If Wishes Were Horses (A Fairy Tale Life Book 2)

by C. B. Stagg

  I watched George, a man who’d appeared to be the epitome of confidence just minutes before, start to look as if he were becoming seasick.

  “G, is she my angel?” Whiskey’s eyes had just started to dry, and I hardly had time to process her question, when another knock on the door brought audible groans from anyone old enough to vote. Our home was starting to feel like Grand Central Station.

  “Donna? Hey!” Jase exclaimed, ushering Donna in with Julian, her foster son, and Casey and Vaughn’s soon-to-be adopted son, hot on her heels. Julian walked right up to Whiskey and took her hand from mine.

  “We’ve gggot cccookies nexttt door. Wanna ccome pppaint them wifff me?” His smile caused a domino effect throughout the room.

  First, Whiskey looked at George Preston, who gave her an affirming nod, but then she looked at me. “Do you mind if I go with this boy and paint cookies? I’ll make one for you, if you want.”

  I nodded because I did want. I wanted her to make me a cookie. In truth, I wanted to go with them, just to get a few more minutes with the girl before she magically disappeared from wherever she’d come, but I just nodded.

  “Yes, Whiskey, this is Julian, and he lives next door. And this is Miss Donna, his… “ I searched Donna for the correct term. Julian had been completely nonverbal for months, only recently coming into his own voice with the help of Vaughn. Therefore, I had no idea what he called his foster-mother.

  “Hi, Whiskey, I’m Donna, but Julian calls me Dee Dee, and you’re more than welcome to call me that, too.” Whiskey placed her hand in Donna’s, then looked at me again.

  “It’s okay, Whiskey. You’re just going right next door, and we’ll come get you real soon. You’re gonna have so much fun, I bet you won’t even want to leave!”

  With that, Donna left with Whiskey, and Julian, who’d taken up residence in Vaughn’s lap, followed with the promise of a cookie delivery soon.

  “Well, that went well.” Mr. Preston’s green pallor was starting to fade. “Whiskey’s father died last week after his liver finally gave out.”

  “He was an alcoholic?” I spat, hating the idea that Whiskey had been adopted and raised by someone with so little self-control, then wondering why it mattered so much to me.

  “Yes and no. He was an alcoholic, but everything changed the day Whiskey came into his life. Cashion was a detective with the FBI.”

  I straightened at the spark of recognition. “Cashion Key? Was that Whiskey’s father?”

  George smiled and nodded. “Ah, I see you’re starting to put the pieces together now.”

  I nodded slowly, letting the full weight of the memories he’d triggered settle in. “Cashion Key was the lead detective in the trafficking ring Toby was involved in. I remember his name from the news.”

  “That’s correct. Detective Key was instrumental in putting Carraway behind bars in 1999, when an anonymous tip,” he looked directly at me, “led the police to his crack house in one of the seedier parts of south Houston.”

  “It’s too bad Detective Key didn’t live long enough to see that bastard’s recapture,” Jase added, trying to decipher the silent conversation George Preston and I were having.

  “No, he didn’t see it, but it was his skill and knowledge of the case, even from his deathbed, that made his recapture possible.”

  The room was stunned silent.

  “I’m sure we’d all like to hear more about that later, but where does Wy—no, Whiskey—fit into all of this?” Vaughn asked the question we were all dying to know the answer to.

  “Whiskey was discovered in a back alley during a sting operation the day after Toby’s arrest. Something his wife said led police to an abandoned police station of all things, where they discovered several babies and young children being hidden with plans to be sold on the black market.”

  Vaughn gasped, and I watched as Casey pulled her closer into his arms.

  “Cashion was a bachelor—committed to his job and his bourbon—but one look at that baby changed everything for him. He’s the one who found her, wrapped in a plaid baby blanket. I remember being called to the scene by social services at Key’s request and seeing this enormous hulk of a man cradling this infant, no bigger than the palm of his hand. Once she was checked out and said to be in good health, he wouldn’t let anyone else near her, insisting on feeding and changing her himself. Every bit of business he conducted that night he did with Whiskey happily sleeping on his shoulder.”

