot revolves around the budding romance between country music star Jarrett Thornton and teacher Maggie Hays. Both characters have pasts that create stumbling blocks along the way. During the course of preparing for the show and the actual show itself, little things, such as the set backdrop, mirror images, and song lyrics sends Jarrett back in time to moments he shared with Maggie. Their different lifestyles, troubled backgrounds, and interfering friends were all stumbling blocks in their developing relationship.
When called over to talk with host Jay Allen, Thornton is taken back by the animosity the host has towards him. The encounter becomes banter between the two with a different meaning behind the lines they say to the audience. Jarrett knows the only subject Jay wants to chat about is his wife’s disappearance two months ago and dreads what dirty laundry Jay will dredge up. Jarrett has to fight the demons that have plagued him since his wife vanished and prepare himself for the battle of wits as he and Jay square off in front of the cameras keeping the facade in place and the true meaning of their words Behind the Lines.
Jarrett Thornton knows he has to keep Maggie’s face and name in front of news media if he is to find the woman he loves. Through the media, a private investigator, and his own gut feeling, Jarrett Thornton faces his demons. Jarrett Thornton must deal with police suspicions, media innuendos, and his own doubts in order to find Maggie.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Connie Hensley
• Release date: Aug 9, 2011
• ISBN: 9781466054417

Connie Hensley

Connie Hensley have a BSE and an MA in English, and has taught English and writing for over twenty years. "I always have a story in my head. It wasn’t until recently I found out other people did not. That revelation made me decide to put these stories on paper to share with others." Her first book Behind the Lines tell one of those stories and is available on Smashwords. It tells the story of Jarrett and Maggie and is one of several interlocking stories that she feels need to be told.

Book preview

BEHIND THE LINES

Jarrett’s Anguish

by

Connie Hensley

SMASHWORDS EDITION

* * * * *

PUBLISHED BY:

Connie Hensley on Smashwords

Behind the Lines

Copyright © 2011 by Connie Hensley

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author's imagination only. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Dedication

This book is dedicated to the memory of Jane Mauck, teacher, editor,

and most of all friend.

Acknowledgements

I want to thank my family: Tom, the love of my life; our children, Josh and Jessica;

and my loyal support team: Nancy, Mary Lee, and Deb.

Without their love, support, skills, and encouragement,

this book would never have been completed.

* * * * *

Behind the Lines

Jarrett’s Nightmare

Written By Connie Hensley

She was gone. Not by the door, not in the stairwell, not leaning against a nearby wall. She was just gone. No matter where he looked or how loud he called, she wasn’t there. How could someone just disappear in a matter of moments? Life changed in the blinking of an eye, and he was left alone and unprepared for the emptiness that followed. He couldn’t shake the nightmare that had become his life. He couldn’t shake the feeling of responsibility and regret. He was alone.

Chapter 1

Dear God, don’t let him ask me about Maggie. Everyone wants to know about Maggie, but I can’t talk about her. Not now. Maybe never, Jarrett mumbled to himself as he waited for the knock on the dressing room door. Why had he agreed to do the show? He wasn’t ready for this, wasn’t ready for the questions, wasn’t ready for the attention, wasn’t ready for the drama; Jarrett mused as he paced the room. His emotions were too raw, too close to the surface to deal with a public appearance.

His agent had talked him in to doing tonight’s show. It would be good for him Matt had said. Help him get back on his feet. Besides he would only have to sing his song and scoot out of the studio. Shit, not this time, hell no, this time Jay Allen wanted to talk which meant he wanted to ask about Maggie.

Jarrett knew he had to do this, had to go through the pain for Maggie’s sake. She was the only reason he was here; getting her name out in the spotlight was her only hope, and perhaps his only salvation. Jarrett looked into the mirror and groaned. Instead of his own dark blue eyes, intense green eyes stared back at him, eyes he couldn’t forget.

#

Those sparkling green eyes peered up at him under long, dark lashes that blue-skied September afternoon. He hadn’t noticed the deep blue of the sky, the tinge of fall on the trees, or the rusted red Mustang backing out in front of him. He had been too busy talking on the phone to his agent and fiddling with the CD player trying to hear the last cord of a new song.

Suddenly he was jarred into reality as metal hit metal with an anguished screech. He shot out of his prized Corvette and pounced over to the Mustang angry at the idiot behind the other car’s wheel. How someone could be so stupid not to see his beautiful yellow Corvette? The yellow Corvette now sporting a crumpled front fender.

