It Started in Texas Read online

  Copyright © 2015 M.B. Feeney

  All rights reserved.

  COVER DESIGN BY: © J.C. CLARKE

  COVER ART: © The Graphics Shed

  Copyright © M.B. Feeney 2015

  Published by M.B. Feeney

  The right of M.B. Feeney to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her under the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000.

  License Notes: This novel is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This print 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 recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

  This work is copyright. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Acknowledgements

  Dedication

  Prologue

  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

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Tammy. As always, thank you for being the star that you always are. I wouldn’t get half of what I get done without you. You’re the best cheerleader an author could ever ask for.

  All of my pre readers and beta readers, thank you so much for being amazing and catching my silly mistakes. I’m just glad you didn’t tell me that this story sucked and that I should scrap it completely.

  A special thank you to Jane Heron for talking me off the ledge when I couldn’t see this book with fresh eyes. Love you hun

  Elizabeth Lawrence. Once again, your editorial comments have made me laugh, but never once did I feel talked down to. You are an amazing editor and ‘get’ me and my words. Thank you.

  To everyone in my Facebook group, Feeney’s Fabulous Friends, you have pimped me, recommended my books, and generally make me feel special. I can’t ever repay you, so I hope this is a start.

  Lastly, everyone who has taken a chance on me and my words. You own a small piece of my heart, as cliché as that sounds. Even if you only read one book of mine, you’re there, forever.

  To anyone who has ever been a fangirl/fanboy and who has been a part of a fandom. This one is for you.

  Dream the dreams, real life will still be there.

  “Hey darl, how’s things over there?” Jenny’s surprise video call came in late at night, well in the UK anyway. I sat in the dim living room, while she sat in her brightly lit kitchen, thirteen hours ahead of me.

  “Dark. Why did you have to video call me? Just to make me jealous of your glorious sunshine?” It was a running joke between us that we only ever videoed to show off our good weather.

  “Of course. I mean, why else would I call you?” She actually stuck her tongue out at me, making me laugh.

  “Silly me, how could I forget?” I leaned back against the back of the sofa to get comfortable. Our conversations often ended up being quite long due to their infrequency.

  “It’s the Brit in you. Bad weather sucks out your brain cells.”

  Without a word, I flipped her off before picking the laptop up and walking into the kitchen so I could make a drink and have a smoke.

  “Ignoring your insults to my nationality because I know, deep down, you’re jealous of not being over here yourself.” Her laughter filtered through the tinny speakers as I moved around the kitchen. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your call? Not that I’m complaining, it’s been too long.”

  “It has. Instant messaging is fine, but every now and then, I get the urge to see your face.”

  “Well, you could have warned me, I feel and look like crap.” I ran my hand through my hair to try and smooth it down.”

  “Oh please, you look gorgeous. You always do.”

  Glancing at the screen, I pulled a stupid face at her, seeing my own in the top right hand corner.

  “Sure.” My drink made and cigarette smoked, I picked the laptop up and went back into the living room where Dermot was now sitting in the armchair, reading. A small smile on his face. He indulged my ‘obsession’ with A Pocket Full of Lyrics and my constant chatting online to the far flung friends I’d made through their music.

  “Anyway, as lovely as it is watching you blush, I’m actually getting ready to head out to an audition. I just wanted to fill you in on a few things.”

  I listened to her words, Dermot across the room watching me. The more Jenny spoke, the less able to form coherent sentences I became. A couple of times, I tried to interrupt her, telling her that there was no way I could let her do so much for me. She told me to shut up and ended the call.

  Sitting in silence caused by shock and disbelief, I ran the conversation through my head. Jenny and a few of our other Lyricist friends had clubbed together to get me and themselves flights to and from Houston, Texas to catch a live show.

  Shit like this never happened to me, and I wasn’t quite sure how to take it. I was that overwhelmed, I burst into tears before pouring myself a large glass of wine. Once I stopped shaking, I sat down with my Dermot to work out whether I could physically go on a trip to Texas, just before Christmas.

  For as long as I’d been a fan of Pocket Full of Lyrics, the country/rock band had never toured outside of the U.S. and Canada. Despite my numerous attempt to save the money and catch a couple of shows and meet up with friends overseas, something always managed to crop up, and the money had to be used for more important things. With no sign of the band travelling to the U.K, I’d resigned myself to having to depend on online videos.

  Having never been to the States, I had no idea what to pack. After speaking to a couple of friends who were Texas natives, I settled on a couple pairs of jeans, tank tops, and my Pocket full of Lyrics hoodie, which left plenty of room for possible purchases on the return flight.

  The morning of the trip, Dermot drove me to the airport. He’d been very accepting of the entire trip, insisting I deserved a break for my birthday, and he had helped me explain to the kids why I wouldn’t be able to attend their nativity plays at school that day.

  While the kids spent a lot of time with their grandparents, both in the UK with my parents, and over in Ireland with Dermot’s, I hadn’t been so far away from them. They didn’t seem too worried, since Dermot promised to record them for me to watch when I got back. Grace, our seven year old, asked the question uttered by kids for centuries:

  “What presents will you bring back, Mummy?”

