Shooting Star

By Tiffany Hayward

Cheyenne was becoming increasingly unhappy on the road living the superficial life of a Country Music superstar. Such was the inevitable price for success.

Certainly, some celebrities craved the somewhat surreal lifestyle but Jeremy, Cheyenne’s lead guitarist knew that it went against her grain. He knew she’d give anything to just call it quits like Grizzly Adams and live happily ever after.

Cheyenne was fed up with the glitz and glamour of the big cities. As a matter of fact, she was sick to death of them. Thus, her reason for temporarily quitting her lavish Tour.

Yes, she was running away. From society at large. Even though she yearned to go to her ranch in Montana, the Big Sky, she knew that would be the first place her manager would look for her.

Cheyenne’s manager was continually putting the pressure on Cheyenne to do show after show with very little down time. Stress had driven Cheyenne to alcohol and Jeremy worried for her. Would the next step be drugs?

Las Vegas, New Mexico seemed like it would be a perfect refuge. Cheyenne started performing under an anonymous name at the Lone Star, an isolated roadhouse there. At all cost, she wanted to remain undiscovered for as long as possible.

Detached from reality by choice, with the addition of alcohol, Cheyenne was unreachable. This frustrated her associates at the Lone Star, especially their Native American bouncer, Josh Red Hawk who was without a doubt, the most devastatingly handsome man she had ever seen!

The captivating Country singer haunted his dreams. There were so many things he wanted to know about her. Where had she come from? Was she just passing through? Did she have a significant other? Is that what she was running from?
Would the two connect? Or would they be just two passing ships in the night? Would she return to her extravagant Tour and to her adoring fans the world over? Find out in this brand new, steamily intriguing, contemporary romance, Shooting Star.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 6, 2021
• ISBN: 9781664110311

Tiffany Hayward

I was born in a tiny Midwestern town called Greenfield, Indiana. I spent time in both Florida and California and will always hold them both dear. But most of my life I have spent with my one true love of 40 years in the uniquely beautiful state of Maine. Together with my 3 hunting dogs, Bo, Penny and Sunny I enjoy the change of seasons on a serene lake where I pursue my one true passion, writing.

Book preview

Chapter One

Cheyenne? Did you hear me? Snap out of it. We need to get you into rehab.

Florence Tucker managed the young, under the weather Country Western singer. She snatched the nearly emptied bottle of bourbon away from her before she could refill her glass. She flushed what was left of it.

Her meal ticket was well on her way to becoming an alcoholic. Flo was determined not to let that happen. As it was, Cheyenne was detached from reality by choice. But with the addition of alcohol she was unreachable at times.

You’re lucky we can even get any jobs.

Hey, when she’s sober, she’s hot. Red hot. A member of Cheyenne’s band overheard Flo’s statement as he stepped into their elaborate Tour bus. And you know it. Jeremy lashed out a pointed finger to the huffy manager. That’s why you’ve never bailed.

Flo never replied, simply, indignantly departed.

Jeremy and Flo were known to bicker. He was a veteran member of the band though one of the youngest at 24. And though Cheyenne looked to be in her twenties, she had just turned 31.

Her vocals were quite often compared to the rock musician, Stevie Nicks. She was, however, pure country. And she wrote many of her own soulful ballads.

Her beauty was to most of her adamant followers, unmatched. Her gorgeously glittery flaxen locks were loose and wild, falling nearly to her waist. Her figure was every bit as luscious as any Playmate of any year.

Amazingly enough, she was footloose and fancy free. Never married and that’s the way she wanted it to be. She was too committed to making music to devote any time to a steady relationship. In fact, she had only two people in her life she considered good friends and Jeremy was one of them.

When in need of a get away, she owned a ranch in Montana and was a breeder of some of the finest horses in the country. She had competent ranch hands and a foreman she trusted who initiated her business deals. The estate was an awesome fortress nestled in a valley surrounded by breathtaking mountains. It was isolated, providing absolute solitude. The kind that Cheyenne craved.

Get with it. We’ve got to hit the road in an hour or so. Drink up.

Jeremy had brewed some espresso, the only coffee strong enough to bring Cheyenne back down.

I’m not going.

What do you mean, you’re not going? It’s too late to back out. We’ve sold out Denver stadium. Don’t let Flo hear you say that. Jesus, she’d flip out.