He forcefully jerked open the Mustang’s driver’s door, What the hell did you think you were doing, are you blind or--? He stopped in the middle of his outburst mesmerized by a pair of green eyes which had just the trace of a teardrop slowly seeping out of the corner of one. The anger drained from him as he knelt down beside her.

Laying his hand on her knee, I’m sorry; are you hurt? he simply asked instead.

No, no, I’m fine, she sniffed raising her gaze to his eyes. Oh, my God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you. I looked, but; I guess, well, I just didn’t see you, she stammered between gulps of air and tiny sobs.

She looked so small and helpless when she raised her head to meet his glaze. Suddenly he wondered how anyone could ever be mad at her. Wisps of soft brown hair fell into those teary eyes, as she tapped her upturned nose with a tissue. Through quivering lips she couldn’t quite control, she spoke, I’ve never had an accident before. I’ve never even been in an accident. I’m so sorry. It was entirely my fault. What should we do? She stammered on.

Listen, it’s okay. Really don’t worry about it, he was shocked to hear his voice saying. It’s just a car; nothing that can’t be fixed. Had those words really come out of his mouth? He must be crazy. This was his prized Corvette they were talking about.

Let me think. Oh, don’t worry, umh, I have insurance. I’ll pay for the damage to your car; I hope it’s not too serious, she quickly added.

He stood and offered her his hand helping her step out of the aged mustang. Well defined legs that ended in strappy sandals emerged from her car door. He noticed her eyes steal a glimpse at the dented fender on the Corvette then pan a glance at the Mustang’s crumpled rear quarter panel. Oh, she sighed as she stood beside him.

Don’t worry everything’s all right. I probably came around the corner too fast. He tried to reassure her. You probably didn’t have time to see me. Were those his words? Were they actually coming from his mouth? It was obviously her fault, but it suddenly didn’t matter when she smiled backed at him.

You’re being way too nice, and don’t think I don’t appreciate it, because of course I do, she hesitated, but I’m sure we need to call the police or something, maybe exchange insurance numbers, or what? My dad would know what to do.

I don’t think we need to call the police. He thought for a moment. I tell you what, why don’t we each just take care of our own cars? He cast a quick glance at her tattered Mustang. Can you drive yours?

I think so, she said biting her lower lip and crossing her fingers. But that’s not the point nor is it really fair. I hit you. He noticed that the early signs of weakness were gone and she was now in control of her emotions.

He looked at the Mustang again, probably a ‘68 which had needed work before the dented panel. I have an idea. Why don’t you pull back into your parking space, and I’ll park down the way. Let me buy you a cup of coffee and we’ll settle the details.

After a moment’s hesitation, he was pleasantly shocked when she patted her car’s dented back end and said, That sounds good to me.

#

The knock on the door interrupted his memories. Five minutes until sound check, Mr. Thornton, the stagehand said. Jarrett took one last looked into the mirror, but all he saw was her smile and the light which danced in her eyes as she stirred her coffee that autumn afternoon.

He really didn’t believe in love at first sight, but something about her had certainly captured his attention more than any other woman ever had before her. Not that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen; he was constantly surrounded by beautiful women, but there was just something different about Maggie Hays.

Something about the way the sunlight danced in her caramel laced chestnut hair, the way she threw back her head when she laughed, the sparkle in her vibrant green eyes, or maybe the way her smile lit up her face. Something that had made him want to learn more about her that afternoon. Something that had made him want her more than any other woman he had ever met.

#

This may sound really silly, I think first of all we need to exchange names, he said as they seated themselves at a small Bristol table. A miniature sugar maple tree outside the quaint little coffee shop shaded them as they sipped the dark brew.

I’m sorry. I guess I was more rattled than I thought. I am Maggie Hays, she said as she offered him her hand, a small dainty hand that matched the rest of her.

Nice to meet you Maggie Hays. I am Jarrett Thornton. He waited for the usual sounds of recognition, the Oh, my gosh, not the real Jarrett Thornton but if she recognized his name, she didn’t show it; she just reached out and shook his hand. He kept wondering who was this woman and why did she have this effect on him?

She looked up from her steaming coffee and smiled at him. Her smile seemed to light up her face, good God it seemed to light up the entire area. Was he the only one who noticed?