  When Preston stopped talking, the room fell silent with a thousand unspoken words. But tuning back into my surroundings, I saw Vaughn weeping into Casey’s arms as he rubbed circles on her back. But it was a choking, almost gagging sound, that pulled me back into the present. The sounds were coming from me.

  “Bec? Are you all right?” Jase moved for me just in time. A second later, and I’d have slipped from the chair onto the hard, cold wood below. “Get her some water!” I heard Jase yell, though my vision had blurred, making my surroundings and the people hovering around me indiscernible. I had to shake it off. There were things I needed to know.

  “Mr. Preston?” I asked, trying to catch my breath. “When was the raid on the abandoned police station?”

  “August 3, 1999.” Oh, God.

  “And the blanket Detective Key found Whiskey wrapped in. Did you see it?”

  He nodded.

  “Was it navy blue and brown plaid with a small fuzzy lamb stitched in the corner?” My body shook uncontrollably, my teeth chattering in the seventy-five-degree room as I awaited his answer. All eyes were on me, but I only had eyes for the man who held the answer I so desperately wanted to hear, yet was terrified of at the same time.

  “Rebecca, how did you know about the blanket? Those details were never released to the press.” Mr. Preston was curious, but at the same time, he didn’t appear surprised at my knowledge of intimate details of crime scene evidence.

  Doing the only thing I knew to do, I nuzzled into Jase’s lap and placed my ear right above his heart, letting the beat of his heart flow into me, hoping to siphon as much strength from him as I could for what needed to be said.

  “I bought that blanket, Jase.” I looked up into his crying eyes as if he was feeling my same pain. “I sold my free lunches at school so I could buy that $5 blanket. I bought it the first day I knew.” I was openly sobbing, and my heart, despite Jase’s usual calming effect, was battering the inside of my chest cavity to the point of bruises.

  Directing my gaze to the wall just over Mr. Preston’s shoulder, I mustered every bit of strength and control I had. “I know what the blanket looked like because I bought it. I kept it with me every night, while I made wishes for the baby it would one day hold. August 1, 1999, was my sixteenth birthday. When I came home from school, Toby was waiting for me. He introduced me to an older man and told me I would be going to live with him once I was finished breeding. But I didn’t understand what he meant at the time. When I asked to speak with Toby privately, I told him no, that I would not be going with the old man. He flew into a rage, threw me to the ground, and kicked me over and over again until I began to bleed. I thought I was going to die.”

  “The man immediately came in and pulled Toby off of me, but it was too late. There was blood everywhere, and I felt like I’d had ten rounds emptied into my belly. Toby left the room, and even though I was in and out of consciousness, I remember the older man staying with me and cleaning up the bloody mess. At some point, Toby returned. He told the man it appeared I’d be ready to take even sooner than he’d originally thought. Then he pulled a gun from the back of his pants and escorted the man out of the room, leaving me there, bleeding on the floor. The man whispered at me to hold on, to keep fighting. He said he’d come back, he promised, but the next night the police raided the house, and I never saw him again.”

  “The man helping you that night was Cashion Key.”

  My head snapped up. “How would you know?” I spat, the taste of my memories still on my tongue.

 
; “I know because Cashion was working undercover. I’ve heard this story before, just from a different point of view. You aren’t the only one who was haunted by Toby Carraway. Detective Key was there to save you that night, but he hadn’t expected—”

  “Hadn’t expected what?” Jase asked quietly. I recognized the fear in his eyes of learning the horrible truth he’d spent years desperate for me to tell him.

  “Oh, Jase.” I placed my hand on his cheek. “He hadn’t expected Toby’s brutal beating to send me into labor and make me miscarry the baby I’d been carrying for almost seven months. That night, on the floor of what I’d consider a walk-in storage closet, I gave birth to a bloody mess of tissue. The baby would have been less than thirty weeks.”