As if I care.

Cheyenne rummaged through several cupboards to find another bottle.

Chey? What’s happening? It seems like we’re losing you. And I don’t want that to happen. You’re a shining star. Don’t let yourself burn out. Jeremy had a sickened feeling in his gut. He felt like he wasn’t reaching her. That this might be the end of the road. Chey, you’re on top of the charts. Why do you want to make this a farewell tour?

Just leave me alone.

She grabbed her backpack and stuffed a few belongings into it. She stepped off the bus, then hitched a ride with the very next vehicle that passed by.

Jeremy was beside himself. The bus would never keep up with the custom 4x4. He was torn between a hot pursuit of Cheyenne and his loyalty to the rest of the band.

Moments later, Flo reboarded the bus.

Where’s Cheyenne?

I don’t know.

What do you mean, you don’t know? Flo turned hysterical. Jeremy! She was here ten minutes ago. We’ve got to be in Denver by tomorrow afternoon.

I’m more concerned about her hitching a ride with the first truck that came along. What’s to say the guys not a nut job?

Good God. Call the highway patrol. We’ll put out an APB.

Flo. Chill out. We can’t do that anyway. She hasn’t been missing 48 hours. Not only that. She made her own choice to take off. She’s probably just going to the ranch.

Then, why wouldn’t she have said so? She’s not in her right mind, Jeremy. She could be headed to Mexico for all we know. What are we going to do about Denver? I’ve got to find a substitute.

What do you mean, a substitute? There’s nobody out there like Cheyenne.

Bah. All we need to find is a pretty face on a pretty body and a long, blond wig. She’ll lip sync. It’s a quick fix.

We’d be all done in this business if you get caught.

Just this once, Jeremy. Have you got a better idea? I’m all ears.

Count me out after Denver. I’m going to go look for Chey.

You wouldn’t know where to even begin.

Where ya headed?

South. New Mexico, maybe.

Maybe? Cheyenne’s ride questioned her curiously. Not in the mood for conversation, she offered very little. What’d you say your name was?

I didn’t.

The man merely chuckled. Ok…ok. So, you’re not a talker. That’s kind of refreshing. My ol’ lady talks nonstop.

He comically used his hands to depict his statement. Cheyenne chose to ignore him and simply stared out the window. She recognized the song on the radio. The driver turned it up and tapped the dashboard to the beat. It was her own band.

These guys are smoking. I hear they’re playing Denver stadium tomorrow night. The ol’ lady wanted tickets but they were sold out in ten minutes!

This is good. Cheyenne remarked about the roadside diner they had come across.

We didn’t even hit the state line. You sure you don’t want to go a few more miles?

Cheyenne merely got out of the pickup, walked toward the café and never looked back. She chose an isolated booth and ordered a coffee. Just then, her cell phone rang. She let it go to voice mail. She knew it would be Jeremy. She pulled a bottle of rum from her backpack and topped off her cup, unnoticed by the scattered patrons in the lonely diner.

What’ll ya have, sugar? 5 alarm chili is today’s special. Cheyenne looked mildly repulsed, amusing the friendly waitress. Just baked a devil’s food cake. Does that tickle your fancy? Cheyenne’s dark eyes lit up for an instant. She had an insatiable sweet tooth. You got it, honey.

The waitress winked then smiled before whisking off to the counter, stopping at various tables to refill cups of coffee on the way.

Hey, Charlie! Right on time! The usual? She greeted a familiar customer. He had just parked his semi outside.

You got it, Daisy. Don’t forget the chili powder. The hotter the better.

Cheyenne listened intently. He just might be her next ride out of here.

What’s new down Albuquerque way?

Cheyenne hit pay dirt. She paid little attention to their small talk as she patiently waited for him to depart. She’d gladly offer him a few bucks for a lift.

She got up, hefted her backpack then took a seat near him at the counter. He gave her an admiring glance having immediately noticed her.

Somethin’ tells me you’re headed my direction.

Cheyenne flashed a seldom, recently seen, smile at him, immediately warming to the gruff trucker. I’d appreciate it. She placed a one hundred dollar bill next him. He scooped it up.

Let’s hit it, girl.

Cheyenne anxiously jumped down off the stool and followed him to his rig.

