Script of Love: A Small Town Romance

by Alexa Aston

Genres: Contemporary Romance; Small-town Romance; contemporary romance; small town romance; photographer; small town romance series; Alexa Aston; Lost Creek Texas Hill Country; novelist; no 3rd act breakup

Synopsis

Welcome to Lost Creek Texas, a small town deep in the heart of the Texas Hill Country, where people come seeking new opportunities and a chance to reinvent themselves—and maybe even find love.

A man betrayed both professionally and personally. A woman on the verge of changing careers. A kiss that alters their relationship…

Novelist Holden Scott earned success straight out of the gate, seeing his first novel published and turned into a popular film. He’s sold the rights to his second bestseller to a director starting his own production company has accepted the challenge to write the script. After a nasty breakup with his girlfriend, Holden seeks solace in the Texas Hill Country and rents a cottage in Lost Creek, hoping the peace of the small town will be conducive to writing— and healing.

Finley Farrow balances her career in education with her interest in photography, teaching during the week and photographing weddings at Lost Creek Winery for her longtime friend’s wedding business on weekends. She’s expanding her side business and toying with the idea to pursue photography full-time.

When Holden stumbles upon an intriguing photography exhibit at the local library, the captivating images, filled with mystery and emotion, cause him to seek out the photographer who can tell a moving story through her pictures. Holden gets to know Finley and encourages her to follow her dreams, while she supports him as he struggles with turning his novel into a screenplay.

As Holden spends more time with Finley, they begin to bond over their shared experiences of heartbreak and the realization that art can be a powerful tool for emotional healing. With time, their connection evolves into a deep and tender love that they both desperately needed but never expected to find. In each other's arms, they find a refuge from the pain of their pasts and the strength to face the uncertainties of their futures.

Can Holden and Finley find success in their professional lives while learning to love— and trust— again?

Find the answer in bestselling author Alexa Aston’s Script of Love, the third book in Lost Creek: Texas Hill Country. This romance contains no third-act breakup!

Each book in the series is a standalone story that can be enjoyed out of order. The entire series is available in Kindle Unlimited.

Series Order:

Book #1: The Perfect Blend

Book #2: Painted Melodies

Book #3: Script of Love

Book #4: Love in Every Bite

Book #5: Whispered Melodies

Release date: July 16, 2024

Publisher: Oliver Heber Books

Sample

PROLOGUE

Brooklyn—December

 

Holden Scott turned the final corner, walking briskly up his quiet Brooklyn street, headed toward the brownstone he’d rented for the past five years. Usually, he had his cell phone in hand, dictating into it as he walked each morning. He had read a few years ago that movement sparked creativity and had taken to talking into his phone on his walks. Holden dictated story ideas. Character sketches. Even entire scenes. He faithfully transcribed everything once he arrived home, no longer struggling to recall a plot point or witty line of dialogue. The habit had made him a much more efficient, productive writer.

No. Author. Anyone could be a writer, but an author was someone who saw his work published. Thankfully, he’d had success out of the gate, one of the fortunate few who did.

He had come out of the renown Iowa Writers’ Workshop with a completed novel, immediately pitching it to several New York agents recommended to him by Dr. Ingram, one of his favorite professors in the program. Evan McGill had quickly signed Holden and gotten him a high, six-figure deal for that novel. Capitol Crimes had been an instant bestseller, and Evan had then sold the book’s rights to a major Hollywood studio, where up-and-coming director Wolf Ramirez turned it into a blockbuster hit.

Holden had wanted to do something completely different his second time. Where his first novel had been a thriller with a ticking time bomb plot, the second was a murder mystery set in a quiet Texas town close to Austin. Hill Country Homicide had released to excellent reviews and had sold briskly over the last year. Evan was now fielding offers from studios to also turn it into a movie.

He jogged up the stairs to the brownstone, inserting his key in the lock. “I’m home,” he called, secretly hoping no one would answer.

Locking the door behind him, he went to the kitchen, chugging a bottle of water he’d left on the counter so it wouldn’t be so cold going down.

Madison wasn’t home, for which he was grateful. Things were no longer working between them, at least, romantically. They had met at the Iowa Writers’ Workshop, a two-year residency program, and become fast friends from day one, sharing their writing with one another and offering critiques. When the workshop ended and they’d graduated with their Master of Fine Arts degrees, their relationship was just heating up. Since Madison was from Scarsdale, she told Holden they should move to New York together. She had been the one to find the brownstone for them to rent, and they had moved in with high hopes for both their careers and their relationship.

Unfortunately, Madison had yet to sell anything. Although he used to read every word she wrote, he’d seen nothing from her in over a year now. On the other hand, she gave him excellent notes, some of which he implemented into his manuscripts. He had told her she would make a fine editor and encouraged her to pursue the editorial end of the literary business. Her temper had flared, and she had told him she was a creative, not a hack who edited others’ work.

