What the Heart Wants

by Kelli McCracken

  Heaven grew more confused by the second as she tried making sense of the cryptic conversation between the sisters. When Chelsea pulled out a light blue jewelry box, Heaven felt the light bulb effect.

  “Oh, my God!” she gasped and covered her mouth. “You’re…you’re getting married, aren’t you?”

  Chelsea beamed. She nodded slowly as she pulled a ring from the box and slipped it onto her finger.

  “Sorry it took so long to tell you.”

  “It’s beautiful!” Heaven cried as she grabbed Chelsea’s hand. The platinum band held an enormous, emerald-cut diamond surrounded by baguettes. The fluorescent lights from the boutique enhanced their brilliance.

  “I want you guys to be in the wedding. You will, right?”

  Heaven met Chelsea’s eyes, where anticipation filled them to the brim. Heaven swore she could feel every ounce of it herself. She gently squeezed her best friend’s hand and nodded.

  “Yes, we will.”

  “Hold up!” Faith interrupted as she wedged between Chelsea and Heaven. “When exactly is this wedding taking place?”

  “In two days.”

  “Two days?” Faith’s shriek not only pierced Heaven’s head, it drew attention from other patrons. After receiving a warning glare from Hope, Faith softened her voice. “Why the rush? Are you pregnant or something?”

  “No, I’m not pregnant. I didn’t just get engaged, you know,” Chelsea said, while moving around Faith to stand next to Heaven. “Please don’t be mad at me for keeping all of this from you.”

  Heaven swallowed the lump in her throat and smiled for Chelsea’s benefit. “You still haven’t told us who you’re dating—I mean, marrying.”

  “I know; I’m sorry,” Chelsea chuckled. She clasped Heaven’s hands and pulled her close. “I’m marrying—”

  “Good morning, ladies.”

  Heaven’s face felt heavy with disappointment at another failed attempt to find out who her best friend’s mystery man was. Her eyes shifted to the intruder. The woman staring back at them had a kind face. Gray eyes matched the streaks in her strawberry blonde hair. Laugh lines outlined her thin lips. Those same lips stretched into a smile when she noticed Heaven staring at her.

  The woman’s name badge read, “Cheryl Doss, Owner.”

  Chelsea’s voice was cheerful as she spoke to the owner. “Good morning, Ms. Cheryl. Sorry we’re late. I had to pick up my friends from the airport.”

  Ms. Cheryl smiled, casting her eyes on the triplets. “It’s okay, dear. You can’t very well do a fitting without your bridesmaids.”

  “I just hope the sizes I picked work.”

  “That’s why you’re here,” Ms. Cheryl said as they began walking toward the room with the wedding dresses. “We’ll make sure everyone’s dress fits perfectly.”

  Heaven glanced back at the sparkling diamond on her best friend’s finger, feeling a little envious of what it signified. Her best friend was getting married. Not only was the closeness between them about to change, but Chelsea was getting something Heaven desired—her own Prince Charming.

  Espresso eyes and russet hair filled her mind once again. The way those eyes bore into her soul left her breathless. She wished she could remember their conversation, and his face. Most of it was a blur now. The vivid scenery of the dream was long gone, but the effect those dark eyes had on her would remain for days. The more she thought of him, the more the sweet smell of gardenias filling the boutique ceased to exist. An overpowering scent of cloves filled her nose. She inhaled deeply as the pang in her heart grew stronger.

  Why can’t you be real?

  She tried pushing this newfound envy of her best friend’s happiness aside. She wanted Chelsea to be happy. After what she’d been through, Chelsea deserved something good in her life.

  But don’t I deserve the same? I’m the one with the crazy—stop it! Forget about the dream. Forget about him.

  Heaven knew the day would be a long one because one word haunted her soul.

  Stay…

  * * * * *

  CHAPTER 3

  Dylan McBride stared at the sea foam gathering near his bare feet. The foam tickled his toes, evaporating on his taut calves. The breeze coming off the waves smelled of coconut, pineapple, and jasmine. A perfect blend for suntan oil. It wouldn’t be long before the sandy shore disappeared beneath a blanket of towels and sun chairs.

