Pieces of a Broken Heart: Whiskey Bend Series, #1

By Samantha Conley

How do you mend the Pieces of a Broken Heart when it's shattered beyond repair?

When you've lost the loves of your life twice?

What do you do when your first love comes back after breaking all his promises?

Zachary Marshall, has returned home after being gone more than a decade to keep his manager and record label happy after his latest escapade. The country music star is used to doing what he wants, when he wants. The dead town he grew up in has changed. It's not the only thing.

Danielle Taggert is busy owning her own bakery and being a single mom to her precocious daughter. She doesn't have time for anything else, including a social life. When her high school sweetheart blows back into town, her world is turned upside down.

Can she risk everything for another chance at love? Will he be the man she needs him to be? Or will his indiscretions drive them further apart?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Samantha Conley
• Release date: Apr 20, 2024
• ISBN: 9781963866155

Book preview

PROLOGUE

ZACH

14 years Ago

You’re sure you want to do this? She chews on her bottom lip, her go to sign of nervousness, as her unusual blue-green eyes fill with worry.

I have to, Dani. I have to get out of this town and see if I have what it takes to make it.

I’m going to miss you, Zach, her voice waivers as her eyes fill with tears, fat drops spilling over her dark bottom lashes.

It’s not forever. You have two more years of school but as soon as you graduate, you’ll move up there with me.

I could come now. Get my GED, she argues as I pull her into my embrace. Her tears soak my t-shirt as I run my hand up and down her back as she trembles against me.

It will be rough at first. I have to find a place to live and a job, audition.

I can…

Danielle, it’s only two years. The day of graduation I will be here to pick you up and take you back to Nashville with me. I place a kiss on the top of her head, the golden strands tickling my lips.

Two years is a long time. What if you forget about me? she sobs.

How could I forget you? You’re my forever girl. I’ll always find my way home to you.

Placing a finger under her chin, I raise her face to mine and kiss her with all the love in my eighteen-year-old heart. Two years will fly by and we’ll be together. Reluctantly backing away from her, I climb into my beaten up brown truck, listening to the engine rumble as I stare at her through the dirty windshield. I pull the shifter down into reverse, easing over the gravel road. With one last look out the side window, she’s standing there with her blonde hair blowing in the breeze, twisting my class ring around her index finger. I put the truck in drive, leaving part of my future behind me.

CHAPTER 1

ZACH

Present Day

Mother fucker. My jaw throbs like a son of a bitch as the man who just sucker punched me stands in front of me glaring, anger making his bloodshot brown eyes burn brightly. What the hell is your problem? I grate out moving my jaw side to side to work out the soreness.

You want to know what my problem is? the man bellows, his face turning ruddy, the vein pounding in his forehead. You’ve got your hands all over my wife!

At his words, my eyes travel down to the petite brunette who slowly backs away after being ripped out of my arms, her cheeks flush, eyes downcast.

Your wife? I ask disbelievingly. The one thing I don’t do is mess around with married women. Having a gun pulled on me once was enough, thank you very much. You’re married?

Yes, comes the shamefully whispered reply. I’m sorry.

Sorry? Honey, you should be. I’d never have touched you if I’d known. I bark out a laugh at the thought of her sucking my dick in the bathroom before I bent her over the cracked porcelain sink and hiked up her red skirt. Even now, I get a chubby recalling the way her black thong parted the round globes of her ass.

Yeah, he’d never have fucked you in the bathroom if he’d known you were married, slurs Mark Orr, my bass player, and friend, as he staggers into a nearby table, upsetting beer bottles perched on the scuffed surface. As soon as the words leave Mark’s mouth, I close my eyes waiting for the inevitable pain that will come my way as steam comes out of the man’s ears, meaty fist drawn back. And I am not disappointed. Pain blooms across my face as the cartilage of my nose crunches when his fist connects. The blow rocks me back on my heels sending me careening back into the gathered crowd. Thick, sticky warmth pours down my face as the blood gushes forth, the coppery taste filling my mouth.

Billy, no! a feminine voice screams over the country music.

With a wild yell, Mark rushes the other man, burying his shoulder into the man’s flabby waist, momentum carrying them toward the dirty floor, crashing into a very large biker, judging by the leather vest he wears. The giant slowly turns and glares down at the fallen men.

You made me spill my beer, he calmly states before reaching down and wrapping a hand around the collar of Billy’s shirt hauling him to his feet with ease, leaving Mark staring up at the two in drunken confusion. The man cocks his muscular arm back and slams his fist into Billy’s face, knocking the man out cold. The resounding crack from knuckles meeting bone draws a gasp from the nearby patrons. Biker man loosens his grip allowing Billy to slide limply to the floor.

Once the punch is thrown, the bar breaks into chaos. Chairs are thrown across the room. Bodies slammed on tables. Women shriek in the background as the group stampedes toward the double doors to escape the fray. Two mountainous men with security written across their shirts work their way through the panicked crowd and separate the fighters. Quickly they realize they are severely outnumbered, one of the men hollers out for someone to call the police.