That had been the moment he sensed the shift between them.

From then on, she’d kept her work to herself, disappearing for hours each day with her laptop. She told him she went to different places to write. Coffeehouses. Benches in Central Park. The public library. Holden had no idea if she really spent her time writing, especially because he’d seen train tickets in the trash to places beyond the city and the clothes on her side of the closet continued to increase.

They had started out splitting everything equally, him drawing from the advance he’d received on his novel, while she had freely accepted money from her wealthy family. Eventually, he had taken over paying the rent and all the bills, not wanting to accept any money from her parents since he disagreed violently with their politics and lifestyle. The three days they’d recently spent with her family in Scarsdale over Christmas had cemented the fact that he never wanted to be a part of the Parmalee family.

He knew Madison wanted to get married from the numerous hints she had been dropping recently, but Holden hadn’t been ready to put a ring on it, especially since he felt them drifting apart. At this point, he felt nothing romantic toward her. She had become no more than a roommate that he was subsidizing.

Today needed to be the day to end things with her. It wasn’t fair to keep the status quo any longer when he knew they didn’t have a future together. They would both get a fresh start. Their breakup might even help spur Madison’s writing.

Leaving her the brownstone would be his best move. Their lease ended at the beginning of March. She could either renew the lease on her own or find another place to live. Or a job. She had resisted his encouragement to find at least part-time work.

Holden showered and toweled off, wrapping the towel around his waist as he shaved. He had just finished brushing his teeth when his cell rang. Glancing down, he was pleasantly surprised to see Wolf Ramirez calling to FaceTime. The director was only in his mid-thirties and had a stellar reputation in Hollywood, both as a kind man and a professional who delivered strong films. They’d become friends during the filming of Capitol Crimes and spoke occasionally.

Picking up his phone, he tapped it. “Hey, Wolf. What’s going on with you?”

“Quite a bit since we last spoke, my friend. I’m striking out on my own. I’ve formed my own production company, Holden.”

He went to the den, taking a seat. “That’s fantastic, Wolf. Will Ana be a part of running things?”

His friend smiled. “You know my wife is the real brains in our family. With her accounting background, she’ll definitely keep the books—and keep my budget requests in line. Ana is also very organized, so she’ll share co-producer credits with me on all productions. She’ll handle everything from scouting locations to helping with casting to finding the right food trucks. And my brother Rey is a lawyer. He’s already set up the company for us and will serve as its general counsel.”

“I couldn’t be happier for you, Wolf. You won’t have to worry about the big boys coming to you in the future. Instead, you can go after the projects which truly interest you.”

“Funny you should mention that,” Wolf said, a gleam in his eyes. “I haven’t seen in the trades where Hill Country Homicide has been optioned yet. I’d like to step in and bid on it and make it the first film from WEBA Productions. I’ve lived in the Hill Country my entire life. I know these people, Holden. I can make this film sing.

“I know you’ve been well compensated in the past, but after the success of Capitol Crimes and the strong sales with book two, Evan has set the bar pretty high as far as bidding goes.

“That’s why I’m calling you first and not your agent. No, I can’t afford to buy the rights to your novel at the price a large studio could fork over. What I can guarantee, however, is giving you percentage points from the profits.”

Holden whistled. “That’s an intriguing offer. Especially because the movie version of Capitol Crimes did so well.”

“I can’t promise my film of Hill Country Homicide would generate the kind of profit our first effort together did. It’s a completely different story. A totally different audience. But to sweeten the pot? I have an idea that I hope you’ll go for.” Wolf paused. “I want you to write the script for it, Holden.”

The director’s words took him aback.

“I’ve never had any experience with screenplays,” he blurted out. “The only thing I know about them is that one page of script equals one minute of film. Homicide is about three hundred and fifty pages long. I don’t know if I’m up to the challenge of trimming it down to a hundred pages or less.”

“One thing you are is a master of description, my friend. You set a scene incredibly well. Your readers can see it crystal-clear in their minds. You also describe your characters at length. Visually, a film allows an audience member to see that scene and character, taking it all in within seconds. That alone would help you cut down on pages. You came on set before. You know how things work.”

He shook his head. “Seeing how they work and actually doing that work? I’m not sure, Wolf. It’s way out of my wheelhouse.”

They fell silent, and he knew his friend was giving him a chance to mull over the offer. Holden made an instant decision, one which he hoped he wouldn’t regret.

“I’ve just finished my third novel. Given the last of it to Madison to read. That means I’m between projects. What if we worked on the screenplay together?” he offered.