  Summer was near.

  So were the sun worshippers.

  Movement to his right startled him. “Please don’t let that be the press…”

  Every muscle in his body clenched in preparation to stand and run. Would the paparazzi ever leave him alone? How many times had his pleas for privacy gone unheard?

  Countless.

  He relaxed his shoulders when he noticed a little boy, racing toward the ocean. Squeals of enjoyment echoed across the sandy beach as water splashed around the toddler.

  He smiled as he watched the boy playing in the waves, clapping his hands and twisting to look at his parents with an enormous grin. The little guy reminded of him of all the times he’d come here at that same age. In fact, he’d practically grown up on this beach, swimming from daylight till dusk, while his mother watched over him from the shore.

  Some days, if her schedule proved hectic, she would sit on the balcony of their house and monitor him.

  I wonder if she knows I’m here yet?

  He shifted in the sand, adjusting the acoustic guitar in his hands. The familiar feel of a rosewood body and metal strings helped to ease his stress. Grabbing a pick from his pocket, he strummed a few chords as he gazed out toward the ocean, again.

  Nostalgia.

  It was the cancer of happiness.

  How many times had he used this beach for solace when a girl had left him numb? Not that many girls did, anymore. He’d become accustomed to the gold diggers and one-night stands since his first tour.

  Would he ever have the relationship he wanted? He didn’t want a different girl in his bed every night. Where was the comfort in that? No, he wanted something meaningful. A good, solid relationship where two people gave a damn about each other. Not just themselves. Not like his father.

  Bile burned the back of his throat. If there really is a thin line between love and hate, his dad hovered closer to the latter. It wasn’t just that his dad treated his mom so poorly; he’d never had time for Dylan, either, at least, not until Dylan’s career took off.

  Strumming out a few more chords for mental release, he gazed down the beach to redirect his thoughts and shove his father to the back of his mind. The beach didn’t have much activity on it today. Judging by the sky, a storm brewed at sea. It would reach the beach soon, but it didn’t stop the diehard beach goers from coming out.

  People-watching. His newest pastime.

  A few families with small children sat sporadically across the sand. A man ran near the shoreline, apparently out on his morning jog. He slowed slightly as he passed a tall blonde who was out walking her dog. The man couldn’t have been more obvious in checking her out. As they passed, the guy turned his body and continued jogging. Backwards.

  Dylan probably would have done the same thing had it not been for…

  He gripped the fretboard as thoughts of the angelic creature stormed through his mind like a typhoon on an unprepared tropical city.

  He closed his eyes as he drew in a breath.

  His lungs burned from the crisp air. Dark curls and perfect lips sent a surge of heat through his body. The things she did to his heart…

  “I thought I’d find you over here.”

  Ah, hell!

  Dylan clung to his guitar and exhaled deeply. His cheeks burned with warmth as he opened his eyes, locking them on the waves crashing into the shore.

  “Morning, Mom.”

  “I wish I’d known you were coming. I would have made you breakfast,” she said as she sat in the sand beside him. “You didn’t mention anything about stopping in when we spoke a couple days ago.”


  “I meant to call you when I got back yesterday, but it was late. Our last show in Seattle ran over, and we spent the whole day driving back. I tried sleeping, but that’s impossible on a tour bus.”

  He didn’t mention that when he and the guys had arrived in town, they had gone back to his house to have a few beers and unwind. With another successful tour under their belts, they had cause to celebrate.

  Dylan was happy to be home, off the road, and out of the scrutinizing eye of the public. Living from city to city, hotel to hotel, had been fun for the first year. Some of the guys still enjoyed the thrill of it, but not him. It had grown repetitive and had sucked the life out of his creativity.

  He’d hoped to write some new songs while they had toured the states. That was a joke. Between tight schedules, screaming fans, and parties every night, who had time to tap into their creative resources? Not to mention the women begging to crawl into bed and fulfill every fantasy. He couldn’t concentrate on lyrics with some blonde trying to rip off his pants.

