Page 1 of Stormswept Colorado

Prologue

Ayla

September, Last Year

“Fifteen minutes,”my tour manager warned, popping her head through the doorway to my dressing room. “Then you need to be in place.”

I didn’t take my eyes off my phone screen. “Got it.”

“Don’t make me drag you out of here.”

“Iknow. We’ve had this conversation before.”

I’d told my team how important this nightly ritual was to me. I wasn’t going onstage without it. Might as well have been a rider in my contract, along with the sparkling water, kettle-cooked potato chips, and extra-dark chocolate that awaited me at every venue. Some things a girl couldn’t live without.

The call rang twice. Three times. And then a window popped open with an adorable face. My lips split into a grin as I heard my two favorite words in the entire world.

“Aunt Ayla!”

“Hey, you.”

“Want to see the picture I drew today?”

“Of course I do. But wait a minute. Let me see that smile again. I think something’s missing.”

Maisie giggled. “It’s my tooth.”

“Yourtoof?”

She tipped her head back and laughed. Prettiest melody in the world, if you asked me. And I did have some strong opinions on music.

Ashford, Maisie’s dad, appeared on the screen behind her. “Hi, Ayla. Where are you tonight?”

“Toronto.”

“Dad, I’m talking to her.” She playfully pushed her father away. “Where’s Toronto? Is that California, like where Emma’s from?”

I smiled. “Nope, way off. It’s in Ontario, Canada.”

“Are you going to buy me a present from there?”

“Maisie,” Ashford said.

“Don’t I always? I’m going to need another suitcase for all your presents the next time I visit. Now, what should we sing for your bedtime song? I only have a few more minutes.”

I loved how they didn’t comment on my over-the-top makeup and beaded costume. Probably because my relatives in Silver Ridge, Colorado, had seen me in this same getup plenty of times on video calls just like this one. Maisie and I had a standing date before her bedtime, and we rarely missed it, even when I was on tour. Well, especially then.

I’d missed so much of Maisie’s life. When Ashford and I had first worked out our differences, I’d gotten choked up every time I was around Maisie because she looked exactly like Lori, my older sister. And like me too. Except my hair was pale blond, while Maisie had Ashford’s chestnut color. We had the same emerald irises though, with a ring of darker green around the outside.

Remembering Lori was always bittersweet. Yet Maisie recharged my batteries. Made me feel like Ayla Hopkins, Lori’s little sister, instead ofAyla Maxwell, pop star. I had mixedfeelings about the Hopkins name given its other associations. But I would always be proud that Lori had been my sister.

Maisie wanted to sing along with me to her current favorite song, a hit from another artist. “Isn’t this song the best ever, Aunt Ayla?” she gushed.

Ashford was still in the frame, smirking. “Ayla might not agree. That’s her competition.”

“It’s a great choice, Maisie.” I was determined not to be jealous. Gotta love the honesty of a seven-year-old.

A lump gathered in my throat as her sweet, high voice rang out. Full of innocent confidence. She reminded me of myself at that age. I’d always loved to sing.

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