See ya next time, Charlie.

Be good. He acknowledged the cheerful waitress. What’s down south? That is, unless you figure it’s none of my business.

A job, maybe.

In Albuquerque?

Preferably not. Cheyenne replied a bit haughtily. Some one horse town somewhere.

She was fed up with the superficial glitz and glamour of the big cities. As a matter of fact, sick to death of them. Thus, her reason for temporarily quitting her extravagant Tour.

The trucker chuckled.

You mean, like Las Vegas?

Cheyenne frowned, somewhat annoyed, as if he hadn’t been listening to her.

Las Vegas, New Mexico. He laughed wholeheartedly. That’s where I call home.

Her lucid dark eyes widened intently. He had sparked a chord of interest in her.

A post office, variety store. Restaurant, if that’s what you want to call it. And a garage.

He could tell the wheels were spinning in her mind. She was really, really stunning. Alas, he was old enough to be her father.

What sort of job are you looking to find?

She just stared at him, her gaze seeming far away. He wondered if she were running from something or someone.

I sing. She commented momentarily.

Did I mention the roadhouse? The Lone Star? Once again, he had captured her attention. The owner’s a good friend of mine. I spend many a night there. Shootin’ pool or the bull. The whiskey’s watered down but it’s cheap. What he could use, is some good ol’ down home music. The bands he usually gets in there play behind a screen so the eggs won’t hit ‘em.

What’s he pay?

I don’t know. He’s never branched out into exotic dancing.

Extremely offended, Cheyenne, with backpack slung over her shoulders, immediately got out of the eighteen wheeler and slammed the door. They had stopped at a stoplight.

Actually having meant his statement to be a compliment, he regretted it’s obvious effect. Hold on. Hold on. I apologize…

Cheyenne simply walked on down the road, unforgiving.

He pulled off to the side, shut it off and jammed it into park.

You might just be what Chad’s lookin’ for.

Cheyenne slowed her step a bit. She still wasn’t convinced he was serious.

I’ll take you there, hard case. He chuckled at her firm stance.

Even though she was indignant, eminent in her big, brown eyes, she gave in. Chad just ‘may’ be what she was looking for. She could at least give it a shot before moving on.

Charlie decided he would leave her off at the Lone Star before dropping his load in Albuquerque. The next day, he’d head north.

Chapter Two

Cheyenne wasn’t turned off by the isolated roadhouse. It wasn’t as sleazy as she had pictured it to be in her mind. At least, it wasn’t smoky. She wasn’t sure whether a place like this, miles from nowhere would abide any anti-smoking laws.

Where’s Chad, doll? Charlie hailed an attractive Native American bartender.

Charlie! Got time for a cold one? She reached for a glass above her head and proceeded to a tap but the trucker declined.

Unfortunately not, Sammy. I’m on the clock. Got somebody I want Chad to meet.

And who might that be, Chuck? The owner appeared from a back room, having heard the conversation.

You never did tell me your name. Come to think of it. Says she’s a musician. Charlie warmly gestured for Cheyenne to step forward. The very last thing she wanted to do was reveal her true identity, so she greeted the owner with a fake name.

Beth Walker.

Chad extended his hand to shake but Cheyenne didn’t offer in kind. Strangely enough, one continually in the spotlight, she felt uncomfortable one on one with strangers at times. Her eyes did however meet his intently.

What do you do?

Country. She answered simply.

Do you play?

Guitar.

Are you solo? If you need backup I can arrange that.

Sometimes. Cheyenne stated somewhat evasively.

Let’s hear something. He reached behind the bar and handed her a guitar.

Cheyenne took a seat on stage. She played with the cheaply made instrument for a couple of seconds, tuning it as best as she could. She strummed a soft, familiar tune, one of her favorites. One played often on the radio, though not her own.

At all cost, she wanted to remain anonymous as long as she could. Chad and Charlie were immediately enchanted. She had a very unique voice, very sexy. Both men clapped as did several witnessing patrons accompanied by a few whistles when she had finished.

You’ve got a job. Welcome to the Lone Star.

What did I tell you, girl? Believe me, now? Charlie prodded Cheyenne for one of her elusive smiles. He wasn’t disappointed even as it ever so slowly faded upon the approach of a particular man.

She found herself