This is much too beautiful an afternoon to be marred by an accident, she confessed. I have to admit, she leaned closer to him and added in a conspiratorial tone, I was really looking up at the deep blue sky and not paying enough attention. I don’t know why, but autumn skies seem to be the deepest blue. Like the color of your eyes she added to herself.

I don’t think the afternoon was marred, he said staring directly into her eyes. He glanced at the sky and found she was right it was a deep sapphire blue with wisps of clouds stretched here and there. He couldn’t remember when he had taken time to just look at the sky or much of anything else. He used to notice small things like the color of the sky, but lately all he seemed to concentrate on was launching his career. He looked back at her and the delayed album release date or the radio schedule mix-up didn’t seem to matter.

Okay, now what?

Excuse me?

What do we do from here? she asked. Her words shook him from his thoughts and brought him back to the moment at hand. He realized that he wanted to get to know her better, to spend more time with her. He wasn’t ready to let her go and walk out of his life.

Well, he hesitated as he stroked his chin. Let me see; I got it, he snapped his fingers, you could have dinner with me tonight.

She stared at him for a moment and then laughed brushing the invitation off, I meant about the cars, she explained as she stared off towards the parking lot and the damaged vehicles.

How long have you had your Mustang? he said to change the subject and to keep her there a little while longer.

I bought it before going to college. It was my first big purchase, she mused as she thought back into time. "I used graduation money and my parents chipped in on it. It was a really good deal. You see it had been wrecked and restored. I am sure the owner quoted me the wrong price, but my dad was with me and jumped in telling him we would take it and wrote him a check on the spot. When we went to pick it up the next day, the owner tried to raise the price. Let me tell you, that didn’t set well with my father; he’s an attorney, so he took the time to explain to him about contract law in no uncertain terms, so there you have it. I got it for several hundred dollars less than the book value.

I truly aimed to take better care of it, but things get in the way. She hesitated and looked away for a moment as if carried away by a memory. But your car is another story; I am sure it will be expensive to fix.

He wondered what things had gotten in her way but decided to let it slip. I am going to be honest with you. That car is one of my most prized possessions. He saw her flinch, but suddenly it doesn’t seem that important. I will take care of getting it fixed; don’t worry about it.

Oh, I can’t let you do that, she asserted. It’s my fault, my problem. I take care of my problems, Mr. Thornton. But he thought he saw a trace of relief in her eyes. I’m sure we can work something out.

Believe me. It’s all right. She leveled her gaze at him again causing him to raise his hands in defeat. Okay, okay, I give up. We’ll work something out, but only if you call me Jarrett.

She looked him in the eye and hesitated seeming to understand he didn’t really care about the car. Then she changed the subject, Okay, Jarrett, she stressed, but I’ve been carrying on, doing all the talking; your turn now, tell me about you.

Could it be true, she really didn’t know who he was. Should he tell her? He didn’t want to sound self-centered, but on the other hand didn’t want to mislead her. He fiddled with his cup looking down at the dregs of coffee, Oh, there is not much to tell. I dabble in the music business, as do most people in this town. I do all right I guess; written a few songs.

Anything I would know?

Only if you like country music.

I’ve never really followed country music, but maybe I’ll have to start, she said with a sly smile.

Their cups were too quickly empty as she checked her watch which was a bad sign because he wasn’t ready to let her go. I guess I had better head home. I have papers to grade tonight.

Papers? Don’t tell me you’re a teacher?

Can’t help it. It’s a family trait. Both my mother and grandmother were teachers.

What do you teach?

English and a little photography. She stopped and looked off into the lowering sun. I was going to be a professional photographer, but bills had to be paid, so I accepted a position at St. Andrews. I enjoy the students, but . . . she stopped.

But what?

It doesn’t really matter, she added shaking her head and beginning to gather up napkins and cups. I better be going. Promise me you will send me the bill for your car. I really feel responsible, she added as she wrote her name and number on a crumpled napkin.

He held his hand over hers to stop her in her task and direct her attention back to him, As I said, the car is not important, but I really want to see you again. When she didn’t say anything, he added, So what about dinner?

Pulling her hand from his, You don’t have to buy me dinner, she smiled again standing with their discarded cups in her hand she glanced away once more into the autumn sun trying to dismiss the invitation.

I know I don’t have to, he said lightly, standing also.