  At four, our son Sam was more interested in the possibility that I would see a real life cowboy. My worries about them missing me were put to rest.

  I pulled my carry-on bag out of the boot before giving Dermot a perfunctory kiss and walking into the departure terminal to meet Jo Fisher. She was a fellow Lyricist, and one of the main instigators of this trip. She’d caught an overnight train from Wales so we could fly out together. Something I was grateful for, fifteen hours travelling time alone, without the possibi
lity of popping outside for a cigarette, hadn’t appealed to me.

  “Hey, you!” We hugged tightly, surrounded by scores of people milling about.

  “Hi.” Still in disbelief that this trip was happening, I wasn’t sure what to say. “Shall we check in?”

  “Are you ready for the best birthday of your life?” Jo asked while we walked through the departure lounge to the bar. It was far too early for alcohol, but with a long haul fight looming, we ordered coffees with whiskey chasers anyway.

  “Am I ever! I’m still surprised Dermot didn’t kick off about me leaving him and the kids right before Christmas. Believe me, I’m going to make the most of it.”

  “How do you think Jenny and I got your passport details to book the flight?”

  “What? He was in on the whole thing?” The more I thought about it, the more it made sense. “I wish he’d let on.”

  “Are things still rough between the two of you?” Jo asked, her voice soft.

  I had never been the type of person to air my problems in public, but after a particularly awful argument with Dermot about money while the kids were away for Easter, I’d broken down on the phone to Jo and told her about my problems with the relationship I had with Dermot. We didn’t argue very often− especially when the kids were around; but when we did, we let rip and ended up saying hurtful things that were apologised for, but never forgotten. Yes, I loved him, he was the father of my kids and we’d been together for a long time, but I was no longer in love with him and was too scared to end things. Not just for the stability the children had, but also because I was nervous about being a ‘part time’ parent. Often, I wondered if he felt the same, had the same fears, but I never asked him.

  “They’ve been worse. We’re actually speaking at the moment, which must be why he agreed to get involved with all this.” I waved my arm, indicating the airport around us. “But from this moment onwards, I don’t want to think about him. I’d rather concentrate on having a good time this weekend.”

  Laughing, we both knocked back our whiskey and then drained our coffee cups.

  Sixteen hours without a cigarette by the time we cleared customs, and I was about ready to kill the first person who looked at me the wrong way. Travelling with only carry-on bags was a blessing, letting us bypass the baggage collection carousels and make our way outside to find a smoking patio. We had just exited the terminal when our names were screamed from a distance.

  Getting my priorities in order, I lit up, and then turned around to see Jenny running towards us at full pelt.

  “I was just about to phone you guys! I only just got through customs.” She threw her arms around the both us and continued talking. “What on earth do they think I’ve smuggled in from New Zealand, a fucking sheep?” Jenny, the brains of this entire weekend, was the bluntest person I’d ever known.

  “Are we the last to arrive?” I checked my phone. It was almost nine p.m. local time, too late to phone Dermot to let him know we’d landed. Cigarette stuck between my lips, I typed out a text promising to call in the morning and hoped I didn’t wake him up.

  “Internationally, yes. Holly and Ivy are driving in from Georgia and will meet up with us at the hotel. Speaking of which, let’s get this party started, ladies.”

  Speaking to Jenny via the internet had never revealed what a whirlwind she was. The woman never stopped moving her hands while she spoke at a mile a minute. She was going to be a force to be reckoned with once she really got going. At five foot five, she was about level with my shoulder, but what she lacked in stature, she made up for with her huge personality.

  Jo and I followed her to a queue of waiting taxis. Less than an hour later, we were settled into our room for the weekend.

  Hammering on the door woke Jo and me with a jolt, plunging me into a state of confusion when I failed to recognize my surroundings. I recovered and opened the door, allowing Jenny and the ‘Christmas Twins’, Holly and Ivy, to charge in. I’d not known the American girls as long as Jenny and Jo had, but they were the kind of girls you couldn’t help but like.

  “Come on! You’ve had plenty of sleep, and you don’t want to let the jetlag ruin your weekend. Let’s go and check out what Houston has to offer.”

  In the space of ten minutes, the three of them had us freshened up with our money, phones, and bags heading out the door. Jenny was wrapped up in a thick sweater and jacket, complaining of the cold weather, but I found the cool air pleasant and had my own jacket draped over my arm. I’d been warned about the ‘weather roulette’ in Texas, but I hadn’t expected it to be warmer than back home.

  After we’d been walking for no more than ten minutes, Ivy spotted a bar that wasn’t too busy, which was a surprise on a Friday at midnight. Finding a table to accommodate the five of us was easy. The two young guys working behind the bar watched us make our way through the large room to a booth near the back. It was as if they’d never had a group of women enter the bar before.