The director nodded enthusiastically. “You know the characters and story better than anyone. You could take the first pass at it. I could read over and make my tweaks. Yes, that would work.” He hesitated. “I don’t want this kind of thing happening long distance, though. Yes, it’s easy to email back and forth, but I like what we did with our first project.”

Wolf referred to the three days they’d spent together, talking about Holden’s story and characters, allowing the director to soak up everything firsthand from the author before shooting anything.

“Would you consider coming to Texas? Your murder mystery happens in a small town here. We could talk things over, and then you could write the first draft. You’re welcome to stay at the ranch. Ana and the kids would like that.”

“I could come for a few days and talk things to death with you, Wolf, but then I’d need to have my own place. I’m better when I have no one around. No distractions.”

“Will you bring Madison with you?” the director asked.

“Ironically, you’ve called on the day I’ve decided to end things with her. We’ve been in a rut for a long time. If I clear out of the brownstone and come to Texas, I think it would help it be a clean break.”

“I’m sorry things did not work out.” Wolf didn’t look sorry at all. “At least you figured that out before you married her. Divorce can be messy, my friend. Especially if children are involved.”

Knowing the chance to leave and stay at Meadow Creek Ranch made Holden say, “I’ll call Evan now and tell him that I want to sell the rights to you for the price you name. Make it fair, Wolf. I’ll also tell him that I’ll be writing the screenplay.”

“You’ll receive a salary for that, as well as what I can give you, point-wise.” Wolf smiled. “I look forward to working with you, my friend. Maybe our partnership will yield several films to come.”

“Wait to hear from Evan,” Holden said. “But from my end? It’s a go. I’ll let you know when I’m heading to the ranch.”

He went and dressed, hanging his towel neatly, ignoring the one Madison had left on the floor. It was only one of a hundred little things she did which bothered him. He knew a part of their problem had been that she came from money, and he hadn’t. The Parmalees had maids to pick up towels off the floor and launder them, while his family had barely scraped by. If he hadn’t won a scholarship to college, he would most likely be laying bricks or driving a truck now instead of being an author.

Going to his desk, he sat, calling Evan.

“I was just about to call you, Holden,” his agent said when he answered. “It’s been a good day to represent you. I have four different offers to bring you regarding Homicide. Two are preferable, but I always like to let you hear all the players vying for you work and make an informed decision.”

“Save your breath, Evan. I’ve already promised the book to Wolf Ramirez.”

“What studio is Wolf attached to? No one pitched him as the director in our negotiations.”

“He’s striking out on his own and is starting up his own production company. Wolf wants Hill Country Homicide to be the first film he directs for it.”

“I like Wolf, Holden. You know that. I know the two of you have become friends, but you’ve got to think with your head and not your heart. He won’t have the kind of financial backing that a major studio does.”

“I don’t care. He’s promised me a healthy percentage of the profits if I’ll sell the rights to him at a lower price.”

Evan was quiet a moment, and Holden could almost hear the agent run the numbers in his head. He knew this was a big ask. Not only would he take a big cut, but Evan would also lose money if they sold the screen rights to Wolf.

“Homicide is selling extremely well. I don’t think it’ll do the box office numbers of Capitol Crimes, though. You have to take that into consideration. Points or no points.”

“Wolf has also offered me the opportunity to write the screenplay, Evan. I want to do this. Wolf gets me. I know this cutting a deal with him eats away at your percentage, but it’s what I want.”

“We’ve already made good money together. I see that continuing in the future. If you were my only client, I might be pissed, but I have other lines out there. Would I have wished to sell it to a big studio and claim a huge payday? Of course. In the long run, though, I want a happy client so that I have a happy life. If writing this screenplay challenges and inspires you, then I’m all for it. I’m definitely into the idea of sharing points. Because we’ll be dealing with a fledgling company, I have way more leverage in the negotiations.”

“Wolf’s brother Reynaldo Ramirez is his attorney. Rey will be hammering out the contracts with you. I suggest you call Wolf and get the ball rolling.”

“I’ll do that now. I suppose he’ll want you down in Texas since he’s based there. After you write the screenplay, he’s certain to film in Texas, as well, since the book is set there.” Evan paused. “How will that go over with Madison? Have you run this by her yet?”

“Madison doesn’t figure into my life anymore. We’re done. I’m going to tell her today.”

“Good luck with that,” Evan said. “That is one woman who doesn’t like to hear the word no.”

Madison had wanted Evan to also represent her, but he had refused to do so, saying he didn’t want any conflict of interest, with Holden being whom he’d originally signed. She had begged, wheedled, cajoled, and finally screamed at the agent, demanding he sign her, which had embarrassed and angered Holden. Evan had remained firm, however. Madison had found representation, but she had since gone through three different agents and had no one repping her interests at the moment.