One of the bikers must have overheard the shout as he pulls back his club member, telling them they need to leave before the police arrive. As the men scramble for the exit doors, sirens wail in the background. The destruction left behind in the brawl's wake is astonishing as people huddle under tables, eyes wide with fear. The ground is littered with broken bottles and furniture.

Uniformed officers swarm into the bar, adrenaline riding high as they hope to break up the fight. Upon realizing that they are too late, the officers break up the remaining patrons into smaller groups to take their statements. One of the officers radios for an ambulance as he checks on Billy still laid out on the dirty floor.

It’s all his fault! The shrill scream sounds across the emptying space drawing my attention. My little rendezvous from earlier is pointing her finger straight at me as the officer scowls in my direction.

How the hell is this my fault? Your husband started this. He threw the first punch!

If you would have just stayed away from me, none of this would have happened! she wails in hysterics as she drops to the floor beside him, cradling his head in her lap.

Lady, if you would have told me you were married in the first place, I never would have touched you. Maybe you should have worried about staying faithful to your husband instead of riding my dick in the bathroom! The moment the words pass my lips, I wish I could call them back. There was no reason to tell these people of our sleazy liaison and cause her any further embarrassment.

"What else was I supposed to do when the Zach Marshall flirted with me?" she simpers, her brown eyes shiny with tears.

I don’t know, how about remember your fucking vows? Sarcasm drips from my words.

Okay, that is enough from both of you. The officer interrupts. I have several witnesses that stated that the man on the floor instigated the fight. However, considering the amount of damage done to the establishment, the owner wants to press charges for disorderly conduct and destruction of property.

You’re trying to pin this on Zach? Mark slurs from beside him.

And I’m taking you in for public intoxication. He whips out a pair of handcuffs from his belt.

Fuck. My. Life.

We think you need to take a vacation, Zach, Vincent, my agent blurts from behind his desk.

A break? Are you kidding me? I fall back against the black leather cushion of the couch.

Look, it concerns the label with all the negative press you’ve been getting here lately. Normally it’s any press is good press but since it came out that the woman involved was married it’s tarnishing your shine, so to speak, he explains.

I didn’t know she was married, Vin. Leaning forward, elbows on knees, I rub my hands over my face.

It doesn’t matter, he replies shaking his head. His desk chair creaks as he shifts positions. She and her husband have sold their story to every two-bit rag that would take it. Poor lonely wife seduced by the famous singer. No matter how we spin it, you look like the bad guy. Country music fans like their stars to be wholesome, good old boys. Not a home wrecker.

It’s not like I’m the first one caught with his pants down, I snort. Half of the singers today aren’t famous, they’re infamous. Just look at Jaso…

No, you’re definitely not, Vinny interrupts before I rant, but right now you’re at the top of your game. Six number one hits in four months is incredible. Your album has gone platinum. The label wants the fans to keep loving you. They’re suggesting a break.

Suggesting or ordering? I huff out the question in frustration. I’ve worked my ass off to get to where I am today. Some groupie who wanted a quickie and her no dick husband aren’t taking that away from me.

We’re going to take it as a suggestion, Vincent soothes as he moves around the front of the desk, sitting on the edge in front of me. Look, we want to keep the label happy. We will head into negotiations for your next album soon. You don’t need anything negative reflecting on you right now.

What do you suggest? I demand leaning forward, my ass barely on the edge of the cushion.

Your brother is getting married in a few months, right? he asks thoughtfully.

I guess, I mutter.

He strokes his graying goatee before saying the words, Go home for a little while.

Home? I sputter. I’ve avoided the place for the last fourteen years.

Go spend time with your family, he wheedles. Let this blow over. I’ll start working on your next tour dates. Your next album is almost complete? The question hangs in the air.

Yeah, I’d like to add a couple more songs but nothing’s speaking right now.

Maybe a change in scenery is just what you need. He smiles knowingly at me aware I’ll do anything for the music.

CHAPTER 2

ZACH

Welcome to Whiskey Bend, Oklahoma the sign reads as I turn my red Chevy truck on the main road through town, tires humming on the asphalt.

Well, that’s new, I mutter into the empty cab. I wonder what else has changed in the last fourteen years.

Apparently, a lot can change.

The picturesque Main Street is a far cry from the boarded-up windows of closed businesses I left behind. No one walks dejectedly down the sidewalk, avoiding the cracks, as they rush home. The dreary, mostly dead town I left behind is no more. In its place is something out of a picture book. Storefronts have vibrant displays to capture your attention. Happy, smiling people mill around open doorways. New businesses advertise their wares as children laugh excitedly, holding ice cream cones in their hands as the thick cream drips down their hands. A white banner strung between two lamp posts advertises the upcoming July fourth celebration.

Am I in the fucking Twilight Zone? I shake my head to make sure I’m not seeing things.

Slowly creeping my truck down the street, I slam on my brakes at the intersection that now sports a stop light. A swarm of people crosses in front of the bumper no doubt enjoying the last few days of summer vacation before the children have to return to school. Once the light turns green, I ease through the intersection and proceed out of town towards my parent’s place, passing newly built homes and a sign directing you to the business district.

Business district? Hell, all the businesses are gone, I scoff pushing down harder on the accelerator gaining speed on the open road.