  Jo and Ivy went straight up to the bar to order beers and whiskey chasers. It was going to be one of those nights. We only had a couple of hours until the bar closed, and the girls were determined to make the most of it. I wasn’t a big drinker, but I joined in, throwing caution to the wind for once.

  Our conversation flowed just as easily as when we chatted online. We teased Jenny for flirting with the bar staff, and I couldn’t quite get my head around the fact that we had only been in each other’s company for a short time. We were all completely at ease.

  We were drawn together in the Pocket online groups thanks to our mutual love for Gage Weston, the gorgeous front man for Pocket Full of Lyrics. Growing up, my friends always had different tastes in men, but the women I was with wanted Gage as much as I did. I couldn’t blame them. With his gorgeous green eyes, dirty blonde curly hair, and stubble covering his jaw, he was stunning. We all knew there was no chance of a hook up here in Houston, but it didn’t stop us joking about the ‘what ifs’.

  Swaying slightly when I stood at the bar, waiting for the bartender to pour our shots, I shivered in the cool breeze of the outside door opening. I watched a large group of people move through the tables to claim the last empty booth, almost opposite us, no more than six feet from the table we’d commandeered. Sparing them a swift glance sobered me instantly. I froze in the act of paying for the drinks.

  “Holy fuck,” I muttered to myself, struggling to regain my composure. Gage Weston and his best friend, Drew Hodges, from A Pocket full of Lyrics were standing on the other side of the smooth, wooden bar, waiting to order drinks.

  Taking a deep breath to calm myself, I picked up the tray of drinks and turned back to our table. I walked slowly, trying to keep my hands from shaking.

  "You look a bit green, babe." Jenny rubbed my arm gently in concern. I put the tray of drinks down and rummaged in my bag for my packet of cigarettes. While I wanted to avoid staring across the bar, I also needed to go outside and attempt to calm myself down. I could feel the fangirl panic rising inside me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Gage and Drew return to their booth, where the other members of Pocket Full of Lyrics and their manager were sitting.

  "I'm fine, but I need a smoke. Gage and the guys are sitting on the other side of the bar." With that hanging in the air, I practically ran outside and lit up. The first shot of nicotine calmed my nerves at once. To keep myself occupied, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and checked my social media. While I was tapping away on the screen of my phone, I sensed someone standing behind me. I was absolutely petrified to turn round, but I made myself do it anyway. Whoever the person was, he was male, had his back to me, and also had his phone in his hand. I couldn't see his face, but I had a good view of his rear end and liked what I saw. Although I thought about saying something to him, I chickened out. Before long, I had finished my cigarette and needed to re-enter the bar before one of the girls came looking. As I pulled the door open, I caught the opening words of a phone conversation.

  "It's me. Get your ass here now.
Hot chicks in the bar. One o’ them’s from Engla-" The deep voice, with a thick southern accent that made me feel warm and tingly inside, cut off when the door closed behind me.

  I was thrust back into the music and dim lighting. My eyes swept over to the table that held the man of my dreams while I made my way across the large rooms. He was laughing at something, and his entire body looked relaxed. It must have been the pleasure of not being on ‘public time’, I guessed.

  "You okay, hun?" Ivy asked and shoved a drink into my hand.

  I took a large mouthful of the whiskey before speaking, not fully trusting my voice not to crack. "I am now."

  Keeping my voice low, I told them about the guy who had come outside after me. They told me that none of the band had left the table, so we surmised that it must have been someone else.

  "So, some random is calling his buds to come and make a move on us. Yeah, like that's going to work with the Pocket guys in the same room."

  The girls laughed, and I began to calm down. Soon enough, a group of young man-boys approached us.

  "Hey, ladies. Y'all look like you're having some fun over here. Fancy some company?"

  The cocksure mouthpiece of the group looked at us all before settling on Jenny's ample cleavage. With the barest pause in her conversation with Jo, she cut him down with her eyes, but he continued to grin at her.

  "Look, darl’. Thanks for the offer, but you look like you need to go home and practice the art of shaving. You seem to have caught yourself a few times." She turned her back on him and continued with her conversation.

  The rest of us looked at the small bits of tissue stuck to his jaw and burst out laughing, causing the poor kid to blush like crazy. His friends were laughing at him as well as they walked over and sat on bar stools. "Whose round is it?" Jenny asked.

  "Er . . . yours, babe." I told her, draining the last of my drink. She stood up and made her way to the bar. One of the others headed over to join her while I headed to the bathroom, snaking my way through the tables. I was starting to feel the effects of the alcohol and realised I needed to slow down a bit. A fifteen hour flight and being on the go ever since I woke up was starting to take its toll on me. Once in the bathroom, I splashed some cold water on the back of my neck and looked at myself in the full length mirror. My boot cut jeans sat over my well-worn cowboy boots, and my vest top was barely wrinkled. So far so good. After finishing up, I went to join everyone. Just as I opened the door, my phone beeped, so I fished it out of my pocket and opened the text while I walked. I was about to send a reply to my friend in the UK when I was knocked on my arse.