I don’t know, but she hesitated turning towards him. It’s strange, you know. Even though I wrecked both of our cars, I have enjoyed coffee and talking to you. She hesitated another minute then added, You’re right I don’t feel the afternoon was marred. But . . . her voice trailed off. Then suddenly she turned back to him, You have really nice eyes, eyes I think a person could trust.

Her statement took him back, he had never been told that before. With a quick laugh he added, My eyes may be nice, but I’m telling you, lady, yours could look right through a person. I’ve never been so taken with such striking emerald green eyes. And that’s not a pick-up line.

She blushed again, dumped their trash in the nearby bin, and looked him directly in the eye. Where should I meet you? Oh, no. There I go again following my gut instead of my head. It will probably land me in trouble.

You’re safe with me. He also stood and glanced towards her car. But, maybe I should pick you up.

#

The stagehand knocked again bringing Jarrett back into the present one more time. They’re ready for you on stage for your sound check, Mr. Thornton.

I am ready, Jarrett said as he headed out the door and down the maze of hallways to the stage. He nodded at his band as he approached his place on stage. He gave an approving glance at the backdrop, windowpanes with different colored lights shining through them. He thought it gave the area a timeless feel.

They made him think of O’Conner’s. He hadn’t thought of that place in a long time. The place he had chosen for their first date. He chose the place on a whim thinking it would be out of the way where nobody would play him any notice. It also had an old world charm he thought she would enjoy. It was a place where they could talk and get to know each other.

#

He had to admit as he nursed his drink, he had been a little nervous when she wasn’t on time, but his apprehension quickly disappeared when she strolled through the door taking in every detail of the place: the stone archways, the weathered counters, even the oak bar. Then her eyes found his, and that smile performed its magic lighting up her face putting him at ease as she walked up and sat beside him at the bar.

I was afraid you might not show, he admitted.

I am sorry for being late, but I’ve never been in this part of town before. The buildings are fascinating, old, quaint storefronts, patterned brick work, wooden trim; and I kept picturing in my mind how they should be photographed; I’ll have to come back with my camera someday. Anyway, I am sorry. Boy, I seem to be saying that way too much to you today.

That’s okay, I forgive you, he said with a grin. Do you want something to drink? He asked as he motioned for the bartender.

A beer, please, Bud Light, she told the bartender. Jarrett winced thinking if you were going to drink, at least drink something with a little more taste to it.

I took you for more of a margarita girl than a beer gal.

Are you kidding me; I’m from Missouri, I grew up on Budweiser, but don’t tell my mom, she laughed, a deep down laugh not a silly giggle.

When her beer came, she ignored the glass and gulped from the bottle. The hostess came up beside them dismissing her and giving Jarrett a warm inviting smile. Your table is ready, Mr. Thornton, she announced in a smooth, creamy voice that offered an open invitation Maggie thought.

As they strolled to their table, Maggie glanced at all the old photographs of the bar and the neighborhood which lined the walls.

Jarrett delighted in watching her small frame wander between tables. She couldn’t be any taller than 5’3, but a well-built 5’3. No, he thought, she wasn’t glamour magazine pretty, but she had a timeless beauty and grace about her. She never noticed the stolen looks of the other men in the place as she made her way through the maze of tables and chairs, but he did.

Their table was next to an arched window filled with old windowpanes which distorted the light from the street lamp on the corner creating interesting shadows across her face. I like the way the street light shines through the window panes. Makes you feel as if you are back in time where anything is possible, Maggie said wistfully as she sat across the table from him.

He had thought the same thing the first time he had stumbled into O’Conner’s several years ago when he had first come to Music City determined to make a name for himself. But tonight it seemed the quaintest place on earth as he glanced at her. He thought she looked even lovelier in the glow of the candlelight.

The hostess put menus in front of them, Your waiter will be with you in a moment, but if there is anything I can get you just let me know, anything at all, she added with a longing look at Jarrett before whirling and leaving them to themselves.

Boy, was she ever flirting with you. I felt invisible sitting here. She leaned back and picked up the menu. I think she hoped I was.

You’re imagining things. She was just being nice.

Nice, yeah right.

Do I detect a note of jealousy?

Why would I be jealous? I hardly know you.

He looked up and found her reading the history of O’Conner’s printed on the back of the menu and decided to change the subject.

What are you doing? Reading the menu?

Did you know that this place was a hospital for soldiers during the Civil War?

