Then The Stars Fall
by
Brandon Witt
Blurb:
Wesley Ryan’s fond memories of the small Ozark town of El Dorado Springs gives him the confidence to leave his city life and failed relationships for a new start. Seeking a safe place, Wesley moves into his grandparents' old home and takes over the local veterinary clinic.
Travis Bennett perseveres in raising his three children and managing his business, but the death of his wife four years earlier has left him a shell of the man he used to be. Every day, every minute, is an aching emptiness. Finding love again seems far out of reach, not that Travis would even considering looking.
When an early morning visit from Travis and his dog stirs feelings in Wesley, pushing them away is the safest course—the last thing Wesley needs is to fall for a man with baggage.
Life, however, has other plans.
Please note: This is a re-release of a previously published version with a new cover. No substantial changes were made to the text of this novel.
Also available on Kindle Unlimited
A few of us read this book back when it was first published, and we've linked two of them for your perusal.
Excerpt:
Wesley Ryan tugged on his sage green cashmere scarf, loosening the knot. It had been colder when he’d gotten dressed that morning, but the day had warmed up to the midfifties, and between the leather jacket and scarf, he was starting to feel a bit claustrophobic. He’d parked by the hardware store at the south end of downtown on Main Street; he wished he’d taken the time to shed some of his layers before walking through the park.
This was exactly what he remembered from when he was a kid and would spend the occasional weekend with his grandparents. He’d loved Mom and Pop Mitchell. It hadn’t hurt that he’d been their favorite grandchild. It wasn’t his fault, or theirs. His older brothers had loved their mom’s parents, but they both preferred staying with Grandma and Grandpa Ryan in Kansas City.
By the time Wesley had been in high school, he would come down at least one weekend a month to stay with Mom and Pop. Those weekends were memories he held on to with every fiber of his being, especially lately. However, those memories weren’t the ones that made him love El Dorado Springs.
His most loved memories were from much further back, when Mom and Pop would bring him to the park and watch as he played on the rickety play set and gigantic slide. The fiery orange of the oaks and brilliant yellows of the black walnut trees would blend together in a watercolor smear as he zoomed down the dipping slide.
Wesley’s disappointment over the playground’s updating had surprised him, as had his relief when he’d discovered the rejuvenation had only fixed the massive slide instead of replacing it. He hadn’t realized what comfort and happiness he’d associated with the spot until it was nearly gone. Now, with the trees turning their reds, oranges, and golds, he felt ten again. He could feel Mom and Pop watching over him, just out of sight, maybe unpacking the basket on the old picnic tables under the wooden shelter. He could almost hear Mom’s voice as she called him from his playing, announcing the chicken salad and grape sandwiches were ready.
The sensation offered only a momentary melancholy, which quickly gave way to peaceful relaxation. This had been the right decision. Maybe not forever. Actually he was quite certain it wasn’t forever. He was a city boy, just like his brothers. Just like his mother, who couldn’t believe her youngest son wanted to live in the childhood home she’d been so desperate to leave.
But for now? It was perfect. He had no bad memories here. He looked around at the small-town beauty, just able to see the top of the bandstand from where he stood at the apex of the hill. How could there be bad memories in such a place? He was smack dab in the middle of a Norman Rockwell painting. Able to see them or not, he was certain Mom and Pop really were watching over him.
Peace. He needed some peace. His brain hadn’t had a moment’s rest in years. Let alone his heart. As soon as his convertible Miata had passed the El Dorado Springs, population three thousand and something, city limit sign as he sped down Highway 54, a calm settled over him. He’d taken a deep breath. He hadn’t been able to remember the last time he’d breathed. Not really.
He whispered a barely audible, “Thank you,” as he turned from the playground and began walking down the steep sidewalk into the heart of the park. He wasn’t sure who he was thanking. Maybe Mom and Pop. Maybe God. Maybe the trees.
The feeling of gratitude intensified the lower he descended, stepping deeper into the picturesque park. Hope. Not just gratitude, but hope. A laugh escaped him at the realization. He’d given up on that particular emotion.
Pausing just for a moment, he looked at the panorama of the park and the stretch of the old buildings of Main Street behind the rock wall. In his mind’s eye, they appeared in the sepia tones of an ancient postcard he’d seen as a kid. It had been a photograph from the very perspective he currently occupied. The circular domed bandstand off to the right, the steps leading down to the spring near the center, an elaborate gated fishpond over to the left. Each structure covered in hand-sized round stones. Masses of trees dotted the sloping hills. Peering through their branches, he could see the lavish stores lining Main Street over the rock wall and people milling about in a blur. Almost out of frame on the left side of the postcard stood a slender brunette woman, her hand resting on the wrought iron bar as she peered into the fishpond. She wore a long white Victorian dress, dripping in lace, and a matching hat.