He spent the rest of the day scouring the Internet, reading everything he could about writing a screenplay. There was no time to enroll in classes. He’d have to learn on the fly.

Taking out his leather-bound copy of the screenplay for Capitol Crimes which Wolf had gifted to him, Holden read the first twenty pages of it and compared it to his novel, seeing how his work had been condensed. He would have to really give things some thought. Perhaps use a few composite characters. Already, though, ideas were swirling in his head, and the thought of authoring the screenplay for his novel excited him.

About four, he heard the front door open and knew Madison was home. He went to greet her, seeing her place her messenger bag on the kitchen counter.

“How was your day?” he asked, his gut churning with the news he was about to give her. “Any good pages written today?”

“I really think I’m on to something, Holden,” she said brightly. “I’ve gone through a long dry spell lately, but I got a really interesting idea today and ran with it. I wrote twenty pages. Twenty!”

A great day for Madison was usually five pages, so he nodded enthusiastically. “That’s wonderful.”

“Did you start anything new yet?” she asked, opening the fridge and removing a sparkling water. She popped the top and took a big swig before setting the can on the counter.

He swallowed. “I’ve told Evan to sell the film rights of Hill Country Homicide to Wolf Ramirez.”

She looked at him quizzically. “To Wolf?” Then a knowing looking crossed her features. “He’s started his own production company, hasn’t he?”

“He has. We’re eager to work together again.”

Frowning, she said, “He won’t be able to pay you nearly what you deserve. I’ve been reading the trades, and I know what Evan can get for the rights. No, Holden. Call both of them back. Cancel the deal.”

He couldn’t believe what she was saying. Looking steadily at her, he told her, “It’s my novel, Madison. My decision. I want to work with Wolf. In fact, I’m going to write the screenplay for the film.”

Astonishment filled her face. “Are you serious? You have zero experience with writing a script. If you want to torpedo your own reputation and his, that’s the fastest way to do so.”

Her words let him know he was doing the right thing by splitting with her. Where once, Madison had been supportive, now she was demanding and spiteful. “You don’t believe I can do it?”

She looked at him in exasperation. “What I’m saying is you’re a fool if you walk away from the kind of money Evan can get you for this book. Stick with what you do best, Holden. Writing novels is your forte.”

Her words assured him that he was making the right decision. “It’s my book. My choice. And I’ll be going to Texas.” Holden paused. “It’s not working between us, Madison. It hasn’t for a while now. With me being in Texas to write the screenplay and staying there during filming, this is the right time for us to end things.”

Red blotches of anger stained her cheeks. “You don’t get to decide that. We’re getting married, Holden. You’re going to keep writing books. You’ll make enough for us to leave this dump and move to a nice high rise in Manhattan. We’ll—”

“There’s no we anymore, Madison. Listen to what I’m saying. We’re not happy.”

“We are,” she insisted.

“I’m not happy,” he said with brutal honesty, trying to get through to her. “We had some good years, but it’s over now.”

Out of nowhere, she slapped him, so hard that he saw stars.

“You mean I’m not some bestselling novelist. You’re embarrassed by me.”

“No,” he said firmly. “I think you’re talented. I hope you’ll get a break. And I wouldn’t care if you were a trash collector or a plastic surgeon. I’m not breaking up with you because you aren’t published, Madison.” He hesitated but knew he had to cut all ties. “I simply don’t love you anymore.”

Holden wasn’t sure if he ever had. They’d had writing in common. She had seemed so sophisticated and exciting when they’d first met, but he’d grown bored with the airs she put on. Actually, he’d grown tired of living in New York. The call of home sounded loudly within him. He’d thought leaving Texas was the best thing he’d ever done. Now, he could see it was the place which would always be home.

She huffed, anger sparking in her eyes. “You are nothing but trailer park trash, Holden Scott. You might have made good money from a couple of books, but you’ll never fit in with people who have good breeding.”

“I agree,” he told her. “Your parents have made it perfectly clear that you could do better than me. Go find your kind of people to be with, Madison.”

“Get out!” she screamed at him.

“Gladly. Give me ten minutes.”

Holden went to pack, filling two suitcases and his backpack. Madison hovered at the doorway to the bedroom, glaring at him as he did so. The brownstone had come furnished, so all he really needed were his clothes and his laptop, along with a few books.

Facing her, he said, “The rent is paid through the end of February. You can renew the lease or move. It’s up to you.”

He pushed past her as she shouted profanities at him the entire way. When he reached the door, he removed the key from his pocket and tossed it on the table. Without another word, Holden walked through the door, ready to start a new chapter in his life.