  Jase’s shoulders shook. Devastation was painted all over his face.

  “But it wasn’t a bloody mess, Rebecca.” George Preston knelt in front of me and grabbed my hands in his. “Somehow, by some miracle, Toby or somebody in that hellhole saved that baby. They cleaned her up and packaged her to sell. Only she didn’t get that far because Cashion had a feeling. He went back that night to save you both, but after more than twenty-four hours of searching and following leads, he was only able to save the baby.”

  “So that means… ”

  George Preston nodded, silencing the question on my lips.

  “That means, Wynona Isobel Key, born August 1, 1999, is your daughter. It took Cashion almost until his dying breath to find you, Rebecca, but once he discovered that the person you’d become was worthy of his most precious possession, he was clear in his desire that Whiskey be raised by her mother, but if you don’t—”

  I shook my head. “There are no buts.” I looked up at Jase, and he shook his head and looked at the man in front of us.

  “There are no buts, George. That little girl is ours.”

  Chapter 39

  Jase

  THE EMOTIONS IN THE room with every step of George and Becky’s revelation went from horror to awe to sheer joy. Even after having to relive one of the most heinous nights of her life, Becky could not stop smiling.

  “Jase, I’m a mom. Like, I am someone’s mom. How is that even possible?”

  Assuming the question was rhetorical, I just smiled and squeezed her close to me. “And I’m a dad. Like, I am someone’s dad. And it’s possible because of you. Thank you for sharing your love and your life with me. And now, your—no, our beautiful daughter.” The words coming out of my mouth didn’t surprise me, but the sureness of them did.

  Before anything could wholly sink in, there was yet another knock at the door.

  “No, wait!” Becky jumped up. “I’m a hot mess, she can’t—I can’t let her see me like this. Wait, just let me… ” She shuffled off to the bathroom, no doubt to touch up her red blotchy face, while Casey answered the door.

  “Marian?” Casey asked.

  “Mom?” I asked, at the exact same moment. “What are you doing here?”

  Her half-hearted smile was a poor attempt at being cordial, but no words were needed when her eyes met those of George Preston.

  “Marian, how are you, my dear?”

  “Cut the crap, George. How dare you come here without me, knowing my connection with all the families involved?” Had she been a cartoon character, steam would have been blowing geysers from her ears. She was hot.

  “Why don’t we take this outside, shall we?” he sang, ever the Southern gentleman as he opened the door and guided my mom out onto the porch with a hand to the small of her back.

  “What the hell was that all about?” a much fresher Becky asked, coming out of the bathroom. “And Jase, is that your mom, right outside the bathroom window, cussing a blue streak at that sweet man?” Casey, Vaughn, and I exchanged glances, before making a communal decision. Quietly, knowing how creaky the floors can be, we snuck into the bathroom. Where sure enough, the first shots of World War III were being taken. Damn the glass bricks that made seeing what was happening virtually impossible.

  “George, didn’t you think I had a right to know that the woman Jase lived with—the daughter of my best friend—was being stalked by a known rapist and murderer?”

  “Marian, look. Your father didn’t want me to worry you. We’ve had eyes on him for almost a year, and it’s over. It’s in the past now.” Her murderous tone was in direct contrast to his calm demeanor, and I knew that was pissing my mom off. She wasn’t a fan of one-sided arguments. She was a fighter and preferred an opponent worth fighting with.

  “I know I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but I am so glad that old man isn’t alive to run my life anymore. I should’ve known, George. You had a responsibility to tell me when the situation involved my son.”

  “Your son? Marian, are you hearing yourself, right now? What’s with all this ‘my son’ business? I know how much you worry about him, but do you honestly think I don’t?”

  I didn’t even have time to process her words before I heard her start to cry. Her next words were muffled, telling me he was holding her, probably like I hold Becky when she becomes a crazy woman and I have to calm her down.

  “I’ve missed this, George. I’ve missed… you.”