No, and I’ve never known anyone to actually read the back of menus.

"You don’t know what you’re missing, all kinds of little bits and pieces of history, stories of people’s lives. History intrigues me. I get it from my folks; they’re both history buffs.

What else does it tell you about this place?

Mr. Thomas O’Conner from Ireland built the building and sold dry goods in the middle of the 1800s. He died during the Civil War at Gettysburg and his wife took over the business passing it to her son who turned it into a drug emporium at the turn of the century, so on and so on ‘until today where it is a popular place for quiet romantic rendezvous.’ She stopped, leaned over, cocked one eyebrow and looked him in the eye. Is that why you brought me here? she asked point blank, those green eyes staring right through him taking him again by surprise.

I brought you here because, because, well, because I thought you might like it, he stammered. No one shook him like this. She wasn’t one to dodge issues he decided. It is quiet and unique, off the beaten path, a place where I thought we could get to know each other.

Shoot, and here I thought you might have wicked intentions. She crooned with amusement.

Have you decided? The waiter interrupted.

Saved by the bell, she said under her breath. I’ll have the grilled chicken salad, no tomato, no egg, and no dressing, she answered.

A woman who knows what she wants he thought. I’ll have the special. The waiter gathered the menus and disappeared. No dressing? Some kind of diet? He asked.

No, I just don’t like salad dressing; as a matter of fact, I don’t like any condiments, not even ketchup.

That has to be un-American, he joked.

I just don’t like covering up the taste of my food.

Okay, let’s see now, you don’t like ketchup, you teach English, you like autumn days, and you could use driving lessons, he teased. What else should I know about you?

That’s it. You’ve covered all the basics. And do I need to remind you today was my first and only accident? she shot back.

He thought maybe he had made her mad until he saw the mischievous glint in her eyes and the touch of a smile on her lips. You’ve been lucky.

No, I’ve never been lucky, and suddenly protective walls seem to divide them.

The waiter saved him again when he appeared setting her salad in front of her then setting Jarrett’s shepherd’s pie down asking if they needed anything else. Then he was gone, and they were alone in the quiet corner of the room.

She broke the silence that had engulfed them, Now, what about you, Mr. Thornton? What should I know about you? she quizzed.

Ouch, Mr. Thornton sounds way too formal. I thought we were on a first name basis?

Okay, Jarrett, tell me about you.

Let’s see. He thought for a moment, I like ketchup; I write, play, and sing country music; I had forgotten how beautiful autumn days could be; and I take the fifth on my driving record. That pretty well sums it up. I’m just a simple guy sharing an evening with a beautiful teacher, he joked.

And here I thought maybe you were a complicated man with a mysterious history lurking behind those deep blue eyes.

I think maybe you are the mysterious one. He hesitated. There is something sad behind those green eyes even in this light. He thought to himself there was something that had caused her to build some pretty tall walls around herself.

The look in her eyes told him he was right. She just laughed to cover the awkwardness. Teachers are not mysterious. They don’t have time to be. I am just a middle-class girl from Missouri who grew up in a loving home with doting parents, one older sister, a younger brother, one dog, one cat, and several goldfish. The only mystery in my house was how to keep goldfish alive; I am afraid we went through several until my mother proclaimed she wasn’t leading any more fish to their death and banned them from the house. See, no mystery here.

Teachers have no time to be mysterious, surely not. I hope teachers have time for a little mischievous fun now and then. He changed the subject because he noticed the walls were becoming higher. Someone had hurt her along the way and whoever it had been Jarrett would never forgive him. He felt a need to protect her. He didn’t know from what. But whatever it was, he never wanted her to hurt again.

Don’t you know the only fun teachers have is grading papers and tests covering them with red marks? Returning to a safe subject, her playfulness also returned. We delight in finding new ways to torment our students, or so my students tell me.

Well, I think those thoughts crossed my mind a few times when I was in school. I have to tell you, though; I never thought I would be sitting across from a teacher as she sipped her beer. As a matter of fact, I didn’t think teachers drank beer. Is that legal? I am sure all my teachers were old and dull, or least that’s how I remember them.

It’s a required course we take: How to be Dull and Boring in Five Easy Steps. But my favorite class was Slave Driving 101. I excelled in both courses.

No way. I never would consider you dull or boring, slave driving—maybe, the laughter shone in his eyes. "Too bad none of my teachers looked like you. I might have taken school