 

 

CHAPTER 1

Meadow Creek Ranch--January

 

Holden rose early, keeping to old habits in the month he had spent at Wolf and Ana’s ranch. He dressed in a sweatshirt and jogging pants and went to the kitchen, finding Ana brewing coffee. Where her husband was a night owl, often working until three or four in the morning, Ana was an early bird like Holden, saying she enjoyed being up to greet the day, having it to herself for a little while before the chaos began.

“Coffee?”

“Please,” he said, taking a seat on one of the stools at the oversized island.

“Are you making any headway with the script?” she asked, the first time she had brought up business with him.

“Actually, I have the first twenty pages under my belt. Wolf read them yesterday and gave me some great feedback. Overall, though, he approved of the direction I’m taking and said to keep going after I make the tweaks he suggested. I’ve found my rhythm now. It’s going to go faster from here on.”

She brought the cup of coffee to him, having already added the one sugar and amount of creamer he liked.

“If Wolf said it’s good, it is. He’s not one to heap praise where it isn’t deserved.”

“Thank you,” he said, accepting the coffee and taking a sip of it. “I think I’m ready to find a place to live.”

Ana clucked her tongue, taking the stool beside him. “You know you’re welcome to stay at the ranch as long as you’d like, Holden. We have plenty of room for you. Besides, Eva and Bear adore you.”

She referred to the couple’s two children. Not having had siblings, Holden hadn’t really known much about kids, but the Ramirez children had taken to him the last time he’d visited when he’d come down to Texas to discuss his characters and plot with Wolf before the director begin filming Capitol Crimes. He’d found he had really enjoyed being around them and saw what a great mom Ana was. He could now trace the beginnings of his discontent with Madison to the fact that he’d wanted children someday. She hadn’t when he’d brought up the topic.

“Your hospitality has been appreciated, Ana, but I’m ready to get a place of my own. Something nearby, so that I can meet with Wolf often, but I just need my own space.”

She smiled, taking a sip of her coffee. “You mean you don’t have time for tea parties or playing Ninja Turtles?”

“I’ll always have time for that when I visit. I work better in total quiet, though.”

“Have you heard from Madison?” she asked out of the blue.

A sour taste filled him. “She called me a few times. I let it go to voicemail. She said some pretty nasty things. Then she bombarded me with texts. I finally blocked her without responding.”

“Did you save any of those voicemails or texts?” Ana asked, clearly concerned.

He nodded. “I did. My first instinct was to delete them. Get them out of sight and out of mind. But then I thought about an important plot point in Hill Country Homicide and decided that would be unwise. I hope I’ve learned something from a foolish character.”

“I think you made a wise decision, cutting ties with her. I only spoke with her briefly on set when she visited. That woman was not for you, Holden.” Smiling brightly, Ana added, “Maybe we can find you a good Texas girl.”

“No matchmaking. Please,” he said lightly, not certain if Ana were teasing or not. “I was with Madison five years. I want to be on my own now and not jump into a new relationship.”

“I can understand that.” She paused. “Still, don’t push away an opportunity if you do meet someone interesting. Simply because things didn’t work out between you and Madison, you don’t want to turn a blind eye to every woman you meet.”

Laughing, he said, “I’ll stick to the women in my screenplay for now. Changing topics, do you have an idea where I might be able to rent a place?”

“Boerne is closest to us,” she said, referring to the town ten miles to the south. “About five miles to the east is Parham, but it’s little more than a speck on the map. I think you’d have better luck going north to Lost Creek.”

The name intrigued him. “How big is Lost Creek?”

She thought a moment. “Probably twenty thousand or so. Big enough to have some conveniences, and yet it still has a small-town feel. They started something really fun last summer, a thing called Harmony & Hues.”

“What was it?”

“An event which celebrated artists in the community. Shops on the town square stayed open late on Saturday nights. People could shop or grab a bite to eat. Along the sidewalks, various artwork was displayed. Mostly paintings, but there were also some pieces of sculptures, pottery, and even jewelry which had been hand-crafted by local artisans.”

She pushed aside her hair, revealing an earring. “I picked these up there. Once people had time to view the art, the musical portion of the night began, featuring singers and musicians from around the area.”

“Ah, a fusion of music and art. I like the idea.”

“It was started by the local coffeehouse owner and his girlfriend, who’s a painter. Her work is really good. I’ve read she’s going to have a show in New York soon at Clive Crutchfield’s gallery in Soho.”

He was familiar with the name from having lived in New York. “She must be better than good if Crutchfield is interested in her work.”

Bear bounded into the kitchen, running to his mom and hugging her leg before turning to Holden and reaching out his arms.

He leaned down and scooped up the five-year-old, placing the boy in his lap. “Ready for another day at preschool?” he asked.

“We get to do finger paints today,” Bear announced.