  “I’ve been hiding in plain sight for almost thirty years, Marian. You knew exactly where to find me, and you buried every excuse not to come looking three months ago, along with your old man.”

  And when the telltale sounds of kissing started, I was out of there. We were all adults, but I don’t know one man—regardless of age—that wants a mental image of their mom swapping spit with a dude.

  “I don’t understand what’s happening, Jase. Do you know what this is all about?” Bec followed me out, whispering, although we were in no danger of being heard. Vaughn came out of the bathroom, followed by Casey, who scooped her up and into his lap on the couch about two seconds before both my mother and George reentered the house.

  “Hi Casey, dear. How are you?” She leaned in and hugged Casey, before redirecting her attention. “And you must be Vaughn.” She grabbed Vaughn’s hand in both of hers, and the two women looked at each other for what felt like an eternity. “It’s so wonderful to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much about you from Jase, and of course, Claire is dying for Casey to bring you home to meet the family.”

  Vaughn smiled and snuggled in closer to Casey, probably making up for lost time while they were separated. “I can’t wait to come down and meet everyone.” She made a move to stand, pulling Casey up with her. “We’ve had a pretty adventurous morning, and I think Casey and I might head back to our house.” She pointed in the direction of their house, but my mother moved to block the exit.

  “Oh, of course, I know you must be exhausted. But I’ve been in contact with Casey regarding your petition to adopt Julian Jackson, and there have been some developments in the case.”

  That got Vaughn’s attention. Wide-eyed, and hungry for information, she decided to stay. My mom signaled for us to join her around the table. With my mother and George at one end of the table, the rest of us filled in the gaps, stretching the capacity of the small room off of the kitchen. But the lack of space was the last thing on anyone’s mind as we sat in silence, waiting for the next possibly life-changing piece of news.

  Chapter 40

  Becky

  WHILE MARIAN SORTED THROUGH some paperwork, Casey grabbed Vaughn’s hand and squeezed.

  “Well, it took some cajoling, but the Texas Department of Family and Protective Services finally coughed up the file on Julian. First, the good news… Julian is eligible for adoption, so once he’s in your home, the adoption process shouldn’t be too difficult.”

  Vaughn placed a hand over her thundering heart, more than ready to make Julian theirs. “So, what’s the not-so-good news?” she asked.

  “Well, I’d like to spare you the details of his home life before DFPS stepped in and removed him, but it’s imperative you walk into the situation with both eyes wide open.” Vaughn and Casey both nodded in agreement.

 
She continued. “I hesitate to call him lucky, but compared to some of the reports that have come across my desk, it could have been much, much worse.” Marian sighed. “Julian’s is a case of severe neglect. He was found locked in a bedroom that consisted of a few pots, pans, and cooking utensils, a television, and two bare twin mattresses.”

  I heard Vaughn choke back tears beside me, and I wanted to reach out and comfort my friend.

  “It’s no wonder that he suffers from severe psychological problems, but there may even be some that haven’t manifested themselves yet. You need to know what you’re getting into and make sure you’re both up for it.”

  I felt like her underlying message was, Will she be well enough to take care of a child with special needs? Apparently, Vaughn sensed it too.

  “Mrs. Pearson, I’m—”

  “Please,” Jase’s mom interrupted. “Please, call me Marian.”

  Vaughn took a deep breath. “Fine. Marian, I am on the road to recovery and getting stronger every day. My cancer was caught incredibly early, and I’ve been assured many, many more years on this earth. So if my medical condition is a concern of yours, it shouldn’t be any longer.”

  Marian smiled, nodded, and turned to Casey. “I really like her, Clark. You picked a good one!”

  He smiled and slid his arm around his love. “Yes, I did. Thank you.”

  “There is something else I discovered when I received Julian’s paperwork… Has he ever mentioned siblings?”

  Vaughn and Casey looked at each other, both shaking their heads. “No,” Vaughn replied. “He’s never said a word about brothers or sisters—but to be fair—until recently he hadn’t said any words. Period.”