  Then there had been the dreams—when he found time to sleep. Waking up in a cold sweat, struggling to breathe, had a way of screwing with his head.

  “Why did your show in Seattle run over?”

  “There was this wicked storm that came through right before we went on stage. It took the power out and delayed our performance for almost two hours.”

  “Ah, Murphy’s Law strikes, again,” she chuckled, tilting her head to the sky. “It looks like the rain traveled with you.”

  “Figures,” he snorted.

  “Well, I’m glad you made it back safely. You remain in my thoughts when you’re out on the road.”

  Dylan didn’t have to look at her face to see the concern in her eyes. He could hear it in her voice. It reverberated in his mind like a haunting melody. Maybe that was the reason he noticed it. His gift with music allowed him to detect little things in people’s voices, especially concern—or lies.

  He strummed a few more chords on his guitar and then began playing a soft melody. His fingers slid across the metal strings as music poured from the resonating chamber. Unsung lyrics tumbled through his mind.

  “I haven’t heard you play that in a long time,” his mom said. “What was her name?”

  Dylan let the last note hang.

  “Who are you talking about?”

  Was she reading his mind now?

  “You know, the girl from high school. The one you wrote this song for.”

  “God, Mom, don’t bring her up. She is the furthest thing from my mind right now.” He eased his fingers over the strings and continued playing. Granted, he may have told his mother this song was for his ex-girlfriend, but something in the back of his mind begged to differ.

  “I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t mean to bring up the past.”

  The tone of her voice shifted from steady to reserved. She had years of experience doing that for her customers’ sake, especially for those who received bad news. But he could hear what others couldn’t. She wanted to ask what was bothering him, but was waiting for him to open up.

  A brief pause in discussion had him thinking that maybe she had decided to leave him alone.

  He should have known better. She never let him sulk for long. This was his mother, after all. The one who kissed his boo-boos as a child. The one who did her best to assure him that a broken heart wouldn’t last forever.

  Luckily, he didn’t allow many people that close to his heart.

  “You used to come here anytime you needed to clear your mind or think,” she said as she shifted beside him. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  Dylan dug his toes into the sand, enjoying the coolness the recent high tide had brought. He inhaled deeply as the scent of brine and seaweed left a bitter taste in his mouth. Or maybe that was the whiskey still on his breath.

  When he turned to look at her, his fingers froze. The love of a mother burned brightly in evergreen eyes. He winced at the thought of what his secrets were doing to her. The longer her question went unanswered, the more worry would float through her mind.

  “It’s nothing to worry about, Mom. I’m just…” He stared past her at a young couple walking hand-in-hand twenty yards from where they sat. He wet his lips before speaking, again, tasting the salt from the breeze. “I’m tired. Dad added a few extra shows to this tour. I was ready to come home a month ago.”

  “Maybe it’s time for a vacation, Dylan,” she said, curling her legs up to her chest.

  He glanced over at her, watching as she wrapped her arms around her legs. She looked cold, the way she huddled close in her long yellow skirt and drew the sleeves of her white tunic closer to her wrists.

  “Are you cold, Mom?” he asked, grabbing the long sleeved button-up he’d brought with him. He offered it to her.

  “No, I’m fine,” she smiled and patted his back. “So what brings you to Santa Barbara? I know you didn’t drive up here just to sulk on the beach.”

  “I’m not sulking,” he grumbled as he sat up straight. She knew him too well. He didn’t know if he would ever understand his mother’s intuition. “I’m on an errand for Kyle.”

  “Oh, that’s right. This weekend is—”

  “Going to be busy,” he interrupted. If he didn’t hear her say the words, maybe he wouldn’t feel more agitated about his weekend.

  Why the hell did he agree to this? He had to learn how to say no to people.

  Dylan’s eyes drifted back to the waves as he let out a sigh.

  “All I want to do is go home and catch up on some sleep. Instead, I get to dress up like a circus monkey. I’m a jeans and t-shirt kinda guy.”