“That sounds like a lot of fun. You’ll have to tell me about what you paint when you get home this afternoon.”

Standing, he kissed Bear’s head before placing him on the stool. “I’m going for my morning walk. See you later, buddy.”

As he headed into the laundry room and slipped on his jacket, Holden heard Eva’s voice asking for pancakes. Bear’s older sister was a true girly-girl, liking bows in her hair and polish on her fingernails. He’d grown close to both children in his month at the ranch, and it had reaffirmed that he would definitely choose to be a parent one day.

He was gone for about ninety minutes, thinking about the next scene he would write, playing out the dialogue and then honing it as he spoke into his phone.

As he’d suspected, writing a screenplay was a huge challenge. The writing hinged upon the dialogue, which had to be terse and compelling. Holden had taken to reading Hemingway each night before bed, just to get a feel for how concise language could be. He had also read a minimum of one screenplay a day, getting a feel for how other writers put words on a page. Wolf had been helpful in this, recommending a variety of movies, including a few murder mysteries. He was glad his friend had asked him to write this script.

Returning to the house, he knew he’d made the right decision in leaving New York—and Madison. It had been liberating to come back to Texas, unencumbered with a messy relationship, everything he owned, easy to transport. The open skies and quiet of the country would be conducive to his work. While he’d grown up in Austin, Holden wasn’t sure if he’d ever live there again. The city was still full of great restaurants and cultural events, but the one time he’d gone to Austin since his return, the traffic had astounded him.

He had the money to buy something, but he wasn’t ready to sink roots anywhere just yet. For now, he would investigate Lost Creek and see if he might find a place to rent while he worked on his script.

The kitchen was empty. Ana would be on her way to drop off the kids at their different schools. Wolf wouldn’t be up for another few hours. Holden went to his guest suite and showered and dressed, grabbing his laptop and doing a search on Lost Creek. He brought up the city’s website. The photograph on the home page was picturesque, showing the town square Ana had mentioned. He clicked on the various tabs and liked what he saw.

Pictures didn’t ever tell the full story, so he’d drive to Lost Creek now and check it out in person. If he liked what he saw, he would go by the local real estate office to see about available rentals.

Wolf had given him use of a truck during his stay, and he went to the garage now and drove off the property, heading the fifteen minutes north to Lost Creek. On the way, he passed a winery, recalling now that several of the wines Ana had served bore this label. He might have to stop in and do a tasting on his way home. Even purchase a few bottles to bring back to his hostess.

Holden drove around the town, getting a feel for the place, and then found the square and parked. If anything, he loved a good cup of coffee and decided to stop into Java Junction.

Entering the coffeehouse a little before eight-thirty, he saw it was busy this Friday morning. He wondered if it emptied out after the morning rush and might be more conducive to writing.

One of the baristas smiled at him, a tall, lean man who looked to be in his early thirties.

“What can I get you?”

“I’m a coffeeholic,” he admitted. “First time here. What do you suggest?”

“I’m a purist myself, so I would start with a pour over or drip brew. It’s like when I eat at a new Mexican restaurant. I go with beef enchiladas and a bowl of chicken tortilla soup. If those basics are good, I know the rest of the food will be. I can make you whatever you want, though. The call is yours. And since you’re new, it’ll be on the house.”

“That’s generous of you, but I don’t want to get you fired for passing out free coffees.”

The barista’s eyes gleamed, a hint of mischief in them. “Since I’m the owner, I think it’ll be okay.” He reached his hand over the counter. “Dax Tennyson. Owner of Java Junction.”

Taking the offered hand, he shook it, saying, “Holden Scott. Writer, and possible new resident in Lost Creek. If the coffee proves good, that is.”

Recognition flickered in the coffeehouse owner’s eyes. “The Holden Scott? I should’ve known you from your picture on the jacket.” Dax said. “I’ve read both your books. They’re way different, but both are compelling.”

“Thank you. It’s nice meeting a fan.”

“Have a seat, and I’ll bring you something special.” Dax grinned. “On the house. And I promise not to text my wife to bring me copies of your books so that you can sign them.”

“Text away,” he said, liking this man. Hoping he might have found a friend, something he could really use.

Holden walked through the coffeehouse, noting the casual placement of comfortable furniture scattered about. A group of men in their seventies and eighties gathered in a back corner. From their laughs, they were obviously enjoying themselves. Different pockets of women in athleisure wear were at various tables, sipping their drinks.

He paused, admiring a painting of a lake. The use of color was extraordinary and drew a person into the scene. Then he found a spot at a table for two that looked out over the square. He noted several places to eat. A diner. A sports bar. And what looked like a place with country cooking. The square also had a few clothing shops. A bakery. An antique store.