The image faded, returning Wesley to the present, where the trees shone in their mid-October hues and the buildings in the background looked worn and unloved.
Home. He was home. Even as the sensation hit him, he thought it odd. This had never been home. Not really. At least not in name.
Barely able to refrain from skipping, Wesley walked the rest of the way down the sidewalk, then paused by the curved steps leading down to the spring. He looked down and saw the two rusted pipes from which the orangish water still spouted before rushing down a small stream covered by a narrow grate and disappearing once more somewhere under the park. He started to descend and take a drink, like he had a hundred times before, but suddenly the pleasant feelings began drifting away and the melancholy that had threatened earlier began to set in.
Picking up his speed, he passed between the fishpond and bandstand and made his way up the sidewalk that led to the opposite side of the park and through the iron arch marking the entrance into downtown.
Three elderly men sat on the edge of the sunken rock wall, feet firmly planted on the sidewalk, oblivious to the dangers of falling backward to the park nine feet below. Wesley lifted a hand in greeting and smiled toward them. The men only stared, as if trying to figure out what sort of creature had just emerged from the park. One of them even turned to look back over his shoulder toward the bandstand. Wesley had heard some sort of cave was under the park. Maybe the old man thought Wesley had crawled up from its depths. He knew his designer clothes didn’t blend in with the town, but he didn’t think he deserved quite the reaction these men gave him. Finally, long past the time it would have been appropriate, the most wrinkled of the men lifted his chin in a minuscule greeting.
Wesley almost stepped closer to speak to them, then thought better of it. If they couldn’t even wave in his direction without such a reaction, trying to start up a conversation could have disastrous results. Better to simply let things be.
Though Wesley had been in town a couple of weeks and had visited the park before the leaves had started to turn, he hadn’t walked along the storefronts. He’d been nervous for some reason. Judging from the men’s reaction, maybe the concern hadn’t been misguided.
On his visits with his grandparents, they hadn’t spent much time downtown outside of the park and the annual Founder’s picnic each July. For three days Main Street was overtaken by food trucks, carnival rides, and B-list (more often than not, C-list) country music stars. Other than that, the downtown wasn’t much more than a worn-out backdrop.
The melancholy that had started to nip at him as he left the park sank its teeth in deeper with every store he passed. Most of them were closed up long ago, windows covered or broken. A couple of the lots were empty, the buildings burned down in a fire some time ago. Wesley couldn’t remember if they’d still been there when he was a kid or not. A relatively new gun shop took up half of the block, and considering the downtown was basically two blocks long, four if you counted the east and west sides of the street separately, that was a large percentage of ammunition. A sign bigger than himself stretched over the doorway—Mark’s Gun Emporium.
Wonderful. Just what every town needed.
Wesley hated guns.
Across from the gun shop—oh, emporium—on the east corner of Main Street and Spring were three stores in a row that appeared in good shape. Two of them Wesley remembered, though he’d never been in them, and both seemed to still be in business—Mei-Lien’s jewelry store and Rose Petal’s Place. Both of these seemed to have recently been updated, each with a fresh coat of paint. The jewelry store was done in tasteful, neutral tones, but Rose Petal’s Place nearly hurt his eyes. The combination of red, pink, purple, and silver paint came together in a truly terrifying effect. If those old men sat on the rock wall across from this eyesore every day, it was a wonder they were able to see at all, let alone pass judgment on his appearance.
The presence of those stores lifted Wesley’s spirit slightly. At least something was left of his childhood. He darted across the street, thinking he might go into the stores. He wasn’t sure what he’d say if he went into the jewelry store; it wasn’t as though you could just browse around for wedding rings. He’d played with Mei-Lien’s daughter a couple of times as a child, but that was over twenty years ago. No way Mei-Lien would remember him.
Though jewelry wasn’t an option, he might come back another day to get flowers, maybe for Cheryl for giving him a chance to run her veterinary office. Moving on to Rose Petal’s Place, he angled for the doorway but couldn’t make himself go in. He glanced through the window; the colors on the inside were even worse than the exterior, and he was fairly certain he saw an entire wall of fake flowers. He didn’t even try to suppress a shudder.
The third store had a different feel. Even the large front windows were welcoming. It looked clean, cheerful, and bright. He glanced up at the massive wooden sign above the door. The Crocheted Bunny was carved in scrolling script—the words painted in cornflower blue over a white background. Wesley wasn’t sure what he would do with crochet supplies, but he was going to buy something. This store was the one positive spot that wasn’t trying to ruin every childhood feeling he’d had.
His eyes grew wide as he stepped into the store. The place was almost an assault on the senses. He wasn’t sure where to look first.
A warm laugh floated out from behind the long wooden counter. “That expression never gets old. Although it’s rare to get new people in here, so I don’t get the pleasure of it often anymore.”