I could find my way home blindfolded. Every groove and rut ingrained in my memory. I made more trips up and down this road in high school than I can count. The pine trees flanking the road. Their height creating shadows on the ground below. For a second, I’m taken back to when I made this trip with the sweet scent of peaches tickling my nose and giggles filling the cab of the truck when I hit the wrong note. Her booted feet resting on the cracked beige dashboard. Blonde hair whipping in the breeze of the open window. That same blonde hair spread out on the blanket underneath the pine trees as we learned each other’s bodies. Her blue-green eyes shining up at me.

Good memories from a lifetime ago.

Pulling into the driveway, my tires crunch on the white gravel as my childhood home comes into view. Memories of sitting on the old porch swing, guitar in my lap as I strum the old country music my dad listened to while dreamed of becoming a star. Bright lights. Screaming fans and my girl at my side. Danielle. Lord, I haven’t thought about her in years. Or maybe I’m trying to fool myself. I’ve thought of her every time I see long curly blonde hair. Or when Brad Paisley croons She’s Everything, it brings a smile to my face along with a tear to my eye. Not that it matters. I made a decision that changed the course of my life. One that didn’t include blue-green eyes and a sultry smile.

Before I can even put the truck into park, my mom opens the screen door, stepping out onto the porch. In the last ten years, it’s seemed like she’s never aged. Her trim figure is encased in standard blue jeans and a purple blouse. Her dark brown hair with a trace of gray at her temples is plaited down her back.

Zachary Wade Marshall, well I’ll be damned. This is a surprise, she squeals as she rushes over wrapping her arms around my waist before I can shut the truck door.

Hey, Momma, I murmur inhaling the scent of cinnamon and sugar clinging to her hair.

Oh, I’ve missed you, baby. It’s so good to see you, she replies, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. Let me look at you, she orders, holding me at arms' length. You always were a handsome devil but look at you now. My boy is all grown up. Not that I mind but what the heck are you doing here, Zach?

I need a little R&R, I guess. Life’s so hectic between touring and recording, I hedge but as always she can see right through me. Her blue eyes narrow as she studies my face.

Get in this house and let me fix you something to eat, she orders as she walks back on the porch, swinging open the screen door. You must be famished after your drive. I picked up a pecan pie today in town. How about a slice of that and a glass of milk?

That’s one of the best offers I’ve had in a long time, I ask her following her into the house. How’s it been going, Mom? I noticed a lot of changes in town when I came through.

It's great isn’t it? She beams, her face creasing around her eyes. Taggert Enterprises has breathed life back into this town.

Taggert Enterprises? Why does that name sound familiar?

Nathan Taggert. He was a few years ahead of you in school I believe.

Yeah, he was. I recall the scrawny dark-haired kid with glasses who the football team bullied.

Well, she starts off in her gossipy tone, Nathan apparently made a lot of good choices after he graduated college. He has his fingers in a lot of pies.

What does that have to do with Whiskey Bend?

He came home to visit with his parents a few years ago and saw an opportunity. He laid out plans with the Chamber of Commerce and brought the land and development council in.

I can’t believe those old farts allowed someone to make any changes to the town. I mean how many other companies have come in and they wouldn’t offer them any incentives to open here.

That is true, but times have changed. A lot of the council members now are younger than me. And they see the benefit of bringing in new business.

I can tell. Main Street was booming when I came through.

Isn’t it wonderful, she gushes.

I was just surprised that’s all. Last time I was in town, it was becoming a ghost town.

Nathan offered people start-up loans to help get the town back on its feet. He also got two manufacturing plants to bring their business here. They employ almost everyone in the town there.

That’s good news, I mumble as she places the piece of pie in front of me along with a tall glass of milk.

Well, it’s good news. Now all the kids aren’t moving off as soon as they graduate high school. There’s opportunity for them here now.

People actually want to stay here? I ask, disbelief dripping from my words.

Not everyone wants to run off the second they can, Zach, she replies, her voice ripe with disapproval. Some people want to remain close to their families.

Mo… I try to explain before she cuts me off.

Zach, I always knew that you’d leave before the ink was dry on your diploma. I never expected that you wouldn’t come back. Her shoulders droop with censure. Guilt eats at me.

I’ve been busy.

Too damn busy to even visit your parents? Come home for Christmas? Is that too damn much to ask? Her voice becomes watery and I can’t stand the thought of making her cry.

Momma, I’m sorry.

Don’t be, she snaps before she realizes, then takes a breath. More calmly she asks, Are you planning on staying here during your vacation or in town?

Here if it isn’t too much of an inconvenience, I remark standing up from the stool making it squeak across the floor as I walk toward the door.

Your room is now a guest room, she calls to my back. You’re more than welcome to stay here as long as you want.

My brown boots stomp down the stairs and across the yard to my truck. Didn’t come here for a fucking guilt trip, I mutter under my breath.

What did you come here for then, Son? comes the booming voice from behind me.

Hey, Dad, I say turning around to see an older version of myself standing a few feet away.

"Good to see you, Zach. What brings you home? With no word, I might add. I know I taught you better manners