Dax approached, setting down a coffee, along with a sausage roll. “Here you go, Holden. Hope you enjoy it. It’s a Cortado. Think of it as a beefed-up macchiato. It balances espresso with warm milk for less acidity.”

“Would you like to sit a minute? After all, you are the boss.”

“Sure.” Dax took the seat across from him. “Are you here to do research for another book? I recall your bio said you were from Austin originally.”

“I grew up there. Went to college at SMU.”

“No kidding. It’s a small world. I went to business school there.”

“English Lit major for me. I guess our paths never crossed in the classroom.”

“Fraternity?” Dax asked.

“Nope. Too poor. Scholarship student.”

The coffeehouse owner grinned. “Same. But I went to a ton of frat parties. As the DJ.”

He vaguely remembered hearing others talk about a fellow student who DJ’d a lot of Greek parties. “So, how does a DJ slash business major wind up owning a Hill Country coffeehouse?”

“I made good money quickly, thanks to some timely investments, and wanted to get away to a quieter, kinder life. Drove around Texas until I got to Lost Creek. Something in the town called to me, so I stayed.”

Holden pointed to the painting of the lake. “Is that your girlfriend’s work?”

Dax looked surprised. “You know Ivy?”

“No.”

Briefly, he explained how he was staying with Wolf Ramirez and how Ana had mentioned attending Harmony & Hues a few times the previous summer.

“Ivy’s my wife now,” Dax said, pride evident on his face. “And that’s Lost Creek Lake she painted.”

“She’s talented.”

“Very. Ivy really got the ball rolling on Harmony & Hues. I just took my cues from her. We plan to hold it again next summer. In the meantime, Java Junction hosts musical nights every Wednesday and Saturday, spotlighting singers and musicians in the area. You should come tomorrow night. I’ve got an interesting singer/songwriter performing.”

“I might do that,” he said. “What time does it start?”

“Seven. Let me know if you decide to drop by. I’ll save you a table.”

“Could I bring Wolf and Ana?”

Dax smiled. “The more, the merrier. Ivy will be there. Sometimes, her sister and brother-in-law stop by or her teacher friends Finley and Emerson come.”

Thinking his coffee had cooled enough to drink, Holden took a sip. “That is a great cup of coffee.”

“I’ve got a wide variety of both coffee and tea. Try the sausage roll. It’s from The Bake House.”

He bit into the roll and chewed a moment. “Outstanding. I’m finding a lot to like about Lost Creek.”

“Back to my question. Are you here researching?”

“No, I’ve agreed to write the screenplay for Hill Country Homicide. I’ve never written one before, but Wolf is starting his own production company. He bought the rights to my book and asked me to try my hand.”

“It’s a great story. Usually, I can guess who the murderer is halfway through a book or movie, but you kept me guessing up to that final page.”

He smiled. “That’s a great compliment. Since you live here, can you give me any tips on a place I might be able to rent? Somewhere quiet.”

Dax thought a moment. “I have the perfect place. It’s a B&B just outside of town.”

“No,” Holden protested. “I don’t want to be in a house with others.”

“This is different. The Inn on Lost Creek is a traditional B&B with rooms in the main house, but Jean Bradley also has a couple of cottages on the property. They’re close to Lost Creek. The area is wooded. Peaceful. I’ll bet you could rent one for a couple of months. They even have a small kitchenette.”

Nodding, he said, “That sounds perfect.”

Dax gave Holden directions and said, “I’ll give Miss Jean a buzz. Tell her you’re dropping by.”

“Is that part of the small-town service?”

“I had to learn just how tight-knit a small town is when I moved here this time last January. Yes, everyone knows your business, but the residents of Lost Creek are really friendly. After you check out Miss Jean’s place, you might want to stop by the local library. They’ve got some nice nooks you could write in for a change of scenery.”

Again, the coffeehouse owner gave Holden directions to the library and then stood.

“I’ll let you finish your coffee and sausage roll in peace. I hope you’ll decide to stay in Lost Creek, Holden.” He paused. “This place changed my life.”

“Count on the three of us coming tomorrow night.”

Dax smiled broadly. “Sounds good. And I just may have a book or two you could sign for me.”

He laughed. “For the free coffee and roll? I think I can give you my John Hancock.”

Holden stayed another quarter-hour, observing the patrons in the coffeehouse. He’d always studied people from the time he was young, making up stories in his head about them and their lives. Already, he had a good feeling about Lost Creek and hoped one of the cottages Dax had mentioned would be available. He didn’t want to have to do upkeep on a house.

The directions he’d been given were easy to follow, and he was at The Inn on Lost Creek seven minutes after he got into the truck. He went up the stairs and rang the bell.