  “Son, enough of the bullshit. What’s really going on with you?”

  Dylan stared at his mom, eyes bugging from her use of profanity. He couldn’t help but laugh at the smug look on her face.

  “Are you using Jedi mind tricks on me now?”

  “Hardly. I don’t know that I would want to read your mind, even if I could.” She laughed deeply. “I can’t help what my gut sees. So, are you going to tell me what’s wrong, or are you going to play the old game of making Mom guess? You know I’ll figure it out, anyway.”

  He exhaled as his mind filled with images of its tormentor.

  Are you even real?

  He shook off the thought before it stung his heart. Coming to a stand, he slung his guitar strap over his shoulder. Then he offered his hand to his mother and helped her off the sand. “It’s nothing a lobotomy can’t take care of.”

  His mother smacked his arm before hooking hers inside of his. “That’s not funny, Dylan.”

  “No?” he grinned deviously. “Then why are you trying to hide that smile?”

  “Okay, so it’s a little funny, but I’m still concerned for you.”

  “Don’t be, Mom. I’m just having some strange dreams. The one I had last night…” His mind drifted to lush lips—lips that felt so real, he swore he could still taste minty lip-gloss. Such a thing was impossible. Deep down he knew that, but it didn’t still the rapid beating of his heart whenever she came to mind.

  He unhooked his arm from his mother’s and glanced at her as air expelled from his lungs. “They’re not really nightmares, but I have a hard time getting back to sleep whenever I have one. I’m so sleep deprived, I feel like a grumpy old man in a twenty-one-year-old body.”

  “What are the dreams about?” she asked, as they continued to walk along the shore.

  “A woman,” he mumbled. He cringed when she flashed him a frown.

  “Oh…” She laughed. “Are you dreaming about the blonde you met in Rochester? You said she seemed nice.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s the beauty of traveling. You can learn a lot about a person in a confined space.”

  That’s when people’s true intentions surfaced.

  “I knew something was off with her after a few hours on the tour bus, so I kept my distance. She stuck around long enough after the show in Nashville to tell me that I had served my
purpose. Seems that she had a boyfriend waiting for her in Memphis and she didn’t want to ride the Greyhound that far.”

  His mother’s eyes drew shut. “I can’t believe the audacity of some people.”

  Dylan shrugged. “Very few people surprise me, anymore.”

  That got her eyes back open. She raised a brow in his direction. “So, who’s the woman in your dream? Have you met someone else?”

  He wished.

  “No,” he answered as he picked up the pace. “I don’t know who this woman is. But the dream is so real. I don’t even realize it’s a dream until I wake up in a cold sweat.”

  “You’re having those dreams, again,” she said so softly he wasn’t sure he heard her right.

  “What does that mean?”

  Her eyes engulfed him. Eyes that held knowledge…and secrets.

  “When you were younger, you had dreams so vivid that I had a hard time convincing you they were only dreams.”

  “I don’t remember that,” he said, diverting his eyes to the waves pooling around their feet.

  Something pulled at his memory. He focused so hard to remember that his head pounded in rhythm with his heart.

  “You were just a kid when this happened. I remember the first time I heard you cry out. It was about three in the morning. I ran into your bedroom and found you sitting in the middle of your bed, crying. You kept repeating the same thing. ‘Where are you? Come back.’ I tried my best to comfort you, but it just made you angry.”

  “Why would I get mad?”

  A smile spread across her face as she chuckled. “You wanted to know where I hid your angel.”

  Dylan came to an abrupt stop. He turned to face his mother, trying to swallow the lump in his throat.

  “My angel?”

  Please wake up…

  The soft, feminine voice echoed through his mind as he watched her smile wane.

  “Are you telling me that I was dreaming about an actual angel, you know, with wings and halo?” he asked, making a circular motion atop his head.

  His mom burst into laughter. “Well, you never mentioned wings or a halo. All I know is that you were dreaming about a little girl. You were smitten with her; always talking about how beautiful she was with her dark curls and green—no, wait—golden, you said they were golden, eyes.”