The door opened, and a woman in her early seventies beamed at him. “You must be Holden. I’m Jean. Dax said you’re a writer and looking for a quiet place to work. Let me show you one of my cabins.”

They walked about a hundred yards away from the main house, where two cabins faced one another.

Pointing to one, she said, “That’s my honeymoon cabin. Even at this time of year, it’s booked up most weekends. I think this other one would suit your needs, though.”

“Is it available for three months or so? Once I settle in, I wouldn’t want to have to move.”

That was the deadline he’d given himself for finishing the first draft of the script and then passing through it again, using Wolf’s notes.

“Yes, it’s free until the end of April. Starting in May, I do have scattered bookings for it, though. Let’s go inside and see if it’ll work for you.”

She unlocked the door and let him enter first. The room was large, furnished with a sofa and chair that turned out to be a rocker, which he loved. A TV graced the wall. A countertop with two stools next to it was the only place to eat. The kitchen was small, but it had a coffeemaker, microwave, and toaster oven, along with a decent size fridge.

The innkeeper went about the room, opening the blinds. “It gets good natural light. I want you to see that. It’s a one-bedroom. Let’s look at it.”

She went first, opening blinds again in the bedroom. A queen-sized bed stood in the middle, two nightstands on either side of it. A dresser completed the room.

“Bathroom through there. No tub. Only a shower.”

He grinned. “I haven’t taken a bath since I was about six years old. A shower is fine.”

Holden went inside the bathroom, seeing it was neat and updated. The cottage appealed to him, and he made the decision to move here.

“When would it be available?”

“You could move in tomorrow morning,” she replied. “I’d like to give it a once-over. Sweep and mop. Dust. I can do those things for you once a week. Change the sheets. You’d get fresh towels daily. It’s got cable TV with Netflix.”

“I’ll take it,” he said, quickly coming to an agreement for the next three months.

They returned to the house, and Holden gave Miss Jean his credit card, telling her to put the entire three months on it.

“If you’re sure,” she said. “I don’t mind billing you weekly.”

“I’m good for it.”

As the innkeeper ran his credit card, he was glad he’d never merged finances with Madison, much less given her access to his credit card. With the way she was screaming at him when he left, she probably would’ve bankrupted him if she’d known his number.

Miss Jean gave him a key, saying she had the other copy. “I’ll spruce it up for you this afternoon. I’ll clean on Mondays at eleven if you’re agreeable to that. You’re welcome to come here and use the gathering room to write. Or you might want to go to the local library. With school in session, that place is usually quiet as a tomb unless it’s Mommy & Me Storytime. That’s on Wednesday mornings at ten.”

“I think I’ll drop by the library now,” he said, wanting to become familiar with the facility. Libraries had always been a friend to him.

Holden thanked Miss Jean again and returned to his truck. Finding the library was easy, and only a handful of vehicles stood in the parking lot. He entered and saw the checkout desk was to his right. To his left, he saw an array of black and white photographs on display and went to view them.

One by one, he studied each image, the black and white a stark contrast. The photo display was of the Lost Creek area, and he drank it in. As a storyteller, he was drawn to art, and these photographs definitely told a story of their own. He felt a burning need to meet the photographer and compliment him or her.

Spying a woman seated at a desk in the center of the library, he headed toward her.

“Excuse me,” he began. “I’d like to know—”

“Holden Scott!” she exclaimed, quickly standing. “It really is you. Dax Tennyson called and told me you might be stopping by. I’m such a fan, Mr. Scott. I’m Dorothy. Dorothy Prigmore, the head librarian.”

Dax was right. A small town was different.

“I’ll be staying in Lost Creek for a few months,” he explained. “Working on a new project. I thought I’d come by the library and become familiar with your facilities.”

“Then let me give you the grand tour,” Dorothy said.

It only took a few minutes to see the entire building. Dorothy was warm and welcoming, even showing him the employee break room and offering him the opportunity to stop in for a cup of coffee during the times he might be writing here.

“I appreciate that,” he said.

She showed him a small area with furniture that looked out over a beautiful park. “This might be a place you’d like to sit with your laptop and write. Or any of the study carrels. And remember, you can always book time in one of the study rooms if you’d prefer that.”

“You’ve given me a lot of options, Dorothy. Thanks for the tour. One more thing before I go. I was really drawn to the photographs on exhibit as I entered the building. Can you tell me anything about the photographer?”

Dorothy smiled brightly. “They were taken by Finley Farrow. She’s a teacher here in town, and she also pursues photography on the side.”

Dax had mentioned a Finley being one of his wife’s friends who came to listen to music at the coffeehouse. With such an unusual name, he didn’t think there would be another Finley in Lost Creek.

Holden looked forward to meeting Finley Farrow and talking with her about her photographs.